Blog Posts

Summer Virus, You are the worst

8/18/2015

Sometimes we get sick when it’s summer, and it’s the worst. Currently three of the four Pughs have been attacked by this beastly summertime virus. I am one of them. I also cut bangs. I’m not sure if the cutting of the bangs and the virus are connected… but it could be possible. Delirium, or something.

But I have stuff to do. My parents are coming on Thursday to surprise the boys. They have no idea. Shh… don’t tell. Good thing my parents love me, because they may have to wash their own sheets when they get here. Elliot’s birthday is this weekend. He’s getting a new bike. Also, shh… don’t tell. And he requested a giant cookie instead of a cake (love him!). So I’d better get on that.

But my brain just keeps saying… couch… mmmm… sit on the couch. No, no… lay on the couch. Oh! Oh! Just kidding… lay in your bed. Yes. Do that.

Meanwhile, my sick children are fending for themselves. The virus is messing with their brains, too… they can’t even fight properly. They just wail at one another from opposite ends of the house, pathetically. But sick kids are funny, one minute its as if they are near death; snuggling, sleepy, little lumps of sadness. And five minutes later they are chasing each other up and down the stairs in their underwear.

I don’t get it. I just want to lay in my bed.

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For the Outsiders Without Hope

8/12/2015

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This week I’d love for you to read Ephesians 2 with me.

I have never been outside of the United States. It’s a little embarrassing. My son’s friends have been to more exotic places in this world than I have. We didn’t travel much when I was growing up. We took one epic road trip to Disney World, which created a lifetime of awesome and weird family memories and then we camped all over the state of Wisconsin. I’ve always wanted to see the great places in the United States, and since my list is fairly long… I just haven’t made it further. I guess I don’t know what it’s like to be a foreigner.

That bunch of new Christians in Ephesus did. They had been Gentiles, people outside of the Jewish faith. They had been people who, by birth, were excluded from club. They were denied access to God. Now, after Jesus came and tore the curtain in the temple and broke the mold of the old ways-- God was not off limits. The Church was no longer about birthright, it was about being drawn in.

Verse 13 says, “But now in Christ Jesus you who once were far away have been brought near by the blood of Christ.” Imagine what it was like for those first Christians. How revolutionary the love of Jesus really was for them. It meant being drawn near to God, when they had spent their whole lives being turned away.

Consequently, you are no longer foreigners and strangers, but fellow citizens with God’s people and also members of his household, built on the foundation of the apostles and prophets, with Christ Jesus himself as the chief cornerstone. In him the whole building is joined together and rises to become a holy temple in the Lord. And in him you too are being built together to become a dwelling in which God lives by his Spirit. (v. 19-22)

For those who spent their lives being outside of the Temple, never being allowed in, this imagery that Paul was creating was so significant. God was building his dwelling, not in a structure of stone, but through his people-- Jews and Gentiles. Through the Holy Spirit, they both were gathered in, and became part of God’s Temple. They didn’t need access to the Temple, God was building his home in them through the Spirit.

We don’t carry the same kind of baggage those first Christians did. We haven’t been formally denied access to God. But, perhaps, it’s felt that way. Maybe we have felt pushed aside. Not worthy. Too far gone. Hopless. Maybe God has felt so far off and we’ve craved being gathered close to him.

“But because of his great love for us, God, who is rich in mercy, made us alive with Christ even when we were dead in transgressions—it is by grace you have been saved.” (v. 4 & 5)

Like the Gentiles, there is nothing we can do to be closer to God. We are outsiders and foreigners. Because of His great love, God himself reaches out to us. He scoops us up out of our hopelessness and breathes his Spirit in us. He draws us close and dwells in us.

Let’s go this week, God’s Spirit dwelling in us, and let us be the arms that draw others in.

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My People

8/7/2015

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I have been feeling so grateful lately that I have “my people” in my life. You know, those sisters you text when you are finally forced to try on new jeans (or worse… swimsuits…). The friends who have an open invitation to come over anytime, and no one cares one bit that the dust bunnies are planning a revolt. They are the ones I confess to when I lose my temper with the kids, again. We are the ones at the restaurant that stay long, laugh loud, and always order dessert.

I love my people. They see me when I’m not trying to fit in, or be funny, or seem like I have it all together. They are my little cross section of Church, because they speak Jesus into my life. We cheer each other on through the daily routine and we pray for one another through struggles. It’s beautiful.

I sometimes find myself hoping that more of my relationships were like this. I don’t want to waste time on shallow conversations and comparing tips on keeping a clean house. For me, that means I need to be more authentic. I need to risk a little, and share a little more. I want to break the mold of conversations that only scratch the surface.

That has been the difference, for me: Relationships that give life. I have found a community of friends who love the Lord and speak life to me. They challenge, encourage, and point me to my Savior. To be part of this awesome community of Church, I can’t just sit on the side and continue in the ways of shallow, mundane, and superficial. I need to speak life and point to Jesus, not just with “my people”-- but for those who need to see and hear Jesus in their lives.

This is where things get uncomfortable for me. With new people I become the awkward 7th grade girl who desperately wants to be liked. I heap on the sarcasm. I make too many jokes. I create this barrier without even meaning to. If I want more authentic relationships that speak life, I need to be more authentic and speak more life. I need to move past worrying about if I’m funny, if my clothes are stylish enough (trust me, they aren’t), or if they like me, and think about what I can bring to the relationship. I have life to share. I want you, friends, to know that you are part of this Church community, too. I want to encourage you, pray for you, build you up, and speak Jesus into your life.

Who speaks Jesus into your life?

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Adoption: Ephesians 1

8/5/2015

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I’d like to start something new. On Wednesdays I’m going to share a devotion that I’ve been working on from my daily scripture readings. I know my devotional life has not always been consistent, and I thought it could be good encouragement as we do life together.

I’ve recently been studying the book of Ephesians and I’d like to start there. This book has a warm little cozy spot in my heart because it contains the first scripture passages that I ever read, way back in Mr. Meier’s 7th grade class at Northwest Lutheran School. It feels good to dig in there.

Paul wrote this letter to the church at Ephesus-- a brand new community that was beginning its journey following Jesus. Paul’s letter provides an outline for what this sacred community looks like. A people defined by the overwhelming love of God in Jesus. He uses a powerful illustration: adoption.

Gulp. You might already know that our family is in the middle of the adoption process. What that really means is that we are waiting. Our homestudy is done. Now we wait for a match. I dream about what he or she will be like. I swoon over babies at the grocery store. I can’t wait to see what God has planned.

So when I read Ephesians 1, the adoption analogy is real. But it’s also so very humbling. This is what Paul had to say,

In love he predestined us for adoption to sonship through Jesus Christ, in accordance with his pleasure and will— to the praise of his glorious grace,which he has freely given us in the One he loves. In him we have redemption through his blood, the forgiveness of sins, in accordance with the riches of God’s grace. (Eph. 1:4-7)

It was always the Jewish people who had the corner on access to God. You had to be born in, a part of the family. Paul is painting a picture of a family that is connected by Jesus, not race or tradition. We are adopted into the family of God, full children with full benefits of being part of the family.

I hadn’t really thought much about the benefits of being part of a family. Paul goes on later in chapter 1 to talk about inheritance.

When you believed, you were marked in him with a seal, the promised Holy Spirit, who is a deposit guaranteeing our inheritance until the redemption of those who are God’s possession—to the praise of his glory. (Eph. 1:13-14)

I don’t know about you, but I have very little experience with inheritance. An inheritance wasn’t something we expected in our family. We don’t really come from a culture of inheritance. In Paul’s time, inheritance was important. Land and wealth were passed down to sons, it was expected. Parents wanted their daughters to marry into families with a good legacy. The inheritance you would receive could bring you great pride or great embarrassment.

Friends, we have received an inheritance, and it’s not because we were born into a prominent family line-- we have been adopted-- gathered in, called sons and daughters of the Most High God. We are included in the great inheritance: redemption, hope, a place in heaven. God doesn't love us at a distant. We are not God's second cousins. We are not that weird uncle who only visits at Christmas. We are beloved children. God doesn't hold back, we are welcomed in, sharing in the intimate family life of living daily with Him.

I have been hearing a particular statement from very well intentioned friends and family about our adoption journey (I’m sure every adoptive parent hears the same):

“That child will be so blessed to have you as parents.”

This is the humbling part. We don’t have a glorious inheritance for our child. I’m not talking about bank account here. We don’t have much to offer. We are broken, we are sinful. We lose our tempers, we are impatient, we are selfish, we don’t get it right. Wearing our last name doesn’t bring special honor.

But this is what it does mean: We will give you the name of Jesus. You, little child, will carry the name of Jesus with you. You will be a son or daughter of the Most High God. We will do our best with you, but you belong to Jesus. You will not be blessed because of us-- we have so little to offer. You will be blessed because you are in the palm of your Creator.

We, too, have been given the name of Jesus to wear. Let’s go, this week, bearing His name, leaning on the promises of redemption and hope.

Let’s see what God has planned.

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The Small Things Matter

8/3/2015

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Do you ever just feel scattered? Like you just can’t get organized or focused enough to do the things you want? I’ve been sort of stuck in this weird rut for most of the summer. It’s not terrible, we’ve had a really nice summer. We’ve had great family time, done a little traveling, explored our favorite local summer spots. But I know I haven’t been working on my goals. I haven’t been as intentional about how I spend my time. I start to feel restless when my purpose is not clear.

So I bought a new planner. For the coming school year. And I’m more excited about it than I should be. I even got new pens to go with it. I am aware that I geek out when it comes to stuff like this, but I also think something else is going on here.

There is a principle in parent coaching that resonates here: Small thing make a difference. It’s not about a magical planner that will organize my life and help me get refocused. It’s that I took a step to regroup. I didn’t keep wallowing in my restlessness and disorganization, while all of my energy basically hitchhiked out of town. I made a really small change. I did one little baby step.

But little baby steps do something amazing-- they bring extra energy with them. Sometimes just knowing that there are things we need to change can feel overwhelming and discourage us from moving at all. When we make small (even tiny!) steps toward the changes we want, it can have significant impact-- giving us more verve to tackle the next small step. I haven’t even received the new planner in the mail, yet I found myself working on projects over the weekend that I had been putting off for months. I already am starting to feel revived.

Making changes is hard. We often don’t give ourselves much credit for small things. We congratulate marathon runners, but it begins with those first few steps. I wonder if we gave ourselves a little more grace and celebrated the small steps, could we accomplish more? Would we have more vigor to tackle another challenge?

What is your next small step?

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We Talk about big stuff around here

7/1/2015

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We have been having a lot of strange conversations in our house lately. They are sometimes remarkably real and insightful about life and faith. At other times they are just entirely ridiculous. Okay, lets be real… most of the time they are absolutely absurd. But here’s the thing… we talk about big stuff around here. Life and faith, God and Jesus, fairness and friends. Big stuff. So I thought I’d give you a little glimpse into some of our family conversations, and a few things I’ve learned about talking with my kids. (Spoiler alert: I’m not the boss! Stop trying to plan everything!)

1. Important conversations sneak up on me and punch me in the face.

I think I imagined that as a parent I’d have these intentional moments where I would sit down and throw some knowledge at my kids. All, “Full House” style. The answer to this dillusion has been a big NOPE. Important conversations that really matter have just smacked me in the face. Like when Elliot brought me a book about Jackie Robinson at Barnes and Noble and we read it and I kept crying while I read. We had an awesome conversation about history and equality and all the work there is yet to do. One a Monday morning at Barnes & Noble. This is not what Danny Tanner would have planned! Friends, be ready-- these moments are amazing and scary and coming at you whether you like it or not! It’s way better than anything we would have scheduled.

2. Even silly conversations matter, or silly conversations especially matter.

Some might think that we don’t take our faith very seriously around here. We use these fabulous Faith Talk cards at dinner time to start conversations. Last night there was a question, “If God came to your house right now for a visit, how would you greet him?” Our 3-year-old said, with a huge grin, “I would say hello, then I would give him a raspberry on his face!” I’m sure the writers of this question were thinking a little more deeply… but whatever. My son wants to basically spit on the face of the Creator of the Universe… with love, of course. Raspberries are high level intimacy for a 3-year-old. I’ll take it.

3. Be real, Tia.

When my grandmother was near death, she called me one last time. She was having a hard time speaking, but we had this amazing and lovely conversation. It was just like any other conversation. I told her what was going on with the boys, we talked about memories from when I was growing up. She laughed a little. But we both knew that this would probably be our last phone call. When I hung up the phone, I immediately burst into big, loud, tearful sobs. I don’t remember crying like that ever before. It just came out. My 5-year-old, rounding the corner, stopped in his tracks, wide-eyed. I felt this immediate need to stop, to get it together, and to protect him from whatever giant emotions I was having. But I couldn’t really. Instead, I explained to him what was happening. Great-Granny was getting ready to see Jesus, and I was sad, I was going to miss her. We snuggled up on the couch. I cried a little bit more. He put his little hand in mine. He did a lot of thinking. Finally, he said, “Mom, maybe your tears should be happy tears. Do you think Great Granny will use her walker in heaven?” I’m glad I didn’t hide away my struggle. I’m glad I didn’t try to orchestrate some kind of “sit down” where we talk about life and death and heaven. Real life is better.

These are tiny lessons that I’ve learned so far. There’s a lot of life ahead of us. I love never knowing what they will ask next-- or what I will say. I love seeing Jesus grow in their hearts. I know we’ll figure out the sibling rivalry, the nose-picking, the temper tantrums, and the general business of raising kids. I am most interested and excited to see how they are becoming disciples of Jesus. It’s going to be a fun ride.

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My Crazy Ideas

6/2/2015

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I sometimes get crazy ideas.

Like when I wanted to become a professional cupcake baker. I started experimenting with recipes. I made Andy’s office into my unofficial cupcake tasting laboratory. I consulted with a coach for entrepreneurs. I did one day at the farmer’s market and realized that I did not enjoy baking in mass quantity. But I still make some pretty delicious cupcakes.

Or that week when I considered going back to school to be a graphic designer. Good design makes me drool. It would be so fascinating. I didn’t go to art school the first time around, maybe now is the right time… right? Having a couple kids and a mortgage is the PERFECT time to go back to art school. Excellent idea.

And that weekend when I was absolutely certain that I should buy a laundromat and start a nonprofit to offer a clean, well functioning, affordable place for people in need to do laundry. And people could get a cup of coffee and hang out with positive people who love Jesus while they waited for their clothes to dry. Maybe two nights a week you could come and do free laundry for a couple of hours. There could be those big water-cooler jars all over town for people to donate quarters. IT WOULD BE AWESOME. Because doing laundry sucks anyways, but hauling your laundry to the nasty laundromat where you spend half of your paycheck to just have clean clothes is… the worst.

I am smack dab right in the middle of this one. I’m pretty sure I didn’t actually think it up by myself. I read a blog post. NPR wrote about it. Laundry Love is doing it. My friend Lauren also had the same idea. Friends, I am stirred up. I live in a comfortable little suburb in Iowa where the lawns are green and manicured and the SUVs are gigantic. But within a mile of the wealthiest developments in town, there is real poverty. My world has been pretty insulated and I think I haven’t seen what my friend calls the “hidden poverty”. Just because a property is nicely landscaped, doesn’t mean that there aren’t people struggling to put food on the table inside. There are families who could use more hope. What if the daunting task of doing laundry could be better? What if it could be a positive experience? What if it didn’t burden your family financially? What if you made friends that would give you some encouragement?

But maybe I could really do it. Like… for real. I told Andy yesterday morning while I was drying my hair that I wanted to buy a laundromat. People… he did not give me crazy eyes. He did not laugh. He asked real questions. He did not say no. Maybe he has built immunity to my crazy ideas. He is totally unaffected by my sensationalist tactics. For a shameless attention seeker who kind of loves drama, it’s basically torture. There is nothing worse than wanting to drop an information bomb on someone so they can enter into the chaos that is my thought processes, and being met with stone-faced silence. Maybe his strategy is to just hang in there until it blows over. But he didn’t say no.

We will see what God has planned. Now I’m praying, asking questions, listening, researching, and talking about it a lot. #sorrynotsorry

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How I Sabotaged My Weekend

5/26/2015

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I spent a good part of the weekend making useless plans. I planned a trip to New York, that we probably aren’t very serious about. I planned what kind of drawers would be best in my dream kitchen remodel. I researched the cost of a new couch, because maybe that’s what we need in the living room. I wasted a serious amount of time this weekend fueling my own discontentment.

Sometimes weekends are hard for me. I have a lot of expectations. That we will have plans, make memories, do fun things. And then we don’t. I wake up Saturday morning and life is just… regular. Someone wet the bed. Brothers are arguing. The floor is sticky. Shoes have gone missing. Dishes are still in the sink. Children are actually starving right in front of my eyes and need breakfast IMMEDIATELY or they will certainly die. There is yard work to be done. Errands to be run. Lunch to be made.

I don’t know where I get my weird expectations, but they creep in and kind of ruin everything. Because our weekend was just regular; because I felt like it wasn’t meeting my expectations, I started planning other things. Vacations we probably won’t take. Kitchens that we are nowhere near close to remodeling. Couches that we don’t need. I was painting every part of my life with big strokes of dissatisfaction. What. A. Mess.

The reality is, we had a really nice weekend. We took the kids out for ice cream on Saturday. We got the yard looking better. I refinished a table. We went to a really fun graduation party. The kids rode bikes. We had dinner with the family. It was a good weekend. My attitude colored it all wrong. It made my totally ungrateful and unable to see the good stuff. I stewed in my own mess for most of the weekend. It wasn’t until yesterday afternoon that I started to climb my way out of the pit I had dug.

Being discontent is all about me. It’s about me being a whining baby about what I think I should have. It’s entitlement at it’s worst. It is choosing to ignore the gifts that I’ve been given and hope for others. I sometimes feel like my son. When he was a little younger, he really struggled with receiving gifts well. If his grandparents said, “We brought you back a surprise from our trip” I believe his imagination skyrocketed to visions of the Lego Death Star, an Xbox, and perhaps a Corvette… because when they presented him with the thoughtful trinket from their travels he would always cry. “THIS ISN’T WHAT I WAS EXPECTING!”

Now is not the appropriate time to point out that the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree. Thankyouverymuch. I know. I am a 5 year old. I see it. He is learning to choose gratitude. I am a little slower on the uptake. Isn’t that what my weekend was about? I was presented with some undeserved and awesome gifts, and instead I just kept paging through the Sears catalog, hoping for something else.

I don’t want to keep missing the gifts that God lays before me. I want to choose to be grateful. I want to recognize the wonderful and beautiful gifts that make this life awesome. Because this life really is awesome. As my good friend says, “All this and Jesus, too.”

Let the peace of Christ rule in your hearts, since as members of one body you were called to peace. And be thankful. Let the message of Christ dwell among you richly as you teach and admonish one another with all wisdom through psalms, hymns, and songs from the Spirit, singing to God with gratitude in your hearts. And whatever you do, whether in word or deed, do it all in the name of the Lord Jesus, giving thanks to God the Father through him.

Colossians 3:15-17

(This was my wedding text! You'd think I'd get it by now!)

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Why Pastors are awesome and the devil sucks

5/14/2015

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The other night I went to the Y to walk on the track. It was cold and windy outside and I’m generally a wimp when it comes to being frozen while exercising. To the temperature controlled indoor track! I started walking, listening to my ridiculously aggressive hip hop workout playlist, and I’m feeling pretty good. A few minutes later I notice a man walking behind me. I slide over to let him pass, then he starts running, leaving me in his dust. Then I notice that man is my pastor. My 60-something pastor. He lapped me at least 10 times during my walk. I had this strange inclination to start running (ps… I am not a runner). I felt this urge to be competitive. With my pastor. At the Y. SO WEIRD.

For 8 years I worked in a church. I was a Director of Christian Education. I worked alongside pastors. The nature of that position is to work in a team, led by pastors. During that time, this ugly form of competition and self-glorification reared its head in me. I got tired of being the secondary leader. I thought my ideas were better. I felt like I saw ministry one way and they saw it an entirely different way. I became frustrated and jealous that people in the congregation and community adored them so much. Didn't they know I was working hard, too?

It was wrong. I was wrong. As my pastor lapped me (seriously—TEN TIMES!) I thought about the ministry of pastors. I’ve had the honor of knowing and working with a lot of wonderful pastors. They carry a huge responsibility on their shoulders. People lean on them in times of crisis. People vent to them when they are frustrated. They are called to care for the souls of their congregation and extend that care to the community. They are called to have hard conversations with people who are hurting. They get to be part of amazing celebrations and mournful goodbyes. My job was challenging, but pastors carry a particular burden. It can be an amazing honor to carry, but the devil works hard to get in the way.

Ministry is hard. It's hard because sometimes it looks easy. "Don't you only work on Sundays?" rings in our ears and the devil inserts pockets of doubt. It's hard because there is an enemy. But that enemy isn't that co-worker. It's not the guy in the clerical collar. The devil is hard at work to get in the middle of that team that desires to share Jesus with the world. All of the amazing gifts of creativity and leadership; all of the great ideas and compassion for people can be so quickly turned into resentment, arguing, and hurt

I had no idea how spiritually dry, how ugly my heart had become, until I had some time away. I gave the devil a foothold. I did not hold tightly to the promises of God. I let resentment soak in. I let doubt take over. I trusted in myself. I was steeped in anxiety.

But I am not those things! A little time has unraveled some of that ugliness and I can see some things that I didn't before. I have been given awesome gifts-- gifts that impact people for the Kingdom of God. I connect easily with people. I am creative. I like to solve problems. I encourage parents. Hanging out with Jr. high kids is my favorite. I can communicate the Gospel with humor. These are gifts. I don't want the devil to have opportunity for those gifts to not be used as God intended.

Friends in ministry, let's not give the devil a foothold. I know it's hard. I know you can feel under appreciated. I know that relationships on your ministry team are difficult. But you are seen. You were placed with a purpose right where you are. You are specifically and expertly gifted to be right where you are. You are impacting God's Kingdom. Lean in to what God has planned.

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Going Back

4/28/2015

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I’m packing for a trip. My oldest boy and I are going to Alaska. We were invited for a dear friend’s confirmation. A 13-year-old boy requested that I be there-- I can’t say no to that! I lived in Alaska for almost 9 years. I was placed at an internship site in Fairbanks right out of college and I was asked to stay on. I met Andy, we got married, then came Elliot and Oliver. We packed a lot of life into those years. We lived in some weird apartments (and invited way too many people over for the space we had). We built our first house (ok, we didn’t actually do the building…). We did youth ministry together. We said hello and goodbye to so many friends.

I left my job at the church when Oliver was born. We knew we weren’t going to stay in Fairbanks forever. We wanted to live closer to our parents, who both live in the Midwest. We planned to stay in Fairbanks for a couple more years, but the housing market wasn’t great at the time and we thought it might take that long to sell our house. We decided to put the house on the market. The first people to see our house made us a full price offer. SOLD. In 6 hours.

So we moved. To Iowa. Quickly. About 5 weeks after uttering the sentence, “Maybe we should put the house on the market…” we were stepping onto an airplane. In those weeks, there was so much to do. Elliot was 3 and Oliver was just 6 months old. In flurry of packing, shuffling, rocking a baby, making arrangements, playing with a toddler, getting ready for the future, we didn’t take much time to say goodbye. I think I knew I didn’t have that kind of energy left. I didn’t try to connect with people one more time. I pushed thoughts of missing people out of my mind. My task was to get the move organized and keep it together.

But, friends, now three years later, I’m going back. I have no agenda. I just get to visit. I’m thinking about the community that we called home for the beginning of our lives together. It was a great (and weird) place to begin. I’m looking forward to Elliot meeting people, seeing places, and making connections that he has already forgotten.

It will be an awesome trip.

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Summer Virus, You are the worst

For the Outsiders Without Hope

My People

Adoption: Ephesians 1

The Small Things Matter

We Talk about big stuff around here

My Crazy Ideas

How I Sabotaged My Weekend

Why Pastors are awesome and the devil sucks

Going Back

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