Harvard Professor on the Origin of Life

I've been listening to Mark Driscoll's (Mars Hill Church in Seattle) sermon series on doctrine while I work out. It's kind of like systematic theology in a nutshell. I'm loving the refresher on some of my classes at SBTS from last year and would commend the series to you if you're looking for a little theological nibble. (You can download it for free on iTunes under Mars Hills Church.)

In his sermon on creation, Driscoll quotes Nobel Prize winner and Harvard biology professor Dr. George Wald:

"When it comes to the origin of life, we have only two possibilities as to how life arose. One is spontaneous generation arising to evolution; the other is a supernatural creative act of God. There is no third possibility…spontaneous generation was scientifically disproved one hundered years ago by Louis Pasteur, Spellanzani, Reddi, and others. That leads us scientifically to only one conclusion- that life arose as a supernatural creative act of God…I will not accept that philosophically because I do not want to believe in God. Therefore, I choose to believe in that which I know is scientifically impossible, spontaneous generation arising to evolution."

Hmm. So a Harvard biology professor is basing his understanding of the origin of life on a personal philosophical preference? Pretty scary, when you consider how widely accepted this disproved theory is in the scientific community today. (If you don't believe me, check out my post on the documentary Expelled.)

I love what Driscoll says to encourage the Christian who isn't sure what he believes in the old earth/new earth debacle that divides so many Christians today:

"To my Christian brothers and sisters, who say 'I believe in one God who created the heavens and the earth and I don't know how old the earth is...,' do not feel ashamed and embarrassed that somehow you are negating scientific methodology and coming to your presuppositions with biases. You are coming to the same logical conclusion as a Nobel Prize winner, and you are accepting the facts where he is unwilling to, by his own admission."

For since the creation of the world God's invisible qualities—his eternal power and divine nature—have been clearly seen, being understood from what has been made, so that men are without excuse.
Romans 1:20

Grandma

During my sophomore year of college, I took a nonfiction writing class with Josephine Humphries, an acclaimed Southern fiction and nonfiction writer with whom I was enamored. One day in her office, Jo asked me what I wanted to write that semester. When I told her I didn't know, she replied, "I know. You want to write something true." I always thought that was beautiful. The problem with wanting to write something true, though, is that it is a daunting thing. I'm finding that's especially the case when one wants to write about someone who is gone. At least, that's how it's been in these weeks following my grandma's death.

Oh how I want to capture her spunk and grace and generosity! But language, much as I love it, is so limiting. I've decided to summon up my courage and give it a go because remembering is therapeutic.

Grandma's love for me--for all of us girls (her daughters and granddaughters)--was so lavish. You could see it in the candy bowls that littered her game table. No matter the occasion, one candy bowl just wasn't enough. There were usually at least six, all filled with our favorite candy. Chocolate covered raisins for Dad, Butterfingers for the Brown girls, Grandpa's favorite spice drops, boxes of Russell Stover that we all loved, and other treats that changed seasonally. As for me, I didn't discriminate. (I inherited my sweet tooth from Grandma Russell and Grandpa Corwin, my mom's mom and my dad's dad.)

There was also a kitchen drawer filled to nearly over flowing with Bazooka bubble gum, of which we were allowed to eat as many pieces as we wanted. My cousins and I would "chew the sugar out"--as Grandma put it--of one piece, and then go back for another and another, relishing the jokes and the juicy sweetness of each piece. At Grandma and Grandpa's, I was never told to save room for dinner. It was perfectly acceptable to munch on candy and chew bubble gum until I was nearly sick. And even after all that, I was still allowed to have desert: usually a bowl of ice cream with chocolate sauce and the four or five different kinds of sprinkles my grandparents kept in their pantry for just such occasions. (No one else ate them except for me.) Luckily, each of us had a toothbrush at Grandma and Grandpa's as well. It sounds like a silly comparison, but from my grandma, I learned what God's abounding generosity looks like. He isn't stingy with His forgiveness or His blessings; He never holds out or tells us to save room later. He wants us to be filled to overflowing with His sweet gifts.

It wasn't just with sweets that Grandma was lavish--her affection for us was so sincere. The Dean-Russell women are expressive almost without exception. In fact, the family tie to Mary Todd Lincoln reminds us all that we have to watch this about ourselves, lest expressiveness turn to craziness! But oh, how I love expressive, warm people, and Grandma was the epitome of expressive and warm. You would walk into her house and her whole body would just tremble with excitement. And then she would hug you--the best hugs in the whole world, I think!--and then quickly hold you at arms length again so she could look you over. At that, she would promptly exclaim "Gorgeous, gorgeous, gorgeous!" her mannerisms oozing excitement. I'm not sure, actually, if she said that to everyone, or just to me. Maybe she had her own special greeting for each of us. Regardless, it's one of the things I've missed most about her--knowing I'll never again hear her say that this side of Heaven. It's a beautiful thing to know love like that: that someone so genuinely delights in you. The security that came from that kind of love freed me to love her in a really special way.

Grandma was always up for anything. When 101 Dalmations came out in theaters, she and my Aunt Kathy took the four of us girls to see it in Champaign. We all loved it so much that when it was over, Grandma exclaimed, "Do you want to see it again?!" Of course we were delighted, so she went and paid for six more tickets. I think that was the only time in my life I ever watched the same movie twice in a row in the theater--it was such a treat!

I think it was Grandma Russell who taught me to love sleepovers. I always felt so lucky as a little girl because I had two grandmas, and both of them would sleep in my bed with me when I stayed at their houses or when one came to stay with me. There were so many fun sleepovers at Grandma and Grandpa's house. The most storied took place every year on Christmas Eve until I was six years old. My three cousins and I would read Jolly Old Santa Claus, a tradition started by our moms and carried on by Taylor and me to this day. Then we would sleep length-wise in a double bed...although, there was never much sleeping. We would lie awake most of the night, listening for reindeer hooves, telling silly stories, and imagining what elaborate gifts would await us in the morning. Even though Grandma didn't sleep with us those Christmases, it was her influence that made them so special. When at last the parents became exasperated by our late night antics, you could still see the twinkle in her eye, discretely egging on our fun.

And for every Christmas sleepover, there were a dozen more everyday ones. My cousin Lindsey and I would plan overnights at Grandma and Grandpa's house every so often. Grandma would crash on the couch with us in the midst of our movie marathons and girl talk. Even into our teens (junior high for me and high school for Linds) she kept this tradition with us. What a girl she was to keep up with us in all our giggles and silliness! These past few years Grandma preferred to stay up late into the night and sleep late in the morning. I often thought of her while I studied at night and wished we lived in the same city. I would have loved to snuggle up with hot chocolate and a movie like we did so many nights at their house growing up.

I know there were many times when Grandma stayed at our house, but I remember two in particular. One was when Taylor was born. I was in kindergarten and was so excited to have a baby sister. But I was also desperately needing some attention (imagine that!) with a new baby around, so it was special to have my Grandma Cherry and Grandpa Corwin there before Taylor LaRue graced us with her presence and Grandma and Grandpa Russell afterward. Grandma and I read a lot together that week and she did all the things my mom would have otherwise done. She walked with me in those first few days of big sisterhood; she was, after all, a big sister herself. I know she was over the moon with excitement about her sweet new baby granddaughter, but I remember feeling just as appreciated and loved by her as ever--what a gift to a six-year-old in the midst of that huge change!

The second time I remember vividly was in third grade. By then, I had a guinea pig, Marshmallow, living in my bedroom. Plenty of seventy-year-old women would have thought this was gross--and actually, Grandma probably did, but you'd have never known it. She even petted my furry little rodent friend and nodded knowingly when I confided that Marshmallow was a Christian. (I had, of course, shared the gospel with her, having not yet understood the theology of souls). Grandma also helped me study for the school spelling bee that week. She was so proud that I had made it to the finals. She had something of a photographic memory and was an excellent speller herself. Just as she did in everything in my life, Grandma cheered me on so enthusiastically that week. She spent hours combing through the thick newsprint spelling guide with me, testing me on harder and harder words and relentlessly going back over the words I had missed. Neither of us are very disciplined people, so I think it's a testament to how much she loved me and to just how much fun she was to be around.

Grandma also introduced me to many new foods. What a cook! Anyone who could successfully convince this picky child to try apple sauce, green beans, vegetable soup, and hamburgers was pretty impressive. And what's more, I actually learned to like those things because of Grandma's cooking. Truly, I didn't eat hamburgers until I was in second or third grade. I'm not sure why, but they grossed me out. And then one night, Grandma and Grandpa fried me up one of their legendary bacon cheeseburgers. My family will tell you that it's Grandma's green beans or cheesy potatoes that take the cake--and those recipes are utterly delicious, to be sure. But take it from me, there is just nothing like one of these burgers. Mom says the secret is that Grandma and Grandpa fry them up really "hot and quick." I think the secret is that they somehow always manage to fry up the best bacon I've ever tasted in my life--it's reminiscent of those Christmas mornings at their house after all the presents had been opened and the kitchen smelled like a little piece of heaven as the skillets sizzled. I'm telling you, those burgers changed my life!

One of the things I loved most about my grandma was the depth of her walk with God. The intensity with which she loved the Lord Jesus was an inspiration to me from a young age--today I consider her one of the spiritual greats (and now she is part of that "great cloud of witnesses" Paul talks about!). In little ways she would impart spiritual wisdom to me just by sharing little tidbits of Scripture in conversation and in the everyday things. She was a mighty, mighty prayer warrior on my behalf and for many others. I know that she and Grandpa prayed for me everyday of my life, not just by name but by specific situations in my life that needed lifting up. They were both so invested in that way, and it showed in the way they asked me about what was going on in my life, and most of all in the way they rejoiced with me when God answered in a powerful way. I think of them as the furnace that has fueled so much of God's blessing in my life--there they were, laying each of my concerns before the Lord. So much of what I've experienced of God, His call on my life, the places He's taken me, I owe to their faithful intercession. The sweetest gift I received at my grandma's funeral services last month were the two women who came up to me to tell me that it was Grandma led them to the Lord. And I know from past stories that there were many more such women whom Grandma walked with and prayed for in hopes that they would know her Savior. What a legacy she has left behind!

Grandma had this rare gift for making things special. As if the extravagant gifts under the tree weren't enough on Christmas morning, our stockings would have up to 20-some gifts in them. Never did Scotch tape and Steak 'n' Shake gift certificates and pretty Post-it notes feel like such treasures! Whether it was a visit to her house, a trip to Curtis Apple Orchard, or just practicing for the school spelling bee, everything was a celebration with her. The girl loved to party!

Oh sweet Grandpa Russell, Grandma Cherry, and Grandpa Corwin: Please know that you are so precious to me, that each of you holds a spot in my heart so dear I can hardly stand it, that I count myself absolutely the most blessed girl in the whole world to have such wonderful people for grandparents--people I would want as friends even if you didn't belong to me! So please don't despair when I say that I just feel orphaned and strangely alone without Grandma Russell. I've always heard people describe that feeling after losing a parent, but you all have been so crucial in my life--in raising me, spoiling me, and lifting me up in prayer--that I think losing one of you is affecting me in a similar way.

I started to feel it coming on Easter if I'm honest with myself. Sarah had come home with Matt and me for the holiday, so I was filled to brim with joy and love to have two of my dearest friends and my parents, Taylor, and my four grandparents all near that weekend. Grandma had not been well the previous time I was home, so I was just bursting at the seams to see her and it was such a special day. At the end of it, I was a wreck. Sometimes the things that are said and the prayers that are prayed when I'm with my grandparents are so sweet that the parting really is difficult and there are some tears. But this time I was just falling apart as I we left and for a good hour on the road back to Nashville with Matt and Sar.

But the last time I saw Grandma was at a party. It is just a perfect last memory and so appropriate, considering that, as my mom says, she was a party girl at heart! And truly, she was in her element that night. It was the hundredth anniversary of Penn. Avenue Baptist Church in Urbana, and by divine appointment, it was also the day I was coming home from Nashville before moving to Connecticut. Grandma hadn't been able to get out much these past few years, so her going to the celebration at church was no small event. Grandpa was looking sharp in a suit and tie, and Grandma, her hair done and makeup perfect, was the life of the party. I pushed her around in her wheelchair (the first time I had ever seen her in a wheelchair) and literally got swarmed by crowds of women who couldn't wait to hug her neck. It was so much fun to watch her just soak it all in, her friends doting on her and telling her how beautiful she looked. As I write this, the tears are coming because I am realizing we didn't take any pictures that night. How I would love to have one of her surrounded by her friends!

I know it's at a party where we'll meet again. Only this will be the Party to end all parties! Maybe it's not the best theology to imagine wearing clothes in Heaven (and I do just hate weak theology). But in my mind's eye, I picture Grandma and myself in party dresses. Maybe with big bows that Grandpa can tie for us (he is really the best at tying bows). Or polka dots. I'm sorry; I just can't picture the Wedding Feast of the Lamb without party dresses--don't judge me!


And oh, will we party!

Kick off our pretty shoes...

dance the night away...

worship the King of Kings.

Party girl style.

Abide with Me

I'll be honest: I still don't have the heart to write about all things I love about my grandma. I'm feeling more joyful thinking about her dwelling in glory with her King, but I'm still so choked up thinking about my memories of her. While I continue to process, one thing has been especially sweet to me.

Over the past few months I've fallen in love with the Indelible Grace project, a musical effort initiated by Reformed University Fellowship at Belmont University in Nashville to resurrect old reformed hymns. At my churches in Richmond and in Nashville, these hymns became widely known, but in New England I'm finding they're still in need of resurrection. All of that just to say, I've been listening to these albums a lot the past few weeks. One of my favorites from the three albums on my iPod is "Abide with Me" because it always reminds me of my grandma Russell.

Once when Grandma was staying with us for a few days she was listening to me practice the piano. I loved hymns then, too, and was playing through a book of them for my lessons. I wasn't familiar with "Abide with Me," having never sang it at church. As I started to pluck out the notes, Grandma R. expressed that it was a hymn she really loved. It became instantly cooler in my eyes and I remember it as one of my favorites from that book.

While I was home this weekend, the fourth verse popped into my head and I realized how perfect it was for this season. We sang it at the funeral service in Champaign.

As I've been walking through this process of grief, the thing that's been most helpful to me is feeling connected to my grandma: knowing we shared common interests or a common personality trait, meeting her old friends, etc. This hymn is one of those "connection points" because I can just imagine her finding comfort in it as she slipped away...and now I am resting in its theology as I mourn. How like God to surface this hymn that we loved together while she was living to comfort me in her death.

Abide with me; falls the eventide;
The darkness deepens; Lord with me abide.
When other helpers, fail and comforts flee,
Help of the helpless, abide with me.

Thou on my head, in early youth didst smile;
And, though rebellious, and perverse meanwhile,
Thou hast not left me, though I oft left Thee,
On to the close Lord, abide with me.

I need Thy presence, every passing hour.
What but Thy grace, can foil the tempter's power?
Who, like Thyself, my guide and stay can be?
Through cloud and sunshine, abide with me.

I fear no foe, with Thee at hand to bless
Ills have no weight, tears lose their bitterness
Where is thy sting death? Where grave thy victory?
I triumph still, abide with me.

Hold Thou Thy cross, before my closing eyes;
Shine through the gloom, and point me to the skies.
Heaven' morning breaks, and earth's vain shadows flee;
In life, in death, Lord, abide with me.

Mother: A Tribute from my Mom to Hers

My Grandma Russell passed away last week and I was at home this weekend for services. I've been so spoiled to have all four of my grandparents--and I think they are just about the coolest people in the universe--living and invested in my life. These days of mourning the loss of my sweet grandma have been so dark...I'm still struggling just to process it. I want to write something to honor her memory and to make her just a bit famous, if only to my six or so faithful readers. But for now, as I try to wrap my head around the emotion of it all, I'll let my mom say what she so eloquently did at both funeral services this past weekend. She will no doubt be embarrassed when she learns I've made her a "guest blogger," but she captured Grandma so beautifully that I just couldn't resist sharing this with you:

Mother had no credits or credentials, professional designations or degrees. The only list of accomplishments she had behind her name is us, her 2 daughters (Kathy and Jennifer), their husbands (Rob and Kevin) who Mother considered her true sons, her 5 granddaughters (Emily, Kelly, Lindsey, Chelsea, and Taylor) and their 3 husbands (Joe, Bob, and Dominic) who Mother also considered her true grandsons, and her two little great grandchildren (Jack and Mollie). She devoted herself to her husband and life-long friend, Bill and their family. She loved her family above everything else on this earth and gave her life serving us most of all. She wanted nothing more than to see each one of us happy and content.

Contentment was a big thing for Mother. Always seeking it herself; having been impacted by Paul’s example in Phil 4:11-12 she strove to learn, “to be content whatever the circumstances.” It was her desire that each of us would know and love the Lord Jesus Christ and find our contentment in Him. I know she is rejoicing, and wants us to do the same, for she has finally found true contentment beyond anything we can know on this earth. And so for that we do rejoice! Always interested in learning, Mother loved to be around interesting, funny, and happy people. She delighted in and was fiercely loyal to anyone she called “friend.” Always thinking of others and desiring to contribute to meeting their needs, she sought to love and serve God by loving and serving people. Well acquainted with pain and loss herself, she was especially sensitive to those who were sad, sick and suffering. How better to minister to someone than through a personal hand-written note or a heartwarming meal? Some women collect tea cups or figurines. My Mother collected greeting cards and recipes so she’d have a ready arsenal from which to choose when someone needed encouragement. All her grandchildren would agree, no one could pick out the perfect card like Grandma Russell! One of the ways we knew we were special is the painstaking efforts she took to get a card that, as she would say, “looks just like you!” And a card was never enough. There would always be a personal note written in perfect handwriting. (As I’ve been sorting and cleaning for Mother these last couple of years I’ve come upon notebook after notebook with personal notes to each of us which she then edited and put in the cards she wrote.)

She held herself to a high standard in this regard. She admired those who seemed to get cards and notes sent on time. Mother had a lot to give and desired to give it all. It upset her that she could never keep up with the need. And it grieved her especially in these later years as she gradually had to give it up altogether. The cards and notes that so many of you have sent to her over the years meant so much to her, too. She kept every one. I know because I’ve just been through them all and she wouldn’t let me throw even one away. She loved to go back and read them again and again. Through them she could feel your love.

And of course, there were many times when a note or card was not enough. Sometimes nothing says lovin’ like bakin’ from the oven! As I recall growing up, it seems there was scarcely a week went by that she wasn’t cooking a meal for someone. And of course she cooked for her family all the time. She really enjoyed fixing meals that we loved.

Mother was a self taught cook. Having lost her mother at age 16 she took up cooking for her “Daddy.” She never tried a recipe that she didn’t improve; always tweaking it to make it better; adding ingredients to make it tastier. Calories weren’t a consideration; fat content was not an issue. Taste! That’s all that mattered. How satisfying was it? To her cooking was both an art – an expression of herself – and a science. Our kitchen often looked like a lab, so many were the pans, dishes and utensils she’d use to create her masterpieces. As I write this I’m so hungry for her vegetable soup I’m sad to think I’ll never taste anything like it again. Always for my birthday she’d make me a batch. We used to tell her she should can and sell it. But, she said it’d be too expensive to market because of the time it took to prepare. We always asked her to write down her recipes and she would try, but since you have to go by taste, nothing Kathy or I make of Mother’s ever tastes as good.

Whether through cooking or writing cards, her aim was the same. She wanted the recipient to “feel the love”–her love for them, but more importantly the love of Christ. To “feel the love” was her theme in life. I can see her holding her grandchildren. As she did you could see her absolute delight in them. She made each feel special, as though they were the only one. Chels always said, and I know all the granddaughters would agree, that Grandma Russell was her greatest cheerleader. She was absolutely captivated by every word they said. It is one of the things I will miss most about her; I could sit and talk with her for hours over every detail of my girls’ lives and she would never tire of hearing it. If it weren’t for Dad’s ability to do the same, and my children’s other grandparents, Cherry and Corwin, I don’t think I could stand it. She wanted no one or nothing to distract her from hearing every word.

Such is the love of a grandparent. But, I’d say Mother had a special gift in this area. She had the ability to get past information to hear your heart! I wouldn’t even have to finish my sentences or sometimes I just wouldn’t be able to find the right words to describe how I was feeling or what I was going through but I didn’t have to – Mother understood and could often articulate for me what I couldn’t articulate for myself. From that I learned something about God. Often I can’t praise Him as I’d like, I can’t articulate adequately what’s on my heart and mind. But, from my mother’s example I know, He understands. Mother “got me” in much the same way as God “gets me”. Very few people “get me” but my mother did just as she “got” all her loved ones. She understood and accepted each one of us just as we are and never sought to change one thing about us; she just loved us each unconditionally.

She loved her husband, my Dad, more than words can tell. Their story together began when they were both just 8 years old. My Grandpa Russell was the Pastor of my mother’s family church. One Sunday morning, unbeknownst to the other, both my mother Charlotte and my father Billy went forward to receive Jesus Christ as their personal Lord and Savior. At age 16 they started dating and the rest is history. This past September 11 they celebrated their 61st anniversary.

Their love story has been an inspiration to all of us daughters and granddaughters. To think they have known, been infatuated with, and loved each other for 75 of their 83 years boggles the mind. No love story could be sweeter and the loss my Dad feels, the loss of his beloved, is beyond comprehension. He has been her companion and lover, and in recent years also her 24/7 caregiver. Such love and devotion reminds me of Christ who demonstrated His love by laying down His life for the church. Mother scarcely made a move Dad didn’t know about this last year or more. Only if he could have wheeled her into Heaven himself might he have found this separation bearable. I’m grateful for all the sweet memories he has of her which will carry him and all of us through the very difficult days ahead. Dad, we’re going to want to hear all the stories about Mother from the early days again and again. They will help us all to heal.

Mother was meticulous about everything except housekeeping. She was, at heart, a girl who just wanted to have fun. Housekeeping was not fun. But what a gift she had for making things feel special! She valued hard work and would exhaust herself to create a holiday, a party, a birthday—each gathering more spectacular than the last. As a result, Christmas at our house was absolutely magical. But whether it was the yearly Easter egg hunt or serving your favorite meal on your birthday, Mother MADE it special; she sweat over the details to make sure it was fun.

She loved numbers and details. Serving as church treasurer at Penn Ave, as Class administrator for BSF, and as head of Wednesday night dinners was a mix that suited her well. She served in these capacities for many years, all at the same time. One job would have been a lot. But, what she considered most fun was being out there doing and seeing; using her gifts and contributing as much as she could.

She was also meticulous about laundry. I don’t know what it was about doing laundry that was fun, but something about it was rewarding. I especially remember as a little girl the hours she would spend ironing. As I think about it now, perhaps it was fun because she could iron while watching As the World Turns, her favorite soap. But the result was crisp, starched dresses whose big bows in the back would stand straight up at attention all through the long Sunday mornings at church. It was Dad’s duty, in helping to get the family ready for church each Sunday morning, to tie those bows right before we left for church and he did it perfectly. Mother and Dad were such a great team, always working together; cooperating like that in little household and family matters.

Another thing about Mother that I will always remember was her determination. When she made up her mind about something, just try—I dare you—just try to change it! Oh, she might look like she was cooperating with you; she was so sweet!! But, soon you’d find she was not cooperating at all! While this meant there was some head butting at times, this steadfast determination served her very well. When she was in the hospital two years ago she developed pneumonia with complications that kept her in nursing care for 90 days. She never wavered in her determination to get well. She was sick to the point of death – we thought one night that we’d lost her. But, she fought like a tiger (Jack, Great Grandma was a superhero tiger grandma! Did you know that?) She fought with every ounce of strength she had not to succumb. And in the months of recovery at Carle Arbors she suffered every kind of indignity, yet she would say, “I can’t let myself get upset about it; I have to reserve my strength so that I can get well and go home.” She handled it all with such dignity and grace. Even in those circumstances she sought to be positive, kind, and gracious to her friends, family and those who served her so well at Carle Arbors. What a great example she was as she persevered to fight the good fight of faith.

It would be an injustice to my mother also not to mention that in all she did to love others, she loved Jesus most of all. Her greatest desire; her motivation was always to point people to the love of the Savior. She never got over what Jesus did for her that Sunday morning when she went forward to receive Christ in my grandfather’s church at 8 years of age. She wanted many things in her life; to travel, to have and enjoy friends, to use her gifts to serve God, to have fun, to learn, to improve herself; but her greatest desire in all that she did was to point others to Christ. In this way, too, she has been a wonderful example for me.

There are so many things about Mother’s life which warrant telling, remembering and treasuring. How can you in one short eulogy ever really capture what a person means to you, her church, or her community; her value, the depths to which she is loved, the grief we feel in loosing her? But, Mother would not want us to wallow in self pity – she hated that! Nor would she want us to stay stuck in our grief. She would want us to fly! She’d want us to remember her at her best, and she’d want us to find joy, peace and contentment in the fact that she is not suffering anymore; that we will see her again; that she is with her Savior and reunited with her firstborn, Caryl Deen, her beloved “Daddy,” Mother, her big sis, Mary, her nephew Chet, and Uncle Art. There is a whole company of believers who’ve gone before her with whom she is celebrating. How could we deny her that? We needed to release her. And we all know she would want us to LIVE and enjoy life NOW with the hope of seeing her again.

Bethel: The House of God

Tonight is my first night in Bethel, in my new apartment, in this home that God has provided. (Well, technically last night was my first night here, but I’m not counting that because it was due to a minor catastrophe involving a lock-out, no heat or blankets, and a pretty sleepless night.) Tonight is the first official night. Tonight is the night my home was filled with friends--new friends who feel like old ones--and with laughter and prayer and big dreams of how God might use this place. Tonight is the night I am rejoicing in God’s provision here in this land that still feels a bit foreign.

Beth’el (pronounced with the accent on el) is the Hebrew word for “house of God.” In the ancient Near East, the word El was a generic word for “god” that the Hebrews used to refer to the one True God, Yahweh (see my post titled HaShem for more on ancient Hebrew names for God). Beth is the Hebrew word for house. Maybe it’s sentimental, but when I started thinking about moving up here to take the job at Walnut Hill, I couldn’t help but want to live in Bethel (rather than Danbury or Newtown or Brookfield) because of the name. I know—nerd city.

Don’t get me wrong; I believe firmly that God’s house, that sacred place where He resides, is no longer a temple made of stone and adorned with blue curtains and bronze and goat hair (Exodus 36). No—the temple is human hearts infiltrated with the Father’s grace, handed over to Christ Jesus, and moved by the Spirit. The church is people, as my friend Eliza likes to say. You and I are Beth’el (1 Corinthians 3:16-17)! Still, God has always used names to emphasize truth. And this name, Bethel, is significant.

Bethel is mentioned 13 times in the book of Genesis. It seems that it was a significant place for both Abraham and his grandson Jacob. Both built altars there to praise God for His provision (Genesis 12 and Genesis 35). Bethel was the place where you could be sure of God's presence.

Fittingly, Bethel was the site of Amos' brief prophetic ministry. There pleaded with the people of Israel-Judah to purify their worship of Yahweh by laying aside cultist ritual and seeking justice. In this way, the transfer of the temple from an external structure to the hearts of believers was foreshadowed.

As I settle into this new home, I'm rejoicing with Jacob, "Come, let us go up to Bethel, where I will build an altar to God...who has been with me wherever I have gone" (Genesis 35:3). Lo, this is the God who is ever-present--in Nashville and in New England--my great Pillar of Cloud who is faithful to lead.

Go Greek!

It's September...and that means football, changing leaves, and of course, at schools across the nation, RUSH! You can read my latest myMISSIONfulfilled.com story on Greek life here.

And for more on Greek ministry, take a minute to check out Greek IV's new video "Joe and Jane Greek!"

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The Cloud Has Settled!

Now that I've been here in Connecticut for nearly a week, I thought I'd post a little update on life in New England:

I arrived on Wednesday after a 15 hour drive from Bloomington, and I began work the very next morning. On Thursday, it appeared that the cloud had indeed settled...along with 50 or so of it's closest friends. Thankfully, the overcast skies have since cleared off and we've been having the first bit of true summer Connecticut has seen yet this year. I still chuckle every time someone complains about how hot the lovely 83 degree days are...these folks sure couldn't hack it in the south! (I'm sure they'll be saying that I'm a wimp come winter...)

This week has been a myriad of random errands (bank account, cell phone, etc.) and just digging into the new job. I'm living with a dear colleague these first few weeks while I get settled and hunt for an apartment. Everyone at the church office has been amazing--I've felt very loved and cared for already! And I've had the opportunity to hang out with lots of people from the church: students, 20s-and-30 somethings, parents, etc. I've located the mall--of course :)--and I've talked with the manager at Williams-Sonoma about transferring my part-time employment from Pottery Barn Kids. Whew! It's been quite a week.

If you think of it, please pray for the following:
-That I will speedily find an apartment and be able to negotiate a more affordable rent. Everything's expensive here! I especially want to be sensitive to where the Lord might want to place me in regards to location and whether or not I have a roommate.

-That I will continue to acclimate quickly to my job. We have two youth retreats coming up a month from now, so I'm already a little behind! Additionally, the new high school youth pastor starts this week, so the Emerging Generations team is in a season of transition right now. Pray that our personalities would mesh for the glory of God.

-That I will develop meaningful community here. I've met lots of wonderful people and I'm so excited to form new relationships! I'm also wanting to connect with sorority sisters from Richmond in the area, so pray that I would be able to balance work, church, and other relationships in a way that honors the Lord and sharpens me.

-That I will make a smooth transition from missing life in Nashville to loving life in New England. I hate the feeling of missing people and missing out on fun times and community in Tennessee, but I continue to sense that this place is going to bless me greatly over the next few years. I've already seen God's graciousness to me as I move from one season into another.

If you want to learn more about Walnut Hill Community Church, visit walnuthillcc.org. You can listen to Senior Pastor Clive Calver's sermons, find out more about the vision of the church, and even browse staff profiles to "meet" my co-workers.

God is on the move at Walnut Hill and in New England! Stay tuned for my musings on Christianity in this corner of the world.

Thanks for waiting on this cloud with me!
Chelsea