Abby & Annie

Today I got to hang out with my five-and-a-half-year-old granddaughter, Abby. She's incredibly special, and super creative. We decided to write a blog post together. Below is our story, improvisational style. Abby's words are in bold, Annie's are not. We hope you enjoy!

Title: Never Feed Wild Animals

One day Abby and Sam were going out to play. When they got outside what they saw in the bushes was a fox…and a parrot…and a wolf. And in the tree was a big black bear…and a monkey. Abby and Sam ran back into the house.

They told their mom about all the animals they had just seen in their yard, but their mom didn’t believe them. She laughed, and winked at them and said with a smile, “Oh did the animals talk to you?”

“Yes,” said Abby and Sam. “We really saw them.”

“Well then, were they hungry? Maybe we should prepare a snack for you to bring to them,” their mom said.

“Yes they looked hungry. They were asking us to bring food to them.”

“Okay then,” said their mom, still smiling. “Let’s get started. What should we prepare for them to eat?”

“For the black bear, we should bring meat. For the monkey, we should give him some berries, because this monkey likes to eat berries,” Abby said. Sam added loudly, “And I think the parrot would like some fruit, and the wolf and fox really want some chocolate cake!”

Abby said, “Wolves and foxes can’t have chocolate cake!” But mom quickly said, “Well, if Sam would like to bring these wild animals some chocolate cake, then I’m happy to put some in two bowls for you kids, I mean, for the animals. I hope the cake doesn’t spoil the animals’ dinner.” And Mom began to dish up some cake and put a little summer sausage, berries, and fruit in a picnic basket.

“Wait Mom,” said Abby. “Animals just can’t have chocolate cake. They will get sick if they have chocolate cake.”

Mom looked at Abby, because she was surprised at what she was hearing. She had never known her daughter to turn down chocolate cake. Abby was really into pretending today... Well, since Mom wants Abby to eat healthier anyway, she decided to be pleased, and suggested only sending out one bowl of cake.

“For us?” asked Abby, “Or for the roses - the big, red, roses?”

“Roses?!” Mom asked. “What do you mean roses? I thought we were talking about feeding wild animals in our yard?”

“Yeah, but animals would get sick if you gave it to them.”

Mom said, “Roses can’t eat, Abby, but I could use the roses petals to make blankets…little blankets for your stuffed animal Reepicheap."

Right then, Sam came back into the room and said, “Let’s hurry! The animals are going to be gone if we don’t hurry up and go back outside.” So Mom gave Sam his basket of cake, berries, fruit and some sausage, and told him to “go feed the animals,” as she smiled and winked at him.

Then she asked Abby if she wanted to help her make the rose petal blankets. But right then, they hear a loud roar and a scream from Sam who was already outside with his basket of food.

The bear was angry at him. The bear was starving, and he just wanted ALL the food.

When Mom heard the roar and the scream, she dropped the roses and yelled in a scared voice, “Oh no, what’s happening?!” as she ran out the door toward Sam’s voice.

The big black bear was bringing Sam up the tree to a bunch of big black bears. Mom was so startled to see the big bear with her dear son Sam in his arms that she screamed super loud and long. So loud and long that she startled the bear and he loosened his grip on Sam.

And then the big black bear came down the tree with Sam and gave him back to Mom. Mom grabbed Sam from the bear, while Abby watched all this from the window. Mom couldn’t believe this was actually happening. "It feels like a dream," she said, "a horrible, scary dream." Right then, she heard Abby yell, “Mom, is it time to get up yet?”

Abby had heard her mom scream and added, “Mom, it was just a scary nightmare! If it’s time to get up, just please answer me!” said Abby. Mom said, “Sleep until 7:30…” And then Mom walked into their room and gave them each big bear hugs.

~ The End ~

This, my story... (part 4 of 4)

During this adult season of questioning – of challenging beliefs – the stakes of faith were raised higher, and the enemy of truth was fully engaged. The challenge was now more sophisticated, and had more stakeholders than the simple gym class dance. But strangely, it felt similar. At a basic level it came down to the core of my faith and what it’s staked on. Is my faith staked on Jesus’ death on my behalf? Or is it staked on something else, and/or something additional? Is it how my life looks to others? Or how my heart looks to God? Thankfully, I knew...I know..it's about the heart.

And I propose that we are all trapped in dying bodies, although we are forever beings. We need to escape this destructive, evil-filled life for a glorious, evil-less future life. It’s the option I heard the essence of when growing up, and believe its truth today without any (perceived) human additions or tweaks. Now I realize that saying one has found truth (as I am suggesting here) is bold, and may seem incredibly arrogant. But is it?

I say that if one believes one has found such truth, it is comparable to finding a spring of pure, cold water in the middle of a hot, dusty desert. Not calling out “water” because you might offend those who might say, “Well, it’s a spring of cold water to you, but how can you say it is that for everyone?” seems ridiculous. Wouldn’t you risk calling out “water!” knowing how helpful it would be to a person dying of thirst. If they choose to ignore or refuse believing it really is water, at least you tried to tell them, right? When one has found such a spring, and it has nourished one’s soul without fail through all sorts of challenging circumstances, I would say to others, "Don't be so quick to doubt. What if there is a spring of fresh water?"

This is essentially what I’m trying to do with my story. I’m calling out “water!” It's why I feel compelled to write. I have one who loves me unconditionally, and never lets me go. I have incredible hope for forever. If you had this, wouldn’t you feel at least a measure of duty to try to share what you have found with others?

My Grandpa Revne said he dictated his stories from Africa “for my grandchildren and other young people." My story is for all who will consider and believe that they are trapped in a life that's temporal, and would like to trade it in for a life that's eternal and free from the current status quo we're stuck with. Jesus already paid the fee...thank Him, and ask for the credit to be applied to your life.

I look forward to hanging out with all who do - someday, on the other side.

Always,
Annie

This, my story... (part 3 of 4)

This is why I began to believe that I was trapped in my body. And I still do believe this, actually. It’s the only answer that really makes sense: I’m stuck in a body I wasn’t made for. It’s a body that is dying in a time-constrained world, and I was designed to live forever. I was purposed to live without an end point, but I ended up with a certain, destined endpoint: death. So what’s a trapped person to do? Well, even animals know the answer to that dilemma: find a way out!

It seems us humans are much more accepting, however. We do try to extend the life of our dying bodies, and for this we are due some credit, and have made some headway, perhaps. Physicians, nutritionists, chiropractors, exercise...all may help us live an extra month, year, or even a few years. But what if you want more than a few years? What if your spirit wants to live in an undying body? Then what are your options?

Christianity has had the answer all along, I think. Yet I don’t find the pure answer easily within modern Christianity. Modern Christianity and many other God-believing religions seem to stumble by tweaking (at a minimum) the truth. People or groups of people take a piece or many pieces of truth and add to, or subtract from it – sometimes blatantly, and sometimes ever so slightly - perhaps mostly without even realizing what they are doing.

Yet all degrees of alteration, regardless of intent, cause destruction. I've been in conversations with many people who have been turned off by humanly tweaked versions of the truth. I can’t say that I blame them for snubbing these versions, but it distresses me to think that they may miss redeeming truth, altogether.

But back to the story… So growing up, I listened carefully to the messages I heard in churches. I wanted to be free from my body's death sentence, and I was hearing a saving prescription being proclaimed. So I accepted the message and staked my life on it. Yet after many adult years, and much heartbreak, I became the fourth grade girl again seeking the actual truth. This time however, the issue was much more sophisticated than dancing in gym class, and much more devastating. This time, it was a broken marriage, with a whole new realm of unacceptability and deviation from the accepted norm. With pain that touched many, to match...

Now I am not going to talk specifics, here. There is no need to, really, even though that is often what people want to know: “Who’s the transgressor?” “Who cheated on whom, because certainly someone must have cheated…” At the end of those conversations, however, because believe me, I’ve been part of dozens of them, what are you really left with? Still pain…still hurting individuals and families. Still, a marriage, that for reasons most people don’t know or don’t understand, can’t continue.

(part 4 next...)

This, my story... (part 2 of 4)

Well, the body I was trapped in was growing. And as I was becoming a teenager, I was also becoming nervous. This is because I was gaining some height, and I was worried that I would end up “freakishly tall” – something over 6 feet 2 inches, surely, and most likely more like 7 feet. So when my growth spurt began to slow, and then came to a stop at 5 feet 10 inches, I remember being super relieved. I could live with, even enjoy, this amount of height, I decided. (The only really frustrating aspect was that most of the boys my age were shorter than me – significantly shorter – and I did like the boys…)

But here's the essence of this trapped feeling I'm writing about: I was coming to see and believe – and it made sense to me, deep inside my soul – that I’m an eternal being living in a mortal body. It was what I had sensed at a young age, long before I could begin to articulate it, or understand what might explain my feelings.

One of the signposts of this phenomenon - which, by the way, I think we all are experiencing - is probably so obvious to most people, that they simply overlook it. This sign, at least as I see it, is a basic discontent with the status quo of this life. Think for a moment about all the things that bother many of us: disorganization, sickness, death, unfairness, evil deeds (murder, rape, etc.), and the tyranny of bodily sustenance through work or other means. These range from bothersome to tragic, and are that to a majority of people across the earth, whether in developed or developing countries.

And then there’s the whole issue of time... C.S. Lewis discussed how our frustration with time is an indicator of eternity. When I first read this (as a C.S. Lewis quote in A Severe Mercy by Sheldon Vanauken), it really made me think. Why are we so amazed by the passing of time? If we were created for time, would it surprise us like it does? Would we exclaim over and over how we can’t believe another week or year has gone by?

It was when I began to accept that I was created for eternity, that the truth of what I had been taught in my early years started to make sense. Not the legalism…not the “don’t play cards” or the “don’t go into a bar,” or other similar messages... But what began to make sense was that there was a plan. A plan that, deep inside of me, made more sense than the one my body seemed to be stuck with.

This, my story... (part 1 of 4)

I remember the first time I knew I was trapped inside the wrong body. (Please stay with me here, I'll explain as I go...) It’s not like the body I was in didn’t feel like mine. It definitely did. It looked, smelled, and acted like me, and I basically liked me—including my body. But there was this strange feeling growing deep inside of me that I was living in a foreign place. (And I’ll be honest; at times it freaked me out!)

I’d be lying on the sofa in the middle of a Saturday afternoon and suddenly I’d get this weird feeling, like: "What is this life I’m living? Where did I come from and where am I going?" And this was at a pretty early age…maybe late elementary school or young teen years.

I grew up in a Christian family, which does not mean a perfect family, but a pretty good family... I had a mom (she’s still living—89 years old) and dad who loved me and taught me about God. I also grew up with two sisters, with about five years between us, and yes…I’m the middle child. My mom and dad taught me to obey certain rules, like: don’t go to movies, don’t dance, don’t have sex before marriage, etc. And they encouraged me to do certain things, like: play the piano with expression, care about what others think, share the gospel message, and give to the church and missions.

Because of the rules, I didn’t go to my first movie until age 13. It was The Poseidon Adventure, and I loved the experience of going to it with my best friend. But it wasn’t my first step into life beyond the rules. A few years earlier I had fiercely debated my mom over the pros and cons (or apparent indecencies) of dancing in gym class. It was a thrilling day when I finally won, and got to dance the gym class away with all of my peers. The victory was relished…even though I knew the only reason she gave in was because I told her that another church elder’s son was dancing with the class. Nevertheless, it was a victory in truth for me. I couldn’t see why it was wrong, and it turned out I was right. Or at least my argued assumption was determined reasonable enough to allow me to dance in that direction.

You might think I was a little resentful about being raised a Christian, but I really wasn’t. I had started reading through the Bible (a modern paraphrase of it) in late elementary school, and the seed of faith that was in my heart grew as I read and prayed, and sensed God’s presence in my life. I loved God and Jesus and knew that my prayers were heard and answered, even though they didn’t always get answered in the way I was praying they would. And as my faith grew, so did this awareness of being trapped inside a body…
(continued in part 2)