Thank you, Miss Lee

Before I begin, let me warn regular readers (I'm not a regular poster, lately, so I'm not sure you can be a regular reader) that this has nothing to do with missions or my overseas life, which are the general topics of this blog. Instead, this is inspired by the news yesterday that Harper Lee, author of To Kill a Mockingbird (TKAM), is publishing a new book for the first time in 55 years. And while I have opinions and concerns about the new book, Go Set a Watchman, and I'm genuinely nervous about its publication, this is really more about TKAM and the way it has intertwined with my own life. It's a thank you note to Miss Lee from someone who deeply loves her book.

Of course, many of you know that I have spent much of my adult life as an English teacher, which means I've taught TKAM too many times to count. I've watched children (you may be taller than I, but if you're in my class, you're still a child) who loved no other books love this one. One of my favorite teaching stories--all teachers have teaching stories, of beloved students, difficult students, funny colleagues--is from early in my career, when I taught in a small county in central Georgia. The district office had passed a rule that we could not ask students to buy books, because it was a terribly poor county, and parents simply didn't have the money to buy luxuries like books. I was teaching tenth grade, and I had 30 kids per class and about 20 copies of TKAM--and no budget to buy any more. So my wonderful husband put my favorite rocker in his pickup truck, drove it to the school, and placed it in my room. For the next week or so, students brought in blankets and pillows, sat on my floor, and I sat in the rocker and read TKAM to them aloud. When we got to the part of the book in which Scout finds out that Tom Robinson is dead, a gross injustice, one student cried out, "Oh, dear God, NO!" There were distinct sniffles from big old country boys whose shotguns were in their trucks because they hunted before school every day. (Remember--this was pre-Columbine and security measures it inspired.) Black, white, hispanic--it did not matter. I saw firsthand the power of that book to make students look at each other differently. From then on, I made sure to teach it whenever possible.

It is a book my own children love. Sarah Beth, in particular, has always treasured the book. It might be because her Daddy told her that Momma wanted to name her Scout after the main character. It might be because she was raised in the South. One of her treasures from her time overseas was a copy of the book she found in a Kiev flea market, published in the late 1960s in Kiev, which of course was part of the CCCP at the time. Even yesterday, she was excited/nervous about its publication, and said one of the things I loved the most in our discussion of the new book on my facebook page: One day, there will be a whole new set of people. But Scout will always be there. She will always be dressed up like a ham. Forever. Clearly, I have done something right as a mother. :)

But really, my love affair with this book is its impact on my own life. My aunt reminded me yesterday that, though we want to see Miss Lee as Scout, she herself has said that she is really Boo, the reclusive, silent protector of the children. While Miss Lee might not see herself as Scout, I certainly see myself as Scout and always have. Having grown up with very Southern parents and being from a very Southern family, I saw so much in this book that I understood from my own experiences. I knew what the small-town South looked like, smelled like, sounded like. I understood the crazy cast of characters that inhabits every Southern town. The overalls, playing ridiculous games, wandering the neighborhood, being told to respect my elders...these were all things I understood and knew deeply. But it was in Scout's love and adoration for her father, Atticus, that I most identified with this fictional character. 

I spent every summer in my hometown of Clarksville, Tennessee, with my beloved grandparents. My grandfather, John Matthews, was a man deeply respected in his community. I thought he was just another man with apple and peach orchards until I was about 10, when I discovered that "Mr. John" had been a beloved teacher, principal, and superintendent of schools. I was in college when I discovered that my darling Papa had been the superintendent during segregation, and had given deep respect and love to the black students as he did the white students. (On a historical note, my mother attended Wilma Rudolph's basketball games as a child, because she went with her father, who was superintendent at the time. If you don't know who Wilma Rudolph is, please look her up.) And while all these things were amazing to me, especially as someone who became an educator, it was his treatment of all people who came to pick up apples and peaches during those childhood summers, his respect and sense of value for everyone, regardless of race or the ability to pay...it was this legacy that made me proudest.  That he raised children in the heart of the South without prejudice and with love and respect for all people...nothing short of miraculous. 

And, of course, there is my own father. His life is a tale of hard work, discipline, and being the hands and feet of Jesus in the marketplace. He has commanded respect in business and church circles my whole life, but to me, he was just Daddy. As I grew older, and I began to know and understand the things that were non-negotiables in his life--an incredible sense of ethics and morals that were intertwined with his love of business and played out in practical ways every day--I made it my goal to also be that kind of person: willing to do the right things even when they are the hard things. I saw him make choices again and again that were for the good of others--those who worked under him or his family or his church--and often, those choices were not the popular and certainly not the easiest ones. My Daddy and my Papa: they are and were Atticus. I know what it is to be Scout--to love and be loved by remarkable, upstanding men, to stand with others because my "Daddy is passing." (Yes, my favorite line of the entire book. I cried typing it.) Yes, it is this above all else that makes me love TKAM.

It is no secret that I love books. And I love many books with which I don't identify--because of their craft, their nuance, the stories they tell. But this book reminds me how proud I am of my much-loved  father and grandfather, of being from the South and all that entails and means to me personally, of those things my parents worked so hard to instill in us--love of God, of family, of others. Non-negotiables. Absolute truth in an age when many believe it doesn't exist. So thank you, Miss Lee, for this incredible book that has so touched my life and millions and millions of others. No matter what this new book has for us, TKAM has created  a world in which we can remember what it is to climb into someone else's shoes and walk around in them for a while. That there's really only one kind of folks. Folks. And that, dear lady, is a joy and a privilege. Thank you.

It is well

Happy 2015 from the Hooks Family!

It is well
With my soul.
It is well,
It is well,
With my soul.

Well, hello there, and happy new year! I had every intention of updating this blog before now, but the stomach flu hit John and me pretty hard, and it has taken us a while to recover. All is well here in Vienna, and in the other countries where our family resides, and we're looking forward to a year that will see ministry, some travel for us, and the beginning of our Stateside Assignment in July. We are really looking forward to some time with friends and family, eating American food, and refreshing our souls a bit through some concentrated rest. We hope all of you are looking forward to a year in which God does some amazing things that you could not have predicted if you'd tried, where you know Him more and understand who you are in Him, and that you get to eat some chik-fil-a this year, too.

I love music. I really love all music. Ok, there's some I probably don't like, but I do listen to a variety of music styles and genres, and I generally love an eclectic blend. But lately, I am just hooked on hymns. They really are the soundtrack of my faith life in so many ways. "Have Thine own way, LORD" and "My hope is built on nothing less than Jesus' blood and righteousness" and "O to grace how great a debtor daily I'm constrained to be" could describe where my soul is at any given moment. And if you don't have a copy of Chris Rice's hymn album, you must get it and listen to it. I listen to it nearly every morning as I make John's breakfast. It's just an amazing collection that really stands the test of time. (I think it came out in 2005 or 2006.) You could ask me to name my favorite hymn, and I would tell you something different every time. I love "Great is Thy Faithfulness" so much--in tough times, dark seasons, what joy and comfort to be reminded that "there is no shadow of turning with Thee/Thou changest not, Thy compassions, they fail not/As Thou hast been, Thou forever wilt be."  And what greater truth in my life is there than "I once was lost/but now am found/was blind, but now I see"? There is such great theology in these treasured songs, and I love them (and hum them to myself) so much. But lately, none has meant more to me than "It is Well with my Soul."

There are so many people/families/situations in transition right now in the lives around me. Changing jobs, locations, sick relatives and beloved ones, death, new ministry, changes in old ministry--if there is a theme in the lives around me for the last six months or so, it would be uncertainty. And if we're all honest, uncertainty is a part of our every day lives, even without big events and traumatic losses. Will I get the promotion? Will we have enough money to pay our bills? How will we _____________? These are questions we all ask ourselves and God daily. Uncertainty is just a fact of life. None of us knows, do we? What's next, what's best, what's happening that we can't control? And as a Christian, I must also factor in what will God do about this or that situation? How will He step in? Is He going to save the day? And what do I do if He doesn't? What if His will and purpose for my/our life looks different than I thought or even wanted? What then?

This was brought home to me so beautifully in a blog written by my friend, Jennifer. (You should look her up at thisgalsjourney.wordpress.com.) In the post, she describes washing dishes and praying about situations in her life over which she has no control. Like so many of us, the enemy whispers, "What if God doesn't?" over these situations and people she loves. And her answer to each of the enemy's lies begins with, "Even if He doesn't..." Even if He doesn't heal my friend, I will still praise Him. He is still God, still in control, still the great I am...even if He doesn't do or act in the way I want. Even if that has consequences for me that I don't want or need or know how I'll deal with, I will praise Him. And isn't that exactly what "It Is Well with my Soul" says? It is well with my soul, even if I don't understand. Even if my kids struggle or my parents are sick. It is well with my soul, because He is still on the throne, He still loves me, He is exactly who He said He is. Even when I don't understand. Even when I struggle. It is well with my soul.

That sounds pretty, doesn't it? Singing a happy tune, regardless of the situation. I'd love for that to be true, but it isn't. Is it for you? Maybe you're superhuman Christian person, but I'm just Kellye--a truly chipped and cracked pot of clay with a great big God. And sometimes, I have to say, "It is well with my soul" with my teeth clenched and my neck turning red. (That's my 'tell' when something is wrong--Marc will say, "What are you thinking?" or "What's got you upset?" based on the red color around my neck.) Because what I'm really doing often is not so much singing about how I feel but about what I know to be the truth. I do not always feel like things are well with my soul. But I know Him, and I know that ultimately, things will be well. Maybe not in the way I wanted or hoped or dreamed, but they will be well. He has kept every promise He ever made to me. He isn't going to stop now. So while my circumstances might not feel great, and I may want to rock back and forth in the fetal position as I worry over this situation or that, I know this to be the absolute truth: The God of EVERYTHING loves me. He knows my name. He knows my situation. And He will never leave me nor forsake me. He promised. I am not alone. So it may not feel well with my soul. But it is well with my soul, anyway. Even if He doesn't do or act the way I think He will or should. Even if.

It's time for me to get moving. My guy is on his way home to me, and I have some cleaning to do before he gets here--and a giant pork roast to make pulled pork for his first dinner home. (He's been at his Mom and Dad's house between meetings--I'm sure he's had some good food, so I'd better keep up with a great dinner to welcome him home, right?) Wherever you are in the world, I pray that it is well with your soul, regardless of your circumstances, and that your beloved is headed home to you, too. Blessings to you and yours!

His,
Kellye

Living Like We Mean It

I know, I know! I'm right on the line of being a crazy cat lady. But seriously--how cute is our kitty in a basket?!?!

Christmas in Vienna with my sweet friend, Ksenia!

This is what my teaching bag looks like--candy, cookies, stuffed animals--no wonder I get very interested looks when I carry it around Vienna!

But God demonstrates His own love for us in this: while we were still sinners, Christ died for us. Romans 5:8

This is one of my all-time favorite, go-to verses in the Bible. I have several verses that I whisper to myself over and over, words of faith and perseverance and assurance of God's love that have gotten me through many dark days and bright, sunny days, too. And maybe it seems weird to say this, since it's a verse about Christ's death and not His birth, but it is the essence of Christmas to me.  And as I go through my ordinary, daily life, and certainly as I look at the news and see so many hurting people around the world, I'm more convinced than ever that what we really need is a little Christmas: a little hope, a little Light, a little love.

I am not necessarily a fan of Christian catchphrases. Oh, don't get me wrong--I believe that God is good all the time, and all the time God is good. So maybe, what I'm not a fan of is catchphrases that become just words and don't inform the lives of believers. If I say that God is good all the time, then even when times are terrible, He's still good, right? And I should silence the whining and complaining that I'm prone to do, right? But do I do that? If I don't, then my little catchphrase is just one more thing an unbelieving world is looking at and holding against the Savior who loves them. How many times have you talked to people who say they don't like Christians because they are hypocrites? Guess what? They're right. All too often, Christians are hypocrites. Of course, so are people who don't believe. It's just that Christians set themselves up to be held to a higher standard and then fall short again and again and again.

So what in the world does that have to do with Christmas? He came, even though He knew what it meant for Him. He came to die for us. He came even though He knew how stinky we were. He came for everyone. EVERY. SINGLE. ONE. If we apply that to every situation in our world, doesn't that make a huge difference in how we look at it? Instead of us vs. them, doesn't it just become all of us, together? You may think one thing, and I may think another about some issue, but if we truly saw each other through the prism of God's sacrificial love for us, wouldn't that change how we dealt with each other? Wouldn't we care more about people, about situations, about every widow and orphan and 'least of these' if we truly understood that we are each the reason He came to die? I have to believe we would.

Sunday ends the week of prayer for international missions for Southern Baptists. I love the stories and pictures and testimonies of the way God is at work around the world, of people who are coming to know Him through the work of people I love very much. As I contemplate Christmas, as I contemplate what it means in a practical sense that God demonstrated His own love for me in Christ's death and resurrection, as I pray for the nations, may my overarching prayer be always this: Lord, help me to love like You love. Help me to be more like You. Break my heart for what breaks Yours. Let me live a life given over to Your plan, even when that plan seems crazy and impractical and just plain hard. In a world of darkness and despair, help me to live a life that shines Your light in real, practical ways--by kindness and love and compassion for the everyday, real people who daily walk beside me. Amen. Amen.

As believers in the Savior of the whole world, may we all live a life deeply informed by His love for each of us this Christmas. May we treasure the people He has put in our lives in tangible ways, with words and actions that show His irrational, extravagant love for all of us. May we live out our faith like we mean it.  Blessings to you and yours, and merry, merry Christmas!

His,
Kellye

Every Season

Why yes, that is my cute little napkin holder from Salzburg that Tashie has turned into her bed. And yes, she has pushed it up as close to the tree as possible. It's good to be the Tashinator.

It must be Christmas time--the cookie cutters are out and ready to use.

Jesus Christ is the same yesterday and today and forever. Hebrews 13:8

It's a cold, gray Saturday here in Vienna, Austria. John has already left to work at the U.N. Bazaar for women and children, an annual event that raises money for U.N. projects around the world aiding women and children. It's actually a pretty cool event, with food from all over the world and all kinds of things to see and buy. It's packed every year, but I have no idea how much money it raises. John and I enjoyed a very quiet Thanksgiving together, with Hannah in Germany and Marc and Sarah Beth and DJ in Arkansas. We did skype with the folks in Arkansas, and that was fun. It was kind of a blue day. I haven't celebrated Thanksgiving without Marc in 25 years. I didn't think about that as I made plans for him to be in Arkansas. It hit me a little harder than I thought it would. Thanksgiving is just hard, frankly. It's such an American holiday, isn't it? I mean people all over the world celebrate Christmas. But Thanksgiving and July 4th are, at least for me, the hardest holidays to celebrate from overseas. 

I spent the day before Thanksgiving working on turkey-shaped cookies to send to the teachers at John's school. I thought it would be fun to have little turkeys to eat, and I have the BEST sugar cookie recipe on earth, so I really enjoy making them. (They turn out kind of thick and flaky, if that makes sense.) Any time I pull out my cookie cutters, I smile as I think back to that first Christmas overseas, when we'd only been in Moscow a couple of months, and I realized to my horror that I did not own a single cookie cutter with which to make Christmas cookies. That seems like a little thing, I know. But I think for me it symbolized every hard thing about my life--Russian language lessons, homeschooling three kids, living in a very cold and snowy city, and going from a pretty small town in Florida to a city of about 15 million in Russia. I missed my parents, my sisters, my job, my friends, my students...all the things I thought made me...well, me. And cookie cutters became a symbol of that feeling of absolute lostness that so permeated my soul that Christmas season. 

Of course, as a friend told me it would, things got better. They absolutely got better. And in comparison to that first Christmas season overseas, my little blue feelings on Thanksgiving were nothing. But it was a good reminder to me that except for Jesus, everything changes. There are things about that first Christmas season overseas that I would not want for all the world. But there are also things I'd give my left arm to have again: my family all in one apartment, rather than spread across three countries on two continents; the folks we love so dearly from that season of life, who are now scattered in so many directions; our whole overseas life stretched out in front of us, with no clue as to how many goodbyes we would say over the years...there was certainly culture shock that first Christmas in Moscow, but there was also a great deal of love and friendship in our lives, too. We were at the beginning of deep friendships that remain foundational for us as we continue this overseas life. There was a sweetness to that era. 

If you had asked me at the time, though, I would have snarkily told you that there wasn't a single good thing about my life in Moscow. Two months in, and deep in the midst of Russian language that I just was struggling with so much, I didn't feel very Christmasy. But isn't that the way things go? In our family, if you start the sentence, "Emotions are..." someone will finish it with, "liars." It is the number one lesson we learned as a family in our first term overseas. I may feel like this is an awful season, or a great season, but the truth is probably somewhere in the middle. Good things happen. Bad things happen. But the truth of who Jesus is and who I am in Him...that never changes. He is who He says He is. And I am who He says I am. Regardless of how I feel or don't feel. Regardless of what the world says, I can rest in the comfort that whether it's a great season, a terrible season, or more likely, somewhere in between, His love for me doesn't change. He doesn't change. He is the same--yesterday, today, and forever. That's good news, whatever my circumstances.

So how does that impact my every day life? Well, I've stopped wishing my time away. I am looking forward to time with my parents next Thanksgiving in Texas, where we'll be on STAS, but I also enjoyed a fun time with my favorite 13-year-old guy this year. (Trust me, with one married, one graduating from high school, and one about to start high school, I am all too aware of the fleeting nature of time. No time to wish for tomorrow or yesterday, because today will be gone too quickly for this Momma!) I've learned to look around and enjoy the blessings and opportunities of today. We never know when the seasons will change, goodbyes will come, and this will be a memory. But we can rest in the knowledge that though things may change, Jesus never does. 

Today is a full day, so I'd better get moving. Wherever you are in the world, I pray that you are enjoying this season in the full knowledge of who Jesus is, and that your team is not heading into rivalry weekend with a somewhat checkered season behind them. Go Gators! Blessings to you and yours!

His,
Kellye

Trying to be more like Bob

This is how I see most things--there's the scenery, and then there's Marc taking pictures of the scenery or looking at his camera to figure out what settings would be best.

Beautiful Schönbrunn from behind the fountain on the hill. We'd never been as tourists until friends came this week. So beautiful--and the history of the Habsburgs...fascinating!

For the despairing man there should be kindness from his friend; so that he does not forsake the fear of the Almighty. Job 6:14

I read this in my Bible study this week, and the question I was supposed to answer was, "What did Job's friends do wrong? How did they bruise him?" If you're unfamiliar with the story of Job, he basically lost everything but his life as he was tested by Satan (with God's permission). His friends, well, they gave him a lot of what we might call church talk in response to his misfortune, none of which was very kind. And that was my answer--in a time of real sorrow and tragedy, they were unkind, thoughtless, and unfeeling.

Before we're too hard on Job's friends, let's admit that we've all been there. Something terrible--truly tragic--happens, and we say all the wrong stuff, mostly because we don't know what to say. When my friend, Kimmie's, daughter was tragically killed in a horrific car crash this spring, people said really stupid stuff. Seriously. I had second-hand shame for them. Worse, they said stuff that wasn't Biblically sound and hurtful. I'm convinced (and so is she) that no one meant to hurt her. Everyone was trying to ease her pain--and their own. But in the midst of crisis, some people said the wrong stuff.

The exact opposite of Job's friends was our pastor, Bob Patterson, when Marc and I found ourselves in the midst of real trauma leading up to Sarah Beth's birth. The short version is that in about the 6 1/2 month mark in my pregnancy, out of nowhere my blood pressure sky rocketed. My doctor, looking ashen and worried, sent me home to Warm Springs, Georgia, giving me a list of symptoms to call about immediately, and telling me to stay on my left side and not move. Seriously. Of course, if you've been pregnant, you know that I had pre-eclampsia. (I had it with all three children. Hence, I only have three children.) Two days later, with the admonition to not even stop for gas, I found myself in the hospital, which would be my home for the next two months. Yes, you read that correctly. The next two months. Every morning started with my doctor (who postponed his wedding and honeymoon until after she was safely born) saying, "Well, we won't take her this morning, but probably this afternoon." Every afternoon found him saying, "Well, not tonight, but probably tomorrow." This went on for two months, until my body had done what it could and he delivered her.

Now, twenty-two years later, I can tell you a thousand hilarious stories about this time in the hospital. Marc and the doctor filling gloves with water and throwing them at nurses out my window. Marc almost blowing up the hospital by lighting candles for Valentine's Day. I have a million of these. And I have wonderful stories of people who were so incredible to us, took care of us, loved us, and encouraged us. And yes, I can tell you not-so-funny stories of people who, like Job's friends, didn't always say the right things. We were asked what we'd done to make God mad at us. We were told that we just didn't have enough faith, and that's why this was scary to us. But the point of this post is to tell you about Bob.

He came every week I was in the hospital, usually on Thursdays. He came in, sat with us, told us jokes, brought us treats from our church, and loved us. He did pray with us, but only after he asked, and never touching me. (I am not a toucher. Unless you're basically my family, I feel weird about touching you or you touching me.) He did NOT say that everything would be fine, and we would all be ok--because he didn't know that. The doctor didn't know that, either. (He'd just lost someone in childbirth to the same disease, making him even more cautious than normal.) He didn't tell us God had a plan, because he knew that we were aware of that. He didn't tell us God wouldn't give us more than we could handle, because that was obviously and blatantly untrue. (At 23 and 24, we were 100% unable to handle anything that was happening to us. Trust me on this. Only by God's grace and help did we not lose our minds.) He did not offer platitudes or church speak that we did not need to hear. He did tell us that our little town (population 400 in 1992) was praying for us and loving us. He did tell us funny stories of the local characters. He did make us laugh. And sometimes, in moments of real sorrow, he just sat with us in silence, offering his presence, his encouragement, but knowing that words were not needed or useful. He did every single thing right. And when she was born, and she was only in the NICU for a few days--he rejoiced with us, celebrating that God's plan looked like we had hoped it would.

I want to be more like Bob. In times of trouble, I want to know what to say and when not to say anything at all. I want to guard against telling people things that sound good, but aren't the truth. Most of all, I want to love people really well. Because in the end, that's what he did. He loved us really well, and all these years later, we still smile at the mention of his name. He brought glory to God and helped us not to be angry at God for a plan that we did not understand. He taught us a thousand things about mature faith without telling us he was teaching us anything. I'm thankful for his guidance through a really traumatic season of our lives. I'm also thankful that Sarah Beth and I both survived and regained our health, and that I was able to survive the next two pregnancies with babies who eventually thrived. God is good in all situations--even the ones we don't understand.

Well, friends, there is so much on my to-do list that I'd better get going. I pray that you are blessed with a Bob in your life, someone who loves you well and leads you to know God just a little better. Blessings to you and yours!

His,
Kellye

What 2014 Kellye would tell 2007 Kellye

Summer, 2007, right before we left the States for the first time. My kids are going to kill me for this one. :)

Our very first team, November, 2007, somewhere outside of Moscow.

The LORD is compassionate and gracious, slow to anger and abounding in lovingkindness. Psalm 103:8
Leg grace abounding be our hourly song in the house of our pilgrimage. --C. H. Spurgeon

Yesterday was the seventh anniversary of the day we stepped foot on Russian soil to start our overseas life. Coincidentally, it was also the day we picked up our Austrian visas, which we're very happy to have in hand. As I thought about that day seven years ago, I also thought about the things I've learned in the last seven years, and what I wish I'd known seven years ago. Here are just a few:

Everywhere is hard. We know from our experiences and the experiences of those we love all over the world--every place is hard. Your place isn't any harder or easier than any other place. It might be in terms of living (Austria is, after all, quite western, and the culture isn't a huge shock to our systems), but no place that's thousands of miles from home and family is easy. You may acclimate (praise God!), but every place has its own trials and tribulations. Perfect doesn't exist.

Everywhere is lovable. In the same way that every place is hard, every place has something about it to love. We have lived in three very different cultures, and we've loved the places and the people regardless of trials and hardships. Beauty is everywhere, and people are people. They might have different cultures and traditions, but every people has something about them that is endearing and lovable. You might have to look a little harder for some, but we have favorite things about each of the places and peoples we have loved over the last seven years.

Michael W. Smith was right. Every eighties kid who went to church will get that reference. :) It turns out that friends ARE friends forever if the Lord's the Lord of them! We were in Switzerland this past week with some of the people closest to us in the world. Distance is virtually meaningless. It might take some effort if you don't live just over the hill from each other, but it's worth the effort. And those relationships are life-giving. There is no underplaying the importance of friendships, no matter where on the planet the friends reside.

Bitterness isn't anyone's color. It's such an easy trap to fall into--something happens, you get mad, you hold onto the grudge forever. You rehearse what you would say if given the chance--hurtful, mean, awful things that would make the other person feel as bad as they made you feel. C'mon. Tell the truth--we've all been there. But it looks awful on everyone. Nobody's life is enhanced by bitterness. It doesn't bring us closer to God, to others, or edify the Kingdom in any way. Plus, it's a yucky way to spend your time and energy. Better to leave it alone.

Miss Louise was right. My sisters' teacher, Miss Louise, used to say, "Take care of yourself, and you got a mighty big job." True story.  More and more lately, I am convicted so much of my own sin, my own failings, my own shortcomings, that praying over them sure does take over all my time and energy. I am, it turns out, a mighty big job, all on my own. And when it comes time to answer for things, for the way life on earth was lived, I am 100% convinced that I will be answering for my own things--not someone else's. Better to spend my time praying to reflect Him more each day. It's a full-time job. :)

Great is His faithfulness. If I had to sum up the last seven years in one sentence, it would be that one. There is nothing I can do to earn His love, to make Him happy, to make Him love me more. He loves me in spite of knowing me intimately. He never breaks a promise. He never leaves me alone. He never forsakes me. He is with me no matter where I go. He knows me, but He loves me, anyway. Hallelujah. Hallelujah. Amen.

I hope we never get over God inviting us to join Him on this incredible journey. We have seen some incredible places and things, gotten to know and love some truly wonderful people, and learned more and more every day about who He is and just how much He loves us. To each of you who've joined us, prayed for us, encouraged us, given to Lottie Moon so we could stay here--thank you. There aren't words for how much we love and appreciate you. To God be the glory--great things He has done!

His,
Kellye

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