Quiet reminders

The house is quiet and dark when I wake up.

It's my very favorite time of day.

It's so promising, the silence. No dirty dishes clutter the counter or fill the sink, (unless my husband had a late night snack and didn't remember to load his dishes...) no irritation-filled words fill the house, no one has cried, no one has burped or farted or been in desperate need of deodorant or breath mints. Nothing has gotten broken or dented or ruined or burnt or mangled.

And also, the silence that fills my pre-dawn house is FULL of words.

Words from the Lord.

Whispers for my heart.

Peace and mercy and strength for my day.

How often I forget to sit and soak in the silence that isn't quiet at all.

So many times I immediately busy myself with the cares of the day ahead, and the spiritual fullness is drowned out by the sounds of busyness.

Today I almost did it again...I almost went straight for the things awaiting me.

But. I didn't.

And I'm so glad.

Because the silence of my house was, as it always is, filled with the presence of God Almighty, and today I sat with Him, and His presence was a balm to my heart.

Thought after thought ran through my spirit as I paused and listened. As if the Lord were giving me a Bible story overview and then applying it to my life.

I thought of all the women I know, and love, whose hearts are tired and sad and lonely and hurting.

Tear filled eyes and pain soaked words seem to surround me, and seem to be inside me.

So I asked the Lord about it. My heart whispered into the darkness of my house, and the fullness of the spirit realm.

"Why is it, Lord? Always so much struggling. So much sadness. So much hurt. We don't understand. We don't know how to believe that You are good, and that You love us, when all we feel is sad and heart-sore and weary of all the HARD that life brings."

And then the Bible lesson started in my heart. I was reminded of Daniel, and then Noah, and Moses, and David, and Elijah, and the three guys in the fiery furnace whose names I can say but refuse to try and spell, and so many more...

They suffered pain.
They lived with loss.
They were disappointed and unsure and overwhelmed with what life sent their way.

There were floods, and lion's dens, and murder, and fiery furnaces, and dead children, and threats to their very lives.

And even though they are the heroes of the Bible, because they were also human, we can assume that they asked the same questions of God that we ask.

And they probably didn't have any more of the answers than we do.

How do we accept that God is good...and that heart-shattering pain will still come?

That seems to be the question of the ages.

Our understanding of God's love is so limited, though. We can only think as people.

I don't ever want my children and family and friends to feel hurt. Ever.

But God's love desires for us to be more like Him. For us to walk closer with Him. For us to grow in our understanding of Him.

Why?

Not just for our own sake, though that is an obvious result...no, His love sees ALL of the pain, and He walks beside us in it SO THAT WE CAN WALK BESIDE OTHERS.

Selfish love wants no pain or struggle or yearning for anything more. Human love desires to shelter and shield.

AGAPE love desires to mold us. His love, sitting here with me in my living room today, isn't soothing my anxious heart  for the sake of my heart alone. Rather, He's reminding me that His presence is enough, even in the storms, ESPECIALLY in the storms. The reminder has tears streaming down my face. Because it's not just for me, His love.

Its FOR YOU TOO!

He sits in the dark with me so that I can share with you...

He's with us in the fiery furnace.
He shuts the lion's mouths.
He forgives our greatest failings.
He redeems our mistakes.
He speaks to us in our moments of crisis.
He saves us when the flood rises.

For us, yes, but also for those around us who are drowning and burning up and being devoured. So that we can remind them.

His love...it's in the silence. It's in the pain. It's in every breath and heartbeat. It doesn't make sense that He would allow us to hurt so much...

Except that maybe, just maybe, He was thinking of YOU when He sat beside me in my darkest night.

Perhaps He is thinking of someone you haven't even met yet when He stands with you in the fire.

Maybe His love sees the person who will come into your life feeling destroyed by their failure, as He sits beside you in your failings.

He has not forsaken you, sweet hurting heart.

Even when you don't want Him there. He's there all the same.

Shhh...

Can you hear Him in the silence? Can you feel Him?

The quiet is filled with the voices of children now.

But I am clinging hard to the silence that is full of sound in my heart.

I pray the same for you.

Eternal Emotion

I have ALL of the feelings rolling around inside me this afternoon, and it has left me edgy, shaky, and unsettled.

Usually that means there is something the Lord is wanting to speak to me. Over the years I've become slightly better at recognizing the signs of the Holy Spirit whispers, and marginally quicker at responding to those signs.

As only a mom truly can, I decided to multi-task during my time with the Lord. (Don't judge me, people. God knows the busyness that is my weeks right now.)

I have been planning to paint a couple bookshelves in my guest bedroom, so I prepared all of that, turned on some worship music, and sat down in the floor.

2 hours later, I emerged. Bookshelves steadily drying in their lovely new color, hands still shaking, heart sore, and yet peaceful, face tear-streaked.

Yes, indeed, the Lord had words to speak to me.

Now I shake for fear that I won't be able to adequately write them down.

My family lost a friend this week, in a motorcycle accident, suddenly and with no warning. His wife was critically injured in the crash, and his daughters, who are the friends I've had my ENTIRE life, are, of course, devastated.

Their daddy is gone. They didn't get to say goodbye. Their children, his grandchildren, will grow up only remembering his laugh and his hugs and his love for them.

There is nothing more agonizing. Nothing more terrifying. Nothing that saps you of the strength quite as completely. Grief is an all consuming monster sometimes. It yawns wide in front of us and lasts forever and makes everyone who faces it cower.

I remember, in my grief journey, wanting to die. I know that sounds extreme, and I never contemplated suicide, but I can recall opening my eyes some mornings, and thinking to myself, "If I were just gone, I wouldn't have to face this. And not facing this...it would be easier."

My heart is broken for my friends. I send them songs, and scriptures, and words of love, because I KNOW what they are feeling. But nothing can really, truly, help.

It's HELL to walk, and breathe, and eat, and speak. To do anything, ANYTHING, feels like being set on fire. I don't know how else to describe it. You want to be numb one minute, but you can't stop feeling shattered. You want to feel your emotions the next minute, but all you are is cold, dead, and lifeless inside.

All of this has been going around inside me as I pray for my friends today, and it has also sparked some reflection in me. Some reminders. Some perspective.

Those are all words that really just mean the Lord has been whispering to me, and I have heard Him.

We aren't guaranteed tomorrow, not on this earth. We aren't promised an easy, pain free life. We are, in fact, assured of the opposite.

"Here on earth you will have trials and sorrows...but take heart because I have overcome the world." John 116:33b

I could be taken from my children at any moment, the way my friends lost their father...I could be here on earth one heartbeat, and standing before the throne of God the next...

Eternity is so close. Its a breath. It's the time it takes to blink.

Why, why, why in the world do I struggle and strive and worry and fear and fret and CARE about the things that don't matter?

Why do I fuss at my children for building a fort with every single blanket in the linen closet?
Why do I stress about how much sugar they eat or the amount of TV they watch?
Why do I get pissed at my husband for forgetting to take out the trash?
Why do I get cranky when he asks me to do something for him that I don't want to do?

If I got in the car today, and was in an accident and died, would I want my family to remember that I made them clean up their fort and take the trash to the road?

What am I focusing on? What words do I want them to hear me saying in their heads if I'm not here to say them aloud?

"Kids," I called to them as the Lord asked me these questions, "Come here for a second."

They did. And I swallowed. "If I die...if I never get to say anything else to you on this earth...I want you to remember these things. I love you. I think you're smart and funny and and such special people. I'm so proud to be your mom. THAT'S what I want you to remember."

All four of them began to cry, and I was weeping as I spoke, but I had more.

"And the most important thing I want you to remember is this: love Jesus. Serve Him with your whole heart for all of your lives. I will be in heaven waiting for you, and we will be together again someday. So you just hold onto the Lord, and to each other. And remind each other that I love you, and that I spent my whole life being glad that I was blessed to be your mom."

There weren't questions of why I was saying these words to them. They know. They lived through their own grief journey when I lived through mine. They cried. And they hugged me. And they promised to remember my words, and to serve the Lord.

And then they went to play, their hearts touched and then sent back to the bliss of childhood.

But I am shaken. Still. Because how can we ever say the important things enough times?

How will Nate know that I think he has the best sense of humor, if I'm not here to tell him?
How will Gabe remember that I think he's the toughest little boy around, if I'm not around to remind him?
How will Clay recall how kind I think he is, and how caring, if I don't tell him every day?
How will Faith know that I find her lovely and smart and sweet, if I can't tell her?

My heart hurts, wanting to spare them the loss of my love. But...my heart is literally SWELLING with love for them, and no matter how much I tell them, it can never be enough.

All I know is, I'm going to try to say, every day, the things I want them to know when I'm not here to tell them anymore.

Because our time with them could be brief.

But...if we teach them the ways of the Lord, and if we lead them to His arms...some day, we will be in His arms together. And THAT'S what Jesus meant when He said "Take heart because I have overcome the world."

This life is a moment. God has given us, through His Son, the gift of eternity, endless moments to tell our loved ones the things in our hearts.

Let's live today like eternity is at hand.
Because it is.

Take Heart

Why is it that knowing something to be true, logically, and really KNOWING it, deep down in the depths of heart and soul, are so very different?

Why can't we know truth, and accept truth, without having to live through the reality of its existence?

For example, why is it that my children know, in their brains, if they say inappropriate words I will punish them, but they don't really commit the knowledge to their hearts until AFTER they use a certain word and are promptly punished within an inch of their lives for it? Now they have the heart knowledge. Now they understand that what I said to them was true.

Why did it take that pain to truly bring them to acceptance of truth? 

Why do they begin remarking on how near they are to starving to DEATH an hour before meal time? They know, of course, that I plan to feed them, and that I have yet to allow them to die of starvation. They trust me, I think, to care for them...but still, 11 a.m. rolls around, and the "what's for lunch?" "do you know what time it is?" "are we going to have lunch today?" questions begin.

I want to respond, and sometimes I do, with; "Are you kidding me? I always feed you. I always take care of you. You can trust me. You know this. Now GO PLAY and I will call you when lunch is ready!"

I arrive at my wits end with my children on a regular basis. Because I know that they KNOW the things that are true and certain in their lives, but most of the time they act as if they don't really understand, and rely on, those truths. They need to have tangible proof.

But aren't we all that way? Don't we wonder, and question, and worry, and remind God of a need, or a hurt, or a fear, as if He doesn't know or has forgotten or has just decided to let us struggle through on our own for a while? 

We know who He is. We know what He has done in our lives in the past. And even if we don't know, He has given us a vivid, rich, thriving picture of Himself in His Word, so that we cannot possibly misunderstand.

"All the Lord's promises prove true. He is a shield for all who look to Him for protection." 

(Psalm 18:30) This is just one verse about His promises. There are so many more. 

He tells us He's faithful.

He tells us He's a strong right hand to save us.

He tells us He loves us,

He cares for our needs,

He calms our fears,

He catches our tears,

He sends angels to guard around us.

There are so many truths that the God of all creation says about Himself in His Word. We know them, if we are His followers and have devoted time to reading His words to us. And still...still we don't really, truly KNOW the truth until we have experienced it firsthand.

For example: I have been a follower of Christ for almost thirty years. Childhood faith has taken root into a walk that, while never perfect or anything glorious to speak of, has been true in my heart and life since the beginning of the "Lord, I believe in you and I thank you for washing away my sins" prayer on the night before my 7th birthday.

I have read the Bible, all the way through, at least three times.

I have studied the Word.

I believe what He says about Himself, and about me, and about everything on which He speaks. I know He is good, and faithful, and true, and holy, and loving. I know it.

And still, still there was a morning, not so many years ago, where I sat in the floor of my living room, having a panic attack, gasping for air, unable to calm down, and all I could say was "Don't leave me alone. I can't be alone."

My sister was dead. The reality had been true for 6 days. The numbness of memorial services and relatives coming in from out of town had faded. Time off work had come to an end, and suddenly, suddenly I was faced with the horrifying reality that my husband was leaving for his job, and I would be alone with my children, who, at the time, were 8, 6, 3, and 5 months old.

"You can't go," I gasped through my terror. "I can't do it alone. I'll die."

I've never felt such fear. I knew, I just knew, that if he left me and went to work, I wouldn't be able to breathe. How was I supposed to love my children well when I couldn't feel anything but agony? When all I wanted to do was sleep, because at least in sleep I could forget, for a while, that my sweet little sister had died, unexpectedly and tragically, a million miles away in a hospital bed on the mission field. 

What happened next must have been a God inspired move on my husband's part. If he had come to sit beside me, or called into work, or tried to calm me down...I might never have understood, really KNOWN, what I knew in the next few moments.

He walked into the room, holding my Bible in his hand, and he set it on the floor beside me. He kissed me, and he said "You're NOT alone."

And he went to work.

And for a few heartbeats I was shocked that he had gone, with my gasping, and begging, and the tears I didn't even know were running down my face. 

But then self preservation kicked in. I couldn't breathe. I was drowning. I had to find a way to survive...and in that moment I reached for the Anchor.

I opened to where I had been reading the week before, before my life, my family, my heart and soul and spirit changed forever, and when I began to read...

"Meanwhile, the disciples were in trouble far away from land. The wind had risen and they were fighting heavy waves. At three o'clock in the morning, Jesus came to them, walking on the water...the disciples were terrified...but Jesus spoke to them at once. 

"Don't be afraid.

Take courage.

I am here." (Matthew 14:24-27)

And I swear to you, in that moment, I was the disciples. I knew I was going to drown under the weight of my storm. The wind robbed me of stability, the waves stole my breath, the blackness of the night had caused me to lose my way. 

But Jesus came. Walking on the water. WALKING INTO MY STORM. Unafraid of my panic, or my terror, or the angry words I would eventually hurl at Him. 

He came.

And He spoke.

"Don't be afraid."    And my panic began to ease.

"Take courage."      My tears flowed silently now, without the gasps.

"I. Am. Here."         I felt the words inside my chest like a bass drum, resounding in my heart.

And He climbed into the boat with me.

All the years of knowing that Jesus calms storms and walks on water, all the readings about the promises of God and the faithfulness of His word, all the songs sung about all of the truths I had known and understood and even spoken to others...

All of it paled in comparison to that moment. When Jesus climbed into my storm with me, and I truly, truly KNEW that I wasn't alone. That I had never, ever been alone.

Now, almost 6 years later, when I have the privilege of speaking to a person in great pain, I remember that day. Every time. And when they gasp and rail and panic and cry, and when they are afraid and angry and lost...

I tell them: "I know. I know." And then I tell them: "But He is with you." 

Knowledge has turned to understanding. The lesson I could only really learn in my moment of pain has settled so deeply into my heart that it has changed everything, EVERYTHING else.

I'll need to be taught again, I'm sure. I'll forget to remember that I know He is with me.

But He will remind me. He will climb into the boat and sit with me. He understands that we need the lessons over and over, and even if we know the truth, in our heads, we need to feel the truth in our hearts. 

And because He's so loving, 

and faithful, 

and merciful, 

and kind, 

and compassionate, 

and strong,

and mighty,

and all the rest...

He will be there. With me. With us.

"So take heart. Let His love lead us through the night. Hold onto hope. Take courage again." 

The Necklace

It's been two months since my last blog entry.

I've had nothing of interest to report in more than 60 days.

Even now, as I sit facing the mostly blank screen in front of me, and force my creaking, under-used fingers to strike the keys of my laptop, I am struggling to find words.

And that is SOOO not like me. I've got words. LOTS of words. Ask anyone.

Except...I'm at a loss.

Let me see if I can come at this from another angle, and arrive at where I am trying to get, another way.

My 14 year old daughter (pause for a moment and totally flip out with me that I have a child who is FOURTEEN...thank you) and I have been listening to an audio book for a couple weeks now. We did the same thing last summer, and we decided to start this summer indulgence a little earlier this year.

Last summer, for 16 hours (broken up, obviously, because...life) we listened to my favorite book of ALL time, This Present Darkness, by Frank Peretti. 

I have read my copy of the book 12 times. No, that isn't a typo. Since the fall I turned 13 years old, I have read my favorite book 12 times, and after my daughter passed her 13th birthday, I suggested we listen to it together. 

This summer, we are embarking on it's sequel, Piercing The Darkness, a book I have also read 12 times. (Because logic dictates that if a book is good enough to read 12 times, and it possesses a sequel, that sequel MUST be read.)

We are only a few hours into this 18 hour project, and already, I am yearning for more.

Not because I don't know what happens next. (In fact, nearly every new section of text, the reader starts reading and I mutter "oh man" in anticipation of what he will read next...and then my daughter 'shushes' me.)

This afternoon as we concluded our listening time for the day, I found myself struck into silence by a thought that entered my spirit. It has been pinging around inside me for an hour...

(By the way, I just have to say; Isn't the Lord clever? I usually think I have all these great ideas and little brainstorms of exciting, bonding things to do with my kids...but usually I look back and chuckle as I realize the Lord totally directed me toward that thing for my own benefit, because He had something He was trying to get through my thick skull.)

I've been feeling the weight of life pretty heavily lately. We are working hard to wrap up another homeschooling year. I'm trying my best to feel the weight of my legs a good bit LESS, (translation, I've been working out a lot, including running sprints on the advice of a workout friend...and my legs hurt. All. The. Time.) and so I'm physically run down by the end of the day. And, you know, life...it just gets heavy sometimes.

I've had people, who I am sure are trying to give me a compliment, tell me that they can't believe I don't have the perfect life, or the perfect kids, or the perfect...whatever. 

But...my kids aren't perfect. Today, one of the boys "accidentally" urinated ON HIS BROTHER. (I can't say more about that...none of the words are acceptable.)

I'm not perfect either. If I were, I wouldn't be running sprints, you can BET on that. And, yesterday, I curled up into my favorite reading chair...and I cried silently into my hands for 20 minutes.

Because...life.

And then today, today the thought...the pinging around of it inside me, the considering, the marinating, the awareness of the sovereignty of God to lead me exactly where He wanted me to arrive, in such a way that I was caught off guard by it...

I am wearing a spiritual chain around my neck.

That's the thought that the Holy Spirit whispered.

On the chain, there's a chalkboard sign hanging.

It's heavy, this chain and sign.

There are words written on my chalkboard. They change periodically, depending on the day, or a particular circumstance, or my emotional state.

Today, as the thought from the Lord swirled around inside me, I instantly knew what this day's word is.

Failure.

That's what I'm carrying around with me. And, people, let me tell you, it's making me tired.

Like, sink into my bed wearing yoga pants and never get up again tired.

It doesn't matter why that's my word. It's totally irrelevant to the point I'm meandering around and trying to arrive at. The word hasn't been failure all week. Yesterday it was discouragement. Monday, it was sadness. Tuesday it was complacency. 

Today I'm a failure.

As I've been cleaning the kitchen and closing up the house because it's starting to rain, I've been fully, utterly aware of my neck chain, and the word on the chalkboard, and I've been pondering it.

Waiting.

Wondering what thought would come next from the Lord.

Because He never hits me with too much at once. He gives me time to recognize His voice, and accept what He has shown me, and then...then He waits until I have turned it all over and over and over and over, and arrive at a quiet place, where I'm waiting for Him.

I'm waiting for Him now.

What do I do with this heavy chain, Lord?

I didn't even know I was carrying it around.

What about the chalkboard? 

It taunts me. I swear it has speakers and a slimy, raspy, demonic voice that whispers the word of the day to me repeatedly until I become so used to the sound that I just accept the word as truth about myself.

I close my eyes and admit to the Lord that I have been believing this chalkboard chain, and I'm weary, and I feel beat up, and there is an ache inside me, because I don't want to be a failure. 

And He doesn't speak, not at first. But, I feel Him. He smiles, and He reaches out and wipes His hand across the word. 

Failure disappears. 

Now my chalkboard isn't smeared with a chalk word that has been wiped away.

Now...it's covered in red.

And the red, the blood, it doesn't spell out any new words...but I know them all the same.

Love. Sacrifice. Acceptance. Peace. Belonging. Healing.

Those are the words I see in the red.

And my chain...it's a lovely golden color now, and light and delicate against my skin.

All these 60+ days, I've been carrying around the wrong chain, and reading the wrong words.

And with one smile, and one touch of His hand...He made all things right in my heart.

And I'm not really sure if this blog makes any sense to you at all...but I am overwhelmed by His presence, and the tears are flowing, and despite the fact that no leg weight has disappeared...I feel lighter than I have in a while.

My kids may not ever pee on each other again (Please, God) but they will continue to be imperfect. I will continue to be a wreck.

But...I'm a wreck wearing a lovely necklace with a red colored chalkboard. 

And so are you.

Help Needed

Who has four kids, 2 cars, 1 cat, 1 house, negative hours leftover every day...and HATES asking for help?

This girl.

Seriously. I almost can't do it. Ever. 

Even if I am nearing the edge of cliff which I will undoubtedly fall off without assistance, I will probably grit my teeth and dig in my heels and believe all the way up to the moment I am hurling into the abyss below that I can stop the death fall without asking for help.

Once, during a time of serious emotional crisis in my life (basically a metaphorical cliff) I found myself sitting in the floor of my bedroom, leaning against a wall, experiencing a full-on panic attack. As I gulped in breaths and tried to slow my heart, I dialed my brother's phone number. He lived the closest to me at the time, and would be able to come to my aid the speediest.

He answered the phone, and without waiting for him to interrupt, I began to sob out how overwhelmed I was by the situation I was currently facing, and how I absolutely could NOT do it for one more second, ad how I was fairly certain I was going to have a nervous breakdown at any moment. He listened without interrupting, and when I had finished, he asked me a question.

"Are you asking for me to come help you?"

And do you know what I said? "No, it's okay. I'm calming down now. I just needed to freak out for a second. I'll be fine. Thanks."

I absolutely was NOT fine. After I hung up the phone, I don't even remember how long I continued to sit in the floor and tell myself not to pass out, or freak out, or throw up, or cry until I couldn't move...

But when it came right down to it...I didn't ask for help. I wanted to. I needed to. But I couldn't do it.

Now, don't get me wrong, I DO enlist help sometimes.

Today we cleaned house, and I definitly asked my kids to help with that.

By ASKED, I mean required.

By required, I mean I informed them, with raised voice and brows, that I was moving all their crap to a tent in the backyard if they didn't help clean it up. 

So, you see? I can ask for help when the Spirit moves me. 

In all seriousness, though, I know I can't be the only person who finds themselves completely inadequate to a task, but struggling to request the needed assistance in accomplishing it.

I am paralyzed by indecision. By fear. By doubt. By uncertainty. I am overwhelmed by how ill-equipped I am.

I have a path before me, and I can choose not to try and travel it at all, and then I won't have to seek help in navigating it successfully.

But, if I choose to try...I will FAIL without assistance. 

Maybe I will even fail WITH assistance.

(It's possible that it scares me to fail with people watching more than it frightens me to ask for help in the first place.)

What should I do? Should I try and do it on my own? Maybe I could.

Should I ask for help, knowing full well it might not be enough anyway?

Should I do nothing? Turn away from the path and never have to feel the angst of inadequacy, or the sting of failure?

The thoughts swirl round and round inside my head, and my own brutal self-honesty demands that I admit the truth: I don't want to need help. I don't want to rely on others. I want to be strong enough on my own. Smart enough. Capable enough.

In my heart, I admit this truth to the Lord.

"I want to be able to figure it out without needing help, God. I even have an idea..."

And my spiritual monologue is cut short before it even begins. The Lord speaks sternly. 

"Why would you want to try and accomplish My plans for you in your own strength? Do you, in your great self-sufficiency, really believe you are more able than I am to work out My will for your life?"

And I find myself breathless from the words, and how I feel like a reprimanded child.

Who am I kidding? I AM a reprimanded child.

I'm ashamed. Ashamed of the pride that would keep me from letting others see an area where I cannot do it on my own. Ashamed of my fear, my uncertainty, my worry, when I have witnessed time and again that God takes care of me better than I could ever take care of myself.

And so, here I sit, feeling almost like I have been spiritually dared to make a move...

I am wearing slippers because it's cold in my house.

I am eating jelly beans because they are leftover from Easter.

I have more hours of things to accomplish than hours remaining in this day.

I'm exhausted, physically and emotionally and spiritually.

I am unsure. I am afraid.

But...I'm asking for help.

I need help. I've been talking to a publishing agent about a potential second print run of my book, and she has informed me that she has contacts at big publishing houses...but that if I want any of them to take a serious look at me as author, I need an online presence. 

I need to blog more and tweet more, she said. Check. That I can do. (Not that anyone cares what I tweet or blog, but at least that's within my ability to accomplish.)

But, I also need people to follow me. On Twitter and on my blog. Not just read my tweets or blog posts. But actually take the time to follow me.

(Enter the internal rant about how I have nothing interesting to say or time to spend trying to THINK of anything interesting to say, and why do I want to ask my friends and family and the poor innocent population of the Internet to listen to how flipping boring it is to be me? I'm wearing slippers and eating jelly beans, for heaven's sake!)

That internal rant has led me to the place of indecision and fear and "well maybe it's not a big deal if we don't print anymore books" that has caused many a restless night and anxiety headache...

And all of that led me to today. To now. To the dare from the Holy Spirit to TRUST HIM, and to stop acting like I could do anything on my own, when we all know it's not true.

So, if you are asking me if I need help...

I am gulping in a breath.

I am shifting back and forth in discomfort. 

I am shoving a courage-fueled hand-full of jelly beans into my mouth. 

I am saying yes. Yes. I need your help.

Saturday morning ponderings

Saturday mornings are made for pondering, I am completely convinced.

Reflections back on the week that has passed, wonderings about the week looming in front, quiet, peaceful, philosophical pondering that can only be enjoyed on the one day a week when nothing, or almost nothing, is required of a person: THAT is why God gave us Saturday morning.

My pondering never takes the same route twice. Every Saturday morning is greeted with a different collection of thoughts and questions and decisions and quandaries. This is largely due to the fact that my weeks are never the same, and one must spend time reflecting on the week just past...or else one isn't appropriately using the Saturday morning...

Lest you have begun to worry that this will be a flowery, poetic, filled-with-too-many-large-words kind of Saturday morning blog post...fear not. The topic that has occupied most of my coffee sipping, fire-gazing moments this morning is simple.

It isn't only one topic, per-say, but a collection of topics with the very same starting point. Rather than tell you the punchline, however, I must take you on the journey, because otherwise I wouldn't be making appropriate use of my gift...(the gift of way too many words...yes, I consider this a gift. Please don't ask my husband whether or not he agrees with me. Or, if you do ask him, don't tell me his answer...never mind, I already know how he feels about it.) (You see what I just did there? I had a moment of pondering which resulted in a conclusion...ah,  the beauty of Saturday morning...)

Why does the cat insist on being fed the moment he sees the light going on in the kitchen? Honest to God...I don't get but five seconds to begin perking the coffee before he is freaking out about his breakfast. Irritation knows no bounds.

How in the world am I expected to survive the hormones of a teenage girl? I swear, the abundance of laundry that needs to be folded cannot possibly be a reason for a girl to lay down in the floor and burst into tears...right?

Laundry. There's a subject on which one must spend time pondering. How in the world can six people produce so much of it? Why does it seem so dangerous to reach, bare-handed, into the basket retrieved from the boy's bathroom? WHAT IS THAT SMELL? Where the heck are all the extra socks? It boggles the mind, the quandary of laundry. (I just giggled at my own corniness.)

This leads to the next topic: Boys, in general. No matter how much I search, I cannot discover what the odor is, or where it is coming from, in any of the boys' rooms. I have finally determined that it's in the walls. Somehow, the scent that is BOY is uniquely engineered to be absorbed into porous surfaces...and to never, ever, come out.

And further on the boy topic; WHY IN GOD'S NAME can't they aim? How is it that they possess the ability to pee standing up, but lack the genes to make that pee go where it's supposed to? Every single Friday I ask this question, as I am cleaning toilets...and every single Saturday, I arrive at the same conclusion: Boys were given the inability to aim...by God...in order to test and grow the patience of their mothers. I am completely convinced of it.

Does the sentence "Don't ask me again!" somehow get lost in translation as it passes from a mom's lips to a child's ears? When it reaches the brain of a child, do they, in fact, hear "If you add a whining tone and the word 'please' as you repeat the exact same question, your mother will change her answer." The evidence would suggest that is precisely what happens.

What is the law of the universe that insists a recently swept, vacuumed, and mopped surface is in need of crumbs and sticky drinks spilled on it?

How can the tiny humans never remember your instructions to...put on deodorant, change underwear, brush their teeth, flush the toilet, wash their hands, load their dishes in the dishwasher, FEED THE CAT, chew with their mouths closed, don't pick their noses and eat their boogers, never junk punch people, say 'yes ma'am' and 'yes sir' ...but when you slam your finger in a door, they remember exactly what you said, and how you said it, and they repeat it at every opportunity?

My children occupy my pondering this morning.

They make me laugh every day. AND they make my blood pressure skyrocket.

I receive an unexpected hug or kiss frequently...and also, I am crop-dusted on a regular basis.

Sometime they remember not to eat their boogers...but when that happens, my arm or leg is usually where they wipe their snotty finger.

After the hormones have gotten the best of my teenage daughter, she almost always comes back from her 'behind-closed-doors' meltdown with apologies and offers to help in any way she can. Until the next crisis-the ending of her favorite television show, for example.

There is simply no solving the great mystery of motherhood...

Which brings me to the end of my pondering. Not because I couldn't spend a great many more moments thinking on it, but because the boys have ceased their obligatory cartoon viewing, and are now clamoring for breakfast, and informing me that one punched another accidentally (how does that work, exactly?). There have been no hormone incidents yet this morning, because my teenage daughter won't awaken until at least 11 a.m., which is apparently the sole reason for Saturday mornings in the life of a 13 year-old-girl.

Happy pondering (and hopefully chuckling) Saturday to you.

Birthday Guest

As awesome as it would be to hear Charity’s birthday post about herself today (do bloggers do that?) I asked if she would give me the honor this time.  I must say she is brave since, being sisters, we know just about everything about each other, even things we wish we could forget (nothing like mooning each other via text or anything… we would never).   I guess she took for granted that I am usually nice to people and would never embarrass her on her birthday. (heheh)

When I was 10 and she was 16 (yes, she is six years older and has less wrinkles and cellulite than me, shut up) I completely idolized her. She was somewhat of a rebel behind my parents back and for some reason she trusted me not to rat her out and would tell me about her secret boy flings.  One time she was telling me about how to hold hands with a boy. She demonstrated to me the two different ways (interlocking fingers and not) and told me when you hold hands without interlocking fingers it just means you LIKE them, but if you interlock fingers it means you LOVE them.  I took this as absolute truth for many years (obviously we were home schooled). I wanted to know how she knew these important life rules,  “Duh, I read Seventeen.”  She said. (Like I knew what that was!)

When it came time for her to marry (at the ripe young age of 18!) I cried like it was her funeral. 

When it came time for me to marry, she told me things that even Seventeen won’t print and then laughed at my shocked face (what are sisters for?).

Most of you who know Charity (or even just read her blog) know that she is REAL, she doesn’t do FAKE very well. That is one of the things I love so much about her, because you always know where you stand with her. I would MUCH rather someone be honest with me than leave me wondering all the time (does everyone not feel this way?). However, only a few of us know the true depth of her scariness. We have a childhood friend who swears when we were young Charity RIPPED her dress off of her because she was mad.  I’m not sure that is true, given the source, but I know it COULD be true.  She has even compared herself to Old Yeller when he gets rabies and foams at the mouth and tries to kill his owners whom he loves. Her words, not mine. 

And while I have never actually seen the foaming (or I would have cast something out of her), I have legit younger sister fear.  If fact, this summer she and I took a day trip to the beach with our kids and during the car ride I had to pee so badly I may have permanently damaged my bladder, but I was too afraid to tell her.  Seriously. Afraid. I considered just peeing in the seat and blaming it on one of the kids. I know she will love me and love me and love me forever because that’s what she does so well, but the fear is still there (now that she knows this, I hope she won’t lord it over me). There is probably some childhood trauma associated with this fear, like her trying to drown me in the bathtub or something.  Oh wait, never mind, I’m the one who did that.  So for all of you who never knew…. She is scary. And she has my back, so don’t mess with me, or…. Old Yeller.

If you don’t have someone in your life that you can laugh with, I truly am sorry. There is such great treasure in laughter and I probably laugh harder when I am with this girl than when I am with anyone else in the world.  I have definitely seen judging eyes peer at us when we can’t stop laughing because they think we are drunk. But it’s the non-alcoholic kind of drunk. The kind that sets your heavy heart free and hurts your cheeks and wets your pants. She can put you in a good mood in 10 seconds flat. She gives the gift of laughter so freely and it is contagious. You seriously want to be her friend right now, don’t you? 

She seeks out the deep things of God and doesn’t stop seeking until she gets ahold of fresh bread from His Spirit.  And I’m just going to say, that is hard when you are 24/7 mother to 4 children who need you every single second.  It takes a lot of time and discipline, and she does it. She is the first to tell you when she needs some Jesus time, and she will actually take the initiative to GET IT, meet with her Maker and let him mold her to be more like Him. And then she takes that bread and shares it with others who are hungry for more. She leads and disciples women beyond just her church and community…. She will straight up get in the trenches with you. I’ve seen it.  While she teaches FOUR DIFFERENT GRADES every single day to educate her children. I am in awe of how gracefully she juggles everything on her plate.

She still walks with a “strut” to beat all (ask her kids to show you).

She can hold her own in the uptown, posh, civilized circles, and break out her work gloves and holey jeans to till and shovel and plant the roughest country ground.

She has swept a hundred miles around her kitchen and dining room. Seriously, the broom comes out after every meal. Who does that?

She is the hottest 35 year old I know.

 It’s her birthday.

Worldwide party!