stealing joy.

It’s currently 9:30 on a Sunday evening–not my typical blogging time. Since there is a snow day tomorrow and my list of things to do is getting shorter and shorter, I thought I’d try to write some of my thoughts. Lately, the blog has only been a host to pictures and updates of August. My hope is to try and show a little more of reality of us (there is more to us than a cute little 1 year old, I promise).

The topic of this post is something I’ve struggled with for some time now. I feel like it has gotten worse since moving to Holland and having a child. Comparison. Being content. I often (if not daily)  am comparing myself to others around me. “So and so is a better teacher…That person has a bigger house and we are still renting…Their children are better behaved…I don’t do “fun” things like those other moms…They stay home and I work…” And the list could continue.

Thinking about where this has rooted from, I think a big part is my own insecurities. I often fear that we are looked “down upon” for living on campus. Or we don’t meet the “expectations” for where we should be in life by now. Also, I find a lot of self-worth in a job well done, which leads to a fear of being seen as a bad teacher and/or mom. I know my own struggles are a major reason why I think/feel this way.

With that, I also feel like it has been more evident since we  moved to Holland. We are surrounded by people who appear to “have it all”: 4 bedroom beautiful house, multiple kids, financially successful, mini-vans and soccer practice. The “American dream”, right? This is part of the culture here in West MI, and it’s not a bad thing. What is bad, is that I have fallen victim of comparing what we don’t have with what others have. And it makes me ungrateful. Discontent. Jealous. I find myself saying things like, “if we had more money we could get this”.

What is my goal in all of this? To make more money, to buy a bigger house, so my kids can live a more comfortable life? Or is my mission to further the Kingdom of God, even if that means we are a little comfortable? To spread His love and love His people? I don’t need a bigger house to do that.

A couple of Sunday’s ago our pastor said something that really struck a chord with me. He said something along the lines of, “the only thing we should want more of is God’s love.” Whoa. Not to be seen as a better teacher or mom. Not a bigger house with a nicer kitchen. Not a mini-van or granite countertops. It really convicted me to be content with what I have now. The only thing I should be wanting more of is God’s love–I should always be want more of that. Chris and I are richly blessed.

My response to this is to work on being content in God’s love. To read my Bible more. Take note of His work in my life.

The other day I was at hot yoga, while I was struggling to hold downward facing dog for another 30 seconds, I looked at the wall and in big, bold letters I read “comparison is the theft of joy”. A quote I’ve heard many times over, but it struck me differently this time.

Friends, can we commit to not give into the culture of “having it all brings true joy.” Rather take a radical approach that God’s love brings true joy. Maybe that means scaling down our clothing budget. Perhaps we commit to stop trying to convince others that we have it all . Or place less importance on home ownership or career success. Possibly we can compare less by disconnecting from Facebook  (something I am seriously considering). Let’s shift the importance on sacrificing our comforts to bring comfort to the hurting.

If nothing else, here is me being honest about my struggles right now and who I am and what I have. I am a working mom. We rent a small(ish) sized apartment. We drive one car. We have one child who can be a handful (yet SO loving). I am a teacher and this is who I am and what God has blessed us with. Let’s stop letting others steal our joy.

There is only one thing I want more of: God’s love. 

fitness club and church.

The last several days have been pretty quiet around here. With a sleeping baby and no other adult interactions my mind has been racing. Mainly about the topic of community.

Hang in there with me while I try to sort through my thoughts. And to see how “fitness club and church” relate.

It was only 8 weeks ago that I looked like this (this picture was taken as we were on our way to the hospital):

It was 8 weeks and 8 hours later that I birthed him (our little man a few moments after arriving):

As pregnancy does to every woman, it makes you gain weight and changes your body in ways you never knew possible. The first couple of weeks home with August, I didn’t feel up to doing much, let alone burning off some of that baby weight. Once I started to feel better and got the “okay” from the doctor, I was ready to hit the gym. Because of the lack of childcare from Planet Fitness, we decided to join MVP Fitness Club here in Holland. Between a nice discount my employer offers, unlimited classes, nice facilities and childcare, we were sold.

My first time at MVP, I was clearly an outsider. I didn’t know how the treadmills worked, I put my lock on the lockers wrong, found myself accidentally working out in the middle of an ab group class, felt less fit than 97% of the people there and wasn’t making weekend plans with the women next to me in the free weight section. I was intimidated and felt like everyone knew everyone and everyone knew that I knew no one. Make sense?

It got me to thinking, this is how non-Christians must feel when they come to church for the first time. They probably don’t know where to sit, how to take communion, why we’re passing an offering plate, who to talk to, and feel like everyone knows everyone but them. And the crazy thing is, I will probably feel part of the gym quicker than an “outsider” will feel part of the church. I’ve been a Christian my entire life and have attended church since I was in the womb and I still tend to feel like an outsider in new churches. We’ve been attending our church here in Holland (which we really enjoy and love) since July, and we still feel like outsiders at times.

Everyone is seeking to belong to something bigger than themselves–a rich, fulfilling community. Whether that is found at a fitness club, local bar, or a church–we all long to be known. So why is it that I may be more comfortable at a gym sooner than I will be at church, when the church is supposed to be one of the most loving and accepting places for people go to?  I guess I’m not looking for an answer nor am I giving one.

As I’ve spent a lot of time with just August these past few weeks, I’ve been thinking a lot about community, where that is supposed to come from, what it should look like and how the body of Christ should be supporting one another. I guess I am bothered that the church doesn’t always do the  best job of providing the type of community I believe it should.  I’m bothered that I contribute to this. I’m bothered that so many people throughout this world turn to gyms and bars for community before the church. Maybe it bothers me to a different degree because we don’t live close to family and have struggled to find rich community for the past 4 years, or that there truly is a lack of community in today’s American church.

Whatever it might be that has me on my soapbox right now, change can only start with me. My prayer is that I will allow my newly found insecurities at the gym to soften my heart to those around me. May I be the one who helps the lonely first time mom feel welcome or the discouraged elderly man find joy in his day. This Sunday and each one afterwards, I hope and pray that my eyes and heart are open to those around me who are feeling the way I felt at the gym this week.

bohle family christmas letter.

I love the Christmas season. That is largely due to wonderful childhood traditions and memories. I love the hustle and bustle of the season. I love baking Christmas treats and buying the perfect gift for those on our shopping list. I love Christmas parties with friends and family.

This Christmas season has been one very different from years past. It’s been a quiet and peaceful season. One with little shopping and few attended parties. We’ve laid pretty low this Christmas season with the anticipated arrival of Baby Bohle. As I’ve found myself “upset” that I didn’t have more occupying me through the month of December, I’ve been reminded that this is probably how the Advent season should be spent. Spent in a state of reflection, peacefulness, quiet, yet great anticipation for the birth of our Savior.

All that to say, I am still upholding family traditions. And one of those being our annual Christmas letter. Some think it’s a silly tradition (namely, Chris), but I have fun writing it! 🙂 Last year I got creative and did a top 10 list. This year I thought I’d continue the theme of being creative and wrote it from a different perspective. Can you figure out who wrote this year’s letter?

Dear Family and Friends,

“There seems to be a lot of anticipation this Christmas season. I keep seeing twinkles of Christmas lights, catching scents of balsam and getting tastes of sweet cookie treats. My mom and dad are preparing for something “big”, and I can’t quite figure it out. Maybe it’s my arrival? I wonder if this is how Jesus felt during the final days before he was born? Did he know something great was about to happen? 

My mom and dad tell me that this has been quite a year for them—one with a lot of changes and excitement. I’ve only been a part of it for the past 9 months though. They say they started the year living in the Chicagoland area. Their winter was full of anticipation for an end of one season of life and the beginning of another. Little did they know that I was going to be a big part of that. My dad (people also refer to him as Chris) began searching for new jobs. I guess they used to live in a dorm full of first-year college students. That sounds like a lot of babysitters to me!   

Before they knew about me, they decided to move from Trinity Christian College to Hope College in Holland, MI. Dad got a job there as the Associate Director of Student Life. Two days after they made their decision to take the job, I surprised them by letting them know that I was on my way.  My expected day of arrival is Christmas Day( mom tells me there are a lot of Christmas babies in her family)! I thought their reactions were pretty funny: surprised, shocked, and excited.

After my mom, or Amanda, found out about me, she wasn’t sure if she wanted to be a full time teacher AND a mom to a rowdy little newborn. That’s when she accepted a part-time preschool job at Holland Christian Schools. She says that she has learned a lot of patience in her new job and really loves what she does.

 I’ve been a part of some other really exciting things this year too. There was one time when I was rocked to sleep by the sound of pounding footsteps while mom ran a half marathon. I guess dad ran it too. But he was way too far ahead of mom and I to experience it with us. Then another time this summer, they were in CO visiting some friends. This was the first time I hiked an 11,000-foot mountain.  I think it might be awhile before I do it again. After hiking the mountain I was laying ocean-side in FL while mom and dad visited family.

 Now that all three of us are settled in Holland, I can’t wait to meet dad’s college students, mom’s preschoolers, family, their new and old friends and go to their new church. My parents really seem to love Holland, so I am excited to experience it with them. They keep talking about how faithful God has been to them this year. 

 In a few days or weeks, I will be able to experience the love of Christ that they talk about so often. I can’t believe that I will be sharing this season of Christmas celebration with Jesus. I feel pretty special.

 If you would like to come and meet me and see mom and dad’s new place, please do! I hear there are some great beaches in Holland that I’ll get to visit this summer and something called, Tulip Time? I hope you come join me.”

 May you experience the excitement of Jesus’ birth this Christmas season. Rejoice in the greatest gift ever given to us—His salvation.

Please do let us know if you are ever in West Michigan.  We would love to see you.

With Christ’s Love,
Chris, Amanda and Baby Bohle
(Written from the perspective of Baby Bohle!)

Merry Christmas from our home to yours!

Our first Holland Christmas tree. It’s a little stumpy, but we’ve come to love it.

I love having a mantel to decorate.

creating a new normal.

When people ask how our transition to Holland life is going, all in all, we say we can’t complain. This summer was a little more anxiety filled (for me at least) and we felt more unsettled than previous ones. That was mainly due to not being in our real place of living.

Now that we are settled, our stuff is unpacked, the walls are decorated and we’ve made the place “ours”, our daily routines have begun. And again, we can’t really complain. I’m going to outline some of our “new normals”:

Hope College:

As most of you know, we moved to Holland for Chris’ new position at Hope College. Previously, he was working as an RD (residence director). He now is working in Student Life. Although his work looks very different than it did before, he is really enjoying his new job. He is adjusting to “office hours”, while still staying busy during evenings and weekends with different student activities. And what should we say about Hope? This place is awesome. More and more we are learning how great of a place Hope is.

Holland Christian:

After accepting the position at Hope, and finding out we were preggers, I started looking for part-time jobs (teaching and non teaching alike). I would have never thought I’d end up teaching at HC. It truly has been a blessing. Moving from 1st grade to preschool has been a learning experience for me. I am really enjoying my schedule (M, W, THR, 8:00-11:30). Although those are my hours, I have yet to leave school before 12:30. I guess I’m still trying to get into the rhythm of this preschool thing!

Community:

Building a new community is always the biggest challenge about moving to a new place.  We have already felt more at home in Holland than we did in the first couple of months (err…year?) in Chicago. While we are feeling “at home” here, we are still in that search for community. This mainly comes in the form of a church family. Once we solidify where we want to attend, I am confident we will begin to feel a part of a family other than our jobs. It is all a process.

Some of the Holland downfalls (does it have any really?):

One of my new soapboxes is how people can create any reality to look perfect via social media. Life isn’t always jolly and picture perfect, so why do we feel the pressure to make it seem that way through our Facebook statuses and Instagram pictures? I am guilty of this too, and it bothers me.  While taking the risk of sounding bitter, here are some of the things we don’t post on Facebook or Instagram.

• Our kitchen is tiny and ugly. If you’ve visited us, you already know this. It has really taking some humbling to get over this. I often look at what everyone has and their big glamorous houses (or so Instagram shows) and become jealous. Our kitchen is not fancy, or pretty, or nice smelling. But you know what? It stores our food and is the host to more food than many people in the world could ever imagine having at one time.
• We are missing the access to a big city. This sounds superficial and it is, so don’t judge us. 🙂 But there are times when we just really want to go to Trader Joe’s or Nordstrom Rack. Grand Rapids offers a good substitute for Chicago, but there are times we miss the easy access we had to such a major city.
• Missing the “RD” life. Never have we doubted that it was our time to leave Trinity and move onto a more “normal” living situation. But there are many times we find ourselves wishing that we had people randomly stopping over and staying for the evening. Or wanting others to eat my fall treats than ourselves. Life has become very quiet here in Holland, and we often find ourselves wishing we had 6 RA’s to feed and 130 freshman to invite over whenever we wanted.

All in all, we feel very blessed to be in Holland. We see this as a place where we will raise Baby Bohle and possible raise Baby Bohle #2 (somewhere far down the road). Below are some pictures of our new place. It doesn’t have cinderblock walls and actually has natural lighting–two HUGE pluses in my book! 🙂 The dining area.

The office area. Still looking for the perfect picture or sign to go under the three little mirrors.

The living area.

Mantel and living area.

French doors leading out into the sunroom.

One of our favorite rooms in the house. Morning coffee tastes so much better out here.

Hallway leading to the bathroom and bedrooms.

Our bedroom. Love the windows

Bedroom

Bedroom continued.

The outside of the house.

There you have it folks. Happy Fall y’all!

life in holland.

It’s crazy to think that we’ve been in Holland almost three weeks. It seems like just a short time ago we were saying goodbye to our life in Chicago and moving back into the mitten.

People have been asking us how things are going in Holland, so I thought I’d give a brief update.

Holland is just about picture perfect in the summer; cute downtown, awesome beaches, great ice cream shops and the list could go on. We have been fully enjoying walks, meals and shopping downtown, afternoon trips to the beach, and the charm of a small town. We have enjoyed visits from college friends and several Trinity friends as well. From visiting new churches to making new friends, we are embracing this time of transition with open arms, and praying we feel settled and at home before this little bundle of joy comes!

The most unique part of our transition to life in Holland is our living situation. Currently we are living in an apartment downtown Holland, but this won’t be our permanent place of residence, as that is currently being worked on. It’s been an interesting unpacking process with a lot of, “oh I need a strainer for the spaghetti noodles…but it’s at the other place” or “I need my dress clothes…oh they’re not here”. There’s been a lot of back and forth and  plenty of time to make our little home “ours” before living there. Most of our boxes are unpacked in our permanent place, we just aren’t there yet. Decorations lay on the floor waiting to be nailed to the walls. All in all–we are ready to be in one spot for good (or a couple years!).

Here are a few pictures of some of  our time in Holland. We are looking forward to feeling completely settled and creating memories here in the land of the Dutch.

Have I mentioned that Holland has AWESOME beaches?

Our new favorite evening activity is indulging in frozen yogurt!

This is a picture of our permanent apartment (the one we are not living in yet). We [Amanda] still have some decorative work to do!

Kylie and Kris came to visit for a day! So good to have such good friends to spend a day with!

Kylie and I at the beach.

Cat stopped by for a bit too!

It’s been so nice to see familiar faces and make unfamiliar ones familiar. We are excited to keep you updated on our journey!

last night in the dorms.

I sit here on the couch staring at empty walls and boxes packed full of our belongings. The movers will arrive tomorrow morning around 8:00. It doesn’t seem real that we are leaving our life here in the dorms. This apartment was our first home as a married couple. It has been host to tears and joy, celebrations and sorrow, arguments and laughter, growing together, making new friends, welcoming students, and mainly as a place of ministry.

We are sad to leave or cinderblock walls but mainly more sad to say “goodbye” to our close friends, Trinity community and a life as RDs. We will miss game nights, cookie nights, open doors, late night conversations, and living alongside some wonderful college students.

Truly, we are leaving Trinity different people. We have been blessed to live and serve in a community that has challenged our thoughts, spiritual lives and has forced us to create a new worldview. For that, we are forever thankful.

Tomorrow we will say goodbye to a place that has become our home and we love dearly [and celebrate 3 years of marriage]. Tomorrow we will also move into a new phase of life that we know, without a doubt, the Lord has planned for us.

Your prayers for us are appreciated! For now…I am going to leave you with some pictures of our first home as Mr. and Mrs. Bohle.

 

 

 

 

remembering my mom.

Mother’s Day. A day I remember as a child cutting and gluing together that precious construction paper card to surprise my mom with in the morning. A day were memories flood back of all the dinners out after church, the celebration of sacrifice made for my brother and I, and overall the joy of having a loving, caring, supportive mother. There were even some years where Mother’s Day would fall on her birthday. Double duty for making those construction paper cards.

This will be my second Mother’s Day without my mom. It of course brings back countless memories and moments we shared together. Even the ones that were not so glamorous.

She would always tell stories about how stubborn I was as a child [who says I’ve changed?]. There was one particular story that she would always tell about her and I getting into a power struggle in the aisles of K-Mart over some pink Barbie shoes. The story has it that she won by dragging me out of the store kicking and screaming. Me? Never.

Throughout my childhood and into high school, I would always get so embarrassed when she would talk to the store clerk, or the gas station attendant for 10 minutes about their lives. Mind you, she didn’t know these people. I remember when we went shopping for  decorations for my wedding, she gave the women at Hobby Lobby the 15 minute run down of the day. She never had a lack of words. Ever.

One of the things I cherish the most about my mother was her ability to make life events special. You better believe when holidays, birthdays, graduations, and bridal showers came around, everyone knew and it was going to be a memorable celebration. I had countless purple and pig themed birthday parties, Christmas Eve and Christmas morning were set with traditions, Easter baskets were always hidden on Easter morning, there was a handmade purple clown costume waiting for me for the school Halloween parade. You get the picture. She went out of her way to make sure we were celebrated and that memories and traditions were created.

She raised us in the faith. Summer after summer we would attend Simpson Park Family Camp for a week. These grounds were where I started my faith journey. Where she started her faith journey. Where my grandfather received his call to ministry. Where my grandmother played as a child. Where Chris and I got married. I am forever thankful for her relentless effort to raise us in the church and allowing us to grow to know the Lord.

I have a lot of my mom in me. I’m passionate about helping people like she was. I am stubborn like she was. I’m not afraid to strike up a conversation with a complete stranger. Whenever I am fortunate enough to be called “mom” my prayer is that I can raise a family in similar manner she did. Supporting my children through their trials and triumphs, celebrating them for who they are, sacrificing my own needs for theirs and learning from her mistakes.

As I am missing my mom this Mother’s day, I am jealous of her too as she is basking in the glory of our Heavenly Father. Hug your mom today and make sure you tell her how much you love her.

happy easter.

Holidays allow us to say, “I remember when I was a child, we would always…[fill in the blank]”.

As we were on our way to the Good Friday service at our church, I was taken back to all of the Good Friday services I attended as a child. Usually it was me, my mom, and my brother while my dad stayed back to work on the farm. Every service was the same. The pastor told the same story, sang the same songs, and always ended with a cross walk. As I was discussing this with some friends, they all laughed at me because they never heard of the story that was read nor knew what a cross walk was. It almost became a running joke in our household that the pastor was going to tell “that” story again.

The story that was told year after year was titled “Ragman”. After making light of my childhood tradition, I thought I’d look up the story of the Ragman this Easter. As I read through it, I am better able to understand why our pastor chose this as an illustration of what Christ did for us  2,000 some years ago. Although it appears long, it’s a quick little read.

May you feel the magnitude of Christ’s love and resurrection today. He died for YOU so that your life can be lived in HIS freedom and LOVE.

Happy Easter from the Bohle’s

Ragman

by Walter Wangerin, Jr.

I saw a strange sight. I stumbled upon a story most strange, like nothing my life, my street sense, my sly tongue had ever prepared me for.

Hush, child. Hush, now, and I will tell it to you.

Even before the dawn one Friday morning I noticed a young man, handsome and strong, walking the alleys of our City. He was pulling an old cart filled with clothes both bright and new, and he was calling in a clear, tenor voice: “Rags!” Ah, the air was foul and the first light filthy to be crossed by such sweet music.

“Rags! New rags for old! I take your tired rags! Rags!”

“Now, this is a wonder,” I thought to myself, for the man stood six-feet-four, and his arms were like tree limbs, hard and muscular, and his eyes flashed intelligence. Could he find no better job than this, to be a ragman in the inner city?

I followed him. My curiosity drove me. And I wasn’t disappointed.

Soon the Ragman saw a woman sitting on her back porch. She was sobbing into a handkerchief, sighing, and shedding a thousand tears. Her knees and elbows made a sad X. Her shoulders shook. Her heart was breaking.

The Ragman stopped his cart. Quietly, he walked to the woman, stepping round tin cans, dead toys, and Pampers.

“Give me your rag,” he said so gently, “and I’ll give you another.”

He slipped the handkerchief from her eyes. She looked up, and he laid across her palm a linen cloth so clean and new that it shined. She blinked from the gift to the giver.

Then, as he began to pull his cart again, the Ragman did a strange thing: he put her stained handkerchief to his own face; and then HE began to weep, to sob as grievously as she had done, his shoulders shaking. Yet she was left without a tear.

“This IS a wonder,” I breathed to myself, and I followed the sobbing Ragman like a child who cannot turn away from mystery.

“Rags! Rags! New rags for old!”

In a little while, when the sky showed grey behind the rooftops and I could see the shredded curtains hanging out black windows, the Ragman came upon a girl whose head was wrapped in a bandage, whose eyes were empty. Blood soaked her bandage. A single line of blood ran down her cheek.

Now the tall Ragman looked upon this child with pity, and he drew a lovely yellow bonnet from his cart.

“Give me your rag,” he said, tracing his own line on her cheek, “and I’ll give you mine.”

The child could only gaze at him while he loosened the bandage, removed it, and tied it to his own head. The bonnet he set on hers. And I gasped at what I saw: for with the bandage went the wound! Against his brow it ran a darker, more substantial blood – his own!

“Rags! Rags! I take old rags!” cried the sobbing, bleeding, strong, intelligent Ragman.

The sun hurt both the sky, now, and my eyes; the Ragman seemed more and more to hurry.

“Are you going to work?” he asked a man who leaned against a telephone pole. The man shook his head.

The Ragman pressed him: “Do you have a job?”

“Are you crazy?” sneered the other. He pulled away from the pole, revealing the right sleeve of his jacket – flat, the cuff stuffed into the pocket. He had no arm.

“So,” said the Ragman. “Give me your jacket, and I’ll give you mine.”

Such quiet authority in his voice!

The one-armed man took off his jacket. So did the Ragman – and I trembled at what I saw: for the Ragman’s arm stayed in its sleeve, and when the other put it on he had two good arms, thick as tree limbs; but the Ragman had only one.

“Go to work,” he said.

After that he found a drunk, lying unconscious beneath an army blanket, and old man, hunched, wizened, and sick. He took that blanket and wrapped it round himself, but for the drunk he left new clothes.

And now I had to run to keep up with the Ragman. Though he was weeping uncontrollably, and bleeding freely at the forehead, pulling his cart with one arm, stumbling for drunkenness, falling again and again, exhausted, old, old, and sick, yet he went with terrible speed. On spider’s legs he skittered through the alleys of the City, this mile and the next, until he came to its limits, and then he rushed beyond.

I wept to see the change in this man. I hurt to see his sorrow. And yet I needed to see where he was going in such haste, perhaps to know what drove him so.

The little old Ragman – he came to a landfill. He came to the garbage pits. And then I wanted to help him in what he did, but I hung back, hiding. He climbed a hill. With tormented labor he cleared a little space on that hill. Then he sighed. He lay down. He pillowed his head on a handkerchief and a jacket. He covered his bones with an army blanket. And he died.

Oh, how I cried to witness that death! I slumped in a junked car and wailed and mourned as one who has no hope – because I had come to love the Ragman. Every other face had faded in the wonder of this man, and I cherished him; but he died. I sobbed myself to sleep.

I did not know – how could I know? – that I slept through Friday night and Saturday and its night, too.

But then, on Sunday morning, I was wakened by a violence.

Light – pure, hard, demanding light – slammed against my sour face, and I blinked, and I looked, and I saw the last and the first wonder of all. There was the Ragman, folding the blanket most carefully, a scar on his forehead, but alive! And, besides that, healthy! There was no sign of sorrow nor of age, and all the rags that he had gathered shined for cleanliness.

Well, then I lowered my head and trembling for all that I had seen, I myself walked up to the Ragman. I told him my name with shame, for I was a sorry figure next to him. Then I took off all my clothes in that place, and I said to him with dear yearning in my voice: “Dress me.”

He dressed me. My Lord, he put new rags on me, and I am a wonder beside him. The Ragman, the Ragman, the Christ!

http://www.inspirationalarchive.com/573/ragman/#ixzz1rTmG7zRP

guilty pleasures.

As I sat in my apartment last Monday evening watching television, I thought I was simply coming home from a long day and relaxing with a simple show. I didn’t realize I was doing something “wrong” until every person who stopped by asked, “Amanda, what are you watching?” I simply answered, “The Bachelor” and then the judgments and ridicule started. Oh the joys of living in a Christian community. 😉 In the secular world, people would have shrugged it off and sat down to join me. Don’t get me wrong, I love and thrive on living in community with other believers, expect on Monday evenings between 7-9 central time. 😉

Chris said, “Amanda, maybe you should go into the back room and watch it by yourself.” My response? “Then that would be admitting that I am ashamed of what I am doing.” There are a couple of things I took away from the judgment that was shed upon me in those two short hours.

1. I am okay to admit that I watch The Bachelor and enjoy the drama it provides. I don’t believe that Ben F. should be kissing every girl on the show. I don’t support the way the girls act like vultures to get his attention. And clearly, I did not think that going on the show is a viable way to find life long love. But there is just something about the show that hooks me.

2. For a guilty pleasure to be a guilty pleasure, you must be okay with it. I am okay with the fact that approximately 50 people who walked past our living room on Monday evening coined me as one of “those” girls. I know what they are doing on the show is wrong and me watching it is supporting them. And that women aren’t supposed to act that way. And that most of the drama is fabricated by the producers. And that they fall in “love” in these fantasy settings and it’s not real life. And…. But, I am okay with that.

Several years ago when Chris and I were engaged, I was very conscious with my weight and looking good for the wedding. Clearly, eating McDonald’s wouldn’t help that image. I would get McDonald’s, eat it in my car, alone, and then dispose of it in the closet dumpster so no one would know what I just consumed. That wouldn’t be called a guilty pleasure, rather just…guilty.

3. Christians can be pretty judgmental, myself included. Myself…really included. I am very quick to look at someone’s lifestyle and pick out what they are doing wrong. Or to label people based upon the shows they watch, the food they eat or the way they spend their time and money. Who am I to say that what I watch/eat/spend my time/money on is any better? Rather, my approach should be that of grace, love and mercy upon people who might need some wisdom on making God honoring decisions. Or they might need someone to come along aside of them and do life together.

4. Through our [Christian] guilty pleasures, we are still to be making our decisions based upon the Truth and with Godly wisdom.  Once my Bachelor watching turns into sinful actions or thoughts, I’ll stop. If my McDonald’s eating turns into gluttony, I’ll stop. If your guilty pleasure has led you into sin, it’s time to put an end it. Just because it’s a “guilty pleasure” does not mean it’s okay in the eyes of Christ.

Here’s to you the BumpIt User, The Bachelor watcher, or the Shake Weight exerciser, be healthy in your guilty pleasures and avoid judging other people! With that…you will find me watching The Bachelor in our apartment tomorrow evening. If it won’t lead you to sin and you’d like to join me, it starts are 7:00.

a new year.

It’s a new year. A new season. 2012. The year that has been predicted to be “the end of the world”. The gym is crazy busy, cigarette sales have dropped, people have reminisced on the year that just passed and people are starting to drop those hefty resolutions they made a week ago.

 

For as along as I can remember the beginning of a “new year” has been in September. Where pencils are freshly sharpened and the academic calendar begins. In September I am forced to sit down and think about what I want to do differently in the upcoming “year”, what changes to make and how can I be better at what I do. The academic calendar defines our new [school] years.

 

With that it’s hard for me to make lofty resolutions for 2012 and reflect back upon 2011 because December 31st and  January 1st do not mark to an end and start of life for us here in the dorms and classrooms.

 

In general 2011 was a year of learning, growing, laughing and being shaped into the image of Christ. Overall, there were not any major tragedies or celebrations. We attended weddings of friends, saw friends bring new life into the world, taught 1st graders, ministered to college students, spent time with family and friends all while living life loving the Lord and others.

 

Check back in June when I can give you a true reflection on my [academic] year and then again in September when I make my new years resolutions!

 

Blessings on your 2012!