It’s 3:13 am. I’m a little mad about that. Personally, I don’t think God should be allowed to wake me up at this forsaken hour. It kinda cuts into my sleeping time.

Nevertheless, here I sit—all cloistered in my closet, just me and my computer, so as not to disturb the rest of the world doing what THE REST OF THE WORLD DOES AT THIS TIME OF NIGHT.

But, OK, so I’ll go with it. I’m flexible.

Last night I started a Life Transformation Group (a.k.a. LTG, developed by Neil Cole and appropriate materials can be found here toward the bottom of the page) with some very motivated and high-quality young women from church. Neither of them have been in an LTG before, so I gave ‘em the gist.

An LTG is made up of three parts. First, you read Scripture. Second, you go through a list of accountability questions. Third, you pray for people you know who are not yet Christians. Simple enough. I like it.

But I awoke tonight because I realized that Part 3 (i.e. praying for people you know who are not yet Christians) presents a problem.

I’ve got a few people on my list to pray for—one I’ll call Jane (to protect the innocent, of course). I like her, I really do…and it would be very cool to see her in heaven. (And it would be even cooler if her dog could be there too because I love her dog, especially since she’s one of the dogs I know who provides me with all the benefits of dog ownership without any of the headaches—more explanation here. But that’s just a side note.)

So, as I was saying, Jane is on my list of people to pray for. But I had a revelation. I don’t think simply praying for her counts. (And I’m pretty sure this is why God woke me up.) Not only do I have to pray for her, but I also have to be willing to let God use me in the process. For example, I might have to actually speak words to her about how to become a Christian…or something…as God leads of course.

I don’t like this.

I’d prefer to just pray for her…and let God do all the challenging stuff. Not that He’s asking, but if He were, this is how I think it should go:

“Dear God,

As you know, I’d really like Jane to get saved. Now. If you could just wake her up in the middle of the night one night by sending an angel to her house, that would be great. I’m kinda thinking along the lines of how you did that with Mary—you know, when the angel went to her and told her she was going to give birth to Jesus. That was cool—quick, to-the-point and totally effective.

Just tell her that she needs you and that she should really consider committing her life to you. A little preview of how heaven is would be good to throw in. She especially likes nice weather, so if you could highlight that, I’m sure she’d be totally into the whole idea for sure.

I’m not sure what varieties of angels you’ve got up there, but as you know, Jane hasn’t been feeling well lately. So if you could send an angel that is particularly good at healing, that would be a huge bonus. I mean, if an angel showed up, together with a totally irresistible preview of heaven PLUS she was healed of her current ailment, it would totally bolster your case.

So, anyway, that’s my deal.

Oh yeah, I forgot to mention (but I guess you might already know) that she’s hoping to go away on a trip soon, so if you could arrange this ASAP, I’d really appreciate it. I would hate for her to leave before getting this all straightened out.

Let me know how it goes.

Thanks!

Love,

Amy

P.S. I totally owe you one.

I think it’s a good prayer—not too wishy-washy, yet not too pushy either. Don’t you think?

So then, Question to Self: How many times in the Bible does God do something like this without using a human being as His instrument in the process?

Answer: Hardly ever.

Hmmmm.

OK.

Right.

So naturally, Next Question to Self: What additional mental gymnastics and rationalization techniques can I employ to get myself off the hook in this situation?

We’ve got a LIFE group (midweek Bible study, home group-type thing) that meets at our house once a week. We’re going through the book of James and last night we happened to be in Chapter 2. We got on the subject of giving money to the poor which led into a specific discussion about people who ask for money on the street.

Personally, I’m always conflicted when I’m at a red light and there’s someone standing outside my car window holding a sign asking for money. I generally don’t give any, not because I’m against the notion of giving money to someone who needs it, but because I wonder what my money will actually be spent on. If I was certain it would be spent on essentials like food or clothing, for example, I’d feel fine about it. But I’m not cool with it being used on cigarettes, alcohol or something else of that nature.

So, what’s my solution? I think I’m going to pick up some gift certificates at McDonald’s or some other popular fast-food restaurant(s) in our area and keep them in my glove compartment. Then, the next time I encounter someone asking for cash, I’ll hand over enough gift certificates for a few hot meals instead.

I generally don’t like forwarded emails, but this little anecdote cracked me up…because this would SO happen to me.

The Sermon I think this Mom will never forget…. this particular Sunday sermon…”Dear Lord,” the minister began, with arms extended toward heaven and a rapturous look on his upturned face. “Without you, we are but dust.” He would have continued but at that moment a very obedient daughter (who was listening!) Leaned over to her mother in the front row and asked quite audibly in her shrill little girl voice, “Mom, what is butt dust?”

Abortion was legalized in America 33 years ago yesterday. Consider this powerful perspective from someone who was there celebrating…and now is not.

SLIPPERY SLOPES REVISITED

A Second Wave Feminist Blows Out the Candles for Roe v. Wade

Twenty-seven years ago [this year, 33] nine black-robed men handed feminists a triumph that would try our souls, and – I have come to believe – find them wanting.

On January 22, 1973, when the Sisterhood is Powerful crowd rejoiced at the outcome of Roe v. Wade, I was there – a Washington, D.C. radical feminist scholar/abortion rights advocate, much in demand as a spokeswoman by virtue of my motherhood. After all, who better to illustrate the righteous need for abortion than a young woman with a future, already encumbered by a three-year-old in daycare?

Five years later in San Francisco, that same little girl clutched my hand as we struggled against the chilly Van Ness Avenue wind on our way to some euphemistically-styled “women’s health clinic.”

“Samantha,” I explained, ever the politically-vigilant parent, “Mommy is pregnant. But since Jasmine’s only 2 and I’m not married anymore, this just isn’t a good time to have a baby. We’re lucky women have a choice.”

I was proud of the legacy we would leave my daughter’s generation. Thanks to the Second Wave of Feminism, abortion was now available, accessible and not much worse than a trip to the dentist. Paid for by the state of California, to boot! And on the morning of my own abortion, I was feeling a little extra righteous. After years of posturing and sloganeering, I finally had an opportunity to demonstrate my core beliefs – like a rite of passage.

Or a sacrament.

And in the thirty-one years since Roe v. Wade, isn’t that what it’s now become? Consider the sacred ground around abortion temples, free speech suspended so as not to hinder partaking of the ritual within, abortion providers occupying pedestals for their noble efforts. Heretics dare not blaspheme by calling a fetus a baby nor what happens to it murder. And as though in the grip of a state religion, the media use only sanctioned terms: pro-choice, reproductive rights, products of conception.

Consider: While every other political group is permitted to baptize itself and demonstrate publicly, those who call themselves Prolife are branded by the media “anti-abortion extremists” and charged with racketeering.

But who’s extreme? For all the left’s vaunted respect for multiculuralism, pro-abortion evangels – like missionaries of old – spend vast amounts of time, energy, and taxpayer money crusading into the Third World to bring the “good news” of “family planning” to primitives whose backward belief systems stand in the way of their salvation. Like religious zealots arriving on your doorstep when what you really need is an ambulance, they rush to ravaged places like Kosovo with abortion kits aplenty for those in dire need of more life-sustaining commodities – like medicine, food, and water.

And what about here at home, where they rushed like priests to Ground Zero, offering free abortions in place of absolution?

In the United States, according to the very pro-abortion Alan Guttmacher Institute, 34 million abortions took place from 1973 to 1996. That’s a million and a half per year. Who knows what genius men and women were whooshed away from our midst – and with them what art, what music, what inventions, what cures?

And so I’d like to ask feminists today:

How about it, Sisters? Especially those of you who rode the crest of the Second Wave with me: Did you ever dream that this was where we were headed? Did you ever dream we would call any male politician a friend to women – no matter how flagrantly he exploited them – as long as he continued to back abortion on demand? Did you ever dream we would enter the realms of denial required to condone a procedure in which a perfectly viable infant is pulled feet first through the birth canal until all but her head is exposed, stabbed in the skull to suck out her brains, delivered dead and sold to the highest bidder for body parts?

“A certain type of late-term procedure,” so-called by modern feminists, who’ve twisted themselves like pretzels to pretend the dream did not turn into a nightmare.

And here is what I’d like to tell them now:

Perhaps it’s time to wake up and slap some cold water on our faces. Time to stop the hypocrisy, to sever the ideals of feminism – dignity for women, equal status, equal opportunity, equal pay – from what has become a religious devotion to death.

We should have listened to our mothers – the feminist ones, that is.

Susan B. Anthony, now featured on our currency, wasn’t thinking of political correctness when she referred to abortion as “child murder.” Nor when she wrote, “No matter what the motive, love of ease, or a desire to save from suffering the unborn innocent, the woman is awfully guilty who commits the deed. It will burden her conscience in life, it will burden her soul in death; But oh, thrice guilty is he who drove her to the desperation which impelled her to the crime!”

Elizabeth Cady Stanton, with her anti-slavery perspective, wrote, “When we consider that women are treated as property, it is degrading to women that we should treat our children as property to be disposed of as we see fit.”

Mattie Brinkerhoff weighed in thus: “When a man steals to satisfy hunger, we may safely conclude that there is something wrong in society – so when a woman destroys the life of her unborn child, it is an evidence that either by education or circumstances she has been greatly wronged.”

Think that one over next time you’re standing in line at the grocery store – as I was not so long ago – and overhear a teenage girl nonchalantly discussing with a friend the abortion she’s having tomorrow.

Some legacy.

© Barbara Curtis 2000. Barbara Curtis is a prolific writer and mother – with 12 children (including three adopted) and nine grandchildren. She has returned after 30 years in California to Virginia. Visit her at www.mommylife.net.

Very. Well. Said.

What I really want to talk about at this moment is another Dumb Thing to add to my Dumb Things Series, but I’ll resist the urge. Wouldn’t want people to think I’m always focusing on the negative…even though I am.

So without that option, I got nothin’ (to blog about). So, I thought I’d provide my week in review. Not that my week is so exciting, but who knows, maybe something interesting will inadvertently leak out.

• My email seems to be working again. That’s a good thing. I guess.
• I’ve been waiting for a 10-lb.-weight-gain month during this pregnancy. I think this month is it and I think this week has been the biggest contributor. It’s mainly because I discovered a canister of chocolates my mom had left last time she visited. Dinner at Coldstone Creamery the other night didn’t help either.
• I had a weird experience today. I was in the bathroom, washing my hands when I looked into the mirror at my face. I was startled. It’s because I looked different. In fact, I thought, “Wow. You don’t look half bad today.” Took me a few minutes to figure out why but I realized that last night was the first night in months that I actually slept through the entire night without waking up to go to the bathroom, comfort a crying child or fight some inner demon of mine. A few weeks ago someone was praying for me. In his prayer he said something like, “And Lord, I pray for her circulation.” Sounded bizarre to me so I asked him about it afterward and he said that sometimes I look a little “green” to him. Apparently he thought my circulation had something to do with it. I think my circulation is fine. I just think my dark circles extend to the far reaches of my face, thus making me look green. So when I looked in the mirror today, I thought, “Oh, this must be what it’s like to not look green.”
• We had some friends over for a few days this week. That was good. They’re probably moving to Africa. I was jealous until my husband informed me that he thinks we’re going to plant a church in Mali someday. I’m cool with the Mali part—it’s the church planting part I’m not so sure about.
• Here’s something worth noting: I actually wore something different today (and not my have-not-been-washed-in-over-three-weeks jeans and red or orange sweater as I explained here). I didn’t wear them so I could finally wash them. Unfortunately I had finished all the dark loads by the time I remembered to throw them in the laundry so they didn’t get washed after all. It probably means I’m just going to have to pull them out of the dirty laundry tomorrow. Nothing a little Febreeze won’t take care of.

…when your email isn’t working and you don’t know why…and when calling someone who should know how to fix it seems futile…and you realize how dependent you are on email…and you wonder if you really should be entrusting your connection to the outside world to a bunch of wires anyway.

Hopefully I’ll be up and running again in no time.

WHY. CAN’T. I. BE. SMARTER. That’s what I want to know.

It was about 13 years ago. I was young, single, in college and I had it totally together. I thought so anyway. I was visiting a friend of mine in Minnesota and one of our outings was to the Mall of America in Bloomington, MN.

I distinctly walking the mall that day feeling pretty good about myself—after all, I was significantly cooler than most people there given that I was from Southern California. As if my Southern California coolness just oozed out of me and I should have been awed and adored by the masses.

Then I saw her. She was overweight, with hair from the early 80’s, a thick Midwestern accent, several kids in tow and worst of all, she was wearing a very unbecoming pair of pants and an oversized sweatshirt with a teddy bear appliqued on it along with the words “World’s Greatest Mom.” And in all my humility and grace (liar) I thought to myself, “Oh my gosh, that woman is frumpy! How can she walk out of the house like that? Does she have no respect for herself? If I ever become like her, someone please just shoot me!”

So fast forward to yesterday. The fact is, I live in denial. And it works for me. Most of the time anyway. Not yesterday though. I got catapulted out of my self-induced state of denial faster than you can say “stirrup pants.” And I never saw it comin’.

I was just minding my own business, paying absolutely no attention to what I was doing as I went about my day. First thing on the agenda: Go to see the dermatologist. I’ve got a mole on my back that I think is changing colors. The books also tell me I’m sure to get skin cancer some day so I thought I’d better check it out. (I also have two warts on my hands that WILL NOT GO AWAY.)

Anyway, so I walk into the lobby of the dermatologist’s office. It’s my first time there.

Wow. High class. Everything matches. Classical music. Totally the decorating job of a very well-paid interior designer. I suddenly wonder if I’m dressed appropriately.

So after waiting in the very posh waiting room, the nurse calls my name. The room she sticks me in is more like a studio than a doctor’s office. She asks the basic questions “Why are you here. Have you been here before. Does anyone in your family have a history of skin cancer. Blah. Blah. Blah.” Then she says, “Well, don’t worry, Dr. So-and-So will check all your moles to make sure everything is OK”…as she’s pulling out the gown and telling me to undress.

Shoot. Why didn’t I think about the fact that someone was actually going to see my body. Why, oh why, didn’t I think to shave my legs. Or at the very least, my underarms. (Author’s note: It’s winter here. You’re all covered up all the time anyway, so why shave?)

So I put on the gown and I’m looking at my legs. Scary.

Who picked out the lighting in this place anyway? Don’t they know that it makes me look all gray and sick like? And geez, I haven’t seen my legs in so long I didn’t know they were so dry. “Ashy” only begins to describe it. Someone get me some moisturizer.

So I’m waiting for the doctor and I’m checkin’ out the room. A few things catch my eye. There are two framed magazine articles on the wall. One from Glamour and another from a different fashion magazine that I’ve never heard of because I am no longer hip and trendy. The main doctor in this office was quoted in each. And then there’s all the information booklets on the counter about Botox. Suddenly it dawns on me, Oh, obviously the people who come to this office really care about how they look.

Well, hopefully the doctor I’m seeing will be a nice, plump, older woman—a mother-type who will be totally unsurprised by this tired, hairy, ashy, pregnant, stretch-marked mother of two small children.

Then the doctor walks in. Do I need to say that she was neither plump nor a mother-type? Thin and petite is more like it. And she couldn’t have been a day older than yours truly. In fact, as she we were talking, she said something like, “Well, at our age…” In other words, this chic was my PEER. And now she had to examine this tired, hairy, ashy, pregnant, stretch-marked mother of two small children. Isn’t that nice.

I won’t even go through all the million other feelings of insecurity and inferiority I was suffering as I kept thinking about how for the last ten years as I was becoming married, pregnant, stretch-marked and the mother of two-going-on-three children, she was in medical school, being trained to save lives and now she gets to wear that really sweet lab coat with her name stitched in it along with the letters, M.D.

Well, I survived the visit, vowing I would think things through more thoroughly the next time I have to go back and see her to get my warts frozen off and my moles removed. Next time I will totally shave my underarms. Probably my legs too.

On with my day…

Next stop: a glucose screening (as is customary in your 26th week of pregnancy). A glucose screening consists of drinking this orange soda-like stuff, sitting for an hour and then getting your blood taken.

So, I had finished my soda and was waiting in the waiting room (of the lab this time) for my hour to be up, when in walks this woman. Again, my age. Again, totally trendy.

Again? And why today God? What have I done to deserve this?

Apparently she was pregnant too because she got the same orange soda. (Not that you could tell she was pregnant until you looked at her from the side and only in just the right light.)

We had nearly an hour to sit there in that waiting room together (although we didn’t speak). I spent wasted the whole time comparing. I’ll give you the breakdown:

Clothes
Her: Black pants. Pinstriped shirt with denim jacket followed by a black down puffer vest. And a black pair of those very pointy, trendy boots—the kind that I could never wear because with my big feet, they’d make me look like I was walking on skis.
Me: Jeans I haven’t washed in I-don’t-know-how-long. Seriously. (I know I haven’t washed them since before my family was here visiting and they arrived Christmas Eve. It’s now January 12. That’s going on 3 weeks. I can’t wash them because I wear them every day. Literally. I am not lying about that.) Oversized red, men’s sweater. (Every day I switch between the red sweater and my orange sweater. I’m just glad I’m not wearing my orange sweater on this day because that one has two small holes in the front and paint on the sleeve.) Old running shoes.

Handbag
Her: Black and white plaid, oversized bag. Very cute indeed.
Me: Target special from last year.

Lips
Her: Designer lip balm with a hint of pink.
Me: Chapstick.

Makeup
Her: The works. But looks totally natural. (I’ve never been able to accomplish this.)
Me: Mascara.

Hair
Her: Blonde, short and all spiky in the back. Totally screams “Sassy and hip.”
Me: A messy bun on the top of my head with all my flyaway fringes being all fuzzy around my face. Major roots from the summer when I put Sun In in my hair to make it blonde because I’m too cheap to get it colored professionally…or even to spend the 5 dollars extra to buy one of the do-it-yourself hair color treatments at Target.

Reading material
Her: Vanity Fair.
Me: Woman’s Day.

Oh geez.

But all is not lost. Who really cares if I actually became that frumpy mom I saw at the Mall of America? Knowing what I know now, “The World’s Greatest Mom” doesn’t sound like such a bad thing to be after all. Minus the teddy bear sweatshirt of course.

(Here’s Part 1 and Part 2 if you need to catch up.)

Moving on…

What can I do to fix it?
As you can see, this issue (i.e. paying off $25,000 in debt) is not black and white. There’s a lot goin’ on here. My first goal is to embrace motherhood (as I explained in Part 2). Work in this area began in the summer and is ongoing. I’m happy with my progress and apparently others have noticed a change too as evidenced by the comments I’ve received, like, “You seem so much more comfortable in your parenting” and “In the last year, I’ve really seen you grow in the area of motherhood.” Trippy.

Anyway, now I’m having a third baby—I can’t tell you how huge that is for me—and I even found myself telling Brian that I think we should adopt more. All I can say is, God MUST be doing something because that is just PLAIN FREAKY.

And so what about the debt? Well, there is now a fire under my booty to get things in financial order. So, I am embarking on The Great Debt Payoff. The plan at this point (although I’m making no promises because as you know, I change my mind like I change my underwear—another escape mechanism that will have to wait til later) is to track my progress as I whittle this debt away but because the subject of debt reduction is a major diversion from the central theme of this site (i.e. that I’m an issue-laden pastor’s wife), I’ve decided to start another blog to do so…and so you too can join in the fun. Therefore, as of this moment, I’m now going to continue this debt thing over at my new blog (The Great Debt Payoff) with my first official post, Getting Out of Debt: My Plan & How You Can Benefit.

For those of you who could care less about my debt whatnot, do not fear. I will be back with our regularly scheduled programming right here at With Purpose :: Not Your Typical Pastor’s Wife just as soon as my next inner child issue is discovered and/or exposed, which, as you know, shouldn’t be very long.

(If you’re just joining us, you may wanna read Part 1 first.)

So, now for question Numero Uno:

What can I learn about the past so this doesn’t happen again?
Well, with regards to the credit card debt specifically, I’ve reflected long and hard on the situation. Accumulating so much debt is rather out of character for me. By and large, I have followed my dad’s very good advice that he so lovingly drilled into my thick skull since the age of 18 when I got my first credit card. That advice? Never carry a balance.

So what happened this time? Well, I think I’ve figured it out.

I’m going to refer to the year 2005 as “The Year of Motherhood.” (I know this seems totally unrelated but it’ll all come together.) I’ll save all the intricacies for another post, but let me give you the gist:

1. I always knew I wanted kids. 2 to be exact.
2. I thought 2 would be good for 2 reasons. First, I like even numbers. Second, having 2 wouldn’t tie me up in the toddler years for too long.
3. This was important because I wanted to go back to work as soon as they were in school.
4. So, here was my plan: Have 2 kids, stay home until they are school age, send them to school, get a job and pursue what I really want. In that order.
5. Then I had kids.
6. What I thought would be a minor blip on the radar screen of life turned out to be a major train wreck for me emotionally, physically, mentally and spiritually.
7. It’s not the kids—they’re amazing. I wouldn’t trade them for all the money in the world.
8. The problem is me. I’ve always prided myself on being able to master anything I put my mind to and the ability to handle whatever life throws at me.
9. Twas not the case with motherhood.
10. Kids cannot be mastered. They don’t behave like an algebra equation. There are waaaay to many variables to keep track of. I’ve never felt so clueless in my life.
11. Consequently, I’ve struggled as a mother from the get-go.
12. I’m not a bad mother, just a restless one.
13. Again, it’s not my kids. I love them with all that is within me.
14. I just was not prepared for how it has turned my world entirely upside down.
15. And being upside down has been extremely uncomfortable at times.
16. Therefore, I’ve spent the better part of 5 years of motherhood, trying to get away from it.
17. “Trying to get away from it” generally comes in the form of me entertaining all kinds of un-kid-related hair-brained ideas instead of embracing the here and now and recognizing that my purpose at this time in life is to enjoy those munchkins and be emotionally, mentally, physically and spiritual present as their mom.

All that to say, I now realize my business idea was just another one of my attempts to avoid embracing my role as mother. It’s not that having interests, hobbies or even a job outside of being a mother is wrong. NOT AT ALL! It’s just that in my case, I have a tendency to use those types of things as escape mechanisms. There are a lot of things in life that aren’t necessarily wrong in and of themselves, but for certain individuals, those things can be used to avoid a deeper level of pain or discomfort. Shopping, food, alcohol, TV, internet use, relationships, etc. are examples.

So. Now I realize and understand that starting a business was my way of avoiding the discomfort of motherhood. What can I do to fix it? Well, I have a plan…or I’m devising one anyway. More on that in Part 3.

P.S. It’s a lot of psychobabble, I know. Just trying to milk my nearly-completed-but-will-most-likely-never-be-fully-completed M.S. in Marriage and Family Therapy for all it’s worth.

In keeping with my melancholy, the-glass-is-basically-empty outlook on life, I’ve decided to add a new category to this site called “Dumb Things.” This new category will give me a place to post my thoughts about things in life that I think are dumb and/or things that make me want to scratch my eyeballs out. I have a feeling the majority of the “Dumb Things” will be my own…because I do a lot of dumb things. Speaking of which…I thought I’d kick this new project off with a real doozy—something I did of which I am hardly proud. In fact, I actually feel quite a bit of shame about it and it’s giving me way too much stress, but my hope is that someone out there might be inspired or encouraged as I work my own stuff out.

Before I begin, though, I feel compelled to address a few administrative items. First, there are a few people who love me dearly (and I them) for which the idea of my blogging about personal things makes them slightly uncomfortable. Well, whereas you felt a little uncomfortable before, reading this post just might make you break out in hives. Just thought I’d warn you. Second, I’m no expert on the subject on which I’m about to embark—I’m not trying to offer advice to anyone else, I’m simply chronicling my own journey. In other words, in the off-chance you decide to do anything as a result of what you read here and it turns out badly, don’t sue me.

Right. Let’s get on with it.

We are about $25,000 in the hole (not including our mortgage) and I’m feeling convicted. The majority of that debt is in student loans and the rest (nearly $8000 of it) is on our credit card. I’m not feeling very good about this situation so I’ve decided it’s time to tackle this monster and get this monkey off our backs.

I’m going to offer a little explanation about how we got here, not to make excuses, but because there are some major lessons I’ve learned in the process.

Our student loans, totaling approximately $17,000, are a result of 1) me studying abroad in Israel for 8 months as an undergraduate and 2) Brian going to seminary. (The fact that seminary cost so darn much is something I find quite ironic since he graduated with a B.S. at UCLA and an M.S. at Stanford—both in Aerospace Engineering—owing not one penny to anyone. On the other hand, he goes to seminary and we’ve gotta pay through the nose. We laugh every once in a while about what he could be making had he stayed in A.E., but we’ve never seriously entertained going back. He was made to be a pastor. But I digress…)

So, we’ve got student loans and I’d have to say I’d accumulate both of those loans all over again if I had to go back. Israel was one of the most life-changing experiences for me and seminary was a great investment for Brian.

But now the issue of the credit card debt. This is Dumb Thing #1. The credit card debt is mainly my doing. About a year ago, I had the idea to start an online business. I won’t go into all the details because they really aren’t that exciting and I wouldn’t want to bore you. Suffice it to say, I ran out of steam and the business is now defunct. There are plenty of people who’ve started businesses without going into debt, but alas I was not one of them.

Anyway, to my credit (if I may be so bold and no pun intended), all of this spending took place with Brian’s full knowledge. I had his blessing to pursue this business idea. We even prayed about it and both agreed that God seemed to be giving the go-ahead. I’m still sorting this out, like, did we hear God wrong, did we not pray hard or long enough or did God, in fact, allow us to go ahead, knowing full well that the business would fail but realizing that we’d be all the better for it in the long run. It’s a complex issue, but as of this moment I’m inclined to believe we did get the go-ahead from God. Just because the outcome wasn’t good (as defined by ourselves and the world) doesn’t mean it wasn’t good for us.

So that’s the situation. The questions at this point are:

1. What can I learn about the past so this doesn’t happen again?
2. What can I do to fix it?

I’ll attempt to answer these two questions over the next several days. In my next post I’ll reveal the key to my dumbness (as seemingly unrelated as it is) and then hopefully I’ll come up with a solid plan to deal with the debt…on a pastor’s salary. Now won’t that be fun.