what do you expect?

It just wouldn’t be fall if I didn’t overhaul the blog. This time it’s pretty hard-core!!! Changing back to Blogger . . . we’ll see how long this lasts Click here, then subscribe and keep up with the latest!!! Love you all. P.S. — I didn’t leave the girls out of all the fun. They got a rockin’ new style, too. Check it out!

like mother, like . . .

They say the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree. Apparently, that’s true of bananas, too. And where there are bananas, moose are sure to follow.

Okay, that doesn’t make any sense at all . . . unless you have two daughters nicknamed Banana and Moose and having watched their momma spend countless hours in front of a computer keyboard, they’ve now decided they want their own blog!

That’s right, world, Anna and Madison are going public. It’s a scary time for all of us, and all I really know to say is watch out!

Because I am their mother and I spent 12 total hours giving birth to them – thank goodness that was during daylight hours and involved epidurals – I am going to claim them, and their blog. I’m even adding it to my blogroll to make it easier for you to keep up with them and networking their blog with Facebook, so you can be bombarded every time they post. Hahahaha.

In all seriousness, though, this is too much fun for me and a bit terrifying. I really am a part of their DNA. That’s going to come out in some pretty entertaining and enjoyable ways over the years – like the blog – and it’s going to come out in some rather disturbing ways, too, no doubt.

For now, I’ll relish this really entertaining and enjoyable development and hope that you do, too!

hats off . . . and on

Motherhood is like Albania– you can’t trust the descriptions in the books, you have to go there. ~ Marni Jackson

Every mother needs more than one closet.

Some mothers are gifted such a luxury. Even those who aren’t deserve one. Not for extra clothes and shoes, mind you. Not for changing out wardrobes for the season. Not for storing the skinny jeans and tiny-tees you’re convinced one day after starvation and 1,000 power yoga classes you’ll fit back into.

Nope.

Another closet for a much more significant purpose . . . to hold the many hats, the insane number of hats that every mother inevitably owns and repeatedly wears.

Like every other mother I know, my hats are many. Some that are entirely predictable and I know when I’m wearing them: cook, chauffeur, nurse. Some that are a bit more elusive, a bit less defined and I’m switching them so fast I can barely keep up — when my “job” for the day is to scrub the cat vomit off the laminate, water any plants with droopy leaves, pick up Sammy’s ear medication at the vet, update our digital family scrapbook, pack away Anna’s summer clothes for Maddie and put Maddie’s in the trunk to be driven and donated to the thrift store, squeeze in a trip to Wal-Mart for school snacks, milk and eggs and get both girls to their respective extracurriculars on time and in the right uniforms: this fall it’s gymnastics (A) and soccer (M).

Maybe instead of a closet for my hats, I need additional heads.

Being so many things on so many different occasions for so many different people and furry animals and vegetation gives me a steadily growing appreciation for not just other moms, but my mom.

My mother is one of those superwoman women (literally) who has spent the majority of my life doing all the many things any mother is required to do and by some miracle of determination putting in 40+ hours a week in a high-stress federal administrative position to boot. I can’t think of many people who amaze me, or whom I admire, more.

Part of her job involves sifting applications from all those folks (like my own husband just one year ago) looking for the job security and incredible benefits of being on government payroll. She even takes part in writing the descriptions for various positions, which leaves me wondering what exactly my job description would/should be.

I could fancy it up . . . computer operator, facilities planner, hair stylist, finance manager, first-aid provider, personal shopper, household organizer and executive assistant, etc., etc.

But as I was filling the bathtub with “not too hot water and bubbles” for the girls tonight, I had an epiphany. I am The Keeper of the Towels. No one in this household will ever step out of a shower or bubble bath and reach for a towel that isn’t there. (Okay, actually that’s not true. At least twice that I know of, Will has reached for a towel only to find an empty hook, but said towel was in the dryer and I got sidetracked fixing school lunches . . . I digress).

My point, albeit not very well made, is that I’m responsible for a whole lot of little things – there’s that theme again — that don’t seem to be worth a whole lot while I’m busy doing them. But, you know what, a clean towel is priceless when you’re dripping wet and the bathroom is drafty. And, if I had to guess, I think heaven will feel a little bit like wrapping your squeaky clean body in soft, April Fresh Downy-scented cotton . . . it will feel like somebody cared enough to think about what you need to feel comfortable and safe . . . it will feel like home.

So, this is why I do what I do. Why I love it, why it makes a difference and why no job description comes close to nailing it.

For me or any other amazing, everyday, and I mean EVERY day mom.

If the whole world were put into one scale, and my mother in the other, the whole world would kick the beam.  ~Lord Langdale

small and unseen

I won’t repost it here, but I highly recommend this entry on the blog of one of my favorite authors, Robert Benson.

The post is actually by another writer, Ben Stroup, who partners with him on the blog. It tackles the highly controversial topic of “the Ordinary.” Hot on my list right now. No kidding. I feel quite stuck in ordinary these days, and how appropriate that ancient church liturgy accounts for it.

Apparently, saints of all generations have recognized you can’t have life without ordinary creeping in. So, the question becomes, how do we sanctify it? Can embracing ordinary really become another expression of devotion? I understand selling all to move and serve in missions in Honduras as surrender to the rule and way of Christ. What about cooking dinner, buying groceries, spending eight hours in a cramped cubicle or getting stuck in traffic?

I’m right there with Ben when he writes, “[Ordinary] is a constant tug-of-war between action and contemplation.” More days than not, I feel pulled on either side by things that I classify under matter (stuff of God-sized meaning and importance) and things I classify under don’t (the trivial and mundane that couldn’t possibly amount to much).

Ironically, the problem isn’t so much the uncomfortable feeling of being stretched like Gumby, but the fact that my classification system is faulty.

Kevin DeYoung and Ted Kluck say, “We haven’t learned the spiritual discipline of being bored for Jesus.” I think they may be onto something . . . and here’s why . . .

They follow up with this statement:

. . . in all the smallness and sameness, God works — like the smallest seed in the garden growing to unbelievable heights, like beloved Tychicus, the faithful minister, delivering the mail and apostolic greetings (Eph. 6:21). Life is usually pretty ordinary, just like following Jesus most days.

I feel like my lesson of the moment — going on for more than a year now — is that tiny has more to do with faith than big. All those little mustard seed details of our lives. All the ways that we walk by faith because to look around is to not see all that much “happening.” And even what we do see happening doesn’t seem to mean much, doesn’t seem very significant.

As one who cries out often for significance, the ordinary can be a painful and confusing place to reside. When I pray, “Lord, use me” I’m generally thinking of soup kitchens, food pantries, orphanages and thatch-roof huts in remote jungles. Places where service seems tangible, people seem grateful and there’s satisfaction for the job done (aha, Miss Pride. I recognize you!)

What I have to realize is that He uses me — by virtue of the whole 1 Cor. 3:16 thing – in any number of ways that appear nihil ad rem (completely irrelevant) to me. What I need is a large dose of humility to be used in small ways that no one, especially me, considers worthwhile.

I don’t have to get what Papa’s up to from day to day in all these little things. The fact is, I won’t no matter how introspective I try to be. Hannah Whitall Smith says, “Faith is nothing at all tangible. … It is simply believing God” and George MacDonald says I must “whirl patient” on His Potter’s wheel . . . the wheel of ordinary life and intangible faith.

Only on the other side of Jordan will the fruit of so many tiny seeds be seen.

plodding passion

Something a bit different today . . . part commentary and reflection, but mostly some excerpts from a book* I read this past week on a 7-hour drive to a Vineyard Refuel 2010 conference in North Carolina.

You know, one of those church conferences where you spend a few days in a serene retreat setting to get “filled up” for ministry. Overall, it’s awesome. You rest, you worship, you learn, you drink Starbucks (yes . . . and thank you, Lord, because the dining room coffee was not fit for consumption unless you only filled it halfway and finished it off with hot water and half a container of powdered — “yuck” — creamer) and you get filled.

Inevitably though, on the 7-hour drive back home, all of your fuel leaks out along I-40 and I-75 and Hwy. 74 and, as you walk through the front door, dropping your 15 pieces of luggage filled with 5 loads of dirty laundry on the floor, you feel more empty than before you left. Catch-22, right?

I’m not complaining, though. It was an amazing week. God was there. You can’t ask for more.

But, now that you have sufficient context that is actually completely unrelated, here are a few quotes that are clinging to my soul like hitchhiker seeds stick to your socks:

“. . . in our hypertherapeutic culture, we all need to realize that sometimes being in touch with our pain and being real about our doubts and authentic about our struggles is a form of narcissism and self-absorption more than maturity.”

AND

“What we need are fewer revolutionaries and a few more plodding visionaries . . . pursuing godliness and [God's] glory with relentless, often unnoticed, plodding consistency.”

The first quote scares the crap out of me, because if there is one thing I fear, it’s being a navel-gazer — looking inward to the exclusion of anything outside of myself. I fancy myself a thinker, a ponderer. But, maybe I’m just my own favorite subject, and that’s a BIG problem.

The second quote is encouraging in a Western Christian culture that seems to be placing higher and higher premiums on social justice/revolution and church overhaul/exodus as the ultimate examples of faith well done. The big question everybody seems to be asking, even the question I’ve been asking myself more often lately, is “What are you doing for Christ?”

I believe it’s a valid question, always. It can be a spiritual barometer for us, helping us to discern if we’ve become dangerously lukewarm. In fact, it was the hot topic of our small group last night as we discussed spiritual passion. I don’t think there are many Christians, if they’re honest, who wouldn’t admit to needing a jump start of the soul from time to time, of needing to be Refueled. And the question helps us gauge whether we’re on fire or we’ve hidden the matches.

So, the question needs to be asked.

But sometimes we ask it first and foremost, and that is a mistake.

My generation in particular is prone to radicalism without follow-through. We have dreams of changing the world, and the world should take notice accordingly. But we’ve not proved faithful in much of anything yet. We haven’t held a steady job or raised godly kids or done our time in VBS or, in some case, even moved off the parental dole . . . [We must learn to be] content with being one of the million nameless, faceless church members . . . Daily discipleship is not a new revolution each morning or an agent of global transformation every evening; it’s a long obedience in the same direction.

. . . the gospel is not about what we need to do for God. It’s a message about what God has done for us.

A long obedience in the same direction, a plodding faith. One foot in front of the other. One kind word at a time. One hungry family taken a meal. One load of laundry prayed over and put away. One church toilet scrubbed till it shines. One ENORMOUS recognition that what has been done for me can never really be earned or repaid and it’s not my job to be a famous revolutionary for Christ. It’s my job and my joy in the mundane and the marvelous to make Him famous . . . in obedience, in gratitude, in unrelenting devotion.

Do not despise “the day of small things” – Zechariah 4:10

* Why We Love The Church by Kevin DeYoung and Ted Kluck

it all comes back around

It’s so odd to me that I can go back and read blog posts from years ago, and I find myself being convicted by me!

Oh, the lessons I thought I had heard and internalized and “completed”. It’s as if I imagine having received a report card on certain Christian courses and in my evaluation – always biased – I’m a straight-A student.

I can’t even tell you how scary it is to look in the mirror sometimes. But, maybe you’ve done it before and know exactly what I’m talking about.

This morning, the mirror was particularly unkind. No shower, no makeup, no mask. Just some words (based on the only Word that matters) that came through the keyboard by my fingers less than a year ago and another realization that I’m not even close to “there”.

I’m reposting that entry today, if for no other reason than transparency, a call to accountability and an encouragement (I think) that you need not be surprised when the battle comes full circle, when you notice that it’s you-vs.-you . . . again. It’s not about winning but being willing to see that there is still fighting to be done.

(Originally posted August 2009)

I’ve been a bit, okay utterly, discouraged lately at the thought of our inability as Christians to truly forgive. We are steeped in a faith that has a cross as its cornerstone, yet relationships in the body of Christ are some of the most broken and hopeless you’ll find. I don’t get it. And I hate it.

Let me make it clear that in talking about forgiveness, I don’t mean a meager attempt to recognize at a surface level that nobody’s perfect and to superficially extend grace (a.k.a. avoidance) to the imperfect people around us as they go along their way; secretly praying that they continue on a way that leads far from us.

And I’m specifically talking about forgiveness between Christians, because I’m becoming more and more convinced that we have a desperate sickness in this body that is mostly ignored.

Want to know why people hop from one church to another, why Christian families disintegrate, why Christian friendships fall by the wayside, why non-believers often look on believers with disdain? We can’t forgive; therefore, we can’t love. And if we can’t love, we can’t begin to fulfill the calling of Christ. Our authenticity is shot.

I blogged recently about how ministry starts in the home, and I believe we actually impact the world most effectively when we start there. I want to expand that thinking one step outward and say that if we can’t minister in forgiveness (which is the deepest love) within the body of Christ, we simply cannot do it in the non-believing world, no matter how good our intentions or sincere our efforts.

1 John 2:10-11 says that he “abides (lives) in the Light” who “loves his brother [believer] . . . But he who hates (detests, despises) his brother [in Christ] is in darkness and walking (living) in the dark; he is straying and does not perceive or know where he is going, because the darkness has blinded his eyes.”

What this means is that any other attempt at ministry in our lives is incapacitated by our un-forgiveness, our unwillingness to love our Christian brothers and sisters as Christ loved us. 

Jesus said that there is no greater love than he that lays down his life for his friends (John 15:13). What has anyone done to you that is worse than what was done to Christ, who so readily and fully forgave? Are you willing to lay down your own hurt, pain, disappointment and disillusion in forgiveness toward your Christian brothers or sisters? If you can’t love like that, you can’t really love at all.

I’m not going to sugar coat things. I’m not going to suggest that this is easy or even that it gets easier every time or with time. I’m not going to imply that if you’ll just do it, you’ll like it. I’m not sure that you will. I do believe, though, that the peace, the restoration and the wholeness to follow will convince you that it was worth it and it was right.

Remember that this is the way that Jesus did it. I didn’t make the standard. Take it up with Christ.

“Yes, I too must go beyond justice. To triumph over the sickness of victimisation I  must go beyond it. Like Jesus and in imitation of him, I must wearily climb again the slope of my pain, and throw myself courageously in the decent towards my brothers and sisters, above all towards those whom the short-sightedness of my sick eyes sees as the cause of my evils.

There is no other solution. There is no true peace and union with Jesus without it. As long as I waste time defending myself I get nothing done and I am not truly Christian; I do not know the depths of the heart of Jesus.

To forgive, really forgive, means convincing ourselves deep down that we merited the wrong done to us.” (Carlo Carretto, Letters from the Dessert)

try, try again

Sometimes Madison likes to do things “like Mommy.” I say sometimes, because to spend time with her is usually akin to spending time with a mini Will. Although she also has Texas-sized feistiness and lightning fast wit. We haven’t established who deserves credit for that.

For instance, tonight at dinner, she was unbelievably slow tackling her bowl of spaghetti. Three out of four family members were rinsing off plates for the dishwasher and Maddie – who had been talking nearly nonstop throughout the meal (that’s from my Dad’s side of the family) — still had a mound of untouched noodles.

Realizing she was being watched, Madison excused herself, “I’m just already full.” Will exhaled dramatically, made eye contact with her and said, “Maddie, you have got to finish all of those noodles or no dessert.” Her split-second response: “Okay, but it’s your payback if I vomit.”

Feisty wit aside, there are times when my  little Moosie reminds me a lot – sometimes painfully so – of me.

Her favorite phrase this summer (which I am absolutely determined to extricate from her vocabulary) is “I quit.” I’ve heard it over and over again during playtimes with her sister and playdates with friends . . . the second she’s not exactly getting her way or exactly on the winning side of a game or exactly happy in general, she proclaims “I quit” and storms away. It’s her version of the old “I’m taking my ball and going home.” It’s an attitude I despise.

My words to her in these moments, “Maddie, you don’t have to like what’s going on. You might feel upset or frustrated, and that’s fine. You can even take a break for a while if you don’t want to keep playing, but you don’t ‘quit’. And if I hear you say it again, you will be quitting . . . alone in a corner somewhere for the rest of the afternoon. Your choice.”

The unfortunate thing is that she comes by this attitude rather honestly, and the reason I despise seeing it in my six-year-old is because I’ve seen it rear it’s ugly head all too many times in my own life.

I began gymnastics at age 8. Within the span of a year, I was part of a competitive team and to this day have a collection of ribbons and medals in a hope chest at my parent’s house. The catch is that while I managed to score anywhere from Second Place to Honorable Mention in all of my events, I couldn’t get over how far short I fell of the girls on my team who could manage 10 back-to-back back handsprings and finish with a layout half twist. When our family left Hickam A.F.B. in Hawaii behind for Alabama, I let that be my cue to leave gymnastics behind as well.

Learning piano didn’t come as easily as I had hoped either. I started lessons in 5th grade. My teacher told me I had a lot of natural ability, but I wanted a prodigy’s talent to jump from Alfred’s Basic Piano 1A to Bach’s Minuet in G in two weeks. I took for two years. Then, I quit.

You might think that as I got older, I grew at least a bit patient with myself. Not exactly.

Will tried to teach me to drive his manual transmission Mustang when we were newlyweds. I was so excited to finally learn until I realized that I lacked every bit of coordination necessary to use both feet for the break and clutch (not at the same time), while arm wrestling the gear shift into each new position, while listening for the correct peak of the engine and avoiding  a stall (which I never did). It was the most demeaning experience of my life. We spent one nerve shattering afternoon in that Mustang together. Then, I quit.

Nearly eleven years later, I’m still “in process” – I hear it’s actually a lifelong thing. Good to know. But, at least I can say nearly eleven years later . . . marriage has been something I have stuck to like super glue and it’s been one of the most effective tools in teaching me that some things mean more just because you have to work for them.

Parenthood falls into that category, too. Definitely one of the hardest things I’ve been given the joy to do. And the joy comes because it is so hard, because it tries the depths of my patience, limited wisdom, time and energy and leaves me with a greater sense of who I am, of who I’ve been made to be.

So, I’m not taking it lightly to stick to the task of encouraging Maddie to persevere in life. In fact, I’ll take all the help I can get in teaching the lesson, even a  mass-produced video game system and a downloaded version of one of my all-time old-school favorites: Super Mario Bros. Moose has been fascinated to watch me play Wii over the past week – since Daddy is considered the true gamer in this family (currently on a quest to beat Yugioh on Anna’s DS).

I’m out to beat it for the second time in my life, and it shouldn’t take me months this time since all the cheats and secrets are readily available on the Internet. Maddie is just trying to make it past World 1-1. Watching her reminds me what a feat it really was for me the first time around, and I find myself telling her, “Moose, just stick with it. Mommy had to play this game over and over and over again and eventually I got better at it. It’s not easy but you can do it. Just keep trying.”

And, I’ll do the same.

Windows Live Test . . . Anna & Izzy

View Full Album

I am more and more amazed at all the things you can do with computers. I sometimes feel I’m aging out on tricks and gadgets and am on the verge of just giving up trying to keep up, but the truth is that I still have just enough youth in me to try and figure out what’s now possible that wasn’t with our old set-up. The fact of the matter is (as our old favorite real estate agent used to say all of the time as we spent seemingly endless hours with him twice trying to find a new home — “The fact of the matter is that a house is really just a matter of square feet and some walls. After that, you can make it what you want.”) it’s been kinda cool that our old machine broke and, as a result, I’m breaking into a whole new era of technology.

So, here’s this quick entry – written via Windows Live Writer and direct linked to my WordPress blog. Pictures were imported directly from Windows Live Photo Gallery and included here.

I’m left thinking, “This is way too cool.” and “Thanks for being a part of my little experiment!”

adding it up

I think my favorite time of the day — when I can catch it, and that is becoming exceedingly rare because I’ve lost my ability to rise at the crack of dawn this summer — is those moments, or minutes on a really lucky day, where everything is perfect stillness and I’m the only one in the house awake.

Just knowing that everyone that matters most to me is tucked snuggly and happy in their beds is one of the sweetest joys I have ever known. Breathing in deep the quiet air of our home, our home, is a gift totally undeserved . . . one of the countless that have been poured into my life. There was a time when I wouldn’t have noticed the serenity of Saturday morning silence or considered a single cup of coffee much of a gift, but I’m grateful to be experiencing the cliche that age brings greater appreciation of the little things.

I remember seeing somewhere recently a piece of artwork with the following phrase: Enjoy the little things in life for one day you’ll look back and realize they were big things. That’s my motto, my mantra, my psalm . . . Thank you God for all the little things — also known as the joy-bringing things, the laugh-worthy things, the tearjearker things and the healing things.

My life is packed full of little things in these categories. This past week, I helped  re-paint my friend-who-might-as-well-be-my-sister’s kitchen, and this one commitment alone surprised me with so many worthy little moments. Joy in helping someone I love do something that mattered to her. I often forget that it’s not necessarily what you’re doing, it’s what it means to the other person. Back and forth banter brought laughter at every turn. Healing deep conversation took place that reminded me God always knows what our heart needs, and so many more times in my life than I can possibly recount, He shows up in the eyes and smile and understanding of a friend.

And when it was all said and done and the kitchen went from wall-t0-wall dramatic eggplant to a gloriously soothing smoke blue and chocolate combo, this same friend went out of her way to thank me for going out of mine (isn’t that the definition of what friendship is all about?) A gift bag filled with an amazing book she just happened to remember me mentioning I wanted, and I had to fight back the tears as I unwrapped the tissue paper.

Last night, we had a sweet dinner with two friends who are just five months into first-time parenthood. I catch the uncertainty in their voices and the nervousness in their eyes as they try to regain some semblance of normalcy with an infant. I know the questions in their minds: Will this ever seem normal? What is normal? What in the world has happened to us?

I remember all too well the chaos the world became when Will and I had babies. It’s actually a miracle we went through the process twice. We honestly didn’t think we’d ever climb out of the black hole that was Anna’s first six months of life. But, we did. And I think that’s where it all began. Something about tiny fingers and tiny toes and, well, everything tiny that suddenly means more than anything else you’ve ever known before begins to teach you that maybe it really is all those tiny things that we should be paying attention to.

Tiny hugs and tiny words of encouragement. Tiny gifts on ordinary days and tiny dollars laid in the hands of strangers on the curb. Tiny smiles at the grocery store clerk and tiny checks to kids in need halfway across the world. Tiny homemade dinners with friends in one of life’s major transitions and tiny paintbrushes transforming a friend’s tiny slice of heaven. From where I sit and sip my first cup of Saturday coffee, it all adds up BIG.

this magic moment

It does not do well to dwell on dreams and forget to live. ~ Dumbledore

There’s so much irony in me using the quote above, not the least of which is the fact that I don’t even like Harry Potter.

Well, that’s not exactly true. I really haven’t ever given Harry a chance. Early on in the excitement of the books and movies, I just sort of checked out. I wasn’t assuming I shouldn’t like Harry. I just wasn’t even willing to get to know him.

It should be mentioned that I’ve been known to check out on several really good things.

For instance, I had every intention of checking out on Lord of the Rings until Will dragged me to the theater and I discovered I’ve got a thing for Elijah Wood with hairy feet.

But despite the fascination of my husband and elder daughter with the entire Potter enterprise — I can’t begin to count how many times we have had one of the movies showing on our television — I remain un-enthralled. They can probably quote the first three movies line-by-line — especially since they are played marathon-style on ABC Family quarterly, at least.

I, however, make a concerted effort to walk away from the television when they’re watching and read a “good book” (which by my definition does not include Sci-Fi or Fantasy — strange considering it’s one of my father’s favorite genres and I married a man whose excitement rivals that of a 10-year-old boy on Christmas Day at the mere mention of Luke or Obi Won) or check Facebook or — like tonight — write a blog post.

As fate would have it tonight, though, I ended up holding Maddie on the couch for a few minutes after our very late dinner. Exhausted from this ridiculously hot day, a few errands and helping a friend repaint her kitchen, I was more than a little content to be still, even if it meant enduring The Sorcerer’s Stone.

You can only imagine my surprise when I was gifted the little gem of wisdom heading this entry about halfway through. For those of you HP fans, I mean no disrespect. Quite possibly, there are many more like it hidden throughout Rowling’s writings and the screenplays for each film. But, how would I know? I’m just grateful for being fatigued enough to catch this one.

And here’s yet the greatest irony of me hearing this quote. For one of what is becoming a more frequent number of times in my life, I was slowed down and brought down, so to speak, to the moment. It took 98+ degree heat and a packed schedule to break me down, but I was broken.

So, instead of being caught up in my head in some rendition of what life used to be (unfounded nostalgic dreams) or could be (dreams of the as-yet-nonexistent) — my two favorite destructive distractions — I was forced to actually be in, as in engaged in and receptive to, life and the moment. Some would say, that’s where the magic is. Ha, ha! I think great teachers and our Savior would say that . . . maybe not in those exact words. I would say that it’s where you just might find some words to live by.