Happy Birthday Mom!!!

I was born on Halloween, my dad on Thanksgiving, and my mom was born on April Fool's Day. Yep, it's true.

The irony oozes from these dates we entered the world because I don't like candy, scary, or strangers, my dad doesn't like to be told by the calendar when to express gratitude, and my mom is no fool. 

No matter how old she gets, she remains wise beyond her years and young at heart. Her sense of humor breaks the rules of survival. Her love runs deep. Her joy is genuine. And her servant's heart is bigger than anyone's I've ever known. 

She can see the positive in absolutely anything, except in using her sewing scissors to cut plastic tags off clothes. (Don't do that. She will say your name is mud.) She can remember everything about me, except my name. She called me Na-Beth and Precious Girl a lot. Close enough. She can make 4 dozen cookies, bake 12 dozen zwiebach, and do 5 loads of laundry before I wake up in the morning. And sewing is like breathing to her. She has made me countless shirts, shorts, skirts, and the best twirl dresses a girl could dream of.

She has been in the same two Bible Study groups for over 30 years. She is an amazing friend, loyal and true.

She loves me more than I can even understand or fathom. And oh am I ever grateful that she's my mom.

Happy April Fool's Day Birthday Mom!!!!!!! I love you. You don't look a day over 64. :)

p.s. i typed this in the largest font just for you. ;)

Support Letter Ethics

It's hard for me to ask for help. Sometimes it feels like I'm allergic to it. I forget that it's even an option. I don't drink milk and I don't ask for help.

I'm happy to pour you a glass of milk, do you a favor, or even give you something of mine. Why not? It doesn't belong to me anyway and people are more important than things, right? Sure! It's easy for me to do but not easy for me to accept from others.

Enter stage right: my Easter break missions trip      

Enter stage left: the support letter

I'm in the middle of these two characters and I'm not sure what my next line is...or if this is a show down or a family reunion.

The basic contents of a typical support letter consist of a greeting, brief reminder of who the person is that's writing the letter, a description of a short term (week-10 days) or long term (months, years, lifetime) mission project or trip of some sort, and the many ways in which you can "support" the person writing the letter. You can just commit to praying for the person (silver level). You can pray and give a meager amount (gold level). Or you can pray and fill in your own extremely generous amount of money on the blank line (platinum level). If you are super holy, you will give sacrificially.

As you may have gathered already, to my ears, these letters often read like holy sales pitches, that might as well include the line "And that's not all! Give now and we'll throw in a surprise blessing!" The motivation to give then seems to come from guilt, obligation, or fear of looking unsupportive. And the letter feeling more like a test of friendship or measure of commitment to a relationship rather than a way to ask for help in a healthy way.

The issue is further complicated for me when financial support is requested by someone who doesn't seem like he needs that type of support. A grossly exaggerated example would be if Bill Gates asked me to help pay for his flight to Africa where he will be helping eradicate malaria. He doesn't need me to help him with his travel expenses but that doesn't take away from the worthiness and nobility of the cause.

So today, I posed this question to several people that I trust, "How do you feel about people asking for financial support to go on a missions trip they can totally afford to pay for themselves?"

I got so many good answers and such good feedback. I was reminded of how much priceless support I already have everyday.  I feel much better about just taking  breath and sharing what I'm going to do over spring break. So here's the scoop...

On April 13th, I will embark on what could be the best week of my life. Or it could be just like my other camp experiences, a mixture of fun, awkward and disappointment with a splash of life changing miracle. Or I might just hate it. I probably won't know until it's over on April 18th.

I'm going to the Central California Joni and Friends Family Retreat as a Short Term Missionary (STM). It's considered a mission trip because I'll be a volunteer matched up with a camper with a disability and will be his/her support person all week. I don't think I'll find out who I'm matched with until I get there. It could be a child or adult of any age and could even be a sibling of someone with a disability. All I know is that I've been wanting to do this for years! It's bucket list material. An absolute dream.

Asking people for money to fund the experience feels kinda like asking for money to go to Disneyland! I keep mulling over and over and over this question of to ask or not to ask for support. The conclusion I keep wanting to come to is no. I should pay for it myself, go about writing about my experience, and soaking in all that God has for me that week. And keep it all to myself. Ugh. That's where I keep getting stuck. Keeping it all to myself doesn't sit right with me this time. Why is that? I'm not exactly sure yet. I know part of the problem goes back to the allergy to asking for help but is there more to it than that? When does it become a team effort, in a healthy way? I don't want to automatically reject the idea of asking for support if there's some value in it that I don't recognize.

Then I go back to not wanting to talk about money. I'm no Bill Gates but at the same time I'm not worried about money either.

Then my friend Karisa said this: "You're about to spend a week helping someone else. Maybe God wants you to get a glimpse of what it feels like for your partner to ask you for help. They might struggle with that."

She got me there.

But then I was reminded of one of my core beliefs. I never want to take a task away from someone that he can do for himself, if by doing so I deprive him of his independence, strip him of his dignity, or negate his abilities. It's not respectful or kind to withhold patience.

I have the ability to fund the trip myself and I intend to do so. I do need help in other areas though and it's in those areas that I can feel good about asking for help.

Pray for me. Write me if you're excited with me. Learn more about Joni and Friends. Help me find a new swimsuit that I'm not embarrassed to be seen in (that'll be a miracle). Ask me how it went. Listen to my stories. Tell me your stories. Praise the Lord with me. Tell people you know about Joni and Friends and you may inspire someone else to be involved in missions. Who knows, one day you may even get a support letter from that person. ;)

After much debate, I realized that, for me, it all comes down to these two desires:

1. I want everyone to know about Joni and Friends Family Retreats so they can benefit from them.

2. I'd like to shout from the roof tops, "Hey Everybody! I get to fulfill a huge dream next month! I just want you to be excited with me."


There you have it...what are you thoughts???

Recite Pi

My dad has always been better than me at everything but I've always made him prove it. Just assuming that he would beat me at something was unacceptable because one day I would beat him at something. He always told me that day would come but I was always skeptical.

Take basketball for example, when I was a kid we played a game called Around the World on the basketball court in the driving way. The game involves taking turns shooting baskets from previously determined spots around the court that end up looking like a semi circle. You shoot from each spot, only moving on if you have made the previous shot. You complete the semi circle and then you take the same path back to the beginning. If you miss, it's your opponent's turn, unless of course you choose to "chance it". If you make it, then you continue. If you miss, then not only is it your opponent's turn but your next turn starts back at the beginning. The first person to make all 14 shots wins! Sounds pretty simple, right?

Well, there's more! We added a few more rules to make the playing field a little more even. I had to make the shots and I could "chance it" twice. My dad had to "swish" all of his shots, meaning the ball couldn't touch the rim, and if he "chanced it" and missed then he's automatically lose the whole game.

But wait...there's more! 

At the very end of the game, we had to recite Pi. That's right, you heard me, to win the game you had to make 14 shots and recite Pi. Okay, not all of it because it's an infinite number and we had to go inside when it was time for dinner. We just had to recite one more digit than the other person could do. My dad's a high school math teacher so guess who won this part of the game every single time? That's right, ME!! Turns out the one thing that I can do better than my dad is memorizing and reciting digits of Pi.  I know, I know...please hold your applause until all the digits have been recited.

Yes, of course I'm embarrassed. Why do you even have to ask? But I was better than him at something! Have I made it clear how very unusual that has always been?!? Also, I was little when this particular contest started and I'm pretty sure for the first few years, he was faking losing because he was so excited that he had convinced me to play along.

He and I have always played mind games like that to make the other person feel like it was probably his/her own idea to do something and not the other person's ability to use reverse psychology (or in our case reverse, reverse, reverse psychology) to make the other person participate in an activity. So if he said memorizing digits of Pi was too hard for a 6 year old then he may have meant exactly that OR he may have just issued a challenge that he'd hope I'd accept. I may have said I don't want to memorize a number that never ends but then again maybe I could win this contest. I don't usually like to be competitive but I love an evenly matched contest of almost any kind. My dad is an expert at setting such contests up.

I, of course, reached the age of being more embarrassed than proud of this random skill. So when my dad would start reciting digits of Pi, I would do my best to discourage it by acting like I couldn't hear him. But when he'd get a digit wrong, my knee jerk reaction was to shake my head to let him know that he had just "chanced it" and lost. My reaction would bring him such joy because his real goal was to prove to that I hadn't forgotten.

3.1415926535897932384626433897950

I just typed that from memory, I promise I didn't look it up. I think it might be right.

Oh, I just looked it up and I got it wrong. It's actually 3.14159265358979323846268327950.

Anyway, one summer I came home from college and my dad says to me "288, that's the next 3 digits. I know more than you now". To which I said, "No, now we're even because you just told them to me!" "Ahh, no!", he exclaimed (pretending to be exasperated when in fact he was just really glad I was home and was still willing to play his silly math games.)

Why am I telling you all of this, you ask? It's because today is March 14 or 3/14, aka Pi Day! It's the one day of the year when my dad wants to celebrate something because of what the calendar says. He's not a big fan of Christmas, Valentine's Day, Father's Day, or even his birthday because he thinks we should show love to each other every day, not just because of a date on the calendar. But all that calendar attitude disappears when the date changes to 3.14! He lets his students bring pie to school and takes time during class to pause and celebrate by eating a sweet treat. Of course he's teaching them about math during the pie cutting and eating because he just can't help but be a teacher.

Today, 3/14/14, is his last Pi Day as a teacher because he plans to retire at the end of the school year. I hope it was the best one he's ever had!

Happy Pi Day to all you nerds who actually read all the way to the end of this post! ;) Be proud of what you know, even if it just means you can do one thing better than someone way smarter than you!

The Best Dog I Ever Had

A little photo tribute to my dog. I've been missing her for exactly a year now...

Lucy Eleanor Moderatz Warkentin soaking in the sun.

she's sick and i'm crying

she comforted me

she always let me pick her up

we drove through my 20s together

she would press her nose to the window
there's still a smudge that i can't wipe away

her head tilt 

Even today, when I think of her, I am flooded with emotions but the most dominant feeling is gratitude. I am so very grateful to have had her in my life for 10 1/2 years.

Lucy was the very best dog. 

Act Cool

SHE did it!!!

That was what he told the police officer as he pointed his accusatory finger in my face. I could have punched him. The officer basically saved his life. 

I was 27 years old and Nathan was 30. We had been driving from Visalia to our parents house in Dinuba for our usual Sunday visit. I had just passed another slow driver but had forgotten the crucial step of slowing down after crossing back over the yellow line. I saw the police car pass me and do an immediate U-turn. When his lights started flashing, I knew I was guilty. 

My stomach sank. In my 9 years of driving, I'd never been pulled over before for anything. I was never even been a passenger in a car that was pulled over. So I could only reference TV and movies for how this process might go. I certainly didn’t know how he was going to react to the situation. I had no reference for how to predict what would happen next.

As I pulled my 1999 Saturn SC over to the side of the two lane country road, I said, “Nathan, I’m getting pulled over for speeding.” He sat up a little straighter but didn’t say anything.

I put the car in park and waited for the officer to appear at my window. But he didn’t.

I heard a knock but there was still no one outside my window. Oh crap!, I screamed in my head. 

“Nathan, roll down your window.” I said (sort of) calmly.

“No.” he replied.

I didn’t have power windows and my arm wasn’t long enough to reach over him to do it myself so I yelled, “Roll down your window, NOW!!

“NO!!!!” he yelled back.

“DO IT!!!!!!!!” I screamed in desperation as I heard another knock.

He extremely reluctantly rolls down his window, points across his body at me, and declares, “SHE did it!”

I could not believe my ears. I had whiplash from the lightening fast shift he made from loyal companion to narc! What a lousy, good for nothing, disloyal brother who was…absolutely right. I had done it. But I thought that was pretty obvious seeing as I was sitting in the driver’s seat and all!

I handed the officer my license, registration, and insurance card. Before the officer had walked two steps, Nathan had his window rolled right back up. Suddenly, he knew how to move fast! I started murmuring inside as we sat in silence and waited, for what felt like forever, for the officer to come back.

Knock, knock!

“Roll it down,” I said sternly

“No”, he repeated just as sternly

Seriously?? We’re gonna do this again?!?

“YES!” I hissed (okay I may have yelled it)

He rolled it down reluctantly and exclaimed once again, “SHE did it!”

Then, he showed the officer the cover of his newest CD and said the words that will forever ring in my ears. “I only listen to gospel music!”

So now I’m angry AND embarrassed. Great, just great. I’ll get him later, when there’s no law enforcement present.

The officer didn’t seem to understand Nathan’s words (thank God for difficult speech!) Or maybe he just had no idea how to respond to being shown a gospel quartet CD as proof that a passenger of a car wasn't guilty of speeding. I feel comfortable betting that particular scenario had never happened to him. In any case, he changed the subject entirely by asking, “Hey, do you know Mr. Warkentin that teaches at the high school?”

For the 3rd time in the span of a few minutes, I couldn’t believe my ears. He’s really asking about our dad while I’m sitting here on the side of the road with my disloyal brother?!? Of course he is.

“Yes”, I said, while shaking my head in shame, “we’re his kids.”

“Oh! I was his student,” the officer said

Perfect.

“Have a good day,” he said

“You too”, I mumbled back but there’s no way the officer could have heard me. You know why? It’s not because I spoke too softly. It’s because the window was already rolled up. He just can’t play along and act cool. Nope. Not Nathan.

As I pulled back onto the road he says, “I won't tell anyone.”

“OH REALLY?? NOW you’re gonna be on my side? Tell anybody you want. It’s a free country.” I huffed.

He started to repeat his promise when I abruptly cut him off with my pointer finger and said sharply, “shut up.”

He gingerly took his Signature Sound CD out of the player and put it safely in his, now infamous, case.

I turned on my music a little louder than usual. Not a word was spoken the rest of the way to Dinuba.

About 15 minutes later, he pushed past my dad and went straight to his room. My dad looks at me quizzically and asked what Nathan’s problem was. I turned to both my parents and confessed, “He’s trying not to tell you that I just got pulled over for speeding.”

Then he appears out of nowhere and all loyalty drains out of him as he points at me once again and exclaims (say it with me now) SHE did it!!

My mom tried to keep a straight face but had to put her head down to try to hide her smirk.

“That’s exactly what he told the officer!" I said. (It was my turn to tell on him.) 

My mom started to giggle.

“He said that to the officer?!?” my dad asked.

“Yep! Guess what he said after that?” I exclaimed. “You want to tell them?”, I said to Judas Nathan.

He suddenly had nothing to say.

“I want to hear what he said!” my mom said eagerly.

“He showed the police officer his CD and said, ‘I only listen to gospel music!’” I testified.

My mom almost fell out her chair from laughing so hard.

“Oh Dad, by the way, your student says hello.”

“Oh really? Who?” he asked

“I don’t know. Maybe it’s on the ticket he just gave me,” I said in exhaustion.

From that day forward, whenever my parents or I feel we are being accused of something by the other one, we invoke Nathan’s not guilty plea by putting our hands in the air and insisting “I only listen to gospel music!” 

Here it is...the I'm-not-guilty gospel music.