Thanksgiving Is

When I was growing up, Thanksgiving was that quiet go-to-grandmas-eat-lots-of-food-and-be-bored-the-rest-of-the-day holiday.  Compared to Christmas, Thanksgiving was just a halfhearted warm up act.  Sure, it was nice to be with family and share a big, hearty meal, but it was not a big deal to me.

Over the years, my perspective has changed.  We first started hosting Thanksgiving nine years ago.  We had just bought our house that summer and I said offhandedly that it would be great to host a holiday, but not this year because it was just too soon.  We hosted anyway – hectic, learning, and chaotic, but I’m glad we did it.  

The next year, I was pregnant with our first child.  The idea of being thankful seemed so important, so integral to how life should be that I was grateful that this was our holiday to host.  I made handmade card invitations, started to buy Thanksgiving décor, looked for ways to make this OUR holiday.  We started speaking out our thankfulness before the prayer and I was brought to tears nearly every time.  

Each year that passes, I am overwhelmed by all that I have to be thankful for.  It seems to me that over time this holiday – Thanksgiving – is what should matter most.  

Thanksgiving is:

• Friends and family together sharing and loving each other – even when we don’t understand or like each other all the time.
• Reminiscing, laughing, storytelling, traditions.
• Food, warmth, pumpkins, turkey, and stuffing.
• Brokenness…realizing that all we have – life, health, shelter, food, breath is a gift from God – grace for this moment – undeserved favor.

How can we not bow before God and offer thanks for each moment?  How can we forget that each moment of life is a gift?  I don’t live this thankfulness as I should – today being a prime example of my irritation and anger and shaking of my fist at all that annoys and inconveniences me – even the people that should matter the most. 

So come Thanksgiving, come to us broken ones – so that we can weigh down time with grace and peace and a bit of joy to move us forward. 

Growing Up?

As the years go by and I watch my children grow, I’m convinced that I should know what I’m doing, where I’m going, exactly what I want.  But instead of it all becoming clear, it’s as if my vision grows cloudy.

 

Over the past year and five months I feel like I’ve tried a little bit of everything – simple things maybe, but important for me to pass through for some reason.  I have:

• Started my own business and worked it
• Cut coupons
• Joined a women’s Bible study
• Baked bread and pizza dough
• Made homemade soup
• Went on play dates
• Joined MOPS (Mothers of Preschoolers)
• Read books and discussed them with friends
• Started reading the Bible and stuck with it
• Got to know my neighbors better
• Enjoyed picnics
• Crafted coffee drinks
• Drank new local beers
• Edited a friend’s book
• Wrote a bit
• Started a venture in direct sales
• Shopped resale shops
• Drafted letters and emails and thank you notes

I really enjoyed all of those things listed and it was great to try so many new things in that time.  As I mentioned in a previous post, God has asked me to start stripping away many of these things.  As I’ve removed some of them, I found that others in the list are no longer enjoyable to me and have naturally fizzled out.  It has all left me a bit confounded by it all.  Many of the things I used to crave doing when I was working are just no longer exciting now that I have the time for them, but what is frustrating is that there are so few things on this list now that I’m wondering what is wrong with me.  Is this disinterest from God – where my heart, soul, and mind lay open waiting for His Spirit to work?  Or is it more sinister – a stealing of joy in this everyday life – getting lost in the mundane instead of celebrating it?

I don’t know the answer to these questions, but rest assured, I am looking and praying and searching for this path that God is leading me onward to.  I’m finding that I still don’t know what I want to be when I grow up and I’m surprised at the many people my age who identify with what I’m going through.  I think that if we continually stand open to the Spirit’s leading, this may happen to us often.  And trust me, I’m not truly open yet, but I feel as though God is chipping away at this stone, cold heart.  The process is slow and painful and I don’t know what it all means or where it will all lead.  But I’m trying my best to be still and open to the possibilities. 

 

Running

I started something a few months ago – something I never thought I would ever do – I started running. Not just running here and there, but for real – long distance (if you will) – with the goal of running a 5K as soon as it seemed plausible.

This running is really out of my comfort zone. I ran a bit in high school (one track season) and I was pretty terrible at it – running the 400 – not a sprint and not long distance – this terrible, in-between distance that I wasn’t ever properly trained to handle. I gave it up as quickly as I had started.

Over the years I have dabbled in exercise – bike riding, playing tennis, walking, pilates, aerobics, circuit training and resistance machines – but never stuck with it more than a year or two consistently. Kids came along and I never thought I would be able to move again, which was true for a period of time.

I was inspired by my brother who took up running while working in Africa over a 3 year period. He lost 100 lbs. I was blown away by what he was able to accomplish.

I downloaded the Couch-To-5K (C25K) app on my phone and…did nothing for a couple of months. A week before vacation I just got out there and did it. Trying to keep up with it on our vacation was hard, but I had lots of encouragement from my brother and sister-in-law.

After about 3 weeks, I was outside watching the kids and I looked at the sidewalk stretched out before me and I was itching to run it. I was mentally committed to this and to actually crave it was something I never thought could happen to me.

After 5 weeks I was amazed at how I was actually able to breathe through the running intervals. I wasn’t so tired all the time. I could hike through sand with beach gear and not get winded.

My goal was to run to lose weight, but although the weight is being stubborn, the other benefits made it worth it for me to continue. At about 6 weeks, I ran my first 5K – before I was finished with the training. I walked about 5 minutes of the run in 3 small intervals. I finished in 42 minutes and the rush of running through all of those people at the finish line was incredible. I felt great after I finished and was surprised at what I had just done – me - a non-runner – running 3.1 miles.

I recently finished the C25K program. While I don’t consistently run a 5K during each run, yet, I can’t believe that I can keep running for 30 minutes straight. I have much to learn and more training to complete, but I think it is safe to say that I’m a runner now. I’m still having trouble believing that and I find that running is not only very physically demanding, but it is also a mental game that I’m constantly fighting. But I’m not done yet – I have another 5K scheduled and then I will see where I go. The idea of running the Detroit Free Press half marathon this time next fall sounds very appealing. Crazy, eh?

Restlessness

I’m restless tonight…I have this sense that I should be doing something, but when I look around at the messes made, to do list unfinished, books unread, sewing projects ½ done, I know that those are not the things that I should be doing. I look at my laptop on…then I turn it off entering the avoidance once again.

But this time, I walk through the rooms of this tired house looking for something, looking on my phone for something…always looking and not finding. Irritated I pick up the laptop and turn it on knowing that this is my destiny yet fighting it kicking and screaming.

The screen glows blue and then white…my fingers begin moving, creating, searching and maybe this time finding.

I stumbled upon a book recently called “You Are a Writer (So Start Acting Like One)” by Jeff Goins. I stared long and hard at the cover. I knew at that moment that I did not need to read this book, I only had to do what the title said – start acting like a writer. (I'm reading it anyway.) The truth is that I’ve been hiding over here and allowing the distractions of the day-to-day to get in the way of who I am and what I’m supposed to do. Only until now, there was no guilt or pain or discomfort in doing so. Over the last several weeks everything I allowed to distract me has lost its luster or has been removed. I can’t focus on anything for any length of time if I even have the desire to begin it.

This same author, Jeff Goins says in another short book he has written called “The Writer’s Manifesto” that a writer writes because he cannot NOT write. If I had read this six months ago I would have laughed at the idea of that. Now that I’m here in this desolate, unrelenting, purposeless place, I can’t agree more. These words will push their way out of me one way or another and it seems lately they are intent in coming out in painful ways.

So, I’m writing because there is this part of me, once small, yet growing and pushing and relentlessly calling me to put the words out there and maybe I will just find what I’ve been looking for.

Watercolor

Fall colors are just about to peak here in southeast Michigan as they do roughly around the first to second week of October every year…typical. But there is something about this year that is just so drastically different. This transition from summer to fall was so slow and deliberate for me this year. It was as if I was watching the world in slow motion. But one day last week it was as if the trees were painted overnight. Everywhere I looked was breathtaking color. The most brilliant reds, oranges and yellows I have ever experienced. It’s as if I woke up one morning to see that God had finished painting unbelievable watercolors.

Every day I’m searching and looking hard at the trees as they change. I’m in awe of what I see. It is almost as if I am witnessing individual leaves changing right in front of my eyes. Why didn’t I notice last year? Were the colors not as vibrant? Surely that can’t be true…

Maybe the answer is that I’ve finally figured out how to slow down – to weigh down these moments with my full attention. To accept the grace of this moment…Sara Groves one of my favorite singers says that “grace is an invitation to be beautiful”. If this moment with my full attention is all grace, given by God, than isn’t extraordinary beauty possible? Even expected?

When I observe the splendor right outside my window, yes, grace…here…a gift for all of us. I don’t always get it right…I move too fast. But right here, this season, I’m all here.

When We Don’t Understand

It seems as though I have entered a season in my life when God is asking me to change, but the reason for the change is unclear. I am sitting here in the middle of things and changing each thing in my life one-by-one – knowing that is what He wants and yet not understanding why. Little glimpses confirm my decisions, but the overall plan is fuzzy.

I don’t like change – even small change. Moving my seat at the dinner table unnerves me a bit – I have a habit of putting things in the same place over and over even if it doesn’t make sense after a while. I eat the same thing for breakfast nearly every day and the absence of coffee in the afternoon could undo me a bit.

Yet so many of the new things I decided to try after I started staying home with the kids are slowly being stripped away. I don’t understand why it is happening, but I know that He is asking me to do a new thing. He is asking me to give thanks – He’s telling me I don’t really get it. One night in desperation I cry out to Him – He tells me to open “One Thousand Gifts” by Ann Voskamp - p. 30. Here is where the core idea of the book is expressed – that eucharisteo – a Greek word meaning grace – thanks – joy is the secret to the full life. He compels me to read this and He says, “You don’t get it.” It is true, I don’t. So I sign up for a new Bible study to reread the book. I go to the first meeting – the leader says, “I don’t know why you are here, but God knows and I’ve been praying for you.” And He knows and I know that what she says is true and we don’t really understand how it is all woven together.

I do not pray well and if praying is talking to God then I guess we don’t talk as much as we should. So I am reading – 6 chapters in 1 week to keep up and I’m writing new gifts – because 1000 written down over a year and a half haven’t left their mark on me. And Ann says in the book that to become a praying woman I must give thanks. That to get rid of ingratitude we nail it out by nailing in thanksgiving and it is physical and it isn’t a blanket of thanks, but a moment-by-moment physical act – it is NOW – when we give thanks and doesn’t that make sense? Grace is not for yesterday or tomorrow or even for an hour from now – it is NOW. Grace is given in this present moment – not thrown as a sugar coating over the past or iridescent hope for the future. It is the humility of the breath of life still present in this moment – knowing that we continue on because our purpose still has validity and that understanding, while grasped for, doesn’t matter. But this moment does and He is with us and we can choose to be fully present in this moment no matter what.

No matter what – when kids scream and things break, and we bleed from that cut and lack of words fester and our expectations fall short again. Grace is present here in this moment. We choose the gratitude or we turn away from the full life.

I’m in the middle ground…in a very slow, confusing, and aching dull transition that I don’t understand. But I pick up grace and thanksgiving and I go forward anyway knowing that His ways are best even when we don’t understand.

When It Is Dusk

I’m sneaking away from bedtime for a moment…two little girls aren’t ready to quiet down yet.  And I’m looking outside at this hot summer day ending…orange light reflecting on green leaves and baking on orange bricks and turning burnt grass to gold and trying to soak in the last of this day.  When it is dusk and the day is ending and the night beginning is when I recall all the things that are finite around me.

 

Littles only stay little for a time and they are growing in front of me quickly and quietly yet steadily and my mind is changing and shifting and realizing that maybe I don’t really know what I should be focusing on. 

I look around at the living room strewn with forgotten toys left after play…the kitchen with never-ending crumbs…outside with toys peeking out of buckets.  My everywhere is full of little lives and here is my own life that I’m not really sure I’m living – but I must be if I hear them laughing and playing and jumping and hugging me…feeling their little arms around me.

This life – the days run together into a quiet rhythm of cooking and cleaning and picking up and folding and sweeping so that all of a sudden it is dusk and I realize that a year has passed since I have been home with them.  I wish I had something profound to say – a way to hold onto this day as the light grows dim – but maybe that is the trouble with me anyway.  I always know what to say and when to say it and I’ve found these past months to be strangely without words. 

I write best when full of angst and this year has been one of the most profoundly peaceful and joyful periods of my life and like this sun fading I’m holding onto it with dear life unsure of how to process it all to say what it all means and to fold it deep into myself forever.

I can only be thankful for it all.  But isn’t thankfulness everything?  The first stars are appearing and I look up to them anticipating the gentle night ahead.  

To Be Known

If you know me, you know that I’m an outgoing person.  I love to laugh and talk and drink coffee while discussing every detail of my life.  If you have known me a long time, you know that I am pretty intense – I feel joy, anger, and excitement - all in about the same minute.  What you may not know about me is that I used to be a better friend than I am today.

You see, time and experience and my own internal struggles have led me to this point where I have become a shallow, and distant friend.  If you knew me then, you would have called me the “Cruise Director” as most of my friends did then.  I was always making plans to do this and that and everyone was invited.  I would get excited about even the most minute detail and ponder the event over and over and think of all the fun that we would have.  The event would come and I expected it all to be over the top, no matter what the experience.  I love trying new things – especially new foods.  Unfortunately on more than one occasion I’ve had to say, “This is not what I expected.”

If you were my friend then, I would have called you regularly – checked in more – just to find out how you were.  There was something in me that just had to know.  I had to know what made you tick, what your experience was that day – what you had for breakfast and what color shirt seemed like a good idea and did you wear those same earrings or something new?  Did you buy the shoes?  Did you talk to her about the same old thing?  How did that book make you feel?  I thrived on the simple day-to-day of who you were. 

But then my interactions with friends were not as frequent…plans not made, kept or reciprocated…phone calls unreturned.  Things were allowed to get the in the way – work, children, and who knows what.  My striving for those friendships was dashed – unreturned, unopened, unappreciated. 

I didn’t know it, but this slow process of drawing in began.  Drawing into this darkness and cold.  I am still friendly, still outgoing, but there is this part of me deep inside that assumes that we will never become better friends than these superficial masks that we wear and that my attempts at frequent contact and a real knowing with you will not happen.  And so I try less and less.  My faux list of Facebook friends grows and yet there is this horrible lonely part of myself that longs to be known.  Known by another like me or different...or intense like me or reserved unlike me – but really exposed to who this frozen soul is. 

How do I begin again?  How do I become that intense, angry, loud, boisterous, silly, fun, unpredictable person that I was?  How do I reach out and seek to know that part of you that also longs to be known – in this sisterhood of friendship so few of us dare to become initiated into?  I don’t know right now.  But I know I need to learn to walk the edge of this cliff again – fearing that one wrong step I could fall off, but fearing a greater danger of walking so far over to the solid ground that I cannot see the breathtaking view of the edge. 

When a Butterfly Dies

My Kayla – 6 years old – so full of life and creativity and imagination – full of wonder and love and passion for all things – today she watched a butterfly die.

We were at Target of all places – parked next to where a butterfly lay on the pavement – flapping its wings – trying to find its way. Kayla wanted to pick it up and maybe I should have let her – she could have put it in the grass…

Picture taken from http://www.butterflypictures.net/5-butterfly-pictures.html.

We went inside for about 30 minutes and came back out and the butterfly was still there – not a good sign. I think she mistook the wings blowing in the breeze to mean that it was still alive, but it was not.

Suddenly she realized that it was dead. She cried out in a loud voice, “Mommy, the butterfly is dead, it’s dead!” She started to sob. I tried to comfort her – hugging her, telling her it was going to be alright…but scarcely believing the words myself.

She put the butterfly in the soft grass. We knelt down with it and prayed that God would see the butterfly and know how special it was and that he would somehow give us peace even though such a beautiful thing was gone.

We got into the car and the questions overflowed with her streaming tears. “Why did it have to die, Momma? It was so young and beautiful.” My throat chokes, I search for words, none come. “I don’t know, “ I say softly.

“Why did it have to die, why, momma, why?” This same question over and over – ringing in my ears, I can barely take the pain in my heart.

I croak out the words that I can’t shake out of my mind, “We all die someday.”

“But it should have lived and had baby butterflies. It should have lived.”

All I can think is the same thing that she can’t let go of – “Yes, we should live – we should live forever.”

After the painful silence I can only manage to say, “God knows what happened to the butterfly. Somehow it will be OK.”

Inside my mind is screaming and reeling with the anger and knowing that we were meant to live forever, but this curse over us prevents us from living forever as God designed us. Yes, it makes no sense – especially in my sweet little girl’s mind. It should never make sense in any of our minds – death – it isn’t what we were meant to do.

Later on we are outside at home – a butterfly swirls around and around Kayla – the exact same type and coloring as the one that died. It circles her over and over as if to say, “I’m OK – God is watching over me.” She lifts her eyes to the heavens and watches it fly away.

The Road Stretched Out

It’s officially spring here in Southeast Michigan and with spring comes the itch in me for a good road trip. There is something about packing into the car with good road food, coffee, books and an atlas and heading out with the road stretched out before us.

I’ve always enjoyed a good road trip. One of the first that I remember was driving from Michigan to Vermont to visit my aunt and uncle. My grandparents and great aunt drove my brother, cousin, and I out there the summer we were 13 years old. I remember so many great details about the drive there and back that the time there, while fun, was not as notable. It was as if the journey itself was the joy and life of the trip. It is that sense of adventure and unknown that makes an ordinary destination a celebration of the gift of this life and freedom we have to roam.

We take many road trips every month to visit family about 90-150 miles away and while that keeps me somewhat satisfied, it’s the big road trips that refresh my soul…remind me that new, simple things are what keep me going – keep the excitement in the journey.

The road trip is a metaphor for life for me right now…this journey I’m on doesn’t have a clear cut or flashy destination. But I’m learning here in the quiet rhythm of everyday that it’s the sights, sounds, and experiences are what matters – as long as I keep looking for them – longing for them and looking out the window, but also inside to those faces I love so much. Its Zach telling me his new Easter clothes are “fantastic”…Abby making up cheerleader type moves as she keeps begging me for yogurt…Kayla making up silly songs and dancing around the living room while Zach and Abby follow along. It’s little hands around my neck, hugs so tight I can scarcely breathe, it’s Zach saying “I love you, my highness”, Kayla asking for me to put my arm around her. When I really take in these sights and sounds, I’m overcome with the gravity of it all – this journey – never passing this way again – each moment coming faster and faster like I’m watching the sunset and trying to hold each ray in my hand.

This thankfulness and humbleness does not flow from me as often or as intensely as it should. But I truly am thankful for this road stretched out before me – wherever it may lead.

As far as that big road trip…well, it has not been planned yet. But I’ll take the two small ones over the next two weeks and savor the journey to places and people that I love. And that is more than enough for this roaming soul.

Our Land

This post is dedicated to my brother Rich and his family who after 3 years in Africa are returning to the US for the next several months.

I’ve been reading a lot about heaven lately because I realize that I don’t know much about our eternal home. One book I’ve enjoyed reading with a friend is “Heaven” by Randy Alcorn. It has been a very surprising book to me in its discussion of the New Earth. It is definitely a worthy read, but intense at over 400 pages. However, that is NOT the focus of this post. What is the focus is this idea that during creation the earth was given to us to rule. Of course humankind has marred this land (and universe) with our own sin – causing chaos and degradation in everything we see. But what is so striking to me is the beauty that we can still observe around us.

Romans 1:20 says “20 For since the creation of the world God’s invisible qualities—his eternal power and divine nature—have been clearly seen, being understood from what has been made, so that people are without excuse.” God made this world good and we can learn more about who God is by what we see around us.

There is this part of me that longs for the earth and all that is in it to be restored and perfected as I know that it should be. That is God’s promise to us in the New Earth. What I’m excited about is that we can get those magnificent glimpses of beauty around us. There is a great song by U2 that captures that beauty – the beauty of this land around us – our land. This land is our Heartland – our motherland – the place that God has intrinsically connected to us, for we were made from the dust of it and we will forever be tied to it. But even more so, this is my homeland of which I believe U2 has so clearly captured those emotions and images in this song:

So, welcome home to my brother Rich and his family. We can’t wait to see you. As you travel through this Heartland over the next several months, know that God has made us to enjoy the beauty around us and we hope your hearts are at home here.

When There are No Words

As you can see, there have not been many words for me to share in this space. The last 5 months have been ones of change, introspection, trying new things, and many holidays and celebrations. But as I look outside and see spring sprouting and blooming, I realize that I need to renew my own thoughts and look for those words…ones that I have hidden and ones I have lost.

It is pure emotion that I often write from – joy, pain, ponderings. There have been many in this time when I was away, but when I considered recording them, I just couldn’t. It’s as if the words were not ready…still simmering or baking or maturing. That doesn’t mean that I suddenly have a great revelation to share, it only means that they are slowly showing their faces again…or maybe that I am beginning to look for them again in earnest. Maybe this whole time they have been waiting for me to get past my latest distraction so that they could remind me of what is really important…what I am really meant to do.

In truth, I was afraid to look for them…afraid to find what they wanted to reveal to me. I’ve learned some not so great things about myself during this time. I’ve learned that most days I’m selfish, that I look for ways to satisfy my own desires instead of serving others. I focus on things and push people and relationships to the side. I am task oriented and materialistic and those things get in the way of what I know should be my focus. Yet, I keep pushing away the revelations, the obvious answers right in front of me. The words in my head…the whispers of what to do. The words of the Holy Spirit – trying ever so gently to direct my path and me, choosing stubbornly to continue on my own way.

While I know this is my lesson, it does not mean that I fully know what to do about it, only that I’m on the first step of this change. While I cannot make any promises or commitments here, I only ask that you look at your own journey as I do the same. We all have great places to go – places that are counter cultural and odd, yet more meaningful than we ever could imagine. Let’s go together.

Working It Out

Today was not a good day. The kids were tired, I was exhausted. There was whining and crying and irritation and yelling and patience was absence and good manners had fled. We were left with the worst versions of ourselves and it showed in all that we did.

It was the typical ups and downs any of us would have in a given day no matter what we do. But for me, it just felt weightier. This job I do, it isn’t for someone else to profit from of which I get a small cut, it is for me, for our family, for our future, but most of all for them – these wonderful little people. And at times, I just don’t take it as seriously as I should. I become cold and unloving. I don’t hug or pick them up or read to them like I should. I focus on the tasks too much and the mothering too little and movies play too long and I start to realize that we are living only a shell of the life we should be living. It is overwhelming to consider the impact of repeating this kind of a day over and over and over.

Thank God in his infinite wisdom that he gave us night to rest and a new day to start again. So I’m looking at tomorrow in anticipation. There are no places to go, no deadlines to meet, no strict expectations except a day to be home and interact and learn and love and hug and be the best versions of who we were meant to be. I’m hoping that I can learn tomorrow what I want to live out in the days to come. Days that are quiet and purposeful and more than I could ever expect them to be. I’m working it out and God convicts me, but He is also gracious.

But for now, I bid you good night.

Not Home

This post is dedicated to my brother-in-law and his family. Your pain is unthinkable and I am praying for your comfort and peace.

Fall in Michigan is one of the most beautiful times of the year. The best way to see the fall colors to me is to take a drive. I had the opportunity to take a long drive a few days ago and the color and bright sunlight truly made everything I saw the picture of fall splendor. Reds, oranges, and yellows illuminated by the more than usual orangey / yellow sunlight – beautiful, bright colors everywhere I could see.

I couldn’t help but thinking on that drive that everything was right in the world and these beautiful colors and sunny day were a gift from God to me and everyone else. But I couldn’t fully enjoy it as I thought about close relatives and friends going through unthinkable tragedy and loss. To add to the discomfort I learned the next day about a young woman (21 years old) who works with orphans in Uganda who has personally adopted 13 girls. I think of friends and relatives and acquaintances who are dealing with the mental or physical disorders that plague their children and I am overcome with grief. I am reminded that this world with its glimpses of beauty all around is also home to pain, suffering, agony, and injustice and I can’t shake it off fully to enjoy what God made good in creation.

This is not our home. Yet, it is the only home we have ever known and we really think that we are comfortable here, until we are reminded of all that is not right. God whispering in our ears, showing us that we must love and help others, reminding us that even if it doesn’t make sense, that his plan is better than ours.

So, I’m thinking of those hurting today and wishing I could explain away the pain or offer words of comfort or say that somehow it will be OK, but the truth is, that some things won’t ever be OK. Our time here is so short and eternity is so long and if we don’t do whatever is insanely possible to bring everyone we can with us to the home they were meant to go to, then what are we doing that really counts?

I look at my life and how comfortable I am and yet I sense the discomfort creeping up around me. I don’t know how to be dangerous for God and maybe he isn’t asking for me to get on a plane and fly far away to make a difference, but I realize as each day passes, that I must find a way. I have to find a way.

Maybe I already make a difference, but I don’t see how and I just pray that God reveals to me that I can and do impact his kingdom, even from my little corner. And if I am not, please show me God how to reach out and do the work you have asked me to do. Because I am not home and as the days go by I realize that I need to learn more about my real home, about where I’m looking to go, because sometimes the pain here is too much to bear.

Thoughtful Tuesday 10/4/11

Every Tuesday I try to put something out here to get us all thinking about different ways to approach this life. Let’s think countercultural, against the norm, “weird”, unpopular, but most of all thought provoking.

I’ve been very conscious about how it seems that my words don’t match my actions these days. I have the incredible gift of being home with my children every day. I tell them I love them, but it seems that my actions, at times, tell a different story. How do I get past this? What can I do to turn it all around?

How do you demonstrate that you love the people around you in everything that you do?

90 Days

Like many of you, I’ve had my share of jobs in different industries, with different schedules, and with a myriad of different expectations placed on me. But one thing each job had in common was the infamous “90 day probationary period”. That critical time where the company is supposedly watching you to ensure that you are worth keeping for the long haul.

Here I am now at home; formulating my own job, schedule, rules, and expectations and that 90 days is looming on the horizon. I can’t help but asking myself, what have I learned during this time and am I doing this job well?

 I have learned that:

• A young toddler on the potty is not likely to stay on the potty, and neither is what comes out of the young toddler.
• An older toddler that is potty training will repeatedly have accidents even when he is given the “rules” for what to do.
• Toddlers who like to climb and open doors are likely to fall and/or escape.
• The smiles and laughs of my children are the most beautiful sights and sounds I can and will experience in a day.
• It’s the little moments of focused attention with each one of them that keeps them happy and content through the day.
• Coffee with my kids is fun and insightful. (And don’t worry, not too caffeinated.)
• If I demand respect in a loving way from my oldest, she gives it politely.
• Trusting the kids to go outside on their own builds my trust in them and gives them independence they need to succeed in life.
• Anything that can go wrong in the kitchen will. (But it has always been that way with me anyway.)
• Dishes will always be dirty, laundry will always need to be folded, and there will always be crumbs and hair where there should not be. But I will not always have this moment to hug and kiss and dance with my babes.
• Each day is a gift and no matter how simple must be treasured and purposeful.
• I need to be thankful for each moment as they are slipping between my fingers like sand.

I’m not sure if I were to be rated by an outside, unbiased source if I would fare too well for this 90 day period – I yell too much and I get angry over silly things, but I always apologize and forgive and seek to be forgiven.

These 90 days have been a wonderful gift – something I will treasure in my heart in the days ahead as the seasons change and new adventures in mommyhood unfold.

The Block

So you may have noticed that I haven’t been around for awhile. I wish I had a good reason to explain why, but I just don’t. I think that the best explanation has to be writer’s block…but more accurately - fear.

I’ve been avoiding my little corner of cyberspace using stale, old excuses: too tired, don’t know when to fit it in, don’t know what to say. But the truth of the matter is that I’m hiding behind this wall, feeling like I can’t reach back through it…doubting my ability to write anymore.

You see, leaving my job was a huge step for me and I truly believe the right thing to do. However, the circumstances that lead up to it still have me doubting myself in many areas and I just can’t quite shake it all. I’ve been praying and writing down ideas for what to say out here, but my doubts and insecurities keep trash talking to my I-just-went-through-a-major-life-change mind.

So maybe it was writer’s block, but maybe not; but the point I’m trying to make right here is that I have more to say and I’m figuring out how to say it all and I hope that you still want to read and I appreciate your grace and your patience. So, I’ll say this quietly, I’m baaaacckkkk.

I’ve Been Waiting



This morning I woke up to the sound of birds chirping and the sound of a sweet baby voice saying, “Mama, mama?” The air was just cool enough, the birds chattering and singing their morning songs. I’ve been waiting for a morning like this – waiting for one that reminds me of why I’m here, what is important. The weeks of living in the constant hum of the air conditioning – with its artificial air, chilling temps, and muffled barrier between me and the real world has taken its toll. (Don’t get me wrong, air conditioning is a wonderful gift that I’m very thankful for – it has just run too long.) It has gotten to the point that I’m looking forward to fall just so we can have the windows open.


There is something about hearing the night sounds – crickets and the scurry of bugs and little animals, seeing the moon shining into an open window, smelling night fall and then waking up to the earth starting over again, birds singing, the smell of the dew, the sun streaming through an open window – the cool air floating into the house. The smell of morning – distinct from its nightly counterpart.


Here is where I am at peace – here is where a new day with mercies new begins and don’t I need it – don’t we all? I’m grateful that God in his wisdom made night for us to sleep – because wouldn’t we be in a bigger mess if He had not?


So today I’m listening to the chirps and the morning dove “who’s” and letting the sun shine on my face and shivering a bit in the damp, morning air, listening to the gentle melodic sound of the wind chimes and taking it all in. Breathing new life and a fresh start. Won’t you join me outside this morning?