Holy Week (3).

Posted on April 11, 2013 by mrsgore81

On Easter Sunday morning, our church congregated a bit early to share breakfast together, forgoing our regular Sunday School classes for one joint class following our potluck meal.

Brother Ralph, our retried missionary from Tanzania, led us in study, and opened the class with a question: “Would anyone like to share a memorable Easter?”

A few shared funny stories, and sweet memories of years gone by, and then Ralph told us what Easter had been like in Tanzania…

It was the biggest holiday of the year, he said, and the celebration lasted for FOUR days.

“Wow…” I thought to myself, “four days! That would be amazing…”

But then I started doing a little mental calculating, and realized that WE had spent four days celebrating Easter this year, and I had to thank God on the spot for working in us, even when we aren’t being intentionally…well, intentional.

Because, Easter, in the past 3 years alone, has been transformed into one of the most substantive weeks of our year, and I kid you not when I confess that I had little to do with it. We’ve just kind of naturally followed the Spirit’s leading, and the result has been eye-opening and all kinds of wonderful, to say the least. I love that about the Spirit of God, condescending to work in you when you never would have changed a thing in the first place!

And so, very quickly and with few words (and lots of pictures), I thought I would share how our 4-day celebration is starting to look. I do so mostly for those of you just starting out in this whole family living stuff, in the hopes that you will glean inspiration for shaping your traditions sooner rather than later…

but with the following disclaimer: I am in no way an expert and none of my parenting endeavors have been proven successful – my oldest child is 6! My kids are mostly still heathens, I am still learning to fall out of love with materialism, and I have no reason to believe that in the next 3 years, our Easter “traditions” will not change as much as they have in these past 3 years. For all I know, in 2016, we will no longer be doing any of the things we are doing now!

But this is where God has us now, and this is working for us now, and we are so pleased with it. For now.

Now…let’s get started.

{Oh, and up there when I said I would do this very quickly and with few words? I changed my mind. I can’t do anything on the blogosphere with few words…but then, you already knew that, didn’t you?}

Day 1: As I’ve shared in the past, to commemorate Good Friday, we all dress in black and spend the day together, cooking, reading, playing, singing hymns…it is a solemn and sweet day, and to try to express the joint gravity and joy of this holy day to our very young children, I had them take a happy picture (Gideon was supposed to be smiling!)…

and a sad picture…

Miss Sunday took hers a little far, though, and wept and mourned…

but…you get the point. We rejoice in the sacrifice that was made on our behalf! But we cry over our sin and that we would choose death and destruction everytime without the work of Christ.

And to further instill these truths into my children’s hearts, I put away all their toys and only allowed them to play with the bones of dead animals.

Just kidding. That just happened, and I thought it was funny and ironic so I took a picture. All the toys are still on the porch.

And we don’t usually play with skulls.

Just sometimes.

Moooo-ving on, that night, we met with our church family for a Good Friday service and communion. Rebekah so longingly gazed at “the Lord’s feast” (as she has dubbed it) and said “why is it taking me so long to grow up?! Can I take the Lord’s feast when I am 26?!” To which Gideon replied, “You can’t take the feast until your heart’s fixed! Your heart’s not fixed.” To which Rebekah cried and cried.

(This story was topped by Amy’s, whose 3-year old daughter, Kate, yelled out during their Good Friday service, “I want to drink Jesus’ blood!!”)

We followed this service by a churchwide meal at our friends Zac and Chrissy’s house. What a sweet, sweet night, enjoying the bounty of brotherhood and fellowship on the day our sin was atoned for.

Day 2: The next day (Saturday) was spent making Hot Cross buns and, after naptime, the children made “good news” pictures saying “Jesus is alive!” Once everything was finished, we strolled down our street and delivered the buns and pictures to our neighbors. This sort of just happened at the last minute, but it will definitely be something we do every year now.

When we came home, we sat in the living room floor and ate as many Hot Cross buns as our tummies could hold and read the Easter story together before singing some of our favorite hymns. This was one of the best days I’ve ever spent with my little family. I had been wondering what to do on this empty day between Good Friday and Easter Sunday, and God so graciously took care of that for me, in a sweet and simple way that just bowled me over.

Day 3: Like I mentioned earlier, the next morning – HAPPY EASTER! – we met with our church family for a potluck breakfast, followed by a group Sunday School class, followed by worship. I’m speechless when it comes to this morning spent with this group of people I would have little in common with were it not for the blood of Jesus that binds us together…for eternity! Because of Him, we can be one, and we can point the world around us to the cross by our love for one another. That’s too beautiful, don’t you think?

After that, we went to an amazing Easter picnic and egg hunt at my Mama’s house (I will share more on this in the future) where we spent the day with family and friends, enjoying love, delicious food, our freedom, our hope, and some truly beautiful Spring weather…

This picture that I snapped of Rebekah on our egg hunt in the woods says it all…she was just sitting there by a tree with a happy little smile on her face. My heart felt exactly the same way.

oh, and we finally colored some eggs, just for fun!

Day 4: And the next morning (Monday), we finished up our week with a “Life Abundant” party. This party is my way of utilizing those fun Easter traditions I grew up with, but in a way that doesn’t interfere with our Holy Week observations, rather, that works with them fluidly and comprehensively.

It was a really fun morning with our children, eating a special breakfast as a family, giving them Spring gifts and candy, reading Spring and Easter books, and hunting eggs in our backyard. And it’s funny…I’ve struggled over how to fit “the Easter Bunny” (a truly special old friend of mine) into our celebration…but guess what? He didn’t even come up in our conversation this year. The baskets were set out, just like normal, but the kids rightly assumed they were from us. And, in accordance with all we told our kids that week, we shared with them that the purpose of this party was to celebrate our new life, and that Jesus truly is ALIVE! We also told them that, just because we follow Jesus, doesn’t mean life will always be easy and that we will get “stuff” like Easter baskets full of candy…but that if we do receive any blessings, they are from Him, and that we are free to celebrate and enjoy life as a family because of what He did on the cross. This was a day of rejoicing. Of living. Of enjoying life and life abundant.

As an adult, it has bugged me that I always gave Christmas all of my time and thought and, by my actions, made it out to be so much more awesome and important than Easter, but, by the grace of God, that is beginning to change for us, and Easter is becoming the crowning week of our year.

God is truly good.

Easter is the BEST.

Oh…and Jesus IS alive!

Do you have any traditions to share with our expectant mothers, young families, or anyone looking to make their Easter more meaningful? Even if you have shared over at the facebook page, please share again. We’d all love to hear from you!

Holy Week (2).

Posted on March 28, 2013 by mrsgore81

Sitting on the tiled seat of our walk-in shower, I watched Rebekah’s hands and arms as she slathered them up with the leftover sliver of Dove soap. Her motions were part girl, part baby, and I drank in the precious sight of her soft, slightly chubby body as the water cleansed a day of play and food and preschool living away…

So young.

So sweet.

So naive and trusting.

And as I heard the (albeit halting) strains of my husband practicing the Getty’s “Communion Hymn” at the piano in our bedroom nearby, my thoughts were drawn to our Maker.

This week we are doing our best to observe “Holy Week”, contemplating the greatest sacrifice history has ever known and one which our human hearts can barely begin to understand. 2000+ years ago, He was preparing for the agony of not only a painful physical death, but for the inconceivable reality of meeting and receiving the full wrath of a holy God.

Propitiation.

To save a race that couldn’t – wouldn’t – recognize Him when He was here in the flesh.

To save a people who loved darkness so much that they would abuse and mock and murder to get Him – and His Words – out of their sight.

To save a woman who has known and experienced His love and forgiveness for a near lifetime but continues to house a weak faith, timorous trust, and is as “prone to wander” as the most wayward sheep in the fold.

To save her family.

Her husband.

Her children…

Amazing love! How can it be?

2000+ years later, as I have the freedom and the leisure to enjoy an afternoon moment with my baby girl, my heart set free from its shackles, my eternity secure, my life complete, my hope bright, I have nothing left to do but praise Him.

Heart trembling with gratitude, I wrapped Rebekah into a towel and lifted her into my arms. She laid her head on my shoulder and I held her close, rocking back and forth to the tinkering of the piano as my heart sang along to the music…

Behold the Lamb who bears our sins away,
Slain for us – and we remember
The promise made that all who come in faith
Find forgiveness at the cross.
So we share in this bread of life,
And we drink of His sacrifice
As a sign of our bonds of peace
Around the table of the King.

The body of our Saviour Jesus Christ,
Torn for you – eat and remember
The wounds that heal, the death that brings us life
Paid the price to make us one.
So we share in this bread of life,
And we drink of His sacrifice
As a sign of our bonds of love
Around the table of the King.

The blood that cleanses every stain of sin,
Shed for you – drink and remember
He drained death’s cup that all may enter in
To receive the life of God.
So we share in this bread of life,
And we drink of His sacrifice
As a sign of our bonds of grace
Around the table of the King.

And so with thankfulness and faith we rise
To respond, – and to remember
Our call to follow in the steps of Christ
As His body here on earth.
As we share in His suffering
We proclaim Christ will come again!
And we’ll join in the feast of heaven
Around the table of the King.

“Behold the Lamb (Communion Hymn)” by Keith and Kristyn Getty and Stuart Townend

By His grace, I remember.

I will teach it to my children.

I will strive to make our life about Him and not us.

I will do my best to write it upon our doorposts.

May He continually write it upon our hearts.

He Hides the Brightness of His Face (but I Will Never Give Up My Shield)

Posted on February 18, 2013 by mrsgore81

True to the nature of Small Elephant, I’ve been making a lot of self-deprecating jokes about the manic (and starving) version of myself since learning I am pregnant with my 4th child.

(especially on my facebook page – if you haven’t joined us there yet, you should! We have so much fun! At least I do…)

In the near future, I’ll be writing up some longer posts about my 1st trimester hilarity, and I look forward to gathering up all those stories into one place so I can reflect on (and laugh about) what a tumultuous and humorous 3 months this has been…

but, if I’m being honest, it hasn’t been all laughter, and, while Mr. Gore and I joke often about how I am a caricature of a real person, the struggles I have faced, especially in this past month, have been very real, very gritty, and very indicative of my fallen and weak human nature.

Aside from that unexpected scare we experienced a couple of weeks ago (that turned out to be nothing a’tall, thank God!), the past six weeks have been rough as I have fought nearly constant nausea and fatigue while trying to run a household and a homeschool, and on a much deeper level, have tried to maintain a biblical Christian attitude while operating under a very dark cloud of self-loathing (I don’t love myself very much when I am not properly cleaned and groomed), irritability, and hormonal upheaval.

As I have grown in my faith over the past decade, my deepest struggles while pregnant have changed from physical discomfort and vanity issues to heavy spiritual battles as I wage war on this intensified version of my already sinful self.

It is…exhausting.

Because what I understand more and more is this: no matter how badly I feel, and no matter how great the temptation is to be snippy with my husband or short-tempered with my kids, I must strive to glorify God by obeying His Word and, by His grace, seek to overcome my lazy and selfish and sinful desires. It doesn’t matter if they are brought on by pregnant hormonal fluctuations; they still must be done away with and surrendered to Christ!

And so my nights of late have been filled with tearful prayers for the grace of God to cover me, and to make this road easier. I plead that He will allow my feet to hurt and my back to ache worse than ever if He will only keep my love and compassion shining brightly in my heart. I cry out for the ability to be anything but self-absorbed and to be so focused on taking care of others that I won’t even notice my own discomfort…

But sometimes we are simply called to walk through valleys and to experience dark days, and sanctification can be a brutal process.

And over the course of the month, after being away from my church body and the preaching of the Word (due to the kids or myself being sick), and after too many successive days of failure and solitary confinement, I began to drown in that darkness as I listened to the lies of my heart.

It all culminated one night as Mr. Gore and I were readying for bed. I had been focusing on how little I had been able to accomplish, and how meager my contributions, even to my tiny little family, had been, and I began to cry. “Do you ever feel like the most selfish person in the world?” I asked my husband.

He tried to comfort me, but I was on a roll, and I finally confessed what had been sitting heavy on my heart all day: “I just think that, if I were never to show up at church again, no one would suffer for the loss. I know people would miss me, but…my not being there wouldn’t really change anything.”

I realize now what a lie that was, but, in my sad introspective state, I wasn’t thinking clearly. I felt far from God, far from my loved ones, and, as hippy-dippy as this sounds, far from myself. “I don’t even know who I am anymore!” I cried one night.

And I share all of the above for this one reason…

God is faithful.

And even when you are groping about, and you lose sight of your purpose and you lose your joy and you are just trying to survive moment by moment, there will come a day when…

you will feel better. You will join once more with your church family, and your hugs will be so heartfelt, and you will tear up as you hear how much you were missed and how many people were praying for you. Your heart will nearly burst as you hear the Word taught and preached, because you will remember that, yes! This is all true, and I have an identity in this remnant, and this is my life! You will rejoice in the God who made you and who sustains you and who never gives you more than you can bear. And somehow, someway, you will find yourself feeling grateful, even for the darkness you just walked through, because you will never forget that God was there and He did not allow your foot to slip. And you will sing, like you’ve never sang before…

After a soul-stirring sermon that just ripped me apart and made my spirit leap, our beloved brother, Ben, led us in a song that, for me, could not have been more meaningful or more timely:

Away my unbelieving fear,

Fear shall in me no more take place,

My Savior doth not yet appear,

He hides the brightness of his face.

But shall I therefore let him go,

And basely to the tempter yield?

No, in the strength of Jesus, no

I never will give up my shield.

Although the vine its fruit deny,

Although, the olive yield no oil,

The withering fig-tree droop and die,

The field elude the tiller’s toil,

The empty stall no herd afford,

And perish all the bleating race,

Yet will I triumph in the Lord,

The God of my salvation praise.

Barren although my soul remain

And not one bud of grace appear,

No fruit of all my toil and pain,

But sin and only sin is here.

Although my gifts and comforts lost,

My blooming hopes cut off I see,

Yet will I in my Savior trust,

And glory that he died for me.

In hope believing, against hope,

Jesus my Lord, my God I claim,

Jesus my strength shall lift me up,

Salvation is in Jesus’ name,

To me he soon shall bring it nigh,

My soul shall soon out-strip the wind,

On wings of love mount up on high,

And leave the world and sin behind.

(lyrics by Charles Wesley)

Oh, friends. As I sat in my pew with my cheek resting on Rebekah’s golden hair, my voice, my heart, and my tears joined together to offer these words to God, and my soul was once more at rest.

I am not yet brave enough to ask for discomfort or suffering, but, after today, I am convinced of this…

the Light is one hundred times more beautiful after you’ve walked for a spell in the dark.

The Weekend Confinement of Small Elephant

Posted on February 10, 2013 by mrsgore81

We had a bit of a scare on Friday morning.

I’ll spare you the specific details, but all of a sudden, our morning plans of a jaunt to the local library were exchanged for several nervous hours at the walk-in clinic of our doctor’s office.

And as I’ve discovered with most pregnancy situations, the symptoms I was experiencing could be perfectly normal…or dismally grave. As much as I love and employ the book “What to Expect When You’re Expecting”, the thesis of its contents sometimes seems to be that “every pregnancy and every facet of every pregnancy is different…you never know…check with your doctor….you could be fine…or you could be dying.”

But once in an exam room, after finally locating our little peanut on the ultrasound screen, we all (including the doctor, I think) heaved a great sigh of relief to see that little heartbeat flickering just as it should be, and after giving us the best report we could have hoped for, I was sent home to “take it easy” and wait things out over the weekend.

It is now Saturday afternoon, and I am happy to report that, for now, all seems to be well, and that scary situation that took place on Friday morning has happened no more.

Am I “out of the woods”?

Well…no.

And not because I am necessarily still afraid I might be miscarrying, but because I became painfully (and yet happily) aware of a reality yesterday morning that I had failed to understand before: Friday was no different than any other day. Just because I was faced with the slight possibility of losing my baby did not change the fact that, if God wants me to have this baby, I’m going to have this baby. I might have been excruciatingly aware of the delicate balance between life and death, afraid to move or breathe for fear of upsetting it, but nothing had really changed from the hundreds of days before this one.

Such is the unseen truth that surrounds our comings and goings every day of our life. We are never “out of the woods” when it comes to possible sicknesses, losses, death…but then again, we are ever and always held fast in the palm of God’s hand. As the great missionary John Paton put it, “Looking up in unceasing prayer to our dear Lord Jesus, I left all in his hands, and felt immortal till my work was done.” If we really believe what the Bible says, we, too, must adopt the theology that we (and our children) are immortal until our work is done.

This brought me great comfort, and I realized that my fears that day were not based on whether or not God was in control, but on what He was going to ask of me, and although I was still discouraged by my erratically beating heart and my nerve-clenched stomach in the face of the unknown, I was so happy to note the spiritual growth that has taken place in my life since my last traumatic experience…

for it wasn’t too very long ago that I frequently displayed (by my fears and anxieties and my panicked speech) that I didn’t really believe God was in control at’all.

Of course, it didn’t hurt that the day was saturated with obvious grace. On our long drive to the clinic, Mr. Gore and I prayed together. Comically, our routine (per my request) is for me to pray first and then for him to follow and “clean it up”. But as I prayed, I began to note the seeming coincidences that were lining our day…

1. My Mom had been planning on taking the kids and me to the library at 9:00, so she was at our house early, dressed, and inexplicably armed with a bag of paperwork that she needed to work on. Mr. Gore met her at the sidewalk to explain our situation, and 20 minutes later, we were on our way, hearts at rest knowing our kids would be in good hands regardless of what our day held.

2. Our servant-hearted friend, Kodi, on hearing that I’ve been having nightly bouts of “morning sickness” starting at about 5:00 p.m., kindly offered to take our kids one night this week and make us supper. We had originally scheduled for Tuesday, but when something came up, we switched to Friday. Again, our hearts were at rest as we drove to the doctor, knowing that our kids would have a fun evening at Kodi’s house, and that our supper would be taken care of.

3. And then we could have gone on and on about how God was obviously taking care of us: Mr. Gore was not out of town. Mr. Gore has a flexible job that allows him to take me to the doctor should the need arise. This happened on the morning of a Friday, giving us the freedom to make it to the doctor rather than being anxious all weekend…

I could continue, but the conclusion of our prayer was this: your kindness and grace in caring for us so fully, God, gives us faith that you will continue to care for us. We so badly want to have this baby, but we trust your Word and we can tell that you love us, and so we know you will only do what is best. We’ve been learning in church how grace and peace are often coupled together, because when we contemplate the great grace of God and focus on what He has done and is doing, our hearts will be at peace concerning the future. I am an extremely weak vessel, and so “tremulous” was still the state of my being as we sat in that exam room, but at the heart of me, the truth was ringing that God would be faithful to us, no matter what. I share these things as a memorial for my family and for my own forgetful heart. May we never forget how good He has been.

Well, as I said, things are looking extremely optimistic, and in the meantime, I have been perched ever-so-elegantly in my king-sized bed, sometimes laying on my left side, sometimes laying on my right side, sometimes sitting cross-legged on my bum, but always with several sources of entertainment nearby, along with a variety of tempting foods and beverages. My Mom has been my faithful nurse, laundress, nanny, housekeeper and cook, my friends have blessed me with childcare and yummy foods, my church has encouraged me to tears with tender sentiments and prayers, and I am feeling incredibly blessed, regardless of the fact that Friday was one of the scariest days of my life.

And, as ever, I have found in my little family a sweet source of encouragement and entertainment to get me through the weekend.

My firstborn crept into bed yesterday afternoon before going to Kodi’s house and asked me if I was feeling okay. When I asked him to pray for me, he took both of my hands in his and said, so solemnly, “Dear God, please make it easy for Mama to have her baby. And if you don’t make it easy, we’ll just come back and ask you again to make it easy.” Tears were rolling down my cheeks by the time he finished his sweet and tender prayer, but he has grown so accustomed to seeing this evidence of my sentimental heart that he doesn’t even mention it anymore.

Miss Sunday has, not surprisingly, been less tender in her ministrations, and, donning her nurse pinafore and armed with her trusty doctor’s bag, shoved mini marshmallow “pills” into my mouth and barked at anyone who came near her “patient”. Still yet, if I am ever forced to go out into battle, I want that girl at my side.

And sweet Baby Betsie toddles in every so often and brightens my room with her nonsensical chatter and her frequent hugs and kisses.

I mustn’t paint too idyllic a picture, however, and will confess that when all three are here at the same time, I feel the urge to flee from my “sickbed”.

I would never envy the life of an invalid, but for this weekend at least, there has been a silver lining in my unexpected confinement: being loved, knowing God better, resting my body and my mind…

and I’ll confess, having hot food delivered straight into my hands whenever I want it is pretty near to heaven, especially for a ravenous pregnant woman.

But most of all, I am praising God that, for today, my little baby #4 is still with us, enjoying the sweet blessings of love and home and family.

Want to read more on the extraordinary life of John Paton? Click here.

The Topsy-Turvy Days…

Posted on January 29, 2013 by mrsgore81

I felt I would be remiss and dishonest if, after yesterday’s glowing report of the day, I did not sit down for a bit to jot down today’s activities…

I woke up extremely late today (at 10:00 a.m.!) in a stuffy bedroom with a sweaty 3-year old laying on my arm. Gideon was peering over us, and as Rebekah and I began to stir and my two eldest children began to converse, it became immediately obvious to me that there was a different tone in our house than there had been yesterday.

They were jabbing at each other before her feet had even hit the floor.

I quickly changed Betsie, made my coffee and bagel in a hurry, threw some dry cereal in bowls for the kids, and ushered us all onto the front porch in hopes that we could revisit Eden again today.

But it soon became apparent that, if yesterday was Eden, today was the day that Adam and Eve got kicked out of the garden.

The wind was blustery, the kids were restless, and as I tried to slather pineapple cream cheese on my toasted bagel, I had 3 wriggling bodies either on me or in my peripheral…regardless of the fact that we have 5 rocking chairs on our front porch. Today we might as well have had one (the one Mama was sitting in…).

Every conversation ended in an argument, and even Baby Betsie was being a bit of a tyrant. Nothing could please her, especially as she seemed to have picked up an extreme case of clumsiness overnight – every other step she took resulted in a hurt toe or a scratched finger…

in other words, it was absolute chaos.

And I won’t mention the fact that it had been an unprecedented amount of time since I had taken my last shower.

“Welcome back to earth…” I told myself.

But I am learning that moments like these always pass, and so, in between the crying and the whining, I pulled out my Bible to do a little reading (for the SECOND DAY in a row, thank you, Lord!), and instead of keeping the words to myself, I started reading out loud, beginning with 1 Corinthians 1:4, the verse Mr. Gore expounded on this past Sunday.

“Do you know what that means, Gid?” I asked.

He shook his head.

“Just that we should thank God for the people in our church and we should be so happy when we see Him doing good things for them.” I answered, sealing the words in my own heart with a prayer for the grace to do that very thing.

Gideon’s reply surprised me: “Oh, I really liked that story. Read another one!”

And so I did, finding the next reference on this week’s Daily Bible Reading Guide (my husband weekly publishes a study guide to help our congregation further meditate on Sunday’s text). Galatians 6:1-4.

The kids were milling about by the time I finished that one, Betsie squawking at Gideon for some of the crackers he was eating, Rebekah dragging one of my “dry clean only” Pottery Barn throws onto the porch, but I carried on nonetheless, explaining what that passage meant to the children in terms I hoped they could understand, comparing the idea of “bearing one another’s burdens” to Christian and Faithful in the “Dangerous Journey” book they’ve been reading with Papa at night.

And in the midst of my random snippets of reading and talking, and all the scolding and whining and…living…in between, the Spirit began to whisper to my heart…

Yes, we may not live in Paradise yet. Most days are exactly like the one we were having today, full of ups and downs, surrounded by dangers, toils and snares, where it becomes so disappointingly clear that those “best days” like we experienced yesterday can never be orchestrated and are simply unexpected and unscripted gifts from a loving Father…

but, thank God, regardless of what kind of a day we’re having, there is a thread of consistency found in our fallen world, and it springs triumphantly forth from the words of the ancient Book I sat reading aloud to my children.

There, we find solace and direction…

we find truths that resonate so deeply in our hearts that it burns to hear them…

we find a bond that is so much deeper than our earthly familial relations…

and best of all, we find hope, for the perfect days, and for the not-so-perfect days.

All of a sudden, it became a joy to me to share this topsy-turvy morning with my topsy-turvy family, because I was reminded…

the God we worship and set our hearts after isn’t topsy-turvy at all.

He is the same yesterday, today, and tomorrow.

No matter how different the days look.

No matter how different we feel when we wake up in the morning.

(And thankfully, no matter how long it has been since we’ve showered).

31st Birthday Musings

Posted on December 18, 2012 by mrsgore81

~ written on December 15, 2012 ~

Here I sit, right smack in the middle of my birthday. I’m not 30 anymore, but I don’t really know if I’ve been born yet 31 years ago.

Still yet, by the end of today, I will most certainly be 31 years old.

An easy age.

Doesn’t hurt a bit to turn 31.

Which is kind of nice because, rather than spending any time bemoaning my ever-increasing age, I have had plenty of time to contemplate what has taken place this past year, as well as mull over any changes I might like to make in the year to come…

My 30th year has perhaps been the best year I’ve ever had, and not for the typical things one might be thankful for – health, financial blessings, ease – on the contrary, looking back, I am surprised by how many challenges we have faced as a family.

But true to His Word, God has used each one of them for our good:

surgeries. My sweet Miss Sunday’s index finger saga was as hellish an ordeal as I’ve ever experienced, and I will never, ever forget holding her in my lap while the doctor manually reset her finger. Every cry she made (for a complete hour) reverberated through my body, slicing at my heart and leaving me more helpless than I’ve ever felt in my entire life.

Likewise, I grew up by dog-years when Mr. Gore had back surgery early in the Spring. I am still recovering from our drive home from the hospital, mentally cursing at car after car that zoomed past us on the interstate, but his recovery period was one of the most sanctifying times I’ve ever experienced, and strangely enough, I still find myself thanking God for that time of togetherness as a family and personal growth as an individual, for I don’t think I honestly understood until then what “hard work” meant. If you could have seen me dragging our garbage holders (I don’t even know what they are called!) out to the road that first Monday, you might have thought I was a duchess (wearing frumpy pajamas) who woke up to find that all of her servants had abandoned the manor during the night (I’m pretty sure my pinkies were sticking up in the air), but by the end of his long recovery, I was relishing my newfound strength and work ethic, one that continues to develop in this girl who was previously, to be frank, quite lazy.

financial changes. Oh, the paradox of Christianity, that causes you to see with ever-changing vision what is important, countering the lies of culture over and over and over again. God has been extremely faithful to this single-salary family in the past year, but He continues to wake us up to a new worldview where 10% is just the beginning of our giving and where consumerism grows less tasteful by the day. And while this has been extremely freeing, it has brought with it a share of difficulties, especially for me. Like a dog that returns to its vomit, I have a longtime love affair with the beautiful things this world has to offer; I might walk away from the lies one day only to return to them tenfold the next. But guess what? We drive 2 cars from the 90′s, we have one old-fashioned cell phone, we cut off our satellite, those metal springs are still poking me every night through my seat on the couch, and…we are as happy as clams (on most days). And as challenging as these denials have been for me (among others), I thirst for more. Like I said…paradox.

death. We have lost a great-grandparent, two grandparents, and too many beloved brothers and sisters in the Lord. With each passing, I realize afresh that we are not made for this world with all of its sadness and separation, for there is nothing more final and sobering than seeing the body of one you held so dear being lowered into the ground. But there is hope in this sadness, for if we were not made for this world, and if mortality brings so crushing a blow, then I am quite confident that I should start living more intentionally for the world to come. The forever world. Where the things that are real and life-giving last for eternity…

Which leads me to my short list of wishes for the coming year.

~ Wish 1 ~

I long to continue returning to the things that we were created for. As I steadily grow in my faith, I am learning to discern the difference between those things that are fulfilling and those things that leave ashes in my mouth (I call them “ashy”).

Thus, my foremost goal in the year to come is to train myself to engage in the fulfilling rather than the ashy, even when everything within me is shouting “Choose the ashy!!”

What fulfills my redeemed heart? Studying the Bible. Spending time with my family. Biblically fellowshipping with the body of Christ (spurring each other on, confessing our sins to one another, praying together, discipling one another, submitting to one another). Giving my children my undivided attention. “Going forth and multiplying” with my husband. Making food with my hands. Digging in the dirt and growing things. Keeping a tidy and functional home for my family. Feeding my mind with good books. Being quiet and allowing the Spirit to talk to me.

Life, when lived in such a manner is a continual feast.

And which activities persistently leave ashes in my mouth? Overindulgent internet consumption. Overindulgent television consumption. Choosing television or other selfish pursuits over “going forth and multiplying”. Ignoring my family to pursue my own ashy desires. Making nonstop wishlists of things I want rather than tending to the things I have (for instance, cleaning up our filthy yard would beautify our home WAY more than ordering the latest trinket from Anthropologie). Overspending. Overeating. Being lazy. Being ridiculous. People-pleasing. Whining. Being jealous of others. Getting uptight about politics.

All that to say, I so want to choose the fulfilling, even when I don’t want to, and I know this won’t happen by osmosis; therefore, I am praying for grace and power and wisdom and growth, the likes of which I have never known.

~ Wish 2 ~

I would love to have a robot or something that would floss my teeth for me.

But speaking of the world to come (remember? I mentioned it in the mile-long intro to this post?), I’m excited to go to a place where flossing is not required or probably even suggested.

~ Wish 3 ~

I want to better understand and employ the unfathomable tool of prayer. I just paused in this writing to tiptoe upstairs and check on my children (it is now almost midnight – I think I’m definitely 31 now!). Seeing first that each one was breathing, I took a moment to look at their little sleeping faces, my heart a painful mixture of love and gratitude and, in the light of yesterday’s horrible tragedy, overwhelming fear. A prayer that began as “Oh, God they are so precious…” quickly turned to one of desperation that they would never be faced with harm or terror. But even as I prayed, my spirit was quickly moved to have faith and to trust in God’s plan for us and to reevaluate what our purpose on this earth is, and as I tiptoed back downstairs, I had to marvel at the unspoken exchange that took place in my mind. Those outside of Christianity would call me crazy for actually believing that my progression of thought was anything more than a one-sided conversation, but…I know better. Mostly because I know that the natural Mrs. Gore would never find faith through her fear – that’s simply not how I roll; when left to myself, I can get to the worst-case scenario in less than a second. So if God can move me and teach me in a 1-minute random “conversation”, imagine what He would do if I would take those conversations more seriously. Set time aside for them. Start my day with them. Pursue Him, even a fraction of the way He pursues me.

~ Wish 4 ~

Nay, this is more than a wish; this is a soon-to-be reality. I shall write a children’s book about some teensy little mice and I can’t talk about the plot out loud without crying. Promise you’ll buy a copy when it is published? In the year 2032?

~ Wish 5 ~

Well, I really must be getting old, because the only wish I can come up with at this incredibly late hour is that I wish to go to bed and put an end to this terrifically wordy blog post! But before I stop, I do want to put in an extra plug for Wishes 1 and 3…I really, really want those to come true.

And Wish 2 would also be lovely, although…I am a bit afraid of robots. I don’t think I’d want one touching my teeth.

Guess that means I’ll never be a flosser.

What I am, however, until I close my eyes in sleep, is the Birthday Girl…

and a very happy one I am, at that.

December Party Ideas

Posted on December 10, 2012 by mrsgore81

I’m going to make this post pretty snappy, because time’s a’wastin’!

We had 2 kid parties last year that were so much fun, and there is still time for you to have one of your own before December zooms by:

1. On 11-11-11, my Mom had all the kids out for a weenie roast in the woods. The components: a) At 11:11 a.m., we threw confetti in the air. b) We took a group picture with printed off (and then framed) number 11′s, and c) Mom gave each child $11.11 to spend on someone else. (11-11-11 also happened to fall on Veteran’s Day, so this party had a patriotic theme to it).

All that to say, there is still time for you to plan a 12-12-12 party at 12:12!! It doesn’t have to be fancy, and could require very little thought, but don’t miss this VERY last opportunity to commemorate all those matching numbers. Why is this so important? I have no idea. It just feels super special.

2. And about a week-and-a-half before Christmas, Mama had the kids back over for a baking party. I loved this party because she actually let the kids do almost all of the baking and decorating, and she used it to help them learn to serve others. As the cookies were cooling, the children were instructed to decorate paper sacks and write little cards for some of the members of our church. Then we all loaded up into a church van and made cookie deliveries. We also sang “We Wish You a Merry Christmas” at each house. Take a look:

I won’t mention what happened about halfway through our deliveries, but…you can read about how Miss Sunday gruesomely smashed her finger and had to be rushed to the hospital (and later have surgery) here: Mrs. Gore has a DAY

Still…this was a truly special day and one of my favorite parties ever, no bells and whistles and very others-oriented. I want to do more of this with my kids.

Let me know if you decide to try either of these “parties” and how they turn out! And please forgive me if there were any typing or spelling errors in this post – I’m in THAT big of a hurry and had to get this published (without editing) so you would have time to plan your 12-12-12 party. Spit-spot!! Off you go!

Plenty To Be Thankful For

Posted on December 3, 2012 by mrsgore81

The week of Thanksgiving was…

awesome.

So awesome that I didn’t step foot on the internet for many, many days and so awesome that the only word I can think of to describe it is…awesome.

{Which is kind of sad. Not because it is not a wonderful word (though somewhat overused), but because I’m too lazy to look up a different word in the thesaurus. The one that is sitting right next to me. The one that is so big and full of words. Thesauruses make me tired. Or better yet, exhausted. Weary…}

Sorry.

So why was last week awesome?

Many reasons…

1. The entire family was not vomiting (and then some) like we were last year. Read “Thanksgiving or Bust” to hear more on that jolly good holiday.

2. Seeing the last “Twilight” movie with my Mom and my cousin’s wife, Amanda (who also doubles as my soulmate) in a theater full of teenagers. There was a teenage couple sitting behind us, and I kept imagining they were making out behind us in disgusting teenager fashion, with their long, gangly limbs and their retainer slobbers. Gross. But there is nothing better than getting a fit of the giggles during a melodramatic “Twilight” movie…

3. Little things…

Like coming across these Thanksgiving crafts I let the kids make while I was cleaning. I had to laugh at the obvious difference between boys and girls. Rebekah’s turkey is standing next to a flower. Gideon’s turkey is also standing next to a flower, but is being shot by a hunter. Poor turkey.

Or walking into the schoolroom to see that Gideon had been inspired by the Thanksgiving chalk “art” I had “made” (i.e. copied off of Pinterest). Here’s mine:

Here’s his (so sweet!):

or receiving the pinecone turkey Gideon made in Sunday School, full of “feathers” stating what he was most thankful for…

Thankfully, “Mama and Papa” is also listed, right underneath “armor”. Food and armor and chicken. Little boys are the best.

4. The family. I could go on and on for DAYS, but you all know who you are and you know how much I love you. Bunch of weirdos.

5. The food. Oh, sweet Pete, the food…

6. Watching my Mom do her magic, hosting a houseful of people in the midst of a bedroom renovation (carpet was actually installed during the mayhem), and still managing to feed all of us 2 or 3 times a day without ever losing her cool. Amanda and I were shocked one night to see her pull a beautiful and perfectly cooked turkey out of the oven. NO ONE had seen her do any preparation. But it’s always like that at her house…a timer goes off, bottabing, bottaboom, a turkey. Amazing.

7. The Janie and Jack Black Friday internet sale that enabled me to buy a year’s worth of dress pants for my little vintage boy who wore woolen slacks (with silk lining) all summer long, because he “liked they way they feeled…like I’m not wearing any clothes!” Thank you, God, for 30% off sales, $25 reward cards, and free shipping.

8. And lastly, on a very serious note, I am most thankful for something that happened this Thanksgiving week that has caused my heart to soar in gratitude and wonder. Settle in, why don’t you? This might take a while…

One morning as we were preparing once more to load up and join the rest of my family at Mama and Daddy’s house in the country, Gideon and Rebekah got into a massive fight in the living room. I could hear their shouts clear in my bathroom on the other end of the house, quickly followed by Rebekah’s heavy footfall as she came to rat her brother out.

“Gideon hit me!!!” she wailed.

My heart sank. A most punishable offense, no matter what she had done to entice him. I followed her back into the living room where Gideon met us with tears of anger and frustration gathering in his eyes.

“Did you hit your sister?” I asked him, my own anger barely in check. We had been over this many a time before. Too many times.

He nodded meekly, before defending himself: “But she stomped her foot at me and she did her mouth like this (all twisted up) and said “grrrr!!” His temper began to boil over just thinking about what she had done to him.

I’ll spare you the details, but the discipline was swift and firm, followed by a sound scolding for Rebekah for enticing him to anger, and the two were told to apologize and “make up”. But you know how these things go…you can instruct a child in the way to go, you can present them with the Word of God, you can make them look each other in the eye and say the right words, but…you cannot make them feel conviction. It has all been rather rote and mechanical for us during these preschool years.

Thank God for His Spirit.

For ten minutes later, as I was sitting on my bed braiding Rebekah’s hair, the fight forgotten, Gideon quietly walked in and stood at my door. Our eyes met.

“I’m sorry…” he said quietly, his bottom lick puckering.

“For hitting Rebekah?” I asked, intrigued that he was bringing it up again.

And right before my eyes, his little spirit crumbled, shoulders drooping, despair cloaking his countenance, tears falling freely and sincerely. “I don’t want to hit!” he exclaimed through his tears. “I don’t like to hit people.”

I couldn’t breathe for a minute over the magnitude of what was taking place – this was different than any “remorse” he had ever shown. And then Gideon ran to me, crying, and I gathered him up with all the compassion and love I have for him in my heart.

“Gid, I know you’re upset,” I encouraged, “but this is a great thing!” I shook his shoulders a bit in my excitement. “Do you know who is helping you to not like your anger? The Holy Spirit! He is fixing your heart, just like we’ve prayed!!”

“But…” he whimpered, “I just don’t like how it feels!”

Can a heart rejoice and break at the same time? Because, while thrilled with this new development in his heart, I mourned for my baby to wake up to the horror that is the sin nature. There is no greater pain on earth than realizing our depravity, but…it is a pain that leads us to the Savior, who has a healing balm of redemption for our sin-sick souls.

And the reality that my son, whom I love more than anything, is beginning to feel the very same God-breathed pangs of conviction that I feel on a daily basis…well, it just nearly bowled me over. For nothing has humbled me or caused me to come to grips with my finitude and humanity more than realizing that I have no control over whether or not my children will ever have a love for their Creator or will ever hate their sin. In desperation, I cry out to God on their behalf as we look to His Word for the tools to lead our children, knowing that the only way to parent them well is to parent them biblically.

And all that remains after doing those things is faith that He will keep His promises.

But oh how weak my faith can be.

And so this random and unexpected moment during an otherwise busy week was a holy moment for us, earth-shattering for Gideon, but faith-bolstering for me, and became the highlight of my holiday as it assured me so deeply that God is with us. He is moving. He is working. He is hearing our prayers and causing the truths that we share to take root in our children, softening them, wooing them, making their dead hearts come to life before our very eyes.

This alone would give me every reason to be thankful this holiday season.

No vomiting, silly movies, family, food, and life-changing spiritual breakthroughs. It was a good Thanksgiving.

Me and my sweet Mama, Thanksgiving 2012

Sunshine.

Posted on November 28, 2012 by mrsgore81

She was heartbroken.

Because, even though her 5-year old Cousin Anna was still downstairs playing with Gideon, it was naptime, and 3-year old girls simply must have their rest.

It’s funny, isn’t it, that the ears of a mother can discern the different tunes and chords of their children’s cries? And while Miss Sunday is notorious for her loud, fake cry that she can turn off and on like a switch, this cry was real and deep, and I felt her pain in my own heart.

How tempting it was to give her the afternoon off and allow her to indulge in her heart’s desire, but we had a long night ahead, and I knew that she and I would both pay if I allowed her that luxury.

And so I held her, instead.

Sitting on her brother’s twin-sized bed, she straddled my waist and buried her head on my shoulder where I could feel her tears sinking into my shirt. We rocked, together, riding out the storm of her hurt, and I absent-mindedly mused over what a blessed invention the rocking chair was, created, I am sure, for moments such as these.

Still yet, mamas can rock just about anywhere, even without a special chair.

“Can I sing to you?” I asked her, searching for any means with which to ease her sadness.

She nodded, and her wails of despair immediately calmed down in both decibel and frequency.

First it was her standard favorite, “Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star”. And then the old standby “Rock-a-bye Baby”. With each word I sang, her tears ebbed a little more, and she began to relax on my chest.

And then I heard her muffled voice from my shoulder: “Just one more?…”.

I breathed in the smell of her long, golden hair and relished the feel of her warm body cuddled into mine as I perused my musical index for the perfect song to describe the way she makes me feel…

You are my sunshine, my only sunshine

You make me happy when skies are grey.

You’ll never know, dear, how much I love you,

Oh please don’t take my sunshine away…

I sang the song to her, the words flowing directly from my heart to her ears, and as I sang, I praised God for the gift of children, especially, at the moment, for my beloved Miss Sunday.

There were times in my young life when I thought that motherhood would be a stifling road, one that would ruin my body and strip me of my dreams, one that would leave me haggard and old and washed up and…lost. At that egotistical time in my life, nothing scared me more than the thought of forgetting who I was and losing my “identity.”

I understand now that I had a sinful aversion to self-denial and living for others, and that I had digested the lies of my culture, hook, line and sinker…

But God, in His infinite wisdom and mercy, knew so much better, and He weaved a sanctifying tale of motherhood into the story of my life, one that has changed me and challenged me and humbled me and taught me first-hand that great paradox of Christianity, that “losing ourselves” is where we are actually found, and that in dying is discovered the road to life and life abundant.

And now I have these little gifts running helter-skelter all over my house, keeping me on my feet from the minute theirs hit the floor in the morning and until their eyes close in sleep, and I am training myself daily to live for Christ by living for them…

but sometimes, like today, it hits me that it’s not all dying and losing, is it? And it’s not all exhaustion and training…

for as boisterous and energetic and sinful, even, as these little ones are, they are sunshine.

And I have seen over and over again that, when times have been especially dark and confusing, and when the outside world seems unbearably cruel and unjust, God uses my children to bring moments of happiness that transcend words and reason: a small hand on my shoulder radiates peace and comfort, a mispronounced words pops a giggle out of my mouth, an unscripted and unplanned moment of togetherness drops down like a gift of grace from the sky…

and I fall in love with God’s plan for my life over and over and over again as I heave a great sigh of contentment and see with clear vision that children are a blessing and a heritage from the Lord, and are, at times, great little ministers of peace and hope and love. Not burdens. Not exhausting little monsters. Not roadblocks to personal success or achievement…

if only we would always see them so clearly and bask in the sunshine that they bring into our homes during these precious and fleeting years.

As I finished the song, Miss Sunday asked me to sing it just one more time.

And so I did. For her and for me. She needed the extra comfort and time, and I needed to say the words – and the accompanying prayer of my heart – again and again and again…

I may see less of friends, but I have gained one dearer than them all, to whom, while I minister in Christ’s name, I make a willing sacrifice of what little leisure for my own recreation my other darlings had left me. Yes, my precious baby, you are welcome to your mother’s heart, welcome to her time, her strength, her health, her tenderest cares, to her lifelong prayers! Oh, how rich I am, how truly, how wondrously blest!

Elizabeth Prentiss, Stepping Heavenward

I’ve Got the Sun in the Morning…

Posted on November 7, 2012 by mrsgore81

My posture is a bit different this evening as I sit down to gather my thoughts.

Most usually, I wait until the children are in bed or otherwise situated before I even attempt to jot down a blog post. The reason being, I kind of have trouble doing any two things at one time – cooking and listening to people talk, patting my head and rubbing my tummy, driving and reading street signs, being alive and doing any sort of math problem, watching television and folding clothes – in other words, I’m a big, fat dummy and need absolute silence in order to properly think or do much of anything.

But today, I’m feeling spontaneous and am sitting at the kitchen table with my refurbished laptop, my eldest children on either side of me, happily occupied with their coloring books…and, evidenced by the buttery fingerprints on my keyboard, there is a giant bowl of popcorn right smack in the middle of the table. Betsie, of course, is locked up nearby us in her highchair, eating sugar snap peas and deli turkey and as much popcorn as she can convince us to share with her. For, if Betsie is loose, NObody gets ANYthing done, whether they are a big, fat dummy or a smartypants genius or even, I’m betting, the old lady in the shoe. Betsie just has that effect on people.

So what is it that has me feeling so spontaneous? What has happened to me that makes my heart feel so contented and calm within me? How in the world am I able to sit amongst this throng of little people and find the mental fortitude to make intelligable sentences?…

I don’t really know. It has just been one of those laidback (but productive) Saturdays that makes me want to be near to my family, to count my blessings, to bask in our togetherness as long as possible.

And all afternoon, an old song has been lilting through my mind, the perfect soundtrack to highlight our first weekend in November…

Got no diamonds, got no pearls,

Still I think I’m a lucky girl.

I’ve got the sun in the morning

And the moon at night.

Got no mansions, got no yachts,

Still I’m happy with what I got.

I’ve got the sun in the morning

And the moon at night…

It all started this afternoon during the children’s naptime. I was going through the 9,000 pictures I have stored on our desktop (sadly, all of them taken since January), deleting some, adding some to albums, moving some to the external harddrive…

And as I scanned through photo after photo of my family last Spring, I could hardly fathom how quickly the children have grown and how much they’ve changed in so short a season. Days and moments I had completely forgotten about came rushing back into my soul in a flood of sweet memories. And although I enjoyed looking at all the fun parties we’ve had where our clothes were matching and our hair was tidy, the sweetest pictures were just of us…unscripted…untidy…mismatched…living!

They were pictures of life and life abundant, the very thing I set about celebrating here on my blog. And they were so beautiful, they made my heart ache. Not because we are particularly special or beautiful people, but because the things I see in those pictures are real and substantial things that are eternal and were the main components of the perfect world God initially created for us to enjoy: love…family…laughter…innocence…work…nature…home…

Each and every one a gift created by and given from a very loving Father.

As the children woke up and our afternoon wore on, we all ended up in the old, spacious shed on our property. Mr. Gore was finishing up a woodworking project and the children and I were sitting on our bottoms on a swept-off concrete slab, coloring and talking (we color a LOT in this house). I looked around me. Mr. Gore was deep in concentration as he measured and tinkered, and looked especially resplendent and manly with his coarse, red beard glowing copper and awesome in the natural light of the shed. Gideon was dressed in a full-out pirate costume, complete with strands of beads and a bright red headwrap. Rebekah was covered in dust, as was her ditsy floral sundress that is two sizes too small, her “golden hair” (as she affectionately calls it) flowing down her back where it ended with little curls, also covered in dust. Betsie was, again, locked up, this time in her big, red wagon, peering up at us from behind her straggly bangs, eating a box of raisins and doing her darndest to reach the bucket of crayons. (She loves to eat crayons even more than she loves to eat raisins).

And my heart just sighed for a minute, and I thought…

I could live in this shed with these people.

These moments of clarity and contentment are my very favorite in life, and I can’t tell you how much I love it when all of our junk is out of my sight and I am with the people I adore, and I asked myself the same question I’ve asked a thousand times this year: why, Mrs. Gore, do you continue to store up treasures on this earth, where moth and rust destroy and where thieves break in and steal (Matthew 6:19)?

For there, in that dirty old shed, with a bucket of crayons and two coloring books, I was as happy as I’ve ever been in my entire life.

And I realized once again that NOT being rich is a great blessing.

I’ll never forget the first time Mr. Gore mentioned this rather radical thought near the end of a sermon, and he encouraged our congregation to stop striving after silver and gold and to refrain from doggedly pursuing the next level of financial comfort, not because it is a sin to be rich, but because God might be showing us great mercy by keeping us in the financial situation we are in. He went on to point out the many times the Bible warns us of the snare of money, and how the human heart is naturally inclined to make gods of the corruptible, citing John Calvin’s famous words: “the human heart is an idol-making factory”. My heart agreed so vehemently. “Be content with your lot,” he warned us, “for God might know that if He gave you more, you would become a slave to it. One of the greatest blessings in your life might be that the small income He has given you is just enough to keep you from depending upon yourself. Rest in that.”

I would never have come to that conclusion on my own, but the minute the words rolled off of his tongue, I was a believer. How great and how kind is our God, working all things for our good, even when we are little aware of it.

Since that day, the drive inside my soul to make more so we can have more has slowed considerably, and I am learning to relax with what we have today, knowing and trusting that God knows best what we need for our future. In the meantime, even though there are springs sticking up through the cushions of our couch, and even though our cars are becoming more “vintage” by the day, I am seeing with fresh eyes how abundantly we have been blessed, and how little we need to live happily and contentedly in this world.

And who knows? Someday we might have to move into our shed, and convert our home into a boarding house (what? I told you I read a lot of Christian fiction). But guess what would go with us? Love. Laughter. Gratitude. Probably a bucket of crayons and a couple of coloring books. Some flowers maybe and a set of lace curtains. The sun in the morning. The moon at night. But most importantly…

Grace.

Grace that sustains us, that fulfills us, and that allows us to have even the tiniest speck of love or gratitude in our hearts in the first place. Grace that is enough for today and gives us faith for tomorrow.

To read more on this subject, see “Mother Hen Paints the Fence Some More” and “Mrs. Gore is in Seven Heaven” from the archives

Tag Archives: religion