So I went to my home away from home today- the Taj maTarget. I was headed out with my items in a storage container, kinda heavy, but determined to carry it so I could call it a workout, and I saw a familiar face.
Rewind two and a half years. My oldest was in preschool and it was the beginning of the year. A mama was talking to the teacher with her son by her side. She told the teacher that she was withdrawing her son to homeschool him. It was a wonderful school, but they had just made other plans. I remember thinking, "How sad. Surely she will regret this. I'm off to the gym, yo. Good luck with that one, chica."
The teacher told the class and my little girl came home singing the praises of homeschool. "Mommy, my new friend is going to be home schooled! How wonderful! I want to be home schooled, mommy!" Well, I just said, "Sure baby. Yeah whatever. I am so glad it worked for them." Brushed it off just like I did her other great notions. (A water park in our back yard, jumping into the TV to join all our TV friends, flying to the moon together as a family for a picnic, seeing how many balloons it would take to whisk us off to Jesus, etc.)
Well, her desire increased as she went to public school kindergarten. I was not interested in homeschooling. (My husband, on the other hand, thought it was an interesting idea. Mainly because it was intriguing to be "off the grid" so to speak and let our kids freely learn. Hogwash, I thought. I needed my gym time. Public school you have my permission to box my kids mind up cause we aren't doing that one, ok Jack?)
Anyway, by the end of the year of kindergarten (a good year I should add) she still wanted to homeschool. I was tired of getting the worst of my child in the afternoon (tired, grumpy) and sending her best off (energtic, lively, and ready for the world.) Bottom line, public school at this phase in our lives just didn't work.
Now, year to year and kid to kid we evaluate. But, today we are all happy. It's not easy, but my soul is at rest with where we are. Good thing since homeschooling is harder than squeezing my lady parts into my pants from last year. Good thing indeed.
Today I waited as this homeschooling mama finished talking, wondering if she would think I had lost my marbles approaching her. But I felt led by God to tell her and I'm fairly determined (dare I say hard-headed?), so I stood and waited.
She finished chatting and I said, "You don't know me. But you are a part of my story. Your bold decision to homeschool planted a seed in my little girl that allowed us to make a lifestyle choice for the better for our family. You need to know this. You did a good job, mama. Please tell your husband, too." (Husbands are sometimes overlooked but my husband is very much a spiritual and physical part of our schooling...praying as we work, helping me out with math (God help us all!), giving me gym time and refresher mama times, etc.)
Anyway, she told her son who I was. (I even forgot to tell her my name that's how crazy I am. Perhaps I will be that random lady from Target sweating carrying all that merchandise when a cart was 5 feet away...Sadly I'm OK with that.)
And we both were teary. I hugged her and left.
She was written into my story.
She has no idea who I am. She made a bold move, went before me, and God used my little determined girl's pleading to bring us to a lifestyle change. A holistic change that has worked at bringing us all together, and made some (one) of us heavier. (Thank God you redeem the soft, too.) Glad she's in my story.
Can I be honest in this little baby I call my blog? There are people I would like God to have left out of my story. People that I believe hindered the goodness of my story. (Starting with Pee Wee Herman. I think my childhood obsession with him made me weirder. Connect the dots, la la la la...) People that through the years seemed to serve to frustrate me, place me in a position of about to lose my freaking mind for the love of God take them away already. Thorn in my side, please Lord. Just place nice people in my path. Don't I deserve that? Do you identify?
I guess I'm learning, mostly in hindsight, that every person you meet, regardless of their "right" to be in your story, changes you. I'm learning that God takes these situations, and if you are consistently open to it, he laser beam focuses you on learning from them. Perhaps the situation never changes, but your heart changes and you get stronger. God promises that all things work together for the good of those who love the Lord.
And we may never see this clearly this side of heaven, but it's good. (Even if you have to change your mantra chants from 'Lord please strike them dead' to 'God may I see you more clearly'.)
And if you're reading this, you have been written in my story. And I'm thankful for you.
Thursday, May 30, 2013
Tuesday, May 28, 2013
Let Them Eat Cake
Following rules. For some it's encouraging, for others, oppressive. I was a teacher in a public school before I had the kids I now teach at home. If you are familiar with teachers, most of them were rules followers as little children, grown up to be rule-following teachers. Now, you might have a rebel rouser in a group here and there. (You can point them out at any staff meeting, sitting all smug in the back raising a ruckus. Usually they're really fun. Saying stuff none of us would say out loud.) But mostly, they follow rules. Most of them are good students themselves. They are all awesome.
I normally follow rules. I like a good rule or standard to toe the line with. Keep me in check. What have you. But, as I've posted earlier, as I "age" rules are becoming more and more fuzzy. As I let Summer Moondance, my alter ego, enters my life, the rules fade into "experiencing life" and thankful I'm pretty much a prude so no table top dancing live entertainment for this mama. (At least not in public, mind you.) Just maybe a little permission to let myself go, be more artistic, let the flair flame.
Let me explain. There are certain times that a certain oldest child I have (7 going on 37) keeps me in check. She says stuff like, "Mommy, you know the speed limit is ___. You are going over the limit." My response, "No I'm not. They only pull you if you go 10 over." Her rebuttal, "Well, it feels like you are going TOO FAST! Slow down mommy! I don't want you to go to JAIL!" (For the record, I am kidding. I know a few police officers and would be humiliated if they caught me speeding. For realz. I keep this sort of thing in check most of the time, but my back seat driver thinks otherwise.)
Well, another rule, or tradition, I have is cake. You have to celebrate EVERYTHING with cake. My girls dream their cakes and I execute them to the best of my ability. One has a birthday coming up and she wants a pig with suckling piglets on her cake. I kid you not. It is a beautiful thing to her, a mama and her piglets. I said to her gracefully, not to bash hopes, "Um, you know honey, we could do a lot more creatively cute things." She says, "The boys will laugh, right?" I said, "Maybe. We'll ask Daddy." (Poor guy represents all male opinions in our lives. No pressure really.) Dad says to me that's a little strange. I think I'd probably vomit the cake up seeing all that teat action. So that's a no go. Back to the drawing board.
Another reason to celebrate, dance recitals. Except my younger one has this cake dreamed up I will in no way get done in time enough to get her in her paraphernalia and makeup and hair to the recital and home and celebrate and those tights...ugh those tights. As the name implies they are tight. Way too tight. Oppressively tight. Too stressful but there will be cake. Dang it. And it may not have Minnie Mouse and all her friends selling bows and all but it will be delicious. And apparently it will have candles. Because my girls loves her some candles.
I used to make cakes for people. They would give me a vision and guidelines and I would recreate their cake desires. Well, sort of. You see, it might be 11pm at night and I might be in the kitchen throwing edible glitter on a cake for someone that didn't ask for glitter, but I thought they needed it because who doesn't need glitter on their birthday? (Thank you very much.) And then maybe I needed to make it 3D with some stars flying out of the center. Usually, around this time, the husband enters the kitchen. Same question. "Carla, did these people ask for those details?" And I'd say, "Nope. But they need them. And I'm throwing them in for free. That's a great deal cause this glitter isn't cheap."
Then they'd pick up the cake. It never failed. Every. Single. Time. "Wow, that's not what I was expecting. It's great. Thank you." Did they mean it or were like, "That blondie must have had a moment because I never said 3D glitter. For my grandpa?" I'll never know...
I LOVED the customers who gave me a theme and said, "Just decorate and let the cake speak to you. Be artistic. I don't care." That happened a couple of times, actually, and I was like a kid in a candy shop (cake shop?) all giddy and going BUCK DANG WILD with their cake. Throw in an extra layer for free cause I LOVED them. (You know who you are and you get prayed for more often.)
My cake career lasted a few short months before I started homeschooling. But I might need to work on rule following to be a better business woman. Cake rules. No rules for cake, or art, in my opinion. You make it delicious, add lots of flair (I can't stop the flair!) and eat it straight up with your loves. It's good for the soul.
I actually only think about cake when it's my birthday, not so much the gifts. I think about what flavor, color, celebrating. It's how I roll. And, before I learned about "sugar crashing" and how terrible sugar is for you and before we had kids, we all ate the cake breakfast, or lunch or dinner. It's once a year to celebrate. Now, daddy and I eat the cake when no one is looking. It's fantastically terrible. (As far as our kids know, the cake magically fades after the first few days into oblivion.)
In my life I've been in groups where I felt like I didn't fit in, didn't follow the social rules, religious rules, or even measured up to God's rules. And he tells me, it's not about the rules. It's about the heart. It's about his grace gift.
He says not to look around me for direction, look up and look in. Look in the Bible. Look to his face. Look to the God that in Christ, there is nothing you can do to make him love you more and nothing you can do to make him love you less. And the 10 Commandments and all, they are added with love God with all your heart, soul, mind and strength, and love your neighbor as yourself.
Good rules indeed. Rules that give freedom. Free to eat that cake and celebrate the good things. And decorate your life with a little flair. Jesus flair.
I normally follow rules. I like a good rule or standard to toe the line with. Keep me in check. What have you. But, as I've posted earlier, as I "age" rules are becoming more and more fuzzy. As I let Summer Moondance, my alter ego, enters my life, the rules fade into "experiencing life" and thankful I'm pretty much a prude so no table top dancing live entertainment for this mama. (At least not in public, mind you.) Just maybe a little permission to let myself go, be more artistic, let the flair flame.
Let me explain. There are certain times that a certain oldest child I have (7 going on 37) keeps me in check. She says stuff like, "Mommy, you know the speed limit is ___. You are going over the limit." My response, "No I'm not. They only pull you if you go 10 over." Her rebuttal, "Well, it feels like you are going TOO FAST! Slow down mommy! I don't want you to go to JAIL!" (For the record, I am kidding. I know a few police officers and would be humiliated if they caught me speeding. For realz. I keep this sort of thing in check most of the time, but my back seat driver thinks otherwise.)
Well, another rule, or tradition, I have is cake. You have to celebrate EVERYTHING with cake. My girls dream their cakes and I execute them to the best of my ability. One has a birthday coming up and she wants a pig with suckling piglets on her cake. I kid you not. It is a beautiful thing to her, a mama and her piglets. I said to her gracefully, not to bash hopes, "Um, you know honey, we could do a lot more creatively cute things." She says, "The boys will laugh, right?" I said, "Maybe. We'll ask Daddy." (Poor guy represents all male opinions in our lives. No pressure really.) Dad says to me that's a little strange. I think I'd probably vomit the cake up seeing all that teat action. So that's a no go. Back to the drawing board.
Another reason to celebrate, dance recitals. Except my younger one has this cake dreamed up I will in no way get done in time enough to get her in her paraphernalia and makeup and hair to the recital and home and celebrate and those tights...ugh those tights. As the name implies they are tight. Way too tight. Oppressively tight. Too stressful but there will be cake. Dang it. And it may not have Minnie Mouse and all her friends selling bows and all but it will be delicious. And apparently it will have candles. Because my girls loves her some candles.
I used to make cakes for people. They would give me a vision and guidelines and I would recreate their cake desires. Well, sort of. You see, it might be 11pm at night and I might be in the kitchen throwing edible glitter on a cake for someone that didn't ask for glitter, but I thought they needed it because who doesn't need glitter on their birthday? (Thank you very much.) And then maybe I needed to make it 3D with some stars flying out of the center. Usually, around this time, the husband enters the kitchen. Same question. "Carla, did these people ask for those details?" And I'd say, "Nope. But they need them. And I'm throwing them in for free. That's a great deal cause this glitter isn't cheap."
Then they'd pick up the cake. It never failed. Every. Single. Time. "Wow, that's not what I was expecting. It's great. Thank you." Did they mean it or were like, "That blondie must have had a moment because I never said 3D glitter. For my grandpa?" I'll never know...
I LOVED the customers who gave me a theme and said, "Just decorate and let the cake speak to you. Be artistic. I don't care." That happened a couple of times, actually, and I was like a kid in a candy shop (cake shop?) all giddy and going BUCK DANG WILD with their cake. Throw in an extra layer for free cause I LOVED them. (You know who you are and you get prayed for more often.)
My cake career lasted a few short months before I started homeschooling. But I might need to work on rule following to be a better business woman. Cake rules. No rules for cake, or art, in my opinion. You make it delicious, add lots of flair (I can't stop the flair!) and eat it straight up with your loves. It's good for the soul.
I actually only think about cake when it's my birthday, not so much the gifts. I think about what flavor, color, celebrating. It's how I roll. And, before I learned about "sugar crashing" and how terrible sugar is for you and before we had kids, we all ate the cake breakfast, or lunch or dinner. It's once a year to celebrate. Now, daddy and I eat the cake when no one is looking. It's fantastically terrible. (As far as our kids know, the cake magically fades after the first few days into oblivion.)
In my life I've been in groups where I felt like I didn't fit in, didn't follow the social rules, religious rules, or even measured up to God's rules. And he tells me, it's not about the rules. It's about the heart. It's about his grace gift.
He says not to look around me for direction, look up and look in. Look in the Bible. Look to his face. Look to the God that in Christ, there is nothing you can do to make him love you more and nothing you can do to make him love you less. And the 10 Commandments and all, they are added with love God with all your heart, soul, mind and strength, and love your neighbor as yourself.
Good rules indeed. Rules that give freedom. Free to eat that cake and celebrate the good things. And decorate your life with a little flair. Jesus flair.
Saturday, May 25, 2013
It's Swimsuit Season
The other day at the beach I looked over at a 70 something year old woman with a faux denim bikini on and I told my friend, "I don't know her, but I love her." You see, she was older and had no fear. Looking at my friend's baby girl like she was the cutest thing ever all grandma style. No inhibitions. Just living and getting her tan on her precious belly. I love her.
My husband has a lot of responsibilities- work, raising girls in a world of muck, politics, fantasy baseball, keeping our four hermit crabs alive (fresh water for drinking, salt water for the gills, they love dried fruit, those cuties), etc. His number one (thus says me) is to keep me out of a string bikini in my older years. (He would say otherwise, but he's the head and I'm the neck. The neck moves the head- Fav quote from My Big Fat Greek Wedding...) I would like to think I would fit the grandma part, all Kim Rogers (nod to Belks, my mama's favorite store) conservative and all. But I am about to approach another birthday. And each year I let loose a little more. Held by Jesus but flyin' that freak flag higher and higher, letting my hair down. Freedom. It's his job, partly, to keep me in check, you see.
From the get go, I must say we were feeling brave going on this trip. The mama and I are friends. The little girls, besties from school. The daddies, didn't know each other and we didn't know each others husbands. They asked, we came. End result- we are planning this sort of thing every year from now on. We had a blast. I guess you could say we're dating! Real butterflies in my stomach and all!
I told them I hid my freak flags and didn't let them fly in the sun kissed salt air. Because we know my love for the beach. Carla on best behavior to avoid getting kicked out y'all. And I always love making new friends. (Unless you are afraid of weirdos. An then we shouldn't even try to "date" cause things just come out with me.)
I want this blog to encourage. It's swim suit season and let me tell you regardless of your "size" (Abercrombie you stink. Big time), let go. Let go of the notion you don't look a certain way. Just let go. (Now, do keep your suit on. Please. Cause I've been to one of those beaches and its usually the ones that are older and have let their freak flags fly real real high that just let go.)
Wear that suit. Rock it. I learned a while back that you can iron clothes and look like a million dollas. So, iron out your wrinkled impression of yourself. Go for it. Let people talk if they need to. Stare. Put a little hitch in your get along just for entertainment purposes. Cause let me tell you, if you are feeling soft, maybe not liking your shape whatever that means, you are not going to have any more fun sitting by the side of the pool or the ocean under a cover up hoping things change. If you are around girls, other women, encourage them to do the same.
My husband has a lot of responsibilities- work, raising girls in a world of muck, politics, fantasy baseball, keeping our four hermit crabs alive (fresh water for drinking, salt water for the gills, they love dried fruit, those cuties), etc. His number one (thus says me) is to keep me out of a string bikini in my older years. (He would say otherwise, but he's the head and I'm the neck. The neck moves the head- Fav quote from My Big Fat Greek Wedding...) I would like to think I would fit the grandma part, all Kim Rogers (nod to Belks, my mama's favorite store) conservative and all. But I am about to approach another birthday. And each year I let loose a little more. Held by Jesus but flyin' that freak flag higher and higher, letting my hair down. Freedom. It's his job, partly, to keep me in check, you see.
From the get go, I must say we were feeling brave going on this trip. The mama and I are friends. The little girls, besties from school. The daddies, didn't know each other and we didn't know each others husbands. They asked, we came. End result- we are planning this sort of thing every year from now on. We had a blast. I guess you could say we're dating! Real butterflies in my stomach and all!
I told them I hid my freak flags and didn't let them fly in the sun kissed salt air. Because we know my love for the beach. Carla on best behavior to avoid getting kicked out y'all. And I always love making new friends. (Unless you are afraid of weirdos. An then we shouldn't even try to "date" cause things just come out with me.)
I want this blog to encourage. It's swim suit season and let me tell you regardless of your "size" (Abercrombie you stink. Big time), let go. Let go of the notion you don't look a certain way. Just let go. (Now, do keep your suit on. Please. Cause I've been to one of those beaches and its usually the ones that are older and have let their freak flags fly real real high that just let go.)
Wear that suit. Rock it. I learned a while back that you can iron clothes and look like a million dollas. So, iron out your wrinkled impression of yourself. Go for it. Let people talk if they need to. Stare. Put a little hitch in your get along just for entertainment purposes. Cause let me tell you, if you are feeling soft, maybe not liking your shape whatever that means, you are not going to have any more fun sitting by the side of the pool or the ocean under a cover up hoping things change. If you are around girls, other women, encourage them to do the same.
If he thinks you're wonderfully made, knitted together in your beautiful mama's womb, claim it. Rock it. Keep it real. You are awesome.
Wednesday, May 22, 2013
Puzzled?
We are at the beach with our girls and some friends and their girls (aka princess command center).
For the first time I realized something: I'm a beach marathoner. No, not the running kind, but the get your suit, slap some sunscreen on, go to the beach and stay on the beach all day long. You come home for food, to relieve yourself, but otherwise stay on the beach. Sleep there if you need to. Just don't come in, cause you're at the beach. Sand where the sun don't shine. Nature's classroom where homeschool might have ended but learning never does. Feel the waves, wind blowing in your hair, yes, let's experience this, free love (As my alter ego Summer Moondance enters the conversation...) Is there any other way?
Actually, there is. With young kids, like our friends here, there are naps to be had, coming in from the sun and relaxing. (as I type this I am guarding my third child, Latte, with all my life from a 14 month old sweet precious toddling Houdini. My, how you forget that stage.) I told my husband he should be thankful I am this way. I'm a blessing basically. Because he's a water magnet. Hubs+ water= bliss.
Well, our friend here started a puzzle at the beginning of the week. A 1000 piece puzzle. The kind with a picture of some amazing place in another country probably all enhanced that doesn't even compare to the beauty of the ocean you have a few steps away puzzle. Perhaps a place in Switzerland or Germany where they make their own cream and milk cow teats in that barn in the picture. (cultural stereotypes anyone?) He will finish this puzzle. There is no other way.
Well, I'm not so much a puzzle girl. I need more language. More action, baby. I'm an Apples to Apples kinda girl with subjective rules and laughs and the analytical ones in the group getting all mad cause this game is getting out of control and that doesn't make sense. (I once won the game with "Helen Keller" and "outrageous". I love that game.)
Well I sit down last night and try my hardest to put that freakin puzzle together. I couldn't make the pieces fit together. The light was offending me all bright and glaring on the pieces. Friends around me were much more successful. Finding pieces, celebrating, intently looking all around and all. I just stared. There must have been 50 blue grey "water" pieces in front of me. I was clueless. I politely exited but not without lots of laughs cracking jokes blaming my not putting nary a one puzzle piece in that stupid puzzle. (Even my oldest daughter got a piece. Feelings of inadequacy anyone?) My friend just said she dreamed about the teat puzzle last night. (my insertion of "teat" mind you...)
Well it's been a messy beautiful week. Starting with some great time with family Sunday, a couple of things sandwiched in before we left for the beach, Monday, some disappointing but relieving news Tuesday (Yes those two actually exist in the same sentence. Thank you Lord for continuing to rock my world with a little live entertainment crazy. You may please stop now.) And we love to beach marathon so much and we love our friends and our girls have not completed their princess collaborations/missions so we stay another day. (rahrah homeschool!)
And I'm still having control issues. Control issues with God. They actually never go away, if you weren't aware of this already. My heart is bent towards wanting what I think is best for me. My timing. My pursuits. Things to be put together. Not always this side of heaven.
But you see, Gods goodness is like this: those difficult things? Well I try to fix them, put those puzzle pieces together. But the glaring light distorting the images, so many pieces, overwhelming even to those analytical ones. We were not designed to do this alone. We were made for relationship with God. Made to gaze at the one who sees the big picture. (The one who put those cows in the barn to be milked:)
We are created to love, trust, take baby steps towards the one who does know. And knows how many
hairs exist in our head. I'm reminded of this. I'm reminded to take those little steps with courage
sometimes, subconscious other times. Not so much grabbing other people's coffee, but moving
forward. One step at a time. A toddler to her Daddy.
Because the great Puzzle Maker knows what's best. He has the birds eye view. I bend the knee and
trust.
The following speaks to me now...Caedmons Call, "Walk with Me"
Walk with me quiet, walk with me slow
With watered down coffee and words of gold
Cause I can feel the edges of these things
when I hear you speak to me
Walk with me Empty, walk with me strong.
The hush of our voices when the day seems so long.
It is like a balm, it is like a jewel
It unravels all I thought I knew.
Will you lead me, beside the still waters,
where the oil It runs over.
My cup overflows. You restore my soul.
For the first time I realized something: I'm a beach marathoner. No, not the running kind, but the get your suit, slap some sunscreen on, go to the beach and stay on the beach all day long. You come home for food, to relieve yourself, but otherwise stay on the beach. Sleep there if you need to. Just don't come in, cause you're at the beach. Sand where the sun don't shine. Nature's classroom where homeschool might have ended but learning never does. Feel the waves, wind blowing in your hair, yes, let's experience this, free love (As my alter ego Summer Moondance enters the conversation...) Is there any other way?
Actually, there is. With young kids, like our friends here, there are naps to be had, coming in from the sun and relaxing. (as I type this I am guarding my third child, Latte, with all my life from a 14 month old sweet precious toddling Houdini. My, how you forget that stage.) I told my husband he should be thankful I am this way. I'm a blessing basically. Because he's a water magnet. Hubs+ water= bliss.
Well, our friend here started a puzzle at the beginning of the week. A 1000 piece puzzle. The kind with a picture of some amazing place in another country probably all enhanced that doesn't even compare to the beauty of the ocean you have a few steps away puzzle. Perhaps a place in Switzerland or Germany where they make their own cream and milk cow teats in that barn in the picture. (cultural stereotypes anyone?) He will finish this puzzle. There is no other way.
Well, I'm not so much a puzzle girl. I need more language. More action, baby. I'm an Apples to Apples kinda girl with subjective rules and laughs and the analytical ones in the group getting all mad cause this game is getting out of control and that doesn't make sense. (I once won the game with "Helen Keller" and "outrageous". I love that game.)
Well I sit down last night and try my hardest to put that freakin puzzle together. I couldn't make the pieces fit together. The light was offending me all bright and glaring on the pieces. Friends around me were much more successful. Finding pieces, celebrating, intently looking all around and all. I just stared. There must have been 50 blue grey "water" pieces in front of me. I was clueless. I politely exited but not without lots of laughs cracking jokes blaming my not putting nary a one puzzle piece in that stupid puzzle. (Even my oldest daughter got a piece. Feelings of inadequacy anyone?) My friend just said she dreamed about the teat puzzle last night. (my insertion of "teat" mind you...)
Well it's been a messy beautiful week. Starting with some great time with family Sunday, a couple of things sandwiched in before we left for the beach, Monday, some disappointing but relieving news Tuesday (Yes those two actually exist in the same sentence. Thank you Lord for continuing to rock my world with a little live entertainment crazy. You may please stop now.) And we love to beach marathon so much and we love our friends and our girls have not completed their princess collaborations/missions so we stay another day. (rahrah homeschool!)
And I'm still having control issues. Control issues with God. They actually never go away, if you weren't aware of this already. My heart is bent towards wanting what I think is best for me. My timing. My pursuits. Things to be put together. Not always this side of heaven.
But you see, Gods goodness is like this: those difficult things? Well I try to fix them, put those puzzle pieces together. But the glaring light distorting the images, so many pieces, overwhelming even to those analytical ones. We were not designed to do this alone. We were made for relationship with God. Made to gaze at the one who sees the big picture. (The one who put those cows in the barn to be milked:)
We are created to love, trust, take baby steps towards the one who does know. And knows how many
hairs exist in our head. I'm reminded of this. I'm reminded to take those little steps with courage
sometimes, subconscious other times. Not so much grabbing other people's coffee, but moving
forward. One step at a time. A toddler to her Daddy.
Because the great Puzzle Maker knows what's best. He has the birds eye view. I bend the knee and
trust.
The following speaks to me now...Caedmons Call, "Walk with Me"
Walk with me quiet, walk with me slow
With watered down coffee and words of gold
Cause I can feel the edges of these things
when I hear you speak to me
Walk with me Empty, walk with me strong.
The hush of our voices when the day seems so long.
It is like a balm, it is like a jewel
It unravels all I thought I knew.
Will you lead me, beside the still waters,
where the oil It runs over.
My cup overflows. You restore my soul.
Friday, May 17, 2013
Charlotte, You Did it to Me Again...
Today I watched Charlotte's Web on DVD with my girls. Last month I had politely bowed out of reading the chapter with Charlotte dying. I let my husband read those last few chapters with my her and had even skipped reading entirely some nights so it would fall on his night. I knew I would cry.
Today I was feeling strong. I tried really really hard. I did. My daughter sobbing. Charlotte, Wilbur's best friend, died. She had an egg sack she left behind. Wilbur carefully and lovingly cared for those eggs. He put all hope in the fact that he himself would live, and he would care for Charlotte's babies when they hatched. His hope was in those eggs. Well, if you remember, the eggs hatch. And then they march march march, set sail on a web string and fly away. Wilbur crying. Why are they all leaving him? That was not his plan! He was already left by Charlotte...
So we're both crying and then hope comes in the form of three little spiders still left around, too tiny to fly away. Wilbur promises to take care of them and even shares their mama's legacy with them. Sets them up for their future, in the same doorway Charlotte lived.
In the end, it's narrated, "It's not often that someone comes along that's a true friend and a good writer."
It's true. And demonstrated more so with a week like I've had. You see, I'm a part of a small group, community group, whatever it's called. I love these people. The women, they've seen me ugly cry. I've only known most of them since November. We meet weekly, have a Bible study time with the men, then have a sharing time with just us ladies.
Usually we all give our requests and leave for the week. Well, I had something come up this week. My stomach in knots. My heart torn and knowing I needed prayer. I sent out a mid-week email- ladies, please pray. I got immediate responses. "Praying! I love you!" and "You're such an encouragement to me." And "Thank you for asking us to pray!" And, "praying with you."
Did you catch that last one- Notice the slight but yet huge difference. It wasn't said, "Praying for you." It was "Praying with you." I am with you. Alongside you. You are not alone and we are praying with you for God to strengthen you and uphold you and establish you and to quiet your tummy. We are with you.
I needed it. I need it. I need them.
We need each other. We need community. God's love is manifested with the lot of us who love him. Working together, creatively, strong, faithfully and lovingly.
Our group is breaking up a bit. One woman is moving away. One is moving to be a part of another group. We will always be tied to those hurrahs, and ugly cry prayer requests, and Lord please change me and my heart and make me alive in you.
And these women have written into my story. And we may be different in some aspects, but the only glue needed is Jesus. And He's a really great Writer.
Today I was feeling strong. I tried really really hard. I did. My daughter sobbing. Charlotte, Wilbur's best friend, died. She had an egg sack she left behind. Wilbur carefully and lovingly cared for those eggs. He put all hope in the fact that he himself would live, and he would care for Charlotte's babies when they hatched. His hope was in those eggs. Well, if you remember, the eggs hatch. And then they march march march, set sail on a web string and fly away. Wilbur crying. Why are they all leaving him? That was not his plan! He was already left by Charlotte...
So we're both crying and then hope comes in the form of three little spiders still left around, too tiny to fly away. Wilbur promises to take care of them and even shares their mama's legacy with them. Sets them up for their future, in the same doorway Charlotte lived.
In the end, it's narrated, "It's not often that someone comes along that's a true friend and a good writer."
It's true. And demonstrated more so with a week like I've had. You see, I'm a part of a small group, community group, whatever it's called. I love these people. The women, they've seen me ugly cry. I've only known most of them since November. We meet weekly, have a Bible study time with the men, then have a sharing time with just us ladies.
Usually we all give our requests and leave for the week. Well, I had something come up this week. My stomach in knots. My heart torn and knowing I needed prayer. I sent out a mid-week email- ladies, please pray. I got immediate responses. "Praying! I love you!" and "You're such an encouragement to me." And "Thank you for asking us to pray!" And, "praying with you."
Did you catch that last one- Notice the slight but yet huge difference. It wasn't said, "Praying for you." It was "Praying with you." I am with you. Alongside you. You are not alone and we are praying with you for God to strengthen you and uphold you and establish you and to quiet your tummy. We are with you.
I needed it. I need it. I need them.
We need each other. We need community. God's love is manifested with the lot of us who love him. Working together, creatively, strong, faithfully and lovingly.
Our group is breaking up a bit. One woman is moving away. One is moving to be a part of another group. We will always be tied to those hurrahs, and ugly cry prayer requests, and Lord please change me and my heart and make me alive in you.
And these women have written into my story. And we may be different in some aspects, but the only glue needed is Jesus. And He's a really great Writer.
Thursday, May 16, 2013
Pulling Weeds Cause I'm a Beast
We live in one of those neighborhoods. With the HOA and the dues and the little man who rides around in a little white car on a trash can placement power trip. It's crazy. I know. We love our neighborhood, our neighbors, etc. Well, I'm probably a displaced hippie and my husband is a small town Ron Swanson (Bacon? Yes please). We don't give a flip about weeds. We really don't. We think they're green like grass. They get cut like grass. They live like grass. We don't like chemicals either. So we think it's funny when some smartie person comes up to us and tries to give us advice. Like, "Wow, you have a lot of weeds." And I wanna say, "Wow, you are smart. Real smart, you are, my friend." I don't, because we love Jesus and we homeschool. And we have children who need to see a mommy with self control every now and then. But, really? Maybe we really do need to move... (The dichotomy of life is finding a balance with smartie people and not letting them bother you all the while loving them like crazy. Has anyone figured this out? Man, you're annoying, but ooh I love you so much I could squeeze you! This is where I exist sometimes.)
Well, don't you know this man cutting grass for some company (probably hired by someone that actually cares about weeds) on one of those big ol tractors came scooting by, stops, turns off the flipping machine (he's seriously committed here, folks, cause y'all, that's fossil fuels) and says, "You know, weeds grow faster than grass. You are cutting your grass more because you have more weeds than grass." We stand there holding our yuppie bags just purchased from Trader Joe's and Whole Foods with the most confused look on our faces. All I wanted to do was bring my overpriced food into my house and feed my kids before I took them to the equally overpriced, but pleasant, kids hair cutting place. We get into the house and were like, "Really?"
I thought it was a good sale. I mean, who wants to cut the grass more often? Because we are used to people not liking our "style", hubs is thinking he's insulting the level of which he cuts his grass. Like he says, "Did he say I cut the grass too short?" I say, "No, honey. He says you cut it too often. Like if we had less weeds, you wouldn't have to cut it as often. If we pay him $30 to come and spray." Hubs thinks he'll figure it out himself. (I later find out he's already got a system in place for these weeds. For anyone interested...) He's good like that.
Well, then I was thinking. Parenting is hard work. I have these little gardens of life upstairs playing quietly. (Not fighting, that's why I mention their current activities. Nod to my earlier post on my blogging with children rules I have...in a few moments, um, precisely 3, they could be screaming. But, now, they are quiet. I am typing. This might be what heaven feels like??) They are gardens alright. Constantly growing up some sort of vegetable I hope I recognize and know how to take care of. But there are these weeds. And man oh man do they grow fast. So fast I can prune and then turn around and BAM, more weeds.
Let me tell you, it's not for sissies. Some people say, "Well, she's just a sweet ol mama. Let's underestimate her." No. Don't do it. We are not a force to be reckoned with. You'll regret it because once a woman becomes a mama, she's a beast. She's a powerhouse of needless knowledge like which diaper doesn't leak and where to buy the best ground beef at a good price. You see the details of her life. Monotonous. Repetitive. But in reality, it's constantly driving her further and further away from comfort of her old self and she becomes a beast. A beast that can thrive (not just survive) on little sleep, leftover Pb&j crusts, and coffee. Yes, coffee. Don't take away the coffee. Or she will attack. And her retaliations feel like the end of times movie "Left Behind". (I went there.) She loves those kids more than life itself. Beastly love. Strong love. Unbreakable love. Love that disciplines because we all know we don't want to raise brats. We are raising the next generation.
Can I tell you an easy way to parent? I've seen it a few times in my several years of parenting. Ignore your kids faults. Ignore your kids, actually. Hire babysitters galore, farm them off to people to watch and let them handle them. (Typing this breaks my heart. I may need to stop here. But I won't. Cause I'm a frickin beast.) Nope, I'm NOT talking about both parents working, needing childcare for their sweets, public school versus homeschool (seriously) or even date nights with your favorite. I'm talking about a heart posture of I had kids, they are so difficult, I will ignore their rudeness, talking back to me and dad and basically anyone in authority (not talking standing up for themselves...there's a line), beating up on kids physically or emotionally, fighting the pressures of eliteness (a blog to come), ignoring that they need a coach. They need you.
It's a huge responsibility. I am so glad we had them when I didn't feel this way. I am so glad having kids I was so naive. You know what, I am tapping onto my hippie Jesus freak and loving them. Yep, I'm just loving them. It's pretty basic, really. It's limitless if you're connected to the fountain of love, God. He gives and gives and gives and it doesn't run out and just when you think you might not have it in you he gives more. I fall back in his love, his strength his knowledge and wisdom and know I may not have it all right. But I love them. I love them crazy. I love them tough.
We have a ways to go with helping our gardens grow. But we're trying to do the hard work of pruning, pulling weeds, paying attention when they need fertilizing, support, placement towards the Son. Because before you know it, they will be fully grown, ready to take on the world. And I pray, Dear Jesus, use me so they may have their best foot forward.
Well, don't you know this man cutting grass for some company (probably hired by someone that actually cares about weeds) on one of those big ol tractors came scooting by, stops, turns off the flipping machine (he's seriously committed here, folks, cause y'all, that's fossil fuels) and says, "You know, weeds grow faster than grass. You are cutting your grass more because you have more weeds than grass." We stand there holding our yuppie bags just purchased from Trader Joe's and Whole Foods with the most confused look on our faces. All I wanted to do was bring my overpriced food into my house and feed my kids before I took them to the equally overpriced, but pleasant, kids hair cutting place. We get into the house and were like, "Really?"
I thought it was a good sale. I mean, who wants to cut the grass more often? Because we are used to people not liking our "style", hubs is thinking he's insulting the level of which he cuts his grass. Like he says, "Did he say I cut the grass too short?" I say, "No, honey. He says you cut it too often. Like if we had less weeds, you wouldn't have to cut it as often. If we pay him $30 to come and spray." Hubs thinks he'll figure it out himself. (I later find out he's already got a system in place for these weeds. For anyone interested...) He's good like that.
Well, then I was thinking. Parenting is hard work. I have these little gardens of life upstairs playing quietly. (Not fighting, that's why I mention their current activities. Nod to my earlier post on my blogging with children rules I have...in a few moments, um, precisely 3, they could be screaming. But, now, they are quiet. I am typing. This might be what heaven feels like??) They are gardens alright. Constantly growing up some sort of vegetable I hope I recognize and know how to take care of. But there are these weeds. And man oh man do they grow fast. So fast I can prune and then turn around and BAM, more weeds.
Let me tell you, it's not for sissies. Some people say, "Well, she's just a sweet ol mama. Let's underestimate her." No. Don't do it. We are not a force to be reckoned with. You'll regret it because once a woman becomes a mama, she's a beast. She's a powerhouse of needless knowledge like which diaper doesn't leak and where to buy the best ground beef at a good price. You see the details of her life. Monotonous. Repetitive. But in reality, it's constantly driving her further and further away from comfort of her old self and she becomes a beast. A beast that can thrive (not just survive) on little sleep, leftover Pb&j crusts, and coffee. Yes, coffee. Don't take away the coffee. Or she will attack. And her retaliations feel like the end of times movie "Left Behind". (I went there.) She loves those kids more than life itself. Beastly love. Strong love. Unbreakable love. Love that disciplines because we all know we don't want to raise brats. We are raising the next generation.
Can I tell you an easy way to parent? I've seen it a few times in my several years of parenting. Ignore your kids faults. Ignore your kids, actually. Hire babysitters galore, farm them off to people to watch and let them handle them. (Typing this breaks my heart. I may need to stop here. But I won't. Cause I'm a frickin beast.) Nope, I'm NOT talking about both parents working, needing childcare for their sweets, public school versus homeschool (seriously) or even date nights with your favorite. I'm talking about a heart posture of I had kids, they are so difficult, I will ignore their rudeness, talking back to me and dad and basically anyone in authority (not talking standing up for themselves...there's a line), beating up on kids physically or emotionally, fighting the pressures of eliteness (a blog to come), ignoring that they need a coach. They need you.
It's a huge responsibility. I am so glad we had them when I didn't feel this way. I am so glad having kids I was so naive. You know what, I am tapping onto my hippie Jesus freak and loving them. Yep, I'm just loving them. It's pretty basic, really. It's limitless if you're connected to the fountain of love, God. He gives and gives and gives and it doesn't run out and just when you think you might not have it in you he gives more. I fall back in his love, his strength his knowledge and wisdom and know I may not have it all right. But I love them. I love them crazy. I love them tough.
We have a ways to go with helping our gardens grow. But we're trying to do the hard work of pruning, pulling weeds, paying attention when they need fertilizing, support, placement towards the Son. Because before you know it, they will be fully grown, ready to take on the world. And I pray, Dear Jesus, use me so they may have their best foot forward.
Wednesday, May 15, 2013
Balloons are Falling
I am a dreamer. I love to dream. It's hopeful, it's uplifting, it's optimistic, it's seemingly flighty at times. I'm a believer and hoper for people. I might get let down a time or two because of this, but God uses it for his glory. I am made this way.
You see, I first realized this about me in middle school. I was in 7th grade and had a terribly terrific imagination. (Imagine that.) I had this dream that there was a disease going around school. It was a disease where weeds grew out from peoples faces (you read that right). Now, it might be from teenage pimples popping up on and around me. I don't know. I just know my best friend had one that flopped up and down on her face all funny like a puppy dog and I'm still giggling. I had one that spread out on my face in a wide like flowery fashion. My science teacher had one smack dab in the middle of her forehead. It was so silly. And so me.
I guess I bloomed in middle school. (haha) Because I went to a middle school youth camp that summer. Slept in a bunk beds with my bff's. Well, I woke up one night with an amazing dream. Now, I am not sure where this dream came from, but it was the most beautiful dream I have ever had. I dreamed Jesus coming down from heaven in the most beautiful white horse I had ever laid eyes on. I couldn't clearly see His face, but he came to me. Reached out his hand, and I stood in awe. He said "I love you and I am coming soon". The whole atmosphere centered on Him, and then He went back up into the clouds. His love and presence and lack of condemnation spread out like light as He came, and then went. I told the details to the girls and our counselor when I woke up and they just stared. The counselor cried. I was pointed to Revelation where this is written about. It was beautiful. Thinking of it still makes me chase after Him.
I think God works through dreams. I think His Spirit abides in us through the night, brings up Scripture and prays over us in our subconscious. I have had many a verse I repeat over and over to myself as I go to bed. He watches out for us even in the darkest of nights. We need not worry. Times I've had nightmares, I've used His Words to quiet them. In college, during high periods of anxiety, I would play verses on tape (yeah I typed tape, as in cassette player with AA batteries:). They played over and over to my subconscious. He is with me. He watches over me. Nothing is bigger. Do not fear.
I have dreams for myself. Well, at first they look like dreams. Maybe a thought in my head that keeps popping up. Then again, then again. Then God says, "Ok, my love, this one now." The the dreams come to life through plans, action, carrying through. My dreams are like balloons I blow up. They fall like thoughts, I bop them back up to the sky, they fall like thoughts, I bop them back up. For me, they usually pop from the timing being off. Or maybe I lose interest and they are bopped off into the atmosphere. Or maybe they keep coming down. And either frustrate or annoy or cause heartache or put me at a crossroad. But I haven't given up hope. They just aren't coming to reality.
Well, friends, I have been bopping this balloon back up and again, back up, and again, back up. Some times I slam that balloon up, as it hasn't come to fruition yet. To the point where I am like, "God, is this a dream, or is all this bopping back up just down right exhausting and time consuming and distracting me from some other balloon you want me to see?" I don't have the answer. Not yet. So I have decided to bob it with one hand sometimes. Or maybe my hands are full and it gets bopped by my head, or my foot. But the important thing is, I am not bopping it with both hands, like I once did. I suppose you could say I am bopping with open, not clinched, hands. With my eyes on the One who gives me hope.
This is not a fruitless time for me. I may not have the answers but I still am hopeful. But life's blessings do not stop when you have a dream that is not a reality. I've once heard the quote, "Don't waste your suffering." Suffering takes on many forms, one being an unfulfilled dream. I don't pity myself, as this time has brought me closer to God, and I would not trade anything offered me to be close to Jesus. He is real, alive, speaking, glorious. I suppose the important thing is I've learned to turn to Him. In my pain, excitement, exhaustion, joy, hope, jealousy, complacency. I still feel these things. I may always have a sting when the balloon falls. But Jesus is bigger than unfulfilled dreams. And His love covers me. His righteousness covers me and washes over me and releases me from guilt and condemnation and sweeps me up and carries me.
Pretty soon I may be at a place where this dream dies too. Where it is replaced with another one. Where other paths open and I step onto them, where different balloons fall. I'm not sure. But I'm trusting. And I'm watching and following. And I may trip every so often but I'm always picked back up, brushed off, and set back on course. Balloons still falling around me all the while.
Unfulfilled dreams and heartache are not wasted, or a failure, or a weakness, if they allow me to see more of Jesus. And maybe the purpose of this balloon is just that, to gently turn my head to gaze at His face, look longingly into His eyes, and see just how beautiful He really is. To fall more and more in love with God. I can't say it's easy, but Lord, I'll take it. If it's more of You, so be it.
You see, I first realized this about me in middle school. I was in 7th grade and had a terribly terrific imagination. (Imagine that.) I had this dream that there was a disease going around school. It was a disease where weeds grew out from peoples faces (you read that right). Now, it might be from teenage pimples popping up on and around me. I don't know. I just know my best friend had one that flopped up and down on her face all funny like a puppy dog and I'm still giggling. I had one that spread out on my face in a wide like flowery fashion. My science teacher had one smack dab in the middle of her forehead. It was so silly. And so me.
I guess I bloomed in middle school. (haha) Because I went to a middle school youth camp that summer. Slept in a bunk beds with my bff's. Well, I woke up one night with an amazing dream. Now, I am not sure where this dream came from, but it was the most beautiful dream I have ever had. I dreamed Jesus coming down from heaven in the most beautiful white horse I had ever laid eyes on. I couldn't clearly see His face, but he came to me. Reached out his hand, and I stood in awe. He said "I love you and I am coming soon". The whole atmosphere centered on Him, and then He went back up into the clouds. His love and presence and lack of condemnation spread out like light as He came, and then went. I told the details to the girls and our counselor when I woke up and they just stared. The counselor cried. I was pointed to Revelation where this is written about. It was beautiful. Thinking of it still makes me chase after Him.
I think God works through dreams. I think His Spirit abides in us through the night, brings up Scripture and prays over us in our subconscious. I have had many a verse I repeat over and over to myself as I go to bed. He watches out for us even in the darkest of nights. We need not worry. Times I've had nightmares, I've used His Words to quiet them. In college, during high periods of anxiety, I would play verses on tape (yeah I typed tape, as in cassette player with AA batteries:). They played over and over to my subconscious. He is with me. He watches over me. Nothing is bigger. Do not fear.
I have dreams for myself. Well, at first they look like dreams. Maybe a thought in my head that keeps popping up. Then again, then again. Then God says, "Ok, my love, this one now." The the dreams come to life through plans, action, carrying through. My dreams are like balloons I blow up. They fall like thoughts, I bop them back up to the sky, they fall like thoughts, I bop them back up. For me, they usually pop from the timing being off. Or maybe I lose interest and they are bopped off into the atmosphere. Or maybe they keep coming down. And either frustrate or annoy or cause heartache or put me at a crossroad. But I haven't given up hope. They just aren't coming to reality.
Well, friends, I have been bopping this balloon back up and again, back up, and again, back up. Some times I slam that balloon up, as it hasn't come to fruition yet. To the point where I am like, "God, is this a dream, or is all this bopping back up just down right exhausting and time consuming and distracting me from some other balloon you want me to see?" I don't have the answer. Not yet. So I have decided to bob it with one hand sometimes. Or maybe my hands are full and it gets bopped by my head, or my foot. But the important thing is, I am not bopping it with both hands, like I once did. I suppose you could say I am bopping with open, not clinched, hands. With my eyes on the One who gives me hope.
This is not a fruitless time for me. I may not have the answers but I still am hopeful. But life's blessings do not stop when you have a dream that is not a reality. I've once heard the quote, "Don't waste your suffering." Suffering takes on many forms, one being an unfulfilled dream. I don't pity myself, as this time has brought me closer to God, and I would not trade anything offered me to be close to Jesus. He is real, alive, speaking, glorious. I suppose the important thing is I've learned to turn to Him. In my pain, excitement, exhaustion, joy, hope, jealousy, complacency. I still feel these things. I may always have a sting when the balloon falls. But Jesus is bigger than unfulfilled dreams. And His love covers me. His righteousness covers me and washes over me and releases me from guilt and condemnation and sweeps me up and carries me.
Pretty soon I may be at a place where this dream dies too. Where it is replaced with another one. Where other paths open and I step onto them, where different balloons fall. I'm not sure. But I'm trusting. And I'm watching and following. And I may trip every so often but I'm always picked back up, brushed off, and set back on course. Balloons still falling around me all the while.
Unfulfilled dreams and heartache are not wasted, or a failure, or a weakness, if they allow me to see more of Jesus. And maybe the purpose of this balloon is just that, to gently turn my head to gaze at His face, look longingly into His eyes, and see just how beautiful He really is. To fall more and more in love with God. I can't say it's easy, but Lord, I'll take it. If it's more of You, so be it.
Tuesday, May 14, 2013
Running a Marathon
I feel the need to clarify a few things. Don't know why. But think I need to. First of all, my kids. They're the best kids on earth (I'm partial, sure, but really it's the truth) and they can do naughty like other kids. You will never hear the naughty. You will never hear me belittle them, or my husband or my family. I'm a strong, protective mama hen who has been entrusted with a family I will take someone down fighting for. I'm talking 5 shades of crazy Billy Blanks, Crossfit, and yes, Chi Running, take you down. (Is that all the sports adventures I've had?) So we're not perfect, but flash forward several years I don't want to explain how or why I wrote something in this blog. They're children. I'm a fierce protector. Etc etc.
I also want to explain the term "gifted". I am sharing some details about homeschool I don't want taken a strange way. Every child is gifted because they are given to us by the Great Giver. Now, maybe one kid can do math faster, more accurately, whatever. We must understand that, bravo, they've figured out how to excel in American schools. It's really a culture in itself, and after working with "at risk" kids for a few years, I believe you teach them how to navigate, give them some tools, offer some help that perhaps they might not get at home, and yes, employ strategies that effectively work and don't waste time. It's not that simple, I know. (And I won't begin to explain the pressure teachers are under. It's so real it hurts.) But it's a start. And it's better to reach some than none. Anyway, bottom line, every kid is gifted and they can't be any other way. It's in their genetic makeup.
I'm not against public school, or any other school for at matter. I love kids. I love teaching my girls. I know them so well I can tell you when they will poop again. Its one of my super powers. But let me tell you, I majorly underestimated where my oldest could go academically. We started the year with grammar, spelling, and writing curriculum we both were bored with. So I bought the next step up. I pressed in. She bucked up and kept the steady pace I set before her. We have surpassed grade levels in her reading. Plural. Levels. We've ran and finished a marathon together this year. It was not easy. I understand why people say they could never homeschool. Some days I thought maybe I really am crazy to be doing this. It's worth it to me. Worth every painful boring lesson. (I should add that my requirements for curriculum were super strict. It had to be a balanced literacy program no gobble gook waste of time crap. But balanced, and painfully short. Kind of like Crossfit. Short, painful and effective. Excellent curriculum that hurts but focus honey this is worth it were almost done!)
I do not tell you this to flaunt my teaching, her learning, our choice in curriculum, Homeschooling, or any of that. I tell you because I think it's common these days for parents to do a lot for their kids they are able and need to do themselves. I personally don't want my kids in my kitchen. I don't want them to make messes they clearly can't clean up and leave me stepping in jelly. It's faster for me to do it alone. And after a mom at dance class was floored my kids make their own lunches I wonder if my theory is true somewhat. Backing up, challenging our kids to step it up and gently press in. They won't listen if we are militant. But step alongside them. Be their metronome, and be willing to adjust it as needed. See their potential in the distant. Evaluate their strengths, weaknesses, and gear teaching of all aspects towards what they need. What will allow them to zoom. Knowing they have a safe place at home to fall, fail, get back up and try again. And yes, there to celebrate and encourage them clapping alongside as their proud coach. You did it! You are amazing! I knew you could and God has blessed you baby!
We have another marathon ahead of us next year. It's ok. I am led by my Guide and He's working through my children, too. We are caught up in His presence. He isn't done with any of us. I see it in my future. It's not college degrees for my girls, or homeschooling perfection, but it's heaven. It calls everyday. I hear it clearly when I'm seeking, listening, following the rhythm of the pace he's set before me. I'm not afraid to run fast. Sometimes the best gains are met with blisters and a pool of sweat beneath you. And hopefully a shower. Showered in Gods sweet precious grace. Held by Him.
I also want to explain the term "gifted". I am sharing some details about homeschool I don't want taken a strange way. Every child is gifted because they are given to us by the Great Giver. Now, maybe one kid can do math faster, more accurately, whatever. We must understand that, bravo, they've figured out how to excel in American schools. It's really a culture in itself, and after working with "at risk" kids for a few years, I believe you teach them how to navigate, give them some tools, offer some help that perhaps they might not get at home, and yes, employ strategies that effectively work and don't waste time. It's not that simple, I know. (And I won't begin to explain the pressure teachers are under. It's so real it hurts.) But it's a start. And it's better to reach some than none. Anyway, bottom line, every kid is gifted and they can't be any other way. It's in their genetic makeup.
I'm not against public school, or any other school for at matter. I love kids. I love teaching my girls. I know them so well I can tell you when they will poop again. Its one of my super powers. But let me tell you, I majorly underestimated where my oldest could go academically. We started the year with grammar, spelling, and writing curriculum we both were bored with. So I bought the next step up. I pressed in. She bucked up and kept the steady pace I set before her. We have surpassed grade levels in her reading. Plural. Levels. We've ran and finished a marathon together this year. It was not easy. I understand why people say they could never homeschool. Some days I thought maybe I really am crazy to be doing this. It's worth it to me. Worth every painful boring lesson. (I should add that my requirements for curriculum were super strict. It had to be a balanced literacy program no gobble gook waste of time crap. But balanced, and painfully short. Kind of like Crossfit. Short, painful and effective. Excellent curriculum that hurts but focus honey this is worth it were almost done!)
I do not tell you this to flaunt my teaching, her learning, our choice in curriculum, Homeschooling, or any of that. I tell you because I think it's common these days for parents to do a lot for their kids they are able and need to do themselves. I personally don't want my kids in my kitchen. I don't want them to make messes they clearly can't clean up and leave me stepping in jelly. It's faster for me to do it alone. And after a mom at dance class was floored my kids make their own lunches I wonder if my theory is true somewhat. Backing up, challenging our kids to step it up and gently press in. They won't listen if we are militant. But step alongside them. Be their metronome, and be willing to adjust it as needed. See their potential in the distant. Evaluate their strengths, weaknesses, and gear teaching of all aspects towards what they need. What will allow them to zoom. Knowing they have a safe place at home to fall, fail, get back up and try again. And yes, there to celebrate and encourage them clapping alongside as their proud coach. You did it! You are amazing! I knew you could and God has blessed you baby!
We have another marathon ahead of us next year. It's ok. I am led by my Guide and He's working through my children, too. We are caught up in His presence. He isn't done with any of us. I see it in my future. It's not college degrees for my girls, or homeschooling perfection, but it's heaven. It calls everyday. I hear it clearly when I'm seeking, listening, following the rhythm of the pace he's set before me. I'm not afraid to run fast. Sometimes the best gains are met with blisters and a pool of sweat beneath you. And hopefully a shower. Showered in Gods sweet precious grace. Held by Him.
Monday, May 13, 2013
Tea for Three
I not sure how this happened. Maybe it was because I was sick last week. Maybe because I was in mommy bliss yesterday with the Survivor finale on my mind last night. (Nope, not "relations". My preacher preached on "relations". On Mothers Day. I know the husbands were elated he did this. It was a good message, if you're into that sort of thing. All I could think about was the Survivor finale however.) Well, me and my love and the Survivor finale.
You see this morning I was going to introduce my little to mine and my hub's special breakfast date spot. She's never been there, and I thought it would be special to end our homeschool class work off campus. Well, I pulled up and uttered, "Dookies!" They're still in town and had infiltrated my special spot. (If you live here long enough, things become yours. I am working on this. I will add here I am from the old school Dirty D. Not the hip let's charge $20 for a hamburger off the back of a truck Dirty D. And yes, I have paid $20, or something like that, for a hamburger. And will again. Because this is my town. And I love it. Dang it. Carrying on...) Well, I wanted to roll down my window and yell outta my minivan, "Hello! graduation was yesterday, leave already and give me back my Dirty D." I didn't. I had the child with me. I behaved and we went to cruddy Panera. (Sorry if I offend.)
And then It struck me, oh my freak. It was graduation yesterday and I forgot to mourn and reminisce my college years! I usually spend a good portion of graduation weekend reliving college. Lots of stories include my husband, who was my hot boyfriend at the time. But lots of time with girlfriends, roommates, friends scattered all over the world in a slew of different fields. Friends I could sit here and think about and shed a tear. Laugh a lot. And need to confess a little...
I flipping forgot. Is this a sign? A sign I am truly grown up? Surely not. So what if I'm a day late reminiscing I'm going there. And I'm taking you with me.
It is true. My husband and I have watched every single season of Survivor. Since Richard Hatch and his nakedness. Yep. We are as old as Survivor. (I had lunch with a friend today. And you guessed it, she and her husband have watched every single episode too! This is rare. But I should have known she was that cool when she showed up and hadn't showered yet either. And rocked it. Just like me. This relationship just may go somewhere...)
Every single episode. Every single character. I have sung the opening song every single time. Now that is TV fidelity if you ask me. Unadulterated TV fidelity. But my hottie and I have lasted that long too. And we just get younger and more silly.
Equally silly are my girlfriends. We were quite the team. The five of us. Living in a house, drinking expensive dessert wine out of blue plastic stadium cups with Oreos. On a beach trip. Bought by my same friend with the sweater out of Shanghai in my piggie teat post. (Surprised? She was cool even back then:) You see each each trip had a cheer that yours truly and another equally silly cheerleader friend in another life would write, execute in all it's splendor, and throw our heads back laughing. The five of us solved world problems with those blue cups. Sitting around sharing stories of boys, God, family, friends, marriage, you name it. It got talked about.
Me and my girls. I have two of my own now. And maybe my focus away from school was correct being it was Mothers Day and all. But I felt guilty I had forgotten my school, my memories, my friends. So I decided tonight the best times shared with girls are sitting down, pants unbuttoned, drinks in hand, sharing, loving, caring, laughing. Tonight I decided that at 11am tomorrow I am having a tea party. With my girls. My hotness of a husband will be the butler. He's good like that. Because if someone had told me to enjoy those years they fly by fast I might have believed them. But having girls of my own, I know it's true. So teacups up, pinkies out, we're doing this thing. And laughing and loving and living. It's flying by too fast. And anchoring ourselves to memories is a great way to live without flying away.
You see this morning I was going to introduce my little to mine and my hub's special breakfast date spot. She's never been there, and I thought it would be special to end our homeschool class work off campus. Well, I pulled up and uttered, "Dookies!" They're still in town and had infiltrated my special spot. (If you live here long enough, things become yours. I am working on this. I will add here I am from the old school Dirty D. Not the hip let's charge $20 for a hamburger off the back of a truck Dirty D. And yes, I have paid $20, or something like that, for a hamburger. And will again. Because this is my town. And I love it. Dang it. Carrying on...) Well, I wanted to roll down my window and yell outta my minivan, "Hello! graduation was yesterday, leave already and give me back my Dirty D." I didn't. I had the child with me. I behaved and we went to cruddy Panera. (Sorry if I offend.)
And then It struck me, oh my freak. It was graduation yesterday and I forgot to mourn and reminisce my college years! I usually spend a good portion of graduation weekend reliving college. Lots of stories include my husband, who was my hot boyfriend at the time. But lots of time with girlfriends, roommates, friends scattered all over the world in a slew of different fields. Friends I could sit here and think about and shed a tear. Laugh a lot. And need to confess a little...
I flipping forgot. Is this a sign? A sign I am truly grown up? Surely not. So what if I'm a day late reminiscing I'm going there. And I'm taking you with me.
It is true. My husband and I have watched every single season of Survivor. Since Richard Hatch and his nakedness. Yep. We are as old as Survivor. (I had lunch with a friend today. And you guessed it, she and her husband have watched every single episode too! This is rare. But I should have known she was that cool when she showed up and hadn't showered yet either. And rocked it. Just like me. This relationship just may go somewhere...)
Every single episode. Every single character. I have sung the opening song every single time. Now that is TV fidelity if you ask me. Unadulterated TV fidelity. But my hottie and I have lasted that long too. And we just get younger and more silly.
Equally silly are my girlfriends. We were quite the team. The five of us. Living in a house, drinking expensive dessert wine out of blue plastic stadium cups with Oreos. On a beach trip. Bought by my same friend with the sweater out of Shanghai in my piggie teat post. (Surprised? She was cool even back then:) You see each each trip had a cheer that yours truly and another equally silly cheerleader friend in another life would write, execute in all it's splendor, and throw our heads back laughing. The five of us solved world problems with those blue cups. Sitting around sharing stories of boys, God, family, friends, marriage, you name it. It got talked about.
Me and my girls. I have two of my own now. And maybe my focus away from school was correct being it was Mothers Day and all. But I felt guilty I had forgotten my school, my memories, my friends. So I decided tonight the best times shared with girls are sitting down, pants unbuttoned, drinks in hand, sharing, loving, caring, laughing. Tonight I decided that at 11am tomorrow I am having a tea party. With my girls. My hotness of a husband will be the butler. He's good like that. Because if someone had told me to enjoy those years they fly by fast I might have believed them. But having girls of my own, I know it's true. So teacups up, pinkies out, we're doing this thing. And laughing and loving and living. It's flying by too fast. And anchoring ourselves to memories is a great way to live without flying away.
Saturday, May 11, 2013
I'm Running
My walk with God has sprints of epic growth, and slowed down goodness, growth. I'm real with Him. There was this time several years ago I met with a Christian counselor...and spilled the realness of my heart. The individual sat there surprised. Surprised that I had gotten that real. Surprised I had shared so much realness, first time meeting. True story. I was desperate to change. I was tired of struggling with stuff and needed to see Jesus. I removed the gobbly gook of pretentiousness and spilled Carla. (My prayer is that this blog is that real as you read. Let your hair down, unbutton your pants, and enter the world of realness...) I needed clarity. I needed Him. Running to Jesus asking this counselor to please run alongside me.
And then there are those times I don't care to run to God. It's much easier to wake up, live the day on my own. Ignore the quiet tugging on my heart to pray, refuse to start my day with Him, or refuse to be the spoken Word to my children. It's counter intuitive to wake up day after day jumping out of bed praising God. I've learned through the years it requires discipline, and then God rewards those times with more of Himself. So I *try* to push myself early in the day, and late at night, because I know the reward that awaits me is more of Him. As much as I know about God, I'll take it. He's that good.
I've always said I love to run, but I'm not that fast or good at it. When the girls were much littler, I would have these playlists of hard core rap that I would take mommy breaks and run to. I didn't even always buy the clean version. (Ooh.) I like the intensity, the beat, the way my insides shake when I hear it. You can't run to James Taylor and feel the burn. (Or maybe you can and you actually run faster than me and then maybe we need to talk.) Then one day I looked around my Suburbia neighborhood and realized I wasn't tracking with "poppin forties" and I just decided to switch things up. (I mean, I'm a product of the public school and have that Dirty D in me but...:)
Those few mornings a week, I loved to run, listen to my music and I pushed myself. It hurt. But it hurt so stinkin good. I found I really like to push myself. The process is painful, but it feels so good afterwards. I ate better, weight came off, which meant more freedom for me. Amazing what losing a few pounds will do. It makes you stronger. Which means a holistic change. It was a good model for my kids, who actually love running too. (They played soccer for a short stint. One morning I fed them bacon before a game and as they left I realized what I had done. I prayed, "dear Lord. May you protect them from a pack of dogs chasing them on the field. Because they smell delicious and what guilt I would feel...". )
Then I found Crossfit. That's a different beast of hurt. I found myself ripping my hands up from pull ups proud. Sitting down with my husband at night filing our callouses on our hands is down right romantic. I find myself craving a hard workout. Needing to throw some weight around. The running is hard, intense, just what I need. Running is usually mixed up with some Olympic lifts mixed up with stuff I never thought I'd do. Crazy reps. Different WOD every day. I love it.
My newest adventure is Chi Running. I have a dear friend that is a holistic health coach getting certified in Chi Running. Today she and I went to a day long workshop on relearning to run. Learning to run the way kids do. The way we used to run. Working with, not against, gravity to propel you forward. Moving your energy up and forward is the focus. Fixing your eyes on an object in the future, with an imaginary bungee cord tied to it. Running towards it, finding another object to bungee yourself to, running towards it. It takes time to unlearn my adult version of running. Learning to relax while I run is an entirely different way than I am used to running. No music, just a metronome to help me feel the cadence. My rhythm. As you practice this, things fall into line. I will have to practice this daily. I can already see that it will take time to put all the pieces together. But I watch my friend run who has been learning. She runs like a gazelle. True beauty in motion. (I don't have it all together just yet, but when I do, I might have to blog about it!)
The beauty of living with Christ isn't always having it together, but coming to the One who does have it together. It's a constant renewal of your mind, a transcendence with the Most High. Its fresh winds of grace, love, peace, hope available through the Holy Spirit. He uses our weaknesses and makes us strong. We are overtaken by his rhythm, cadence, and steps are made with less effort when we are in tune with his song. He has been telling me to stop trying so hard. To let his rhythm and strength take care of me. I need Chi Running to remind me of this. And I love the connection. I love that my Maker is so in tune with my life, with me, and so loving and willing to teach me so creatively.
Sometimes when I start to run, thinking, dreaming, planning, I hear a whisper. Carla, you were made for this. You were made to run. Running with my face towards the Son, with the shadows behind me.
And then there are those times I don't care to run to God. It's much easier to wake up, live the day on my own. Ignore the quiet tugging on my heart to pray, refuse to start my day with Him, or refuse to be the spoken Word to my children. It's counter intuitive to wake up day after day jumping out of bed praising God. I've learned through the years it requires discipline, and then God rewards those times with more of Himself. So I *try* to push myself early in the day, and late at night, because I know the reward that awaits me is more of Him. As much as I know about God, I'll take it. He's that good.
I've always said I love to run, but I'm not that fast or good at it. When the girls were much littler, I would have these playlists of hard core rap that I would take mommy breaks and run to. I didn't even always buy the clean version. (Ooh.) I like the intensity, the beat, the way my insides shake when I hear it. You can't run to James Taylor and feel the burn. (Or maybe you can and you actually run faster than me and then maybe we need to talk.) Then one day I looked around my Suburbia neighborhood and realized I wasn't tracking with "poppin forties" and I just decided to switch things up. (I mean, I'm a product of the public school and have that Dirty D in me but...:)
Those few mornings a week, I loved to run, listen to my music and I pushed myself. It hurt. But it hurt so stinkin good. I found I really like to push myself. The process is painful, but it feels so good afterwards. I ate better, weight came off, which meant more freedom for me. Amazing what losing a few pounds will do. It makes you stronger. Which means a holistic change. It was a good model for my kids, who actually love running too. (They played soccer for a short stint. One morning I fed them bacon before a game and as they left I realized what I had done. I prayed, "dear Lord. May you protect them from a pack of dogs chasing them on the field. Because they smell delicious and what guilt I would feel...". )
Then I found Crossfit. That's a different beast of hurt. I found myself ripping my hands up from pull ups proud. Sitting down with my husband at night filing our callouses on our hands is down right romantic. I find myself craving a hard workout. Needing to throw some weight around. The running is hard, intense, just what I need. Running is usually mixed up with some Olympic lifts mixed up with stuff I never thought I'd do. Crazy reps. Different WOD every day. I love it.
My newest adventure is Chi Running. I have a dear friend that is a holistic health coach getting certified in Chi Running. Today she and I went to a day long workshop on relearning to run. Learning to run the way kids do. The way we used to run. Working with, not against, gravity to propel you forward. Moving your energy up and forward is the focus. Fixing your eyes on an object in the future, with an imaginary bungee cord tied to it. Running towards it, finding another object to bungee yourself to, running towards it. It takes time to unlearn my adult version of running. Learning to relax while I run is an entirely different way than I am used to running. No music, just a metronome to help me feel the cadence. My rhythm. As you practice this, things fall into line. I will have to practice this daily. I can already see that it will take time to put all the pieces together. But I watch my friend run who has been learning. She runs like a gazelle. True beauty in motion. (I don't have it all together just yet, but when I do, I might have to blog about it!)
The beauty of living with Christ isn't always having it together, but coming to the One who does have it together. It's a constant renewal of your mind, a transcendence with the Most High. Its fresh winds of grace, love, peace, hope available through the Holy Spirit. He uses our weaknesses and makes us strong. We are overtaken by his rhythm, cadence, and steps are made with less effort when we are in tune with his song. He has been telling me to stop trying so hard. To let his rhythm and strength take care of me. I need Chi Running to remind me of this. And I love the connection. I love that my Maker is so in tune with my life, with me, and so loving and willing to teach me so creatively.
Sometimes when I start to run, thinking, dreaming, planning, I hear a whisper. Carla, you were made for this. You were made to run. Running with my face towards the Son, with the shadows behind me.
Monday, May 6, 2013
Gonna Wash that Stain Away
So I don't get it right all the time. (Shocker) And some times I have to apologize to my kids. Well, it happened on Saturday. My daughter insisted she wear an outfit that I believed clearly belonged to her sister. (Two girls, two years apart, two sets, everything blends, I get confused. Often.) Typically this would be fine. But I assumed (ooh I dislike that word it usually leads to disaster) that it was her sisters. Mommy was wrong. I should have guessed it. Yes, usually my kids are right and know what belongs to whom. (I have learned to listen and let them help me.) Well, this morning, it hit me. "I am so sorry that I was wrong. That outfit really was yours, and I should have listened more carefully." Her reply, "You know mommy, I will always forgive you." Boom. Straight to my heart. I took them to school and cried wee wee wee all the way home.
Sometimes I have to pinch myself. Lord, did you really give me children and a husband that are so loving and thoughtful? (and sometimes I ask, "Lord, did you really give me crazy kids that I have no idea what to do with?" not this blog...I tell you, not today) Does she mean this? I know we have the teenage years ahead of us (and if someone tells me about girls growing up to be teenagers and unruly and periods and enjoy these years now because..., I will punch you. This is ineffective to mamas and daddies and you will get hurt. And it's sexist.) OK then. Seriously. Why is she so darn forgiving?
Well, at that moment I took her and hugged her and told her that her attitude of forgiveness and grace has been evident since she was a toddler. I walked over to a stain in the carpet and pointed at it. I told her the story of when she was just learning to walk, I went to the bathroom. By myself. (This is a little known mama secret you don't do this. You bring them everywhere with you. Or else.) Well, I assumed (here we go again) she would stay put and watch Elmo. First time mama novice as heck mistake. Well, she didn't. She realized mama had gone to the bathroom without her coffee. And she knew she had a mama who loved, LOVED her coffee. (My coffee cup is my third child in the morning. It goes where I go. No one messes with it.) So, she toddled and brought it to me. (And it was warm, no burns, thank thee good Lord. And hasn't everyone wanted to drink their coffee in the loo?) And she did one heck of a job with few spills. Except that big one we can't seem to get out.
That one story showed me so much about her little character. And that stain serves a purpose. It's a great story. It's a grace story. And as I navigate through some muddy waters these days I am reminded that when you desire to do good, it gets messy. Really messy sometimes. And while she held onto that coffee cup spilling all the way over to me, she had a smile on her face, beaming, knowing she was helping mama.
I'm wondering if that's how God sees me sometimes. Toddling around, smiling at him, splashing all around and sometimes making a mess of myself. I think it is sort of like that. And I know he is smiling back at me, like I did to my baby girl, saying, "Good job, honey. Yeah! You knew what would please me! You are mighty strong to be carrying that big mug! Good job!" I think he does.
I think he loves us so much and he knows our heart. He sees everything. And even if we spill, he'll wipe it up. It's called grace. It frees you up to truly live. I stand before an audience of One. And he's clapping all right. And he's not throwing tomatoes either. Because he knows I don't like stains.
Sometimes I have to pinch myself. Lord, did you really give me children and a husband that are so loving and thoughtful? (and sometimes I ask, "Lord, did you really give me crazy kids that I have no idea what to do with?" not this blog...I tell you, not today) Does she mean this? I know we have the teenage years ahead of us (and if someone tells me about girls growing up to be teenagers and unruly and periods and enjoy these years now because..., I will punch you. This is ineffective to mamas and daddies and you will get hurt. And it's sexist.) OK then. Seriously. Why is she so darn forgiving?
Well, at that moment I took her and hugged her and told her that her attitude of forgiveness and grace has been evident since she was a toddler. I walked over to a stain in the carpet and pointed at it. I told her the story of when she was just learning to walk, I went to the bathroom. By myself. (This is a little known mama secret you don't do this. You bring them everywhere with you. Or else.) Well, I assumed (here we go again) she would stay put and watch Elmo. First time mama novice as heck mistake. Well, she didn't. She realized mama had gone to the bathroom without her coffee. And she knew she had a mama who loved, LOVED her coffee. (My coffee cup is my third child in the morning. It goes where I go. No one messes with it.) So, she toddled and brought it to me. (And it was warm, no burns, thank thee good Lord. And hasn't everyone wanted to drink their coffee in the loo?) And she did one heck of a job with few spills. Except that big one we can't seem to get out.
That one story showed me so much about her little character. And that stain serves a purpose. It's a great story. It's a grace story. And as I navigate through some muddy waters these days I am reminded that when you desire to do good, it gets messy. Really messy sometimes. And while she held onto that coffee cup spilling all the way over to me, she had a smile on her face, beaming, knowing she was helping mama.
I'm wondering if that's how God sees me sometimes. Toddling around, smiling at him, splashing all around and sometimes making a mess of myself. I think it is sort of like that. And I know he is smiling back at me, like I did to my baby girl, saying, "Good job, honey. Yeah! You knew what would please me! You are mighty strong to be carrying that big mug! Good job!" I think he does.
I think he loves us so much and he knows our heart. He sees everything. And even if we spill, he'll wipe it up. It's called grace. It frees you up to truly live. I stand before an audience of One. And he's clapping all right. And he's not throwing tomatoes either. Because he knows I don't like stains.
Sunday, May 5, 2013
Learning and Jen Hatmaker
Friday night I frantically smelled each pair of Target yoga pants, one at a time, to find the least smelly ones for Saturday morning. My husband watched on smiling. I stopped and asked him if he felt like he married a frat boy. (At times, of course) He just shook his head and smiled. He's in for life and sometimes there are no words. No words to describe his wife.
You see I went to a conference earlier that night where Jen Hatmaker spoke. (She does not actually make hats. At least to my knowledge.) It was in North Hills. Y'all, those North Hills girls aren't like us Durham girls. (Umm at least like this Durham girl.) They were super cute and fixed up and expensive looking. On the way home I had a middle school moment. I called hubs in the phone and said, "Honey. I know it's past 9, but I have that Chi running class in the morning, and I gotta go straight to the conference which means I gotta wear workout clothes cause I cant be missing Jen's talk by bringing a change of clothes and stuck changing when I need to hear something important from God and all my pants stink. Crossfit stink. And I can't get the smell out. You know?" He said, "Yeah". (He knows.) So with some further verbal processing I realized that I didn't need new pants. I needed a new frame of mind. I rocked last season's Target yogas (which did not smell- is this all in my head? Do not answer that) and told my hubs I do the best I can do with us and Dave Ramsey and our goals. (Dave, first name basis, is the third leg in our marriage. Other than Jesus. When we pay off debts, then we might kick him out. Until then, we carry on.) And if right now means we have a little bit in our clothing fund, so be it. I will rock it. Yes I will. And I do. And will continue to do til God says go shop, my love. Shop a lot. Spend it, girl. (Which may be never, at least to a crazy degree, which is fine. Christ is greater. Christ is greater. Christ is greater...)
Then I sat down with a thank you card. I told him I was writing my BFF, Jen, and thanking her for coming, speaking into my life, basically living loving Jesus. He reminded me I had only seen her talk and read a couple of books. Is she really my BFF? But then I let him know, not true, in fact I gave her a link to this blog. Because I know I haven't been blogging a while but in the blogging world you read your BFF's blogs and give each other virtual high fives and pray for each other. Yes you do. (Jen if you are actually reading this and thinking, "Carla, I think I have enough friends." Fact- you can never have too many friends. Thus saith me. Friend:)
After Chi running (A blog unto itself. Cool stuff relearning to run), meeting Jen (first name basis), releasing the babysitter from imprisonment, I'm home. Reflecting. Relearning. It's a period of relearning for me. Chi running is breaking my bad patterns, habits of running. Jesus is allowing me to relearn, too. (Does he ever stop?) Truly opening myself up to Jesus and people around me. Jen warns its like pulling a little string. The prayer of "God break my heart for what breaks yours" will happen even if you didn't mean it. God loves our humble, futile faith attempts, answers big time, and rocks our world.
A few years back we started going to The Summit. Our sweet precious church. Enter authentic worship and faith. Meanwhile there are months upon months of dealing with a thorn in my side struggle (will it ever end?). Also meanwhile we decided to make a break from normal track public school and chose to homeschool. Also meanwhile we are praying for Jesus to change us. Sick of fake faith. Are we living with eternal plans, not just retirement plans? I don't know...these are the questions we are asking...
And then, most recently, I got a bad haircut in December. Y'all, it was a mullet. Now, some friends are reading this thinking, oh Carla. It wasn't that bad. Ok then. Just know he cut my hair upside down and I could grab chunks at my ears on either side when I sat back up. Business in the front, party in the back. That is a mullet. He tried to make it cute like Carol Brady's original. Not cute. Too big a change for my high school hair. (Let's not hover if I should have let him do this, K? I was deep in conversation and trusting. And I know where he lives. It is Jesus alone holding me back from knocking...) It was so bad my mama went back into the salon and told him she would have paid him money to leave it alone. Yes she did. Then she felt so bad she had recommended him to me that she bought me a nice pair of shoes.
Anyway, I was sad. This was after not being able to fit into my cute pants from last winter (Maybe I got a little softer. Did I mention I added homeschooling to my to do list?) Well, I told myself I was not allowed to buy new pants all season long. I would wear the same jeans and black church leggings all winter. That I did. Wore holes in the back of them. They are paper thin. They are awesomely comfortable.
Dressing myself all winter long was easy peasy. One pair of pants. Hair up in a pony tail. Less washing. Less thinking. It was great. Enter Jen Hatmaker. I read her books. She voluntarily wore 7 items of clothing for a whole month. So I connected with the clothing chapter. I had like a forced experiment. Taking away my cute hair, wearing one pair of pants. Definitely not to her level though. But enough to change me. It's nice having choices, but not necessary.
Then I looked around me. I have so much. Now, like mentioned earlier, we have a budget, we stick to it, and we're a tough team. We don't overspend a ton. But we can always make some changes. About that time I got brave and started this blog. (And people actually read my words? And apparently I have lots of readers in Germany and Russia. Wish I could meet you personally:) My husband is the co-author of our budget and I'm a big dreamer. He's all for saving money, streamlining, putting it in better places. It makes him go wild. I love it:)
Despite a budget, I am surrounded by things that don't bless me. I am surrounded by ways I can help others. It's a learning process and I'm a student. I am caught up in him writing my story into his song. Removing obstacles to see more of him. I am writing for the glory of God. And it's exciting.
You see I went to a conference earlier that night where Jen Hatmaker spoke. (She does not actually make hats. At least to my knowledge.) It was in North Hills. Y'all, those North Hills girls aren't like us Durham girls. (Umm at least like this Durham girl.) They were super cute and fixed up and expensive looking. On the way home I had a middle school moment. I called hubs in the phone and said, "Honey. I know it's past 9, but I have that Chi running class in the morning, and I gotta go straight to the conference which means I gotta wear workout clothes cause I cant be missing Jen's talk by bringing a change of clothes and stuck changing when I need to hear something important from God and all my pants stink. Crossfit stink. And I can't get the smell out. You know?" He said, "Yeah". (He knows.) So with some further verbal processing I realized that I didn't need new pants. I needed a new frame of mind. I rocked last season's Target yogas (which did not smell- is this all in my head? Do not answer that) and told my hubs I do the best I can do with us and Dave Ramsey and our goals. (Dave, first name basis, is the third leg in our marriage. Other than Jesus. When we pay off debts, then we might kick him out. Until then, we carry on.) And if right now means we have a little bit in our clothing fund, so be it. I will rock it. Yes I will. And I do. And will continue to do til God says go shop, my love. Shop a lot. Spend it, girl. (Which may be never, at least to a crazy degree, which is fine. Christ is greater. Christ is greater. Christ is greater...)
Then I sat down with a thank you card. I told him I was writing my BFF, Jen, and thanking her for coming, speaking into my life, basically living loving Jesus. He reminded me I had only seen her talk and read a couple of books. Is she really my BFF? But then I let him know, not true, in fact I gave her a link to this blog. Because I know I haven't been blogging a while but in the blogging world you read your BFF's blogs and give each other virtual high fives and pray for each other. Yes you do. (Jen if you are actually reading this and thinking, "Carla, I think I have enough friends." Fact- you can never have too many friends. Thus saith me. Friend:)
After Chi running (A blog unto itself. Cool stuff relearning to run), meeting Jen (first name basis), releasing the babysitter from imprisonment, I'm home. Reflecting. Relearning. It's a period of relearning for me. Chi running is breaking my bad patterns, habits of running. Jesus is allowing me to relearn, too. (Does he ever stop?) Truly opening myself up to Jesus and people around me. Jen warns its like pulling a little string. The prayer of "God break my heart for what breaks yours" will happen even if you didn't mean it. God loves our humble, futile faith attempts, answers big time, and rocks our world.
A few years back we started going to The Summit. Our sweet precious church. Enter authentic worship and faith. Meanwhile there are months upon months of dealing with a thorn in my side struggle (will it ever end?). Also meanwhile we decided to make a break from normal track public school and chose to homeschool. Also meanwhile we are praying for Jesus to change us. Sick of fake faith. Are we living with eternal plans, not just retirement plans? I don't know...these are the questions we are asking...
And then, most recently, I got a bad haircut in December. Y'all, it was a mullet. Now, some friends are reading this thinking, oh Carla. It wasn't that bad. Ok then. Just know he cut my hair upside down and I could grab chunks at my ears on either side when I sat back up. Business in the front, party in the back. That is a mullet. He tried to make it cute like Carol Brady's original. Not cute. Too big a change for my high school hair. (Let's not hover if I should have let him do this, K? I was deep in conversation and trusting. And I know where he lives. It is Jesus alone holding me back from knocking...) It was so bad my mama went back into the salon and told him she would have paid him money to leave it alone. Yes she did. Then she felt so bad she had recommended him to me that she bought me a nice pair of shoes.
Anyway, I was sad. This was after not being able to fit into my cute pants from last winter (Maybe I got a little softer. Did I mention I added homeschooling to my to do list?) Well, I told myself I was not allowed to buy new pants all season long. I would wear the same jeans and black church leggings all winter. That I did. Wore holes in the back of them. They are paper thin. They are awesomely comfortable.
Dressing myself all winter long was easy peasy. One pair of pants. Hair up in a pony tail. Less washing. Less thinking. It was great. Enter Jen Hatmaker. I read her books. She voluntarily wore 7 items of clothing for a whole month. So I connected with the clothing chapter. I had like a forced experiment. Taking away my cute hair, wearing one pair of pants. Definitely not to her level though. But enough to change me. It's nice having choices, but not necessary.
Then I looked around me. I have so much. Now, like mentioned earlier, we have a budget, we stick to it, and we're a tough team. We don't overspend a ton. But we can always make some changes. About that time I got brave and started this blog. (And people actually read my words? And apparently I have lots of readers in Germany and Russia. Wish I could meet you personally:) My husband is the co-author of our budget and I'm a big dreamer. He's all for saving money, streamlining, putting it in better places. It makes him go wild. I love it:)
Despite a budget, I am surrounded by things that don't bless me. I am surrounded by ways I can help others. It's a learning process and I'm a student. I am caught up in him writing my story into his song. Removing obstacles to see more of him. I am writing for the glory of God. And it's exciting.
Friday, May 3, 2013
Space for Grace
Do you ever feel like an irresponsible teenager? Like, "Oh yeah, I remember I should have done____." I don't get embarrassed anymore when it happens. I chalk it up to youth. Like, yeah, I may be irresponsible but it makes me feel like a teenager. So me and my bff's gonna go to the mall. LYLAS y'all. Hoping not to forget our kids. Or their snacks. Or diapers. Or underwear...
That really happened the other day. I was driving along going to the museum, happy, all us girls singing. Then my littlest says, "I don't want to go to the museum." I'm thinking, oh no, she's sick. Then she says, "I don't want people to see my bottom." Great. I forgot underwear. She's wearing a dress, mind you. We pull over to Target and I buy some, after my oldest tells me it's a waste of money decision as we have lots of underwear at home. I'm thinking, sure we do. But now ALL these pairs are going in my mom purse for another time. So there. Responsible decision. Boom. Roasted.
I actually won one of those purse games with my randomness of my purse contents. Yep. I had matchbox cars, hand sanitizer, candy, pens, pencils (at least 4 of each), lipstick, and you guessed it, panties belonging to my child. Not sure what those church ladies thought of it but heck yes I won with panties.
It reminds me of regret, right? Man, if I had only been more responsible, known what to do, not made that decision, etc. Reminds me of a back and forth email with my brother in law. He's an optometrist. Always has eye care at his beckoning call. I always (can I retype that?) ALWAYS call him last minute needing contacts. So here we go. Several mornings ago....
Me: Hey, Hope y'all are great! Can I order contacts? I remember faces of those sweet ladies but forget who to call:) Thanks!
(I am hiding my frantic oh crap I did it again. You will see several nervous "thanks" written all through this embarrassing interchange.)
Him: acuvue trueyes are designed for more dry eyes. most my patients wear the moist. if the moist are still uncomfortable then i use the trueyes.
Me: Maybe true eyes would be better. I couldn't get the acuvue moist off my eyes the other night. Like I had to pry them off. Real uncomfortable. So lets go with the more expensive ones. I like to be high maintenance anyway.
Him: you will never regret going with more comfortable contacts. I will bring you some next weekend.
(Then comes the confession part...)
That really happened the other day. I was driving along going to the museum, happy, all us girls singing. Then my littlest says, "I don't want to go to the museum." I'm thinking, oh no, she's sick. Then she says, "I don't want people to see my bottom." Great. I forgot underwear. She's wearing a dress, mind you. We pull over to Target and I buy some, after my oldest tells me it's a waste of money decision as we have lots of underwear at home. I'm thinking, sure we do. But now ALL these pairs are going in my mom purse for another time. So there. Responsible decision. Boom. Roasted.
I actually won one of those purse games with my randomness of my purse contents. Yep. I had matchbox cars, hand sanitizer, candy, pens, pencils (at least 4 of each), lipstick, and you guessed it, panties belonging to my child. Not sure what those church ladies thought of it but heck yes I won with panties.
It reminds me of regret, right? Man, if I had only been more responsible, known what to do, not made that decision, etc. Reminds me of a back and forth email with my brother in law. He's an optometrist. Always has eye care at his beckoning call. I always (can I retype that?) ALWAYS call him last minute needing contacts. So here we go. Several mornings ago....
Me: Hey, Hope y'all are great! Can I order contacts? I remember faces of those sweet ladies but forget who to call:) Thanks!
(I am hiding my frantic oh crap I did it again. You will see several nervous "thanks" written all through this embarrassing interchange.)
Him: sure can. just email me your current prescription.
Me: Yeah! Thanks! It's the same prescription in both eyes which I told the dr means I am definitely not getting old. Yeah! Good news, right? Thanks!
Him: awesome, no change. which dailies did they use, there are several brands and I think i gave you acuvue moist, but i can not remember?
(Interject here that there is a moist conspiracy going on against me. Now I'm wondering if people actually love this word? Like lets use it in a moist marketing campaign, on everything from cakes to contacts to one of my daughters spelling words today? Grr. Since my last blog post I have seen it waaaay too much. Carrying on...)
Me: Yes, the acuvue (swallow hard you can type it) moist is what I sampled. Thanks!
Me: Yeah! Thanks! It's the same prescription in both eyes which I told the dr means I am definitely not getting old. Yeah! Good news, right? Thanks!
Him: awesome, no change. which dailies did they use, there are several brands and I think i gave you acuvue moist, but i can not remember?
(Interject here that there is a moist conspiracy going on against me. Now I'm wondering if people actually love this word? Like lets use it in a moist marketing campaign, on everything from cakes to contacts to one of my daughters spelling words today? Grr. Since my last blog post I have seen it waaaay too much. Carrying on...)
Me: Yes, the acuvue (swallow hard you can type it) moist is what I sampled. Thanks!
Him: acuvue trueyes are designed for more dry eyes. most my patients wear the moist. if the moist are still uncomfortable then i use the trueyes.
Me: Maybe true eyes would be better. I couldn't get the acuvue moist off my eyes the other night. Like I had to pry them off. Real uncomfortable. So lets go with the more expensive ones. I like to be high maintenance anyway.
Him: you will never regret going with more comfortable contacts. I will bring you some next weekend.
(Then comes the confession part...)
Me: I think I have one more day. I can reuse them though. Or you can pretend I didn't just type that. Surely that's not good eye care. But, I can wait for sure. Thanks!
I finished hitting send on the last one and told my husband, "Good news. Your brother says I won't regret my expensive contact decision. Because I have lots of regrets in life, and I would hate for one to be on contacts. For real."
I will probably not change. If you live on the fly and try to be spontaneous, your kids will probably go without underwear at one point in time. If you are always giving, attending to, monitoring your kids development, you probably will forget to order contacts or wear the wrong pair of shoes, or forget 10 things off your grocery list. If you love those around you, and they love you, then who the heck cares. Let the women unite and give each other some space for grace.
I finished hitting send on the last one and told my husband, "Good news. Your brother says I won't regret my expensive contact decision. Because I have lots of regrets in life, and I would hate for one to be on contacts. For real."
I will probably not change. If you live on the fly and try to be spontaneous, your kids will probably go without underwear at one point in time. If you are always giving, attending to, monitoring your kids development, you probably will forget to order contacts or wear the wrong pair of shoes, or forget 10 things off your grocery list. If you love those around you, and they love you, then who the heck cares. Let the women unite and give each other some space for grace.
Wednesday, May 1, 2013
Dear Renters across the Street...
What started as a simple facebook status update turned into a running joke with my husband and I. The renters are perfectly nice and normal. These are imaginary words to them about our strange workout habits. This might not be the end of this series. We're full of ourselves when it comes to Crossfit.
PS: This could be equally ridiculous to most folks like gallon smashing, but thought I'd share.
Dear renters across the street,
I apologize for you having to accidentally seeing me lose myself in the gym during "lose yourself". The beat overtook me, my head started bobbing, dancing ensued. Come on over to join in the ridiculousness. And hard work. And lose yourself.
Dear Renters across the street,
I am sorry I alarmed you this morning with the horrible sounds of birthing pains and ongoing labor from our garage. At best it sounded like a heavy makeout session with my husband. But yeah! I PRed. A feat I thought was impossible and would never had wished apon a star a few years ago. Seriously sorry. And we love Jesus and homeschool.
Dear Renters across the street,
About me taking my shirt off mid WOD baring my sports bra mama times two belly. I dropped it like it was hot. Perhaps the last thing you wanted to see before going to work. But when you own the gym, you make the rules. PS: I perform my own stunts.
Dear Renters across the street,
What you thought you saw was me almost barfing. What you really saw was me leaning over to recharge my super powers. Do not be deceived. Magic happens.
Dear Renters across the street,
We decided we're getting a big tractor tire. Your driveway is flatter. We know the owners.
PS: This could be equally ridiculous to most folks like gallon smashing, but thought I'd share.
Dear renters across the street,
I apologize for you having to accidentally seeing me lose myself in the gym during "lose yourself". The beat overtook me, my head started bobbing, dancing ensued. Come on over to join in the ridiculousness. And hard work. And lose yourself.
Dear Renters across the street,
I am sorry I alarmed you this morning with the horrible sounds of birthing pains and ongoing labor from our garage. At best it sounded like a heavy makeout session with my husband. But yeah! I PRed. A feat I thought was impossible and would never had wished apon a star a few years ago. Seriously sorry. And we love Jesus and homeschool.
Dear Renters across the street,
About me taking my shirt off mid WOD baring my sports bra mama times two belly. I dropped it like it was hot. Perhaps the last thing you wanted to see before going to work. But when you own the gym, you make the rules. PS: I perform my own stunts.
Dear Renters across the street,
What you thought you saw was me almost barfing. What you really saw was me leaning over to recharge my super powers. Do not be deceived. Magic happens.
Dear Renters across the street,
We decided we're getting a big tractor tire. Your driveway is flatter. We know the owners.
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