Needed

Recently I am reflecting on subconscious thoughts- trying to bring negativity to the conscious.  (I have no degree in psychology but enough to know that sentence made me sound like it.  Insightful, right?)

You see I have this pattern of life with many responsible roles.  I homeschool- that's my biggie there- and I'm married to probably the most emotionally stable person I've ever met (shout out to you, my love) but there is a goal to know him more and make him share his heart.  (He loves that.  Ha!) But I feel like I need to be more.  Surely I can find a better way to get all this done…to get it done better.  (and faster- it's no good if it's just better)

So this Christmas I thought about my least favorite chore- hair brushing.  So, I gave myself the holiday off with hair brushing.  I told myself I would only be responsible for my own hair brushing.  The girls may brush their own hair, but I will not ask them to or do it for them.  (Here is the hairy details with that statement- we are year-round swimmers.  Even though most children can and should brush their hair, mine need serious help.)  The tangled mess needs the detangler and soft, gentle combing through two episodes of Doc McStuffins or one long Disney movie.

I knew what I was up against this season- Christmas Eve craziness, Christmas Day unwrapping and running around with friends, the day after that rolling in the yard with new toys, riding bikes,  dog petting and loving, sleepovers, spontaneous gymnastics in the living room, dress up experiences- we've run the gamut of fun Christmas cheer.  It has taken it's toll on their hair.

Sticking to my plan, I haven't brushed the little one's hair yet.  She is clean but I had no intentions of brushing her hair.  So when we went outside to play and my neighbor asked if I had brushed, I said with arms crossed, "Nope.  Not until New Years," as I watched her tangled voluminous spots extending several inches off her head bounce down the street, my delightful little child who could care less what her hair looks like.    

I am sticking to this too.  I realized today how much I can get done if I ignore my children.  All day long I would answer questions and I did take breaks to feed them, but I let them figure everything else out.  My husband came home to a gleaming house. I mean, even the floorboards were clean.  With a surprised look on his face I told him, "See, honey, look what I can do if they went to school!"  My motivation today was that our homeschool will start next week, and back to the grind- teaching them or riding in my minivan taking them to and fro.  Thankful I don't have hemorrhoids from all that sitting...

This is the reality- my family needs me just as I am.  They don't need a mom making excuses, playing up her weaknesses, or shying away from heart issues.  They need me angry, they need me sad, they need me saying I'm sorry and they need me letting go.  They need me crazy, they need my amazing dance moves.  They need relaxing moments where we stay in jammies, and they need me to show them how to dress the part of royalty being daughters of the Most High God.  They need me brave enough to work on my weaknesses and rely heavily on God.

I am making a rule to take myself seriously- my dreams, my needs, my heart.  I'm trying to sniff my way around to figure out what a healthy heart barometer feels like with all the responsibility- keeping up with the changes and my needs.

I'm giving myself more days off- not the spa type, though that would be nice, but the kind of time outs where I can reflect on my journey, my family, God's goodness.  I don't need to do more or be more.  I am just enough and I am right where I need to be right now.

I am letting go even more of trying to be liked.  I'd like to think people that know me well know my love for them.  (Considering my goal is to have all kinds of people at my funeral, I'm hoping to touch all kinds of people and to make some progress here…) My path will be led to people who I need to meet, need to love and be loved back.  It's already in His plan.

I'm saying "I love you" more.  I'm telling my girlfriends when their jeans make their fanny look nice and what makes them amazing. I want my thoughts and love for people around me make vocal, even if that makes me look like a freak.   (I have this thing for pinching hineys but I promise I won't go that far…unless someone bends over and man, that's funny stuff right there!)

I can never be enough but I'm in regular conversation with the One who makes me enough. I am loving and laughing and just being me.  Knocking on God's door for more love, more grace, more intimacy, more freedom in Him.  Imperfect perfection.  Weakness made strong in light of God.  A realness that only God's grace can provide.  

Off the Beaten Path

We visited family out of town for the day.  It's a lovely day trip spent driving down a "Very Private Road"- the road sign after you turn the curb to my husband's family house.  (How private?  Very.) We were there by the river, in a quiet beautiful setting in a home with no computer, no Internet, and no car noise.  It also includes a lunch out to one of the only restaurants in town.  It is a complete change of pace and a different path than us jet setter big city folk. (haha)

The day ended needing some dinner.  Where else than the Wendy's Wilco fine dining establishment. Pure class right there, folks.  Because, really, we have this new van and haven't worked on our fast food napkin stash. (An important piece of any minivan in case you're wondering.)

And we're sitting there and all my favorite whiny songs came on.  You know, the ones where you can have a pained squinty look on your face, belt that bad boy out with sheer emotion.  Include hand motions and your got yourself a fun situation.  "Last Christmas I gave you my heart and the very next day you gave it away…"  Well it was so uncanny that my oldest said, "mom, it's almost like they knew you were coming.  This is the perfect playlist."  Yes honey, it was.

Much to my surprise my husband joined me in the last song.  "God blessed the broken road that led me straight to you."  And we were off key together and no one cared.  I felt blessed he has changed.  He has changed and will crazy sing with me.  (Progress and prayers. 11 1/2 years of my hard work right there. The girls thought it was awesome and I just know I am the weird mom in a few years.  Just give it a few.  Treasure it, ok.  I am treasuring this.)

I'm studying and reading about Jesus this Christmas season.  He's real.  He's good.  He's here.  He wants us, warts and all as my mom would say.  John the Baptist proclaimed to prepare the way of the Lord- make straight paths for him.  I've learned "path" in Greek is "tribos"- "a beaten pathway."

I am thinking about my forts in the woods growing up and the path through the branches we took to get there.  Saturday morning bliss at our neighborhood creek.  Paths only known to us, so we thought.  Other beaten paths I've once gone down reluctantly or happily.  "Very Private" roads traveled.  Places made clearer with time, experience, repetition.

This reminds me to make a path for God to come and work in my life.  To beat down the branches of clutter inviting Him to do the heavy lifting.  He doesn't ask for perfection, just attention: to make it my practice to approach him over and over again, so when he's ready to do a new work, the path is clear, ready for him to move, wherever I am.

My question, my prayer and my hope is that I'm making space for God.  Clearing the path.  Getting ready for glorious things to happen, because He truly wants to be all in.  

A Scripted Life

So I am by myself tonight.  My husband took the girls to swim practice.  I bet he is missing our hot tub make out session.  Basically we swim a bit and then get bored and visit the hot tub the rest of the time.  (Well, the makeout business- so, that's a joke.  For real.  Swim lessons are much more strenuous.)

The other night we went on a date night.  Now you have to understand we are simple folks.  We just want a quiet dinner out by ourselves.  Some couples are creative, over-the-top with surprises.  Well, that's all fine and good.  Not us.  We just like to sit on our honches and eat.  In quiet.  Without being interrupted.   Without the children.  We actually pretend for a short spell we don't have any kids.

So we picked a very quiet Chinese restaurant- awesome choice might I add.  While we go out by ourselves, and try not to talk about our children, I realized I needed his professional opinion and had been meaning to ask, "What supplements should we be giving the girls this cold/flu season?"  Reasonable question, right?

Well, friends, this is how he honestly answers.  "The other night in The Walking Dead, pigs started dying."  I interject, "Uh huh," as I eat my egg roll.  (Gluten challenge my rear- I've put on 4 pounds 2 days eating "healthy" gluten in small amounts.  Back to gluten free for me.  And this story…)  "Well, there is this old man, and he is religious and kind of practical.  He starts picking elderberries and compounding them and gives the beverage to the sick ones."

At this point I just about choked on my egg roll but I respectfully stopped to see if he was kidding.  Nope, serious face.  "Ok.  In all your years of school, and all those years of working, that's the best you've got?"

So we (actually I) giggle at his zombie shows.  I don't watch them because I think they are silly.  Actually, I avoid them because my vivid imagination takes these shows and makes them alive.  The very last thing we need are zombie sightings and things grabbing me under the bed.

Like when I decided I would, in fact, watch Person of Interest with him after all.  So we caught me up to the current season in one weekend.  I was certain I saw Elias shopping in Target with me.  I was freaked.

Or when I saw someone interesting looking, perhaps suspicious, here in the Dirty D and I mentioned to my husband a good solution is to follow him- clone his phone.

Or my referring to any mass hoarding of items as being really good in case of a zombie apocalypse.

Knowing I like to create and step into imaginative things, I stick to reality shows.  (I know what you're thinking- they aren't reality, just scripted.  I know.  We were almost on a home makeover show a few years ago and they tell you what to say.  I'm sorry if I've just ruined someone's day.  Edited and scripted.  All of them.)

BUT, that doesn't stop us from watching our shows- tonight as a matter of fact, is one of our favorites.  Survivor- we might be the only folks who have watched each season from the beginning, 13 years ago.  And. we. just. can't. stop. ourselves.

We don't know what script will be written for us next.   God's written these decisions here and there and some just haven't made complete sense.  There have been five (count that!), five times God has explained himself to me in the past two weeks through random (albeit 2 of those awkward) situations.  (Ok, I should pause here to explain myself- the sweet young man who visited our church and I cupped his fanny completely by accident- that is not included in this number.  I blame the close chairs at the church and how he passed me and I had to move my giant self and my hand flew…to cup his fanny.  All in the name of Jesus.)

Dramatic, I know.  But I've asked for peace and closure in certain areas of my life, certain decisions I've made, and he responds.

God always answers when you ask for peace and counseling.  He is the Prince of Peace.  

I still find his work in my life amazing.  I ask, he answers.  I hope our relationship never becomes mundane.  I hope I always keep believing in miracles, change, hope, and things being made right in the very end because even if I ignore his goodness, he is good.

He keeps writing the script and asks that I look to him.  I think taking my eyes off the path might derail me, but interpretation is just what I need along the way.  

Good Little Girls

We've had a great Christmas season so far.  We made a visit to the big man Mr. Clause the other night.  This is one question Santas all over the world should never ask kids: "Have you been good this year?"  Because, no Santa, none of them have been perfectly good.  Right?  They're kids.  One step further, Santa, they're honest.

So when he asked my girls this question as they sat all smiling on his lap, my littlest rubbing his furry coat (because she likes to touch soft things on magical people- Tinkerbell's shoe fluffs at Disney come to mind), this is how my oldest responded: "Well Santa, do you see this knee? (Lifts up dress to show knee.) Do you see how it's red?  Well my sister did this before we came."  Then she commenced to tell him the whole entire story, making the important points with very serious looks.

So that night we learned about family secrets, the term "throwing your sister under the bus" and forgiveness.  We said "I'm sorrys" and how "blood is thicker than water." I was patient though, because I still put my foot in my mouth and want retribution every now and then.

My kids are kids and they fight well like other kids and they love each other well like other kids.  They are processing, growing, learning, experimenting, and testing boundaries.  They make mistakes.  Are they good?  Well, one of them fights with her words.  The other girl fights with her fists.  One of them loves with a nurturing mama sense, the other will take you to the ground (Lord help us she's never done this…) in defense of the other one.  But are they good?

I can train them like little puppies to adhere to cultural standards and be good little girls.  Sure I can.  I can threaten encourage with Elf on the Shelf and Santa in December.  I can set up massive charts and graphs and sticker rewards and rule lists.  I could even set up the stoplight situation like in most elementary schools- the one where kids can see how "good" their classmates are.  Johnny is always on red, Kate stays on green.  (Classroom management- I know it's needed.  Let's just hope it's not your kid that can't stay on green, right?  Let's hope the teacher isn't shaming, labeling, and everyone is offering up suggestions to help Johnny out…another blog another time…)

I can watch their strengths and weaknesses, and design curriculum around their needs, wants, desires, dreams.  We can provide them with opportunities to pursue passions, explore and create and dream.

I can teach them "character traits".  How to take care of their fellow man and woman.  How it's important to give, to help those around you.  How children don't have as much as they do and how things are just plain unfair.

We can learn about cultures, languages, maybe one day we'll get these littles on a plane and show them more of the world.  (However, as a former ESL teacher, we have culture all around us and planes aren't always necessary…)

As they get older I can break out the fine china, teach them about silverware and which utensil to use when.  I can teach them Southern hospitality and tradition, when to wear white, how to make a cake from scratch, and how you brew a pot of sweet tea when people come over.  Honoring the older people.  Yes ma'am's and sir's may be seemingly old fashioned but they sure do go a long way.  Pearls go with every outfit and cross your legs at the ankle during a job interview.  Wear white underwear to the doctor.  Paper the toilet seat in public facilities.  (Ok- those last two came from my grandmother.  Haha!)

I can teach them their roots and all about our ancestors.  Family trees, mistakes made, and that great great uncle that ran off and joined the circus instead of helping the family back home.  (We have some fun stories lurking in our family trees.)  I could even claim my cousin Randy Travis, bless his heart, and explain how he changed his name when he went big into the country music scene and explain how you need to keep your clothes on in public at all times.

Actually, I do a lot of these things- I suppose a little of the things I listed.  I like that I am raising my girls in the south.  I could focus on behavior alone and maybe have a good chance to have good girls that contribute to society, explore their dreams, passions, etc.  Maybe they would be described as true "southern ladies" one day.  Maybe they'd even know Scripture and be "religious".  But bound to these things, expectations, rules alone, it comes up short.  It's not the whole picture.

If I didn't bind all of these teachings to a relationship with Christ, we would miss the whole point.  The blessings, teachings, the good around us is God smiling at us, directing us to himself.  Like an artist puts his delight and longing in his piece of work, studying the artist is the only way to understand, to fully experience the works of art.  Beauty comes through blessings- it's not the blessing itself, but pointing us to something bigger- the Person of Beauty.  The Story of Beauty.  

I love children.  I hope to always be around them until I die.  The amazing beautiful things they do, well it sometimes brings me to tears.  If my focus shifts to my children as "show monkeys" or extensive praise that crosses the bounds, it's not beautiful anymore.  It becomes burdensome on that little one and they'll think they are the purpose of the movie- the only leading character.

Jesus is telling a story much bigger than my life.  The point of my life is that I am written into His Story and I get to play a part.  This frees me up to parent with grace, love, and a freedom to love as Jesus loved and know the pressure is off- the script is already written.  We seek Him, sit back, and enjoy the ride.

I'm fairly convinced that I won't have a future in a TV mini series.  (My choice would be the Hallmark Movie Channel though- ask my husband who just about ruins all my Christmas movie experiences with eye rolling and scoffing, telling me which actors are just "recycled" from our childhood…)

No, my name won't ever be known but this movie is a part of a story that goes on forever.  This doctrine turned dynamic relationship.  The Voice that I follow- my Artist.  

Throwing my Weight Around

After my last post my husband gladly agreed to homeschool the girls this morning while I did some Christmas shopping. He is my best friend. I am his biggest fan. (I should add he also knows what a true Christmas blessing is- a sane and happy mama:)

Today I'm driving down 40 and something happened. I turn on my turn signal to merge, and all the little sedans moved completely out of my way. Mass exodus. So I keep driving and this phenomena keeps happening. The only thing I realize is husband is right- this thing called "truck respect" is a real thing indeed. A big truck is not a force to be reckoned with for real. (He usually smiles and the little boy comes out. Super cute if you ask me.)

Then I remember that huge UNC golf umbrella I got my freshman year of college. On rainy days I walked through the Quad with said umbrella (still kicking to this day thank you very much) and people moved completely out of my way. I might have used it even when it was faintly sprinkling. Because even back then I always crammed too much into my days and people move clear out of your way with a large umbrella. Change of classes in a big university? No prob. My umbrella had ALL of them!

Then I remembered this past Black Friday. How my mom and I always shop early. We stay in one store pretty much the entire day and saved more money than you could ever guess. (At lunch my mom looked me square in the eyes- "Honey, I may not have taught you how to cook or sew, but I sure enough taught you how to save money." Yes ma'am she did.) So after the fourth trip to the car to deliver more purchases, I rounded the corner and saw my friend.

Now let me explain this friend. She is super cute and beautiful. She also shares that feisty flair I also have and so we're friends. She and her husband had their kids with them, except she had mentioned something kindly to an older lady who didn't want to be crossed. They were exchanging words. It was getting heated.

And if you ask me, from my experience, elderly ladies are definitely not a force to be reckoned with. My money would have been on this friend though. Either way, I was in a position to either 1. Walk the other direction and ignore this confrontation or 2. Get involved.

You guessed it- I got right on in. Because if you ask me, friends help friends fight. So I walked up, made a motion to my body (running shoes with skinny jeans included- a statement I could only have pulled off on Black Friday). "You know, I'm not in my top shape. But I can throw my weight around real good. I got your back. Friends fight together."

So then they laugh (I was serious yo!) and the mood lightened and the older woman backed off. So I didn't need to flex my muscles or anything. But I was ready just in case. Always ready.

So this is what I'm wondering. This phenomena of throwing your weight around. Usually I think of bullies and people in some position of power.

Actually, I am in a position of power. Not the earthly one. I have no intentions of picking fights to get my way. But I've got God, the Holy Spirit, who isn't timid. He isn't afraid. He thinks my worries for the future are unwarranted because he has it taken care of.

I look around me and I know I humanize God. But I pray I will throw my weight, momentum, focus towards Him. Because energy, prayers, trust, communion spent towards God never comes up empty. Pressing on and fighting the good fight through prayer and powered by a good and gracious God.

My Mama's Feet

I feel a new kind of tired these days.  I'm surrounded by piles of books, papers, pencils, word cards.  I have play dough at my feet and bills beside my aging hands as I type.  Aging- or maybe they look worse because I keep meaning to put lotion on these things I use so much and they end up looking just awful because I crash into bed at night forgetting.  Heck, I'm probably aging them by not applying lotion.  Not stopping to apply lotion.  (I'll probably regret this when I'm 60.  Actually I will because my mom says so.)  

My nails are getting longer and I haven't "shaped" them in quite some time.  My awesome sister lovingly gave me a gift card to a local mani pedi place I haven't taken the time to use.  I haven't stopped to call and make that appointment.

I have a writing class I started and am two assignments away from finishing.  I haven't stopped to finish them so they wait.  My patient teacher reminded me just the other day and I want to, but wanting and doing are two separate things if you just can't stop.  

I have a few piles of laundry to fold and put away.  "Few" meaning there is no where to sit on the sofa so the girls are on the floor right now.  With a little prodding they will fold.  In a second I will ask them.   But I have to stop to ask them and I know several questions, discoveries, and perhaps a laundry fight experience will distract me, so I don't stop this blog because I will never finish it.

My feet look like my mama's did when she was my age.  My mama is the hardest worker I know.  She was a full time mom and a full time teacher.  Her feet frequently needed a pedi.  (I'll stop here because Southern ladies do that sort of thing.)  She worked hard on those feet.  Some teachers would sit at their desks and teach, mom was always walking around her classroom, keeping kids on track, reaching those sweet souls that needed some extra loving.  They don't forget her and she still remembers all their names.  

I guess I'm on a new kind of schedule.  Ever since we began the journey of homeschooling I feel a new kind of tired.  I'll be honest with you- there isn't much time for anything else.  I told my husband I treat it like I've gone back to work.  Because I freaking have.  Homeschool is round the clock work.

So, friends, this is the reality of homeschool and mothering, spoken by a tired mama:  the work never stops.  

I suppose you read the above and wonder what I'm doing all day long.  I once had a neighbor ask me when my oldest was born what I did all day.  She had never been an at-home-mom.  The mystery of the stay at home mom?  I don't know.  Let's just say I've never spent my time with bon bons and TV all day.  It's not my style.  (I can't even stop when I need to, OK?)

I pray my time is spent on the Eternal.  

What have I been doing with the help of God this season?  Well, it's Christmas folks, and I have been in conversation with two very talkative little girls about why we do what we do.  Jesus came in the humble form of a baby- humiliating if you ask me- a great God coming down in human form to reach us.  To reach me.  They need to know that He came as a gift.  I crave their questions, discoveries, excitement.  Children are more open to the magical.  His Story lives in my heart and I can't think of anything more magical.  

I teach, I clean, I fold, I bathe, I tote to and from lessons, to classes, to church, to play dates. I work out.  I try to shower at some point.  I cook, I clean, I plan, I budget, I wash, I mop.  I read, I research, I plan.  I nurture.  I hug.  I kiss.  I purchase, I prep, I fail.  I learn, I hope, I throw it all up in the air and save it for another day.  I fail.  I'm slowly learning. I forgive.  I'm forgiven.  I love.  I have no regrets.  Let me repeat, I have no regrets. 

I'm surrounded by my students sunrise to sundown and I have no regrets.  I'm tired and I'm not blaming anyone but this blog is true to me and I'm honest.  I'm doing eternal work and God sees.  He hears.  He understands and He has built in rest breaks, time outs, refueling periods in my path already planned for me.  Do I have joy, real joy, that this world and my possessions could never provide?  Resounding yes.

My mama's feet are beautiful.  Her hard work was put into raising us.  She got one shot at it and she's enjoying the fruit of her labor now.  Soft as a baby's you-know-what.  Beautiful polished toes.  Rested feet from years and years of hard work.    

Her feet hold hope for me now.  When I look at them, I know this is a short, precious season with lots of hard work weaved in.  The rewards I see might just be more visible in the Eternal.  Here on Earth, I'll take my payment in hugs, kisses, love, provision for my family.  That feeling of peace- knowing what I'm doing is all part of God's good plan.

There is a break coming.  There is Hope in the Eternal.  I am not a proponent of letting myself go, and let's just say maybe the learning curve of self care and rest is a steep one for me (I humbly will receive prayers for such things because I'm working on it), but the work will eventually end.

My prayers are that His words will be, "Well done my good and faithful servant."

Held Together

I need to document today.  It's just a little crazy around here.  My children are at school, my Magpie dear friend is helping me out as my husband is later than he thought getting them (we have a cover your fanny deal with being late for pick up), because he is purchasing the new van.  (Except, wait, as I type this her text just said my daughter is with the assistant because her daughter just cracked her tooth and they are going to the dentist.  Ok, so maybe I will have her younger daughter to watch?  Stay tuned…) Then he is supposed take the oldest to art then home and at some point they will all eat lunch.  (2pm??)

I am at home with the carpet cleaning men.  (Don't be impressed- we've lived here 10 years now and first time a pro has cleaned them.  Also, please don't judge.  I readily admit we just hang on- as if this post doesn't have that SCREAMING all over it! :)  I have a casserole bubbling in the oven and muffins about to go in because my precious friend just had her fourth baby.  So later on today I get to see them all and get me some baby loving and smell that delicious thing of new baby blessing.  I get to see proud big sister and brothers who are being raised to love the Lord and take care of each other.  (I'll probably get teary.  God's got my heart but tender things these days just take me there.)

Until then I just got update that my husband is with my Magpie's little girl in the waiting room, then he will take my older one to art, bring little one here, feed them all lunch and I leave to go bring the meal to my other dear friend.  Then this afternoon both girls have swim in two different directions.  And I'm not sure my husband finished buying the van…but they let him leave with it so maybe?  But he is at the dentist with my friend's little and is making dental appointments, which I have had been meaning to make.  My Magpie is a good friend like family so we are a loyal pair and thankful for my sweet husband to fill in for me.  (As I sit and blog…oh my word what a day…)

I'm thankful.  I'm feeling selfish because the old van is good enough to give to someone else, the new van is good enough for me.  I have someone to clean my carpets, there are children living in filth.  I have meals I am making for my family trying to avoid GMOs on our budget, there are children without homes.  There are children who go hungry unless the school is open to feed them.  I remember.  I know.  I used to teach some of those children.  I tried to understand but I had a warm home with food in my pantry and clothes to wear.  Amid this crazy, God is at work in my heart.

Even when you pray for God to make your heart like His and you half way mean it, He takes you full way there.  

I'm happy and I'm distracted and I'm just blessed.  Balls of feeling. Trusting God to turn this heart into new.  To turn me into His new.  Amid this crazy stuff just let me feel your peace and direction.  (Also just prayed- please let me get to homeschool at least one lesson this week to educate my children because You know the proverbial buck stops with me.  That is all.  Amen)

I do not have to have it together.  I can shed a tear when a mom is crying at drop off, empathize at the  embarrassment of her child's separation, open up that I may have had time to put make up on but I admittedly do not have it together. That getting rid of a minivan made me cry, that I sin and fail and get up and forgive.  My family forgives me and we love each other some kind of big.  

I pray daily for guidance in raising my girls in this sick world where good triumphs evil you'd like to think but ultimately is made right when my Sweet Lord returns or we see Him face to face.

I can blog about all of this and risk people thinking I'm a crazy lady (but please don't because I'm working through people pleasing issues) because I am connected to the One who does have me together.

Our wedding rings have this inscribed, perhaps an odd verse for a couple of lovebirds' rings, but one my husband and I treasure.

He is before all things and in Him all things hold together.  Colossians 1:17

I am held together regardless of a crazy day, a tragedy, or zombie apocalypse.  We are held together in Him. I pray I turn and give.  I'll start with giving these dear men leaving my house a cookie for the road.  (There was a reason I made entirely too many.) As long as they don't eat it on my clean carpets.

A Hope that Flies

I got lost in downtown Raleigh today on our way to a friend's birthday party. I was answering some important questions which could not wait. "Mommy, which spiders bite? Do we have snakes in our backyard? Do Princess Sophia and Princess Amber have noses?" I think it was the last one that threw me for a loop and I missed my turn. We arrived at the birthday party, a few minutes late, but my heart wasn't prepared for the movie the birthday guests and I saw on butterflies.

When I think of butterflies, I think of my childhood friend who passed too soon her senior year of high school. A beautiful and talented girl who loved Jesus. She woke up for school one February day, flipped her Scripture calendar to Philippians 1:20 "I eagerly expect and hope that I will in no way be ashamed, but will have sufficient courage so that now as always Christ will be exalted in my body, whether by life or by death."

She pulled out of her driveway and was involved in a serious car accident. She met Jesus a few days later. Her family, friends, and community members wore butterflies in remembrance. Her mother may still wear the butterfly pin I remember from her funeral. Like the verse prepared, in her life and in her death, Christ was exalted. When I see butterflies, I think of her. She was a beautiful dancer, a talented musician, and a gifted student.

The butterfly symbol resembles so much. Learning about these creatures more in depth today I can see why. I'm probably the only mother in the IMAX theater who was fighting back tears. Remembering this friend, recounting hope lost, hope gained, and beauty all around us.

When these little five year old girls, all donned with 3D glasses, saw the butterflies flying through the field, flying towards them, around them, between them, they stood up. They moved forward. They tried to reach, grasp, filled with delight and laughter and "if I could just catch one" feelings.

Like these little girls, the feeling of these beautiful creatures flying all around them was too much to contain their excitement. They wanted to hold onto one. Kind of like most people I meet want to hold on to hope.

It's interesting to me Monarchs have one of the longest migrations on Earth. Our path we're given can sometimes seem terribly long and daunting.

She rides the wind sometimes a mile high. Lord, sometimes that's all I can do, too. Rest in You. Ride the wind, in what seems like a mile from where others are and so far removed from my final destination.

Her feet are like insect GPS which fine tune her flight path, knowing exactly where to go. Lord, do I listen to you? Are we having dialogue? You are my GPS.

She tastes with her feet, knowing how much nectar she needs. Lord, am I tasting your goodness? Do I come to you to fill me up with You?

There are times when I have looked at God, waiting for a proverbial shoe to drop. That maybe He is good, but I would do something do fall out of his favor. Like when I was a teacher, and in the second grade classroom the children did a butterfly project. Each student received a cocoon, and they carefully placed them in the netting and waited for what seemed like forever.

After weeks of waiting, only one butterfly made it out alive. It was butterfly release day, and the whole class went outside to an open field. The teacher let the creature loose, he flew up, up, up, and then a bird swooped down and ate it. The assistant shrieked, the children cried, and the counselor was called in to do some "grief therapy". I was left with this analogy which described my faith, and the question, "Where does my hope lie?"

These butterflies fight a hard fight from the beginning and only a few in a million get past the egg stage. During migration, millions are killed. The dangers are so many. So many ways to lose hope around every corner.

But their secret to survival? Migration. Movement. When they feel the cold air they start to move. Change locations. They migrate to the perfect place that is far enough south to be warm, but cool enough in the evergreen forest with just enough moisture to survive. They live off their fat reserves until spring.

"Those who survive the winter drink in the spring warmth." Lord, prepare me for what lies ahead, fill me with Your eternal hope and love, and may I gracefully embrace your Truth.

I Like My Girls Like I Like My Tea

When my oldest was born, she was the most precious thing I had ever seen.  I was in a pickle though. We didn't take any baby classes before her arrival.  It wasn't that I didn't think I needed them, it was just I was full speed ahead finishing my degree and teaching full time.  My husband had never changed a diaper, although he might have held a baby at some point.  So when they told us it was time to name her, we told the dear lady we needed more time.  When she came back 30 minutes later paperwork in hand, we had a name.

They told us it was time to leave the hospital, and I distinctly remember feeling vulnerable, and what the world- they are letting us leave with her?!  The joke of where is the manual for this kid, yeah, that was us.

Both my husband and I come from a long line of Southern women, and given that we were blessed with a girl, you tend to do what you know.  Smocked dresses, booties, ruffled diaper covers.  Matching hair bows for each outfit.  It didn't matter if I was too busy to do these things.  We have two southern grandmas to help us out.

Back then, as any southern woman would tell you, I drank my tea straight up sweet.  Does it come any other way, y'all?  I've always liked strong tea, too.  Ironically we found we only make strong girls.  

My girls are sweet, too.  They have a sweet spirit that occasionally erupts into fighting and screaming, but mostly, they really care about people.  The kindness shows when they forgive me.  "Mommy, I will always forgive you.  You are mine," melting my heart and melding it with Jesus.

Then, then you have a second child.  One that grows and grows and grows and you read new books.  "Lord, how do I teach this one?"  Your patience is tested as they both grow and you think, "Wow.  Parenting is definitely not for sissies." 

And you take her to ballet, and the girls are twirling in unison and she is making up her own moves, like Mick Jagger in the mirror, throwing in a twirl here and there because it is ballet, of course.  The parents give me sideways glances and I just smile and say to myself, "Wait.  Your time might be coming..." Always dancing to her own beat.  Speaks up truth and hasn't learned tact quite yet.  You find yourself saying, "Haha!  I love this one and her spice!  Speak it!"

About this time my dear friend introduced me to Chai tea.  The timing was impeccable as this little one was really growing more spicy and I was switching up my tune.  Throwing in some spice here and there, laying off the sugar and taking it straight up bitter.  Strong.  With my pinkie up, of course.

I grew more and more aware of how early sexism starts having these little girls.  One of my girls might have a "moment" and I got comments.  (Well, let's say I still get comments.)  "Oh the drama!"  "Boys are so much easier."  Or, "You just wait until they go through puberty!" (Insert eye roll.)

The man in the paint store who looks at my girls with their strollers, playing, "Oh, I am SO glad I don't have girls!"  You give him a, "Well, good thing the Good Lord knew you couldn't handle one."  And he's taken off guard and you just don't care because these ignorant comments are coming more and more frequently and he's talking about a blessing.   My blessed child.

These girls have selective time with these individuals, but they hear these comments.  They both have good memories and they see mama fighting, nicely, but albeit, fighting for them.  They are slowly being introduced to a society where it's ugly.  We will have conversations about sex trafficking.  About domestic violence.  About orphans and rape and terrible terrible things and you want to end every conversation with Come Lord Jesus.  But they need to hear.  They need to fight.

These small tastes are blessings.  They allow me to prepare their hearts, their minds for a world they will enter where evil happens.  They teach them mama and their strong daddy won't let others talk negatively about them.  Turning the other cheek, but showing that they are warriors, standing for what is right.  

I suppose none of us entered into this important job because it was easy.  Perhaps boys are "easier".  I wouldn't know.  Honestly?  I just don't care.  If I had a boy I'd speak of boys and he would have my heart just like these girls, I'm sure of it.

All I know is I am blessed.  I am a fighter.  To make use of a perhaps overused analogy, I am a warrior.

While Krav Maga is on my bucket list, until then I am teaching these girls to fight.  With their words.  With their hearts.  With their minds.  With their prayers.  With their God.   

Standing strong for a world that needs strong female fighters, alongside strong males, united in spirit.  Strong in the body, strong in the mind, strong in the spirit.

Baby Shoes

I readily admit my best work comes from last minute situations. I love the quote from one of our shows we watch, "Yesterday's lazy cures today's crazy". Last minute in the morning..."Girls, look in that clean basket, you have some pants folded in there." Bam.  So much more efficient than sending out a search party (ahem, me) for that pair in the closet.  Again, BAM!  (Insert that favorite quote just mentioned.)

So as I'm cleaning up today I came across something that reminded me about something else that was born from my lazy side. A little white baby sock that somehow made it into my bedroom. (I don't ask questions anymore about the weird that happens in this house.  Strange things sometimes show up in crazy places and I chalk it all up to having children.)

Now you're probably reading this and thinking how you have it all together, your house is organized and you get high on life from cleaning your house and fluffing. I love you but I cannot relate.  I barely hang on, OK?  There are still a few baby dresses in my daughters closet, I tell you she's 5, friends.  She is 5 years old and some of those clothes don't fit, but I consider them "heirloom" and I hope to see them on their babies one day, if they want babies and if it all happens like I dream, ok?  (Hold your judgement and come help me already.)  

In my defense, I should also tell you they share clothes already and I lump all their clothes together- winter in one girl's closet, summer in the other's.  (Again, this might be a nightmare if you are organized.  I *try out* organization at times but most of the time we just  roll with it.) So you probably aren't surprised to find out that we have a tiny laundry room/mud room/utility closet where the shoes are kept that mostly remains a tad cluttered.  Now it's not terribly overcrowded, but one pair of baby shoes remain.  

These baby shoes I initially kept out of sheer exhaustion.  If you are reading this you know what a chore change of seasons is for a mom.  How sometimes you'd much rather play with your kids than sort shoes or move clothes in or out.  So these shoes just stayed.  Now they remain on a little shelf.

They are pink (shocker) and they are leather. They belonged to my littlest.  They were her first pair of shoes and they matched everything she had.  I still see her toddling in these shoes and giggling with only a few teeth, her curls just a bouncing on top of her sweet little head.  I remember taking them off her warm little feet in the winter, same white little socks under them, similar to the sock I found in my room.  Then taking her up to nap, where she mostly would rather giggle with me in the rocker than actually take a nap.  Sweet little feet, sweet little days.  (PS:  She still would rather giggle with me than sleep.) 

So I realize they need putting away, but they stay.  I have a memory box for each child.  But, they serve as a reminder, just for this mama.  

They remind me of the sweet little years.  How I was anxious at times how I'd actually be as a mom.  I realized early on I was and am never qualified for this job.  But Our precious sweet Lord had other plans. He chose me for the best little girls in the world. (perfectly biased)  They remind me I don't have it together and this thing called parenting is precarious to put it nicely, scary to be honest, and it's meant to be that way so I fall in God's arms and trust.  

They remind me my littles are still under construction. God is working in their lives, their hearts, and He allows me to help.  Seeing little shoes when disciplining them reminds me they belong to the Lord.  And they were bought with a price.  They are precious in His sight and this parenting thing is not on me alone.  I am responsible for nurturing and loving them and sending them off.  He's got them.  

They remind me He has big things planned for them.  Thank you God I get to be a part of it.  They remind me it's not all about me, or my husband, but sitting at the feet of Jesus waiting expectantly for Him to knock their socks off, too, with His love.  Regardless of how big those socks are:)

The Day the Minivan Died

So I haven't been blogging a ton these days.  Maybe I should pause here and just relay where our money has gone the past month because most of my time has been doing simple addition.  First, one of my daughters, name withheld, decided to pour something down our air vent.  In all my cleaning skills this smell was stuck.  The first person we called charged us $85 for a five minute house visit and a business card.  Called the business card company and they came out and replaced the air vent.  $125.  Moving right along...  Our dishwasher is dying a slow and painful death.  I cook a lot and I don't do dishes and Thanksgiving is coming up.  So add several hundred to that.  (Pausing here to say this was purchased before the following...) I needed new tires on our van.  $125.  And several fixes to van.  $900.  That finished October off with a bang.  Wooo!!

Last Monday night I was taking the girls home from swim and there was heavy traffic.  Do I take the highway or back roads?  Girls are playing, chatting about wanting a new car, wanting to eat at "Chick-A-Lay", you know, random stuff I can't nearly concentrate on and answer all of while driving.  "Girls, our van is fine- old, maybe, but it runs and it's paid for.  I have dinner planned so no dinner out."  You know, nice words when I wanted to just say something snappy.

Just then, I kid you not, I take a right turn and the transmission goes.  I carefully and slowly maneuver the van into a taj mahal driveway- thank you God for their elaborate Fort Knox set up- and I know it's not good.  So my dad rescues us and takes us to, you guessed it, Chick-fil-A for dinner.  So the girls got what their heart desired last night- dinner out and a new vehicle.  (They are no longer allowed to talk in the car.  I'm only kidding...or am I??)  

We actually don't need a minivan.  So we are pricing fixing our transmission (read a few thousand dollars) or purchasing a new one (another few thousand dollars).  I wasn't initially sure what type of vehicle I wanted.  We are at a crossroads.

We test drove and priced, witnessed a great three-ring show from the clowns people at the car dealership.  He lost interest really quick when I told him the best kind of car was one without a payment.  Preferably used.  Just to jump us to that next phase in life.  (I might have said, "I'm just here to test drive your car that I won't buy, sir."  Or maybe my face said that.  I can't remember.  New car smell blur?)

And what is the next phase you ask?  I have no clue.  The minivan was purchased with a goal of filling it up.  We have not filled it up.  With the death of the minivan, my plans are dying, too.

I'm not sure how I feel about all of this.  I just know I got a little teary when the salesman veered me away from SUVs and towards minivans, saying he didn't think I was ready to get rid of a van.  Maybe I should wait.  Singing the praises of vans and something about stages in life and if I was ready and well, I got tired of hearing his fatherly advice.  I got tired of this object being safety pinned to my emotions.  Maybe we just need a sedan.  A nice neutral car to get us around town to close that door.

So in the meantime, I share my dad's sedan and it's a great car.  Leaning back against his lumbar support pillow we set off for our field trip to the Lemur Center yesterday.  I gave the girls their instructions.  I promised not to leave them with the monkeys regardless of if they act like monkeys. (Please don't use the term monkeys around the Duke Lemur folks.  You will be set in your place quicker than a greased monkey.  Monkeys are not equal to lemurs.  You have been warned.)  I also made them promise to not bring a monkey, I mean lemur, home with us.  They have no place at our house.  I already have two of my own.  When daddy is off work I count three.

We were driving, windows down, on this beautiful fall day.  Playing a game of catching leaves in our car as they fell all around us as we drove.  (Delightfully fun but leaves don't fall in your car as hard as you might try, FYI.)  They had their heads tilted back with breeze blowing, laughing.  Doing what little girls need to do, what little girls are designed to do- lose themselves and delight in the moment.

I realized I was missing something.  I needed to see them let go.  I needed to see their reckless care, driving my sweet dad's sedan several years old while our other several years old van is our "lady in waiting" so to speak while we decide.  In a car which they love because it smells like their sweet Poppy.

I think I'm letting go slowly but leaving a door open.  A door of gratitude.  A door of opportunity.  A door representing resilience and willingness to be moved by my Creator.

The focus of losing myself and delighting in the moment.  Thankful bent knee.  He's in control.  

Well, Hello There!

I'm back, Jack.  It's been a doozy of a virus I've had and let me tell you I don't "do sick" well.  I actually don't have a place in my repertoire for getting sick.  It might come from when I was pregnant, teaching full time, finishing my Masters degree part time, and vomiting full time. I had morning ("all day") sickness all nine months.  I would be teaching children, run out of the room to vomit, and be back before they finished their easy reader.  I was efficient.  I was a very efficient vomiter.  One of my Asian ESL students that year drew a picture of me with my Gatorade, saltines, and cheese slices.  No kidding.  I pushed through and now my pain tolerance is quite high.  Pridefully high.  Don't-stop-me-now high.  And at one point a few years ago was scary high, so since then I try to listen to my body, but I'm not very good at that.  

But illness is a good time for God to slow this speed train down.  I have learned to submit to illness.  Just like I'm learning to submit to a bedtime.  God designed our bodies for rest, not for conquering Rome while burning the midnight oil.  I'm trying to be a little more gentle with myself.  Ah.  Isn't that a lovely thought?  Yep, sounds like a bunch of crap to me, too.

But really, I've been reflecting on how I got this way.  What events were placed in my path for me to be here.  I am in the middle of writing my legacy letter to my daughters, and maybe I'll share it via blog, but really, God why do I love you?  God what will my daughters remember about me years from now?

I suppose it began in my mom's Mercury Cougar when I was four.  Watching her silently pray on our way to her Bible Study.  I knew God was loving.  I knew she was talking to Him.  I wanted in.  I wanted God to be in my heart to listen to me.  So my mom prayed in that red car with the loud windshield wipers for Jesus to come in my heart.  I opened my eyes and I felt the same but I believe God has had His Hand on me for a long while.

My grandmother's prayers were much louder.  She would openly admit she wasn't talking to herself, but to God.  She knelt by her bed every night and prayed.  She walked around her house singing hymns like "How Great Thou Art" and "Holy Holy Holy".  She practiced the presence of God.  I always felt like she had God around her, as odd as that is to type.  She welcomed Him and delighted in Him being there.  (And years later I know God is everywhere, but we are more aware by practicing His Presence.)

I began to memorize Bible verses in Sunday School.  The first one was "The Lord is the lamp unto my feet the light to my path."  I got a piece of gum and smacked that gum proud.  I was told memorizing Scripture was very important and special.  I learned that He made me special.  The same Sunday School teacher who taught me passed many years ago.  Small acts of sacrifice I will never forget.

We continued going to church and I learned to read the Bible and talk openly to God.  I learned through the awkward teenage years that he was my Number One.  Things might be otherwise, but He was strong, dependable and never changed.  And this Bible I read became a Real Person.  I learned the Words were Love Letters written to me.  I was drawn to Him because He was Good.  

I went to college and He just busted through my expectations of Himself.  The nerd inside of me was so excited to be at a place where I could study anything I wanted.  (I declared my major so many times that year that it got to be a joke.)  I met dear precious friends those years I still keep in touch with.  And although oceans divide us, God's love unites.

I met my husband, who is actually my second love.  I learned in college that Jesus was my First.  Any man I met would have to love Him too.  So this precious man fit the bill and the mystery of this thing called marriage united with Jesus' grace is overwhelming.

So we have these two precious girls.  The best thing I know to do for them is to share God with them.  Wrap them up in His great love.  To help connect them to their Savior.  To help them not only see Jesus, but feel Him here with us.  Do they see me meet with Him?  Do they see me go to Him first when I am frustrated?  Do they see me sing praises to Him?  Do they see me blog and talk about Him, unashamedly?  Do I say I'm sorry because I am confident in the forgiveness Jesus has granted us from the cross?

Do they see me fail?  Am I representing who I am well?  A mom in need of a Savior.  A mom humbly and simply loving her Lord.  A mom who is far from perfect but connected to the Perfect Man.

Years from now I have no idea what they might remember from these days.  But, my prayer is that they  recollect memories with a lens of Him.

It's Like You're My Mirror...

This, this is how I show my love for my husband.  He gets serenaded with Justin Timberlake, of whom he knows none of his songs.  He loves it.  Let me retype.  He loves my loud, soulful singing to him on a drop of a hat...

Mirrors by Justin Timberlake
It's like you're my mirror
My mirror staring back at me
I couldn't get any bigger
With anyone else beside of me
And now it's clear as this promise
That we're making two reflections into one
Cause it's like you're my mirror
My mirror staring back at me, staring back at me

My husband is my mirror but ironically he is not a thing like me personality-wise.  I'd like to say we are like that old couple that just mellows with each other with time.  Perhaps I've mellowed down a bit and he's become more of a people person.  But in reality, we are both ourselves- I get a little too hyper sometimes and he is too calm other times.   (I should note he might be more like a hopeful Ron Swanson in some aspects as he ages.  That's fine with me.  I love steak.)

It's like he's my mirror staring back at me, reflecting not just myself and allowing me to grow as a person, but showing me my sin.  Showing me when God is glorified.  The mirror is slanted upwards to heaven.  It reflects God's grace.  His goodness.  His love that binds us.  His gentle correction in my life.  We will never be completely like each other.  We weren't made for assimilation, but for glorification.  

If we just looked at each other's reflection, I'm convinced our love would shrivel.  I don't have eternal love to offer in a marriage.  I love the ways we work on our relationship but there's not enough wining and dining in the world to stop fights and fix things in our marriage.  I love date nights and getting away but you always come home to the same problems.  The triangular fashion God works on us is mysterious, profound, and inexplicable.  The love relationship with a God that connects us.  

I admire so many things about him and could list them.  Maybe I should, but the one thing that I appreciate most is the Holy Spirit's work in him at reflecting towards, pointing to, mirroring God in my life.  The focus is less on a good marriage and more on a forgiven marriage.  In Christ, we are more forgiven than ever imagined. 

So maybe we are two reflections made into one.  Made into One.  The One that holds us together.  

He is before all things and in Him all things are held together.  Colossians 1:17

The Epicenter

I've been on a blog famine the last week or so.  I actually posted one last night, through my tears reconsidered, and deleted it.  Mostly because I love telling stories, but I was writing a story that wasn't mine to tell.  It went too deep for me and someone else.  I hit delete.  I liked the entry as a personal journal and by accident I deleted it off my journal too but it moved me to a place I needed to be.  I'm thankful for my Great Counselor who writes periods of healing in my story.

Second reason- my girls have been going to bed entirely too late.  Just today I was told, "I don't like it when you work, mommy."  I am working on a writing class online and well, I am not as available to them in certain times of the day.  So Barbie sing-a-long is on the DVD unashamedly and I am blogging.  Girls, go to bed earlier like I ask or watch me work.  Said with love and a smile.  That's your choice:) Tonight they are getting rewarded for staying in bed.  Changing up my method for this madness.

Here's a true story of a friend's cousin's uncle's son.  Sit back and relax.

Once upon a time there was a boy whose parents took him to church every week.  He liked the church fine and enjoyed learning.  He knew God personally.  But when he got to be a teenager, it seems this particular church was more geared towards the kids that easily earned a gold star.  Maybe they were the cheerleaders, football stars, popular crowd.  Well, this boy was incredibly gifted, but not so much in the crowds of with those particular skills.  He came every now and then, but usually had an arrow or two thrown his way, so he stopped coming.  Church hurt, it didn't help.  He stayed away from church for a long long time.  Filled with cliques.  One which he was not a part of.

In this church appearances mattered.  What you looked like on the outside was key.  It was an environment where fear of man prevailed, and those on the inside were just as scared as those on the outside.  Crazy scared they would do something to fall out of good graces with the popular crowd.  That boy grew into a man and now he gets it and his faith is more authentic because of his experiences.  But back then the whole situation seemed so daunting.  So hurtful.

I felt this same way just last week.  As an adult, in a wonderful group of women, most of who I don't know personally, but I got a back turned on me.  I was talking to another lady, when I suppose she was done with our conversation, turned her back towards me, and started talking in a lower voice to her other security blanket friend.  Security blanket friend also was not interested in talking to me later.  Awesome.

Now, I could have smelled bad but most likely these are grown up teenagers similar to the above story. I readily admit I get off socially every now and then.  Sure.  I have lots of words coming from my mouth sometimes and God is still working on me.  Also, watching your children play is a full on sport at times.  Unfinished conversations prevail and you end up with half a recipe or without the end of a great story.  Moms give grace with social things.  I think it was maybe this lady's hair flip in my direction when I saw her the next day without a smile or hello.  And then another time that week.

But guess what...no one has it together.  Now maybe the above ladies believe they are truly living their authentic selves.  All polished up putting on a show.  That's fine.  But God knows differently.

And I suppose that last week was filled with different ups and downs for me, and I am just coming to terms with some it of.  Still processing through the rest of it.  With all that said I ended the week with a message from church this morning...

Jesus is my Epicenter.  

And while I used to people please everyone, Jesus has taught me differently.  I just don't Jesus care anymore.  It wasn't a magical process getting here, it was letting go to freely live.  Not looking around in comparison, but freely being me.  And sure, there are still people who just don't get me.  There are also times I fail in this whole department.  (Um, I fail in all departments...) But the Only One who gets me is the Only One that matters.

This morning we sang
I know Who stands before me
I know Who stands behind.  
The God of angel armies 
is always by my side.  

Wherever I go, He is there.  He has gone before me, He is standing guard behind me guarding me against condemnation.  His armor catches those flying arrows.  He is already there in my future.  He sees the day I get to actually see Him face to face.  What a glorious day.

Things Aren't Always What They Seem

The other day we were leaving swim lessons, and a woman was pulling out of the circle in front of the facility in a large SUV.  We were walking (well two of us were twirling) to the car, and two older folks were sitting watching us.  This SUV lady turns the wheel slowly, we all watch, ooh she's getting close, and bam!  She hits the pole.  These two peanut gallery people just say, "No she didn't!"  And when she attempted to pull out again, those folks said, "Uh uh she's gonna do it again!"  She scraped the front of her car and drove away.  I felt terribly uncomfortable for her because I figured she had a really bad day and well, that was some pretty difficult maneuvering.

The next practice I saw her again.  She was very professional looking and I smiled at her and she smiled back.  I looked down and noticed she was missing a hand. Things aren't always what they seem.

Today as I was showering the girls off, telling them what hard workers they were at swim lessons, how I was proud of them and how they will feel good about their hard swim work as they grow and develop, yadda yadda yadda.  I was mustering up enough patience at the littlest's request of "Water in my eyes!!!  "Get me the towel!"  "Mommy you're hurting me!" "Stop brushing my hair!" I was getting my nice running shoes all wet adjusting the temperature for this one just right.  Wiping sweat drips from sitting in the free sauna-called-swim-lessons-wear-your-sports-bra-and-pretend-it's-a-workout.  I dry off the littlest and whew, almost there...home dinner bedtime is my mantra these nights...

Then one of the older ladies in the shower beside us, all spry from her workout, and cute little towel covered figure comes out of the shower and says, "And good job mama!"  (She might have clicked her heels on her way to talk to her naked woman tribe but I'm not sure.)

Then I stopped.  Things aren't always what they seem with me either.

I think I do these things for the family, get things planned (it doesn't count that I forget lots of times), wear so many hats that it just seems I look tacky...maybe taking one or more hats off would look nicer?  Isn't simplistic in style now?  You know, the simple outfit, downgraded, yet vintage accessories, maybe some fall boots.  Understated fashion.  Yeah.  Maybe I can take off one of these hats.  Not too "cool" for me to wear, or even be at the moment.

Then I realize my job isn't tacky, it's tactical.  And, well, I've never been cool.  The basis of my role is simplistic- love the Lord and love my family.  The game is played carefully looking at Jesus and intricately aware of what the next step is and sometimes tricky to get it all balanced and sometimes it just all hits the fan and turns into a beautiful mess.

Sometimes I feel like maybe there are parts of me not made for this job.  Sometimes I fail miserably, and end of saying lots of "I'm sorrys" and "Please forgive me's".  Then I realize that's part of the journey, too, and none of us are made to "mother" perfectly.  These girls see this mama fail.  These girls see this mama get up and learn from it.  And I hope they see me relying on God who is making me stronger.  I hope they hear me talk my struggles, weaknesses, and failures out in a Christ-centered fashion, not self-condemning, but calling it out and claiming God's goodness over it all.  We have a Redeemer.  I am not made to redeem myself, but to made to crave.  Enjoy.  Just be in God's midst in relationship.  

Things don't always seem perfectly beautiful.  But perfect Love holds us together.  And with the girls tucked in bed right now, looking back on my day that's all that matters.

Otherwise

Otherwise
by Carla

I got of out bed on two strong legs.

It might have been otherwise. 

I ate my morning eggs, bacon, and homemade pumpkin latte, a little cold because sometimes it gets messy helping everyone.

It might have been otherwise.

I spent the morning with two little girls, offering my addition of wonder to their detailed discoveries, getting less done than I had hoped, held in a tension between productivity and stopping time.  

All morning I was behind a day.  It was messy.  I was fulfilled.  I was loving my children. I was creating memories I hoped I would remember.  Memories I hoped they would remember.  

At noon I sat down to eat lunch with my girls, looked in their eyes, and wondered when the last time was I had just gazed.  I told myself I needed to gaze more.  

It might have been otherwise.

We ate dinner straight from the crock pot, trying to take turns talking with so much excitement- mostly small things- but nonetheless important when you are small.  I was thankful for the family I had to feed.  I was thankful for the work it takes to manage this house, their education, our lives.  

It might have been otherwise.

I slept in a bed next to a man I love more than anything and planned another day just like this day.

But one day, I know it will be otherwise.

Just Another Bump In the Road

I guess we travel this path and we hope and believe.  We go to church and we attend Bible studies that remind us that God is in everything.  He is the Author.  But sometimes you doubt that.  We know He is good, but not always safe.  And this idea of having dreams you don’t know will be fulfilled or not is sort of a precarious thing in itself.  So maybe you hold those dreams loosely trying to imagine that they’re not really that important, or white-fisted tight, and wait for the proverbial shoe to drop.   Either way this is a tough spot to be in. 

Maybe you’ve prayed a dozen times for God to take away your desire for something.  Maybe that thing isn’t ‘bad’ in itself, but maybe it will never happen.  Or let’s be hopeful here, maybe it’s just not the right timing.  And you hope that is the case.  Because you really, really want this thing to happen.  And so you start to ponder and ‘think like God’…

Lord, I don’t have a spouse because I’m not ready.  Or he’s not ready.  Or we’re not ready.  (As if marriage is some sort of mark on a person's readiness- we all marry the 'wrong person' because we are hopelessly flawed...)

Or, Lord, let me just change my attitude about my job.  Maybe it isn’t really all that bad.  Perhaps it’s just me.  Or maybe my attitude is holding me back from that great job.  Maybe with a little attitude change God will allow that new one to come along. 

Lord, my loved one is in heaven because maybe you needed another angel, or their presence, with you and to fulfill your heaven duties.  There were absolutely amazing after all.

Lord, maybe this thing isn't happening because of my diet.  Or some unconfessed sin I have that is holding me back.  Perhaps it’s both.  Let me be super ‘spiritual’ and see what happens.  Surely I’m not pleasing you in so many ways.  I fall so short.  Let me put on my super mom powers, although I’m not sure what that looks like, and do this thing. 

Let me prove to you how great of a mom I can be.  So that when you are up in heaven looking down at me, You'll say, that one, Carla, she’s deserving.  Did you see how she made that awesome pumpkin bread?  And, she pulled off her daughter’s birthday so well.  She’s feeding her kids unrefined flours, no sugars added, etc.  She lets them slip enough, because well, she knows they need to be kids sometimes.  Good job, daughter of mine.  Way to perform.  Way to go.  It’s just a matter of time for that one.  Let me keep her in this place of holding so that she can just see me more.  Realize who I really am…she takes me for granted most of the time anyway.  

All of this could be very possible.  If God thought like we thought.  But he doesn’t.  And the only way to know his thoughts is to stay in the Word.  Staying close to him.  Letting him talk to you.  Letting him talk through you.  Processing, as difficult as that can be at times, and letting him heal you. 

I can type all of the above, bolded, like a rock star.  I can know what to do in times of trouble.  But that doesn’t matter if I’m not doing it. 

In my life seasons, my spiritual tank has different “miles per gallon”, so to speak.  There are times when I feel very filled with the Spirit.  I have more energy.  I am accomplishing more and more successful and things are just falling into place.  Then there are those seasons where I just feel empty.  Weak.  Walking through molasses.  Change is slow and time seems to go even slower. 

It may seem like I need ‘more Jesus’ in the latter situation, because of my weakness, but I honestly need Him all the time. 

He puts us in these places to depend on Him.  The good and the bad, the energetic ‘good mom’ days where I’m prone to self-righteous rants and the terrible ‘what am I doing’ days where I’m prone to pity myself and eat a whole bag of chips.  Problematic, tragic, things sometimes happen when we think we have pleased him, and then there are situations where he bestows grace on us in times of rottenness. 

And while I do believe he honors our obedience and love in his timing, this side of heaven or later, there is no cleaning up my act to have things go a certain way for me.  I do not plan my destiny.  In fact, since the fall of man, there is only One Man that completely did things perfectly.  He died on our behalf.  He took the penalty for sin and imperfection.  He makes me righteous before God.  He paid my debt and I am free.  I don’t have to perform. 

My response to His gift is this: 

Receiving Jesus- Daily, hourly, by the minute.  Open myself up to His leading, His working. 

Praying for my desire for Him- I’ve found praying for him to change situations is definitely heard in heaven.  He loves our conversations.  He may or may not change my problems.  He always hears my cries for more of Him.  He always answers my futile attempts at getting close to Him- by wrapping me up in Him.  I sense this very childlike…I inch a little closer to him, and bam, he grabs me like a big bear hug and wait, it’s too late, I’ve prayed it and even though I’m not sure where it will take me we’re here.  He’s holding tight.  I’m hoping for more of Him.  He’s strong, He’s good, and we’re doing this thing, even when I rebel. And sometimes I try and kick and tug away from Him but His love wraps me up.  I realize His goodness, and the peace ensues.  Slowly, sometimes painfully, I've learned to stop fighting.  Because He is good and in Him is fullness of joy.    

I realize I stand before an audience of One.  I’m out of tricks.  Or at least the ones that I think will get me somewhere in heaven.  He sees me like I see my little girls- He is pleased with me loving Him, confessing sin, and most importantly, enjoying Him.  He sees me through the lens of Jesus.  The man He sent just for this purpose. 

He has my days planned.  He knows the struggle, the tough times.  He planned pit stops along the way to refuel.  There are sad, desperate times in my future.  I cannot deny or live my life otherwise.  My hope is I’m desperate for Him in those desperate times.  I foresee times of rejoicing, too.  He has His party hat on and one sitting next to Him, ready for me, just beyond the horizon. 

This is a ride.  It’s not safe.  But it’s good.  My soul is secure and that’s what I’ll take to heaven.