My Part in the Dallas Shootings - Ashley Qualley

My morning started like any other. I was woken up, not by my alarm clock, but by my chubby-cheeked daughter, staring intently into my very-tired face. The kid loves mornings. And she loves breakfast so off to the kitchen I plodded. Coffee for me, chocolate milk for her. Cook up some turkey sausage, cut up the strawberries. Turn on the TV and wait for the decree on what show tickles her fancy. I could perform my morning duties in my sleep. Enter big brother and cue argument over current TV show. Exit me, stage-right, to the bathroom in an attempt to get ready for the day.

As my sleepy trek through the morning continued, I prepared to take the kids to meet a friend at the park. I was met with questions on the location of shoes, whiny voices demanding to watch "just one more show", and a host of sibling arguments loud enough for neighbors to hear. As I rounded the corner into the living room, finally ready to head to the park, I found myself smack in the middle of another dog-fight. This one involved angry screeches and flying hands.

"Shut UP! Shut up! Shut up! Shut up!"

The words were out of my mouth before I fully realized what was happening. Self-control was a thing of the past and, to be honest, it felt good. I continued to bellow at two wide-eyed children as they made a break for their rooms. The wheels were off. Anger erupted from me with such force that the sounds of slamming cabinets and dishes being thrown into the sink filled the air.

Where had I gone so very wrong? How did I go from serving my children breakfast to screaming hateful words that were never allowed in our home? I spent the rest of the day mentally beating myself up, crying to my husband, and apologizing to my two children. Later that night, I sat on the couch, flipping through the TV channels. Breaking news of officers shot in Dallas filled the screen and I sat glued to the story for the next two hours. I was horrified. The world was on fire and it seemed anything was possible. Though yelling at my kids in our living room seemed a far cry from the bodies of fallen officers lining the streets, I couldn't escape the feeling of connection.

The following Sunday, I sat in our Sunday School class, discussing the tragedy in Dallas with friends. One particular women spoke up. A soft-spoken woman, who I could only wish to be more like, said something that cast the bright light of truth on that ugly day.

                   "I  am no different that the man who shot those police officers. Without Jesus, I am capable of anything. Really...I could do unspeakable things if I didn't cling to Jesus."

I will never forget those words. I am capable of anything. My sinner's heart slinks about, ready to pounce on opportunities that feel good in the moment. A mother unleashing anger on her children and a man taking lives at will...they are one in the same. Both offenses lead to death. God accepts no room for qualifying our sins. Death is where all the roads of sin intersect.

                 "For the wages of sin is death, but the free gift of God is eternal life through Christ Jesus our Lord." Romans 6:23

For a church-going gal, I knew the threat of sin in my head. But this particular day of death and destruction and the realization that I hadn't clung to Jesus during a hard moment was now penetrating my heart. I need Jesus every minute of every day. I need His face in my mind, His words in my heart, and my hands constantly folded in prayer, begging Him to see me through this life. I am made in His image, but I will not free from the ability to sin until I reach Heaven. I am capable of anything. We all are. Our days must begin in communion with our Creator. We don't know what each day will hold, but we can be sure Christ is walking alongside us. His call to our life can echo far louder than the temptation of sin. He only asks that we take His capable hand.

                                       

Tag-Ripper by Ashley Qualley

My first day of college. I raced across campus and mentally kicked myself for not looking at the map to ensure I knew where I was headed. Not that the map would've helped. I don't read maps. I use landmarks and hope for the best. In this case all of the landmarks were new and unfamiliar to me at my East Texas university. The August humidity and my quick pace formed a fine layer of sweat under my brand new v-neck top and boot-cut jeans. I'm fairly certain everything about me screamed "FRESHMAN".

I eventually located the Language Arts building and burst through the double doors of my Spanish lab. The professor was already discussing the syllabus and almost every seat was taken. I frantically searched the room for an empty seat and located one right smack in the middle. Of course. As I made my way across rows of students, I could feel all eyes on me. At one point I was keenly aware of my backpack bumping someone in the side of the head. "FRESHMAN". Inches away from the seat and able to see relief on the horizon, I felt something grab the side of my jeans. My brain registered everything that followed in painful slow motion. A fellow female student was tearing away the size sticker than ran down the side of my new size twelve jeans. The horror. All the way down my pant-leg was the number twelve...12, 12, 12, 12. A complete stranger now knew that I was so very freshman with my new school clothes and could tell the world what size jeans I wore. Ouch. She handed me the tag and I spent the rest of that first class staring at my professor in defeat. I knew she was speaking to us, but my size twelve debacle had dulled her voice to a muffled drone in the distance.  What a punch in the gut on what should've been a monumental day.

Four years later, despite that first day in Spanish lab, I became a college graduate. Somehow, I managed to put my embarrassment aside, made incredible, laugh-out-loud memories, found a love of writing, and graduated with honors. I am the poster child for underdogs everywhere. But in all seriousness, since stepping into the adult world after college, I've started to measure my relationships with women against the Great Tag Ripping of 2000. What that random girl did for me the first day of school was, in reality, a great kindness. She had options. She could've left the tag right where it was so students all over campus could have a good laugh at my expense as I migrated from class to class. Instead of immediately handing me the tag, she could have waved it around for other students to see. She certainly had a funny enough story! But this particular girl made the choice to quickly remove a very obvious sign that I was a freshman mess and did it discretely. Though it smarted, she did the best thing for me. I don't remember her name or her face, but I do know that she acted as a friend in the great community of women.

When I look at the women in my life, I now ask myself if I'm acting as a kindly Tag-Ripper. Am I able to withhold judgement and offer help where it is needed? Do I wave my friends' weaknesses in their face and make light of areas in which they struggle? Do I protect fellow women from the gossip and ugliness of others? The answers vary, depending on how close to Jesus I'm drawing at any particular time. The farther I walk down my own road and not that of my Savior, the more likely I am to fall down on the job as Tag Ripper. The Bible says, "There are friends who destroy each other, but a real friend sticks closer than a brother" (Proverbs 18:24). I don't know about you, but I want to be a friend who sticks closer than a brother, a Tag-Ripper. The world might just want to know a little more about our Jesus if there are more of us out there looking out for each other.

Brain Teasers: Jennifer Miller

I have never ever enjoyed brain teasers.  You can call them brain games or mental challenges but whatever two word-pairing you derive will simply equal awfulness to me.  I am simply not patient enough, nor smart enough, and don’t find any enjoyment from teasing my brain.  My brain works hard enough to just function…let’s leave the teasing to a fine tooth comb and some aqua net.

My dad; however, loves brain teasers.  Some fathers receive ties on Father’s Day…nope, my dad wants brain teasers.  He loves them... get the ring off the two horse shoes – done; jump all those little golf tees on the triangular base and only leave one – no problem; figure out who sat next to whom on five different trains arriving in 13 different countries at 52 different times – solved and solved.  A vivid early childhood memory I have is my Dad receiving a new-fandangled toy:  The Rubik’s Cube.  Ever the thinker and problem solver that he was, he sat down with a piece of paper and began to work out equations on how to solve this cubed puzzle.  After a few weeks he was able to solve it…I could twist and turn to my heart’s content and hand it to him and he could pattern logic his way to get all those colored squares back together again.  Fabulous!  One afternoon, I found myself alone with The Rubik’s Cube. I happily did some twisting and turning in an effort to try and line up the colors.  I thought I could get them all straight but it seemed the more I turned the more jumbled things got. I had no plan or logic – I just twisted. I couldn’t figure it out but I was not going to let this toy get the best of me.  After a good effort (which probably equated to 2 total minutes) I dug my fingernail underneath one of those colored stickers and low and behold it peeled right off.  Fantastic!  I set out and pulled off each and every sticker and was careful not to lose any.  I re-pressed and re-sealed each sticker into their rightful blocks of color.  I didn’t put any thought as to where the colors should go…just that the colors should fill a side.  I wasn’t trying to make red next to yellow or blue next to green…I just slapped the stickers on there.  When my dad got home I proudly plopped it into his hand and pronounced that I had solved it.  He didn’t notice the altered cube…at first.  In fact, I had done quite a good job at reattaching all those stickers.  The problem came when he tried to solve the puzzle after it was mixed up again.  He had a set of equations and turns that matched the original color scheme.  Unfortunately, where the colors were placed mattered, and although visually looking correct, my deception was found out because it was not the exact replica that my father was used to working with. It was clear that I had messed with the original design of the toy and compromised the integrity of the game.  I am not sure what my consequence was…but I am certain it was not as harsh as it should have been. 

Much to my father’s dismay, I think we have reached the shallow end of the gene pool for solving brain teasers starting with my generation.  Unfortunately, my children don’t seem to be fairing much better with them.  I remember when they were little introducing them to the wonderfulness that was the “20 questions” game.  We were waiting in a doctor’s office far past humanly possible and insanity was setting in.  I brilliantly thought a game of 20 questions would be just what we needed to pass the time.  Here is the scenario as it played out each.and.every.time.

Me:  (after explaining all the rules) “ok I have thought of something” (a dog)

Child one:  is it a basketball?

Me: ummm…no – and you should start with something more general like “is it a person place or thing?”

Child two:  is it a person place or thing?

Me:  it is a thing

Child one:  is it my foot?

Me: no…and wow that is specific.  Again – think of categories or bigger broader groups of items

Child two:  is it Dad?

Me: no – that is a person…I said it was a thing

Child one: is it Q-tip?

This would continue with each child naming random specific things that came to mind until I just gave up and finally this happened:

Child one:  is it a cup?

Me:  yep – you got it…I was thinking of a cup.

See what I did there….I just made a lie the truth.  And crazily enough they bought it and were extremely satisfied with themselves for guessing the right object and we celebrated by them wanting to play another round.  Sigh …serenity now.

Despite my dislike for brain teasers, I can’t seem to get away from them.  I encounter them every day.  Not The Rubik’s Cube or 20 questions variety of brain teasers… but a different kind of brain game: recognizing the twists of truth and lies from Satan.  He packages a thought in my brain and makes it so palatable that I buy into it and believe a lie as the truth. It is who he is – and he is good at messing with my brain.    If I don’t examine the words he whispers against the truth of what my Heavenly Father has said in scripture, I will not be able to clearly see that what Satan is telling me is not an exact replica of what is found in scripture. 

… the lie of being “less than”

… the lie of thinking that my sin is not so bad

… the lie of not seeing my priorities as misaligned

Thankfully I have a model in the life of Jesus as what to do when I encounter these brain teasers. 

Mark 4:3-11

“The tempter came to him and said, “If you are the Son of God, tell these stones to become bread.” ⁴ Jesus answered, “It is written: ‘Man shall not live on bread alone, but on every word that comes from the mouth of God.’”

⁵ Then the devil took him to the holy city and had him stand on the highest point of the temple. ⁶ “If you are the Son of God,” he said, “throw yourself down. For it is written:

“‘He will command his angels concerning you,
    and they will lift you up in their hands,
    so that you will not strike your foot against a stone.’”

⁷ Jesus answered him, “It is also written: ‘Do not put the Lord your God to the test.’”

⁸ Again, the devil took him to a very high mountain and showed him all the kingdoms of the world and their splendor. ⁹ “All this I will give you,” he said, “if you will bow down and worship me.”

¹⁰ Jesus said to him, “Away from me, Satan! For it is written: ‘Worship the Lord your God, and serve him only.’”

¹¹ Then the devil left him, and angels came and attended him.

Each and every time Satan uses a lie … twisted truth to tempt Jesus.  Jesus’ example to us is profound.  He does not rely on his feelings or even on what he thinks – He relies on what he KNOWS.  His response is always examining what was said against scripture to test its truth.  When what Satan said was found as a lie, Jesus responded by quoting scripture.  He knew the scriptures well and had them memorized.  He knew these were brain teasers – that what Satan offered was not truth - and our Lord called Satan out on it. 

When I find myself staring into the face of a “brain teaser” from Satan, my prayer is that I will recognize it as a lie and search out the truth.  While I may not be able to have scripture “at the ready” for every scenario like Jesus did – I pray that I would seek it out…write it out…and say it out loud to combat the lies.  Here are some examples of the brain teasers that I have encountered recently:

Satan came to me and whispered, “Jesus died for you…But I’m not sure why because you are severely blowing this whole parenting, wife, friend thing.  With your issues it is no wonder you feel alone” But I said to him, “The Lord my God is with me, the Mighty Warrior who saves.  He takes great delight in me; in His love He will no longer rebuke me, but will rejoice over me with singing (Zephaniah 3:17).  “And I am certain that God, who began the good work within me, will continue his work until it is finally finished on the day when Christ Jesus returns.” (Philippians 1:6)    

Then the devil took me to my sin and said, “this is not so bad…you lied because you wanted to keep people happy and Jesus wants you to keep the peace and unity in the body of Christ”.  But Jennifer said “The LORD detests lying lips, but he delights in people who are trustworthy.” (Proverbs 12:22)  

The tempter came to her and said, “It’s ok that you haven’t spent time with God this week – He will understand… You are serving on church committees and doing good things for your family.” But Jennifer answered, “In everything you do, put God first, and he will direct you and crown your efforts with success.” Proverbs 3:6

As you start your day, consider this prayer:

Lord, even before I get out of bed, I acknowledge that Satan is waiting to throw some brain teasers into my day.  Help me see truth today – I want to walk in that truth.  Help me to plainly see lies and use scripture to combat those lies.  Your word is ever true and unfailing.     

I would love to hear from you…what are some brain teasers you encounter? What truth from scripture do you use to shine truth into it?

The Follies of Fear- Ashley Qualley

I heard the words when I was nineteen. "You have cancer". Nineteen and my most pressing problems had been nailing down a college minor and getting a ride home for Easter. I watched my mother slump into a chair in the living room as she absorbed the shock of what my surgeon had just told her over the phone. I distinctly remember trying to wave away the fog as I got into her face and demanded, "What about school? Can I keep going?" That's a teenager for you. Invincible...bullet proof...blissfully unaware of how quickly life can change.

To say God saw me through that period of life would be a gross understatement. He encircled me with the most fiercely loyal group of friends...friends who still take their job very seriously today. I started dating my future husband! I transferred home to a college that cultivated my love of writing. (Thanks, Professor Schrodt!) And I was able to spend extra time with my parents, brother, and sister. I'm fully aware that moving back home and being around one's family more is quite the opposite of most college students' plans. Coming home typically receives a social demerit! But God used that time to help me celebrate the family he'd given me. There were coffee dates with my mom and blues concerts with my dad. I secretly taught my baby brother to drive and carpooled to classes with my sister, sharing inside jokes and laughter so hysterical it made us cry. There was goodness radiating from my life in the midst of the doctor visits and blood tests. I did not know the length of time my bout with cancer would last, but I also didn't spend much time dwelling on it. I was far too immersed in the gifts my Father continuously dropped in my lap during that period. 

After two years, my same grandfatherly surgeon sat before my mother and I in his office. He gave me the news I'd been waiting to hear. My health checked out and I was officially free of the cancer life. I wasted no time. I graduated college, packed up my car, and moved away. I was thankful for my time at home, but ready, again, to be out in the world on my own. There were jobs, apartments, successes and failures. I was engaged, then married, then moving to another town. There were trips, more jobs, babies, another move, and a lot of life in between it all. Not once did I stop to evaluate the twists and turns of my journey or my decisions based on being a cancer survivor. Those words weren't even part of my vocabulary. Cancer was not who I was...it was a mere blip in a long adventure where God was continuing to reveal goodness to me. 

Sometime in the last two or three years, however, things have changed. I have privately labeled myself "Cancer Survivor". I find myself obsessing over those dreaded what-if's. I look for symptoms of possible new illnesses and run through worst-case scenarios in the dead of night when fear is the most consuming. Cancer attacks me in a way it hadn't before, mentally and spiritually...fourteen years after the fact. I attribute this change to three few things. First, I became a parent! Even the most seasoned mother or father has experienced the sheer panic that comes from realizing you have no control over your time on earth with your children. To love someone so much and know you can be ripped apart at any time makes me ill and utterly helpless. Second, I've slowly taken over control of my life, instead of relying on Christ to drive. I hold on tightly to the lie that I can will things to happen or not, based on how well I plan and plot. Finally, I stopped focusing on the gifts in my life as God-given. I view them as things I've created or worked for. The pure "Thank you" 's I uttered to God while driving through traffic to make doctor appointments during the cancer years have turned into lip service in my healthy years. I make myself too busy to stop and see that the same goodness that was there fourteen years ago is still surrounding me today, not by my merit.

Last week, in my quest to control and predict, I went to a check-up at the dermatologist. I'd made myself sick for two weeks, worrying about what the doctor might find on my skin (I'm an avid sun-worshiper). The appointment ended up lasting less than thirty minutes and I walked away with a thumbs up from the doctor. I expected to dance back to my car with the weight of the world off my shoulders. What I found, instead, was a black hole where my anxiety about the appointment had been. The hole was sucking away any possible relief or gratefulness and already on the hunt for something new to fret over. I was shocked...and immediately exhausted. The cycle of fear showed no signs of slowing, despite my best efforts. 

Discouraged and attempting, desperately, to mask it, I stumbled upon a verse in 1 Samuel:

"But be sure to fear the Lord and faithfully serve Him. Think of all the wonderful things he has done for you." 1 Samuel 12:24 (NLT)

This verse was my homecoming, much like going back to the comfort of my family when I became sick at nineteen. Everything that I lacked and had forgotten was contained in these living words. The only fear the Lord commands in a holy reverence of Him. Human fear is not of God, period. He desires faithful service and a grateful heart. What simple commands and here I had let so much that was not of God into my heart and mind. I could feel myself being brought back to that place of trust I'd lived in as a teenager. 

In an effort to continue my transparency, I will admit that my proclivity for fear and worry still serves as my natural train of thought. (Plus it's only been a week since finding the verse!) And this is, precisely, why God gave us his Word, to transform and renew us. I am being transformed daily...hourly as I infuse my thought process with the words from 1 Samuel. I am letting go of the uncertain, the control, and the thankless spirit. God is, today, doing a work in my life far greater than when he released my body from cancer. He is surrounding me with the goodness that I witnessed as a mere kid and He promises to continue. May you, sister, fear the Lord and leave the rest at His feet. 

My Evolution with Tejano Music - Jenn Miller

 Here is a little background…I love sleep – I am really quite good at it.  When someone asks me what my hobbies are, I suppress the strong urge to blurt out “napping”.  That said, the time period in my life with my first newborn was challenging…to put things mildly.  Sleep deprivation was wicked and I did not process it well.  I decided early on that I could not sleep with Alyse in the same room with me.  Every little sound she made jolted me awake which provided for disjointed and erratic sleep.  The solution was for me to sleep upstairs with Alyse but in a different room.  Anxious and desperate for sleep I plugged in the baby monitor in her room, took the “walkie talkie” portion to my room and lay down blissful with thoughts of sleep.  It took approximately 30 seconds before I processed what was happening…Tejano music was coming out of the baby monitor.  Panic.  I tip toed into Aly’s nursery and changed the channel on her monitor and likewise changed the channel on my receiver.  Nope – still Tejano.  There were 3 channels to choose from and all produced the plucky sounds of Tejano from the monitor. AYE CARRAMBA! 

I barely slept at all that night.  The next morning I explained to Doug (probably more like hormonally fell apart in a meltdown any toddler would be proud of) that Tejano music was coming out of the monitor.  We decided that surely this was a fluke thing and I would give it another try that night.  Money was not free flowing in our household so I didn’t want to just race out and purchase another monitor.  I had researched all baby monitors and this one had gotten 4 baby fist pumps (or some other crazy rating system they use) and so I was determined to try and make this monitor work.  Nope.  Night after night – Tejano music.  We discovered that the local Tejano station was about a mile from our home and the frequency they used perfectly matched the same frequencies used for baby monitors.  No bueno. 

Completely delirious from lack of sleep during this phase of life, my quiet times with God consisted of reading through the Psalms.  It was about as much as I could mentally muster up to read a Psalm each night.  Psalm 6:2  “Be merciful to me, Lord, for I am faint; O Lord, heal me, for my bones are in agony.  How long, O Lord, how long?”   Clearly David’s inspiration comes from the same “infant doesn’t sleep coupled with Tejano baby monitor issue” I was having because what else could have prompted the songs of lament he wrote.  David and I were simpatico. 

I can’t recall when I finally ditched the Tejano singing monitor and just listened for Alyse to cry out but it was at least a few months.  I built a true disdain for all things Tejano during that time period.

Alyse was still an infant when I decided to take a trip to visit my parents in Houston.  Doug was out of town and I thought a 5 hour car trip alone with an infant would be an awesome idea (I have heard people don’t make their best decisions when they are sleep deprived).  The trip was going along well at first.  We had made a few pit stops to change a diaper and eat.  Right after one such pit stop, Alyse began to lose her mind.  I knew she was not hungry or dirty as we had just stopped for those things.  She was fighting sleep and there was nothing to do but just keep driving.  Whew – she had quite the cry out going so I decided to turn on the radio to try and find my happy place.  Unfortunately, we were in some podunk little town and music choices were limited….except guess what came through loud and clear?  Yep – Tejano.  A flood of bitterness fell over me and I was jamming my finger on the “skip forward” button, but there was a lag so the music blared out…and then it happened… Alyse stopped crying.  The music was so different from anything SHE had heard that it was enough to break the freak out cycle.  I simply couldn’t believe it.  The music that I had such animosity towards for months was bringing comfort to a current situation.  I flat out set the dial to that channel and we listened to Tejano music until she fell asleep.  Magnifico.

Since that day, I have always kept a radio station channel with Tejano music.  (Shout out to 99.1) When Alyse and Grant were smaller and would begin to get pesty to each other in the back seat of the van – I dialed up Tejano.  They would swivel their heads around and begin to bop up and down and temporarily forget the “will you stop touching me” moment. 

Fast forward to today and my sweet Alyse is almost 12.  You know…the age of all knowing everything.  I find it simply a feat of amazingness that I have managed to stay alive for 41 years without her “advice and input”.  During this season our tastes are quite different…and that includes music.  There is a current pop song that has a lyric that says “I can’t feel my face when I’m with you…but I love it”  Alyse doesn’t appreciate when I tell her that this man clearly has health issues and should see a dr.  I further explain that maybe it is a side effect of that toenail fungus medicine they advertise on TV – it seems that for all the good it does, there are quite a bit of awful side effects and bell’s palsy was mentioned – an indicator that something is amiss. …. Eye rolling commences and Alyse just sings louder.   

Alyse typically jumps in the car after school and answers my obligatory school questions and then begins to press all the programmed buttons on the radio.  One day recently, all her radio stations were running commercials so she got to the last button on pre-programmed buttons…Tejano.  She gave me a crazy look and I simply said, “Tejano…who can’t be happy listening to Tejano”.  We laughed out loud and then both began to dance in the car together.  We understood not one word…but didn’t have to.  We bonded together over the sweet sounds of mariachi.  She now regularly finds the Tejano station when we are in the car.  I consider it a win as she is reaching out to connect us together (and I am not being subjected to listening to songs where people can’t feel their face). 

In these moments of listening to Tejano with Alyse I am struck by Romans 8:28,

“And we know that in all things God works for the good

of those who love Him".

You might think I am reaching to lump Tejano music into God working all things.  But I need to put it there.  I need to see His hand working in ALL things.  Not just financial things…not just things for successful people or nice people, not just working in BIG things or in your things…but in ALL things.  If I can see His hand working to redeem my issue with Tejano music it helps me cling harder to this promise:  I can trust that He indeed does work ALL things for my good…even Tejano music! 

Gloria a Dios

Living By The Volcano - Ashley Qualley

I recently took the trip of a lifetime. I am a Christ-follower and was told this was the trip I needed to take. If I visited anywhere worth hopping a plane for ten-plus hours...over an ocean...this was it. Yep, Israel. The Holy Land. The birthplace of the Christian story. Heck, the beginning of the world's story. Surreal as it is even now to think about, I went to Israel!

I traveled and explored the Holy Land with my husband's bosses, two locals. I was able to see sights that might not have been an option for those on a tour bus. I listened to their stories of life in Israel and how, being Jewish, shaped those experiences. I hung on every word and soaked in each bit of rich detail, theory, and memory. I was amazed by how little I actually knew about the place where my faith started. I recall saying, "I wish I could think of a better word than 'wow'. I know I've said it about a zillion times!" My two hosts just chuckled and continued to graciously show me their world.

On our second day in Israel, we were returning from the Northern portion of the country with one of our hosts. I saw mine fields and rubble where Israeli troops had fought off Syrian attackers in the 1970's, Our host shared his memory of this particularly bloody time. He was only five years old and watched his father leave home in a hurry to fight with the army. I asked him if his own children had experienced similar horrors in their lifetime. He said that they had and he was sure that at least one child had some sort of anxiety as a result. I prodded further, asking if he would ever consider moving his family to another country more stable and predictable. "There is an old Israeli song about a man that lives near a volcano. His father lived by the volcano. His father's father lived near the volcano. He knows what could happen, but he will not leave. The volcano is his home." No further explanation was needed. I understood. The powder-keg, known as Israel, that the world so closely watched was this man's home. 

The next evening, my husband and I found ourselves returning from the Dead Sea with the other host. As we drove along the sparkling blue water, he told us of the hardships his family had endured. Both parents were dead, his grandparents were Holocaust victims. His wife had seen such unspeakable sights that she does not claim the God of her land. I broached the same subject as I had the day before. Would he consider packing up and leaving his home for something more safe? As if on repeat, I heard the words echoed from the day before. "There is an old song about a volcano. A man lives by it because it is his home. He knows nothing else." These words rung loudly of a strong, resilient people who I was, quite frankly, falling for. This was a group that knew the risks that lurked at every turn in their lives. They had lived in ugly, soul-crushing times. And, yet, here were two of their own, boldly announcing that they would not be driven out by fear. Oh how I yearned, in that moment, to be more like the Israeli people.

The next morning, I woke up with a start in our hotel room. My heart was pounding and there was a pit in my stomach. I could hear my husband whispering into the phone from the bathroom. I hurried to kick off the covers and get to him as quickly as possible. As I approached, I could hear him saying, "Why did this happen to her? Do they know what caused it? Do you think we need to come home?" His tone told me all I needed to know. Tragedy had occurred on one side of the world while we were on the other. After fifteen agonizing minutes of waiting, I learned that his mother had been taken to the hospital, gone through emergency surgery, and was now in the ICU. My husband's parents had been watching our children, who were now under the care of family friends. My husband choked up as he relayed our four and two year old asking about their grammy. Our daughter, especially, had taken the separation difficultly and cried herself to sleep on the bedroom floor.

After discussing different options for getting back to our children, my husband left for work. He promised to notify me as soon as he had a plan in place. This was the day that I had originally set aside to explore Tel Aviv on my own. I'd been thrilled at the possible sights and sounds that lay before me. Now, however, a thunderstorm kicked up from the Mediterranean Sea and brought howling winds and buckets of rain down on the city. I was held hostage in my small hotel room as I waited out the storm for hours. Images of my children, confused and desperate for their parents, surfaced again and again. I pictured my mother-in-law, surrounded by doctors and nurses. Fear enveloped me like an ever-tightening straight-jacket. These things taking place were some of my greatest fears. Someone I dearly loved was hooked up to beeping machines, blinking alarms, and a cocktail of IV's. Additionally, my children and I were separated by thousands of miles in the midst of this crisis. Panic was crouching nearby, waiting to feed off of my isolation and heartbreak.

As I neared the breaking point that raw fear brings, the words of our Israeli hosts drifted gently back to mind. "He knows what could happen, but he will not leave. The volcano is his home." A peace passed over my heart and a calm settled in. Clearly, God's saints were praying. As I stilled myself on the hotel bed and listened to the rain, a thought began to form. The Israeli people were not the only ones living by a volcano. In a broken world full of sin and uncertainty, we all live by some form of volcano. Some volcanoes do, in fact, take the form of violence and a country on the brink of disaster. Yet other volcanoes look smaller, but, nonetheless, have the potential to erupt. Watching a loved one fight for their life, seeing a child suffer, enduring years of marital strife...these are very real struggles. This world is full of volcanoes...powder-kegs waiting to go off in our faces...which is why the grace and gift of Jesus' love is all the more powerful.

"You, dear children, are from God and have overcome them because the one who is in you is greater than he who is in the world." (1 John 4:4 NIV) We do not need to seek a place free of volcanoes. Such a place does not exist on this earth. Rather we seek the One who gave His life for us, that we would know a life without fear and isolation. Believers, live confidently by the volcano with the Son near your side. Such a life is bound to bring glory to our Father.

Blessings to you....
Ashley Qualley 

Valentine's Day #MomFail

There are days that the only thing to do is to call a friend and laugh your way through it. Thank you Mom, for being my laughter today as I was filled with #momfails and it’s only 11:30 am.

First of all, I get up this morning and realize that my only success for the Valentine’s Day party was that I had purchased the box of Star Wars Valentine’s cards yesterday at Target. I hadn’t even begun to do them. I took them out at breakfast and was scrambling to tear them at the perforated edge without tearing the actual card. Who designs these things? I’m on the third or fourth one when I see these little things that look like stickers, but then I see that they are tattoos and there are these teeny tiny slits in the cards that these teeny tiny tattoos are supposed to fit into. Really? I quit. I put them all down because, at this point, we are already going to be 15 minutes late to school.  This is officially mom fail #1.

We arrive at school and I see these sweet other moms gathered around the door chatting and they’ve got these adorable boxes in hand and I realize, “Oh geez, I didn’t even think about your Valentine box for the valentines you’ll receive.” I look at Wes and say, “Hey man, listen, I’m going to head home and get your valentines and your valentine box and I’ll bring them to school later, okay?” He looks at me with this sad look and says, “Are the other moms bringing them later too?” Knife. In. Heart. Mom fail #2.

I head to Target where I intend to buy a valentine box and nope, apparently there are none to purchase. Am I the only one that thinks there is market out there for this type of thing? C’mon people. There are moms that just want to buy the valentine box. I love being crafty, but it is just not my gift. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not downing myself…I know my gifts… I can give my kid a really good speech on why we believe the way we believe. I am pretty good at teaching him how to use his words and I can hold my own when he has a fit. This pinterest mess though, I just don’t do it well. I also must admit I am that personality type that if I can’t do it perfectly, I don’t want to do it at all. So when it comes to these things, I must unconsciously block it out because I don’t want to fail at it. So anyway, I’m at Target searching for a really cool boy valentine box and there is nothing! I head home empty handed. Mom fail #3.

I get home and decide to use some storm trooper wrapping paper around a cereal box.  I print off a picture of Star Wars and tape it to the back. Done. Not bad. Whew. I made it back to his school (1 hour before the party starts at lunch) and I pull him out of class and say, “Hey Wes! Look here. I’ve got you a Star Wars Valentine box to collect your Valentines. Here are the Valentine cards for your friends and here are two bags for your teachers.” I open the door for him to go back to class and as I am shutting the door, the class is quiet as the teachers are teaching and I hear him YELL, “Hey everyone! I’ve got my Valentine’s now! I’ve got them!” Wah wah. He might as well have just walked into his classroom and said, “Hey everyone! My mom is the mom that brings in my assignment 1 hour before the party! Cool huh?!?!” Mom fail #4.

Mom fail #5 might be the ridiculousness of guilty thoughts like, “My kid won’t ever have a memory of making his 4 year old valentine box. Such a loss. And what if he doesn’t learn how to give because he didn’t spend the time making the valentines?” … and so forth. Such is a mom’s thought life.

Welp, that sums up our morning. Let’s hope for an uneventful afternoon.

So moms, when you feel like you're the only one that fails, rest assured, I am here and will keep you company. I'm certainly glad that God extends His grace!