Gold Rush

My oldest recently had a really fun event she participated in and by default checked something off my "really cool" list.  She met an Olympic gold medalist and received kids triathlon instruction from her.  I am proud to say I kept my cool when I shook her hand and my daughter has a new hero.  I coveted her ripped body and then I went home to a bowl of Cheetos. (Hey, gotta start somewhere.)

I probably should add that we didn't just drop her off and run. Well, it was at our gym so we hung around, lifted, I did a Zumba class, etc. We also ran to the window every chance we could get to see her. I watched her ask for sunscreen because the sun was getting hot.  I watched her struggle with her bike, get help from her new hero, get a high five, smile, and carry on. I watched her do things I would have never in my wildest imagined God had planned for her, clad head to toe in pink, my little girl.

So she got home and I needed to know details. I wanted to hear about her experience. I wanted to know what she saw, how she felt, what she learned. I needed her words.

I saw a lot of her morning there. I was wondering about her experience with this new hero. Among these big kids with the fancy bikes and helmets that alone cost as much as our yearly beach trip.  Her bike had streamers and was most definitely not Olympic. It was heavier than the other kids.  It was awkward and it scraped her and she had to work harder. Did she notice? More importantly, did she care?

And I giggle at my questions.  I want in on her life. I tell God these girls are just about the best thing he could have ever given me and my sweet husband. I tell my husband that I will always be the mom at the window until the day I die. I will always wonder what's going on.  Can I help make it better or coach them to better pastures, and do I need to let go?  (Then I pray, Dear Lord, give me the wisdom to let go when I need to, but, thankfully my girls are quite clear themselves in this matter:)

God told me today that's how he feels. He wants my words. He wants me to tell him everything. He wants my heart, my life because he is the greener pasture.

He's not letting go either. People are his finest work. His best creation.
I am the apple of his eye. My loving my girls and hanging on their every word hearing their hearts is a very small, tiny image of a very big God with my whole every being taken care of.  My whole being is wrapped in his love and his grace and he is not letting go regardless of anything.  

Just this week I have had words of praise for him come from my lips.  I've giggled in his joy and I've tasted a salty tear or two and just told him all about it.  How I know he is sovereign and wonderful but, the pain.  Like my little girls heavy Target bike with the streamers and the scrapes around the ones that are more qualified with the bikes.  The nice bikes that make them something.  Things sometimes seem harder than they need to be, Lord.  

When my dear one struggled on that field, doing these bike drills Olympians perform to win, and couldn't keep up, our hero came alongside her.  She helped guide her.  She high-fived her and set her up for success.  Taking one step at a time following her words.  Keep steady.  Lean when you need to but don't go off course.  Stay steady. 

She autographed a book for my baby girl.  "Keep smiling all the way to your dreams."  She wrote that because my girl smiled all day, in the good and the struggles, she said.  I know my girl and believe it was because this special hero knew how to encourage.  How to walk alongside and help.  Give high fives.  Challenged her to get better and train her body to perform.  

Do I feel wanted.  Desired.  Needed.  Loved?  Very much so.  By a God that always sees, wants to hear, and never stops loving and guiding me to greener pastures.  To himself.  

Oh My Word So Many Eggs

So I woke up groggy this morning as my sweet husband gave me something to help my allergies. I seriously would open my eyes and then they closed again. Halving the pill. I will halve the pill tonight. I told him there are better ways to shut me up.  Like just fill my mouth with chocolate cake.  It's his professional duty to keep my body drugged like a well run machine.  Grace.  I'll give him grace just this once since he's so cute.

So I stumbled out and the girls were already ready, eagerly watching out the window.

So things happen so quickly when you have kids. I had forgotten we had egged our neighbors last night.  (yes, already forgotten)

You see yesterday after church we took our annual trip to the dollar store and Food Lion, bought 9 dozen eggs, filled them and hid them in the 9 houses with kids on our street. What resulted was a very early huge egg hunt.  (And I pause here to say that the implant people who moved to "cool" Durham should know downtown isn't the "real" Durham.  You need to visit other parts of Durham to see real Durham.  Like the Food Lion where I saw two men singing gospel, three people drunk, and several ladies in high heels coming in for things for their big Sunday lunch.  Durham hasn't always been whatever you want to call downtown and exists outside of the fancy places, just FYI.  Carrying on...)

Because my kids are young and they really only need to remember princess names and what I forget in my day to day business, clearly they had remembered where they hidden each single solitary egg.  (I should pause here and say please put a "surprise egg hunt for an entire street of children" on your bucket list.  Oh my word the fun!)

I must say they did a good job! The house with the middle schooler was the most impressive. My five year old had taken an orange egg and hid it in an orange tulip.

My little one waited by that window watching, smiling, wondering. Would they find that orange egg?

I feel bad. Those kids must have been out there for at least 30 minutes. In their jammies looking for that 12th egg. My girl stayed by that window giving me the play by play while I ingested my coffee (I needed a direct IV line this morning), leaving my third child named Latte close by my side.

The sheer delight when they found the egg! She was pleased. I hope they feel the lesson we wanted to teach. It really is better to give than receive.  It's a hard one to teach, an easy one to learn.  I suppose we try to set them up in positions to give.  Submit to one another.  Honor one another above yourselves.  I prayed this Easter, Lord, please teach me to teach them how to give.

So another egg hunt happened tonight for my girls.  (Number 5 but who's counting at this point…) This one was an underwater egg hunt.  We knew there would be prizes.  We knew the little one would get eggs on the ramp in the shallow end. We knew the big one would blaze past kiddos and load 'er up.  Yeah, I did my coaching.

"Sweetie, your grocery store bag is useless until you need it at the end.  Honey, to get the most eggs, baby, just stuff them in your suit."

"Really mom?"  says my daughter incredulously.

"Yes baby.  Just go down to the bottom of the pool like you love to do and start a stuffing.  Women do it all the time.  Just stuff stuff stuff.  Ok?"

The prize?  It was one of those HUGE plastic wrapped gift baskets.  She had her eye on them from the beginning.  She had a plan and she knew she was a strong swimmer.  The competition was stiff.  Those kids didn't mess around.  But in the end up came my big girl, suit full of eggs.  She glanced shyly over my direction and started putting them in the bag.  Happy to have had a good plan, but curious why her mama is so freakin crazy sometimes.  (I'm sorry- let's just use the word creative.)

So she knew she had a lot of eggs.  But she glanced over at a sweet girl who had no eggs. She tried her best and was upset.  So my girl quickly gave her a portion of her eggs.

The winners were announced.  My girl would have won.  If she had looked away instead of in the eyes of that sad, sweet girl.  If she just didn't care.  If she was just seeking out for herself.

She looked at me confused and said, "Mom, I would have won."  The other mom ran after me and made sure she told me, "Are you her mother?  She gave her eggs to my daughter who had none.  You should be so proud of her.  She gave up winning."

I told my confused baby, "You could have won.  Sure.  You could have looked over her.  Blazed your way to the winners table to get that prize.  That would have made you look successful.  Sure.  You'd have a prize. But this is the thing.  You are successful when you listen to your heart, that gentle voice that is loving.  Kind.  Looks after those around you.  Honors others.  You were successful today.  You didn't get that prize.  But you learned a more important lesson firsthand- the pain of sacrifice and the joy of giving.  You did it sweet girl.  Just remember with God winning doesn't look like the world's view of winning.  You are winning with each act of obedience.  Each step towards love."

So it is at Easter, on Good Friday, demonstrated in a children's egg hunt, shown to the world in a small act of kindness but true sacrifice to a seven year old.  Success looks like winning, but true success looks like dying.  Hung on a cross for the sins of the world.  A God that lovingly watches over us.  Is with us.  Speaks to us.  Gave us his Spirit to know him more.  Gave us Words to direct, guide, and direct line of communication to through Jesus.

He is the Treasure that I seek.  

Five Easter egg hunts and yet one egg is still lost in our front yard with chocolate candy in it.  If it's found come winter when we are putting out the Christmas lights, I will remember sacrifice and the anticipation of blessing.
Hope deferred and love sent.
The pain of sacrifice and delight of things found.  

When Fearless Doesn't Look Like What You Think

Today I ventured to the homeschool store.  It's always a treat to be in curriculum heaven and just get things done.  This day I took my children.  (I somehow ended up with 10 assorted fruit erasers and forgot the thing I traveled to get which fits perfectly into where I am right now so moving right along...)  

In between my "don't run in the store!" and "go to the toy room," catching myself from transforming my voice over to "run, she looks like she's gonna blow!" I overheard a fairly pregnant woman (how pregnant- fairly) talking.  She was considering pulling her child out of school and wasn't sure how she got to the store, or to this point, but there she was. She looked a little bit lost. 

Now, being that I am Carla, and I usually wear my heart and words on my sleeve, I just felt so much.  I felt so very much and remember freshly what she feels like.  So, clearly, I needed to join because my feeling was gushing outside of my body.  (Now, I need to say something to the introvert readers.  I will never understand you.  I may love you and squeeze you so hard you cry, but I will never understand you.  I don't understand your ability to hold your tongue.  I don't understand why you don't like attention- especially when attention is called-for, and I don't understand your lack of showing emotion.  I will continue to love and squeeze the ones who remain by my side and put up with me, but I WILL NEVER UNDERSTAND YOU.  I will continue to make you open up though because the world needs to hear you.  At this point say a little prayer for my dear husband who gets to live with me.  Ok then, carrying on...)

Her sweet second grade son was being bullied.  He was making himself throw up to keep from going to school.  (If adults did to other adults what other kids were doing to him?  Yeah, that's called assault and, well, you get arrested.  The school did "the best they could" or so they said...)  So I didn't say this to her, but I saw it in her eyes.  I have felt that uncertainty.  I have felt that nudge to break from the norm despite being glued to generations of "the way it is done".  My situation was different, but I remember reaching that decision.  (She didn't even own a denim jumper either.  I checked…)

For whatever reason, we end up in this place of breaking.  Most of it is breaking on the inside, but it hurts nonetheless.  

I looked at her blank in the eyes and told her she was his one and only mother.  She can change her mind about his education method.  (Read, she can change her mind.)  She was not going to ruin him or desocialize him or break him.  She can change her mind back the next year.  But maybe he needed some coaching?  Some tools? A new surrounding? Maybe she needed to claim her status as Mama Hen and do the the thinkable to most- withdraw her child.  I didn't lead her either way, she needed empowering.  I just said,

"You can be fearless."

I saw her taste my words. I saw her lean in and her eyes got teary and she was feeling them. She was getting a taste of freedom. Freedom from her heart breaking daily for her son.  Freedom from what the grandparents had to say or the lady in line at the grocery store asking, "Why aren't your children in school?" or the person down the street checking off to make sure you have your curriculum covered (Music?  Check- as if you needed their approval.) Or the person that says "Wow, I mean your kids are really well-adjusted to be home schooled."  (It doesn't matter if they haven't said it yet, they will.  It happens to most of us.)  She knew no one would agree (and she didn't even make her own laundry soap...)

If you are doing the right thing, you will feel resistance.    

If you are in these difficult situations, breaking from the norm, with naysayers surrounding your court, it looks daunting.  It seems overwhelming.  You feel the burden of the way things should be.  You know the task at hand is an important one.

You also know you need to go forward. You sense the break, the fire starting to blaze a new trail with a new frame of mind with a new Center. You can sense the freedom on the other side. You know it is possible.

As it is with Jesus.  The more I let go, seek Him, and know His Person, I feel the fear leaving and the peace freedom taking over.  

Most people's day to day doesn't reflect their fearlessness.  Your fearless might be silent.  It might be loud and obvious.  The hurtful cracks in your heart always let the light shine in and lead to a place of joy.  

Fearless is not a destination, but a reframing of the mind.  God's work.  Kingdom work.  A constant state of prayer before God.  

Lord, make me fearless.  

Namaste, Jesus

I conquered a fear recently that is blog-worthy.  I completed my first yoga class without doing any of three things I felt sure I would do:  

1.  Pinch someones bottom.  Wildly inappropriate, I know.  (It's just this thing.  There is a bottom straight in the air, asking to be pinched.  Go ahead and judge.  But don't bend over around me.)  

2.  Tickle a foot in my vicinity. (In a yoga class, especially a crowded one, feet just go this way and that.  Tempting me to do very childish things.  Sorry.  I'm just an honest person.)

3.  Pass gas.  

The girls were equally excited for me so we got mommy some sushi.  (My thyroid condition makes me crave seaweed.  Maybe I really am a mermaid?  This would delight my girls for sure.)

I love my gym I have been going to.  Surrounded my older people.  Retired and grouchy, some of them.  Retired and patient, sweet smiling, warm-loving, some of them.  Me aspiring to be like them, all of them.  Their mobility.  Their stamina.  Their moving through.  

I confessed my fears publicly to the ones warming up before the yoga class yesterday.  They were kind enough to tell me I had placed my mat front and center, not back and center, like I had hoped.  For this they are part of my heart.  (I do not wish to be the instructor of a class I fear I will expel gas in.)  They told me that I was welcomed, not to worry, and they would guide me along even if the unthinkable happened.  

So look around I did.  All the moves.  All the poses.  All the strengthening and the holding and the legs shaking.  It wasn't easy.  

Namaste, Jesus.  I'm here.  I'm quiet before You.  Speak into my life.  

I had several prayers and talkings to during that 45 minute class, moves I couldn't master, words not spoken but prayed.  Lord my legs are criss cross, my hands are open.  I'm listening.    

Lord, make me broken.  Make me feel like I am not complete, not all-together, not perfect.  Make me delight in my insecurities and my inabilities and boast in Your saving grace in my life. In loving my neighbors help me realize my neighbors are those around me, broken and with needs, too.  

Lord, make me empty.  Allow me to empty myself before you.  Each breath I release may Your Spirit fill me up.  Where do I need to be emptied of myself?  Do Your kingdom work in me.  

Lord, make me lonely.  Create in me this puzzle piece that only You can fill.  You are my treasure and my delight and as I sit and pose in this class may I always keep You front and center.   May I know when I am not seeking You because it hurts.  Draw me into You.  

Lord, make my paths well-worn to You.  Make me grow through the years seeking You.  Aged in years like the precious souls around me, following You, walking with you, going deep with You in my old years.  May I be able to say when my time comes to see you face to face, "I have fought the good fight."

Lord, make me be in this moment.  The air goes in like Your rushing Spirit.  Running in and through me, all around me, in my family.  Make this moment be full of You, enjoying You, low before You.  

Breathing.  Being.  Living.  Enjoying.  Most importantly, loving alongside my Precious Maker of all good things.  

Namaste, Jesus.