I Have A Secret

I have a secret to tell you.

I'm a closet romantic. I love love.

I may put up a tough, "all about sports" front but catch me watching a chick flick and you'll see my heart swoon.

Last night, my roommate and I gushed over Mr. Darcy while watching Pride & Prejudice. I can't tell you how many times I've heard, "I love you, most ardently" or "You've bewitched me body and soul, and I love, I love, I love you." My reaction is still the same as it was in high school when the words jumped off the pages. The movie just makes it worse. I'm such a sucker for Mr. Darcy.

Another closet guilty pleasure? The Bachelorette. All through college I rolled my eyes at my roommate and her friends who would gush and swoon over the Bachelor and the contestants on the Bachelorette. I made it a point to be out of the room on Monday nights. Becca, if you're reading this now, I apologize. I get it now.

Thanks to my current roommate, Liz, I now love watching as Ali sorts through 25 men to find true love. Ali was my favorite on the Bachelor, and it broke my heart watching her leave during the top 4. (Yes, that is where I got my start on this obsession.) And now, I weekly watch her quest to find love and outwardly gush as every guy contends for her love. The romance, thoughtfulness, and downright adorable things these guys do for her is amazing. I always find myself on the edge of the couch, sighing, wanting a guy like that in my life.

What is it about love that is so addicting to behold? We cry when hearts are broken, swoon when a man rides in [sometimes literally] to save the day, then throw popcorn at the TV when the movie is over and we come to our senses. Is love like that real?

Then there's the Twilight obsession. Good LORD! Yes, I've read the books. Yes, I love Edward Cullen. Yes, I love Jacob Black. I LOVE them. They would do anything for Bella. No, I don't have any T-shirts, and no I'm not going to the midnight premier, but to be honest? Of course I want a boy like that (without the vampire/werewolf part)!


Okay, joking aside, I'm not crazy about boys and desperate to find love. I feel like I have a good, calm head on my shoulders when it comes to love in reality. Its elusiveness in my life, however, has been channeled into this guilty pleasure of chick flicks, romance, and all things love.


There, I said it.


Any guilty pleasures you're hiding? :)

Happy Father's Day, Dad!

I've been lucky enough to be blessed with an incredible dad. He doesn't typically enjoy the spotlight so today I figure I'd at least give him the spotlight on my blog.

My dad emulates Christ-like character on a daily basis - sure, he's not perfect- but he's a man that God has blessed with both wisdom and discernment in how to be a father, husband, and businessman. Life hasn't always been easy, but my father has continually placed his focus and trust in the Lord to lead him in the way he and his family was to go. He is always last, placing the Lord, my brother, myself and my mom constantly ahead of himself.

Obviously there are countless things a daughter learns from her father, but some things I am particularly thankful for:


-My love and knowledge of cars. Yes, having a mechanic/car-savvy father pays dividends.

-My extremely high standards for a husband. Watching a man live out the Christ-like qualities so many girls think don't exist is a daily reminder that I don't have to settle. Sorry boys!

-My love for hiking. When I was younger I cried the entire way, and once, my dad even pushed me up because I refused to go any further!

-My love (obsession?) with football. It sure helps having a partner in crime any time any game is on!

-My career pursuit. While watching a football game, Dad looked at me and just said "Ever thought of doing what you love for the rest of your life?" Smart thinking, Dad.

-My foundation in Christ. No, I don't live my parents' faith. My Dad (and Mom!) constantly pointed me toward the Lord to find my strength, hope, and source of life. For that, I am forever thankful to both my parents in never forcing a religion or boring set of traditions on me, but for living out a true relationship that I too wanted to have.


Now, typically on Father's Day, my family and I would go to Polar Caves in New Hampshire and go caving. From the Orange Crush to the Lemon Squeeze, my entire family would attempt to get ourselves through the tiny spaces and awkward turns in the caves. It always turned out that my dad had more work than play on his hands, trying to corral my brother and I, get us out of spaces we never should have explored, and tell us when it was time to go. We thought it was his favorite thing in the world. Hopefully he enjoyed it at least a little.


Nowadays, Father's Day is obviously different. I would love to say he's sitting out on the porch with the dog, enjoying a day off, but I know that's not happening. So, whatever you're doing with your time today, happy father's day, Dad! Maybe you can go to Polar Caves with Mom... but I doubt it would be as fun as it used to be.

The Elder Brother

"There was a man who had two sons. The younger one said to his father, 'Father, give me my share of the estate.' So he divided his property between them. Not long after that, the young son got together all he had, set off for a distant country and there squandered his wealth in wild living..."

If you're anything like me, you've heard this story a hundred times, typically brought up when a "sinner" has decided to "come back" to the Father. Each pastor that has brought this story forward has had the same emphasis: grace. The prodigal son wasted all he was given, lived a life of poor choices, and, while at the end of his rope, realized the need to return.

Most people find themselves in the story: running from the life we are called to have in Christ, squandering their inheritance in worldly pleasures and wasting all their energy on empty passions. I've heard some preachers go as far to stretch us all into the category of the prodigal son, addressing the congregation to search their hearts and find where it is they are running from the Father and wasting all He has given them. To be completely honest, I would sit in my chair and scan the room, picking out the people I thought needed to return to the Father (and probably should at that very moment). The story never tugged at my heart as much as it did others, but then again: I wasn't anything like the younger brother.

"But while he was still a long way off, his father saw him and was filled with compassion for him; he ran to his son, threw his arms around him and kissed him. 'For this son of mine was dead and is alive again; he was lost and is found.' So they began to celebrate."

Some of us have never resonated with the younger brother coming home and being restored. Some have stayed at the House, working away and doing what they've been told. The prodigal son story was the week in church they could check out and passively sit, thinking "Oh good, its about time those sinners come back..." And therein lies the problem and the purpose for my writing this: the prodigal isn't the only character in the story.

"Meanwhile, the older son was in the field. When he came near the house, he heard music and dancing. So he called one of the servants and asked him what was going on. 'Your brother has come', he replied, 'and your father has killed the fattened calf because he has him back safe and sound.' The older brother became angry and refused to go in..."

A few weeks ago, Crosspoint did a series called "People of a Second Chance." For three weeks, our church unpacked the "Parable of the Lost Son," with each week dedicated to one of the characters: the prodigal, the elder brother, and the father.

When Jesus told this story, he was addressing both Jew and Gentile, Pharisee and sinner. Each had a role in the story, yet for some reason, the Church and religious do-gooders (still to this day) skip over the elder brother as if he has little importance. But oh, how important his role is.

The older brother did right by the father, staying and working as he was told. His inheritance was safe and sound right where it was meant to be: at home. Day after day he was with his father, working his fields, eating at his table, and conversing with him. Everything seemed fine until that night he came back from the fields... and he heard music...

"'Look! All these years I've been slaving for you and never disobeyed your orders. Yet you never gave me even a young goat so I could celebrate with my friends. But when this son of yours who has squandered your property with prostitutes comes home, you kill the fattened calf for him!'"

I don't know about you, but I know a few older brothers.

Working to get approval from the Father.

Doing the "right thing" out of duty.

Living the "Christian life" feeling overworked and under-appreciated.

A slave in the Father's house.

Notice his choice of words to his father. I have been slaving...

Slaving doesn't bear fruits of comfort, willingness, or peace- traits that should be present between a father and son- but of anger, resentment, and a sense of duty. Slaving isn't family-like; not many welcome it with open arms. But for some reason, the elder brother was convinced he was a slave.

Are you slaving for the Father? Do you feel you have put in years of hard labor out of duty? Think about all that you do in the name of the Father: is it out of the joy of your heart or out of the sermons you've absorbed? Is it rooted in love for the Father or in the system of religion?

What he [and so many other "elder brothers"] didn't realize, though, was that he always had the blessing of the father.

"My son", the father said, "you are always with me, and everything I have is yours."

He could enjoy the many luxuries the father had to offer at any given moment... but he didn't. The elder brother was so focused on doing right and doing his duty that he missed the point all together: being a son to the father.

But another warped perception filled his heart:

"But when this son of yours who has squandered your property with prostitutes comes home..."

This son of yours.

Not brother of mine.

Not member of our family.

The young brother was disowned in his older brother's mind. There's no way they were in the same family tree.

Who have you disowned? How many times have you sat on the porch, refusing to go in and celebrate one's return because of their past sin? I can hear your excuses now:

But he cheated on his wife!

But she wears a scarlet letter!

You don't get it, he's an alcoholic. He relapses all the time!

He lied to me.

She gambled our money away and lost our house.

The list goes on and on. I know the excuses because not only have I heard them... I've used them.

But here's the catch: it doesn't matter.

It doesn't matter what they did to you, who they betrayed, cheated on, or lied to. It doesn't matter how badly you think they "deserve" to suffer. They won't. Returning to the Father has only one catch- they get to come back in.

Every time.

Time after time.

There's no lock on the Father's door.


Be reminded of what the Father says:

"But we have to celebrate and be glad, because this brother of yours was dead and is alive again; he was lost and is found."

This brother of yours was lost and is now found. Celebrate.