OBU, All Hail Thy Name: How a Christian Liberal Arts College Shaped My Life

Hannah in gorgeous Mobile, Alabama, during her visit to the University of Mobile

Livin' the Burg life: it never ceases to tickle me that my European girl quickly finds her roots when she gets to the Burg--riding in trucks, wearing flip flops, and riding horses. We love our Burg family!

Through thick and thin and many, many years and miles, these two have remained devoted friends.

Lookin' like her momma many years back: Han at Kerr Dorm on the campus of Oklahoma Baptist University.

Mankind, He has told you what is good and what it is the LORD requires of you: to act justly, to love faithfulness, and to walk humbly with your God. Micah 6:8


If you are our friends on facebook, you know the last two weeks have been big for Hannah: a visit with her sister, grandparents, aunt and uncle and cousins in Texas, followed by a visit to the University of Mobile, a week plus with her second family in our hometown of Middleburg, Florida, and then a visit yesterday to our alma mater, Oklahoma Baptist University. Of course, Marc and I would love to be able to take her on her campus visits, but we are so, so thankful for friends and family who are always willing to step in and help our kids get things done. Both college visits went really, really well, and we're very excited about what the future holds for our girl. We especially enjoyed phone calls and messages yesterday from OBU's campus, as she met old friends of ours (I wonder how many times she heard, 'I went to school with your parents!'), stayed in my sophomore-year dorm overnight, and walked the campus that so shaped our lives.

I am glad that Sarah Beth went to a small, Christian liberal arts school, and I'm glad those are the kinds of schools Hannah is looking at, too. There is NOTHING wrong (before I get all kinds of messages) with a big, state university education. Nothing. It's no secret that I am very proud of my graduate degree from the University of Florida (Go Gators!). I've done both--the small private college and the big state university. Both have their positives and negatives. But I can honestly say--and I am pretty sure Marc would agree--that besides, of course, my parents, little has had more impact on my life than my undergraduate education at OBU. Here are just a few ways OBU shaped my life.

• Knowing and being known: Even my core classes that everyone had to take--Old Testament, New Testament, Western Civ, etc.--were relatively small. My professors knew me. They didn't just know me by name--they KNEW me. They invested in me. I went to their houses for cookouts. They took me on poetry weekends (Dr. Joe Hall--the professor I most wanted to impress and who found me the least impressive student ever), told me stories about their dogs (Dr. Shirley Jones--who said our first Shakespeare papers were so terrible that she'd lined up her dogs and kicked their legs in her anger--she hadn't), made sure I was prepared for post-graduate exams needed for my teaching license (Dr. Laura Crouch), and told me life wouldn't end because I didn't fully understand transformational grammar, which is basically math with words (Dr. Jones again). Their job was to be the absolute best teachers they could be. And to do that, knowing us and investing in us was of primary importance. 
• A basic knowledge of the trends of history: It was dreaded by everyone (except me, because it was basically my major and minor in one class): Western Civ. Two semesters of wading your way through the literature and history of the western world. Who did you have for Civ? is a question every OBU alum knows to ask. (Jones and Farthing, then Farthing and Watson for me, in case you're interested.) Unlike some people who shall remain nameless (but whose name rhymes with park), I read and devoured every book, every bit of history in those two semesters. When I first started teaching English literature, I based many lesson plans off my Civ notes. And as I've settled my life in Europe for the past seven years, I see God using what I know about western culture to help me understand the places I've lived. 
• Preparation for life: Marc will absolutely tell you that the reason he is a media jack-of-all-trades is because he was trained at OBU, where you had to specialize (his specialty is in video production), but you also had to learn to do everything else in your field at least competently. Know why I'm well-read? Because I didn't have a choice. My professors were determined that those of us with English degrees could read and write and understand the nuances of words and syntax far beyond the level of mere competency. We had a 100% pass rate on the state teacher's exam for a reason: thorough (sometimes painfully so) preparation. Our professors, because they had small classes and were personally responsible for grading papers and exams, knew our strengths and weaknesses intimately. For every student whose paper I have ever marked--blame OBU, and know that my papers looked exactly like that until I improved. 
• Permission to fail: I was not great at everything. Spanish, for example. And I was less-than-gracious when I, for the very first time, failed a test. I'd never failed at anything. I didn't fail academically, as I informed my sweet, wise professor (Senora Pernalete) somewhat caustically. "Well, it seems you have failed this," was her response. Not unkindly, she pointed out that failure was part of learning just as much as success, especially when it comes to learning a language. Boy, oh boy, I couldn't know then what a theme of my life that would become as I learned first Russian and then German. She was right, by the way. Failure is a part of learning. 
• Friendships and family: We have deep friendships from our OBU years. It's wonderful to know all kinds of people, people who agree with you on things, people who don't--both are blessings. But those friendships from OBU are founded and based not only on a shared history (and many, many TBT pictures of really, really big hair), but also on the firm foundation of a love for Christ. A major part of our support system is those folks who have known us through thick and thin for the past 30 or so years. In the midst of all the work for Sochi, Marc received a note--much cherished--from the current president of OBU, simply telling him that the OBU family was proud of him. I cannot remember a week that we haven't received a note from someone from our OBU years telling us we were being prayed for. And when things are not going so well, when it's easy to think this life is one failure after another, someone from our OBU family picks us up, prays for us, holds our hand, and reminds us that they have known us longer than just about anyone, and they love us and believe in us. If you can find that kind of friendship, you should hold onto it tightly. Those friendships are precious treasures. 

Is it possible to get all those things at a big state university? Of course. But I didn't go to a big state university for my undergraduate degree. I went to Oklahoma Baptist University. I majored in English with a minor in history, I sang with the Bisonettes, I had best friends and sorority sisters, I learned to sing "Oklahoma" with even more gusto than in high school, I adored my professors, and I met the love of my life. Today, twenty-five years after graduation, OBU remains a support system and a daily influence on my life: how I study the Bible, how I read books, how I seek justice, work mercy, and walk humbly with my God. I'm profoundly blessed to be a Bison alum, and as Hannah picks her college, my only prayer is that she picks a place she will love and be shaped by like I love and was shaped by OBU. God bless OBU.

His,
Kellye

Face to Face with Bonhoeffer

Hannah and Brinley, who is quite the dramatic girl just like her cousin, Han.

SB and Brinley, who calls her Hannah, too. Brin is quite the character, by all accounts.

Once the expectation that obedience to God's commands will likely lead to suffering of one sort or another has been faced, is not much of the gobbledygook that passes for 'steps to the discernment of God's will' exposed as unchristian and irrelevant? Lurking beneath and behind so much that passes for the pursuit of God's will appears to be the pursuit of 'success' under the guise of words like 'effectiveness' or 'finding God's best.' -- Mark Devine, Bonhoeffer Speaks Today

Today is a little bit sad for us--Sarah Beth and Hannah's visit is over, and SB returns to Arkansas today. A little sad, just because they don't get to be together all the time, but also great, because SB really misses her DJ and Jughead. (Jughead is my grandkitten. He's quite a cutie pie.) They have had a wonderful visit. You see pictures of them with Brinley, my grandniece, who is hilarious. They have loved time with their 'little buddies,' Brinley and her brother, JJ (who is SB's best friend--just ask him). It's no secret that my family is very close, and I think we are all enjoying the chance for my parents to have their grandkids and great-grandkids in close proximity. SB heads back to Arkansas and her beloved today, and Han heads to Alabama and Florida starting Saturday. She'll be visiting the University of Mobile on Monday morning, which is a little surreal but also really exciting for all of us. And yes, she is visiting OBU on July 11th. :)

One of the most fascinating figures of the twentieth century has to be Dietrich Bonhoeffer. If you aren't familiar with his story, you should read Eric Metaxas' incredible biography of him. He was a German pastor, theologian, ethicist and yes, a spy. He worked with the Abwehr officers who plotted to assassinate Hitler. He was hanged in a concentration camp in 1945 for his involvement in the conspiracy. I've read several books about him, but I've come upon a new one that is making me chew on it a bit. It's not a particularly well-written book--maybe a seminary paper turned into a book?--but it is among the most thought-provoking things I've ever read. And indeed, well-written or not, the book makes it very clear that Bonhoeffer--his preaching, his ethics, his writings, his life--has quite a bit to say to the modern believer.

One of the things I've struggled with over the years is a feeling that my spiritual life is too academic, that I am missing out on some special revelation of God in emotional experiences with Him.  For me, the study of the Bible, the study of the commands of God and Jesus, significant time spent in writing and prayer--these are the things that inform my understanding of who Jesus is and what is required of me as His follower. One of the things I really like about the preaching at our Austrian church is that it is so focused on the word of God as it applies to our lives here and now, the things we face here and now. Our pastor does not add. He does not base his sermon on his own experience, though sometimes he adds that in as an anecdote. The basic thrust of his sermons is--this is what God's word says. What will we do with that? It's not that he's unemotional--he's very funny and clearly values a close relationship with God. It's not merely a cerebral exercise for him, nor is it for me. I do have deeply emotional moments with God, especially in worship, most often in music. While at a meeting a few weeks ago, a beautiful and incredibly simple song took me down. I mean, seriously--big, emotional waves of tears at one line--I am Your child. I am in need. Often at church, I have a deeply emotional reaction to the music. (Though I probably interrupt Marc's emotional moment by asking, "Do I know this in English?" which I do about EVERY SONG. Seriously--pray for him. He has a lot to put up with.) So it's not necessarily that I approach faith unemotionally. But the deep growing of my spiritual life does not happen in emotion. It happens in time with God, in study of His word. It happens based not on my experiences or circumstances, but based on what His word says about those experiences or circumstances.

So what does that have to do with Bonhoeffer? He did not place any faith in the idea of a 'special revelation' of God's will. His belief was that God presented us with His Word and His Son, and everything we need to know is there. Does God care what I eat today? Yes, because in His Word He clearly states that my body is the temple of the Holy Spirit, and so I should treat it well. Does He care whether I have the watermelon for lunch or the cantaloupe? Probably not, because neither violates His clear command that I treat my body well. That's a silly example, but one that illustrates the point I'm trying to make. Does God care where Hannah goes to college? Yes, because He cares about Hannah. Is there a 'wrong' choice for her, in terms of God's plan for her life? No, I don't think so. I don't believe God has one path only that's 'right' for your life, and if you miss the mark, somehow--go to the wrong school, marry the wrong person, etc.--that you've messed it up for eternity. I think there is discernment, of course. And there are clear parameters around our lives as believers--don't be tied to an unbeliever in marriage, don't profane God's name, don't lust after what is not yours--but within those parameters, in obeying God's commands, doing things God clearly created you to do, there is an incredible freedom. Does He lead? Yes, through His word. Is there some secret, special riddle I'm supposed to solve in order to know God's 'best'? That hasn't been my experience. He is good and loving and faithful, and His love endures forever. Those are things to take to the bank.

Of course, what's difficult is when you choose a path and find great pain along the way. It's tempting, isn't it, to think that clearly, you made the wrong choice. Because why would God want me to suffer? Well, friends, I have some good news and some bad news. The life of faith is one fraught with difficulty and suffering. Jesus tells us very clearly that in order to be His, we have to die to ourselves, take up our own crosses, and follow Him. Where did He go? A hill called Calvary, where they crucified Him. If that were the end of the story, it'd be a pretty awful story. But of course, it's not the end of the story, but the beginning. He conquered death. He rose again. And His victory over death, over the grave, is ours for the claiming--if we are His. That has to be the best news of all time. So we say yes--to suffering, to eternity, to joy in spite of circumstances--to Him. Not because He makes us feel giddy with emotion, though that happens sometimes. But because He is who He said He is--Messiah, Redeemer, Savior, Friend. Hallelujah and amen.

Bonhoeffer knew, by the way--he knew what would happen if he returned to Germany from America, where he was preaching and studying. He knew he was likely walking into his own death. But the God he found in Scripture, the Christ he knew intimately bid him come and die, and he did so with gusto and a clear conscience. That seems like insanity to a world in which looking out for our own interests is the number one priority. But if the Christian life is guided by the commands Jesus identified as most important: love the Lord your God with all your heart, mind and soul, and love your neighbor as yourself--then it's the only decision that made sense. I pray that when those difficult decisions come my way in life that I make them based on the clear commands of Jesus in Scripture--and not on what my emotions say. Because emotions are unreliable at best and liars at worst. But the God of everything--He is truth and beauty and all things good.

It's time to exercise and clean the shower in Han's room. I know--the glamor of it all. I have an afternoon of fun planned with John, so the morning has to be spent taking care of the less than exciting tasks that have to get done. Wherever you are in the world, I pray that you are daily discovering the God of the Bible and His deep, deep love for you, and that you are going to a movie with your favorite 13-year-old, too. Blessings to you and yours!

His,
Kellye

Family is FOREVER

Well, hi there! Long time no see!!

The LORD's lovingkindnesses indeed never cease, for His compassions never fail. They are new every morning; great is Your faithfulness. Lamentations 3:22-23

Hello! My name is Kellye Hooks. I live in Vienna, Austria. It's nice to meet you! :) Sorry I haven't written in quite a while. Honestly, we've just been running like crazy people in the last few months. Really, since we came back from Sochi--Marc has traveled nearly nonstop, which means the rest of life falls to me. And well...the rest of life, it turns out, takes up a lot of my time. So no big news, nothing terrible to report or great to report, no big announcement today--just a reflection on the last few months and how time is flying.

I get tons of questions about Marc's travel. Let me try to answer them all at once: Yes, it is part of his job. No, I don't particularly love it, but I live with it. No, I don't get to travel with him. Yes, we miss him a lot. Yes, he really loves his job. Yes, the trip after trip after trip is wearing him out. No, his feet aren't any better. There. I think that does it. Seriously, I appreciate the folks who encourage us through the travel. It IS hard. We do get sad when he leaves--and so does he. It's a weird mix, really, of loving what he does and hating to leave us yet again. And, as John has said in the past, it's just not as fun without Dad. (I'm more the 'make sure you brush your teeth' parent. I try to be fun. But I am not as fun as Marc.) So we are looking forward to the end of the current trip to Ukraine, when he will be home for a while. And we're really looking forward to vacation in late July/early August. We're really, really looking forward to that.

Han is in the States, visiting family and friends and looking at colleges. WHAT?!?! How is that possible? Sarah Beth flew in a day before Han arrived to surprise her in Dallas. If you haven't seen the video of her arrival on Facebook, you really should look at it. My girls have lots of weird names for each other and weird things they do--and the little paw gestures at each other in the video put that weirdness on full display. They are enjoying some time together before SB goes back home and Han flies to Alabama and Florida for visits. We're super thankful to family and friends who are so willing to jump in and help when we need it to make things happen for our kids. Such a help to us. Such a blessing.

It's cliche, of course, to say that time flies. But it does, doesn't it? I mean, how else would you put that? Yesterday, Hannah was 10 and declaring that she wanted to go home as soon as we arrived in the Moscow airport. Or face-planting in a snow drift outside the grocery store because she'd never had to walk in a snowsuit before. And today, she is a beautiful 17-year-old senior in high school, focused on her future and whatever adventure God has planned for her. Sarah Beth, for heaven's sake, is MARRIED! And John towers over me. You know, if I really sit and think about all of that for too long, I could really work myself into some sadness. Because weren't all those memories and great times really wonderful? And what if they don't need me anymore, once they're all grown? Who will I be, then?

The truth is that I will still be their Momma. My Momma is still my Momma. I still need her. I still ask for her help. I depend on her to do all the creative stuff I'm incapable of doing. (I bet that gets old--I like this, Momma. Make it for me, please.) But from my own relationship with my Momma, and my growing relationship with the girls and John, I also know that I get to be not just their Momma, but also their friend. My family are the poster children for family friendships. I adore my sisters as my sisters, but they are also my dearest friends. My darling aunts, my parents, my sisters and cousins...these are people contractually obligated from birth to adore me. And I'm for that! My girls hated hearing me say it when they were in Moscow and Czech Republic, sharing a room, but it's absolutely true--friends will come and go, but your family is FOREVER. Be nice to one another. That's worked out for us. I adore my children, of course, but as they become the people they are going to be, as they grow and stretch into adulthood, I also really, really like them. Every stage of life as a parent is bittersweet. But as they grow into adulthood and yes, away from my nest, I'm finding that the sweet far outweighs the bitter. I'm proud of them. I'm glad they love and like each other. I like that they care about other people, about the 'least of these,' that they have sweet, compassionate hearts. And no one on earth makes me laugh more than my three oddballs. That, surely, is a testament to God's grace and blessing, and certainly an encouragement to all you young mothers out there. Because if I didn't mess up my kids too badly, you certainly won't, either.

Well, after the horror of a massive computer failure last week, I am backed up on business stuff to take care of today, so I must make my way to that. And, of course, my exercise bike is calling. It's saying some not-very-nice things about my exercise regimen of late, so I'd better answer its call. Wherever you are in the world, I pray that God has blessed you with family you love but also like, and that you don't have paperwork to take up your whole day like I do. Blessings to you and yours!

His,
Kellye

Four little words

Marc and Nan at the Vienna Airport--we had a great week with her before she left for Bulgaria.

One of my favorite pictures from Sochi...why? Because we look like we have halos, and this is the only way I'm going to have a halo. :)

He is not here, for He has risen, just as He said. Matthew 28:6a

We are back in Vienna after a WONDERFUL meeting with colleagues in Great Britain. We had a really relaxed and fun time meeting some new folks and getting to see some folks we've known for quite a while. Especially great for Marc were several break out sessions that were focused on what he does, and when I found him recutting a video yesterday based on what he learned in one of those sessions, I knew the meeting had really had an impact on him. (He's usually too busy to go back and recut anything.) So we're really grateful for the time with colleagues, but also really happy to be home. Marc leaves again on Sunday for a week, but after that his travel schedule slows down a bit. Or at least that's the way it looks right now.

Last Sunday was an oddity in our lives, because it was Easter for everyone. Because we have so many friends who celebrate holidays on the Orthodox rather than the Western calendar, we generally celebrate both Christmas and Easter twice. But Western and Orthodox Easter fell on the same day this year. We were in London for a couple of days, and we watched the Easter sermon by the Archbishop of Canterbury. (We celebrated Easter early when Hannah was home for part of her spring break.) It was strange not to be in church on Easter Sunday, but it did give me the chance to really re-read the Easter story from all four Gospels. As with any really great story (and I'm not using story in a fictional sense, just in a sense of the telling of something that happened), the Easter story is one that shows me something new every time I read it. This year, what struck me most were four words that offer a great deal of hope and promise for those of us who believe.

For so many people I know, the last few months have been a season of deep heartbreak and real questioning of God. I'm not necessarily talking about those bad things that happen to us because we've done something. In our family, one of our 'Hooksisms' is that you get what you get and you don't throw a fit. (Hear that? That was all three of my kids rolling their eyes.) In other words, when you do something wrong, you take the consequences without whining about it. No, I'm talking about the things in life that blindside us. Things that cause us heartache and heartbreak, but that we didn't cause in any way. The death of my friend's daughter in a horrific car accident. The move to hospice for the wife of our youth pastor in the States. Other heartaches too personal to share publicly--don't we all have those? Where is God when these things happen? And how can we trust Him when we don't understand what He's doing? And how can we have faith when it seems He has deserted us?

I'm pretty sure that the disciples of Jesus felt the same way. After all, their Messiah, the person in whom they had put all their trust, was gone. Yeah, yeah, He said some stuff about rebuilding the temple in three days, but who can even understand what that means? Devastating loss. Heartache. Heart break. Sound familiar? But then the women show up at the empty tomb, and the man in white asks them--why are you looking for Him here? He has risen, just as He said. And it's the just as He said that is comfort and hope in a desperate season.

To me, surely the claim that He would rise from the dead and conquer the grave was the most outrageous claim Jesus made. (Well, the Son of God thing was pretty outrageous, too, but work with me.) Death is death. Final. Not an ellipsis but a period. Right? But He rose, just as He said. And if I can believe and trust in the Savior who did this outrageous, impractical, incomprehensible thing just as He said He would, then I can take His other claims and promises as true, too. God doesn't need to prove Himself to me, but again and again in the Bible, we see Him reassuring us through His actions that He is who He says He is. Even when we don't understand. Even when we are heartbroken. He is still the Savior who says He will not leave nor forsake us. He is still the Messiah who comes to claim His own. His plans are still to prosper us. Even when we don't understand what He's doing.

As I grow older and (hopefully) more mature in my faith, I realize and increasingly come to grips with the idea that there are many things that are simply outside my comprehension. I am not capable of understanding seventh grade math, for example, or how to update my computer successfully. And, of course, there are things that have happened--to friends, to family, to me--that I may never understand. But I know Him. I know He is trustworthy. I know He has my best at the center of His will. Even when it hurts. Even when it's devastating. I cling to the promise that He is who He says He is. Hallelujah. Hallelujah. Amen.

Well, it's time to get the boys moving and start the day. Wherever you are in the world, I pray that you are believing that He will do just as He said in your life and the lives of those you love, and that you are also almost through with seventh grade math. Blessings to you and yours!

His,
Kellye

Why I love my crazy Momma

The three Hodges girls and their husbands...we seriously hit the jackpot in the husband department--three really great guys.

Momma and Daddy with Nan and John last summer

Okay, this is usually my attempt at being serious, but today is my mother's birthday, so for fun, I decided to do a top ten list of all the reasons I love my crazy Momma.

10. She is...unique. (It's her birthday, so I'm using her word. I usually say odd or weird, or sometimes crazy.) She sees the world in a uniquely Betty fashion. Which leads to number 9...

9. She is side-splittingly hilarious. If you've heard any of the three of us tell a story and laughed, it's because our mother can flat out tell a story that will make you laugh until you cry.

8. She is really, really creative. If you know her, you know that she sews and quilts. But did you know that she has also made me dolls, created playmates for my cousin (remember the mice, Morgan?), came up with a really cool gift idea when I graduated from high school (coupons for clothes with hilarious little sayings on them--the woman can make a pun with the word bison, trust me), and just generally can look at something and imagine how it could be something else. I did not, by the way, inherit this trait.

7. She is FIERCE. Seriously. Don't mess with us. You will bring on her ire, and you do not want a piece of that.

6. She is super smart. Don't play Jeopardy with her in the room. It is not fun. You know why? She knows a lot of stuff that you've never even heard of, and she will recall it before you can spit out any kind of answer. Just do yourself a favor. Watch something else when Jeopardy is on. You'll embarrass yourself.

5. She has super-human memory powers. She often begins sentences with, "You remember when you were five and we went to Indianapolis for that fair?" No, Momma. No, I don't. I can barely remember why I walked into the living room.

4. She is all in for her kids and grandkids. That means she has facebook and watches it daily to see what we're all up to and if we're ok. She is interested in every detail. She is all about where they go to college, who they are dating or marrying, and whether or not they have a date for prom. Seriously. My Momma CARES about us. Never, not even once in my whole life, have I ever wondered if she was on my side. YES. She is ALWAYS on my side.

3. She raised us to be friends. I've said it before, and I'll say it again--my sisters are my best friends. They love me more than is logical. My parents seriously raised us to know that family is just a little below God in the order of importance of things in your life. Others may come and go, but your sisters are there FOREVER. (And they remember when I was a size six. That's very valuable to me.)

2. She has never, not once, made me feel guilty for taking her grandbabies--who lived ten minutes away before we came overseas--across the ocean. Not once. NEVER. And let me remind you that when we told my parents we were coming overseas, my Momma was bald from radiation and chemo. She could have pulled the guilt card, but she never did. You have to love that kind of Momma. And along with that, she has made super-human efforts to be daily involved in my kids' lives. Across the street, across the ocean--makes no difference. She loves us all unrelentingly.

1. She loves Jesus more. She has lived her entire life in front of us serving others out of the overflow of her love for God. It's hard to go wrong when you have a Momma like that.

Wherever you are in the world, I pray that you have a crazy Momma you love more than life like I do, and that you are ridiculously thankful for her, too. Blessings to you and yours!

His,
Kellye

When I have a bad week...

At Russian Christmas in January--love this guy a lot!

In the mountain athlete's village in Rosa Khutor at the Olympics--what an amazing experience!

O LORD, You are my God, I will exalt You, I will give thanks to Your Name, for You have worked wonders, plans formed long ago, with perfect faithfulness. Isaiah 25:1

I don't know if ever, in the almost 8-year history of this blog, I have gone this long without writing. Obviously, during our time in Sochi, there simply wasn't time. But it has taken me a while to get back to what passes for normal, and trying to put my thoughts about anything into actual words was just too much for me to comprehend. I couldn't do it. And I'm still not totally prepared to talk about Sochi, or maybe I'm prepared, but I don't think I can do it justice, yet. In many ways, it was an astounding experience. And I want to give it what it deserves, and I don't think I'm there quite yet. It was truly wonderful, amazing, fabulous...name an adjective that means 'great.' But details and examples and stories...they feel too personal, still. I'm not sure that will make sense to you. But in a way, in a very real way for me, it was awe-inspiring to watch God work. Not in the way we usually use 'awesome,' but in the actual meaning of the word, it was awesome. Again and again and again, we were humbled by the way He showed up, held our hands, patted our backs, and kept us moving forward. He acted, as the verse above says, in perfect faithfulness.

But as we all know, life marches ever forward. Every mountaintop experience, and I would say that Sochi was a mountaintop experience, is followed by some time in the valley. That's life. And this past week, in particular, has been a rough one. Marc left for Ukraine to do news coverage last Friday, arriving home yesterday morning. About ten minutes before he left, I found out that my beloved friend, Kimmie, had lost her daughter in a terrible car accident. Marc left for the airport--literally--to the sound of my sobs. That could not have been easy for him, and it was certainly awful for me. So I spent the week mourning for my friend, mourning that I couldn't be there with her, and mourning that Marc was out of the country in the midst of all of this. Plus, he got to be in Ukraine, a place I have a deep love for, and I was kind of jealous about that. Even with the troops on the border, I would have liked a trip to Ukraine. So on Wednesday, the day Kimmie was saying goodbye to her daughter, I had a royal pity party. I don't mean I felt bad. I mean I cried LOUDLY. Every bad experience, every bad circumstance, missing my kids, my friends, my parents, my sisters...name it. I probably cried about it. I actually ruined a pair of contacts by crying. No kidding. And I was not pleasant. Ask poor John. He was stuck with me. Ask my friend here who called me. I was not pleasant.

Finally, when I calmed myself down, I had to take a hard look at why I was so upset.  Why was I upset? Well, for one, someone I love so dearly was hurting so badly, and I couldn't be there. First, let me be clear. She was completely surrounded by people and didn't need me. I wanted to be there because I wanted to be there for her. But I knew she wasn't walking this path alone. Plus, of course, with the internet, I've been able to chat with her every day. So what else had me upset? Well, Marc was in Ukraine. And Ukraine and Russia are all upset with each other, and we love both countries so much, and the conflict was scary and upsetting to me. And what else? I missed my Momma and Daddy. Yep. I'm 46, and I cried because I miss my Momma and Daddy.

I don't usually have days like that. I'm too practical a person to spend a day in that kind of teary mode. But I just let myself have the day. I cried. I read books. I stayed away from my computer. I did some cleaning. I did not talk to a ton of people. I just shrugged my shoulders and thought, well...it's a bad day. Tomorrow will likely be better. And you know what? It was. Of course, some of that is because Marc was back in the apartment by 9:30, and he brings sunshine with him when he walks in--just his presence always makes me feel better. Some of that is because I prayed a very specific prayer for Kimmie, and in a message from her overnight, I was able to clearly see that God had answered that prayer. And some of it is just that I've done this relationship with Jesus thing for quite a while, and I know Him. He never leaves. He never forsakes. To quote Toby Mac, we lose our way, we get back up again. (I know. I quoted Toby Mac. I'm so cool.) He is absolutely, 100% faithful. Ever near, ever listening, ever comforting...even during a royal pity party. He knows me. He loves me, anyway. Grace, grace, grace. That is just all grace.

Maybe you never have a really bad day. Maybe your life is all sunshine and butterflies. But I'm betting it's not. All of our lives, it seems to me, are constituted by highs and lows and days of just status quo movement. Nothing big, nothing little...just life. I think the comforting thing to me is that God wants to be part of all of it. I look at my prayer journal, and I'm astounded by the way He answers even the 'silly' prayers--about my back hurting, or a test Sarah Beth has, or how to answer this or that email. Every single thing, good and bad, He wants to be a part of it all. And perhaps, over these years overseas, that is the thing about my relationship with God that has changed the most. I have finally accepted the idea that He loves someone like me. Intense, introverted, book-loving me. He knows me, and He pursues me daily. Every part of me. The good on the outside part, where I am looking like a pretty good Christian. The bad on the inside of me part, where I am often snarky and rude and selfish and prideful. And the part that has a pity party big enough to ruin a pair of contact lenses. He loves it all. I don't get it. I don't understand it. But my, oh my--I'm surely grateful for it. Surely, surely.

Well, I think I'm going to go start another book. I know--how can one person read that many books? I promise I don't just read books all day. But in any spare minute I have that isn't occupied with something else, I fit in some reading. Plus, it's Friday night, so Marc is at band practice, and John and I have kind of a quiet tradition. I read a book while he plays Pokemon. It works for us. Wherever you are in the world, I pray that you know and understand that the God of absolutely everything loves every single part of you--even the ones you don't love so much, and that your sweet girl is coming home from boarding school tomorrow, too. Blessings to you and yours!

His,
Kellye

O Christmas Tree, O Christmas Tree!

My saddest Christmas decoration...and one of my favorites.

Our sweet advent calendar. If you're wondering, it's stuffed with Scripture and chocolate umbrellas.

Me and my man in our beautiful city after John's Christmas concert...yes, my hair is as long as it looks here. :)

The people who walk in darkness will see a great light; those who live in a dark land, the light will shine on them. Isaiah 9:2

It's cold and gray outside, but I'm sitting in my cozy apartment with my Christmas tree lit up, sipping hot tea from my beautiful Polish pottery tea set with the reindeer and holly berries, so life is pretty sweet. We went to John's Christmas concert last night in a beautiful church here in Wien, then walked around downtown before getting Burger King for supper and heading home. It was REALLY cold, but who cares when you live someplace that looks so gorgeous? Wien is beautiful year-round, to be sure, but she does some of her very best work at Christmas. Your city might have Christmas decorations, but ours has big chandeliers lining the walkway. Seriously. It's gorgeous. Marc said last night that living in Wien during Advent is like living in a Christmas carol for one month every year. And it's true. It is like that. Not that normal life doesn't go on, and not that there aren't still stresses and problems to deal with, because there are. But there is something lovely about living someplace that does Advent/Christmas so well.

And my little apartment is so CUTE! I am not a decorator, but Marc does a fine job of putting stuff together, and there are cute little decorations all over the place, including our sweet Christmas tree. Yes, it's artificial, but it is a really pretty artificial tree that I got from amazon for a steal, and it looks great every year. And different decorations, of course, have different meaning to me. Some are funny--little things the kids have made over the years, the ugliest ornaments on earth (a gift from two dear friends in Florida that has--literally--traveled with me wherever I've gone), precious mementos of places we've lived and people we've loved...just like your place, every little thing has meaning or reminds me of some precious memory. But of all our beautiful decorations, one of my favorites is also probably the ugliest. It's three little trees, decorated in gold ornaments, in three little wicker baskets. Those trees are cheap, they are bendable, they do not necessarily fit in with the beautiful decor from our time in Austria. But it's their meaning, the memories they bring to mind, the reminder they convey that makes them so special.

If I live in a Christmas carol here, that was not the case in Moscow. First of all, Russians celebrate Christmas in January, so December 25th is just another day to them. There is no silent night on Christmas Eve if you live in a construction zone, which we did. And the big holiday in Russia is New Year's, which is a giant BIG DEAL. So there are Christmas-y things around, trees, etc., but they are (or at least were, then) mostly for New Year's. By our second Christmas there, those things didn't bother me as much, especially because my Daddy and nephew came to visit, and I was 'used to' the way things were done in Russia. But that first Christmas, after only a couple of months there, with culture shock completely taking over our lives, the pressure of studying the language and homeschooling three kids...well, let's just say I was feeling a little Grinch-y. And to make things worse, Christmas Eve fell on a Sunday that year, so we went to church, which sounds like it would be very Christmas-y. But remember, it's not Christmas Eve in Russia. It's just December 24th. So no mention was even made of Christmas. I excused myself to go to the bathroom, then stood outside the Korean Church that met in the same building, crying and listening to them sing Christmas carols in Korean. No kidding. I was pitiful. Then--just to make sure I spread the joy--I went home and made my poor sister, Cathy, miserable by sobbing on the phone to her. (Ask her, she will tell you--worst Christmas EVER.) I hadn't had the foresight to pack Christmas cookie cutters, so our Christmas cookies were more blobbish than star-like. As I sat in my Moscow apartment, looking at the snow and ice, I felt completely justified in my misery. Totally and completely justified.

Of course, things took a turn that evening. We celebrated with dear friends, had a lovely time of worship together, and laughed until we cried. By the time we got home, I did feel better. And Christmas the next morning was lovely. It might have just been another day to the workmen constructing the building in front of ours, but in the Hooks Hacienda, it was definitely Christmas. We skyped with family, ate traditional foods (okay, they had to be tweaked a little), opened presents, and just generally made merry. Yes, we missed our family. And yes, we missed all the fun of Christmas in Florida (hot tub, anyone?). But we really had a nice day.

So what does that have to do with three ugly little trees that we've kept all these years? That first year, they were the only decorations we could find and afford. We also had three blue ones, but I have no clue where they are. I actually think Sarah Beth found them at a grocery store in our neighborhood and brought them home. That was also the year that she randomly found a coffee mug with Florida written on the side. (She was always a very good scavenger--finding the stuff I was in too much of a hurry to see.) Why keep them? Well, certainly they remind us of that first year, of how poor we were, or how things really did turn out okay in the end. They have sentimental value, for sure, representing our first Christmas overseas, how far we've come, and how much we've grown. But for me, they mostly are a reminder that Christmas isn't about me. The joy of Christmas has nothing to do with how well-decorated my apartment is, how great my situation is, how beautiful my city is, or how much money I have to buy presents and decorations. There is nothing wrong with enjoying all those things, and I do. But the joy of Christmas is the Good News of Jesus. No matter how much they light up downtown Wien, we still live among a people who have walked and are walking in darkness. And no matter where you are when you are reading this, you live among people who have walked and are walking in darkness. But there is light, friends. And that Light has come that we may have life--abundantly! You know why we ended up having a good Christmas that first year overseas? Because no matter where we are, no matter whether it's Christmas there or not--good news of great joy for all people is this--a child was born in Bethlehem. And He saved us from our sins. He saved me. Joy to the world, indeed.

Well, there are Christmas cards to write, meetings to arrange, and cookies to be baked. Wherever you are in the world, I pray that the good news of Jesus brings you great joy year-round, and that you are setting your DVR to record The Sound of Music tonight, too. Blessings to you and yours! And Merry Christmas!

His,
Kellye