The God Miner's Daughter

I’m a pack rat.  I keep stuff.  Not everywhere.  Mostly, in my office and art studio.  I’ve read every book you can imagine on organization.  They ease the pain of my clutter disorder but they rarely seem to touch the root that causes the disease.  You know, the one that anchors me to the habit of keeping stuff.  There must be a root at the base of it because I’m grounded into a habit that won’t seem to let me go any further than a tree moves from its original position.  Sure, it sways and it bends and it loses some leaves, but it doesn’t move off its root!.    I work on the symptoms for a while, but without a clear understanding of the cause, I eventually find myself buried once again in my palace of stuff.  Receipts.  Books that I had to have but can’t read until I have time.   Notes from old classes.  Pictures Cameron drew in 1st grade.  Bills I haven’t opened.  Reminders to do things that I buried in a pile and then forgot.  Parts of a book I want to write one day.  Photo discs with people and places I can’t quite place in time or perspective.  Prints of a zillion emails with sentiment from friends, family and strangers.  Birthday cards from the dentist.  Journals with only 5 pages filled, no date and no real context.  Etc, etc, etc [fill in things that are just too embarrassing to mention here].  A few years ago before going on a mission trip, I felt the need to purge my cluttered life.  I took everything out of my office as if I were moving and only put back what...

Crescendo-ing Finale

Tired. No, exhausted was more like it. That’s the emotional state I was in when the B.A.D. girls of ECC gathered at last year’s retreat in Naples. Pooped out! I had just weeks before finished an all-day conference with S.W.O.R.D., a ministry that Michelle Schumacher, Shelly McKnight, and I had created two years earlier. But it wasn’t just having finished up that conference that left me feeling worn out; it was what would happen afterwards. Immediately following that conference, I had begun to hear what I thought was the whispering of God asking me to step out of SWORD ministry. Step out? Why would I do that?! I questioned. This was a ministry that Michelle, Shelly and I had lovingly and pain-stakingly put together. We had spent countless hours, sweat and tears (lots and lots of laughter, too!) to bring the ministry to where it was. We were just getting started, now was not the time to step out. Surely, I reasoned, I am not hearing from God. But the whispering continued. “Step out.” If there is one thing I’m afraid of (and I confess that I am fearful of many things, forgive me Lord!) it is being out of position that I fear the most. I fear this because being IN position is so darned important. So when the whispering of “Step Out” didn’t cease, I entered into a time of fasting to hear clearly from the Lord. Within a few hours I felt clear that this was indeed what I was to do and was to do quickly. I gave God my assurance, “I will step out....

Stephanie Green

Author Stephanie Kingston Green, a Yale grad, is the former CEO of a fast-growing manufacturing company, the founder of a classical Christian academy, and the leader of college and women’s ministries.  She is married to Rev. Dr. Win Green, pastor of Baughman Memorial UMC in New Cumberland and raises their three...

Right In The Middle Of The Song

Finally, tonight was the night. June 1, 2012. After six months of waiting, and four tries at getting a sitter, it was date night with my husband to see a concert. But not just “a” concert. My husband had gotten us tickets to see Neil Diamond in concert. NEIL DIAMOND, ladies . . . You Don’t Bring Me Flowers Anymore. Love on the Rocks. America. Sweet Caroline. And my all-time favorite, Forever in Blue Jeans. So this was gonna be really great, awesome, the best night ever. Because I’d really missed spending time with my husband. Adult conversation date time. He’d been traveling most of the year, only home odd weeks here and there. But home wasn’t exactly peaceful with peri-menopausal me and three active boys between 9 and 13 years old. Talk about hormones… And recently, he thought we’d been spending too many Sundays in church. Doing churchy stuff. Talking about churchy things. With all our churchy friends. I knew he just wanted to escape the pressures he was under, but skipping church wasn’t okay with me. Tonight, however, this was one discussion I just wanted to let rest. My prayers for months had been that God would make my husband want to come to church more. Over time, however, my prayers changed to asking God to keep my mouth shut about it, since that first prayer wasn’t working. Besides, we weren’t even going to church the next day anyway, because we had a Cub Scout end-of-the-year Picnic and Awards Day planned. The sitter showed up right in time. We kissed the boys goodnight. And we were our...