The Double-Edged Sword

Remember the song "He's still workin' on me?"

Alva, Oklahoma, 1995. My very first duet. I was eight.

"He's still workin' on me. To make me what I ought to be. It took Him just a week to make the moon and stars, the sun and the earth and Jupiter and Mars. How loving and patient He must be. He's still workin' on me."

This song continues to run through my mind as God continues to cultivate my heart.

This post is a bit more raw and honest than our previous posts, but it's what has been on my mind lately.

There is a fist-full of names I'm convicted about. A fist-full of names God won't take off my heart. I'm an English teacher with a head full of words, and I know just how to string a sentence together so that it becomes a double edged sword.

There was this high school teacher. He and I didn't see eye-to-eye, and he was kind of a jerk. And so I was a jerk back. I walked out the high school's doors, victorious in that teacher-student battle, thinking I'd done Haven High School a favor.

There were these girls. I liked them at first, but then I got to see their hearts. I stepped back. They stepped forward. I pulled out my word sword, and slashed them. I won another battle. And I gained two more scars.

There was this boss. I didn't agree with her work ethic. She was flaky, and I was mad. And so I said my peace, quit my job, and moved on to bigger and better things. And yet my heart broke for her because I had a moment to say something inspirational, something constructive, and I said something mean, albeit honest. More blood on my sword.

There was this co-worker. We had a foundational friendship, but she wore a holier-than-thou tiara. Instead of loving her despite her accessory, I borrowed that tiara, and donned it for myself as I pulled my word sword from its sheath.

Relationships I thought meant nothing, relationships I thought wouldn't haunt this heart of mine, seem to keep popping up in the farthest corners of my thoughts. I weep over them. I have nightmares. I sit. I ponder.

What battle am I fighting exactly?

God has placed such enormous conviction on me in the last month I can barely get through a day without my mind somehow settling on these wounds. With each battle, I convinced myself the flaws in others justified my words, my actions. And so I've become a slave to bitterness.

But God is slowly taking my wounded heart, and healing it. I'm reconnecting. Apologizing. Mending relationships. I've thought "What a beautiful gift, Lord!"

I was excited over this new conviction, until I contacted that teacher a few days ago. The one I thought was a jerk. The one I started my practice of sword slashing on. That battle has been the most difficult to face. And it's been the most difficult to recover from. My first battle won was the last one I decided to tackle.

And he doesn't want a thing to with me, and he doesn't want to hear my words.

All these years, I've thought about the injustice he caused me. I made excuses for my bitterness because I decided a long time ago HE was the reason I had to speak out. Someone needed to put him in his place, so I did. My 18-year-old mouth shot daggers, and I thought I was a hero.

But I am no hero, as it turns out. I'm actually the cause for HIS bitterness. And he doesn't forgive me.

Regardless of conviction, I can't fix every relationship I've wounded. Because of my words---my mouth---I have to live the rest of my life knowing this teacher does not forgive me. I hurt him so deeply he can hardly acknowledge me.

And so I've misrepresented the Savior's face to one of His lost sheep.

I am ever grateful He's still working on me, because some days, it seems I'll never quite grasp what it truly means to be "what I ought to be." I feel as though almost any other woman should be blessed with being Josh's wife, because I am no pastor's wife. I make life messy, and I take these great gifts of passion and justice, these awesome traits God has instilled in me, and I muck life up. I turn passion into harshness, and justice into illegitimate action.

As a dear friend of mine says, "Every good trait has a shadow-side if used incorrectly."

And so these are mine, my shadow-sides, and I am painfully aware of their existence as I continue to patch wounds inflicted by my sword.

Bless You

For the last several weeks, Josh and I have been walking around our little house sniffling, sneezing, and hoarse. Yep, it's allergy season in our valley, and we're suffering.

I've accepted the reality that I am allergic to nearly everything that blooms. From a young age, I decided allergy medicine was not only my friend, it was my very trusted ally. But Josh, on the other hand, has fought the conquering hero, claiming "I don't have allergies."

Oh, but he does. And the small white pill has become his ally, too.

For nearly four weeks, I have woken up almost every night, sneezing, leaking, scratching, and crying from allergies. My face swells, and every orifice in my face itches.

It is miserable.

And who knew the same thing could happen to puppies?

Josh and I have been so focused on our own plight with pollen season we have completely overlooked Ivan the miniature schnauzer.

As I type, Josh is outside mowing our grass while I am reading page after page on how to be "an effective teacher," seeking refuge from the flying spores. While Ivan usually leaps at every opportunity to be outside, he is inside with me, snuggled up against my feet, sneezing, scratching his ears with his hind legs, and his nose and face with his front paws. He's making small groaning noises, and stops every so often to simply stare at me, as if crying out, "Can't you do anything for me?!"

This summer, Ivan has gone from having one solid blister of a foot to having the itchy, watery eyes, runny nose, and scratchy ears Josh and I are suffering from. I'm telling you, this dog lives for summer, and he's barely made it outside during his first encounter with the season.

This place may be Idaho's Wilderness Gateway, and it may be beautiful, but it comes at a cost. Even for miniature schnauzers.

Nice Wheelie, Dummy!

Yesterday, we had a few people from our church over at our house for some coffee. Every Friday morning, the men go down to a local restaurant, and the ladies come over to our house.

One of our ladies had dropped her nine-year-old son, Levi, off with the guys and went on to the house.

After the men got done, we headed back to our house. When we got there, the ladies were still talking. Levi must have been uninterested in "girl-talk," because he promptly asked me "Hey Josh, can I ride your bike?" I said yes, and I must not have been too interested in girl-talk either, because I went with him.

Levi did a few laps up and down the sidewalk between our yard and the street. After he popped a few wheelies, he rode the bike over to the fence where I was standing, and asked me a simple question. "How long do you think you can ride a wheelie?"

I'm not sure what happened next. I was instantly motivated to run inside and put my shoes on, come back out, and try. I didn't know far I could ride a wheelie, but I had to find out. I really wasn't that worried. I figured that the worse case scenario would be me pulling a wimpy wheelie and being a little embarrassed. Ashley later said that it was peer pressure. This would only be possible if I had the maturity level of a nine-year-old. You decide.

Regardless, I soon found myself riding the bike to the end of our property, turning around, and preparing for a wheelie. While this was happening, someone was pulling up to the sidewalk in a van to pick up one of the ladies who no longer drives. I had an audience... it had to be good.

I started pedaling.

I got up to speed, yanked up on the handlebars, and pedaled for all I was worth. It was actually a pretty decent wheelie. The only problem was that I was not used to such long periods of riding only one wheel... I lost my balance. When the front end of the bicycle came down, I went over it. I landed half in the grass and half on the sidewalk.

I scraped both knees, both elbows, and one shin.

Amazingly, the woman in the van, the woman being picked up, and everyone in the house missed the whole thing. Levi was my only witness.

At this point I have only two options. I can either grow up a bit, or start practicing my wheelies...

His Plans are Better

Anyone ever have those moments when you feel like you're walking in haze, grinning from ear to ear, totally incapable of snapping back into reality? Whew, my haze is thick right now.

I am officially a high school English teacher. And I'm grinning just thinking about it.

God is faithful.

I think back to the 13-year-old child who wanted to be a doctor. The 13-year-old who decided she was never getting married because she wanted to be an optometrist on the mission field, loving people in celibacy.

And here I am, ten years later, loving the man I said "I do" to, loving him more every day I am blessed to call him mine, and completely content and still in the ministry God has defined in my heart: teaching.

My heart jumps just thinking about having my own classroom. My own sphere of influence. My own students.

God is good.

I interviewed Monday, and was officially hired Thursday morning. This morning. Who knew three days could feel like an entire lifetime? And who knew I wouldn't be able to wipe this smile off my face.

The plans my 13-year-old head mapped out weren't bad. But this plan is so much better. This plan still includes service, love, mercy, grace, and justice. But this plan allows me to be alongside this tenderhearted and gentle husband of mine, serving with him in this valley. This plan allows me to live a testimony to children in desperate need of the Good News.

This plan is perfect.

And I find myself more elated than ever to step into a classroom as Mrs. Blain.

God is working.

Human Cheese Grater

When I was a little girl, I always wanted to be a helper in the kitchen. I remember when my Grandma Karla visited and we shred cheese for meals. One of us, in the midst of conversation and laughter, would nick ourselves with the grater and sullenly admit defeat to the dreaded "knuckle buster" yet again.

Today, my nerves feel like my knuckles did as a child.

I had my first job interview. High school English. One mile from our house. Ideal.

But now that it's all over, and I've re-thought and analyzed every answer I spoke, I'm a mess. I want this job more than I can quite put into words, and it's all out of my hands. That 30 minute interview is going to determine something I find monumental in my life, and I'm not handling that reality gracefully.

I ended the interview by boldly stating I am a capable and confident teacher, who would be a great asset to the staff, shook hands with the four people interviewing me, and drove the short stretch home to my awesome and huggable husband.

Now, after percolating for a few hours, I am watching "The Swan Princess," rekindling a childhood favorite for both Blake and I, and telling my mind, body, and soul they must stop churning, hiccuping, and stewing over this job, and succumb to distraction.

God is faithful, and I'm hanging onto His promises. Maybe I should get that tattooed to keep reminding myself of that.

You Might Be a Pastor's Wife If...

Josh's youngest brother graduated from high school a few weeks ago, and it felt like a Blain reunion in northern Idaho. At one point, there were 26 people staying the night at Don and Patty's house, and life became a whirlwind.

Even in the midst of chaos and laughter, Josh's grandma, Phyllis, found time to share a few stories with me and give me one of the most profound gifts I've ever received: a small, pink paperback written by Kathy Slamp entitled "You Might Be A Pastor's Wife If..."

But first, a lineage.

Josh's grandpa, Elmore, is a retired pastor, and Phyllis a retired teacher. Don is a current pastor, and Patty a current teacher. Josh is a fresh pastor, and I, well I am a certified teacher waiting to teach. If anyone can attest to the validity to this book, I'm certain the Blain family can.

As Josh and I wait for our 3:00 church service, I find myself laughing over this book, and wishing to share a bit of what I've found to be personally true.

You might be a pastor's wife if...you wear just enough jewelry and makeup- but never too much.
You might be a pastor's wife if...people excuse their inappropriate language in your presence.
You might be a pastor's wife if...your car has a minimum of 100,000 miles on it (and you think it's a steal!).
You might be a pastor's wife if...you are a schoolteacher or a nurse.
You might be a pastor's wife if...you display gifts in your home that anyone else would hide.
You might be a pastor's wife if...you can make furniture out of orange crates and Christmas ornaments from egg cartons (been there, done that!).
You might be a pastor's wife if...people are shocked when you know the words to old popular songs.
You might be a pastor's wife if...you love a "pounding." (Our church filled our cupboards when we first moved up here during a "food pounding.")
You might be a pastor's wife if...you never sit with your husband in church.
You might be a pastor's wife if...your best friend lives over 1,000 miles away.

And one of my favorites which I find to be very accurate...

You might be a pastor's wife if...when sweet little old ladies say they pray for you, they mean it.

God is doing so much for this small valley, and I'm glad to be a part of it. But, sometimes I find myself sulking a bit, thinking I've fallen in a black hole of trees and mountains and can't get out. And that's when I pull this little pink marvel off the bookshelf, and remind myself to laugh and take heart- little old ladies are praying for me.

Hot Dog Soup

One week ago, our dog Ivan had an ill-fated date with destiny... and vegetable soup.

It was a bright sunny day. Our church was having a picnic in our local park. Ashley had cooked up a steaming batch of her famous vegetable soup - one of my favorites.

I took the soup straight from the stove, put a lid on it, and nestled it securely in the back seat of the car. Excited for a fun afternoon, Ashley, Ivan, and I jumped in the car and drove to the park.

We pulled up and parked the car, got out, and were talking with some people in our church when we heard Ivan start making a LOT of noise.

I can only describe the sound of his voice as screaming. It was relentless painful yelping. Ashley ran to the open window just in time to catch our howling dog as he jumped out, covered up to his back hips in vegetable soup.

We felt terrible, but we are now on a veterinary-suggested regiment of daily washing and wrapping, along with a "slathering" of Neosporin. 10 days since the burn, and Ivan is well on the way to recovery. Our bad-pet-owner-guilt is slowly healing as well.

One Year In

Josh and I have been sharing life as Mr. and Mrs. for a whole year. It's amazing to stop and realize how quickly time flies. Our first year has been a busy one, filled with joy, but also many adjustments and tears.

Just after our wedding in Alva, Oklahoma on May 23 of last year, we drove to Northern Idaho to spend the summer interning at a church plant Josh's dad started a few years ago. Yep- we're ministry folk, who realize our God is bigger and more awesome the further we delve into serving. Josh graduated just a few weeks before our wedding with a Pastoral Ministry degree from Oklahoma Wesleyan University where we met and fell in love.

When the summer ended, we packed the few things we owned as a couple, and drove back to Oklahoma so I could finish my last semester of college, which was spent in a 9th grade English classroom student teaching. Teaching is my passion, and students are a joy.

At the end of the semester, after my graduation, we packed up our things again, and moved back to Idaho, where Josh has stepped in as Pastor for Eternal Hope Wesleyan Church. We've bought a house, a miniature Schnauzer named Ivan, and find ourselves packed right in the heart of Idaho's mountains and rivers. We're falling in love with the people of our small valley, especially the families in our church, which actually meets in the local middle school cafeteria.

We're creating this blog for three reasons. The first? Peer pressure. Two of my dearest girlfriends have blogs, and Josh and I find ourselves eager to read every post to stay in touch with the intricacies of their lives. The second- we want to keep track of every detail of the love and life we share together to preserve the adventure for our future LesslieBlain family. And third- we are blessed to have Josh's family very close, but my family is still in Kansas and Oklahoma. We want to stay in touch.

And so we write, and our odyssey on blog paper begins.