The Orange Room

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This is the main meeting room of my church. Some would call it “the sanctuary”. We call it “the orange room”. For obvious reasons.

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My church has been in this building for about ten years (and I’ve been attending here for six). The congregation that owned the building had this part of the structure built in 1970.

Orange was in, baby. The seventies were a good time. I was born in 1977, and when I was a baby, the church my family attended began building a new building. They moved in in 1979. Orange, apparently, was still in. This is a picture of that church, the one I grew up in, taken just yesterday at my friend’s son’s baptism.

baptism

Orange! So very orange. All that orange in two Baptist churches, just 20 minutes or so apart.

When I was a child, I loved my church. And as I got older, I still loved it, but I came to hate the orange. As a matter of fact one reason I didn’t get married in this church is because I didn’t want to deal with the orange-ness in my wedding photos.

But in my old age, I have matured. Orange is now actually my favorite color. Maybe not for carpet and upholstery and not in such large quantities, but in most other capacities, I love orange.

Perhaps it has something to do with the fact that it was in a rusty-colored room that I came week after week to learn about Jesus. That every Sunday night, everyone in attendance – adults and kids alike – held hands in a giant circle around the auditorium and sang “Surely, the Presence of the Lord is in this Place” before we parted ways. It was in this room – surrounded by orange as much as by water – that I was baptized as well.

And so rather than be repulsed by the carroty interior of my current church, I embrace it. Years ago the original congregation moved to a larger, more modern, and I’m betting less tangerine building, and when my current church moved in they didn’t feel the need to change the decor. Maybe that’s because we meet in homes during the week, as smaller “house churches” and only meet together on the weekends. We have a church building, but we also have lots of little church meeting places, too.

But anyway. The sanctuary was re-named “the orange room”. We joke about it, but we own it.

This room has seen a lot of traffic since 1970. And there’s some predictable wear-and-tear. I mean, it’s been over 40 years, right? But we keep on patching it up. I hope there’s no talk of replacing it.

threadbare stairs

Because I really want it to be the orange room forever. I guess I’ve gotten accustomed to learning about Jesus surrounded by wall-to-wall orange. I love being with my people in the orange room.We sing. We listen. We laugh. We hug. I cry (like every week. Seriously, I am a church crybaby). I worship. I learn, am encouraged, am convicted, am broken, am rebuilt. Surrounded by orange. And love. Just as I was when I was a child.

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And it wouldn’t feel right to me to “un-orange” the orange room. Because we’re a body that feels money spent on new carpeting and upholstery is well…not necessarily money well spent. There will probably come a time when it will be. But for now, this is what re-doing the upholstery and carpet looks like in the orange room.

duct tape

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And this is what gathering looks like in the orange room.

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I really, really, really think everyone should have an orange room. Even if it’s teal, or blue, or heaven forbid, mauve. Somewhere to run and meet Jesus. Somewhere to be loved and encouraged.

The truth is, you don’t need a place to come and meet Jesus. You can do that anytime, anywhere. And I do. But I am awfully thankful for a physical space to gather with others in His name. For the privilege.

Do you have an orange room? If you don’t, I’d love to have you join me in mine.

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Wrecked by Grace

Sophie, my greatest teacher.

Recently a mom I know who has a child with developmental delays messaged me on Facebook and asked me to call her. She wanted some ideas and tips on working with her child at home, and she knew I had worked with Sophie to help her overcome her delays. Our talk was good and affirming for both of us, and after we talked we traded emails and I sent helpful product links and app links and encouragement.

And it tore. Me. Apart.

In a good way.

God’s grace in it all just broke me open. It is beyond humbling to me that I am able to use the experiences I had with Sophie to help and encourage another mom.  I can’t tell you what a privilege it is. Does that sound crazy? I am so honored to help. It boggles my mind that anything that I know can be useful to someone else. This isn’t because I have a terribly low opinion of myself (we all know self-esteem is not a problem for ol’ JRap), it’s because when Sophie was going through all her evaluations and we were realizing how very significant her delays were, and I was giantly pregnant with Jonah, I cannot tell you how many times I said, and cried out:

“God, I don’t know how to help her. I don’t know what I’m doing. I’m not the mother that Sophie needs. I can’t give her what she needs.”

“How can I do this? How am I going to help Sophie when I’ve got another baby to care for? What if I can’t teach her? I don’t know how!”

I was so scared of failing my child. What did I know of developmental delays, of speech or occupational therapy? Nothing, is the answer. I knew nothing.

And yet, here we are. I didn’t know, but I learned. God gave me what I needed and he gave us wonderful therapists and teachers to point me in the right direction. And two years later, to the day…

TO THE DAY, I just realized as I am writing this. Sophie’s preschool teacher pulled me aside with her concerns two years ago today.

I have to let that sink in for a second. To the day!  And I just realized it! Thank you, Lord. I don’t believe this was a coincidence.

Two years has passed and my darling girl is kicking butt in kindergarten and in life in general. And I am helping other people with what I learned helping her. It just blows my mind that I could be used. When I knew nothing, nothing. Not. A. Thing. I was lost and scared and ignorant. And yet.

Here we are.

God is good. He keeps giving me more gifts of grace.

Three nights ago another mom found this blog through Pinterest when she was searching for ways to help her developmentally delayed child. She found my story of our journey with Sophie. It gave her the exact encouragement she needed, she said.

Her comments wrecked me all over again. I’m so thankful that God truly made all that struggle so beautiful. I’m so thankful to be used. I am blown away, ripped open, blessed and humbled. Torn up. Ripped to shreds.

In a very, very good way.

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Thankfulness

There are many things that I am thankful for – too many to count.  I am thankful every minute of every day, and yet, I am certainly guilty of not being thankful, too. I know that doesn’t make any sense.  But it’s true. I am always thankful for my husband, my children, my home, my van – and yet, sometimes I forget that I am thankful.  I don’t stop and think about it, because I am either plowing through life just trying to get to what’s next, or I am drowning in the mess of having young children instead of celebrating the beauty of it.

Thankfulness is a state of being but it is also a choice.  And it is my goal, starting now, to be thankful in all things.  For awhile last year I was practicing this pretty well.  We were having all kinds of trouble with our health insurance company denying stuff they should have been paying (I almost wrote our stupid insurance company; then I remembered that I am thankful that I have health insurance.)  Anyhoo, everytime I got an estimation of benefits that said what we OWED (read: what they wouldn’t pay that per our policy, they should have paid) or every time I got a bill from one of the  various and sundry medical providers that we (read: our insurance company) owed, I would have a mini-breakdown.

Until I read one day in I Thessalonians 5:18, “give thanks in all circumstances; for this is God’s will for you in Christ Jesus.”

And so I started thanking God for those stupid bills and statements coming in the mail.  It wasn’t that I was happy about getting them, but I somehow managed to muster up thanks.  Thanks that I had this “first world problem” and a God I trusted to provide for my family’s needs.  Sometimes I had to drag myself kicking and screaming to the threshold of thankfulness, but mostly I managed to get there.

Eventually, our insurance company did the right thing and paid all that crap. Six months later, I might add. But they paid, and I am thankful.

Now, though, that all that stuff has passed, I realized today that I have forgotten to be thankful in all circumstances. Or to be thankful for a blissful LACK of “circumstances”.  I’ve started to let the big stuff as well as the small stuff get to me again, in big ways.

So tomorrow, it’s Thanksgiving Day, and I’ve been reminded again that I need to truly be thankful in all things.  And to be intentional about it. So, here I go again, being thankful for the beautiful and the fugly. I imagine there will be plenty of times when I’ll have to drag myself kicking and screaming again, but I will do my best, and though I will surely fail at times, I am going to try hard to keep it up.  Which reminds me of something else I’m thankful for: second, third, and fourth chances!

Happy Thanksgiving, friends! I’m thankful that you read these words of mine today.

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