The Difference a Year Can Make

About this time last year, our family had been to Florida, enjoyed a cheap but great vacation to the Disney/Orlando area and Abbey and I were knee-deep in Abbey's Vegan Eats, raising support and awareness for her upcoming Mission Year. I don't even know at this point if she'd received her assignment in Houston, Texas. I only knew in a little over a month, our girl was flying out on that big bird, making her way into the wonderful adventure God had for her.

This side of a year's Journey and next Friday, we will welcome home a very different Sojourner of faith. I wish I could convey to you all the blessed ways in which Abbey has changed. 

She has learned compassion and patience by serving children who live in deep poverty in one of Houston's toughest neighborhoods. She's had the joy of becoming family with people she had never even met last July. 

Because of them and the neighbors that have welcomed them into their lives, she's had a taste of authentic, intentional community and she longs for more...more of God showing up and showing off His Kingdom Love in and through the lives of people committed to serving Him.

As evidenced by Abbey's Vegan Eats, food was already her passion...now it is her rallying cry for the injustice of food deserts and limited, unhealthy choices for those already confined by conventional thought, unfair practices and no means to pull themselves up out of the mire of cheap, traditional American convenience food, that is killing them. She longs to teach others how to live fulfilled, healthy lives, caring for the only temple God gave them...their bodies.

She has still found time to embrace the beautiful and to be creative, but her team and City Directors have helped unleash the inner Artist that has struggled to accept her gifts. Creativity through art, musical theatre, baking and more are necessary survival skills now that she has opened up the toolbox of talent that God had already equipped her with.

Who will come off of that big bird we put her on last year? I'm not exactly sure and I don't know precisely where she's headed next...but I am absolutely certain that with the Holy Spirit as her Guide, it will continue to be the adventure of a lifetime.

We love you Abbey and we long to see your face! (I Thess. 2:17)

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If you'd like to see more photos of Abbey's Mission Year experience, follow her on Instagram.

Kingdom Dining

One of Abbey's photos from our community dinner

I had originally title this post "Dinner With Friends" and intended to share it several days ago, but as He sometimes does, the Holy Spirit prompted me to delay so He could solidity the lesson even more.

As I've previously mentioned, every Saturday in a Mission Year, the team hangs out in their neighborhood and builds community with their neighbors. They also invite their neighbors and friends to have dinner with them. The menu during my visit was Lindi's delicious Tomato Basil Soup and Brent made some tasty oven-grilled cheese sandwiches. I pitched in a big salad purchased at the local NuWaters Co-op which is making healthy, local grown options available in a neighborhood where fresh produce is hard to come by.

Seated around the table were 15 people, most of whom only met within the previous day or two and even the Eight at the core of the group have only been together since early September...but it felt like home.

There were soon-to-be college kids, mastered-degreed young adults, empty-nester moms, friends from former church connections, a neighbor and me. Some are married, some divorced, and some remarried or single. We're not only all from different backgrounds and have varying skin tones, but the geographical backdrops didn't go unnoticed by me. Upstate New York, Kansas, Indiana, Iowa, Oklahoma, Texas and my own Kentucky home were all represented around the three tables squished together to seat all 15 of us.

And as I tried to remember to see through Kingdom eyes, I heard that Whisper say, "I'm giving you just a glimpse of the Banquet I'm preparing for all of you." I don't know if I've ever experienced the Lord's Table before that night, and I did fleetingly think of asking them if we could have communion together. I wish I'd spoken up, because I know I felt the perfection of the moment when Jesus Himself was sitting there with us.

What was the reason for delaying this post? Well, apparently the Holy Spirit prompted the same observation in my daughter. She wrote about it in her February newsletter. 

Oh...but God is so good that He gave me even one more example.

Serving dinner at ESNKY in January

Our church partners with Emergency Shelter of Northern Kentucky to provide life-saving overnight housing for 12 men when temperatures drop below 15 degrees and their shelter is overflowing with people seeking aid. They are supposed to house 40, but Monday night when temperatures were below zero, we housed 12, Mother of God church (also a temporary overflow site) had 12 and ESNKY housed 90 souls. [We fed the 12 men at our place and about 70 at ESNKY.] One of our volunteers stepped on a man's hand trying to walk through the hallway because bodies lined both sides of the already narrow space. Whoever says, "I don't see the homeless, so the problem must not be that bad," needs to take a trip down to Scott Street on a single-digit night and observe the line down the block, just to get in the door.

Part of our Homeless Hosting set-up in January

My friend heads up our church's team of over 100 volunteers that share responsibility for hosting, feeding, driving and providing hospitality to these 12 men. So far this winter, we've done this five different weeks for either three or four nights each session. I love being part of the Church that truly is serving "the least of these" and who honestly believes we are called to "be the hands and feet of Jesus". Since this morning may be the last opportunity we have to love on our new friends at our place, my friend Kari sent out some final observations Holy Spirit has been laying on her heart. One that struck a chord with me is that she felt dining with our homeless friends gave her "a glimpse into what fellowship around God's table will be like in heaven someday."

Many races, varying socio-economic statuses, many different backgrounds, many different life choices...but all brought together by the bond of Christ's Love and an abundant feast He sets before us. That is a meal worthy of our attention.

All of this has made me crave more opportunities for Kingdom dining. The invitation is always there...but will we accept our seat He's reserved just for us?

Amen!

Looking Out For Each Other

One of the perks of serving with Mission Year is their emphasis on building community with your neighbors. I've been delighted to hear Abbey's stories of getting to know Miss Dottie and Miss Debbie and others. During last weekend's visit, I enjoyed participating in neighborhood day, which happens every Saturday.

What if each of us took out one day a week from our busy lives, spent it in our neighborhood, walking around, meeting neighbors, only shopping close to home, and investing in our own communities? [That wouldn't work in most of our suburban isolation. How many of us even have a grocery store that we can walk or ride the bus to?] Just think about the implications of investing one whole day each week of time, energy and resources back into your neighborhood.

For me, it was a day of swelling pride and a heart growing bigger with love when I met two of the ladies that are "looking out for" my kid. They both sang the praises to the moms that were visiting for how wonderful our children are and how grateful they are to have them nearby.

What a blessing!

These sweet ladies took a risk letting their young neighbors into their lives. Miss Dottie exclaimed, "I've never let anybody else around here in my house!" These wonderful grandmas have driven the kids to church when it's raining, given them canned food they won't need for themselves, and even let them use their wash machines a few times. As wonderful as these have been, the most profound gift for all has been companionship and another friend to love.

Jesus and the Disinherited by Howard Thurman- A Book Review

I read this book over the weekend on my trip to Houston so I could participate in the Curriculum Share time with Abbey and her housemates. Mission Year requires that all of the program participants read a series of books that speak to poverty, the inner city, injustice, love and more.

Jesus and the Disinherited by Howard Thurman was reportedly carried around by Martin Luther King, Jr. everywhere he went. He found inspiration within its pages to lead a Civil Rights Movement that our country desperately needed. As I read, I had to keep reminding myself that this book was first published in 1949. Sadly, it seems that not much has changed, aside from some of the language Thurman used which was common to his day.

Abbey was surprised to see the dozens of highlighted quotes in my copy and I was thrilled to engage in this conversation with the Mission Year folks...book studies/clubs are sort of my thing. But if this book were required reading for anyone that serves alongside the "disinherited" of our culture, I believe we would approach ministry with more compassion and depth of knowledge than is often seen. The grandson of a former slave, who grew up in Jim Crow Florida, and was a highly educated, intellectual and close follower of Jesus, has much to say to us even today. 

"FEAR is one of the persistent hounds of hell that dog the footsteps of the poor, the dispossessed, the disinherited...The ever-present fear that besets the vast poor, the economically and socially insecure, is a fear of still a different breed. It is a climate closing in; it is like the fog in San Francisco or in London. It is nowhere in particular yet everywhere."

There are numerous quotes that I will return to over and over again, but the most profound image I was left with is a hypothetical story that Thurman relates in an attempt to help the reader understand the mindset of the dispossessed:  What if you were one of five children and all the children in your family received a new pair of shoes, except you? You might be upset, but you'd probably console yourself by saying, 'Well, I'll get my turn next.' But then comes the day when everyone in your family has a large slice of cake and again your are skipped over. This pattern continues time after time with no one else being denied gifts, treats and small pleasures, except you. Your indignation, anger, hatred and even shame begin to rise until you start to question if it's because you are somehow "not worthy" or possibly "less than" and you, in fact, deserve the slights and betrayals.

This is the life of the perpetually disinherited. As the third of four children, I have always had a profound (too profound, actually!) sense of fairness. In my mind, absolutely everything should always be fair and equal. This has, as you can imagine, provided me with hours and hours of frustration, lost relationship, pain, anger and hurt over the years. When someone says, "Well...life's not fair!" I want to scream, "But it should be!"

Somehow, in many of our American Christian churches, we've bought into this idea that everyone can succeed if they just pull themselves up by their bootstraps and that each person has the same opportunities as the next. My reply...and after reading Thurman's book, I think he'd agree...is always, "But you're under the assumption that everyone has a pair of boots."

"Welcoming Justice" by Loving Our Neighbors

Over the course of Abbey's Mission Year, she has required curriculum discussions with her team. My friend and I are reading as many of the books as possible because they have been carefully chosen to address issues that our under-resourced communities face:  racism, injustice, poverty, subpar educational options, and more.

Welcoming Justice by Charles Marsh and John Perkins grabbed me from the beginning simply with its subtitle, "God's Movement Toward Beloved Community". Community...it's what every dissatisfied Christian I encounter is longing for. It's what God created us to crave. God the Father, Jesus the Son and the Holy Spirit live in community with one another in a way that we cannot even put words to. Thus, it is hard-wired into each and every one of us. 

What we wealthier Christians often don't realize is that our impoverished neighbors we condescend to "help" have much to teach us about living in community. One of the first people Abbey encountered in her new Third Ward neighborhood of Houston was a grandmotherly woman who assured her that she would look out for them and they should look out for her. 

John Perkins was on the front lines of the 1960s Civil Rights Movement. Reading this book (co-written with Charles Marsh) during the recent outcry coming from places like Ferguson and New York City, helped remind me exactly whom should be at the forefront leading the charge against injustice, inequality and demeaning of our fellow man. "God's movement is the most powerful source of social change in our society." (p. 23)

Marsh reflects on where the Civil Rights Movement went wrong, lost momentum and left unfinished the work it had begun. "Removed from its home in the church, the work of building beloved community withered and died." (p. 25)

"It is unlikely that anyone has ever read Nietzsche's The Antichrist or Derrida's Dissemination and been inspired to open a soup kitchen. ...Still, my research has shown me that only as long as the Civil Rights movement remained anchored in the church--in the energies, convictions and images of the biblical narrative and the worshiping community--did the movement have a vision." (Philip Yancey, Foreword, p. 13)

One of the most profound quotes to me is when Marsh refers to Martin Luther King Jr.'s prophetic vision for the future of America: "King resolved that America's only hope lay in repentance--in a repentance that took the form of willingness to be a servant nation to the poor of the earth. Sadly, King would not live to say much more." (p. 27)

Is it too much to infer that our deeply-rooted issues of reconciliation vs. racism and forgiveness vs. condemnation could be addressed if we would handle more wisely the God-given resources, blessings and abundance that undoubtedly have been given to our nation? Almost 50 years after the assassination of MLK Jr., we have never been farther from becoming "a servant nation to the poor of the earth". In fact, our spending and misallocation of natural and man-made wealth keeps more people in the world bound in the chains of slavery and unfathomable poverty now than when slavery was actually legal in our land.

"Perkins showed that the activist and organizer will only cease to patronize the poor when they live in community with them and approach them in a spirit of compassion and the willingness to serve. "Living involvement," Perkins said, "turns poor people from statistics into our friends." (p. 29)

This is what I see happening as people move outside their comfort and safety zones and serve with Tent Day and allow God to wreck their lives. We begin to smell like the sheep that we desire to lead to the Shepherd, not because they are foul-odoured, but because we begin to recognize the fragrant offering that rises from 'loving our neighbor as we love ourselves.' (see Matthew 22:36-40)

"Patronization is a worry only when outsiders fail to discern the gifts of the poor--their loyalty, fragility, creativity and holiness--and deny the importance of black leadership. When this happens, outsiders are quick to impose their own plans on the poor and slow to see the wisdom in the local story."

Wednesday afternoon I sat across the table from my friend who this week has been immersed in our Homeless Hosting ministry at First Church. As we sipped our hot tea on that very cold afternoon, she told me stories of the men, and I could see how God is growing her. 'I think some of them are angels,' she said. Since the author of Hebrews told us that in showing hospitality to strangers, in this case homeless men, we unknowingly entertain angels...she may be right.

What I do know is that loving on, giving to, and growing with our under-resourced neighbors will draw us closer to seeing those "angels" than in any other place.

You CAN Go Home Again...

but you'll be changed.

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I anticipated this. I knew it may happen. It does not make me sad. It makes life real.

I joyfully picked up our oldest Friday afternoon from Indianapolis International Airport, hugged and kissed her sweet little ginger head, had lunch with my parents, sister-in-law and niece and nephews, and started the long drive home.

It's not lengthy...but it was quiet.

My introvert who has had her comfortable, suburban world jolted by the reality of a broken and often hopeless one, needed time to decompress. My usual tactic of pummelling my children with questions until they open up was not appropriate, I had perceived as much.

At some point in the journey I must have asked the right question and the conversation flowed more easily. It has increasingly done so over the last two days...yet, there's one significant change that I have noticed: 

She's no longer set off by the small things that used to light her fuse.

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While I knew maturity would arrive swiftly for an 18 year old (now 19 year old) who's sacrificing comfort and the "norm" for a woman of her tender age, I wasn't prepared for the "untroubledness" of her maturity.

I was fully prepared to avoid her triggers. We all have them. In families we learn to step around them to keep the peace. When I've asked about laundry, food choices, and plans for each day, I think I'm no longer perceived as a nag...but she understands that my genuine concern for her is manifested in the little things.

What I've been asking myself for the last 48+ hours though are questions of myself that I think each Christian should delve into and accompanied by the Holy Spirit, grapple with and mold into our being and modus operandi for daily life:

What can cause us to abandon our priorities?

What can help us not to sweat the "small stuff"?

What must happen for me to put into perspective the minutiae of life?

What changes inside a perfectionist to bring them more calm, peace and joy?

The answer is simple...yet profound...

Love!

It may have been long-distance, but I have seen this beauty fall in love with a city, a neighborhood, a school and the children inside of it. She has talked with prostitutes, shared meals with feeble grandmothers in her new home, made pies and candy for her neighbors, taught children to sing and draw and enjoyed a birthday "cake" made from playground mulch accompanied by a preschool-pitched chorus of "Happy Birthday Miss Abbey".

She has also learned the humility of poverty and dependence upon others. She has found pleasure in the simple things like a free, reconditioned bike, local taco stands and new friends that quickly become family.

She has found new outrage inside of herself. While others her age are frustrated with the latest iPhone update or that their favorite cafe' no longer carries their preferred mocha, she has discovered fury over racism, injustice, deep poverty, and the desperation that drives people to merely survive instead of thrive.

She has found her Voice...and it is a melody of grace.

Where Do We Go From Here? #Ferguson

I'll be upfront and honest. I have no answers, because I don't have all of the facts. Period.

But this I do know:  I have been, in turn, sad, angry, frustrated, and confused throughout the course of events that has taken place since August, when a young, black man was killed on his city streets. Did he deserve it? I serve a King who loves everyone and live in a country where I've been taught that we are all innocent until proven guilty, so my conclusion is No...he did not deserve to die the way he did, without a trial by a jury of his peers.

I readily admit that I don't know much about how the world works. My world is very small. I live in a mostly white, affluent suburb of Cincinnati, Ohio. I am not affluent, but most of the neighborhoods around me are. Because of my color, my gender and my geographic location, I do not know the shame of being followed by clerks when I enter a store. I do not know the pain of seeing a woman clutching her purse more tightly because I pass her on the sidewalk. I have not witnessed a family distressingly glancing over their shoulders because they wrongly found themselves in my neighborhood. I did not attend schools that were lucky to have one beat up computer in a classroom, had 30+ kids in each class, had dripping ceilings, textbooks falling apart, and chaos running rampant throughout its halls. So who am I to tell someone that they are wrong in their anger at how they have been treated by their fellow countrymen?

Is destruction and violence a justifiable reaction to the inequality and rampant racism that pervades every crevice of our society? Again, I turn to my King who says that when we're slapped, we should offer the other cheek as well. (see Matthew 5:39) This is not a "lie down and take it" mentality. It is a defiant grace that exudes confidence in a God who will fight my battles and seek vengeance on my enemies.

Then where do we go from here? 

Wow. Honestly, I don't know. I truly wish there was a formula, a 12-step program or a book to shed some light on how we right the wrong of racism.

Oh wait!...There is! And the Author told me that the two greatest things I could do are to love my God with absolutely every fiber of my being and the second is to love my neighbor in the exact same way that I would love myself. And I can study the lives of Jesus, Martin Luther King, Jr., and Ghandi for bigger-than-life sized examples of how to flesh this out. 

What does "loving my neighbor as myself" look like in this situation? Well, when I do something destructive or horrendously stupid, do I want to be written off as a lost cause? Do I want people to say there is no hope in my restoration? Do I want people to point fingers, call names, say/write hate-filled comments, or deduce that I deserve what I get? NO! Nor should I participate in any of those Kingdom-opposing activities.

So what does "loving my neighbor who has just destroyed their neighborhood because they are sick and tired of being treated like second-class neighbors as myself" look like? It looks like reading books about race and reconcilliation. It looks like following voices that cry out for justice (i.e. Pope Francis, Shane Claiborne, Jim Wallis, etc.) It looks like embracing people of various backgrounds as friends. It looks like my daughter and her teammates making pies all day long yesterday for their mostly African American neighbors. It looks like, on these days leading up to Thanksgiving, she and her teammates going into the local prison to pray with those that want to pray.It looks like volunteering in a school where you are the only ginger and the children can learn to love this sweet little lady that looks nothing like them. It looks like attending opportunities that help you Understand Poverty. It looks like Tent Days where a group of people are breaking down racial and economic barriers because weekly they share life with people in their community. It looks like supporting organizations such as  Mission Year and CityMerge who seek reconcillation and love for all people. And it looks like putting a halt on listening to the media voices that chronically tell us one set of people are "good" and another is "bad". 

Basically, "loving my neighbor as myself" means I must question and set aside every culturally-instilled notion I have about what my life and the lives around me should look like and instead embracing a Kingdom-ethic of loving absolutely everyone no matter their color, gender, economic status or the past sins of themselves or their ancestors. 

Isn't that how I want to be loved?

How To Let Go?

As a 40-something mother of four, I am thankful to a God who once planted into my soul that one of my greatest blessings would be to release our children into His service. I didn't know the how, the when, the where, or the why...I only knew from very nearly the start of the parenting journey that releasing them to His care and provision would always be one of my greatest acts of obedience.

When you're knee-deep in diapers, the throes of homeschooling woes, with the seasons flying by you in a blurry flurry of birthdays, holidays and milestones, sometimes it takes great effort to remember that these little gifts will one day have a mind of their own...and greater still...a path of their own. And then one day you wake up and it's time to start thinking about things like college vs. technical school vs. (dare we say it?) setting aside conventional thought and going straight into the plans God has for your child.

I'm not a parent that was blind-sided by my child's passion to serve Him and live out her giftedness. But if I had been, I guess I'd have to trust His leading and call upon her life. I'm not a parent that fears inner-city ministry. I'm thankful for documentaries, books and compassionate leaders that have opened my eyes to the gifts that people living in deep poverty have to offer to willing learners.

I'm by no means a perfect parent. Although I set aside my fear for her safety long ago, as the days quickly drew nearer for her to fly, the doubts assailed me. But I know I serve a God who laid down His greatest Gift for me, so how could I offer any less for those that need to know His Love and selfishly ask her to stay home?

From the first day that I saw Mission Year mentioned on The Simple Way's website, until the day she boarded that plane to Atlanta, it has been an absolutely beautiful journey to behold. Watching Abbey struggle with fear and overcome her doubts, the sometimes palpable stress of the unknown and using her specific gifts and passions to raise funds...only her Abba could be more proud than her parents have been. Her journey has already inspired many...including her own Mama.

I have repeatedly been awed and inspired by this Millennial Generation that is drawn by the Holy Spirit to abandon what my generation was told would give them comfort and ease. I love the Millennials, their passion, their devotion, their heart for service.

It's funny, when you think about "letting go"...I guess the peace is found in knowing that she was never mine to begin with.

It Was a Beautiful Thing

Today, I had the indescribable blessing of witnessing a vision become a reality. This isn't an everyday occurrence, so I tried my darnedest to soak in every nuance of the experience. Sometimes visions are subtle in their culmination...this one has been a full-on, blazing-signposts-pointing-the-way sort of dream.

I've been choking back the tears for a few weeks now and I held it together as long as I could in the pre-6 a.m. hours of the morning, but they managed to pour forth, just as I suspected they would.

And with one last shot of the Four...

and a goofy, extra one (which is perfectly fitting for this crew), God's plan for living out Light and Truth as a family of 6, became God's Vision being fulfilled for one who is ready to live and Love in the Name of His Son, Jesus, as she disappeared in a blurry, flurry of security checks and early morning flyers.

As Rebekah adeptly asked immediately following our last "Goodbyes" of the morning...

"What now?"...

That is a question I've pondered all day as the tears have continued to pour forth off and on throughout the day. I think for now, the answer is...

We start asking God what His plan is for living out Light and Truth as a family of 5. Oh, we'll always be a family of 6...well, I guess there is the possibility it will grow larger someday...but as Abbey fulfills God's Mission Year, I can sense that she has already inspired the five of us to a deeper willingness to obediently abandon it all so that we can live and Love in the Name of Jesus.

She's Ready to Fly

Almost two years ago, Holy Spirit gave me a very clear vision of one day watching our daughter, Abbey, walking down an airplane terminal as she headed off to serve God. I didn't know where. I didn't know when. I just knew as certain as my soul belonged to Jesus, that it would happen. I even saw myself weeping...not out of fear or grief...but in awe,  praise, and wonder at a God who allows us humans the privilege of participating in His Kingdom work. 

When I had this vision, I barely knew of Shane Claiborne and had not read his life-changing book. I did not know that you could visit The Simple Way in Philadelphia, a place that Shane and his friends started right out of college. I did not know they had a Hospitality House where you could stay in the neighborhood where TSW seeks justice for the poor, serves the widow and the orphan, and loves "the least of these". 

When the Spirit gave me this vision, I did not know that while researching this trip to Philadelphia and The Simple Way, that they would recommend a group called Mission Year that seeks justice for the poor while living simply and in intentional community amidst some of the toughest neighborhoods in some of our biggest U.S. cities.

I had no clue when I first learned of Mission Year, that less than a month later, I would have breakfast with one of the men who created Mission Year, Bart Campolo. I also didn't know how that unexpectedly insightful conversation would refine not only my mission, but how our entire family approaches ministry and mission.

When the vision began, I could not possibly know that my "Abbey, you should check them (Mission Year) out", would fan the flames of an 18 year old's desire to serve Jesus, love people in His Name and serve in intentional community with other young adults who want to live out the Gospel with hands and feet on broken pavement in our deeply impoverished urban environments.

I could not have known then, the blessing of watching the Beauty of God at work...seeing Abbey struggle through her fears, her doubts, her concerns if she could live up to the commitment...and watching His grace and Love wash over her again and again.

I did not know then that when she pushed that "Submit" button and committed the next year and a half of her life to raising awareness,  fundraising, and fulfilling that mission year that she would be assigned to live in Houston, Texas beginning on September 5th.

I did not know nearly two years ago that the phrase "She's ready to fly" would play over and over in my mind...almost unconsciously at times...never making the connection.

And how could I know, that as we plotted and planned how we would rent a car and drive her to Atlanta for training, Mission Year would specifically ask that she fly to begin her journey when the day finally arrives.

When the reality of how God had orchestrated all of these events to call a young woman into His Kingdom work caught up with my awareness, I could not help but tear up at His compassion, His mercy, and His grace. I know He gave me that vision so that I could boldly accept His will for Abbey and release her into His care and His provision when the time was upon us.

I know we aren't always given such amazing clarity with every choice laid before us. I guess I'm not only thankful for when He does give it...I'm at a place where having experienced this, I know I can trust Him the next time He does. 

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If you'd like to follow Abbey's Mission Year to Houston, Texas, you can find her blog at

nonetensnaresme.wordpress.com

And the Curtain Closes...For Now

Abbey always tries to bring home a Playbill and a ticket that we find from each performance that we usher.

Last night, Abbey and I ushered for The Phantom of the Opera. It was, as expected, a wonderful performance. We have seen it twice previously and she saw this same production with her friend last week. The staging, costumes and sets were different than in previous years. My in-house Broadway expert tells me that's because this tour came out of the 25th Anniversary commemoration from a few years ago. During our pre-show meeting, the house manager shared that these sets and some of the costumes are from the original West End London production of 1986. In short, it was absolutely beautiful.

But why is this significant?

You see, I graduated from high school in 1986 and by the time I was in my senior year of college in 1990, I owned a two CD set of the original London cast recording. I also had the full libretto in a limited edition that I think came with or was ordered for free from either the full piano score (which I also owned) or the CD set. Either way, I know it was free. To say that I had the score memorized is an understatement. For anyone, like me, that owns these...you are fully aware that by the time the production made the trip "across the pond" many of the words in the big ballads had been changed. Almost 30 years later, the original words still run through my head when I hear the songs sung.

Over the years, I shelved the CDs and I tossed the piano score into a stack of other such works and sadly, I either gave or threw away the free libretto. Little did I know that some day my oldest child would become quite possibly the youngest Phantom-phile ever.

I can't even explain how it happened, but by the time she was 8 or 9 she was in full Phantom-mode. Her passion has exceeded mine for close to a decade now. When we visited New York City last year, nothing could calm her agitation until she stood in front of the theatre where it all began.

Abbey in NYC 2013

But what occurred to me throughout the day yesterday is that somehow, in only the way that God can do, He gave us a beautiful gift last night. The first Broadway show Abbey and I ever saw together with just the two of us was Phantom when she was 9 years old. (To the best of my recollection, that's about the age she was. )

Half of her life later, this was most likely the final Aronoff production we will serve as ushers together. I'm teary just thinking about it. Yet...it is as it should be.

Scripture tells us that "When I was a child, I talked like a child, I thought like a child, I reasoned like a child. When I became a man, I put childish ways behind me." (I Cor. 13:11) Attending Broadway shows is by no means childish, but now she's ready to leave my side...and share her love of theatre, music, art, beauty, cooking, healthy eating, compassionate ministry, service, giving, people and children in the perfect place where God can use her.

So yes, the melancholy of all that was happening last night (and some mild lower back pain) had me sitting out of the theatre for the second act. I knew full well that this beautiful bookend to my life with Abbey was on display for my heart to see and I couldn't quite take it all in. But I am so thankful for the times we have had to share. In the metaphoric sense, my curtain is closing.

But oh the blessed joy of seeing her curtain arise!