What's Saving Your Life Right Now?

Occasionally, one of my favorite book bloggers, Modern Mrs. Darcy, will post a blog with the same title. In it, she details those things which are currently saving her life. Sometimes they're big things, sometimes (most times) they're little things. I thought in light of our current moment, I'd share those things which are saving my life. This post has been percolating in my brain all day because words help me process things. And releasing the words from my brain and onto this "paper" is like a balm for my soul. Without further ado, and in no particular order, here's my list:

1. The Dispatch I am a political junkie. Political. Junkie. And David French and Jonah Goldberg are my spirit animals, true conservatives who approach the news of the day with a measured, reasonable, sometimes humorous bent. David French allows his faith to permeate his work. I always appreciated listening to him on the National Review podcast, The Editors. And Jonah Goldberg has an ability to approach the current cultural moment with thoughtfulness swept into beautiful prose. There are several other contributors to The Dispatch, and I liked it so much I paid cash monies to subscribe. Each morning I wake up to a digest of the previous day's news in my inbox: links galore and an article on a particularly newsworthy item. You can subscribe to David French's newsletter without paying the fee. I highly recommend them.

2. My new disposal. When we purchased this house, I thought it was perfection. Hardwood floors. A spacious basement. Double sinks in the master bathroom. And then we moved in and I did my first load of dishes. And naturally, when I was finished rinsing and loading the dishwasher, I searched for the switch to flip on the disposal in the sink. I flipped switch after switch after switch to no avail. And then I thought, could it be? Does this house not have a disposal?! Alas, it did not. And the lack thereof has been a thorn in my flesh for three months. But today (TODAY!) I no longer lack. A beautiful Badger (Badger??) aerator now sits below my sink ready to grind whatever food particles I shove down the drain.

3. Dr. Fauci on the coronavirus task force. Is he not the most darling little man you've ever seen?? He gives me confidence that COVID-19 will soon be contained and the world will return to normalcy...or something like it. His short stature makes me want to scoop him up and carry him around in my pocket ready to admonish those not practicing social distancing and able to whisk out his guidelines at a moment's notice. He captures perfectly the necessity of the word "dear". He's just dear.

4. Text threads with friends. All the mamas are in all the houses trying to keep the children healthy, entertained, educated and sane. All without the physical presence of other women. I have introverted tendencies, but I also quit working from home to work in an office because I need a human or two above the age of 25-ish to interact with on a daily basis. Thank God for texts and the ability to text more than one mama at once. And thank God for friends who text things that make you laugh out loud, encourage your husband in his endless pursuit of the best coronavirus meme, encourage you to keep on keeping on, and inform you on the latest COVID-19 news. I wouldn't have made it through the last few days without them.

5. Facebook Live prayer time. Never has it been more apparent to me than now that the church is meant to gather and encourage one another, and in the absence of the ability to gather physically, praise God we can gather electronically. And praise God for friends who know the value of prayer, who can encourage other women through prayer, and who do not cease to pray after the Facebook Live ends.

Of course the question now begs, what's saving your life right now? I would be remiss if I missed this opportunity to tell you that no one thing can ultimately provide salvation. Salvation is found in a person, Jesus Christ. He came to this earth, dwelt among men and women, was tempted in every way but kept perfect obedience to His heavenly Father. And part of that obedience included His death, His death on a cross. His death on that cross paid the debt I could never pay for my sin and His resurrection provided an eternal life with Him. Without the salvation of Jesus Christ and the hope provided through His death and resurrection, the darkness of this moment might overwhelm me. If you need that hope today, DM me on Facebook or Instagram or shoot me an email: hannahp2001@hotmail.com (yes, Hotmail still exists).

On the Occasion of My Church’s 150th Birthday Part 2: The Youth Years

Can I share something up front? Looking back over my student years (back then we called it youth ministry), I wish I had been more involved. I was involved during my middle school years, but during high school I drifted away. I still attended Sunday School regularly, but that comprised the majority of my involvement. I became consumed with school and grades and extracurricular activities and work, and church fell by the wayside. Do you know what’s sweet though? My teachers and friends at church never stopped asking, never stopped trying to get me to come to stuff.

Without further ado, seventh grade. After I touted my super stellar memory, I realized last night that I cannot, for the life of me, remember who taught my seventh grade Sunday School class. If that was you, my utmost apologies. Seventh grade brought yet another building transition. This time we moved to the Ruth Ray Hunt Youth Building. When they say First Baptist Dallas takes up five city blocks, they’re not lying. And seventh grade was on the fifth floor. And there was one elevator. Most Sundays my youthful legs propelled me up the five flights, but every once in a while I took the elevator along with 20 to 30 of my closest (at that moment) friends to the top floor.

I didn’t include any choir memories in my previous installment, but this go round, I’m going to change that. The summer after seventh grade, the Clarion Choir went on tour to Washington, D.C. I remember Tennessee was a long state to drive through. The bus ride was also my introduction to Veggie Tales; I learned to sing silly songs. My seventh grade self didn’t fully appreciate the amazingness that was D.C. I remember we went to Arlington National Cemetery. I also remember the hideous red, white and blue polo shirts we wore on the regular. And I remember learning how to wash them by hand in the sink with Woolite and letting them dry overnight. Except they didn’t, and the next day I wound up wearing a damp shirt. (I’m thankful that by the time I became a Clarion Choir sponsor someone had wised up to washing the whole choir’s shirts in the washing machine and drying them.) Beyond that, I remember the boy I had a crush on (for his sake and mine, I’ll take that info to the grave), and I remember who became a couple because those things are important to a seventh grader.

Eighth grade. (You know, I just want to thank those volunteers over the years who have served with middle schoolers. Those are literally the most awkward years of your life, and it takes a special grace and patience to have regular encounters with those angst-y adolescents.) Same floor. Still five flights. We just moved down the hall. Cathy Bolton and Penny Graves were my Sunday School teachers. I don’t remember much from Sunday School.

The summer after eighth grade we went to Colorado on choir tour. Before we embarked on our tour, we, as a choir, participated in Backyard Bible Clubs. That summer we took Vacation Bible School to church member’s houses around the metroplex. If I didn’t already love VBS, those Backyard Bible Clubs made me love (LOVE) it. Every day we’d travel to our respective houses and love on neighborhood kids for a few hours. I was at Barbara Cole’s house. She was the picture of hospitality and made it such a fun experience for us. After serving through Mission Dallas, we traveled to the mountains of Colorado. I remember the Garden of the Gods. And Pike’s Peak. We took the tram to the top. It was so cold and the air was so thin. I couldn’t take breaths deep enough. We also visited Focus on the Family and the Olympic training center.

Onward and upward, but actually down a floor in the youth building…high school. Freshman year my Sunday School teacher was Holly Cole. That year, the Chapel Choir and Orchestra went to Israel on tour. (Remember my previous mention of missing out? I didn’t go. I missed out.) In preparation for tour, we had to watch a series of what amounted to the most boring videos in all of Sunday School history. Seriously. Boring. I also remember that was the year Scott Ward stepped down as Youth Minister to go to another church. Up until that point, I didn’t think ministers went other places. My children’s ministers were in place for decades. Dr. Criswell celebrated 50 years at our church. Ministry seemed to have a permanence. Until that Sunday. And I can still remember the Sunday we found out. It shook my world a little. Even as a ninth grader I knew what I was losing. I knew who I was losing. (I’m glad, a few years later, he came back.)

Tenth grade. Okay y’all. It was my favorite year. Each year made an impact, but there was something special about tenth grade. The Sedwicks were our directors. My Sunday School teachers were Jody Mow and Jana Bellington and those ladies poured into our lives each and every Sunday. I saw and felt a deep love for the Lord in each of their lives. I learned a lot that year. I learned a lot about practically walking out my faith as a young woman. Every leader in that class led with such sincerity and dedication. And some twenty years later, I remember that.

Junior year. We moved down a floor or two (I think two because weren’t the youth offices on three?). My Sunday School teacher was Kylie Minne. She was the youth intern’s new wife. A few months into the school year, she announced she was (surprise!) pregnant.

Senior year. I want to say so much about senior year. My Sunday School teacher was Joni Cleveland. I didn’t appreciate then the degree of blessing bestowed on my life to have her teach me the Bible. I appreciate it now. Because now, in God’s unique way of working, she and I teach women’s Bible study on the same team. I remember we learned much (MUCH) about the end times in preparation for the test we took at the end of the year to measure our Bible knowledge. Wasn’t there a special Easter reenactment, too? And senior Sunday. There was a moment we were all circled up, praying together, and I realized we’d never be like that again. Seventeen years together (for some of us), and that moment was it.

There’s so much I didn’t say, but this post has already reached epic lengths. I do want to acknowledge that after Scott left, Shane took over as Youth Minister. He loved Jesus, and he loved us so well. His enthusiasm for ministry brought me back to volunteer when I got to college. The Lord, in His faithfulness, gave me sweet friendships over the years. It is a joy when those friends come back to visit and bring their babies to leave in my care on Sunday mornings. And I take pride in the fact that there are three of us currently on staff at First Baptist Dallas from the Class of 2001.

Stay tuned! Depending on how exhausted I am from the birthday party tomorrow, I’ll try to write part 3…College Ministry and beyond!

On the Occasion of My Church’s 150th Birthday

Not many 34 year olds can say they’ve been a member of one church their whole life. I can. When I was five-months-old my parents began attending First Baptist Dallas. I don’t have too many memories of those early years at church, but I know, based on the testimony of those who have come up to me over the years, that I regularly had my diaper changed and learned about Jesus.

My earliest memories from the hallowed halls of the Truett Building began in the first grade. The Kellys were my Sunday School directors. A sweet older woman was my teacher. She faithfully sat with a group of us first graders week after week and taught us the Bible. At Christmas, our class put on a Christmas play, reenacting the events surrounding the birth of Jesus. I think I was an angel. (An aside…as we were cleaning up from Resurrection Road this year and putting away child-sized Bible costumes, I came across a tub that said something like, “Kelly’s Sunday School Class costumes.” They were the costumes from the Christmas play passed down over the years.) I think it was after first grade that I went to Criswell Kids Camp. That was the summer I learned to roller skate in the skating rink at church.

In second grade the Lord blessed me with the best Sunday School directors, Rosaleen and Kenneth Davidson. They loved Jesus, and they loved us. Sunday in and Sunday out we’d gather as a group and sing the songs carefully written on a large tablet. “This is the Day that the Lord has Made” played on repeat almost every Sunday. 

The summer after second grade I attended Vacation Bible School. Because the members of our church came from all over the metroplex, the church dispatched charter buses to almost every suburb. We rode the bus that left from Town East Mall every morning. I don’t remember too many specifics from VBS, but I do remember the day all the kids gathered in Ralph Baker Hall to hear the gospel presentation given by the pastor at the time, Joel Gregory. I had heard about Jesus my whole life, but on that particular day, the Holy Spirit caused me to realize my need for salvation. I went forward with the masses, and who, but Rosaleen Davidson found me in the crowd and sat down with me to talk about the next steps. I think that’s when I made a “Step Towards God” and not too long afterwards, Libby Reynolds came to our house, shared the gospel with me again, and that night, on the floor of the living room of my house, I confessed that I was a sinner in need of a Savior. Since that night, I’ve not wavered. I’ve never even really doubted. I needed Jesus. And He found me. And He has had me tightly in His grip ever since.

Third grade found me in the Griffin’s Sunday School class. Their daughter, Lindsay, was also in our class and we’d both made professions of faith and were ready to be baptized, so we decided to do it on the same Sunday. We were baptized in the Historic Sanctuary by Paul Gomez. The other significant memory from my third grade year was perfect attendance. I didn’t miss a Sunday. I think there’s a crown in heaven for that.

In fourth grade, we moved from Primaries to Juniors, and across the plaza to the Burt Building. I can laugh now at the geriatric nature of that building. It was literally “foggy” in the Burt Building with dust and asbestos. Bless. My fourth grade Sunday School teacher was Emily Bright. I remember she sang in the choir and always had to leave a little early to make it to choir. When I went to work for the church in 2010, my cubicle was right next to Emily’s.

In fifth grade, my Sunday School directors were Ann and Phil LeRoux. (Another aside…these two continue to serve faithfully in the Children’s Ministry at the Welcome Desks. I served with Ann at the Welcome Desk for several years before I began working as the Babies Coordinator.) My Sunday School teacher was Mrs. Lloyd. I remember doing Resurrection Eggs in her class at Easter.

Sixth grade. I remember a lot about sixth grade. We had donut holes every Sunday. The boys liked to throw them at one another. Our Sunday School class was located at the intersection of the Veal Building and Burt. I would help my parents set up in their Sunday School class and take the elevator in the Criswell Education Building to six (?) and then cross over to Burt. The Chapel Choir went to Africa that year. I remember the outfits. And my Sunday School teacher was Marianne Taylor. She was also an older woman who loved Jesus. She taught us about the other names of Jesus.

That completes my elementary school experience. I might go in later and add details about choir programs and Mission Friends and GAs. And the library. Don’t tell anyone, but I regularly skipped Sunday School to sit in the library and read Nancy Drew. I think Jesus knew my introverted-self needed that. The next post will document my Youth Ministry experience. I think I remember every Sunday School teacher.

So We're Buying a House

As my Facebook post stated the other day, after five-and-a-half years of marriage, it's about dang time. We're buying a house. It's precious. I think a house can be precious. Because I can totally see more than the walls, doors, original hardwood floors, updated bathrooms; I see my babies running down the hall, Josh walking in the door after a day of work, kids playing in the backyard. I see what makes a house a home, and that's why it's precious.

But golly-gee what it took to get here. Cuz ya'll - there are some UGLY houses out there. This process has left me quite jaded. "Updated" has taken on a whole new meaning. "MUST SEE" - neighbors doing drug deals next door. "Move in ready" after you strip the house down to the studs and remodel. Jaded.

So I decided to share some of my home-selling recommendations for anyone out there who's considering selling their house. One thing to keep in mind, the homes we were looking at were older. Most were built in the late 50's, early 60's.
-"updated kitchen with granite counter-tops" - painting 50-year-old cabinets and putting granite on top does not update anything. If the cabinet doors stick from how many times they've been painted, they're by no means updated. They're old and ugly and now I'm going to have to rip out new granite to replace your nasty cabinets. Thanks a million.
-Smells. Folks it's all about the smell. And if I'm slapped in the face by cigarettes and wet dog odors as soon as I walk in the door, I'm not going any further. The showing stopped at your front door. Buy some Nicorette patches and 15 Scentsy candles and get after it.
-Don't take in your garage! I really don't have anything funny to say about this, but DON'T TAKE IN YOUR GARAGE! Where am I supposed to mark my car when golf-ball sized hail moves through DFW??
-"I'm beautiful inside" - HA! More like, "I hope you like how I look from the curb because that's all the appeal I possess." Seriously. We looked at a house that said exactly that, "I'm beautiful inside," and when we walked inside, the living room was missing the baseboards. The kitchen hadn't been touched since 1959. And the wood-paneling. Oh dear God, the wood-paneling.

That's all I've got for now. I will say the coolest thing we saw while looking was a storm cellar!! It was AWESOME. Smack in the middle of a neighborhood in Richardson - an old-timey storm cellar in the backyard. I won't lie. I took pictures. But that was the drug-dealing neighborhood, so don't get any ideas about weathering storms with the Braswells. But if you've got a bullet-proof vest I'll direct you to where you'll be safe in the storm.

Catching up...not really

HA! September was my last post. That makes me sad.

I determined this morning that I should blog more because writing is SUCH a cathartic experience. It's also a welcome outlet for my dripping sarcasm and cynicism in general. I found myself composing a paragraph of an email I knew I wouldn't send yesterday but wanted to write just to release some stress. It was funny too. It had to do with the fact that I was writing this email and then realized, in my delirium, that the content was supposed to be entirely different. Thank You, Lord, for my handy dandy notes and the delete button. Holiday weeks do that to you.

I feel there's so much I should say. Things I should vent. But it's 10:49pm on Friday, ya'll. If it hadn't been for a short nap this afternoon, I wouldn't be functioning - period. Josh and I are sitting here in our married bliss annoying each other with our incredibly different music tastes. However, he's now playing "Said the Sun to the Shine" which holds a sentimental place in my heart. I kind of fell in love with him to the tune of that song.

Anywho, like I said, it's late, I'm tired and a full Saturday awaits us...including a rousing game of Pandemic tomorrow evening. I'll let you know if the human race survives. Happy weekend.

Radical - Chapter One

One definition I found for “radical” was “thoroughgoing or extreme”. What is “thoroughgoing”?? Another discussion for another day. But extreme. I know that one. I also know my faith is not extreme. It is not radical. (I guess it’s not thoroughgoing either.) As I am a world-class procrastinator, I just wrote my post today - my thoughts about what my faith looks like in all its un-radicalness.

Each morning I wake up – early – start my pot of Starbucks coffee, peruse the latest status posts on Facebook, catch up with the last eight to ten hours of news, and begin my quiet time (I do this daily, so for some of you, that might be radical). After my quiet time, I get ready and go to work – for a ministry. I spend my days on the phone counseling and praying for people (and taking orders – mama gotta make money somehow). I usually listen to a podcast or two throughout the day (Matt Chandler, David Platt, Mac Brunson) and go home. Once home, I unwind with an hour or two of television, then I conquer the dishes and laundry and go to bed. One night a week I have Bible study, and that’s really the only deviation. Radical much? I think not.

In reading Chapter One, I think the two things that stood out to me the most were not the quote I posted on Facebook or the whole “cost of nondiscipleship” – it was the two questions he asks not three pages in. “[Am] I going to believe Jesus?” “[Am] I going to obey Jesus?” Am I?? I would love to say yes. I would love to give a wholehearted, YES LORD, YES. But if I were to be honest, I would say, I’m not sure. I like my non-radical life. I like the comforts of middle-class America. I like my padded pew benches. I like my routine. Do I find it incredibly rewarding? Eh.

And so I come back to believing Jesus and obeying Him. I WANT to believe and obey. I want to be sold out for the cross of Christ. I want to completely surrender all of me. I want to be radical. And that’s my prayer. Because I know the God of the universe can “break my heart for what breaks His”. I know the God I serve can take a selfish, lazy, perfectionist and make her radical.

As I read through the intros last week, I came across one person (I think it was a girl), who said that her fear was that she’d read the book, really let it do a number on her heart, and walk away unchanged. Jesus, I DO NOT WANT that. I want You to make me extreme. I want You to make me “thoroughgoing”. I want You to make me radical.

Radical

If you know me well, you know that I LOVE David Platt (not in the romantic way - but in the dude-you-preach-an-incredibly-convicting-sermon-every-week way). If you haven't heard him preach, I encourage you to drop-by The Church at Brook Hills website and listen to these. But be prepared, they will "radically" change your life and faith. I was introduced to young Platt (he's only 31) about two years ago, and I think it was probably the greatest introduction of my life (besides my hubby - he was definitely the most important). Anywho, I came to LOVE Platt, his preaching style and his PASSION for the Lord.

As it goes with most pastors who are pretty good, they eventually write a book, and Platt did so earlier this year. Radical came out in May, and I bought it the days of its release, but then it was sadly relegated to my bookshelves partly because I knew what was contained within and I knew it would really do a number on me - a good and needed number - but a number all the same. So it's been sitting there, and over the last few weeks as I've heard the book mentioned on countless blogs and heard the prodding words (ahem, David Taylor) of good friends to READ IT, I've felt God gently telling me that now is the time...

And wouldn't you know that God is faithful to provide excellent motivation and accountability when He wants you to do something. God is so good. A few weeks ago I was perusing the blogosphere as is quite my habit and came across Marla's blog, and guess what she's about to start?!?! A Radical-read-along!! So tomorrow begins the journey. If you want to join the read-along, feel free to jump in tomorrow when we have introductions on Marla's blog, and if you'd rather hear my thoughts and feel spurred to read, then check back here next Tuesday, September 14th as I share my thoughts on Chapter One.

If I've piqued your curiosity, and you want to learn more about Radical, go here.