Krista Mournet

Then the eyes of both were opened, and they knew that they were naked…They heard the sound of the Lord God walking in the garden at the time of the evening breeze, and the man and his wife hid themselves from the presence of the Lord God among the trees of the garden. But the Lord God called to the man, and said to him, “Where are you?”  Genesis 3:7-9

What if the worst part wasn’t the fruit?

If I remember back to my childhood days in Sunday School, I spent many a Sunday morning listening to the story of creation and of the fall; of Adam and Eve and the fruit and the serpent, fig leaves and trees and sin and consequences. I remember that the moral I got out of the story at that time was that you do what you’re told to do, and don’t do what you’re told not to do. Pretty simple, right?

Then I learned to hide. And I realized that, if I were just clever enough, I could get out of that pesky consequences part. And so goes the human story. 

I recently read a book called The Shack by William Young. This is a story about pain, great sadness, being lost and being found again. And it is a story about hiding in the shadows and coming out into the light of day. Throughout this allegory, we walk with Mack, the protagonist, as he is engulfed in “The Great Sadness.” He is at points angry, afraid, grieved and lonely as he tries very hard to shoulder a burden much too great for him. Through a miracle, he is taken to a place where he begins to understand the vast goodness of God–but not without a gentle dance of hiding and coming out, of shrinking back and stepping forward in gingerly, childlike steps of tenuous trust. And so goes the human story.

I wish God had made everything the way it was way back then, back before Adam and Eve ate that fruit. I wish that the devil had gotten what was coming to him, right then and there. I wonder what would have happened if, in the cool of the evening, as the sun began to dip below those trees, Adam and Eve had run straight to their Father and told Him everything. For the burden was too great for them. But they didn’t. And everything changed. They had learned to hide. And God let them. And the relationship was broken.

Because of Jesus, there is restoration. Because of Christ, there is reconciliation. It doesn’t have to be broken. But sometimes it still is. Because we have remembered how to hide. We carry heavy burdens, and rather than put them out in the open before our loving Father, we conceal them. We sin, and we hide. We choose this. And God lets us.

I often say I need Jesus to save me every day. Because I am so good at hiding. I am so grateful that God has invited me through real hands and feet and a real cross to come out into the open and trust, however gingerly. The human story continues, and because of Jesus, it will all be well in the end–you see, Papa is especially fond of us.

Filed under: Uncategorized on April 25th, 2008 | 1 Comment »

Our son is nine months old—which means that he has spent as much time outside my womb as he spent inside it. It feels like we’ve come full circle, in a way. I thought that his first birthday would be the big milestone, but to me this feels pretty significant too.

Since he’s started to crawl, climb, and take his first big tumbles, I have been coming to grips with how painful the whole learning to walk thing is. The phrase “you have to crawl before you can walk” has new texture to me now. And as I have been reflecting on our journey together, and on our beautiful family, some dreams, responsibilities, and realities have come into focus.

There are things I can’t change, but there are also some gifts that God has given his dad and me that will help us all get through together. The thoughts below come from the heart of a mom who resolves to be a presence of grace, as much as she can, in a beautiful, terrible, broken, precious world. Someday my son will read this…in the meantime, I offer it to all the moms out there who love their kids.

To my son, a promise:

When the world is not safe, I will be a safe place.

When you feel lost, I will leave the light on.

When you experience pain, I will give you a soft place to rest.

When there are many voices shouting at you, telling you who you should be, I will introduce you to Jesus.

If there comes a time when you want to run away, I will make sure you know that you can always, always come back.

And if someday my arms can’t reach far enough, I know whose can.

I will never be perfect; but I will be honest.

I won’t fix everything; but I will love you through it all.

I won’t always tell you what you want to hear; but I will tell you the truth.

You may not always agree with me; but you can trust me.

I may not always make things easy for you; but I will respect you.

I love you. I rejoice in who you are. I thank God for you. You are a gift, a treasure, beautiful and wonderful. No matter what happens in the days and years to come, know this: I love you always, always, always. You can always come home. I’ll leave the light on.

Filed under: Uncategorized on March 6th, 2008 | No Comments »

There are lots of things that I pray for my son. I pray that he will be spared the worst kind of pain; the kind that takes a big chunk out of you that you miss for the rest of your life. I pray that he will be happy. I pray that he will be at peace. I pray that he will experience joy.

But most of all, I pray that he will know Jesus. And I don’t mean the small, easily explained,  comfortable Jesus that most of us know most of the time.

No–I pray that he will know the Jesus who defies categorization. The Jesus who is wildly generous; who is recklessly gracious. The Jesus who loves beyond all explanation and for no good reason, except that he can. The Jesus who is bigger than cultural biases, lazy stereotypes, and all preconceived notions. That’s the Jesus I pray he comes to know at just the right time.

Jesus, may it be so. Amen.

Filed under: Uncategorized on February 27th, 2008 | No Comments »

Somewhere between Barnes and Noble and Sunshine Foods, my baby became a little boy. I can’t quite put my finger on it, but something in his countenance changed. There have been signs; he started to crawl on Friday, got his first haircut on Saturday, has begun firing “You’re not the boss of me” glares in the direction of our mini-schnauzer, by now probably ten pounds lighter than he. But at the grocery store, I noticed what seemed to be a new awareness, a more focused attention. I can’t explain it, but I knew immediately that something had changed.

It’s just incredible to see this person growing and emerging. He’s now determined to explore every corner of our house; in less than a week he’s gone from taking a few wobbly crawling steps and sinking to the floor to crossing the expanse of the family room in a few seconds. I think he’s been waiting for this new independence for quite a while. Now he’s unstoppable.

Now he can choose to go where he wants–and sometimes he chooses to come over to his mom, which is so incredibly cool–he spends the vast majority of days with me and yet he still chooses to crawl up into my lap; he wants to be with me! That’s amazing. I don’t have anything particularly ’spiritual’ to say about this, except that perhaps I am so immensely grateful that the God of the universe chose to delight his children by allowing us to participate in the wonder of creation and to experience the joy of caring for these miraculous little human beings as they grow.

I’m going to LOVE getting to know my little boy.

Filed under: Uncategorized on February 21st, 2008 | No Comments »

Over the past couple of months, our pastor has been preaching on the book of Esther–and as part of the series, I was asked to present each chapter as a sort of ‘monologue’, from Esther’s point of view. Needless to say, I got to know Esther (and me) pretty well along the way. This past Sunday, I put together some thoughts about what this process of writing and storytelling has been like for me. I am posting it here just as an encouragement to anyone who happens to have a look. You will notice a mention of the Harris family; they are a family in my church whose daughter fought cystic fibrosis for all of her 30 years, and along the way became an inspiration to me and to many. Her mother has published a book about their struggles and joys called “Blessed by Joy”–you can purchase it by sending an email to blessedbyjoy@gmail.com or visiting www.gordonandjoyce.net or www.sfseminary.edu. I highly recommend this book–it is honest, joyful, inspirational, and real.

Here are my thoughts on Esther:

“Someone has altered the script
My lines have been changed.
The other actors are shifting roles.
They don’t come on when they’re expected to,
and they don’t say the lines I’ve written
and I’m being upstaged.
I thought I was writing this play
with a rather nice role for myself,
small, but juicy
and some excellent lines.
But nobody gives me my cues
and the scenery has been replaced.
I don’t recognize the new sets.
This isn’t the script I was writing.
I don’t understand this plot at all.

To grow up
is to find
the small part you are playing
in this extraordinary drama
written
by somebody else

For the past several weeks I have been telling the story of Esther in words that I imagine might have been something like hers. I wanted to take a few minutes this morning just to express to you something of what that process has stirred in me as I have gone about writing and telling her story—finding along the way that, in many ways, her story is my story and yours.

The piece I just read was written by Madeleine L’Engle, a writer and poet who is best known for her children’s novel A Wrinkle in Time. I came across this poem a couple of years ago, when I was being challenged to ‘grow up’ in some new ways. And I think it expresses something about those moments in our lives when we realize that the earth has shifted, somehow we are a bit lost and we need to discover a new way.

Esther must have had many of these moments. Let’s think back over her life. For a few years as a child, she lived the sort of life that most children lived; safe, with her parents who loved her in a community of family and friends. But early on in her life, the scenery changed. Her parents died, and she was taken in by her cousin (some say her uncle) Mordecai. Esther was forced to grow up sooner than she should have. Still, she probably remained in the same loving community of family and friends…

Then, completely unexpectedly for her, and due to circumstances out of her own control, the scenery changed again. She was chosen to be part of the harem of the Persian king, which meant being torn from her Jewish community and all her family and friends, except Mordecai who became the one constant in her life. Quite literally, she had to learn a new part—a way of life that was completely foreign to her. She had to hide away all that she had ever been and become, by all external signs, a different person. A new role had been written for her. She had to grow up again.

I can imagine that, once she got settled into her new role as Queen of Persia, Esther must have thought that her life was over. I can imagine her saying to herself; “Well, I guess this is as good as it gets. It’s not what I expected, but I am Queen of Persia; I might as well make the best of it.” What a graciously upsetting surprise it must have been to find out that the story she had been playing out was not written by chance tragedy, or by the whims of a pagan king, but by the Lord himself. And her part wasn’t finished yet.

It was her ‘for such a time as this’ moment that changed everything. She realized that the story was bigger than she could ever see, more complex than she could ever know, and she was being called to grow up, again. But this time, she was growing into the person God had designed her to be and to fulfill the purpose he had written for her life. God had been shaping and preparing her all along, and this is when she finally saw it.

I have had some pretty significant ‘growing up’ moments in my life. Like Esther, I had to learn some lessons that for many come along later on. I have had to adapt to different surroundings and learn new lines along the way. And I’m not alone. We all have had moments when we realize that the earth has moved beneath us, and we have to adapt. For some, like the Harrises, it looks like the diagnosis of a devastating illness. Perhaps in Joy’s life, it was the realization that, despite, and even in the midst of, a lifelong struggle, God had given her a voice. For Joyce, having the courage to tell her story. For Gordon, having the strength and faith to guide this family through a long, difficult journey. For Jami, the fortitude to love in the face of tragedy, to walk alongside her sister through the pain of illness, and to discover her own voice along the way. And for you. And for me.

We all have ‘for such a time as this’ moments in our lives. Moments when we are disoriented and frightened, moments we are being called to grow up. To recognize that, despite our best efforts to write a nice little story for ourselves, we are part of a larger narrative. In the midst of pain, joy, sorrow, grief, love, grace, and mercy, may we recognize that we have been lovingly written into God’s story—and it is a good story.”

Filed under: Uncategorized on February 13th, 2008 | No Comments »

“I scarcely knew how pleasantly the moments were falling.” Annie Dillard in “The Maytrees”

I haven’t read “The Maytrees”; on my list of “things I’d like to do again someday”, “read a novel” is a little bit ahead of “get a pedicure” and “sleep in”…I saw this quote on a friend’s Facebook page (thanks!).

Our TV in the family room is set up so that we can listen to our music (don’t ask me how). While our music is playing, the screen displays slide shows of our photos (don’t ask me how). Today, as I was listening to music and trying to do something else, I kept getting distracted by all those photos–all those moments.

As I watched each moment go by–as I mentally scrolled through our journey, I remembered us at our various times, places, ages, shapes and sizes. And I was struck by the aching, exquisite beauty of all these memories. There are too many too count; and yet, in so many of those photos, if I look closely, there is an expression on my face like I was waiting for something. What was it?

Lord, help me to enjoy, appreciate, and live fully every moment–every memory, as it happens. Even though I may have laundry to do when I get home, and I won’t get to sleep in the next day, and there are bills to be paid, please; help me to enjoy these people and live this life. It’s your gift to me; I am grateful. You are here, and it is all miraculous. Thank you. In Jesus’ name; amen.

Filed under: Uncategorized on January 12th, 2008 | No Comments »

Today I was accosted for 30 minutes by a television program. Yes, it almost seemed that intrusive…it was a local news program devoted entirely to the topic of looking younger. Not surprisingly, most of the talk time was devoted to women, with the token 30 second disclaimer that, yes, actually, men sometimes want to look younger too. Imagine that!

At the beginning of the program I was introduced to three women whose ages I was supposed to guess and then wonder about for the next thirty minutes. At the end of the program was the big ‘reveal’ and (shock, horror!) some of them actually looked ‘older’ than they were. Never mind that these days so many of us camouflage our age with hair color and Botox (which of course were touted as effective anti-aging remedies along with many other painful and ridiculously expensive treatments) that even our perceptions of age itself have been skewed (don’t you know darling, 60 is the new 40?!).

I will be thirty-one years old next month. Over the past couple of years I have periodically come across a gray hair peeking out from its dark brown neighbors. I remember the first time a saw a real, bona fide, white strand of hair; I was thrilled! I plucked it out and showed it off proudly to my husband. Okay, so that’s weird, I admit it. But I couldn’t help but think of how wonderful it is that I have lived long enough to have gray hair! How glorious! I am so blessed! And, I hope to live long enough to have many more–a whole head full of them, in fact. It is a wonderful thing to have the blessing of life; why hide it? Why not celebrate it? Why do I have to look younger anyway? Why can’t I just look well?

I don’t say all this to disparage women (or men) who decide to color their hair–that’s not the point. I just hope that more of us can be happy as we are, without the desperate need to fix what isn’t broken. I hope that as the years go on I, and others with me, will have the courage to celebrate every gray hair, every wrinkle, because they should be celebrated. We are alive! What a gift.

I was in Barnes and Noble yesterday and came across a quote from Ghandi: “Be the change you wish to see in the world.” I think that sometimes the great changes in our world happen when we are careful about all the decisions we make, even ones as small as these. Our decisions say something about us. So for now, and I hope for the rest of my life, I will choose to celebrate every gray hair, because of what it means. I am alive. You can check back in 20 years and see what happens…

Filed under: Uncategorized on December 12th, 2007 | No Comments »

Lots of interesting things happen at the supermarket. Today, I was picking up the usual; diapers, eggs, milk, that sort of stuff, when I turned a corner and passed by a lovely little scene. I didn’t stop, so all of this happened in the space of about 10 seconds or so.

I noticed first a sweet little old lady wearing a crisp wool coat and fancy red hat, joined by a young man holding one of those videocameras that could only come from a local news station. There was also another woman there who seemed to be acting in some ‘official’ capacity, although I couldn’t tell what she was doing.

The sweet little old lady was adjusting that red hat nervously behind her shopping cart, which was nearly as big as she was, and I just barely heard her mutter, “Oh mercy, this is all too much!” How great is that?! A lovely moment of being picked out of the crowd on a normal, everyday errand and being made to feel special.

I have no idea why she was being filmed–I’ll have to watch the news tonight to find out, I suspect–but in that moment I was just so blessed by her nervous joy at being noticed. I wonder if that’s what Zaccheus felt like, or Matthew, or Mary. I’ve certainly had moments of joy at being noticed by Jesus; when I can only stammer sheepishly, “Oh mercy, this is all too much!” God bless her, I hope that made her day.

Filed under: Uncategorized on November 30th, 2007 | No Comments »

So today I was at this HUGE toy store–you might be familiar with it. For the purposes of this post, let’s call it Ultra Mega Toy Blitz Mart (UMTBM for short).

I am immensely grateful to my parents for not dragging me to UMTBM when I was little–I could probably count on one hand the amount of times I went there as a child. I don’t remember liking it.

And I still don’t like it. It just seems so crowded and chaotic, and the people there are usually grumpy (I would be too if I had to spend a large portion of my day at UMTBM). Although today the lady that helped me was pretty nice. It seems like everyone who leaves UMTBM is carting tremendously large boxes of things that require, oh, boatloads of batteries to operate, and if there are children there, they are usually cranky that they didn’t get what they wanted amidst the mountain of cardboard and plastic.

So today as I left with my gigantic box with a battery operated gizmo that is supposed to teach my son nuclear physics, or something like that, I grappled with my new reality. I am going to spend lots of time at UMTBM–I think it’s inevitable. And with the holidays coming, I’m just a little overwhelmed by it all.

What do I really want out of the holidays? What does everyone want? Great memories! Why do we spend so much time and money not making great memories when that’s all we really want? I don’t get it…but there I was at UMTBM with everyone else.

I’m not sure what to do with all this just yet. But I pray and hope that we all will have time to make good memories, enjoy each other and notice the beauty of Christ this Christmas. And may my visits to Ultra Mega Toy Blitz Mart be few…

Filed under: Uncategorized on November 16th, 2007 | 3 Comments »

My little one is teething; which is really just a big ball of fun for the whole family.

Anyway, I was at the drug store on a mission for baby Orajel, when I ran headlong into my childhood. There was this little rotating stand filled with Little Golden Books–you know, the ones that have the little gold foil binding. I was amazed to find that there were books there that I remember from my very young years. Our house was full of them; Bambi, The Little Engine that Could, Grandfather Simeon, and many others. As I browsed through the stand for a moment, one book stopped me from my frantic mental hurrying and scurrying. I remembered the picture on the cover more than the title–it had a little girl with white flowers in her hair, with pink cheeks and little red lips, smelling a tulip. I instantly remembered looking at that picture as a child. The title of the book is “My Little Golden Book About God.” As I flipped through the book for a moment, I realized that I remembered every single picture on every page. So, along with the baby Orajel, a teething ring, and other miscellaneous items that I suddenly realized I needed, sat “My Little Golden Book About God.”

I’d like to share the book with you, in case it’s been a while for you too. It’s written by Jane Werner Watson and illustrated by Eloise Wilkin. I wish I could share the pictures as well, but you’ll have to part with $2.99 for those…

“My Little Golden Book About God”

GOD IS GREAT

Look at the stars in the evening sky, so many millions of miles away that the light you see shining left its star long, long years before you were born.

Yet even beyond the farthest star, God knows the way. Think of the snow-capped mountain peaks. Those peaks were crumbling away with age before the first men lived on earth. Yet when they were raised up sharp and new God was there, too.

Bend down to touch the smallest flower. Watch the busy ant tugging at his load. See the flash of jewels on the insect’s back. This tiny world your two hands could span, like the oceans and mountains and far-off stars, God planned.

Think of our earth, spinning in space so that now, for a day of play and work, we face the sunlight, then we turn away–to the still, soft darkness for rest and sleep. This, too, is God’s doing.

For GOD IS GOOD.

God gives us everything we need–shelter from cold and wind and rain, clothes to wear and food to eat. God gives us flowers, the song of birds, the laughter of brooks, the deep song of the sea.

He sends the sunshine to make things grow, sends in its turn the needed rain.

God makes us grow too, with minds and eyes to look about our wonderful world, to see its beauty, to feel its might.

He gives us a small still voice in our hearts to help us tell wrong from right. God gives us hopes and wishes and dreams, plans for our grown-up years ahead.

He gives us memories of yesterdays, so that happy times and people we love we can keep with us always in our hearts.

For GOD IS LOVE.

God is the love of our mother’s kiss, the warm, strong hug of our daddy’s arms, God is in all the love we feel for playmates and family and friends.

When we’re hurt or sorry or lonely or sad, if we think of God, He is with us there.

God whispers to us in our hearts:

“Do not fear, I am here, and I love you my dear. Close your eyes and sleep tight, for tomorrow will be bright–all is well, dear child. Good Night.”

Filed under: Uncategorized on November 5th, 2007 | No Comments »