God with us.

Fall on your knees. Oh hear, the angel voices. Oh night divine. Oh night when Christ was born.

Oh holy night.

Somewhere in the midst of the arguments over baby dolls. Hidden beneath the surface of my short temper. Nestled between early mornings and late nights.  I'm reminded.

Reminded of the holy night, when He came.

I sit silent and let the words wash over me, taking me back to that holy night.

Oh how I wish I could have been there.  Kneeling with the shepherds. Watching this brand new mother cradle her baby boy. I know the feeling. Unconditional love. As His sweet eyes opened for the first time and stared deep into His mother's soul. The soul He came to rescue.

Emmanuel. God with us.

The angels voices echo vividly, still today.

Emmanuel. God with me.

All of me. My shortcomings, my failures. My profound joys.

Every day. Days full of chaos. Days rich with clarity.

It's ok to bring all of me. To Him.

After all, He came a long way, on purpose, to be with me.

How quickly I forget

Last day of kindergarten.

Last night in a crib.

Last conversation before someone closes their eyes to this world.

Sometimes I am in awe of my ability to forget.  With ease I focus intently on now.  

I forget when they were so little. The little fingers and voices and innocence. I look at pictures and try so hard to remember. I look at Heidi and try so hard to sear the moment in my memory. The feelings, the breaths, the words, the sounds, the smells. Her hair freshly washed, the curls framing her face. 

Her sweet little voice calling to me to rescue her from her crib. 

The way she snuggles into my neck when I rock her to sleep. 

Night time is so sweet. It's as if everyone wants to go to bed in peace. Forgetting about the arguments earlier in the day over baby dolls and lollipops and messy rooms. I take my time tucking each of my girls into bed. I snuggle with Heidi until her eyes seem too heavy to stay open. I lay down next to London. She asks me to rub her back - and reminds me to not forget her hair. I savor this moment. London is not a cuddler, except in the dark of night. I sit on Ava's bed and we whisper about her day. She tells me with great delight about things she learned, fun moments with friends, and what she looks forward to tomorrow. She is my story teller. She remembers the little things, the details, I often overlook. I tell her that it's time to turn her brain off and get some sleep. She giggles and pretends to turn a switch on her forehead. She closes her eyes and falls asleep, with a subtle smile on her face.  

Sometimes I really just hate turning the page.

Out of the ashes we rise

"It is worth remembering that the time of greatest gain in terms of wisdom and inner strength is often that of greatest difficulty" - Dalai Lama

The pain may sear so deep that it brings physical pain. You must feel it.

The loss may bring a deafening silence.  You must endure it.

Rising from the ashes is proof that rising is possible.

Share your story.

From the ashes of your loss, will arise something powerful for others.

Truth will be revealed to others, through your story.

Out of the ashes we rise.  And if our God is for us, then who could ever stop us.

Rise. Bloom again with new, different colors.

Your greatest calling

Laundry, work, phone calls, and more laundry.

In the middle of it all, my 6 year old asks me to help her draw a cat.

Without thinking I begin to spout off my to-do list.  To a 6 year old.  To my 6 year old.

As I am running down the list of important things, I see her face.  She is not impressed. She doesn't care. She just hears "not now", "maybe later", and "I have more important things to do".  More important than you.

She won't remember the time that her mom was so busy.  She will just remember that I said no and she didn't get to draw her cat.

All of those people on my to-do list, they don't love me the way she does. So she should be the most important.

They won't remember how important you are.  They will remember how important they weren't.

So draw. Build. Play. Sing. Remind them how important they are.

that night. the night my soul met god.

i've always known god. but it wasn't until that night that i really met him.

it was a night full of pain. the kind of pain that reaches into your soul and steals everything sacred.

i stumbled down the sidewalk. it was late at night. i was lost. truly lost. in a matter of seconds, hopeless had it's death grip on my neck. i was suffocating. could not breathe.

and that night.

late that night, walking aimlessly up and down the street in my pajamas with no shoes on, i met him for the first time.

he found me. i found him.

that night.

when the pain is my worship.

i've been seeing and understanding that God uses *all* for a purpose.  ALL.

we miss out on so much when we resist the ugly in our story.  let him be the creator, again.  transforming the burnt, left over ashes into beauty. beauty with a voice that beckons us to accept his grace and love.  let him create something from nothing.  he can do it, you know.

for even if the mountains walk away and the hills fall to pieces, my love won't walk away from you, my covenant commitment of peace won't fall apart. the God who has compassion on you says so. isaiah 54:10

Beauty in the Mess

3 pink strollers. 1 oversized beanbag. 2 pairs of boots. Baby dolls that seem to multiply by the minute.

This is what I see right now. This is what I see at least 10 times a day.

I put them away and yet they always reappear.

I wrote a few days ago about learning to embrace the mess. It's a work in progress.

I recently saw an episode of Oprah where a young couple was describing the pain they felt after their 3 young children were killed in a car accident. Unimaginable. My brain could not even begin to comprehend the depth of their loss. Nor did I want to allow myself to. They described the first time they came home, without their precious babies. The quiet was deafening. The toys, the shoes, the mess was suddenly a reminder of the lives that were lost. They would give anything to hear the arguments, the feet running from room to room, the talking baby dolls.

The mess. The signs of life -- are a testament to the people who live and love here. I’m quick to judge it. I’m quick to be frustrated by it.

Heidi's booster seat is on her chair at our dining room table. Sometimes I hide it because it is bright blue and red, and sticks out like a sore thumb. But tonight I look at it and remember the way she giggled uncontrollably at dinner when London made a silly face. I see London's purse and baby doll. She loves to play "moms" with her sisters. She pushes her little stroller around the house and sings to her babies. I see Ava's backpack. I am reminded of the the incredibly beautiful, smart, sensitive girl she is becoming. I see the dress up clothes, coloring books, and sippy cups.

This is where we live. This is OUR LIFE.

Jonathan is fulfilling his dream of being a police officer. I am a stay-at-home mom again, and loving it. Ava is in first grade and is expanding her social life, away from Mom & Dad. London is spelling words and writing them on paper. Heidi is talking to me - full fledged conversations with a 2 year old - coming up with new words every day.

We are living into each new stage. The days, ordinary and beautiful.

I am pausing to notice. To honor this moment that I usually pick up and throw back into the place where I think it belongs. I am thanking God for the signs of life that sit scattered at my feet.

And I rest. Content. Blessed. Right there in the middle of the mess. And there I find more beauty than I expected.

People are the most important thing.

Boxes everywhere.

Our home was being reduced to boxes. The plates that Ava would set on the table while I was making dinner. The blankets we would cuddle under in front of our fireplace. It was especially hard to pack up the girls toys. They didn't understand that they would see them again. That the packing was temporary. But I understood their sadness. We were saying goodbye to our home. The one we dreamed of. The one we were so excited to move into. The one we loved.

I stood in the empty dining room and cried. I was feeling very sad. The type of sad that is suffocating.

And the doorbell rang.

A friend. There to help. Groceries in hand, thinking about the little things. Things like bubblegum shampoo and fruit roll ups for the girls. Luxuries that we had to pass on in the recent months.

A small gesture. A profound gift.

I thought of how my friend reflects Jesus—of how Jesus made people more important than His to-do list.  The faces that made him pause.

The woman at the well.
Zacchaeus.
The woman with the issue of blood.
His disciples.
Mary at His feet.

Stopping by to take fresh flowers to a friend who is hurting.
Making a meal for a new mom.
Noticing that the smile is missing from someone across the room, and offering a hug. A real hug.

All of life’s busyness can be overwhelming, but it's so important to make time for people. To pause long enough to notice. People just want to know someone cares. I just needed someone to care.

People are the most important thing.

I think about today's to-do list. A long list. Each task important and necessary. Even more important, that I leave room for names. People are the most important thing.

Where's my whistle?

Swimming is not fun.

At least not when you are a mom with 3 little girls.

Before having kids, swimming equated to laying on a raft for hours soaking up the rays.  With kids, it means sheep herding 3 little girls in the shallow end. Using arms, legs and whatever other body parts are available to keep everyone afloat. Constantly counting 1-2-3 to make sure everyone is above water and accounted for, while being simultaneously kicked in the face, stomach and other unmentionable areas. 

I am their lifeguard.

I keep a close eye and warn them when danger is near.  I allow them to cling to me when they are unsure.  I am there to rescue them when they have miscalculated, misjudged, or messed up.

I will watch like a hawk while she kicks in the pool. While she tries to solidify her independence in junior high school. While she pulls away from me in high school and forms her own relationships.

Then I will miss the days when she reaches out just to make sure I am still there.  When she jumps off the edge into my arms. When she manifests her trust in me with actions and words.  When a simple "Mommy's here" solves all the problems in the world.

She doesn't know that I cover her days with prayer. I do it for her. And for me. Knowing that someone else cares even more deeply for her than I. And that He also keeps a careful, watchful eye. Laying out her days, months, years, before she has even lived them. I have peace knowing that she is in good hands.

Dreading Goodbye.

Goodbyes are the worst.

My brother-in-law is deployed for a year overseas.  He left behind his wife and a beautiful little baby girl who is quickly finding her independence (and lots of spunk to go with it).  Paul will be home for a two-week visit at the end of this month. Elizabeth (his wife) has been eagerly anticipating his arrival, but at the same time dreading his departure. Again.

I want to tell them....

Don't panic.  Panic kills the moment.  Slow down and savor.

Don't overcommit.  Don't schedule so many things that you are so busy running that you don't have to time to simply enjoy each other. Running breeds stress and suffocates any chance of intimate connection. Slow times for quiet family dinners, just the three of you. Slow time for a walk in the park, or an afternoon at the playground, just the three of you.

Don't anticipate the leaving. Don't be sad about the leaving before it even arrives. Enjoy each day to the fullest without the dread about what goodbye will bring. Savor each joyful moment together without allowing the goodbye to attach itself as an unwelcomed guest.

Say goodbye with a long, heartfelt hug.  A good hug can travel miles and months.

And before you part ways, pray together.  Hold hands, and pray. I know no other recipe for making the miles bearable than the promise that the God who goes with them and stays with us will be the bridge connecting us no matter how far the distance.

Love you Paul, Eliz & Aubrey.  I pray that your time together is full of life, laughter, and love and that your goodbye is saturated with the anticipation of seeing each other again.

Finding Beauty: a new do

I feel pretty today.  I think my hair trauma story from yesterday has much to do with the fact that I like to change my hair.  Long and then short.  Then I want it to be long again.  Brown. Blonde. Brown with blonde. Brown again. 

Last night, with the assistance of one of my lovely nieces, I went back to the color that God gave me ... minus the gray. 

And I feel pretty. It feels good to feel pretty.

Here's a peek at the new do

I grew up feeling guilty about wanting to feel pretty.  Being led to believe that feeling pretty was prideful which was sinful. 

But I don't think that's true.

Beauty in maturity...
I Thessalonians 4:4: God hasn't invited us into a disorderly, unkempt life but into something holy and beautiful-as beautiful on the inside as the outside.

Beauty in childbearing...
Luke 1:26: Upon entering, Gabriel greeted her: Good morning! You're beautiful with God's beauty, Beautiful inside and out! God be with you.


Beauty in marriage...
Proverbs 5:15: Lovely as an angel, beautiful as a rose-don't ever quit taking delight in her body. Never take her love for granted!

Beauty in creation...
Genesis 2:9: God made all kinds of trees grow from the ground, trees beautiful to look at and good to eat. The Tree-of-Life was in the middle of the garden

Beauty in the female form...
I Corinthians 11:10: Man was created first, as a beautiful shining reflection of God-that is true. But the head on a woman's body clearly outshines in beauty the head of her "head," her husband.

Feeling pretty is a start to believing in my own beauty, inside & out.

Do something to make yourself feel pretty today! 

Finding Beauty

I lay next to my beautiful brunette beauty, in the quiet of her bedroom where all I can hear is the hum of the fan and the gentle whispers that escape from London's sweet lips while she drifts off to sleep. I snuggle close and gently wipe away the whisps of hair that have fallen into her eyes.  She is a beauty.  Silky brown hair, big brown eyes with lashes that go on forever. Her lips are a sweet, girly shade of pink and they form perfect little puckers while she sleeps.

My mind wanders to all the ways I want her to feel beautiful. And I remember all the ways I did not when I was a young girl.

How is it that false or foolish things that people speak over us when we’re ten years old can hold more weight than the truth that people who love us speak throughout our entire lives? Why do I accept as cold, hard, truth the sentences that slipped careless from a stranger all those years ago and never pause to examine if they contain any truth, just swallow them hook, line and sinker?

I have ugly hair and don't measure up.

An assessment I have owned as mine since I was a child and only because a stranger, a random meeting in a mall, let her words slip carelessly from her mouth and into the soul of a blossoming little girl.

I remember how my cheeks burned. I wanted to run away but I stood paralyzed while she ran her fingers through my hair and said "this looks like hell". I remember for years afterward the feelings of inferiority and insecurity that accompanied me through middle school and high school and life. I just wanted to be pretty. Not in a notice-me kind of way.  More like a don't-notice me kind of way. I was the ugly duckling, sticking out from the crowd, receiving exclusion from peers and pity from adults.

These thoughts smack me in the head as I’m lying next to my brunette beauty. I flip them over in my head – ugly, unworthy, unaccepted. I remind myself that those statements are not a reflection on me as a person – they don’t describe my passions, my accomplishments, my faith, my qualities as a friend or mother or wife.

Why then have these two statements come along for the ride all these years? Why do they still sting like the day that I stood in that mall corridor? How in the world do they carry that much weight? I’m astonished to discover how a stranger (who, if memory serves me correctly, wore entirely too much makeup) has basically been back-seat-driving my definition of beautiful for years. Me with the unruly hair and the evolving ten-year-old figure could not have been beautiful. I knew this from the tone of her voice and the look on her face, a mix of pity and disgust. And these words grew and grew until they had strong arms and long legs that strangled my mind, suffocated my confidence, and squeezed the life out of a blossoming little girl...fifteen year old...twenty-one year old...thirty four year old woman.

I watch London's long eyelashes flutter on that porcelain white skin that smells so sweet and feels warm to my lips as I kiss her goodnight. Lying next to my baby girl who is still unmarred by the opinions of others I am afraid.  I fear that the careless words of another will define beauty with lies.

The more I think about my beautiful girls and the beauty I want them to grow into, the more I realize I will need to own my own first. I will need to weed out the lies that have snuck, sometimes unnoticed, into my self image so that I am ready to do battle against any that come against them.

I must be beautiful in thought before I am beautiful anywhere else.
I will be a passionate beauty hunter – quick to recognize it in myself and translate it for my girls. Beauty in attitude, beauty in excitement, beauty in laughter, beauty in tears, beauty in acceptance of differences, beauty in good friends, beauty in service, beauty in grace, beauty in forgiveness.

And yes, beauty in Ava's thick, wavy, blonde hair, London's silky, shiny, brown hair and Heidi's sunkissed, golden blonde curls.

I will root out the lies and plant fresh seeds of beauty – for them. And for me. 

Do you want to join me? I started out this blog with a search for joy - and I found it. I am going to continue my quest, and hunt for beauty. I’m going to record all the beauty I find in myself over the next month. It feels strange. It's uncomfortable shining the spotlight in our own direction. But for those of us raising daughters, for those of us doing battle with word wounds, for those of us who want to grow into the beauty that God has long since spoken over us – let’s go on a beauty hunt together. 

Write down beauty everywhere you find it in yourself - laundry folded in love, beds made, dinners cooked, a good hair day, freshly painted toes, a new outfit that makes us look like a hot mama, red high heels, the family legacy of freckles, dimples, and porcelain skin. Even the tired eyes from being up all night with sick kids.

Leave a comment, a link to your blog, send me a picture (and I'll post)... Let's behold the beauty He created. 

I thank you, High God-you're breathtaking! Body and soul, I am marvelously made! I worship in adoration-what a creation!. Psalm 139:14.

The Best Church Marketing

Read an update on Facebook where a pastor was frustrated ...

His post went something like this:  Schedule a fellowship and everyone, including a guest, shows up.  Schedule prayer meeting and only a few are present.

I typed a few responses to his thread.  And deleted each one.  I didn't want my response to be misunderstood.

I get what he was saying.  But at the same time I wanted to point out the golden opportunity he had been given.

"Fellowship" can't be scheduled.  A pot luck dinner can be scheduled.  But fellowship (relationship, community) should be a constant in a healthy church.  If you're not relating to people, you're not reaching people. 

I am talking about the word fellowship.  (A noun): a community of interest; a feeling; companionship

The church should revolve around relationship.  Our's with Him.  And our's with each other.

Prayer is a part of MY relationship with Him.  My most precious, intimate, life-changing prayers were spoken in solitude.  Just me and Him.  Maybe God wanted to speak intimately to the select few that showed up that night?  Just a thought.

I remember the day we got the news that something was wrong with the little one who had yet to make her appearance.  Our sweet baby girl had a "spot on her heart".  Instant panic, dread.  Every parent's worst fear.  And this was our first child.  The one we weren't supposed to have.  Our little miracle needs a miracle.

We shared with a select few and and their prayers were immediate and bold and drenched with genuine concern. Instantly Holy Spirit peace hovered. A divine hush filled the air. In that moment, we knew God was with us, right there, in that little room. We knew this because we KNOW Him. Their hands were on me, and skin to skin, I remember that peace.  It was tangible and thick and it whispered that everything was going to be ok.  And it was.

They were there for me when I needed them the most.  In that moment, the church promoted itself.  Not in a planned prayer meeting, but in relationship.

By word of mouth, by hands in the mud, by telling the dirty part of our stories, THAT is how the true church should be known. Through grace and truth.

The way we act out Sunday Church, that culture can run deep – the suits, the talk, the fancy fonts, the trendy music; all of us do it in one way or another.

But isn’t it always and only the presence of God that we're all looking for? A real relationship, the voice to hear and the uncondemning eyes?

The reason so many people showed up to just hang out?  No expectation.  No pressure.  They seek relationship.  Meet them where they are.  Allow them the space to grow.  Encourage them.  Love them.  You might be surprised at the results.

You've got a friend in me

Lonely. It’s not a word I thought I’d ever use to describe myself, but that’s just where I was.

I went through a rough season.  My life was flipped upside down and in the process I changed. The change might have been noticeable to a few, but not to the majority. I did my best to keep the act up. To continue to act as if everything was the same. But the result was relationships built on false pretenses. No one really knew me. The real me. The new me.

The absence of intimate friendship was more damaging than I imagined at the time.  I wanted to reach out.  But didn't know how. I craved a woman who “got me” and would both listen and share. I needed someone to reach out to me.

Thankfully, that season is over. I've rebuilt friendships, and most days I feel connected and content. Recently, though, I read an editorial published in USA Today that included information from a fascinating but sad study. This study cited statistics that showed half of Americans only have two close friends. Even more heartbreaking is that one out of four Americans say that they don’t have any close friends.

Not a single one. That’s a lot of lonely people.

So what can I do? 

When you don’t have a friend, BE the friend to others that you would like to have.

Would you love a friend who takes time to show that she cares by picking up the phone and asking about your day? Then pick up the phone and ask about someone’s day.

Would you love a friend who keeps confidences and is trustworthy? Then be trustworthy.

It’s easier to stay isolated sometimes than to reach out, especially if you’ve been hurt or disappointed. However,  it's impossible to thrive without genuine, honest relationships. We need each other. That's a fact.

One of the most important lessons I can teach my children, is to be a good friend. To care about others. To look out for the overlooked. To be inclusive of everyone.

It's easy.
Sit with someone who normally sits alone.
Include someone who is normally overlooked.  (Even if they say no. Again.)
Be kind. Be generous. Be the friend you wish someone would be to you.

And remember, if all else fails, you've got a friend in me :)

Our Strong Man

It's the way our girls press into you. They lean on you, just like I do.

They wait for you impatiently when it's nearing time for you to be home. They chase you like you’re the hero come home. Because to them, you are.

You're exhausted after a long, hard day's work.  But they want to be near you anyway. And you let them.  You are their jungle gym and the goalie for the backyard soccer game.  You are a princess at a tea party, a pirate, a scary monster, and a charming prince who saves the day.

You could hush them, distract them or ignore them. But you let them stay close, and without words, your actions tell them that they’re valued and beautiful.

When they are fearful that something is lurking in the shadows, you protect them.  You assure them that you are near.  Always near.

You and I both know that there is something lurking in the shadows, wanting to devour what we work so hard to grow.  He waits, and then the thief in the shadows attacks, with lies.

With authority, you speak louder than the lies. I hear you tell our girls that they are beautiful – with actions and with words. Because you know that they need both. 

You remind them that...

They are loved.
“My beloved is mine, and I am His…” (Song of Solomon 2:16)

They are beautiful, flawless.
“You’re beautiful from head to toe, my dear love, beautiful beyond compare, absolutely flawless” (Song of Solomon 4:7)

They belong.
“The king is enthralled by your beauty; honor him, for he is your lord” (Psalm 45:11)

Thank you for constantly giving of yourself.  Thank you for working so very hard to make sure that we have a home, food, clothes, gummy bears, and cute shoes.

You promise and deliver.  You are our hero.  Our rock.  Our strong man.

We love you!

Marriage: some things I've learned

Let him love you.

Let him touch you. 

Let him look at you.

Let him accept you.

Let him speak truth to you.

(Why are those 5 so difficult?)

Spend time with him.

Make time together.

Apologize for your part.

Respect him.

Respect yourself.

Honor your feelings by sharing them.

Honor his feelings by listening without being defensive.

Accept who you are and who he is right now.

Accept that you will change and he will too. 

Put yourself in his shoes. 

Share your perspective.  But remember it's just that, a perspective. 

Give him the benefit of the doubt.

Challenge him and allow him to challenge you without being defensive.

(I see a recurring theme here.)

Pray together.

Pray for him.

Pray for yourself first.

Make time for yourself.

Spend time with solid friends who speak truth into your life.

Give him space (and no guilt) for friends and guy things that you just don't understand.

Support, promote, and encourage his dreams.

Hold tight to your dreams.

Dream together.

Be creative together.

Be realistic.

Be his biggest fan.

Speak highly of him in public (and private).  Brag on him in front of others.

Kiss him in front of your kids.

Remember that you are different from others, and live your life instead of theirs.

Honor your relationship daily.

Show up.  Every day.

Be passionate.

Be adventurous.  (Men love adventure.)

Be present in what he tells you.

Celebrate with him.

Celebrate him.

Focus.

I feel God tightening up the reigns a bit in my life.  My spirit is anticipating great new beginnings.  New chapters.  God has been gently speaking to me about areas in my life that need renewed focus, commitment and accountability.  I am not sure where all of this will lead us, (Jonathan and I both share these feelings), but I want to be prepared when He does open the door. 

Specifically, where and how I spend my time.  I feel the Spirit urging me to clarify my values, and follow through.  I need to be selective about what gets my attention.  If it requires readjusting the routine and sacrificing the comfortable feelings, so be it.  I feel it's a step that is required of me at this time, in order to move forward.

There are spiritual steps and practical steps that I need to take.

On the practical side, I am going to read more.  I took the girls to our local library over the weekend and we all picked up a few books.

I also feel God nudging me to befriend specific people.  One way or another, He is weaving my path with their's.  He sends little reminders to me, almost daily.  2 specific people.  I welcome His nudges so I am going to follow-through and hopefully He'll keep nudging.

I am training myself to be more organized.  (This also is a great feat for me.  Ask any one of my family members.)  I am packing lunches and laying out clothes at night.  I am working on meal plans and organized grocery shopping trips (with coupons!).  I am planning, not just for tonight or tomorrow, but next week.  These may sound like no-brainers to you, but they're small steps for me.  I'm getting there.

With more organization, I also hope to gain punctuality.  (Stop laughing Amanda.)  This may be the one that seals the deal.  If we (my family) can master this one, then we have arrived.  My wise brother-in-law wrote a little snippet last week.  In it he mentioned punctuality, and said, " It's a matter of integrity for me.  I am accountable to be diligent, reliable, punctual".  This really hit home with me.  It's an area that has been a constant struggle for me.  And it is spilling into the routines of my children.  I want to reverse this nasty trait and teach them the value of their time, as well as the time of other people.

So that's a start ... there's much more to add to this growing list.  I'll continue with Part 2 later in the week.

Becoming

What do you love to do? What is your gift to the world?  If finances were unlimited and failure was unlikely, what would be your dream?  My husband asked me these questions recently.

Here I am, 34-years-old, and I still don't know what my dreams are.

Instead of dreaming, I've always tried to be who others wanted or needed me to be. But honestly, I wasn’t very good at it. It never brought fulfillment, to me or their expectation of me.  And in the end it left me burnt out.

One of my favorite passages of scripture is found in Psalm 139.
 "You shaped me first inside, then out; you formed me in my mother's womb...Like an open book you, you watched me grow from conception to birth; all the stages of my life were spread out before you, the days of my life all prepared all before I'd even lived one day."

I was not designed to be who others expected me to be. I was created to become all that God planned for me to be. But I was lost in the process of my becoming.

For the first time, I realized there was an important reason I was who I was — with my passionate preferences and mixed bag of emotions. 

It's easy to neglect ourselves to meet the needs of everyone around us, and call it self-sacrifice. It sounds godly, but in doing so we risk shutting down a place in our soul where God’s dreams and gifts are waiting to be revealed.

It's a delicate balance, wanting to find purpose and passion .... and waiting for the right opportunity.  Sometimes I hesitate because I am fearful.  Fearful that it's the wrong decision.  Or that a better one awaits.  If I was spiritual I would know, right?  It's this constant tug-of-war in my brain.  Do I jump in faith or wait with wisdom?

I read somewhere that we shouldn't jump unless we know exactly where we want to land.  Risk for risk's sake is never wise.

God has been speaking to me very specifically lately.  His voice is clearer than ever.  (And for this I am so thankful.  I was in a quiet, dark place not too long ago.  Isolation was my identity.)  The Spirit is leading me out of that season and into another.  He is revealing my true identity, in Him.

I'm dreaming again.  This time with my hand woven tightly in His.  

Stay tuned for updates on this new season.  My hope is that this process of pain, isolation, hope,  revelation, focus, commitment, and renewal will give me a heart to walk with others as they take similar journeys.

What about you?  What would you dream if failure was not a possibility?  Vocalizing it is scary.  It's exciting.  It's risky.  You're vulnerable.  It takes courage.  It takes confidence.  I dare you to try.

This is home

When I rock in the wooden chair that’s been a staple in our home since the day we brought Ava home, I can hear them breathing – the three children I get to call my own.

The sighs in the dark as they exhale and drift off to sleep.  Their gentle sounds wash over me like waves to where I sit, with eyes so heavy and a heart so full. My feet push back and forth and the chair cradles me as I cradle her and I count blessings.  Stillness.  Breath.  Life.  Joy.  Blessings.

I gently sing, "peace, peace, wonderful peace, drifting down from the Father above..."

I lay her down and gently close the door, stepping over the tiara and babydoll that lay abandoned in the hallway. I pick up the strawberry shortcake socks that missed the laundry basket by several feet. I drain the bubble bath water that someone forgot to empty.  I put Heidi's shoes away. She always leaves them in the same spot.  And not the spot where I ask her to put them.  But the same spot every time.  I notice London's perfectly lined row of shoes.  Not one out of place.  And Ava's are scattered everywhere throughout the house.  One shoe here.  One shoe there.  It's as if they fall off without her even noticing. 

I finally find rest on the couch next to my love. I count the years and hours we’ve been together.  I think briefly about where we’ve been and where we’re going because I know I can always count on him. No matter where life leads us, this is home. Not this house, but these people. This feeling. These faces and noises and voices and breaths in the dark.

This is home.

Five Minute Friday: Forgetting

It's Five Minute Friday!!  Teaming up with The Gypsy Mama again ...

Here's the challenge: Write for 5 minutes flat without editing my voice.  Today's topic is "forgetting".


Go.

It's a delicate balance.  I find myself rushing them.  Rushing them to sleep through the night. Rushing them to crawl. Rushing them to walk. Rushing them to use the potty.  Rushing. Rushing. Rushing.


But once they accomplish those milestones, I miss them. I miss the snuggly little newborn nestled in my neck. I miss the sweet smell. I miss the warm blankets. I miss the first smiles. The first words. The first time she locks eyes with me and knows that she is safe, because she is in Mama's arms. 


I ache because I don't want to forget. I want to remember. 


But time continues to rush by.  And I am it's enabler.


I want to savor every single moment. 

The silliness between sisters in the bathtub. (Even if it makes a huge mess.) 


The last day of kindergarten. (Even if it makes me cry.)


The stubborn two year old who insists on dressing herself - and getting stuck in her shirt every time. (Even if it takes a little longer than it should.)


The inquisitive three year old who asks so many questions. (Even if I'm tired of talking.)

I carry my camera and attempt to capture the moments. To make them stand still forever.  So that I won't forget.


I want to remember. I can't imagine forgetting.

 

My Story

I always assumed things would turn out right.
Get married, have babies, live blissfully, raise babies who turn into well adjusted teenagers, who then turn into successful adults. Health. Happiness. High expectations.

I turned 34 this week. And things haven't quite turned out the way I assumed they would.
We lost our home.
Our marriage almost ended.
Friendships have been lost.  
I've been disappointed.  And I've been the source of disappointment for others.
My goals have adjusted. My passions have taken new form. My priorities have shifted.

I wrote the story. I prayed the story. I ask friends to pray the story with me. And when things deviated from my plan I wondered what’s wrong with me? What have I done to ruin things? Or what has someone else done to ruin things for me? This THING, this heartache, betrayal, loss can NOT be a part of my story, right?

Not the one I wrote.

10 years ago today, I said "I do" to the guy who wakes up to my flattened hair and funky breath every morning.  (10 years of waking up to the same funky breath must be love.)

10 years ago, I was in a church office, preparing to walk down the aisle.  Putting on the dress, fixing the hair, making sure everything was just right.  My thoughts were consumed with the flowers, the reception and the honeymoon.

And when the minister instructed us to "pray through the difficult times", I thought, "not us".  Of course, I was prepared for the occasional fight about bills, dirty laundry, and what to watch on TV.  But surely we would breeze through our marriage blissfully ... after all, divorce was "not in our vocabulary".

10 years later.  Disappointment.  Distance.  Chaos.  Job loss.  Home loss.  Marriage counseling.  Pain. 

Not in my plans.  Never in my wildest dreams.

But then we found ... Forgiveness.  Grace.  Affirmation.  In Abundance.  Together.

Here I am.  Here we are.  We made it.  We are stronger because of it.  I love him more than ever. We are rebuilding trust, our savings account, and a new home.

Wouldn't trade my story now, for anything.  Really.  He's a much better writer than I am.  And His dreams for me, as it turns out, are much bigger than anything I can imagine.

Instead of accepting the terms I set out, He gently takes my story in His hands. He leaves some spots blank. He erases some of what I've already written. He rearranges a few items. He fills in some of the gaps and asks me to be content.  He also makes promises. Big promises.

My heart spins and I can’t believe the changes He’s made, the new story that stares me in the face.

The end of my life might look very differently from my plans in the beginning. The friends I have now might not be the ones I know later. Things might get really, really hard.  Again.

But I'm ok now.  And I'll be ok then.  We made it. 

I'm learning to trust Him with the details.  He's already written my story.  It's time for me to live it.

This verse is quickly becoming one of my favorites:  Job 23: He knows where I am and what I've done.  I've followed Him closely, my feet in His footprints, not once swerving from His way.  I've obeyed every word He's spoken.  And not just obeyed, but treasured His advice.  He'll complete in detail what He's already decided about me.

criticism stinks

especially when it's directed at me.

my pride wants to scream, "who do you think you are"
my hearts wants to interrupt, "give me a chance to explain"
my soul questions, "god, am i out of line?"
my feelings are hurt.  my ego is bruised.  my vulnerability is exposed.

sometimes it's fair.  sometimes i deserve it.  sometimes it's helpful.  sometimes i even welcome it.

other times, not so much.  i read through the lines, evaluate my perspective, and rest assured that it's undeserved, unwelcomed, and unfounded.

what then?

my sister is an animal fa-reak.  seriously.  she will rescue an ant.  growing up, she had animals of all kinds in her room.  birds, chicks, lizards .. you get the point.

she had a lizard of some sort.  i don't know what kind exactly.  i just know that it was green, slimy, and gross.  but she knew every little detail about this creature.  this little firebreathing dragon was rough and scaly on about 80% of his body.  however, underneath, on his belly, it was smooth and soft.  

for the most part, only the tough exterior was displayed.  rarely did we get a glimpse of his soft side.  the vulnerable part.  the place he rarely exposed.

maybe their anger is a result of a pain they endured many years ago.  maybe their skepticism stems from years of unfulfilled promises.  maybe their harsh tone and sharp tongue is a habit formed by always feeling the need to defend themselves.  maybe they lash out and then feel regret.  maybe they walk away feeling guilty.

“out of the overflow of the heart the mouth speaks.” (matthew 12:34b)

and from that place, they spew.

when i remember this vulnerable side, i am free to let go of the hurt, anger and disappointment that they've inflicted.  after all, it's not really about me.  i am able to keep it in perspective.

it is then that i allow god to use me to reach past the tough exterior.  to affirm them.  to love them.  to understand them.  to assure them.  to hug them.  to love them.

cultivating simplicity

my life is loud.

fighting toddlers.  ringing cell phones (mine and his).  email alerts.  blaring kid shows on tv.  talking baby dolls.  dishwashers.  dryers.  the endless chatter in my brain.

although the sources may be different, i am sure that you have your own symphony of sounds that fill  your life.

sometimes i just want to yell: stop!

give me peace.  i am exhausted.

but in order to experience the peace, i must learn to listen.  and for listening to occur, we have to be able to actually hear, focused and free from all that fights for our attention.

god, teach me to listen, with my ears and my being.

to you.  to my children.  to my husband.  to my heart. 

i need a break.  from blogs.  facebook.  twitter.  fox news.

i want to be reminded of quiet.  allowing me to disconnect and ... be.  be bored.  be uncomfortable.  i need to remove the instant stimulations.  i need to unplug from the hectic, fast paced world that keeps me thinking that everything is important, and results in nothing being important.

i need to be conscious (and held responsible) of my habit to turn to tv or online connections to fill the void within me.

i need to set a better example for my children.  i need to exercise my god-given creativity and encourage the same in my girls.  i need to get outside more.  i need to take better care of my body.  i need to take better care of the time he has given me.

i am learning to cultivate simplicity:

"among the enemies to devotion none is so harmful as distractions.
whatever excites the curiosity, scatters the thoughts, disquiets the heart, absorbs the interests or shifts our life focus from the kingdom of god within us to the world around us—that is a distraction; and the world is full of them. our science-based civilization has given us many benefits but it has multiplied our distractions and so taken away far more than it has given….
the remedy for distractions is the same now as it was in earlier and simpler times: prayer, meditation and the cultivation of the inner life. the psalmist said “be still, and know,” and christ told us to enter into our closet, shut the door and pray.

it still works….

distractions must be conquered or they will conquer us. so let us cultivate simplicity; let us want fewer things; let us walk in the Spirit; let us fill our minds with the word of god and our hearts with praise. in that way we can live in peace even in such a distraught world as this. “peace I leave with you, my peace i give unto you.” (a.w. tozer)

Wounded Healers

To be human is to suffer pain, to feel wounded and to struggle to get to a place of healing.

Wounding happens.  But so does healing.  All the time.

And as we experience our own healing, we become candidates to walk with others as they experience similar painful moments.

God knows our hurts and what they cost us.  One of the biggest steps to healing is acknowledging and accepting what we have lost in the process.  Healing begins when we can let go of the hope that the past is going to be different.

He honors my wounds by using them to heal others who are struggling, as I have struggled.

Henry Nouwen says, "When our wounds cease to be a source of shame, and become a source of healing, we have become wounded healers."  Nouwen goes on to describe wounded healers as individuals who “must look after their own wounds but at the same time be prepared to heal the wounds of others.”

Nobody escapes being wounded.  Nouwen noted that words such as alienation, separation, isolation, and loneliness express our wounded condition.  I think one of the most important (and most commonly ignored) aspects of healing is effectively and intentionally coping with and managing those feelings of isolation, separation, and loneliness.

Isolation is a dangerous breeding ground.  Often times the result of improperly managed isolation is narcissism or depression.

I know what it's like to "feel" alone, waiting for the healing that hasn’t arrived yet.  We are quite vulnerable at this point of the healing process. 

If we aren't careful, isolation turns into pride.  I know how easy it is to drift into pride.

And then the pride turns into self-absorbed behaviors, like narcissism or depression.  Both equally dangerous, to ourselves and others.

In my opinion, one of the enemy's greatest weapons is convincing us that we are alone.  That no one understands.  That we should just curl up in a ball and hide away.

If there was one thing that I could share with someone who is in one of those "painful experiences", it would be to find someone.  Someone that you trust.  Someone that will be honest with you.  Someone that will allow you to truly feel your pain.  And feel with you.  Embrace their words, their prayers, and their hugs.  Don't go through this alone. 

Nouwen’s concluding remarks are quite insightful. He wrote "A Christian community is therefore a healing community not because wounds are cured and pains are alleviated, but because wounds and pains become openings or occasions for a new vision."

This is so important!  Read that last paragraph again.

(A prime opportunity for a shout out to Way of Life Community.   A healing community that has embraced this mindset to the fullest.  And we are seeing, on a daily basis, this new vision that God is crafting together, carefully and with great detail, and with incredibly mind-blowing results.  I'm a living, breathing example of someone who has been directly impacted by this outpouring of grace and hope.)

He further notes that a "wounded healer’s primary task is not to take away the pain, but to deepen it to a level where it can be shared. This deepening process begins a shared journey that is further initiated by acknowledging that we share one another’s wounds. We feel wounded when others are wounded."

In order to feel wounded by another’s wound, we must pause long enough to feel the intensity of their pain. And when we do so, we experience a mutual healing.

I am reminded of the verse in Isaiah that says, "by His wounds we are healed".  His painful death was a an example of this miraculous healing process.  I am healed because He was wounded.  As a result, others can find their healing ... because I was wounded.

I heal more, when I walk someone through a similarly painful process.  So this means that I don't need to be "completely whole" before I begin to reach out to others.

It is only by being willing to face, consciously experience and go through our wound do we receive true healing. We must be willing to embrace the mysterious new place where the wound is leading us. It is then that we allow ourselves to be re-created by the wound.

We will be different.  We have to embrace that piece of the puzzle.

Going through and embracing our wound as a part of ourselves is radically different than going around (avoiding), or getting stuck in and obsessively reliving (being controlled by) our wound.

"Going through our wound means realizing we will never again be the same when we get to the other side of this process.  Going through our wound is a genuine death experience, as our old self “dies” in the process, while a new, more expansive and empowered part of ourselves is born."

We must consciously feel the pain,

Go through the wound,  

And begin to heal. 

It is then that we are able to go through the wound with another,

And in doing so, we both are healed.

And we become wounded healers.

BFF

 
I love listening to Ava tell me about her day.

 It's always full of silliness involving her & her best friends.  Stories about sharing cupcakes, fun at recess, planned sleepovers, and silly jokes in typical six-year-old-girl fashion.

There are days when I wish I could be her best friend.

I’d be the friend who always saved her a seat at lunch.
We'd go to music, gym and art together.
We'd tell secrets and giggle when "he" walks by.
We'd make up songs and jokes and stories.  And laugh hysterically at each other. 

I’d be the friend who would invite her to sleepovers, 

sharing my toys, my pillows and my dress up clothes.

When it was time to find a partner, we would run to each other and hold 

hands tightly making our friendship known to everyone.

I would hold her hand through break-ups and laugh at her quirkiness.  

I'd “get” her the way no one else does.  

I’d love her even after she couldn’t stop her anger or tears.

We would shop for prom dresses together.  

We'd roll our eyes at the hundreds of pictures taken.  

We would wait patiently while our Dads lay down the law to our dates.  

We’d make huge mistakes together, 

and maybe even hit some rough spots during our friendship.

We would always look for each other at birthdays, graduations and weddings.

And when I got a phone call in the early morning hours saying, “It’s time,”

I’d speed over to the hospital to hold her hand yet again.  

I’d scoop up her newborn baby and remember the times we told secrets with ribbons in our braids.

I want that for her.

I wish I could save her from loneliness.  

I’d love her fiercely the way only a true friend can.

Instead I am a mother. I am her mother.  

So I pray.   

For a girl who will love her.  

For a friend who will stand with her and sit with her and walk with her.  

For a friend who will always be there, despite time, boyfriends or circumstances.

And I teach.  

Teach her how to be that friend to others.  

And then I step back.  And wait.  

I know there will be days when she will be hurt and left out and rejected.  

But there will also be many more days when she will be 

loved and wanted and cared for.

I cannot be her best friend but I will do all that I can for her.  

And I know that she will be ok.

My Life Plan

"But what happens when we live God's way?  He brings gifts into our lives, much the same way that fruit appears in an orchard - things like affection for others, exuberance about life, serenity.  We develop a willingness to stick with things, a sense of compassion in the heart, and a conviction that a basic holiness permeates things and people. We find ourselves involved in loyal commitments, not needing to force our way in life, able to marshal and direct our energies wisely."  Galatians 5:22-23

Five Minute Friday

So, one of my fave bloggers, The Gypsy Mama, challenged us to write for 5 minutes flat -- unscripted, unedited, no backspacing or rewording....about me.   One of my fave things to talk about.  (Isn't that why people start a blog??)

OK.

Ready....

      Set.....

            GO!!

If You Met Me....

Before I got a word in, you'd probably be swept into a conversation with my three year old, London.  She loves to talk.  She was talking to the trees this morning.  A full fledged conversation with a tree.  You would then meet Ava and Heidi.  They are not as forward as their sister, but given time, they'd be just as engaging.  I would probably share some crazy story involving my girls.  That's my thing.  I find comfort and confidence when I talk about my girls.  They are the best thing I have ever done.  In.  My.  Life.  So I talk about them.  A lot.

Pretty soon we'd be swapping stories.  I hope that you realize that I am listening.  Listening and trying to keep Heidi from running into the road.  But I am listening.  I know I seem preoccupied.  I worry that you might mistake that for disinterest.  I promise it's not. 

As we talk, you'd discover that I like to laugh.  And loud.  I love goofing off.  And I love dancing.  (Although I have two left feet.)  I really love to dance to rap music.  I also like to think that I am a good rapper.  I sing really loud when I am in the car.  I love to make my girls laugh with my skillz. :)

I love a good conversation about politics, religion, parenting.  Anything that challenges my brain to consider another point-of-view.  I also like to argue and defend my point-of-view.  Sometimes to a fault.  I'm trying to reign it in.

I want to be deep.  And carefree.  I want to be organized.  And spontaneous.  I want to be heard.  And I want to listen.

I've become very aware of myself over the past year.  I am trying so hard to be a better person, friend, mother, and wife.  I want to be the friend that you call when you are at your worst or at your best.  I want you to have faith in me.  Faith that I will rejoice with you.  And mourn with with you when the moment requires mourning.  When you think about your "good friends", I want to be at the top of the list.

That's what you would get, if you met me. 

OK.  Now it's your turn. 

And.... GO!

Look around you.

I've been sick over the past couple of days.  Sick enough to cause me to sleep for 22 hours (and then some).  At one point, I turned on the news and the first story was about a family whose 3 year old was missing.  Kidnapped from her home.  Incomprehensible.  Suddenly my little headache didn't seem all that important.

I feel selfish when I worry about the $60 erroneous charge on my credit card in comparison to the family whose house just burned to the ground.

I feel spoiled when I lay in my comfortable bed, stricken with a headache and low grade fever while someone a few miles away lays in a hospital bed stricken with cancer.

There is this tug of war that goes on in my brain between God caring about little old me and God having bigger things to worry about.

Resist him (the devil), firm in your faith, knowing that the same kinds of suffering are being experienced by your brotherhood throughout the world. 1 Peter 5:9

Substitute "worse" for "same" in the above verse.  Worse kinds of suffering, much worse than my own.  In Japan.  In Libya.  In the US.  Across town.  Down the street.  In the lives of my family and friends.

I have a sweet friend whose baby is facing brain surgery in a few weeks.  No comparison.  My sister-in-law is pulling double duty to sweet little Aubrey while her husband is deployed to Egypt for a year (or longer).  No comparison.  A dear friend who just suffered a miscarriage.  No comparison.  Friends who are at the end of a marriage.  Friends whose parents are at the end of their lives.  Friends who are on the verge of losing it all.  Daily, I can turn on the news and watch as men and women across the globe suffer through traumatic and devastating situations. And as I compare my "suffering" with theirs, I begin to feel selfish and guilty.

Which got me thinking...

We know that God doesn't rank sin. He says lustful intent is adultery.  Anger is murder.  (Hard to comprehend with this limited little mind of mine ... but it's still true.)

I don't think He ranks my suffering either.

When He says He has come to bind up the brokenhearted ... I think He means the jr. high girl who just got her heart broken by a silly boy.  And the orphan in Japan who lost her parents.

When He says He has come to proclaim liberty to captives, and the opening of the prison to those who are bound ... I think He means the guy who is bound by his addiction to alcohol.  And the girl who is literally enslaved in the sex trade.

When He says He has come to comfort all who mourn ... I think He means the new bride who cries because she is moving away from mom and dad.  And the young woman who cries because she is burying her mom.

My pain is not overlooked because someone's pain is greater.  His grace is sufficient, regardless of the depth of the pain.

This is what I love about Him.  However silly my situation or my feelings seem in comparison to the larger plights of the world, He still sees me. 

So today, I'm thankful.  I'm thankful that God gives me perspective on my problems, showing me I'm not alone in my pain, while also exposing my heaviness to reveal that it is lighter than it feels in this moment.

I'm also thankful that, at the same time, He is big enough and strong enough to carry my friends through their darkest moments.

He cares about my headache when His other child's heart is failing.

He cares about my disappointment when His other child's life is crumbling around them.

And as he heals me, restores me, comforts me, and fills me with faith, He then says, "Look around you" ... sending me out with authority to bind up the brokenhearted, to proclaim liberty to the captives, and the opening of the prison to those who are bound; to comfort all who mourn, to raise up the former devastations.

Reminders of Spring

The weather the past few days has been pitiful.  Dark, dreary, wet, cold ... nothing like the expectation in my mind of what spring should bring.

I think that's the worst.  When you have your heart set on something and you're only met with disappointment.

However, as I walked to my car this morning, in the drizzly rain and cold air, I looked down and saw a flower.  One single flower, in the midst of the downpour...with beautiful colors, full of life.  I smiled.  It was a reminder that spring is coming.  It was His reminder to me that it's all a part of the process.  And it won't always be this way.

I love the small, but significant reminders, in the midst of the downpour.

An unexpected, and perfectly timed text message from my sister.  Just a simple, "love you sis".  A bright flash of sunshine in the midst of the rain.  I'm talking perfect-to-the-minute-when-I-needed-it-the-most.  (How does she do that?)

A gift-just-because from a lifelong friend.  You know the friends that have always been there and you can't imagine them not being there?  Been there through boyfriends, bridal parties, and babies.  A small, but sentimental token of our friendship.  Again, perfectly timed.  (How does she do that?)

I think it all ties back to Him.  He is looking out for me.  Sending tokens of His love through the messengers that can best relay it in my life.  He uses them to show me that spring is coming.

My heart is happy today.  Because of sisters and friends.  The ones who take a few insignificant moments and make them come alive.  Moments that breathe joy and life and hope in the midst of the downpour.

The winter is past; the rains are over and gone.  

Flowers appear on the earth; the season of singing has come.  

(Song of Solomon 2:11-12)

Grace in Aisle 4 Please

Grocery Store.  Aisle 4.  Major Meltdown In Progress.

Heidi has decided that she is officially finished shopping.  She is ready to go home.  I am too.  Can't really blame her.  She starts out with a whine and then quickly escalates to screaming, stomping and squawking.  At first I calmly ask her to stop.  (Funny, right?)  My frustration escalates just as quickly as her's.  I offer candy to distract her.  Not working.  Without warning my voice takes an unpleasant (and unloving) tone and she snaps to attention.

The young mother, with an angelic newborn sleeping soundly in her cart, rolls by.  I know what she's thinking.  What a horrible mother.  I will never speak to my child that way.  Poor kid.

I hold back the tears.  I want to stomp over and tell her a thing or two.  You have no idea what kind of day I've had today.  I'm exhausted physically and mentally.  YOU have NO idea what I've been through today.  How dare she judge me when she knows nothing, nothing of my story.

A few days later I sit in the pediatrician's waiting room with Heidi.

In walks a mother with 3 kids running in behind her.  I notice that they aren't wearing coats on this chilly winter morning.  They are loud, disrespectful and completely void of any obvious discipline or structure.  They run past my freshly bathed, Gap wearing little princess and nearly knock her over.

I roll my eyes, and turn my attention to her ... making sure she is aware of the havoc that her little heathens are wreaking.  I catch her eyes.  Embarrassed and exhausted her eyes are pleading…

You don’t know my story.

I offer a weak smile and move on.

Deep down, it's not about bribery, tantrums, or clean faces.  At least it shouldn't be.
     

Daily, we cross paths with so many. And we only get a glimpse -- a page in their story still being written.

And yet I am so prone to be that person. The one who rolls her eyes and thinks she knows better.

When instead I am simply called to offer grace.  Listen.  Smile.  Hug.  Encourage. 

I need to slow down and take the time to be a small, but life giving character in their story.

Being a perfectionist makes you flawed, not perfect.

Tiny footsteps are usually the start to my day.

Before I know it, 3 beautiful little girls are begging for breakfast.  

Unfortunately, you can’t press snooze on a human alarm clock.

My day of hurry has begun.

Instead of being met with warm and cozy cuddles, my girls are met with demands.  Finish up and eat.  We need to get moving.  We have to hurry.  We can't be late.  Get your pajamas on.  Hurry up.  Time for bed.  We need to get up early tomorrow.  We need.  We must.  We have to.

Demands that are really a blanket for my insecurities about being a good mom.  

I check my email, world news, Twitter and Facebook, and my calendar, and my to-do list, and, and, and.  I plan my day, I plan their day, and I would likely plan everyone else's day if they let me.

I mistakenly assume that these things are more pressing than the three sweet souls sitting at my table.  

When did “Type A” become a compliment one gives oneself?  (guilty)

When did we begin to base our worth on how “busy” or “tired” we are?  (guilty)

When did we find it more fruitful to manage our days than to live them?  (guilty)

I'm giving myself permission to snuggle with my girls at bedtime.  I'm giving myself permission to say "no" so that I can say "yes" to my family.  I'm giving myself permission to laugh when London raids the pantry and devours 5 cinnamon rolls, rather than jump to clean it up in 5 seconds or less.  (Who's counting anyway?)  I'm giving myself permission to laugh more and worry less.

Unplug.  Live life slowly.  See if the world keeps spinning.  It will.  Without my help.  Without my control.  Without my to-do list.  Without my hurry.  Without my bossy-pants self. 

locking arms

love this quote from beth moore:

some of us with little previous battle experience have no idea why God is allowing us to go through such difficult times in a place we thought was His will. He’s trying to make warriors out of us, girlfriend!  rise to the occasion!  but we aren’t meant to fight unseen forces alone. you and i have the God-given right to lock arms with our sisters and brothers in Christ and defend ourselves with the Sword of the Spirit and the Shield of Faith. . .when we do, we are guaranteed victory.

i am in the battle. and i have very little previous experience.

i'm beginning to see, though, that He is allowing injury so one day i can boast in my battle scars.  for His glory.  He is shaping me, very carefully. with delicate care. and time. He is taking His time with me.  paying close attention to detail. 

details that i would have rushed by in my haste to regain what i lost. what i think i need.

but He's transforming me. by renewing my mind. 

thankfully, i am not fighting these forces alone. . . i am surrounded.

surrounded by you. encouraged by you.   

and on the days when i don’t believe, you do. when i run out of strength, you hoist me up on your shoulders and carry me. when my spirit is low, you sustain me with your prayers. when i want to stop believing, you remind me of His faithfulness.

your encouraging words. your prayers. wiping the teardrops from my eyes. an extra tight hug.   

we are locking arms.

we will survive.  we are guaranteed victory.  He told me so.