Flower lady

When I was in high school, and elderly lady lived down the road from us. LaRoice Mayland; we called her the flower lady.  She had been a widow for longer than I'd known her, and her yard contained vast beds of flowers. She hired me to come and help her tend these flowers occasionally during the summer, but she must have watered them every day herself, in an era before programmable timed sprinklers.  I would weed among the flowers for a long while, and then we would sit on her stone porch stoop and drink flat Pepsi Cola and eat Cheetos that her husband had probably picked up from the grocery, and we would talk.  I don't even remember about what, only thinking that she must hire me as much to eat stale chips with her and talk as for the weeding, and that I didn't mind either.  I admired her dedication to those flowers, to making her world beautiful, even as her life shrank to a solitary one, and her body succumbed to age.

I think about her when I working in the beds, among the tender shoots. I am the flower lady now. I have planted flowers every single place that I have lived since I left home except those that came with absolutely no ground in which to put a plant: my dorm room and a high rise apartment that I lived in with my first husband in Washington, and even then, I volunteered at the botanical conservatory across the street. I think about her, and I wonder what joys and sorrows my flowers will preside over. Will they be the sole companion of my old age? Will they out live me: a legacy of beauty when I am gone?

The spring bulbs were the very first thing to go in. The shipment was late. It didn't arrive until November, but if I didn't get them in, I would have to wait a full year and a half to see blooms. Morgan and I went out on a brisk day. I gave her the crocuses, because they only have to be half as deep.  I did the tulips. Our hands blistered from the digging. It was chilly; my Morgan wanted to stop, and so I told her about spring, what would come.  I told her about all the years hence that our flowers would bloom, and we would know: we did this, she and I, together. I told her the story of Soggybottom is one of a family, working side by side to build the kind of life we believe in, and that's what our flowers are to me.

No one, wants flowers anymore. One of the 7 consistent criteria for a dream home is low maintenance landscaping. A little bark around some drought resistant shrubs, some river rock, and call it done. Not LaRoice, and not me. No low maintenance life here. I want to teach my kids that a life worth having gives you blisters, and then callouses. It creates beauty and makes you strong. Then, I want to sit on the porch and drink lemonade with them, and look out at the bright blooms, so when they look back, and they come home, they will look at those flowers and remember and think of their mama, the flower lady.

Be Still Part 2

This afternoon I stepped outside during naptime to talk to my mom, and I was joined by a little boy in mud boots and no pants who was supposed to be taking a nap. I let him stay. We blew bubbles, colored with sidewalk chalk, and watched the ducks, and it was like a balm for my soul. I have been so restless and out of sorts.  I am anxious all the time. My peace is missing. I have been craving caffeine and sugar and getting headaches. I need to do some recalibrating, a fasting of sorts, where I nourish my body and soul. I need to get off facebook....not because it sucks up time, because I'm always doing something else, it's just open, but because I am always divided and never focused. I need to plant seeds, read books, listen to my children with attentiveness, and be fully present in my own life. I have been spending time with God, but even that is interrupted. I am listless; I have lost my ability to be still.

I need to stop giving in to immediate relief, instead I need to pray, and exercise, and fuel my body. I need to drink deeply, but my well is dry, and I am disconnected from the spring.

I am learning that daily bread can be so many things. The energy you need to get through the day, the words you need in a tough situation, love when people are unlovable, grace for yourself when you aren't keeping it together, and right now, stillness of the soul, for which I have forgotten to depend on God. I have been busy of late, praying for others, and forgotten to ask for what I most need, and without which I am no use to anyone.

If you need me, I will be burrowed deep in my peaceful Soggybottom, hitting the reset button on my soul. I would love to hear your voice on the phone or see your face over coffee (or green tea, better yet), I would love to go for a walk with you.  I need to step away from the virtual half-life, for I am in need of real things, the feel of dirt on my hands, the sweat of a hard run, the belly laughter of children. I need to create space for these. I'll see you again soon reader, and I will be restored.

Be Still

My heart has been heavy over some situations that are not mine and over which I have no control, but involve people that I love. Intellectually, I have known that God has a plan, that he is capable, that he sees things that I don't, that his way is best,....but I have been worrying. My heart has not had God's peace.... worrying because there is so much pain in the world that I cannot stop, worrying because the path is going to be long and difficult, worrying, because I can not see how the story ends.

During my quiet time, I asked God what to do, and He said the hardest thing he could have, "Nothing. Right now you must do nothing. It is not for you to do right now. When the time comes, you will know it." and so I had to pray for peace in waiting....the hardest thing. And I asked God as I prepared to open my bible, "Please give me something to hold onto while I'm waiting.", and I opened my bible, and it was 2 Kings chapter 4, in which God does a series of seemingly impossible things that people doubt can be done, through a faithful and obedient servant.

So here I wait, tender and raw, but obedient and hopeful, and thankful for a God who is willing to meet me right where I am.

Dear potential mama friends

Dear potential mama friends,

I'm (sort of) sorry my house is messy, but I'm tired.  I thought about rescheduling, but I genuinely like you, and since tired has been more or less my state of being for the last 9ish years, I'm not sure when we'd reschedule. So, in the interest of authenticity, we'll just skip that. Speaking of authenticity....I'm sort of a homebody, and while I like people, I don't have the time to invest in that many. I don't like wasting time, so inautheniticty just isn't something I do. I don't intend to offend you, but really, if I'm too weird for you, it's best to get it out in the open right away. I've already accepted the possibility that I'm so odd that I may have to wait until my daughters are grown to have friends. Don't ask me if I like your dress/opinion/hairdo, if you aren't prepared for the truth. I'm looking for a few Jesus girls to live life with, eat tacos, let each other in to our real moments( the beautiful and the gritty ones) and laugh till we snort, which is strange, because I'm not typically the laughing out loud sort, but I'd like to be...I'm working on it, the whole lightening up thing. I need some one who balances me out on that.

What I lack in levity, I make up for in honesty and loyalty, but if you need someone to grab coffee and get pedis with every week, I'm not your girl. I need someone who understands, that while I'll always have your back if you need me, and I value our time together, I'm an extroverted introvert, so there will be times I may not respond right away, because I just can't people right now.



Finding mom friends is a bit like hunting for sea glass on the beach, so many beautiful things, and most of them aren't what you're looking for. I am not meant to blend in; I'm a bit too artsy/intellectual for my strait laced conservative friends, and far too Christian conservative for my liberal leaning artsy/intellectual friends. It's difficult to find someone who gets the tightrope walk of loving Jesus and being devoted to your family and home, while maintaining your identity and your art, but when the connection is found...that spark of recognition of a kindred spirit, it's worth it. I'd rather have two pieces of sea glass than all the white sand on the beach. The companions that God has given me along the paths of my life have been among His greatest gifts.



I love music of all genres, reading, growing things, beauty of all kinds, dancing in my kitchen, critters, and working out.  I believe that friends should lift each other up and stretch one another, remind one another that behind the tired, there is an inspired strong woman, that friends should laugh and cry together and nourish one another; two souls who see one another's crazy hot mess and don't need perfection.


So, I see you mom on the park bench wondering if she's the only one, if she should start a conversation, or if that other mom will judge all your mom stuff...she looks so put together. We all have our days, mama, where we have our makeup fixed and our sunscreen and our snacks packed, and we look like we're not falling apart, but then, we all have our days when the seams burst, and our undone spills all over the playground, and we don't have any mosquito spray,  and every mama out there needs a me too, and if that isn't your piece of sea glass, it doesn't matter, because you have been kind.  There is never any harm in a hello. One day, if we are brave enough to keep saying hello, we will each find our little tribe of soul mamas, with whom we feel at home, that make us a little better every time we are together, and laugh with us when we fall apart, that see your hot mess and raise you a little crazy, and we will see that a little mess is nothing to be afraid of.

Stuff

I am a stuff person. I don't mean that I'm materialistic; to the contrary. I am drawn to things not because of their cost, but because of their personality, or history, or what they evoke in me. If I purchase something, the likely hood that it will ever be discarded into the garage sale realm is slim. Unlike the decluttering  and organizational books advise, I can not eliminate the things in my home which I don't find useful or beautiful, because I don't have such things. I love things for their, texture, their weight, their smell, for the storied past of those who have held them before.

When I was a child, I used to go with my mother to her grandmother's house. My great-grandparents had a house in town and a house in the country, so that when grandma Bessie passed away, grandpa Jess moved to town, and left the country house virtually untouched: sugar in the canisters, clothes in the closet, talcum powder in the loo. I played with toys there: an old Farris wheel that played music. I always had a vague notion that I could sense history, not in a grand sense, but in the small mundane miracle of someone else's daily life, children, a mother, a home...

The same is true with old books, generations before me, holding these selfsame sheaves of paper, living this tale beyond their own. Their weight and scent draws me in, as does their timelessness.

And new things, I believe I give a piece of my spirit to the things I choose to surround myself with. People have called my taste eclectic, I wondered if that was a platitude for "You have a lot of strange junk.", but it doesn't matter, our home sings a song of who we are as a family. I designed it when I wasn't singing, and every pent up expression of our love story flowed out of me as I chose windows,and faucets, and light fixtures, and it's harmony may be strange to some, but it is comforting and beautiful to us: the song of a homeland, and I hope, generations from now when I am gone, and my children's children's children come here, they hear it in their spirit, and it teaches them about where they came from and those who have lived and loved and gone before. Perhaps to you, they are just things, but to me they are stories of lives well lived.

Elven doors

For years, when I would meet someone new and tell them about my life, I would say, "I was a singer." It felt like a eulogy for myself. I gave up singing because it had always been about me, and I had reached an intersecting path where, if it continued to be about me, then that's what my life would become and remain: selfish and solitary. I made the right choice, a choice that has allowed me to have a great marriage and family. I knew singing was a part of me, but I was not safe with it, yet.

God pursued me down many dark alleys, and eventually, I surrendered to Him. I prayed to love Him, and He answered me. People came along side me who loved me and prayed that some day I could use my gift in a way that would not be about me, that would glorify God (thank you, I love and appreciate you). I could not see the path forward, but a time came when I felt a nudge to begin to study. He provided a way to pay for my lessons. My family encouraged me to find out how to become involved with the local opera company, but I did not do it, and then one day the door, which it seemed could never open for me flew open in my face, with the offer to jump in on the Turandot chorus. I wasn't ready, I told God and myself, and yet, I knew He wanted me to do it, and so I did.

Then, auditions came, and I told my teacher, "It's been too long, I'm not ready, I can't do it, I'm not good enough." She encouraged me. I prayed, and I read, and He reminded me that you can't mess up, circumvent, escape, or elude His plan. If He wanted me to do this, I would get a role, and if He didn't I wouldn't. That made me a little brave. I prayed to want what He wants. I got a part. I got a part; in the very opera that made me want to become a singer when I was a little girl. I felt so blessed to be able to do what I love and was made to do that I cried. I don't have to talk about myself in the past tense anymore. I am so thankful.

You might not sing, but the lesson is this: Like the elven doors that you can not enter with all of the force in the world if you don't know the pass word or have the key, if you are outside of God's will for your life, you can beat with frustration on the doors forever, like I used to do when it was all for me, and they will never open....but when you give it to His will, He will swing wide the doors that are meant for you. That doesn't mean it will always be easy, or that you will always "get the part" you thought you wanted, but that the one that's meant for you, you will. God goes before you. Whatever "it" is for you. Give it up, and be brave, even a little brave. Glory be to God, whose plan for us is better than our imagination.

Bloom

It is 8:30 am, and I am still trying to sweep the fog from my brain. I took Baylie to school in my pajamas (for the billionth time this month), my house is a mess, I am exhausted and hoping I haven't missed anything major, like that near fiasco with the school Valentine's last week. My son does have on pants today, but only because he had to ride in the car. I am frayed and unravelling,....but I am full; so full.

For the first time in years I am singing. Another student of my voice teacher mentioned that the opera chorus was short handed, and so I landed among them, a small insignificant piece in a magnificent drama....a dedicated group of people who volunteer their time because they are passionate about creating art. This art form is so transient; months of work will come to fruition and fade in three hours, but their passion is inspiring and undimmed.

Honestly, when the opportunity arose, the first thing that crossed my mind was, "Nope, certainly not....way past my bed time, " but nipping persistently on the heals of that though was the nagging wonder of what memories I would have at the end of my days if I let anxiety drive me. Who would I become if I am ruled by fear? One day at a time, God sustains me, and one day at a time I am able to participate in something beautiful, and no matter how exhausted I am, I appreciate where I am, because either I am with talented committed artists crafting a work of beauty, or I am at home with my loves. No matter where I am, I would not rather be anywhere else, and that is, for a season, worth the cost of the fatigue, the mess, the hectic chaos.

What is it that kindles a blaze in you? Is it time to set fear aside and press against your perceived limitations? What could you be capable of just outside of your comfort zone? What would it cost you to find out? Like winter, a season of dormancy can be healing and productive, but when spring comes, let us not hesitate to bloom.

Are you choosing faith or fear?

Yesterday, before I opened my bible, I prayed for God to direct me to a place where He wanted me to be, and to have something jump out at me. I don't always read my bible this way (the random opening strategy) and I don't always start with that prayer, but I did because of something our wise and venerable pastor Vern said during a recent sermon. I opened my bible to Deuteronomy, and I was like, come on God, really, zzzzzz......boring. I read a little, and I was like, really? This is what you've got? Nothing's jumping. But I thought a felt a nudge to keep reading, and not opt for a reflip like I really wanted to, and I ended up in the story of when the Israelites come across the promised land, and they see the scary Amorites, and, even though they have been assured of victory, and have been shown clear paths, they're like ( I think that may be a record for using the word like in my blog....no I'm not a sophomore in high school....whatever, don't judge.) no way...these guys are huge. We are not going in there. God is really bummed that they put the obstacles that they see above the times that they have seen Him be faithful. He had already given them a great gift, and

they didn't take possession of it, because they were afraid. Did you get that? Talk about jumping out! It was already theirs, but they were too afraid to claim it....even though God said, "Do not be terrified, for the Lord who is going before you will fight for you."

The Lord, who hems us in before and behind has given us great gifts, He knows our ways, and has trodden our path before us. If he wants us to win, we are assured of victory, and if we loose, we were never meant to win. That is amazing! But just like them, so often, we magnify our obstacles and minimize our God.

I have been nervous about the up coming auditions for the opera season, even knowing that that nervousness is the single most likely thing to stand in the way of me doing my best. But God has seen those auditions. If He wants me to have a roll, I will get one, and if none are meant for me, then do I truly want one anyway? No. There is nothing within my power to thwart Gods plan. There is nothing in the power of the people on that panel to thwart Gods plan.

He does not give us a spirit of fear. He gives us many good gifts, and when we do not seize them because we have our eye on our obstacles and are enemies instead of on our God, that makes Him sad. Let's not wander in the wilderness, because we chosen to act in fear instead of faith. What would you have the courage to do today, if you knew that God has gone before you on your journey?

PS (I would love it if you actually answered that question in the comments!)

Quality over quantity

It's New Years again. I know it's artifice, but I still get that fresh clean feeling every January. I try to hold it as long as I can, like the last taste of fresh berries before fall. It's so tempting to overwhelm myself. I want to do it all. I want to journal, carve out writing time every week, get fit, do my makeup, declutter, be organized, read every beautiful thing ever written, not yell at my children, be grateful, savor their childhoods, find a way to serve Jesus that lights me on fire....I want to be the me that I envision, but when I try to do it all, it sucks me under like a wave, and I am right back at the start: trying to earn that which is free. My God is not a performance based God. He loves me when I fumble and loose my balance, when I lean on him and let him be my equilibrium. So, instead of resolution, I have a theme. The overlying thing is Joy, to rejoice in the Lord always, but in this season, the underlying current that steadies me is, "Quality over quantity." I will be realistic.  I will not let the desire to do everything paralyze me into doing nothing. While I will take steps to improve,  I will not let imperfection sway me into missing my blessings.

This year I will rejoice in having few friends, because they are loyal and beautiful and worth knowing.
I will not fill up with things, I will purchase that which enhances, and not merely accumulates, and I will give where He leads me.
I will try fuel my body likewise.
I will not read 50 books...I will strive to read something great every month, even if that means I only read 12.
The time given to me I will steward, not simply fill.
I will drink in moments. I will give value to what has value, not fill up on emptiness.
I will spend time with the Lord, and not treat him like a thing to be checked off and gotten out of the way.

And when, I invariably fail to do these things. I will talk with my Father, and he will restore me. Any time of the year, He can make things new. May I slow the pace, so that I can make space for His leading. The peace I can not achieve through being better, I can achieve by being content. May His Holy Spirit make it so with me, and also with you. Happy New Year Sweet Sisters. Blessed be.

You've got skills! God's Got plans! Let's do some stuff for His Glory!

It isn't very often here at Learning to Live in His Grace that I get a chance to write about anything of real substance, so I am ecstatic to steal Megan and Patrick's story! The ways that God has worked in their lives to prepare them for their journey, and the work that He is now preparing to do through them is incredible, so without further ado....

Our friends from our former small group Tom and Adrienne, invited us over to their place for dinner, to hear a presentation from Adriennes' sister Megan and her husband Patrick, about their upcoming mission to Japan. I was prepared for your run of the mill mission spiel, but I was not prepared to hear this young couple tell us that, because of the nature of Japanese culture, they are permanently relocating to Japan, to create long term relationships with Japanese people, and find innovative, culturally sensitive, and relational ways, to show the love of Jesus to people, and THEN, be able to introduce them to Jesus. Megan shared with us that she has been called to missions since she was thirteen, and Patrick informed her about his heart for Japan on their first date, so she would know that it would be a waste of time to pursue the relationship further if she was opposed to this life vision.  Due to Patrick's experience with martial arts and time in Japan through his military service, he is uniquely equipped with a love for and knowledge of Japanese culture, and Megan's teaching experience and heart for women have led her to a program called Tea and Talk, where she creates relationships with Japanese women, while drinking tea and working with them on their English. In Japan, Megan will continue Tea and Talk, while Patrick will reach Japanese people through Fight Church. His vision is to create a safe place for people to express who they are, and explore that through martial arts, in an individually repressive culture, while sharing the love of Jesus. 

Megan and Patrick showed level headed realism about the challenges before them, without ever losing the glow of passion for the work that God has given them. They let us know that because of intense respect and reverence for their ancestors, and a culture that enforces homoginy through social mores, only one percent of one percent of Japanese profess Christ as their Savior, and those who do are often ostracized! Lance and I were amazed by hearing about how God brought Megan and Patrick together as life partners and teammates with a shared passion and vision. We also loved how their unique life experiences up to this time have so clearly prepared them for the path ahead. Sometimes how God is working in your own life can seem vague, but when you see another perspective, it becomes so evident that His hand is in everything!

My bible study partner and I have recently been involved in an exploratory study of our spiritual gifts, and many of the issues with which I had been wrestling, came up in conversation as Patrick unknowingly reassured me that our spiritual gifts come to us in the form of our passions, and because they are so deeply ingrained in the way that God made us, they often don't even seem like gifts to us. God was reassuring me, through Patrick, that all you have to do is use whatever God gave you, for His glory. It doesn't always come as a revelation or accompanied by great fanfare. So, in that way too, God's hand was evident our being there to meet them, and we left feeling incredibly blessed by the conversation, as well as the opportunity to pray for Megan and Patrick's mission with World Venture, contribute financially when we are able (as they have to raise their salaries forever, since they will be full time missionaries!), and send them letters and care packages, with our children's involvement, once they are in Japan. They asked us to pray about these things for three days, which we did, and I am always incredibly moved by the power of praying hand in hand out loud with my husband!

I am so excited about the wonderful things that God has in store, and I just had to share it with you. If you feel, after prayerful consideration, that  you would like to  hear more about this mission, or contribute in one of the above ways that I mentioned, please let me know, and I will hook you up with Megan and Patrick! If this is not a mission that you are called to be involved in at this time, that's great! There are so many ways for each of us to use our gifts! I hope you are inspired that God is doing great work, out loud and behind the scenes.

of excess fat

I know some of you probably don't think I'm qualified to say anything about being fat. When I recently started my journey to better health, many people told me I am not fat enough to worry about it, but, as a formerly mostly thin person, and a person who has recently struggled, I have some observations from both sides of the spectrum. During the past two years, since I had my son, I have made no progress in shedding the weight, I have experienced struggles with hormone imbalances that have intensified my difficulty, and while my BMI has never gone to unhealthy extremes, my abdominal size put me at risk for health problems, I have wanted to cry about not feeling beautiful. I have battled stress and emotional eating. I have felt that style is more about dressing to minimize the appearance of my fat, than actually enjoying clothes that reflect who I am. What surprised me though, is that there were times, when I felt my new curves were beautiful, and what I hated most was not just about my appearance, but my growing struggles with fatigue, weakness, and not being able to have the command over my body that I use to enjoy. It was absolutely not ok for me to allow myself to continue down this unhealthy path.

I have noticed among women a certain chasm of shame, a divide that is magnified over the Internet.  Women struggling with their weight and attempting to embrace their beauty within their bodies, unintentionally shame thin women out of their own feeling of being judged. Thin women and heavy women have dug their heels in on opposing trenches, when we should in fact be supporting one another. Statistics show that at one time or another, almost all women experience body image dissatisfaction. I have known thin women, whose bodies I have envied, to find out that they suffered terrible battles of their own with body image and food.  Every person has struggles, but being heavy is a vulnerability that is worn on the outside as well as within, while many bear their struggles in secrecy.  I have a friend, who I truly believe to be beautiful on the outside as well as within, who recently received some appalling and cruel remarks about some photos she posted on social media of herself enjoying time on the beach. She has carried a child, her body is strong, and yet she has struggled with weight issues. She deserves be proud of what her body is capable of  and it's beautiful attributes without unnecessary hurt. It is absolutely not ok to make a person feel devalued and ridiculed because of their body, and when people do this, it betrays a far darker issue in themselves than a bit of excess body weight. The bible says that each of us was created in God's image and our value is based on our identity in him, so it is simply unbiblical to define and demean another in that way. And yet I feel there is an undue pressure, in the name of body acceptance, to embrace unhealth. God loves us exactly as we are, but that does not mean he wants us to stay there. There is so much fear and stigma around weight, that I have often felt that I could not encourage a sister in Christ to better health in love, for fear of putting them on the defensive. God made our bodies, and cares deeply about them.  The bible has a lot to say about our self care. As with any issue with which we may struggle, weather it be addiction, lust, temper (me!), or anything not of God that has control over us, we should not say, this is the way I am, I must accept it. We must believe that through Christ, we can truly do hard things.  I have heard many people put up as a shield legitimate health challenges that make losing weight difficult, as a reason to settle in to unhealthy habit and sedentary lifestyle.

No, we should not feel pressure to look like air brushed bikini models for the vanity of society. Yes, we should absolutely love the bodies God gave us, no matter where we are in our journey. We should embrace the uniqueness of our body types, but when I see a sister who has given up because the journey is hard, I want to be able to say to her friend to friend, God says we are going to encounter hardship in all forms, and when weight interferes with a person's ability to enjoy the abundant life that God gave us to enjoy in the magnificent creation of our bodies, and interferes with our ability to serve our families and others as God asks of us, then it grieves me. He makes impossible things possible, and in him we can have hope.  We need not stand on opposite sides and judge one another, but uplift and encourage, and not be afraid to speak truth, and help one another create better habits for health, energy, and abundance.

Summer fun?

Oh how to approach scheduled writing time when my head is still reverberating like a gong from all this mornings fun? The only way I know, with the truth, and here it is folks. I am not a joyful mama. What I mean by that is that all the super fun activities that I have placed on my (things good moms are supposed to do to facilitate good summers and happy childhoods) checklist, turn out to be excruciating misery. I envy, oh how I envy those mamas who can bask by the pool with five littles in tow, and get dirty on the beach, and participate in water fights, and forgo schedules to linger into the evening, and get home exhausted and say, that was a blast. That my friends, is how I envision those things when I write them on the list, but in fact, the execution of them feels as though I were trying plan a complex heist with substandard evil minions.

Today: the park. Can't be that hard, right? First, my children behave as though they have never before left the house, and therefore do not know that they will need such things as footwear and jackets.  They have also clearly forgotten that public bathrooms are icky nasty disgusting and must be avoided at all costs. While I am trying to facilitate the assembly of gear, bodies, and preemptive potty trips, the smallest is, as usually hatching an escape attempt. Everyone has now put on their muddiest boots and traipsed through the house back and forth as many times as possible.  We are late.  I am flustered.

But, it will be fine. My oldest, responsible child has promised me that she will stay with her brother in the little play area so that I can focus on bible study.  That, my friends, was a marketing ploy, engineered to lull me into a false sense of security about choosing the park. Small son is thus abandoned to his own devises to demonstrate that he has more guts that brains. Boys. He does this in front of Baylie's next year preschool teacher, to make my stellar motherhood public. There are tears, though fortunately, none of them are mine....yet. The bible study is like turrets syndrome, I try to focus on my friend, but, my son's life is at this stage, basically a series of escape attempts, so I holler, and when that inevitably produces nothing but feigned deafness on the part of my children, I run after my son mid conversation, repeatedly.

By the time it is time for lunch, my son needs a nap, but he wants to keep playing, or at the very least, do some open mouthed kissing with the strange dog nearby. Anything but sit still and eat. Middle child has applesauce all over her pants and has set her spoon down in the grass.  I am sure strange afore mentioned dog or it's predecessors have peed there. I can't think about it. My son is contemplating investigating the vroom vroom cars in traffic.  Picnics are fun. Yay.

We have not really accomplished lunch, but we cut our losses and wrestle smallest urchin into the car kicking and screaming, which he does all the way home, and beyond.  I sarcastically thank largest urchin for all of her help. The doctors office calls to reschedule Levi's appointment, but, from all the screaming in the background, they can tell this is not a good time. They are very perceptive. If we do not nap soon there will be more tears, and they will be mine.

I want so badly for my children's childhoods to be filled with memories, where their mom was not uptight, but my exhausted brain can not compute how to execute my list without it being just another thing to check off. Our bible study is about fighting back with joy. I know enough now to understand, my perspective changes everything, but I do not know how to translate this into reality, not amid the bad attitudes and the meltdowns about shoes. I am blessed.  I know it.  I see it, but sometimes I don't know how to live like it. I want to dig in, burrow down in my hobbit hole where we are cushioned by routine, but what can you do when you have kids but try again? Instead, we will dig out. I will seek the secret to joy on the go. Each item on the list will be an experiment in joy. God must certainly be as sovereign at the park and the beach as he is in our very own cozy cookie carton, so I pray I will learn to find him there, among the germs and old gum, and that he will be larger to me than they.

The story of John continued

If you are a regular follower of my blog, then you may remember that I wrote an overview of my relationship with my biological dad in 2013.....At that time, I felt as though I would probably never hear from him again, but around Easter, I felt an impulse to send him a picture of each of the kids. I wanted him to see what beautiful souls he is missing out on. He thanked me in a private message and sent me a facebook friend request. We had been friends on facebook previously, several years ago, but he had unfriended me. My family strongly discouraged me from accepting the request. My mom and sister, specifically, felt it was foolish to open myself up to be hurt again.  I honestly did not feel I would, and I felt like, since I have come to Christ, I should try to show my father grace by allowing him to see my children at least in this way, and that way, if he ever showed repentance, the door would already be there for a relationship, though I thought his likelihood of repentance slight, I know that God can do as he chooses, and I have made it a point to pray for him regularly.

In my mind, there are two John's. One is very charismatic, and fun to be around. He is lighthearted and complimentary, and positive.  This is the man that I miss spending time with. When a lot of time has gone by, and the wounds from the other John begin to fade in memory, I begin to miss this John. As a child, I ached for the praise of this John, and as I got older, I learned that the longer I could pretend that the other John had never existed, the longer this one would stick around.  If I could ignore the elephant in the room, and play on his terms, I could hold the chimera of his affection for a time. Though he signed away his parental rights, my mom allowed us to spend time together so I wouldn't resent her for his absence. We went to baseball games and waterparks, races, and sled pulls, and occasionally, he would come to my school functions.

But always, there is a cycle. I never know what turns it, and suddenly I am with the other John. Anyone who has been in a codependent relationship knows the feeling of walking on eggshells, waiting to step on the inevitable hidden land mine. My dad hasn't had a drink in many years, but the pattern of alcoholic behavior is still there.  This John, how do I tell you what it is like for a child to be blamed for being unloved....if I could only behave somehow, or not say the wrong thing, he would love me, wouldn't he?? My small child self wondered.  Isn't it wrong not to love your child? He would tell me in a thousand ways how things were my fault and my mother's, and call me names, and the thing is, he has filled in the memory gaps with things that didn't happen, and in his mind the are irrefutably true, there is no way out.  This invariably ends in only one way, with years of silence.

When he comes around again, he acts as though it has never been, and so always, have I, until this time. Many of you that are my friends on face book, have seen glimmers of our facebook relationship this time. Small things awakened a dangerous sliver of hope, through experience, I should know how convincing the honeymoon stage can be, but he even told me he had become a Christian, and as it ever is with a parent, you never totally give up. This time though, the land mine came publicly on my facebook feed, set off by a seemingly innocent post of mine about Morgan enjoying vacation bible school, and it played out like Jerry Springer live on facebook.

And so it is that I am processing that loss, again. I am sad, because I have long prayed for a chance to share Jesus with my dad, I failed to communicate well that it is not about me being good and doing things right, it is about Jesus on the cross, covering my sin in his grace, and that doesn't mean that thereafter we are perfect, and never respond out of our hurt instead of His grace, it means that we are loved by a love that large enough to cover our imperfections, a love that we do not have to earn.

But friends, I gained from this exchange as well. Jesus is the only one who can save my dad, not me. I don't bare that burden, and from this conversation I learned how much I have grown.  I am not afraid of the pain anymore. It can be a part of my life, but it will not keep my from protecting my family, or telling the truth, or standing up for what I believe. He doesn't wield that power over me anymore.  Also, I always believed that he was so clever at manipulation, that anyone would fall under his spell, and believe the things he said about me. The support that I received was humbling and amazing.  I love you all so much for standing at my side, and loving me. I know I am an imperfect sinner, but I am not those words he spoke to me, the ones chosen because they cut deep. Thank you for seeing me. And so another round ends, but leaves me so much stronger, and so grateful for the love of Jesus, and my wonderful stepdad who chose hard love. Please continue to pray for me, and him. I leave it in God's hands.

On Exhaustion, Anxiety, and Forgetting how to live

When I met Lance, I was fire: passionate with youth and purpose. Then, when Morgan came, and she was early, I had to set my alarm to nurse every 2 hours, from beginning to beginning, so, if she took an hour to nurse, that meant I had an hour to sleep before the whole thing started over. Even after that, she was never a good sleeper.  We always rocked her to sleep, so she got to the stage where after an hour of rocking, she would wake as soon as we layed her in the crib. I remember the devastating, paralyzing exhaustion like it was yesterday.  I remember the 4am desperation for sleep, so acute that I would curl up in her crib with her, just so we could finally sleep.

2 kids later, I survived somehow, but I still live in fear of that kind of tired. If I don't go to bed "on time", I lay there with the anxiety that I will not get enough sleep. Counterintuitive, I know. I have constructed careful boundaries by which I will get enough rest. I must preserve the energy to function. I must get enough sleep to get up and clean the house and mops the floors, so that the kids will have a nice place to drag stuff out and track stuff in, so that my husband can come home and wonder what I did all day. I am so jealous of my energy that I don't want to stay up and watch a movie with my husband. I don't want to go out. I don't want to invite anyone over, for fear that they won't leave. I am bound and ruled by anxiety and fear of exhaustion.

Don't get me wrong, I think it's ok, imperative even, for moms to set boundaries for the health and well being of her family, but I got beyond that somehow. Though my life is beautiful to the point of pain, I have forgotten how to live in it. I have stopped singing, even at home. My song, my passion, has been stifled by the daily, by just trying to maintain. Occasionally, it will rise up and flap wildly inside me, like a trapped bird trying to escape.  I feel it. I don't know how to let it out. I get melancholy. My husband chalks it up to female hormones.  We go on.

Hear me mama: it doesn't serve our families to live this way. It doesn't serve God. Motherhood isn't supposed to feel like groundhogs day: rote, mundane, redundant. I used to feel God made me for more. Sometimes, when I get this way, my husband fears that I wish I chose I different path, that I want a different life, but that isn't it. I don't regret that big choice.  It is how I've handled a thousand small choices since then that I wish I could, nay, must learn how, to change. I must learn to trust God actively for the needs of tomorrow, so that I can live today. I must learn to practice contentment and joy in the now. I need to change my perspective, so that I can appreciate His gifts. It only takes a moment for everything that we take for granted to be gone.

Of course, it is one thing to type, and another to live. We must condition ourselves to the discipline and practice of Eucharisto, thanks, grace, and joy. We must practice it, until it becomes our nature.

"Don't die with your song still inside you."
Sing we must, today.

The Long Road

A couple of weeks ago, Morgan missed the bus. We live like 2 minutes from the school; taking her definitely would have been the easier thing, but after an internal battle, I decided to allow her to learn from the consequences of dawdling. It was hard to watch her weep and wail and want to go to school (but it's so cool that she likes school that much, right?). Believe me, I have codependent tendencies. I wanted to rescue her, like my lovely, caring friend that is always running her daughter her band instrument and who probably thinks I am a cold hearted Nazi mother, but I refrained.

After she was clam, I explained that I was not angry, and that she was not being punished: the simple consequence of missing your ride, is not going to the place your ride was headed. I explained that as a mom, it's my job to teach that things that are your responsibility will be taken responsibility for by you, not me.  I explained that the consequence of missing one day out of 12 years of school is small, so small, but that the consequence of not learning to accept consequences for your actions as they get larger and more severe is huge. And at the end of the day, I considered that hard decision a mom win for both of us. I did the short term hard thing, for a long term investment in my child's charecter, and my daughter tried to see a situation from a perspective that was not her own.  If only a glimpse, I think she understood that I see a future for her that she can't immediately perceive, and that I have that future in mind when I do things, even the ones she doesn't like. I responded firmly, but without anger, and we went on to have a day that included both work and fun.

Lord, please help us to be more often as we were on that day: me, firm but loving, and my children, willing to accept correction, and help all of us mama's to look down the long road when we have hard parenting choices in our path.

Reflections on the New Year

Happy New Years, reader! It's that time of year again, a time to assess the person we've become in the last year, and compare her to the person we want to be....I love a new beginning, slate like the crisp snow, we are a blank canvas, gessod by the Master, for a year of becoming. But alas, when the feeling of freshness wanes, I'm an all or nothing girl...the kind who seldom works out if she misses a Monday, who misses quiet time for a month because the week didn't go as planed, who throws the budget or the eating plan out the window when I've faltered.

  This year friends, I need a resolution for my resolutions.  I will be kind to myself. I will grow. If I don't feel up to interval training, I will opt for yoga. Life happens.  Three days a week is in fact, better than zero.  If I yell at my kids, fail to make my bed, skip church, eat unhealthily, miss quiet time, I will make a next best choice.  I will refuse to be a Monday person. My God's Grace is sufficient any day of the week.  And because I know that there is a little New Years, a measure of fresh start, any moment that we chose to make a more God honoring choice, I will make more progress than ever could with my old cloak of all or nothing, because kids will get sick, the unexpected will come up, I will have bad days.

It will be a slower road than I want it to, this new path to growth, but it will get me farther in the end, because instead of sprinting to a roadblock, I will keep steady along the path. I will see more of the scenery, I will let the lessons write themselves on my heart.  I have a feeling that when I step into the next New Year, I may be quite different. I hope, the same will be said for you.  Blessings my friends, may your resolutions go well with you, and when you fail, which indeed you will, may you find the grace you need to resolve again.

Clean little secret: My love/hate relationship with admitting I need help

All is calm at the Taylor's.  It is nap time.  The kids are asleep and all is quiet.  I sit serenely, coffee in hand. I feel unruffled and at ease. Why? Because the housekeeper just left.

Yes, you heard that right.  My amazing, awesome, loving husband has put it in the budget for me to have help 8 hours a month! It's only 8 hours, so it's not like I'm going to take up soaps and bon bon eating or anything, (not that I would anyway), but it does mean that when I'm frazzled and fried, and I just can't do it all, for this season of my life when the kids are so small, I have somewhere to turn.  I love it! I feel less chaotic when I know she's coming, and so peaceful when she leaves.

I love my home as much as it is possible to love a physical location this side of heaven, but, it's one third bigger than our old house, and it's a lot to clean, especially with three little helpers.  Sometimes, (gasp!) I need help.

There I said it, I need help....I do OK for the most part, as long as no one gets sick, there are no expected errands, and I have no friends, but then, like a house of cards in the wind, order crumbles.  It seems my house can go from homey and lovely to call the health department in 5.6.

Having someone to turn to, to help me dig out of the rubble seems wonderful beyond my wildest housewife dreams, but, it also makes me wonder if I've failed.....Does needing help make me less than the wife I should be? Does admitting I can't do it all make me weak? Does spending that money make me selfish? On and on. I have my moments when I let these worries carry me, but then I realize: if I have more time and less stress, and I can achieve more presence with my husband and kids, it's worth every penny, and every ounce of set aside pride.

It doesn't make me weak, it makes me sane, and realistic, and lucky.  When I concede that I can't always be super mom/wife/homemaker, ironically I become better at all of those things.  Take a deep breath and say it with me: Sometimes, I need help.

And then next time your MIL offers to take the kids, or your small group offers to help you move, or your husband offers to pay for a sitter or a cleaning lady, TAKE IT, knowing it doesn't make you less; it allows you to be more.

Mommy blogger

I don't consistently read many blogs, but they're always there, on my news feed, "6 ways to serve your husband today!", or "How to create more peace in your home in 5 easy steps!".  Sometimes I click on them; they always contain sound biblical advice, but in the midst of , "Steve and I had a little tiff. I was angry, hey, I'm not perfect, haha, so I went to my room and had a little sit down with the Holy Spirit, and He told me, Marsha, you're just not edifying your husband when you act this way.  If you kissed him passionately when he walked in the door and met his needs first, and forgave him when you squabble, you wouldn't have this unwholesome sinful attitude, and I said, you know what HS, you're totally right, I'm going to go out there right now with a big smile, and apologize, and seduce my man in proper Christian housewife fashion, by golly.  Thanks for the chat." I get weary. That's an exaggeration, I know, and I do learn good stuff from those girls, but apparently, they are miles ahead of me on the quick repentance and turnaround scale.

Sometimes, I just want to hear one of these women say, "'After 10 years, for the love, you'd think that man could walk in the door, and see that look in my eye that indicates impending madness, and just say, 'Okay, mommy's going to retreat to the bathtub for a little timeout, daddy's got this', but due to the male inability to read subtle facial cues, said interception failed to occur, and mommy lost her um, composure, during dinner time and screamed disproportionately to the present transgression, like a lunatic." I mean,  I am I alone???? I just want someone else to get real, and say, just because you love Jesus doesn't mean you never break open at the seams, and fail to properly excuse yourself for a little chat with HS before things get ugly.  Sometimes it gets ugly and raw, even when you do love Jesus.

I want to serve my husband today! and create peace in my home as much as the next person, but there aren't five easy steps.  The steps are hard, and I get tired, and I just want to hear someone acknowledge that. Jesus gets me back on track.  He holds my marriage together when I'm so tired I could throw in the towel.  He brings me back when I think that I'm such a terrible mother that my children would be better of without me, but the hard days are still real.  They remind me of my need.  They bring me low before Jesus. They make me so thankful that I have him to mend me and know my heart. So from this mommy blogger to you: You're not alone, your ugly isn't worse than everyone else's. It isn't too much for Jesus.  You aren't the only one who gets tired, who doubts yourself, who just wants a break, or a sound proof room to scream in. We're in this together, and we've got Jesus, and bath tubs, and wine...we're gonna be ok.

Too Legit to Quit: How I know my God is the real deal

I have a secret, a secret that all believers know.  God does offer proof; only he offers it AFTER we offer him our faith.  Many times, I thought I would believe in Him, if only he offered me a sign, but He doesn't work that way....during His time on earth, he didn't even do miracles in his own home town.  Why? Because, the people who knew him since he was a wee lad already had their minds made up about who he was.....you can't convince somebody who needs a sign.  Jesus could have slapped me right up side the head (I believe he may have done that, actually), but I wasn't ready to listen, and I wouldn't have know his sign from a hole in the wall. People who are not ready to receive the Holy Spirit will not respond to a persuasive logical argument, a miracle, a sign, a slap upside the head; it is only people in whom the Holy Spirit is at work that can see and accept miracles.

I began as a zombie Christian. I knew who Jesus was, I knew what He'd done, at times in my life I think I believed it was true, but I didn't get it, not really. I did not understand or accept the intimacy of what Christ had done for ME.  I felt nothing.  A zombie Christian is an intellectual believer...I can't know, but I suspect I am not the only one.  A true believer responds to belief.....it's the difference between seeing the gift under the tree and unwrapping it....I don't really know what's in there until I hold it in my hand, open it up, accept it. 

For many years, God pursued me. Invited me to know him, instead of just know of him.  Everywhere I went, he sent me Christians who witnessed to me.  They saw no progress, but they were seed people.  I stored up the seeds the Spirit had given me in my heart, until He had prepared the soil.  Here it is, the proof....I was in the dark.  I am a selfish creature.  I had made such a mess, that there was no way it could be made good again.  On the inside, I could feel poison and despair, and I knew, there was no way I could be any different.  This is who I was, deep down. 

Some days I lose hope; I feel I'm not going forward, I feel stuck in sin, but then I look at where I was, and remember who I was, and I know beyond doubt, that I could not be where I am, without Jesus.  I was in a pit that I could not crawl out of with my own power.  I am not capable of being who I am now on my own.  It simply was not doable. Only the power that He has in my life has given me the life I have today. I know it was Him, it couldn't have been me. He offered me this proof, after, friends, only after I opened the gift. He redeemed my mess and made something beautiful. Because of his work in me, I know, He is the real deal.  And when I forget, he has a way of giving me little reminders, small proofs, like inside jokes, only He and I would recognize, because I whispered them to Him in secret. In His love, He proves himself to me again and again, because I already have faith, the same way he does many times throughout the bible.

Likewise, this post will not convince anyone who is unwilling to take a step in faith.  If however, you are an unbeliever, take it as a seed, hang on to it for a rainy day, ponder it in your heart.  "Evangelism is simply a beggar telling another beggar where he found bread." And if you are a believer, share one another's testimonies for a day when your own is so familiar and comfortable that you forget its power.  Give Him your trust and tell Him your secrets; and see if He does not give them back to you in splendid and mysterious fruits.

Good gifts part 2: soul sisters

When I first became a mother, I had no friends. No one I knew had kids.  The people I was close to in my youth had faded away, and the friends I had made in Washington I severed myself from with my divorce. After that, I got involved in MOPs and made a few friends, but they had mostly left Montana, so here I was second time around, a stay at home mom with a new baby (and an older one), and few close friends.  I was praying for God to give me the kind of friend who knew me the way my childhood best friend had, but one who loved Jesus, and understood what life as a mom was like, someone who would recognize my weird and love me because of it.

One day, after I had been blogging for a little while, a stranger started following my tiny blog.  I noticed we had a few mutual facebook friends, so I figured she must have seen it through them.  I asked my friend Jamie about this girl, because I am insatiably curious, or nosey, whatever, and she exclaimed, "That's the girl who brought me to Christ!" Cool. She lives in Billings, maybe this is the friend I prayed for.

Or maybe not.  Just a few weeks later, she moved to North Dakota, the friendship wasteland, the one that also ate my friend Lisa. ( You North Dakota, are a greedy, friend stealing, dirty word.) I almost thought, I shall not bother investing in getting to know someone with whom I can not drink coffee, but Jenn, she has a way of butting all up in your business, you know, when you need it. She ended up meeting Lisa, and becoming friends with a girl I used to work with, and I ended up meeting people here that she knew to the point of, this is getting weird...She understands things about me that no one else does , because we both sing, and put it aside for a time, because we both write, because we both like to say things strait up, and take things that way too, because we both did things before Jesus that felt irredeemable, and received redemption anyway, and a thousand other tiny similarities. And girlfriend has five, FIVE! kids, so my mama woes ain't (I just said ain't in my writing :/) got nothing (double negative!!) on this girl.

Because the only way we knew each other was by following each others blogs, (which by the way, she just "stumbled" upon, no mutual friends involved), and facebook, and an uncanny number of mutual friends, and a couple of extremely awkward phone conversations, we basically skipped the small talk phase of friendship....like, I know almost nothing about her at all, except for intimate details, and visa versa.  It's like friendship backwards.  I love it. I hate that blind date phase anyway; this is more like arranged marriage or something, God's like, you guys are going to be soul friends, you can figure that other stuff out later, or in heaven, no hurry really.  She senses things, like when I need prayer, or what I might be leaving out of a conversation, or how something in my life felt, and I don't have to bother with how often we have to get together to maintain a friendship or not hurt her feelings (because I'm kind of a hermit) . It's lovely.

And I don't have to be sad when she moves, which she recently did, to Florida, where she is buying a yellow house with a porch to settle down in, so we can sit on our yellow porches, half a world away and pray for each other and smile.  God has given me other great friends in that time, but Jenn is unique to me.  A gift given not how I wanted it, but in the best, best possible way, just how God likes to give gifts, unexpected, and better that you would have picked yourself.