when the bottom drops out by Robert Bugh is one of the best books I've read in a long time.  I received this book as a complimentary copy for review from Tyndale House. In his book, Robert succinctly lays out the basic Scriptural truths that held him fast during the year that he lost and his wife and his best friend.  Using their deaths as the canvas for showcasing God's glory, Robert sensitively leads the reader through the pain of grief to the comfort and joy found in a right understanding of Who God is.  His book is theologically accurate, while not overly weighty.  The average Christian reader could read this book and be riveted, strengthened, and taught.  I've read other books on God's sovereignty and human suffering and haven't found one to be as balanced and readable as Bugh's when the bottom drops out.  

The timing of this book in my life couldn't be more fitting. My family is going through a season of loss right now, and the truths of Bugh's book resonate to the core.  I find myself thinking on the principles Bugh shares along with his illustrations which range from Old Testament examples to modern-day Christians who face suffering with grace. I also appreciated the tips Pastor Bugh shares about helping others through their grief.  His insight and experience combine to provide guidance to the hurting as well as to those who walk alongside the grieving.  Complete with a discussion guide at the end, when the bottom drops out is a must-read for all who hurt and all who hurt with those who hurt.




href="http://mediacenter.tyndale.com/TBN" 

href="http://booksneeze.com/reviews/blogger/26463?ref=badge"><img alt="I review for BookSneeze®" src="http://booksneeze.com/images/booksneeze_badge.png" border="0" width="200" height="150">

More Lost Than Found by Jared Herd attempts to reach out to the "lost" generation of young Christians who've abandoned the church.  Pastor Herd does a good job of accurately stating the problem that the church at large has become aware of:  young people are leaving the church in droves.  Herd complains of the disconnect between the church and culture.  His style is breezy and fresh, engaging the young thinkers of today.  As with most in the Emergent movement, Herd fails to give a sound and satisfying answer that the doubter can sink his teeth into.  Rather than give solid black-and-white answers, Herd opts for hailing the bravery of doubters and philosophizes about theological issues in a hesitant way, ie. most of his responses begin with "Maybe..." as he suggests another way to look at the issue at hand.  The tentativeness of his "maybe" responses encapsulates the overall tone of the book.  I would find it difficult to recommend this book to a member of its target audience: the lost, disillusioned young ex-church members.  I'm afraid it's ambiguity over-sympathizes with their doubt and disillusionment and fails to wholeheartedly convince.

More Lost Than Found was provided to me complimentary of BookSneeze.

God in the (sometimes yucky) Details

This morning marked a milestone in my journey of motherhood.  Jacie vomited all over me.  It's was one of those dreaded scenarios that I'd thought about pre-baby, certain I'd be so revolted that I'd be of no help to the sick child. But God gift-wrapped the moment in a way I would never have imagined.

I had been sleeping in, taking advantage of Conroy getting up with Jacie to spend time with her before he left for work. But about an hour before I normally get up when I sleep in, I felt prompted to get up and join my family.  As I came out to the kitchen, I smiled at Jacie in her high chair eating her breakfast.  She smiled at me and jabbered her welcome, but seemed a little less animated than normal.  Conroy mentioned that she wasn't eating much, and I figured maybe she was already getting tired and ready for her morning nap.  I cleaned her up and lifted her down from the high chair, guiding her to a favorite toy.  As I headed back to the kitchen, I could her joyful little squeals in play.  Not more than a couple minutes later, I turned to see her walking into the kitchen toward me, whining a little and lifting her arms to be held.  My first inclination was to ignore her so that I could get breakfast first, but instead I picked her up and held her thinking that I'd sit with her for a minute or two before starting to make breakfast.  As I walked over to the chair, commenting aloud to Conroy on her lack of appetite and whiny behavior, it happened.  All over my arm, my hair, the front of my clothes, and the ottoman I was near ---  Jacie threw up. "Well, that explains it," I said, standing there, unsure if I ought to run for the sink or if that would only create a bigger mess. 

As Conroy helped to clean Jacie and me up, the pervasive thought in my head was how God sees me, His messed-up child, so often sick with sin.  Instead of revulsion, I felt nothing but loving pity for Jacie's sick state.  As she laid her head weakly on my shoulder, and then a little later Conroy's shoulder, I wanted nothing more than to comfort or help her in her dependent state. Despite my vomit-coated hair and ruined clothes, no twinge of irritation or speck of disgust clouded my feelings toward my daughter.  How much more my perfectly loving Heavenly Father loves and pities me when I am in desperate need and completely helpless!  So today I'm so thankful that Jacie threw up on me.  I relish the reminder of how much I'm loved by my Father God!

Happiness is...

Happiness is nuzzling the neck of my little girl to her delighted squeals of laughter.

Happiness is cuddling with my hubby on the couch in a quiet house after the baby is in bed for the night.

Happiness is our little family walks in the perfect summer outdoors -- soaking in the warm breeze and bright sunshine.

Happiness is perfect baby feet sticking out from the stroller seat.

Happiness is listening to her joyful baby babble and sweet "singing."

Happiness is watching my husband's face light up at the sight of our sweet girl when he comes into the house or when we meet up with him at church.

Happiness is watching God take my dreams and hearing Him say, " I can do even better."

Odd Comforts

When I was single, one of the deep-down satisfying little routines I relished was moving around my little apartment at the close of the day -- turning off lights, closing blinds, and generally "shutting down" for the night.  In those moments, the quiet familiarity of these small habits soothed my soul like a lullaby. 

Now, as a wife and mother, my routines have changed and are rarely completely solitary, yet I still find moments of internal calm that bring me that same sense of satisfaction.  One hit me the other day as I waited for my mocha at the coffee shop. With Jacie in my arms and people bustling all around, the calm of waiting quietly for my drink among strangers wrapped around my soul.  Without moving, I let my eyes rove the room, soaking in the sense of satisfaction at the routineness of waiting in line, at the feeling of privacy inside my own head even while in a public place. 

Though quiet solitude is redefined for me now, I still find comfort in those momentary internal retreats when the world around me recedes and I feel the deep-rooted comfort that all is right with the world.  Inside my head, deep in my soul, I am still me and it is enough.

Fear and Hope

Already I feel the fear raising its ugly head.  What if the next pregnancy proves as elusive as it was the first time?  Am I up for the roller coaster ride of emotions, hoping every month only to be disappointed?  I try to squelch the fears with:  shouldn't I be content with the child I have?  Or it's too soon to know if I will have difficulty getting pregnant again because I'm still nursing.  Or even, it's out of my control anyway, so why worry about it --- when it happens, it happens! 

And yet...  the twinge has returned when I hear about another pregnancy, when I think of my desire to have a family -- siblings playing together, growing together. I am thankful and so blessed with my husband and my little girl that I feel guilty even about the twinge.  But, still, it bothers me that what comes easily to so many is such a fraught-with-frustration process for me.  Perhaps I'm worrying too soon -- maybe, maybe not.  So, cautiously, I will let myself hope.  And I will try to remember Aslan's words in The Horse and His Boy as God's reminder to me: 
"Child," said the Voice, "I am telling you your story, not hers. I tell no one any story but his own."

This is my story -- my lot -- perfectly handcrafted by God to work His purpose for my life and no one else's.

A Sinner? My Child?

I am in dismayed shock. As she arches her back, face screwed into an angry scowl, I contemplate her behavior, looking for a rationalization to sweep away what I'm seeing. But the determined look on her face, the deliberate kicks and the stiff body all point to one thing --- a child bent on her own way. Yes, it's true, I sadly realize, my child is a sinner, too. There's no escaping the reality, no more putting off the truth. I have a job ahead of me, the quality of which will make or break the person she will become. Discipline is not something that comes easily to my nature, so the task at hand seems daunting. Yet I am convinced of the dire necessity of engaging in the battle -- the battle for my child's heart and soul. Convinced, yes. I know what needs to be done. But strong enough to do it? Now there's another matter.

"Lord, give me the strength to do what I know I ought to do, to not sacrifice my child's well-being for my own comfort. I would rather not discipline, but You have charged me with this great responsibility. My child's life depends on it. Help me in my weakness to grab hold of Your enabling grace and find the courage to do my duty before You."