Needed

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Off the Beaten Path

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A Scripted Life

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Good Little Girls

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Throwing my Weight Around

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

My Mama's Feet

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I pray my time is spent on the Eternal.  

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

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

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

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

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

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

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