Our Christmas vacation has been marred a bit by technology. On Monday, Chuck bought a wifi extender. It was supposed to be no big deal they said. It was supposed to be an easy installation they said. It would allow every room of our house receive strong, fast signals they said. Hmmm. Technology is not always everything it's cracked up to be.
Santa brought the kids Disney's Infinity 2.0 with all the Marvel Avengers. It would've been awesome had our Play Station 3 not needed an update and Play Station hadn't been hacked. The update took hours. Hours are more manageable for an adult than for 9 and 11 year old kids.
This morning, over breakfast, my daughter said, "I wonder what Bible times would've been like if everyone had laptops and smart phones. Do you think people like Paul would've been able to talk to more people about Jesus? Like maybe he could have just texted his friends to come over to grill some burgers and talk about Jesus."
Hmmm. As I cleaned up the kitchen I couldn't help but think about that possibility. The Nativity? Selfies of Mary and Baby Jesus? Joseph taking Instagram photos with soft vignettes and hashtags #blessedbabymomma #sonofgod ?
I shook that one off.
Sermon on the Mount live streaming? Fishes and loaves miracle on YouTube? Pentecost via Skype?
Technology has changed our lives for the better in so many areas but we rely so heavily on it that the slightest glitch seem to render us practically useless. Shelby's question made me think about Paul, and all the others on mission in the bible, and how good they were at being present. They loved the ones they could while they could where they could.
One of my goals for 2015 is to be more present. To put my phone down, close the laptop cover, and look into the eyes of those around me. I want to show love where it's needed and receive love when it's given. To make the best of technology when I can but not be ruled by it. What are some of your goals for next year?
Friday, December 26, 2014
Monday, December 22, 2014
The Time Came
It's been one of those mornings. The kind where there's too many tasks and not enough minutes. Everyone needed to be somewhere, doing something, and everyone needed my full attention. It's Christmas Break and everyone is full of cheer and ready to go.
I'm still working though. Christmas Eve is kind of a big deal when you work for the church so there's still planning to do and tasks to tackle.
I'm also working my Wildtree business. It's a business but also a ministry. I want to help people find peace in their kitchen and be better prepared for healthy family meals. I fully realize the irony here, folks. I'm stressed over helping people de-stress.
There's laundry to fold and dogs to be walked and groceries to be shopped. I've got lists all over the counter and my phone is chiming reminders every five minutes.
Stop!
That's the word I heard in the middle of a pity party I was planning in my head.
Stop!
Okay, God. What do I do?
I went into my bedroom to sit in my rocker. I opened my Celebrate Recovery Bible because, frankly, I needed the Word of God to come packaged with recovery. I shut my eyes and held it for a minute, just trying to find my center.
God? I can't find my center.
Stop!
I opened to Luke 2. It was the only passage I could think of in the moment...I'm sure because of all the Christmas planning as of late. I read. Slowly. I read.
Suddenly a phrase practically jumped off the page. I phrase I've read a thousand times before...
the time came.
Mary and Joseph had traveled from Nazareth to Bethlehem to be counted in the census. Mary was with child. The Child. And while they were there...
the time came.
The time. The time that all creation had been waiting for. The time that the eternal clock had been ticking towards. The time. Jesus.
He was God's promise fulfilled in a tiny baby. He was the All-in-All. He was The Everlasting. He was Time. It was His Time.
Suddenly my time seemed insignificant. My tasks and my lists and my alarms could all be on hold for a bit. Jesus has come. I could sit in that peace for a minute. That's where I'd find my center.
My time had come. The time for me to get over myself. The time for me to remember that Christmas is about the amazing gift of Jesus and the salvation that he gives. The time had come to be still and know His Peace.
My lists and tasks were still waiting on me when I came out of the room. I still had family waiting on me. Nothing about my day had changed. I had changed. I didn't need to be frazzled and chaotic. I didn't need to huff and stomp. I found my center and it is Jesus.
I'm still working though. Christmas Eve is kind of a big deal when you work for the church so there's still planning to do and tasks to tackle.
I'm also working my Wildtree business. It's a business but also a ministry. I want to help people find peace in their kitchen and be better prepared for healthy family meals. I fully realize the irony here, folks. I'm stressed over helping people de-stress.
There's laundry to fold and dogs to be walked and groceries to be shopped. I've got lists all over the counter and my phone is chiming reminders every five minutes.
Stop!
That's the word I heard in the middle of a pity party I was planning in my head.
Stop!
Okay, God. What do I do?
I went into my bedroom to sit in my rocker. I opened my Celebrate Recovery Bible because, frankly, I needed the Word of God to come packaged with recovery. I shut my eyes and held it for a minute, just trying to find my center.
God? I can't find my center.
Stop!
I opened to Luke 2. It was the only passage I could think of in the moment...I'm sure because of all the Christmas planning as of late. I read. Slowly. I read.
Suddenly a phrase practically jumped off the page. I phrase I've read a thousand times before...
the time came.
Mary and Joseph had traveled from Nazareth to Bethlehem to be counted in the census. Mary was with child. The Child. And while they were there...
the time came.
The time. The time that all creation had been waiting for. The time that the eternal clock had been ticking towards. The time. Jesus.
He was God's promise fulfilled in a tiny baby. He was the All-in-All. He was The Everlasting. He was Time. It was His Time.
Suddenly my time seemed insignificant. My tasks and my lists and my alarms could all be on hold for a bit. Jesus has come. I could sit in that peace for a minute. That's where I'd find my center.
My time had come. The time for me to get over myself. The time for me to remember that Christmas is about the amazing gift of Jesus and the salvation that he gives. The time had come to be still and know His Peace.
My lists and tasks were still waiting on me when I came out of the room. I still had family waiting on me. Nothing about my day had changed. I had changed. I didn't need to be frazzled and chaotic. I didn't need to huff and stomp. I found my center and it is Jesus.
Wednesday, December 3, 2014
Celebration of Grace
I read a quote the other day that said, "The art of really celebrating life isn't about getting it right - but about receiving Grace. The sinners and the sick, the broken, the discouraged, the wounded, and burdened - we are the ones who get to celebrate grace!" It was Ann Voskamp who said the words but they could have come straight from my own heart.
It's a theory I've been wrestling with for quite some time. We live in a society that screams "Get it right!" every day. Your pie must be firm but soft and your home must be clean enough for health but with enough mess to make others comfortable. Your hair can not be gray and your eyebrows must be full...because thin eyebrows are soooo last year. Your parenting must be without flaws and your schedule must be the perfect balance of home, work, school, party,etc. Your children must be well behaved yet not robots and your spouse should always be supportive and have a twinkling gleam to his or her teeth when smiling.
All those things are lovely, although I now have to paint on eyebrows after years of over-plucking to get the "perfect thin" and sometimes my work/party balance is off. It's too much. Really. I'm done.
God calls me, as the old alter-call hymn says, just as I am. Broken. Wounded. Burdened. Thin browed. He takes it all and wraps me in a giant blanket of grace where I get to curl up in his arms and experience his love.
In this season of frivolity and celebration I am often tempted with the perfect sparkle and just the right amount of twinkle. I want the brass music to be loud and clear and the bells to be bright and clear. I want just the right sprinkling of glitter.
That wasn't how the season started though. It started thousands of years ago in a dirty stable with a teen mom. There were sheep and probably cows. It was less than ideal and I feel certain there were no icicle lights. It wasn't how a king should enter the world. It was smelly. It was broken. It was discouraging. It was full of grace.
God became man so that we might celebrate grace. He did it for the sick and the broken and the wounded. He did it for moms like me who get over stressed and drink too much wine and eat too much pie. He did it for the dad who stresses over finances and therefore works too many hours. He did it for the kids that can't sit still and for the grouchy old people that throw rocks at kids. (Okay, I've never actually seen that happen anywhere other than a Bugs Bunny cartoon. But it could happen. And grace would be there.)
The celebration comes from the gift of grace. The celebration is the grace. I'm grateful for the offering of grace.
It's a theory I've been wrestling with for quite some time. We live in a society that screams "Get it right!" every day. Your pie must be firm but soft and your home must be clean enough for health but with enough mess to make others comfortable. Your hair can not be gray and your eyebrows must be full...because thin eyebrows are soooo last year. Your parenting must be without flaws and your schedule must be the perfect balance of home, work, school, party,etc. Your children must be well behaved yet not robots and your spouse should always be supportive and have a twinkling gleam to his or her teeth when smiling.
All those things are lovely, although I now have to paint on eyebrows after years of over-plucking to get the "perfect thin" and sometimes my work/party balance is off. It's too much. Really. I'm done.
God calls me, as the old alter-call hymn says, just as I am. Broken. Wounded. Burdened. Thin browed. He takes it all and wraps me in a giant blanket of grace where I get to curl up in his arms and experience his love.
In this season of frivolity and celebration I am often tempted with the perfect sparkle and just the right amount of twinkle. I want the brass music to be loud and clear and the bells to be bright and clear. I want just the right sprinkling of glitter.
That wasn't how the season started though. It started thousands of years ago in a dirty stable with a teen mom. There were sheep and probably cows. It was less than ideal and I feel certain there were no icicle lights. It wasn't how a king should enter the world. It was smelly. It was broken. It was discouraging. It was full of grace.
God became man so that we might celebrate grace. He did it for the sick and the broken and the wounded. He did it for moms like me who get over stressed and drink too much wine and eat too much pie. He did it for the dad who stresses over finances and therefore works too many hours. He did it for the kids that can't sit still and for the grouchy old people that throw rocks at kids. (Okay, I've never actually seen that happen anywhere other than a Bugs Bunny cartoon. But it could happen. And grace would be there.)
The celebration comes from the gift of grace. The celebration is the grace. I'm grateful for the offering of grace.
Monday, November 24, 2014
Why I Love Thanksgiving
There are so many things I love about Thanksgiving. The food, the people, the relaxed atmosphere of the day...
Thanksgiving has been an evolution for Chuck and I. It didn't start off as a merry, easy, fun day. At the start of our marriage we did as most young, married couples do. We relied on family to schedule our holidays for us. The only problem with that is that most of the family saw us only in their after thoughts. We had several years of realizing everyone was either out of town or not coming to visit only days or hours before the big day. Add to the mix awkward relations with other branches of the family tree (I'm sure no one else out there has that, right?) and we came quickly to the realization that we needed to set our own holiday schedule and tradition. We were married and had kids on the way so why not?
We decided to not wait on invitation any more from family or friends but to set our own plan in motion of how we wanted to celebrate. We set down the guideline that anyone can come as long as they enjoy eating and relaxing and don't want to participate in drama or stuffiness. Thanksgiving is for giving thanks, not headaches.
We make way too much food every year. We start the day with Bloody Mary's and move on to beer and wine after noon. We chop, slice, marinade, baste, saute, and fry until the house is full of the richest smells our noses and hearts can handle. We say Grace in a big circle, holding hands with whoever decided to join us. Sometimes that includes family. Sometimes it includes friends. Sometimes we have coworkers or neighbors show up. Sometimes it's a grand mixture of all the above.
I never set the table - it's all buffet style from the kitchen. We use the big, thick, sectioned paper plates because really, who wants to do dishes after all that eating and drinking? Not this girl! We talk about sports, religion, faith, politics...all the things you are supposed to avoid in mixed company. We share the ways God has showed up and surprised the socks off of us. We hug through the memories of aches when God had to carry us this year. We laugh at all the blessings and goodness.The kids run wild, high on too much cheese and pie and then crash hard early because the day has been filled with fun and very few boundaries.
The food is so much a part of the day but less because of it being food and more because of the relationships that swirl around the making and the prep and the eating and the clean up. It's a day full of love and laughter and I wouldn't have it any other way. I would never be so bold to say that our way of doing Thanksgiving is better than anyone else's. It's just the way we figured out that it works for us. And I'm so thankful we figured it out.
Here's something else I've figured out. It's my corn casserole. I've tried several recipes over the years in hopes of recreating the magical version my mom used to make. This is pretty darn close.
15 oz can yellow and white sweet corn, whole kernel, drained
15 oz can cream style corn
8 oz box of Jiffy corn muffin mix
1 cup plain Greek yogurt or sour cream
1 stick (half cup) of butter, melted
In a big bowl, stir all of the above ingredients together until just mixed. Pour into a greased casserole pan (8x8 for thicker casserole; 9x12 for thinner). Bake at 350 degrees for 45 - 60 minutes, or until golden and firm in the middle. This recipe serves about six people. I usually double or triple it for Thanksgiving. You'll probably have to adjust the baking time if you double it.
Thanksgiving has been an evolution for Chuck and I. It didn't start off as a merry, easy, fun day. At the start of our marriage we did as most young, married couples do. We relied on family to schedule our holidays for us. The only problem with that is that most of the family saw us only in their after thoughts. We had several years of realizing everyone was either out of town or not coming to visit only days or hours before the big day. Add to the mix awkward relations with other branches of the family tree (I'm sure no one else out there has that, right?) and we came quickly to the realization that we needed to set our own holiday schedule and tradition. We were married and had kids on the way so why not?
We decided to not wait on invitation any more from family or friends but to set our own plan in motion of how we wanted to celebrate. We set down the guideline that anyone can come as long as they enjoy eating and relaxing and don't want to participate in drama or stuffiness. Thanksgiving is for giving thanks, not headaches.
We make way too much food every year. We start the day with Bloody Mary's and move on to beer and wine after noon. We chop, slice, marinade, baste, saute, and fry until the house is full of the richest smells our noses and hearts can handle. We say Grace in a big circle, holding hands with whoever decided to join us. Sometimes that includes family. Sometimes it includes friends. Sometimes we have coworkers or neighbors show up. Sometimes it's a grand mixture of all the above.
I never set the table - it's all buffet style from the kitchen. We use the big, thick, sectioned paper plates because really, who wants to do dishes after all that eating and drinking? Not this girl! We talk about sports, religion, faith, politics...all the things you are supposed to avoid in mixed company. We share the ways God has showed up and surprised the socks off of us. We hug through the memories of aches when God had to carry us this year. We laugh at all the blessings and goodness.The kids run wild, high on too much cheese and pie and then crash hard early because the day has been filled with fun and very few boundaries.
The food is so much a part of the day but less because of it being food and more because of the relationships that swirl around the making and the prep and the eating and the clean up. It's a day full of love and laughter and I wouldn't have it any other way. I would never be so bold to say that our way of doing Thanksgiving is better than anyone else's. It's just the way we figured out that it works for us. And I'm so thankful we figured it out.
Here's something else I've figured out. It's my corn casserole. I've tried several recipes over the years in hopes of recreating the magical version my mom used to make. This is pretty darn close.
15 oz can yellow and white sweet corn, whole kernel, drained
15 oz can cream style corn
8 oz box of Jiffy corn muffin mix
1 cup plain Greek yogurt or sour cream
1 stick (half cup) of butter, melted
In a big bowl, stir all of the above ingredients together until just mixed. Pour into a greased casserole pan (8x8 for thicker casserole; 9x12 for thinner). Bake at 350 degrees for 45 - 60 minutes, or until golden and firm in the middle. This recipe serves about six people. I usually double or triple it for Thanksgiving. You'll probably have to adjust the baking time if you double it.
Monday, November 10, 2014
Why We Walked
It's been almost seven years since our dear friends, Tony and Amber Bender, released their baby girl into the arms of Jesus.
Addi was a sweet, bubbly little girl, not even two years old, when she was diagnosed with brain cancer. Even typing it brings a bitter taste to my mouth. We were all, all of us who love Tony and Amber and their children, devastated. Surgery after surgery and radiation all were tough battles that Addi fought. She gave everything she had and she did it with the sweetest smile.
Next to the day of my mom's suicide, the day Addi succumbed to cancer has been the hardest day of my life. There were a handful of us lingering in the room, praying God might take her pain away. We whispered prayers as the tears fell as we waited on the angels to lift her spirit to heaven.
It was enough to do any parent in. And I can not think of a single person on the face of this earth that would've blamed Tony and Amber for curling up into a ball and retreating from life all together. The Bender's weren't done fighting though.
Cancer took their baby girl and they waged war on cancer. They took their two little boys for a vacation (if you call traveling to heal a vacation) and came back home swinging hard. They immediately formed Addi's Faith Foundation in order to fund pediatric brain cancer research and to support other families that are facing this horrific battle. They promoted, they researched, they dug their heals in. Cancer would not win.
Yesterday was the 6th Annual Walk by Faith 5k/10k and they raised close to $200,000 to further their cause. We walked (Seth ran) because we, too, want to fight. I led the sunrise service with my friend and coworker, Reese Foster, because above all, we want to remember that God brought them through this...every step of the way. We want to remember that God is bigger than cancer. We want to keep in mind that God is the author of life and that death is not what he wanted when he created life.
The community came out in full force because they love Tony and Amber, and their kids, Trent, Riley, and Olivia. The community came because no one wants to see cancer win - especially through the lives of babies.
Please click on the links above and pray about how God might be calling you to join in the battle.
Addi was a sweet, bubbly little girl, not even two years old, when she was diagnosed with brain cancer. Even typing it brings a bitter taste to my mouth. We were all, all of us who love Tony and Amber and their children, devastated. Surgery after surgery and radiation all were tough battles that Addi fought. She gave everything she had and she did it with the sweetest smile.
Next to the day of my mom's suicide, the day Addi succumbed to cancer has been the hardest day of my life. There were a handful of us lingering in the room, praying God might take her pain away. We whispered prayers as the tears fell as we waited on the angels to lift her spirit to heaven.
It was enough to do any parent in. And I can not think of a single person on the face of this earth that would've blamed Tony and Amber for curling up into a ball and retreating from life all together. The Bender's weren't done fighting though.
Cancer took their baby girl and they waged war on cancer. They took their two little boys for a vacation (if you call traveling to heal a vacation) and came back home swinging hard. They immediately formed Addi's Faith Foundation in order to fund pediatric brain cancer research and to support other families that are facing this horrific battle. They promoted, they researched, they dug their heals in. Cancer would not win.
Yesterday was the 6th Annual Walk by Faith 5k/10k and they raised close to $200,000 to further their cause. We walked (Seth ran) because we, too, want to fight. I led the sunrise service with my friend and coworker, Reese Foster, because above all, we want to remember that God brought them through this...every step of the way. We want to remember that God is bigger than cancer. We want to keep in mind that God is the author of life and that death is not what he wanted when he created life.The community came out in full force because they love Tony and Amber, and their kids, Trent, Riley, and Olivia. The community came because no one wants to see cancer win - especially through the lives of babies.
Please click on the links above and pray about how God might be calling you to join in the battle.
Thursday, November 6, 2014
I'm Thankful....
This is the time of year when everyone starts doing those thankful journals and thankful photo challenges and thankful...whatever.
November is officially thankful month. I get that because of Thanksgiving falling in November it is a natural time to reset our self-centered hearts and turn towards an attitude of gratitude. My friend, Kim, actually declared it "Attitude of Gratitude Month" with her small group of high schoolers. During the time when they normally share the happies and crappies of the week they have decided that for this month they will only share crappies. It's an effort to refocus. I get it. I love it.
I'm not feeling it.
Every so often I have a blanket of despair that falls over my head. I'm not sure where it comes from. I dabble in depression from time to time and I can't ever be sure when it's going to show up at my door. I jumped into crazy full on, head first for a time in my life and I hope and pray and work really hard to avoid the lake at that particular camp ground now. But I still dabble in the blues, as much as I try not to. I'll be okay. I'm praying. I'm taking my vitamins. I'm getting rest. I'm exercising. I'll be fine.
So here's my thankful list this week. You may find it a little desperate and some may seem like a stretch but, when you are climbing out of a pit there is no branch too small to grasp on to.
November is officially thankful month. I get that because of Thanksgiving falling in November it is a natural time to reset our self-centered hearts and turn towards an attitude of gratitude. My friend, Kim, actually declared it "Attitude of Gratitude Month" with her small group of high schoolers. During the time when they normally share the happies and crappies of the week they have decided that for this month they will only share crappies. It's an effort to refocus. I get it. I love it.
I'm not feeling it.
Every so often I have a blanket of despair that falls over my head. I'm not sure where it comes from. I dabble in depression from time to time and I can't ever be sure when it's going to show up at my door. I jumped into crazy full on, head first for a time in my life and I hope and pray and work really hard to avoid the lake at that particular camp ground now. But I still dabble in the blues, as much as I try not to. I'll be okay. I'm praying. I'm taking my vitamins. I'm getting rest. I'm exercising. I'll be fine.
So here's my thankful list this week. You may find it a little desperate and some may seem like a stretch but, when you are climbing out of a pit there is no branch too small to grasp on to.
- I am thankful this week that no one in my immediate family has a birthday that requires a party of 10 screaming girls.
- I am thankful this week that I can wear flip flops in November in Houston.
- I am grateful for air conditioning.
- And cheese. I'm glad that cheese exists.
- I am thankful that it is not Red Ribbon Week at school more than once a year and that I don't have to come up with crazy creative ways to say no to drugs.
- I love the lava lamp on my desk and I'm thankful that someone donated it to children's ministry at our church.
- I'm thankful for naps.
That about covers it, other than the obvious family, friends, salvation, etc. That's all I've got this week. Maybe next week I'll be more creative and broad in my thankfulness.
Monday, October 27, 2014
Fellowships, Picnics, and Bounce Houses...Oh My!
There are lots of reasons why a church picnic is a bad idea. It's crowded, people are sharing food that may or may not contain salmonella, people are already busy, it's a lot of work for the church staff....okay, I can't even type any more because I don't think a church picnic is a bad idea.
We had a picnic at our church yesterday and it was awesome. Not because of the food or the bounce house or the pony rides...although all of those things were fabulous...but because of the people. The thing that most people are missing out on these days is an opportunity to slow down. I wish I had a dollar for every person that told me they weren't coming to the church picnic because they had been way to busy on Saturday. If picnics and people aren't your thing that's find but if you are too busy on Saturday for fellowship on Sunday then you may need to rethink your weekend.
Someone told me a while back that "fellowship" is an old fashion word that I use too often. I can't help but think the reason that person felt that way is because they have a big fellowship hole in their heart. There is something very peaceful and beautiful about coming together with a group of believers and sharing a potato salad. You see, it's actually less about the potato salad and more about the group of believers. Our hearts are drawn together when we tune out the noise of the world and share stories of family together. Our minds can rest when we put our phones away and look into the eyes of someone we haven't sat with in a while. Our souls can unite when we share bread and wine (or tea) with a cool breeze on our backs.
I'm not going to lie. A planned and programmed picnic like we had yesterday is a lot of work. Someone had to book the petting zoo with the baby goats and tiny ponies for rides. Someone had to drive to the fire department to pick up the dunk tank and fill it with ice and water so the children could squeal with delight as their pastor fell hard and fast into a big splash. A large group of people had to move tables, chairs, garbage cans, extension cords, etc. Desserts had to be organized. Bubbles had to be blown. Speakers had to be set up so that fun music could play just loud enough for people to sing along but not so loud that it interrupts conversations. It literally takes a village to put on a big picnic like we did yesterday.
What doesn't take a lot of work, however, is to make a phone call or shoot a text out to 3-5 families and say, "Hey, we are meeting at the park after church next week. Everyone is bringing their own lunch. We are going to let the kids play and we are going to watch them from a safe distance while we talk and catch up on life."
What's super easy is to announce to your Sunday School class that next week you're going to meet at a restaurant with an outdoor play place so the kids can eat their grilled cheese and then run like monkeys while the grown ups share an iced tea or beer and share a few highlights from their week.
Fellowship doesn't have to be hard. It doesn't have to involve a petting zoo. Fellowship can be for the whole church or neighborhood or just a handful of families and friends. Fellowship doesn't have to be programmed to the max and have a photo booth (although a photo booth will bring outrageous laughter) but instead can be easy and thrown together. It doesn't have to have a semi-professional cooking crew or even a potluck lunch but could be bologna sandwiches with Pringles on the side. Fellowship is good for the soul and calming to the mind. It's good for the body of Christ to sit down and get to know each other. So grab a basket, throw some fruit and crackers in it and call some friends. Head to the park. Go to someones back yard. Pop a beverage, put your phone away, and look someone in the eye. It's called fellowship and we can bring it back.
We had a picnic at our church yesterday and it was awesome. Not because of the food or the bounce house or the pony rides...although all of those things were fabulous...but because of the people. The thing that most people are missing out on these days is an opportunity to slow down. I wish I had a dollar for every person that told me they weren't coming to the church picnic because they had been way to busy on Saturday. If picnics and people aren't your thing that's find but if you are too busy on Saturday for fellowship on Sunday then you may need to rethink your weekend.
Someone told me a while back that "fellowship" is an old fashion word that I use too often. I can't help but think the reason that person felt that way is because they have a big fellowship hole in their heart. There is something very peaceful and beautiful about coming together with a group of believers and sharing a potato salad. You see, it's actually less about the potato salad and more about the group of believers. Our hearts are drawn together when we tune out the noise of the world and share stories of family together. Our minds can rest when we put our phones away and look into the eyes of someone we haven't sat with in a while. Our souls can unite when we share bread and wine (or tea) with a cool breeze on our backs.
I'm not going to lie. A planned and programmed picnic like we had yesterday is a lot of work. Someone had to book the petting zoo with the baby goats and tiny ponies for rides. Someone had to drive to the fire department to pick up the dunk tank and fill it with ice and water so the children could squeal with delight as their pastor fell hard and fast into a big splash. A large group of people had to move tables, chairs, garbage cans, extension cords, etc. Desserts had to be organized. Bubbles had to be blown. Speakers had to be set up so that fun music could play just loud enough for people to sing along but not so loud that it interrupts conversations. It literally takes a village to put on a big picnic like we did yesterday.
What doesn't take a lot of work, however, is to make a phone call or shoot a text out to 3-5 families and say, "Hey, we are meeting at the park after church next week. Everyone is bringing their own lunch. We are going to let the kids play and we are going to watch them from a safe distance while we talk and catch up on life."
What's super easy is to announce to your Sunday School class that next week you're going to meet at a restaurant with an outdoor play place so the kids can eat their grilled cheese and then run like monkeys while the grown ups share an iced tea or beer and share a few highlights from their week.
Fellowship doesn't have to be hard. It doesn't have to involve a petting zoo. Fellowship can be for the whole church or neighborhood or just a handful of families and friends. Fellowship doesn't have to be programmed to the max and have a photo booth (although a photo booth will bring outrageous laughter) but instead can be easy and thrown together. It doesn't have to have a semi-professional cooking crew or even a potluck lunch but could be bologna sandwiches with Pringles on the side. Fellowship is good for the soul and calming to the mind. It's good for the body of Christ to sit down and get to know each other. So grab a basket, throw some fruit and crackers in it and call some friends. Head to the park. Go to someones back yard. Pop a beverage, put your phone away, and look someone in the eye. It's called fellowship and we can bring it back.
Wednesday, October 15, 2014
Letting Go of Homemaker Perfection
I'm not a full time homemaker but it certainly is a very large piece of my life as a wife and mother. I have spent a lot of hours in frustration because I wanted to be perfect at homemaking. I wanted every room to be clean and tidy. I wanted the laundry to smell fresh and be free of wrinkles. I wanted every meal to appear as if the photographers from Martha Stewart Living had just left my kitchen only moments before.
The problem with equating homemaking to perfection is that it exhausts you to no end. The laundry will never be done at my house. Never. Unless my family decides to convert to nudism for a weekend so I can get all caught up then it simply won't ever be a real thing. I can keep fairly current on a good week but it won't ever be complete. I've made peace with that.
My house will never be perfectly clean in every corner. I gave myself some grace a few years back and hired a cleaning team that comes to visit twice a month. I love them with my whole heart because they can do magic with a broom and some bleach. They come while I'm at work and I try to never come home while they are there because I don't want to break their spell. I do without a few other things so I can ensure that I will always be able to pay them. But even with all of their loveliness, there are still areas of my house that harbor dirt. My horse dog sheds profusely and no matter how much you sweep, vacuum, or dust, his hair will find a way to remain stuck to a curtain or pillow somewhere.
I love to cook but the idea of picture perfect meals is simply not a reality. I'm working hard to be more prepared for meals and evening time in general (See some tips here.) but it doesn't always look the way I want it to. Even on the weeks when my meals are planned, prepped, and ready to go, someone in my family decides that they don't have a taste for cauliflower or beans or whatever my delectable side is, and my meal is no longer a success. Sometimes homework is extra trying and math spills all over the table while we down our pork chops. Every now and again the husband gets tied up in a last minute meeting at work and the kids and I are so ravished that we eat without him. Dinner time is not always like the cover of a magazine.
What I am learning, however, is that making a house a home is about creating a space where
everyone can be authentic. It's about allowing time for peace to settle. It's making space for grace to flood into all the crevices so that love can bloom out of the hard places. It looks like a pretty flower that pops up in the middle of a sidewalk. It doesn't happen with magic. It happens when a seed is planted. I haven't mastered it yet but I've seen glimpses of it and I know that the beauty can be so grand that I want to keep at it. I want to be a blessing to my family in the time I have them. I want to keep tossing seeds of hope all over the place and see where the beauty pops up. I may never be a Pinterest worthy homemaker but I want to be a one who makes sure the love of Jesus is evident in her home.
The problem with equating homemaking to perfection is that it exhausts you to no end. The laundry will never be done at my house. Never. Unless my family decides to convert to nudism for a weekend so I can get all caught up then it simply won't ever be a real thing. I can keep fairly current on a good week but it won't ever be complete. I've made peace with that.
My house will never be perfectly clean in every corner. I gave myself some grace a few years back and hired a cleaning team that comes to visit twice a month. I love them with my whole heart because they can do magic with a broom and some bleach. They come while I'm at work and I try to never come home while they are there because I don't want to break their spell. I do without a few other things so I can ensure that I will always be able to pay them. But even with all of their loveliness, there are still areas of my house that harbor dirt. My horse dog sheds profusely and no matter how much you sweep, vacuum, or dust, his hair will find a way to remain stuck to a curtain or pillow somewhere.
I love to cook but the idea of picture perfect meals is simply not a reality. I'm working hard to be more prepared for meals and evening time in general (See some tips here.) but it doesn't always look the way I want it to. Even on the weeks when my meals are planned, prepped, and ready to go, someone in my family decides that they don't have a taste for cauliflower or beans or whatever my delectable side is, and my meal is no longer a success. Sometimes homework is extra trying and math spills all over the table while we down our pork chops. Every now and again the husband gets tied up in a last minute meeting at work and the kids and I are so ravished that we eat without him. Dinner time is not always like the cover of a magazine.
What I am learning, however, is that making a house a home is about creating a space where
everyone can be authentic. It's about allowing time for peace to settle. It's making space for grace to flood into all the crevices so that love can bloom out of the hard places. It looks like a pretty flower that pops up in the middle of a sidewalk. It doesn't happen with magic. It happens when a seed is planted. I haven't mastered it yet but I've seen glimpses of it and I know that the beauty can be so grand that I want to keep at it. I want to be a blessing to my family in the time I have them. I want to keep tossing seeds of hope all over the place and see where the beauty pops up. I may never be a Pinterest worthy homemaker but I want to be a one who makes sure the love of Jesus is evident in her home.
Tuesday, October 7, 2014
Busy Doesn't Make You Good
I've been quite taken back by the people I've encountered lately that see this as laziness or worse, have accused me of not being an involved parent. There are those that believe a "good" parent is one who is on every committee, goes to every function, knows all the names of all the other moms and lunches with them 8 days a week. Frankly I don't have it in me. Nor do I have 8 days.
I'm not saying it's wrong to be on the PTA or the planning committee of Scouts or dance or whatever organization your kids are a part of. The people that do the planning are amazing people full of organization and energy that I simply do not possess. I admire what they do and my kids reap the benefits of their hard work when it's time for fall festivals, book fairs, and class picnics.
What I'm saying is wrong, however, is the need to do it all and the idea that you are only a good parent if you are juggling all the committee balls in the air. When we stretch ourselves so thin with our volunteering that we rarely have time to enjoy the people we are volunteering on behalf of our energy seems to go in vain. When we are angry and stressed over the commitments we've made on behalf of our children then how can we enjoy our children?
I want to help out at the school where possible. But I work full time so I can't be there as much as I'd like. I'd like to serve on a committee here and there for the activities my kids join but I have to keep my motives in check. Am I helping because I want to make a difference or because it will make me look like a good mom? Is my volunteering something I can involve my kids in or is it something that is going to take me away from them? Do I want to build relationships with the other people of this organization? Is this where God is calling me to serve?
Sometimes saying no in one place allows me to offer a better yes somewhere else. Sometimes backing away from a few commitments gives me time to rest and give better effort and energy in a place where I might be needed even more. Jesus repeatedly set an example of stepping back from the crowd and resting in quite so he could be prepared for the next crowd. Work is good. Volunteering is good. God designed us to be people who work and are productive. The problem is when we don't balance it out with time of rest. We do not become more righteous by filling our lives with busy.
What is God saying to you about slowing down?
Wednesday, October 1, 2014
Waiting for Bread
I've been baking a lot of bread lately...and with not a lot of success. I'm trying to make healthier choices for myself and for my family and decided that, since my kids take sandwiches several times a week in their lunch boxes, making bread at home would be a smart option. Not only can I control the ingredients but I get the benefit of slowing down, resting in the wait of the rising dough and slow baking process.
My friend Jamie gave me a recipe that she swears is fool-proof. She says she bakes a couple loaves a week and it's super easy. It's a throw-it-all-in kind of recipe and it really was easy. Except that my loaf turned out small. It was tasty and dense and cut nicely for sandwiches...if you like tiny, doll sized sandwiches.
I made it again, this time allowing extra rising time. It rose beautifully. But when I baked it it fell. So it was tasty and airy and it still cut nicely for sandwiches...if you like horse shoe shaped sandwiches. Jamie's recipe might be fool-proof but it is clearly not Tamara-proof.
Last night I pulled out my Cooking Bible from Paula Deen and made old-fashioned white bread. Y'all there truly is something to putting your hands in the dough and kneading it into a smooth ball. I closed my eyes and wondered if that is what God felt when he reached into the earth and pulled out a man. I may have wondered too long though and my kneading may have been over zealous. I made two of the most beautiful loaves you've ever laid eyes on but they were so dense and heavy. I sliced an end off while the bread was still steaming and spread a very thin layer of butter on it. It melted instantly into the tiny pores just before I put it in my mouth. "Is this what heaven tastes like?" I wondered to myself. It was so delicious I almost shed a tear but I knew in my gut that as this bread cooled it would turn heavier and heavier. This morning my beautiful loaves could be used in a drive by to throw through someone's window. They were as hard as bricks.
I'm not giving up in my bread quest. I will find the perfect recipe that works in Houston's fall humidity and doesn't mind my temperamental oven. I will find the instructions that are easy to follow and understand and don't require me to take a day off work to fit all the steps in.
In the meantime I will continue to refer to bread making when I talk about waiting on the Lord. The analogy still holds true. And just like my oven cooks differently from my friend Jamie's,God's timing is rarely my own. His plan often looks totally different from mine so even when I follow the recipe, my bread might not be as tall or fluffy or brown. The instructions he gives someone else for their life might be different from what he's calling me to do. I may need a whole new recipe. And a new oven. But that's a different analogy for a different post on a different day.
Thursday, September 25, 2014
The Grace of Self-Care
I hate being sick. I hate the chills. I hate the tiredness and the aches and the pains. I hate the medications that tear up my stomach and I hate the time it takes to rebuild my digestive system from the damage of the meds. I hate feeling dirty or oily or whatever I feel because I took a shower and laid on the couch all day with wet hair.
Sigh.
What I have discovered though is that there is some blessing in being sick. I have learned that I only get sick when I've done something that was not careful for myself. I hugged the snotty kid Sunday and forgot to wash my hands after. I drank one too many glasses of wine. I ate one too many helpings of the rich, wonderful food that was served to me. I didn't rest enough. I didn't take my vitamins. I allowed myself to become dehydrated.
Any one or all of these things can knock me down and serve as a wake up call to self love. I can not be a blessing to my family and my friends if I am not caring first for myself. God has trusted me with an amazing husband and two beautiful children who need me. He has put me in a place of leadership in ministry where I have a role to fulfill. If I don't care for myself then I fall. So the blessing of sick comes with the reminder that I am a beloved child of God who needs to be treated with love and respect.
Our American culture puts so much power in the idea that we have to be busy, over-scheduled, rise-to-the-top women who can do it all. We work through the coughs and the aches and we power on. What if we slowed down a bit though? What if we took a moment in the morning, before our feet hit the floor, to thank God for his goodness? What if we took the extra few minutes to feed ourselves a healthy, nutrient rich breakfast? What if we slowed down enough to breathe?
When I do these things I bring a level of health to my family. I bring richness and peace because I am living in richness and peace. I wish I could say I do it well all the time. If I did I wouldn't be typing this from my couch with a low-grade fever. But I am choosing to give myself enough grace to say, "Yes, I got sick. I will take the time I need to heal. I deserve that. My family deserves that." And I will choose to live in the richness of that grace as I move forward. I will remind myself to rest. I will nudge the plate away when my belly cries out in fullness. I will avoid the foods that cause distress and I will exercise - not to be skinny but to be strong and energy filled. I will keep hugging the snotty kids but I will remember to wash up afterward.
There is no nobility is living a life of chaos. It always catches up with us. For me, it shows up like strep throat and mono. For you it may be acne or indigestion or high blood pressure. God has given us bodies that cry out when we don't love ourselves; when we don't care for His creation with gentleness. Imagine the peace and health in our homes if we chose to live lives of peaceful care.
So today I say no to the extra commitments. I'm turning down the add on calendar events. I'm not going to be Wonder Woman today. I'm going to allow my body rest in order to heal so I can be "Wife" and "Mom" in the best way I know to be.
Sigh.
What I have discovered though is that there is some blessing in being sick. I have learned that I only get sick when I've done something that was not careful for myself. I hugged the snotty kid Sunday and forgot to wash my hands after. I drank one too many glasses of wine. I ate one too many helpings of the rich, wonderful food that was served to me. I didn't rest enough. I didn't take my vitamins. I allowed myself to become dehydrated.
Any one or all of these things can knock me down and serve as a wake up call to self love. I can not be a blessing to my family and my friends if I am not caring first for myself. God has trusted me with an amazing husband and two beautiful children who need me. He has put me in a place of leadership in ministry where I have a role to fulfill. If I don't care for myself then I fall. So the blessing of sick comes with the reminder that I am a beloved child of God who needs to be treated with love and respect.
Our American culture puts so much power in the idea that we have to be busy, over-scheduled, rise-to-the-top women who can do it all. We work through the coughs and the aches and we power on. What if we slowed down a bit though? What if we took a moment in the morning, before our feet hit the floor, to thank God for his goodness? What if we took the extra few minutes to feed ourselves a healthy, nutrient rich breakfast? What if we slowed down enough to breathe?
When I do these things I bring a level of health to my family. I bring richness and peace because I am living in richness and peace. I wish I could say I do it well all the time. If I did I wouldn't be typing this from my couch with a low-grade fever. But I am choosing to give myself enough grace to say, "Yes, I got sick. I will take the time I need to heal. I deserve that. My family deserves that." And I will choose to live in the richness of that grace as I move forward. I will remind myself to rest. I will nudge the plate away when my belly cries out in fullness. I will avoid the foods that cause distress and I will exercise - not to be skinny but to be strong and energy filled. I will keep hugging the snotty kids but I will remember to wash up afterward.
There is no nobility is living a life of chaos. It always catches up with us. For me, it shows up like strep throat and mono. For you it may be acne or indigestion or high blood pressure. God has given us bodies that cry out when we don't love ourselves; when we don't care for His creation with gentleness. Imagine the peace and health in our homes if we chose to live lives of peaceful care.
So today I say no to the extra commitments. I'm turning down the add on calendar events. I'm not going to be Wonder Woman today. I'm going to allow my body rest in order to heal so I can be "Wife" and "Mom" in the best way I know to be.
Monday, September 22, 2014
When Mama Ain't Happy...
There's that saying, you know the one, "When Mama ain't happy ain't nobody happy."
What about when Mama is sick?
I started noticing my throat yesterday. A throat is something you shouldn't notice. It just does it's job as a throat. Swallowing. Breathing. Throating.
But I noticed it all afternoon. It didn't hurt really but I knew it was there. When I swallowed my food or drink I felt it's presence.
Last night my throat hurt. Great. Maybe it's just allergies. We do live in Houston, after all. Allergies can be an aggravation on any given day. We had a lot of rain last week. Yes. It's probably allergies.
This morning my throat was screaming at me. It was yelling things like, "Hey! I'm a throat and I'm angry!"
Ain't nobody around here got time for an angry throat. I had to take Shelby to the dermatologist today and I'm supposed to go to a three day conference for work tomorrow.
After I took Shelby back to school from her appointment I ran by the local stop-in-and-see-a-physician's assistant-place. Strep throat.
My husband asked,"Where do you think you caught it?"
Hmmm. That's the beauty of a job in KidMin. You can catch all sorts of great germs from kids. They never wear a sign that says,"I just picked a green booger from my nose!" or "I'm running a low-grade fever!" when they come racing down the hall to hug you. So I hug necks and kiss cheeks. And apparently I catch germs. But I'll never stop hugging so I guess that's a risk I take.
I'm religious about hand washing and vitamin taking and water drinking so I feel like I do the best I can to avoid such disasters as strep throat but sometimes a germ or two sneak in and I get caught.
I'm loaded up now with antibiotics and nose sprays and throat lozenges and I'm praying I'm better withing a day or so. Because when Mama's sick...nothing. Nothing stops. Mama just keeps going.
What about when Mama is sick?
I started noticing my throat yesterday. A throat is something you shouldn't notice. It just does it's job as a throat. Swallowing. Breathing. Throating.
But I noticed it all afternoon. It didn't hurt really but I knew it was there. When I swallowed my food or drink I felt it's presence.
Last night my throat hurt. Great. Maybe it's just allergies. We do live in Houston, after all. Allergies can be an aggravation on any given day. We had a lot of rain last week. Yes. It's probably allergies.
This morning my throat was screaming at me. It was yelling things like, "Hey! I'm a throat and I'm angry!"
Ain't nobody around here got time for an angry throat. I had to take Shelby to the dermatologist today and I'm supposed to go to a three day conference for work tomorrow.
After I took Shelby back to school from her appointment I ran by the local stop-in-and-see-a-physician's assistant-place. Strep throat.
My husband asked,"Where do you think you caught it?"
Hmmm. That's the beauty of a job in KidMin. You can catch all sorts of great germs from kids. They never wear a sign that says,"I just picked a green booger from my nose!" or "I'm running a low-grade fever!" when they come racing down the hall to hug you. So I hug necks and kiss cheeks. And apparently I catch germs. But I'll never stop hugging so I guess that's a risk I take.
I'm religious about hand washing and vitamin taking and water drinking so I feel like I do the best I can to avoid such disasters as strep throat but sometimes a germ or two sneak in and I get caught.
I'm loaded up now with antibiotics and nose sprays and throat lozenges and I'm praying I'm better withing a day or so. Because when Mama's sick...nothing. Nothing stops. Mama just keeps going.
Thursday, September 18, 2014
Illusions
I know how to create the illusion of many things. I can see my hair stylist every 4-5 weeks and create the illusion of being blond. I can use my favorite bronzer and create the illusion of cheek bones. I learned very recently how to use that same bronzer to create the illusion of a jaw bone.
I can work wonders with a splash of pine cleaner and give the illusion of a clean bathroom in a very short amount of time. I've even learned that clean windows can give the illusion of a cleaner room.
I have not, however, learned to create the illusion of a peaceful home. I think it's either peaceful or it's not. There's not a way to fake peace. I can put on a smile when I'm in public and I can only put the best lit pictures on Facebook. I could only tell the funny, amusing stories of my family on my blog. I could do all of those things and make you believe all sorts of things about my life.
The truth though, is that when you walk into my home there is no way to fake peace. When my kids come home from school I can't put on an illusion of peace for them. When my husband walks in the door each night there is either a peaceful setting or there isn't.
I want my home to be a place of peace and rest and comfort but it won't happen if I don't take proactive steps to make it that way. Here are some things I'm trying:
I can work wonders with a splash of pine cleaner and give the illusion of a clean bathroom in a very short amount of time. I've even learned that clean windows can give the illusion of a cleaner room.
I have not, however, learned to create the illusion of a peaceful home. I think it's either peaceful or it's not. There's not a way to fake peace. I can put on a smile when I'm in public and I can only put the best lit pictures on Facebook. I could only tell the funny, amusing stories of my family on my blog. I could do all of those things and make you believe all sorts of things about my life.
The truth though, is that when you walk into my home there is no way to fake peace. When my kids come home from school I can't put on an illusion of peace for them. When my husband walks in the door each night there is either a peaceful setting or there isn't.
I want my home to be a place of peace and rest and comfort but it won't happen if I don't take proactive steps to make it that way. Here are some things I'm trying:
- Meal Planning. I know it makes the busiest of moms roll their eyes but the truth is that taking an hour a week to look at recipes and make a decision on five or six meals saves me loads of wasted energy and frustration each night. I get out a piece of paper and write down the meals my family enjoy and won't fight me on when it comes time to sit down at the table. I make it a rule to not try more than one new recipe a week. I don't have time or energy for meals that don't work and I'm not willing to risk it too often. Don't get me wrong - I try new recipes all the time. Just not too often in one week. I make a grocery list based on the recipes I've chosen and add whatever other items we will need for breakfast and lunches.
- Limit Grocery Store Trips. This can only happen if I stick to the meal planning. Running to the grocery store after work is a hassle because of all the other people who are running to the grocery store after work. If I have to take the kids with me it only adds to the chaos. I try to set aside a time when I can go without the kids and when it's not prime time, high traffic hour at the HEB.
- Assign Jobs to Everyone. Both of my kids have jobs to do every day at home. They have a really nice life and live in a really nice house. They are old enough to help take care of the house and all that happens in it. They are also old enough to understand that we can get to fun family moments much faster if we all chip in on the not-so-fun chores. Shelby has to help load and unload the dishwasher. Seth has to help with trash. They both have to pick up their own clutter and put it away every day. No strewn homework. No clothes or shoes left out. Each night before bed it all goes up and gets put away.
- Family Dinner is a Priority. This is hard. I know how hard this is. This is the one where people usually tell me the four-thousand reasons their family can't sit down together. But here's the reality....wait for it...hold on...You Are In Control Of Your Family Schedule. I know that little Susie wants to take ballet, tap, and mountain clogging in addition to Latin, cello, and Girl Scouts. I get that you want to give her all the best opportunities that you never had and that you want to do the same for little Jeffrey. Jeffrey plays football, basketball, hockey, and runs marathons for charities. It's all good stuff and I'm sure that all the colleges will want them because they are so well rounded. I feel certain of it. Except no. NO! It's a lie that we have been fed that if we keep our kids super busy they will be the best version of themselves. My kids aren't that old and I'm not an expert by any means but I do believe with my whole heart that the best thing for our kids is that they know that God loves them and that their dad and I love them. That's something that happens when we spend time with them. It happens when we sit down together several times a week (notice I didn't say 7 nights a week - I am a realist and my kids are involved in some activities) and eat together and talk about life.
- Limit Activities. I realize I just jumped on a small soapbox about this during the Family Dinner point but it's important so I'm mentioning it again. It also helps make all the other points possible. We can't have family dinner, we can't take care of our house, and we don't need to meal plan if we aren't having family meals together because we are too busy. If my kids have an activity every single night then our schedule becomes rushed and chaotic. If we are always running here and there and everywhere we are not sitting down and looking at each other's faces. We aren't talking about life. And then I miss out on a lot. And they miss out on me. And we miss. We miss.
Listen, I'm not saying we have a perfect family. We are so far from it that I can't even begin to tell you the hesitation I had in writing this post altogether. I'm not trying to create an illusion of peace. I'm trying to make space for peace. I'm trying to say it's possible. It's possible to say, "No" to some things, including my kids, and make space for peace to enter in to my family. I've tried it and I've seen the blessing that happens. I hope you'll try it. I want it for your family because it's been really good for mine. Maybe you try it and you hate it. Maybe you say, I don't like my family that much and I don't want to be at peace with them. Well then, that's a topic for a whole 'nother post. But if you are like me and you've found yourself in a place where you're craving more than an illusion for your family I would suggest you start by praying and asking God to reveal the places he wants to let his Spirit enter in.
Wednesday, September 17, 2014
Pressing In
I guess I've been over thinking a lot lately. My initial instinct when I over think is to close up shop and go shopping. I feel God calling me to press into this struggle this week though and to open my ears and my heart to what he might be teaching me.
Whether it's the over thinking about past abandonment by key people in my life (see my last post) or Advent calendars or what I'm going to cook for dinner, I feel him saying, "Press in. I'm right beside you."
There have been key people in my life who packed up and left when times got too tough or conversations got too difficult and I feel that tendency in me. Sometimes it's easier to go with the easy. Sometimes though, life is richer when you press in.
That's why, even though I took a break to blog and clear my head, I left the mess of Advent on my desk. I didn't shut my Bible and I didn't grab my purse and hit the mall. I'm leaning into the struggle to see what God has for me on the other side.
Monday, September 15, 2014
Love In Spite of Me
I had a conversation with a family member several months back that centered around my mom's suicide. It was an aunt that I hadn't spoken to in years, not by my own desire, but by hers. I had decided to find out, once and for all, why certain family members seemed to want little to nothing to do with me. In the years following Mom's death I had grieved so deeply losing her but also the loss of her family. I never understood the distance and I needed to find out reason.
It turns out that someone, thinking that they were helping to bring closure to my mom's sisters in the days after Mom's death, had sold them a pack of lies. I'd like to believe that this person didn't know they were lying and that maybe they had assumed things long enough and had come to believe them to be truths. I'd like to believe that this person's heart was in the right place.
The reality is, however, that this person is dead. My mom is also dead. I can't go back and find the truth. I can't ask this person where the information came from and I can't ask my mom about her feelings. And unfortunately, a group of people who once loved me unconditionally, chose to believe lies for so many years (instead of coming to me long ago and clarifying the story) that their love gained conditions and built walls.
Forgiveness is hard when it comes to abandoned love. I've given it because, well, it has to be given if any of us want to move on. But it's hard to move on from abandonment. Walls are hard to tear down and boundaries that were drawn are hard to erase. So I ask God for strength and courage to live a life of love and truth. I ask him to help me love others in the way I so desperately wanted to be loved. I pray that he shows me how to open my home in love and be a person of peace for others. I also ask that he opens my eyes to people he has given me who love me for who I am and not for what I do or have done. Or in spite of what I do or have done.
It turns out that someone, thinking that they were helping to bring closure to my mom's sisters in the days after Mom's death, had sold them a pack of lies. I'd like to believe that this person didn't know they were lying and that maybe they had assumed things long enough and had come to believe them to be truths. I'd like to believe that this person's heart was in the right place.
The reality is, however, that this person is dead. My mom is also dead. I can't go back and find the truth. I can't ask this person where the information came from and I can't ask my mom about her feelings. And unfortunately, a group of people who once loved me unconditionally, chose to believe lies for so many years (instead of coming to me long ago and clarifying the story) that their love gained conditions and built walls.
Forgiveness is hard when it comes to abandoned love. I've given it because, well, it has to be given if any of us want to move on. But it's hard to move on from abandonment. Walls are hard to tear down and boundaries that were drawn are hard to erase. So I ask God for strength and courage to live a life of love and truth. I ask him to help me love others in the way I so desperately wanted to be loved. I pray that he shows me how to open my home in love and be a person of peace for others. I also ask that he opens my eyes to people he has given me who love me for who I am and not for what I do or have done. Or in spite of what I do or have done.
Monday, September 8, 2014
Entertaining With Purpose
I used to get very worked up when we were expecting company. Back in the early days of our marriage it was fairly common for my husband to call on the way home from work and tell me that he had a coworker in the car with him for dinner. I would panic, start mopping, throw all the mail in a drawer and all the laundry in the closet.
Over the years I have become a bit more relaxed in my entertaining style. I've learned tricks to freshen up the house in a pinch but I've also stopped stressing so much about what people think of my home. I go more with the "clean enough to be healthy and dirty enough to be happy" motto.
I've also learned to create quick and easy snacks and meals that require little prep and are both good for the body and soul. I've learned how to stretch pasta and meat sauces to extend the serving size by one and I know that I glass of nice, red wine will soothe the soul and relieve nerves of any guest. Or hostess.
I now know that entertaining is more about making people feel loved and welcomed than serving the perfect pork chop. I know that an amusing story and a listening ear go farther that a perfectly mopped floor. I understand that eye contact and hugs at the door are far more welcoming than a vanilla scented candle. (Although I still burn candles!)
I want my home to be a place of comfort and peace; a place where people can come to sit and breathe. I hope that when people enter here they feel loved and known and cared for. I want my food to nourish their soul along with their body and I pray that our conversation warms the heart.
God has placed it on my heart lately to be more intentional with my entertaining - that it not be just about having fun but about helping hearts heal. I also want to help others get over the small pieces of anxiety that keep them from opening their own homes to others. I'm going to accomplish this by dedicating more of my reading and writing towards the subject of entertaining with purpose. I'll never be Martha Stewart - nor do I want to be. My goal is to simply relax more, love deeper, and share my home with others.
Over the years I have become a bit more relaxed in my entertaining style. I've learned tricks to freshen up the house in a pinch but I've also stopped stressing so much about what people think of my home. I go more with the "clean enough to be healthy and dirty enough to be happy" motto.
I've also learned to create quick and easy snacks and meals that require little prep and are both good for the body and soul. I've learned how to stretch pasta and meat sauces to extend the serving size by one and I know that I glass of nice, red wine will soothe the soul and relieve nerves of any guest. Or hostess.
I now know that entertaining is more about making people feel loved and welcomed than serving the perfect pork chop. I know that an amusing story and a listening ear go farther that a perfectly mopped floor. I understand that eye contact and hugs at the door are far more welcoming than a vanilla scented candle. (Although I still burn candles!)
I want my home to be a place of comfort and peace; a place where people can come to sit and breathe. I hope that when people enter here they feel loved and known and cared for. I want my food to nourish their soul along with their body and I pray that our conversation warms the heart.
God has placed it on my heart lately to be more intentional with my entertaining - that it not be just about having fun but about helping hearts heal. I also want to help others get over the small pieces of anxiety that keep them from opening their own homes to others. I'm going to accomplish this by dedicating more of my reading and writing towards the subject of entertaining with purpose. I'll never be Martha Stewart - nor do I want to be. My goal is to simply relax more, love deeper, and share my home with others.
Wednesday, September 3, 2014
Get Up and Go
The newness of the school year is wearing off already and frankly y'all, I'm tired. It's hard getting back into routine.
I generally take on a much lighter load at word after VBS in June. I take time to rest, recuperate, and regenerate before the wildness of fall. The first week back at it is tough though. Couple that with the kids going back to school, packing lunches, remembering who needs to wear tennis shoes and who's okay with flip flops, knowing what chart needs to be signed and what folder needs turned in, remembering what organization needs another membership check, and blah, blah, blah... I need a nap.
My husband texted me earlier today suggesting that I might want to take my truck to the car wash because it's pretty dirty. I just laughed. Do I get the truck washed or pick up his dry cleaning because that's the amount of free time this girl has today? I think he'll appreciate his heavily starched shirts more than me driving a clean truck.
I found myself staring at our fish, George Washington, this morning. It was about 5:30 and I was packing lunches for the day. He was, no joke, laying down on the bottom of his tank. Fish may do this regularly but I've never seen it before. He looked at me as if to say,"It' so early! Go back to bed!" Trust me, George, I would have loved to do so. I turned his light on in the hopes of catching a picture of him lying around but apparently George felt the compulsion to get up as well. That's what we do in the fall. We get up and make life happen. Tired or not.
I generally take on a much lighter load at word after VBS in June. I take time to rest, recuperate, and regenerate before the wildness of fall. The first week back at it is tough though. Couple that with the kids going back to school, packing lunches, remembering who needs to wear tennis shoes and who's okay with flip flops, knowing what chart needs to be signed and what folder needs turned in, remembering what organization needs another membership check, and blah, blah, blah... I need a nap.
My husband texted me earlier today suggesting that I might want to take my truck to the car wash because it's pretty dirty. I just laughed. Do I get the truck washed or pick up his dry cleaning because that's the amount of free time this girl has today? I think he'll appreciate his heavily starched shirts more than me driving a clean truck. I found myself staring at our fish, George Washington, this morning. It was about 5:30 and I was packing lunches for the day. He was, no joke, laying down on the bottom of his tank. Fish may do this regularly but I've never seen it before. He looked at me as if to say,"It' so early! Go back to bed!" Trust me, George, I would have loved to do so. I turned his light on in the hopes of catching a picture of him lying around but apparently George felt the compulsion to get up as well. That's what we do in the fall. We get up and make life happen. Tired or not.
Tuesday, August 26, 2014
The Power of Dinner
Yesterday was the first day of school for my kiddos and it was certainly a departure from previous years. We decided to take a last minute vacation last week so we missed "Meet the Teacher" on Thursday. It's not usually a big deal so I didn't think a whole lot about it. Neither of my kids are new to the school and they both are comfortable with the building and staff. I figured we'd just take our supplies in on the first day, shake hands with the teacher, take a picture or two and that would be it.
Mom Fail.
Both of my kids, the boy and the girl, started having mild anxiety Sunday night that escalated into Monday morning. Both started questioning,"What if I can't find my classroom?" and "What if I don't know my teacher?"
We talked them down, explaining that we would, of course, walk them in and help them carry the supplies. We talked about how we would go with them to introduce our family to the teacher and say, "Hello!" It would be fine. It was fine.
After school I was so excited to hear all the details of the day. I wanted to know who they sat with, what their schedule looked like, and how awesome their teachers are. I was met with tired, overwhelmed silence and a few grunts.
Enter the power of dinner.
We decided to have a celebratory dinner at one of their favorite burger joints and as the lemonade and fries were ingested the words slowly started spilling out. Shelby knew all of her teachers first and last names, their cities of origin, and their favorite football teams. She had a sense for which one is going to be her favorite and which one is going to have the strictest classroom. She told us about a new friend who moved to our town only a week ago and an old friend that she was happy to reconnect with.
Seth told us about recess and lunch.
I've always known the value of a family meal. I've been a long time believer that sitting down together is a bonding experience and allows kids and parents to talk to each other about things other than punishments or instructions. Last night was a great reminder that sometimes they just need a little time to decompress after a day of over-stimulation. Dinner is a non-threatening place for them to share casually and for their dad and I to learn fabulous tid-bits about the day and about the kind of people they are becoming. Our dinner was not fancy, nor was the conversation, but both were valuable components to ensuring the health of our family. Time spent together is like a shot of vitamins to our relationship. I want to make sure family dinner time is a priority in our lives.
Thursday, August 7, 2014
The Digging and Burying of Poop
There's a trick to teaching a dog not to dig. Have you heard the poop tactic before? This is a nugget of information that people with small, pocket size dogs probably don't need to know. It's crucial, however, when you own a horse dog.
Pocket dogs could dig and dig and dig and you'd have to fill a hole with a teaspoon. Giant breed dogs dig for two minutes and you fall in a hole that carries you to Middle Earth.
So the trick is this...it's gross so hold on...you bury the dog poop. When Frank was a puppy he showed tendencies towards a desire to dig. A wise dog trainer told me to simply place a turd or two into the hole he has been digging, bury it, and he will have no desire to dig in that particular place anymore. The hard part about this training technique (like all dog training) is that you MUST be consistent. Every hole, every area of the yard, every start of digging must be filled with poop and covered.
I did this for about a week. I had to watch him like a hawk. There was no letting him out the door and walking away. I would let him out, stand behind the window curtain like I was a poop carrying James Bond, and watch for him to dig. I would run out, say, "No!" in a loud and firm voice, and then pick up my shovel.
If you're asking how we had that much poop to fill all the holes then you don't own a Giant Breed and this information is not for you.
I haven't had to think about burying poop for several years. After that one week of training, Frank gave up digging. Some say it's because the dog feels it has sufficiently spread it's own scent throughout the yard. I say Frank had mercy on me and was tired of seeing me running with a shovel filled with poop.
This week I am pet sitting a lab puppy that likes to dig. I have begun the poop burying process again. The trick is knowing which poop is his from the pile of daily scooping.
I realize right now that my life may appear very glamorous. Try not to be jealous.
I actually had another thought this week though, as I was burying poop. There have been countless times in my life when I have been incessantly pursuing something. A thing, an idea, a goal, whatever....that isn't healthy for me. I think back at how many times God has said, "Stop! That's not good for you. Put that down. Let go of that. Walk away." I generally will put down whatever the bad thing is and step to another area of life and start digging.
What would happen if I asked God to help me bury the bad? What if I said, "God, I don't want to mess with this harmful thing again so I need you to get the shovel" and then fully laid it down? I'm assuming the scent of a buried past would help me to avoid digging up old holes again. I feel certain that God has some blessings he's been holding out for me that I haven't been able to see because I've been too busy digging on the other side of the yard. How many rests by the fire or walks down the lane have I missed out on with my Father because I was obsessively digging holes?
Healing doesn't come in questioning the what-ifs but in making a conscious decision every day to ask God to bring the shovel. Healing comes when I can have peace in my heart, knowing that God wants more for me than obsessively searching for something that is outside of his will. Healing comes when I hand all the poop over and not dig it up again.
Pocket dogs could dig and dig and dig and you'd have to fill a hole with a teaspoon. Giant breed dogs dig for two minutes and you fall in a hole that carries you to Middle Earth.
So the trick is this...it's gross so hold on...you bury the dog poop. When Frank was a puppy he showed tendencies towards a desire to dig. A wise dog trainer told me to simply place a turd or two into the hole he has been digging, bury it, and he will have no desire to dig in that particular place anymore. The hard part about this training technique (like all dog training) is that you MUST be consistent. Every hole, every area of the yard, every start of digging must be filled with poop and covered.
I did this for about a week. I had to watch him like a hawk. There was no letting him out the door and walking away. I would let him out, stand behind the window curtain like I was a poop carrying James Bond, and watch for him to dig. I would run out, say, "No!" in a loud and firm voice, and then pick up my shovel.
If you're asking how we had that much poop to fill all the holes then you don't own a Giant Breed and this information is not for you.
I haven't had to think about burying poop for several years. After that one week of training, Frank gave up digging. Some say it's because the dog feels it has sufficiently spread it's own scent throughout the yard. I say Frank had mercy on me and was tired of seeing me running with a shovel filled with poop.
This week I am pet sitting a lab puppy that likes to dig. I have begun the poop burying process again. The trick is knowing which poop is his from the pile of daily scooping.
I realize right now that my life may appear very glamorous. Try not to be jealous.
I actually had another thought this week though, as I was burying poop. There have been countless times in my life when I have been incessantly pursuing something. A thing, an idea, a goal, whatever....that isn't healthy for me. I think back at how many times God has said, "Stop! That's not good for you. Put that down. Let go of that. Walk away." I generally will put down whatever the bad thing is and step to another area of life and start digging.
What would happen if I asked God to help me bury the bad? What if I said, "God, I don't want to mess with this harmful thing again so I need you to get the shovel" and then fully laid it down? I'm assuming the scent of a buried past would help me to avoid digging up old holes again. I feel certain that God has some blessings he's been holding out for me that I haven't been able to see because I've been too busy digging on the other side of the yard. How many rests by the fire or walks down the lane have I missed out on with my Father because I was obsessively digging holes?
Healing doesn't come in questioning the what-ifs but in making a conscious decision every day to ask God to bring the shovel. Healing comes when I can have peace in my heart, knowing that God wants more for me than obsessively searching for something that is outside of his will. Healing comes when I hand all the poop over and not dig it up again.
Tuesday, July 15, 2014
Pie and Margaritas Don't Feed Bromeliads
The tag says, "Durable plant. Dramatic central flower."
We laughed, probably a little too much, at how true a statement it was. I am durable and strong. And dramatic.
It's amazing the difference a few days can make. Last week I was in a place of thankfulness and peace. I was strong and durable. I was praising God for another year of life and honestly feeling like I was pretty close to having this whole "life" thing figured out. I might have given lessons if the opportunity had risen. That's where I was.
Then I went back to work. I engaged people outside of my home. I interacted with that life that I thought I had mastered. I fell flat on my face.
The first situation was one where I realized I had been left out of something I deemed as important. My pride was hurt in such a deep, slashing movement when I learned that the world was able to turn just fine without me. While my logical brain knew that to be true, I've never claimed to spend too much time in my logical brain.
The second situation was dealing with a difficult person and thinking I could handle it all on my own. "I don't need to bother God with this. He's busy. I'm familiar. I've got this." Never have more prideful words been thought.
The third situation came last night when someone said something online that was so insensitive and hurtful and revealing about his true heart that I'm not sure how I will recover.
Scratch that. I do know how. I'll start with laying it down in God's lap. Then I'll not make a pie. I relied on pie and margaritas the past couple of days, knowing full well that while delicious, neither lend to a durable Tamara.
So let's recap. My plan to move forward in life, get back on the track of awareness and thankfulness includes:
1) Lots of Jesus
2) No pie
3) No margaritas
I'll eventually have pie again. I know I'll partake in margarita's again. There's no reason in my world for me to not enjoy those things. What I want to avoid is putting them before Jesus. When I hand my life to him and submit to his will for me, I can be a bromeliad. I can be durable through the power of Jesus.
Monday, July 7, 2014
Happy Birthday
My birthday is the 4th of July, which means it's shared with everyone in the USA. The great part is that most people have the day off and are expecting a party. The bad part is, well, I guess there is no bad part. It's a great day to have a birthday.
When I was little we always had a party with barbecue chicken, potato salad, and cake. My mom made the best cakes. I usually requested white cake with strawberry filling and she'd cover it in butter cream that would melt in your mouth. She made the most beautiful roses from butter cream and she'd put them all over my cake. They were almost too pretty to eat. Almost.
I don't make barbecue chicken anymore. Mostly because no one in my family like barbecue sauce. I make a cake, although this year I made a pound cake. But we still party. We invite friends and family and we just enjoy the day.
I think the enjoyment part is why I love my birthday so much. There was a time, 17 years ago, when I thought I would never feel joy again. In the months after my mom's suicide I slipped into a place so dark and engulfing that I wasn't sure I'd ever make it out. My life was in danger and I didn't know how to climb out.
God is good though. He picked me up from the mire and I am not just surviving but I am living. I am blessed beyond measure with a loving husband and precious children. I have great friends who love me and stand with me every day. God is using me to bless others.
My birthday stands as a reminder to me that God is faithful and loving and that I matter to him. It is an anniversary of life and life is a gift. It's a gift that shouldn't be squandered, which is why I strive every day to be the woman God has created me to be. I want to learn and grow and know more about who he is. I want to experience his love richly and I want to share that love with others. And if that means I have a kick-off party each year that includes sparklers and cake...then it's all the sweeter.
Monday, June 23, 2014
Barbie Houses Are Better With Friends
Anyway, this girl was beautiful. She had naturally curly hair and dark, smooth skin. And by dark I mean darker than mine, which is about 92.3% of the entire world. She had long, feathery eye lashes that batted over deep brown eyes. And she had the Barbie Dream House. And Barbie Corvette. And all the Barbies. All. Of. The. Barbies.
I had Barbies. I had a Barbie Town Home. I was not at all Barbie deprived. But in my head, this girl had all the Barbies and I really wanted to be her friend so I could play with her Barbies. I've been shallow for a long time.
So one day I finally scored an invitation to her house for a play date. Although they weren't called play dates in the early 80's. I don't think there was a name for the playing. It was just playing. I wore what I felt was about my coolest outfit and my mom drove me over to her house. I brought a Barbie of my own, you know, just in case we needed a spare, and it's a good thing I did. What I didn't know was that a play date with this girl meant that you go to her house and watch her play. I was not allowed to touch anything. Not the Barbie Dream House or anything inside. Not the Barbie Corvette. Not any of the Barbies. It was maybe the worst play date ever. And to make it worse, her mom checked in on us several times, saw what was happening, and did nothing.
Flash forward 30 years.
My daughter invited a sweet friend over for a sleepover. They swam, ate dinner, watched cartoons, and got ready for bed. I poured a glass of wine. Went out on the back porch and put my feet up. Suddenly I see my daughter at the back door and she's crying.
"My friend wants to go home. You need to text her mom."
I was so confused. They had been laughing and playing and having a swell time the whole evening. How could things have gone so terribly wrong that I was going to now ask this girls mom to get out of her pajamas, put on a bra, and drive to my house to retrieve her child?
It turns out that the friend had touched my daughters things. Her precious junk stacked ever so hoardingly on her dresser had been touched and knocked over and then, in a manner that can only be described as cuckoo, my daughter had shamed her friend and made her feel no longer welcome in our home.
This is where I flashed back to the Barbie play date.
How did I raise a kid that can't share? She has a little brother.She went to preschool before elementary. She's a Girl Scout. I thought I'd put her through all the sharing courses.
Apparently not.
She was so angry and tried so hard to justify her behavior that my head was spinning as I listened to her. I tell you what...parenting should really come with a better hand book.
Since that night, we've had several other eye opening experiences where I've seen that sharing and cooperating with peers is not her strong suit. My mind is blowing because she's so sweet in most situations. Situations that don't involve her stuff. She prays for others on a regular basis. She knows the Golden Rule by heart and has scriptures about loving others posted on sticky notes all over her room. Apparently you just aren't allowed to touch them.
Knowing what to do and actually doing it are often two very different things. Paul even wrote about it in the Bible so I know this isn't a new problem for this generation. It's yet another matter of the heart that I have to wrestle and teach her how to wrestle. That's what parenting is, right? I can't wrestle it for her but I'm going to need to coach her through it. I have to help her see that this is a battle worth gearing up for because you have to know how to be a friend before you can have friends.
And having a Barbie Dream House is more fun if you have someone else to play with.
Friday, June 20, 2014
4 Years Later - An Over Night Success
You would have thought we were suggesting a sacrifice of puppies on the alter.
"Why would you KILL something so good?"
"Why do you HATE the children?"
"Who do you think you are, changing our ways?"
These are only a few of the responses we got with this decision. They came in the form of phone calls, emails, text messages, Facebook messages, stops in the grocery store, with lunch invitations, and my favorite...a drive up to my front door. Yep, someone drove to my house, knocked on my door, and, in front of my children, asked me why I hate kids.
It wasn't easy and I questioned the decision at least a million times. The thing I kept going back to is that if we say we are a church that values families then we have to invest in families. If we say that we want to bring families together for the benefit of the Kingdom of God then we have to create environments for families to be together. If we say we want parents to be spiritual leaders in the home then we have to give them the tools to take the leadership out of the hands of the church.
And sometimes, not always, but sometimes, you have to get rid of something that is really good to make room for something else really good. The sucky part is that some people didn't measure "really good" on the same score card I felt God had required me to start using. The change was slow. It was four years slow.
There were a few people on board from day one. Thank God for those people because I would've thrown in the towel when the first mom yelled at me. There were a few people that came on shortly after. I thank God for them because it was a sign that maybe, just maybe, this wasn't such a crazy idea after all. There were a lot more people that took a lot more time and, well, I thank God for them, too.
This year was wild. And by wild I mean running out of tostadas and kids dancing in the aisles wild. Which brings me to the moment I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that God had led our team down this path for a reason.
On the first day of VBS this year I got a call from a woman at a local shelter for abused women. The women at this particular shelter are fresh from abusive situations. Most have taken their babies and what they could carry and no more. They have no where else to go. The woman at the shelter told me that they had 4 women with several children that they wanted to bring to our VBS. They couldn't pay us and couldn't promise that they'd be back. There was no question. Bring them all.
I won't lie and say I didn't hesitate when I found that some of the kids coming were teens. Our VBS uses teens as group leaders and helpers and I wasn't quite sure where I would plug these kids in but I knew they all had to be invited.
I never met the moms that night. I didn't want to single them out and be like, "Hey, I hear you're homeless!" I smiled and welcomed them and I hugged their kids but I never spoke specificalities to them. What I did see though was in the closing. When the band was playing a song about the one-of-a-kind love of Jesus and the Jam Team was clapping and dancing, one of the little girls threw her crutches down (I have no clue as to why she was on crutches) and slid out into the aisle. She danced her heart out. She balanced on one leg, raised her arms, and sang at the top of her lungs.
For one night, that little girl got to be a part of something joyful and fun. She got to do it with her siblings and her mom. Their whole family heard a message of Jesus' love and it's powerful healing abilities. The mom heard a message that God desires that she be loved and respected and the kids got to run and play.
This year's VBS was a win in so many columns that I may need to make new columns. God is so good and I am so blessed to be a part of what he's doing in his kingdom. While I would've loved to have seen an over night success and people jumping on board immediately, I am grateful for the journey and looking forward to the road ahead.
Wednesday, June 4, 2014
Hanging On
There's something about this little guy that makes me smile. I appreciate his hanging ability. I get that feeling. VBS is next week and I feel like I'm just hanging on. The details are all coming together. I have plenty of help. The supplies are sitting in large boxes, piled haphazardly in my office. It's coming and it's going to be great - I know it in my logical brain. There's always an anxiety that rises in my illogical brain however, the week before as the what-ifs and what-abouts rush in like bayou flood waters. The self doubt, self pity, and selfishness whisper loudly in my ear and beg for me to let go of my faith in a God who always comes through. They whisper like a 4-year-old whispers in church - it's really a hushed yell - in an effort for me to take my eyes off of my Father who loves me, loves family, and loves the idea of blessing families.
In an effort to fend off the whispers I wore my comfy clothes to work today, stopped for a giant coffee, and have turned the praise music up loud in my office. It's going to be a great day, VBS is going to happen, families are going to be blessed, and I'm going to hang on through it all.
Thursday, May 22, 2014
Landon
My friend, Landon, went to be with Jesus last night. He's been battling cancer for a couple of years and fought like no other kid I've ever seen. He was a beast. He was amazing. He inspired people all over the world with his strength.
He will be missed.
Landon's family has gone to our church for many years. I had his oldest sister in confirmation class 5 years ago. She graduates from high school this weekend.
Both of his sisters love him ferociously.
Landon was in the nursery with my daughter and they grew up in Sunday School together. Landon's mom, Jaymi, was a Sunday School Shepherd for their class up until a few months before Landon was diagnosed. How do I tell my girl that he's gone after she prayed so diligently? How do I minister to all the kids this Sunday who've been praying for healing?
The truth of God's healing is that sometimes it happens on the other side of glory. Sometimes God allows us to be softened and broken in prayer in order to draw closer to Him. I don't believe God answered us with a "no." I believe he answered us with a "not here." Landon did receive his healing. It was just in a more miraculous way than our earthly minds can comprehend. Landon fought the fight and won the race as he crossed into the arms of Jesus. That's the promise and the hope of the resurrection that we receive through our baptism in Christ Jesus.
Tuesday, May 13, 2014
Mother's Day
Mother's Day is tricky. Every year I really want it to be a day that allows my family to celebrate me. That's what it's for, right? Family celebrating mom? Every year though, since I've been a mom, it's a day that leaves me physically and emotionally exhausted.
I love my kids with all my heart. I prayed for them to be my kids. Chuck and I tried for years to bring these kids into existence. They are each a blessing to my heart in ways I will never be able to make them understand. My heart swells with joy and pride when they smile at me.
I still hate Mother's Day. It's a reminder that my own mom gave up on life - and me - and succumbed to depression, taking her own life. It's a reminder that being my mom was not enough if she could no longer be a wife.
I hate that.
I want to focus on what I have. I want to revel in the flowers and the grilling of yummy foods prepared just for me. I want to lay back with a book and put my feet up and fall asleep with my kids laughter lilting on the breeze.
"Focus on your blessings!" others suggest.
"Look at what you have, not what you have not!" some have said.
Yes. Yes. Those are great ideas that I have tried many times over. My heart aches anyway. I'd rather skip the day altogether. My husband and kids do a great job of appreciating me on any given day. I don't need a special focus day. Maybe next year we can go away somewhere where there is no Mother's Day. Is there a place? I should start planning now.
Tuesday, May 6, 2014
Chaos in the Still
This is one of my favorite places in the whole entire world. I don't have to go far to get there because it's right in my back yard. One of the best times of day is early, before the heat of Houston becomes outrageous and the humidity is still packing it's energy to unleash on the day.
I like to take my coffee out and sit as still as possible. This is a feat in and of itself for an extrovert. Being quiet and still goes against most of who I am but yet I find it a necessity lately. I can sit with my feet propped up and watch the chaos of the yard.It truly is chaotic, which may be why I can go there to be still. The water is flowing from the spa into the pool in a gentle rushing while the wind is making light waves on the tanning deck. The bees swoop in and out of the bottle brush flowers right behind my head, forcing me to be statuesque as to remain unnoticed. The blue jay sees me and is angry that I'm in his yard but when he realizes how still I am he makes his way to the feeder with the cardinal. The sparrows that have recently built a family home in my dryer vent race back and forth to the feeder, making lightening fast darts through the porch. The doves are on the ground cooing as they pick up the seeds the cardinal and blue jay knock down below. The branches on the tree need trimmed so they are scraping the gutters with a low screech and the squirrels are using the branches as a personal walkway from the treetop to the roof of the house.
All of this noise amidst my quiet time reminds me how I need to take time to be still and breathe. I have to remember that God is God and that the world spins and moves regardless of my noticing. Really though, it's so much sweeter when I notice.
Thursday, April 17, 2014
Deceiving Eyes
As I sit at my desk, knee deep in both Holy Week and VBS prep, I have been thinking a lot about Jesus and where I go to find him. I was reading about the women going to the tomb on that famous Sunday morning, fully expecting to find the body of Jesus. He had told them that he wouldn't be there yet they cried and wondered and fretted that his body had been stolen. They were so wrapped up in their own doubt that they didn't automatically recognize The Lord when he stood before them.
Then, this morning, as I was drinking coffee and perusing Yahoo News, I ran across this story of a snake that was found dead with a centipede hanging out of it's body. It has really awesome and gross pictures (You can read the whole story at this link.) and I couldn't help but think of how that snake thought it had just bagged a really good meal. It thought it knew exactly what it was seeing. It looked at that centipede and thought, "Yum! I've hit the jackpot!"and it ended up killing her.
How often do I think I'm looking at something good, something righteous, something holy, only to find out that it could've been the death of me? How often do I get wrapped up in my own thinking and my own actions and totally miss out on the beauty of the Savior standing beside me all along? How many times have I felt certain that I had hit the jackpot, found toxicity, and totally missed a blessing Jesus was holding out before me?
Today my prayer is that I would have eyes to see truth and that I will have wisdom to reach out to Jesus.
Wednesday, April 9, 2014
Prayers for Peace
Some days I think that I have problems. I think that my dilemma of beef or chicken for dinner is something to spend time pondering and that my place in the car line is a stress.
Then I get a text from a friend who is pregnant and her blood pressure is too high and she's been put on bed rest to protect her health and the health of the baby.
Some days life falls out of perspective and I see that my worries are not worries at all but instead inconveniences of a suburban mom.
I've placed a link below for a beautiful song. This has been my prayer for peace lately...whether I'm thinking about chicken or my friend.
See it here.
Then I get a text from a friend who is pregnant and her blood pressure is too high and she's been put on bed rest to protect her health and the health of the baby.
Some days life falls out of perspective and I see that my worries are not worries at all but instead inconveniences of a suburban mom.
I've placed a link below for a beautiful song. This has been my prayer for peace lately...whether I'm thinking about chicken or my friend.
See it here.
Tuesday, April 1, 2014
Poison Drink
Someone shared a special nugget of truth with me today that said, "Resentment is the poison we drink expecting someone else to die."
I've been mulling it over all day and can't find an ounce of untruth in it. I'd go so far as to add "unforgiving spirit" to the dose of resentment because I think they are toxic together. Do I have that mastered? No. Do I ever drink the poison? Almost every day.
I wish that I could say otherwise but it's true. So often in life we skip over conversations that could be awkward or painful because we don't want to go through the work of it all and then we end up hanging on to resentments for months or years.
There are so many areas of my life that I wish I'd set boundaries or had hard conversations years ago. There are people I've allowed to take up too much space in my head because I didn't have the courage or the maturity to take a stand either towards or against.
To put it on paper (or screen) makes the process seem so much simpler than it truly is. Forgiveness is tough and does not come naturally for mankind. It's a choice I have to make every single day and one that I can only do with the help of God. Some days I'm more open to his grace than others. Some days I fail miserable and I swallow a shot of poison willingly.
So how do I move forward with less poison? I think I need a lot of Jesus and good friends who will speak truth to me when I'm being hard. I need to surround myself with truth-speakers who will put their hands over my mouth when they see me raising a shot of resentment to my lips. I need to bow before God daily and beg to be reminded of the grace he has blanketed me with so that I can offer it to others. I also think I need to value myself as a precious creation made in the image of God and demand that I be treated accordingly. I can make a choice to not allow myself to be a door mat. I can make a choice to be treated with respect. It all goes hand in hand in the walk towards health.
I've been mulling it over all day and can't find an ounce of untruth in it. I'd go so far as to add "unforgiving spirit" to the dose of resentment because I think they are toxic together. Do I have that mastered? No. Do I ever drink the poison? Almost every day.
I wish that I could say otherwise but it's true. So often in life we skip over conversations that could be awkward or painful because we don't want to go through the work of it all and then we end up hanging on to resentments for months or years.
There are so many areas of my life that I wish I'd set boundaries or had hard conversations years ago. There are people I've allowed to take up too much space in my head because I didn't have the courage or the maturity to take a stand either towards or against.
To put it on paper (or screen) makes the process seem so much simpler than it truly is. Forgiveness is tough and does not come naturally for mankind. It's a choice I have to make every single day and one that I can only do with the help of God. Some days I'm more open to his grace than others. Some days I fail miserable and I swallow a shot of poison willingly.
So how do I move forward with less poison? I think I need a lot of Jesus and good friends who will speak truth to me when I'm being hard. I need to surround myself with truth-speakers who will put their hands over my mouth when they see me raising a shot of resentment to my lips. I need to bow before God daily and beg to be reminded of the grace he has blanketed me with so that I can offer it to others. I also think I need to value myself as a precious creation made in the image of God and demand that I be treated accordingly. I can make a choice to not allow myself to be a door mat. I can make a choice to be treated with respect. It all goes hand in hand in the walk towards health.
Wednesday, March 26, 2014
The Desert Before Dessert
I have not written a blog...or anything else for that matter...for quite some time. I've been walking through a desert of silence. That sounds dramatic and meaningful but the truth of the matter is that it really has been like a desert. I battled some depression, couldn't hear God speaking for the life of me, and I felt parched and dry.
Two weeks ago I told my husband, Chuck, that I felt like God had left me because I didn't feel him and I couldn't hear him speak. Chuck had just got out of the shower and was dressing at the time. He looked at me through his reflection in the mirror and said, "Well, you know that's not true, right?"
Did I? I guess my logical brain did know that but I rarely live there. I spend most of my days in my creative, emotional brain. I sometimes hear messages from my logical brain but for the most part, I shoo them away. I knew though, in that moment, that I needed to pray. I grabbed my phone and pulled up my Bible app (I use YouVersion) and prayed, "God, I need a word from you so that I know you are here. Would you give me something to hang on to?" I got Psalm 139: 15, which says, "My frame was not hidden from you when I was made in the secret place, when I was woven together in the depths of the earth."
Well, that'll do. Yes, God was not only present right then but he had been since the beginning of me. Since then I have been praying for God to reveal all the things that I had piled up and put between us. He had never left but I had done a great job of pushing him back and building a wall up so that I didn't have to look at him or listen to him. He's been faithful though, as un-fun as it may be, in revealing my stack-o-crap. It's crazy how high it had become and I am embarrassed at some of the old stuff that I thought I was over that I had pulled back out. I've also asked that as he reveals my junk that I would be bathed in his grace and peace so that I don't just move the stack somewhere else. I want to receive total healing. Total. I want to be done with the desert and dive into the dessert of his grace. It's too sweet to run from anymore.
So as this process has been happening I felt a need to start writing again. I guess if God is doing a work in me he's doing it in someone else, too. Maybe my words can be a spur for someone else.
Two weeks ago I told my husband, Chuck, that I felt like God had left me because I didn't feel him and I couldn't hear him speak. Chuck had just got out of the shower and was dressing at the time. He looked at me through his reflection in the mirror and said, "Well, you know that's not true, right?"
Did I? I guess my logical brain did know that but I rarely live there. I spend most of my days in my creative, emotional brain. I sometimes hear messages from my logical brain but for the most part, I shoo them away. I knew though, in that moment, that I needed to pray. I grabbed my phone and pulled up my Bible app (I use YouVersion) and prayed, "God, I need a word from you so that I know you are here. Would you give me something to hang on to?" I got Psalm 139: 15, which says, "My frame was not hidden from you when I was made in the secret place, when I was woven together in the depths of the earth."
Well, that'll do. Yes, God was not only present right then but he had been since the beginning of me. Since then I have been praying for God to reveal all the things that I had piled up and put between us. He had never left but I had done a great job of pushing him back and building a wall up so that I didn't have to look at him or listen to him. He's been faithful though, as un-fun as it may be, in revealing my stack-o-crap. It's crazy how high it had become and I am embarrassed at some of the old stuff that I thought I was over that I had pulled back out. I've also asked that as he reveals my junk that I would be bathed in his grace and peace so that I don't just move the stack somewhere else. I want to receive total healing. Total. I want to be done with the desert and dive into the dessert of his grace. It's too sweet to run from anymore.
So as this process has been happening I felt a need to start writing again. I guess if God is doing a work in me he's doing it in someone else, too. Maybe my words can be a spur for someone else.
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