The Sea Could Bring You A Sail

Changes are a comin'. Lately I've been thinking about one of my favorite scenes from the movie Castaway when Tom Hanks' character returns home and is talking to a friend about how he stayed alive on the island. He says, “And I know what I have to do now. I gotta keep breathing. Because tomorrow the sun will rise. Who knows what the tide could bring?” So much great insight to take away from that movie, and you know a film is good when it holds your attention despite only having one actor throughout most of it and when it makes you cry over a volleyball floating away (Yes, I admit, I mourned Wilson, okay? I had imaginary friends as a kid. Give me a break.), but the reason I was reminded of that particular scene is because I've been focusing quite a bit on the future.

I'd forgotten how hard it is to feel so tired all the time. I'm thankful we got to take a beach vacation this year because I needed the rest. Oh, how I envy those women who consistently work out and have plenty of energy throughout their entire pregnancies. All three times I have had grand plans of doing just that, and all three times I've had to laugh at myself when I have to go sit down after climbing a flight of stairs. I'm still getting stuff done, just not at the pace I'm used to. I'm being forced to remember that slowing down isn't a bad thing. It's making me see what's right in front of me and letting me know that it will be gone tomorrow. 

It's more than just the fact that we have a third child on the way, though that's definitely enough to get a person thinking about how things are about to change...A LOT. It's that life is always changing. The slowing down has at least allowed me to notice how much the little ones I already have are morphing.

 

 They are maturing.

I offered to get Hannah her cereal one morning:

“No, thanks. I like to get it because it makes me feel like a big girl.”

“Ok.”

She paused and looked at me shyly. “But thank you for serving. I don't want you to feel like I don't want you to get it anymore.”

How did she know? Does she sense how hard it is for mommies to let go sometimes? Does she also see how happy and proud I am to see her growing up, even though I want to keep her little for as long as I can?

She's my big girl, bigger every day.

They are learning.

Abram has been interested in rhyming words lately. “Mommy, what rhymes with zag? Jag?” “Yes.” “Does bag?” “Yes.” “Does Jean-Luc?”

(No, and perhaps we should find Daddy something else to watch on Netflix besides Star Trek...)

They are both learning so much every day, and I love seeing the world through their eyes. Do they know how much they also teach me?

They are growing up. They are loving each other. We're building this life one day at a time.

Hannah will start school in the fall. Abram will be a big brother soon. I'll (hopefully) get some energy back, but my hair will keep graying, our kids will keep growing, this life will keep spinning, and as long as we're on this earth, nothing remains the same.

Uncharted territory lies before us - that's what all of life is. I don't know what the future holds, but I know that I gotta keep breathing. Today only lasts one day. Tomorrow the tide could bring something that changes my course forever.

31 Days Of Strength In Scripture: Who Our Father Is

I think we often don't understand the way that God deals with us. We are confused by His discipline, or we choose to follow our own paths instead of His guidance, and we lack the understanding to know the difference. Considering He doesn't exactly write us notes across the sky, it's understandable that our human limitations often get in the way. But I do know that I can know who He is and what He has promised through His word, thus there are certain truths I can be sure of in the way that He operates.

“All the commandments that I am commanding you today you shall be careful to do, that you may live and multiply, and go in and possess the land which the Lord swore to give to your forefathers.

You shall remember all the way which the Lord your God has led you in the wilderness these forty years, that He might humble you, testing you, to know what was in your heart, whether you would keep His commandments or not.

He humbled you and let you be hungry, and fed you with manna which you did not know, nor did your fathers know, that He might make you understand that man does not live by bread alone, but man lives by everything that proceeds out of the mouth of the Lord.” - Deuteronomy 8:1-3

He is more than just some master giving orders. Everything He does has a divine purpose, and His desire is to get man involved in His great purposes. When I consider that the One who holds the whole universe in His hands is interested in getting me intimately involved with the events in that great universe, it's humbling. It is also beyond humbling to realize that I truly can't live by bread alone because everything I have and everything I am, I owe to Him.

Just because I've been writing about strength in scripture doesn't mean I have it all figured out all the time. If anything, I need these kinds of reminders daily, which is why I decided to write them in the first place. We have a God who brings us through the wilderness and teaches us along the way, and that's something to celebrate.

Camping With The Kids: Big Lessons In Little Adventures

I considered making up my own word and titling this post Camping and Creeking With The Kids (as in, playing in creeks), but then I discovered that according to Urban Dictionary, creeking is also a term derived from the 90's teen drama Dawson's Creek that means overthinking a situation or feeling until it becomes more complicated than it really is, and I thought that would be just a little too ironic because, let's face it, I do that.

I overthink because I want to overteach. Lately at home I haven't felt I've been doing the best job of giving my kids what I feel they need – a mom who is not stressed, who is patient, who is living by example. We all have a little mom guilt now and then, right? Lately I've allowed some of the pressures of life and the crushed expectations and the self-loathing thoughts to stand in the way of me doing my most important job, and I've been struggling to figure out how to get back to the basics.

I've been hurting, and I've needed to heal. For me, yes, but also for them.

 

During the past couple of weekends we spent some time 'getting away'. It should be clear to all of us by now that in our world, it's hard to escape all the wrong things that get thrown at us everyday.

More is Better. Beauty is Success. Life is about ME. Don't think – just fill up your mind with everything that can distract you from how miserable existence is.

So the thing we need to do is take the time to escape it.

This is what I learned (and re-learned) by 'getting away from it all' with my family:

 

Beauty Is Found In Simple Pleasures

When we go on camping trips, my husband brings way too much food. He says camping is for eating lots of delicious camp snacks, and and he also claims that while camping, calories don't count. (If only that were true...) But food really does seem to taste better in the outdoors, after working up an appetite in the water or on a trail, and feeling the warm sun on your face and the lake wind blow through your hair really is better than any movie you'll ever see.

Less Is Better, By Far

I read a few articles about camping with kids before we went on our trip, and though many of them had some great ideas, I decided that taking a giant tub full of toys to make sure they stayed entertained was not the way to go for us. I spend so much of my time at home cleaning up toys or supervising the cleaning up of toys that I was determined to get away from it for a while. And guess what? They made their own fun, and there was nothing to fight over. My determination to simplify has been renewed, and I once again remember the significance of packing light, in all types of baggage we may carry in life.

The Importance Of Sacrificing Comfort

Too much comfort results in too much expectation. When you go without life's little luxuries, you remember to be thankful, and you are better equipped to teach that thankfulness to your children.

And one morning around 4 am, when you need to pee and leave your tent with your flashlight and walk off into the darkness, you will remember what it's like to be brave. You might choose your spot, shut off the flashlight, and just as you squat, hear a growl behind you. You may think, that was probably a snore, not a growl, and glance toward the direction of the tent, but then you will hear it again – the low, guttural sound of a nocturnal animal – and realize it's definitely behind you.

As you try to mentally will yourself to pee faster, you might also talk yourself into believing you are not terrified, but your heart's thudding in your chest and the speed at which you approach the tent while yanking up your shorts mid-stride will say otherwise.

And then you will be really, REALLY thankful that you have a shelter to go home to and don't usually have to worry about being mauled to death in the middle of the night by a wild beast.

(Or maybe you will get lucky, and that won't happen to you at all, since it already happened to me, but the key is that these kinds of adventures teach you to handle whatever comes your way.)

To See It All Through Their Eyes 

Every adventure, no matter how small, is grand in the eyes of your children. If you fall off the inner tube, you can still remember how fun it was to ride. You can look forward to the s'more at the end of the day. You may trip on the rocks, but your toes still never felt so good than when the creek was rushing over them.

You can be thankful for the experience, all good and bad of it. When it's all fresh and new, the gratitude comes easy.

Connection Is Healing
 

The experience is only what it is because you're together – the bonds you create with your family and with your Creator are more meaningful than anything else you could ever do.

When the trip is over, you may have to come back home to 'reality', but maybe reality wasn't what you thought it was. And maybe it's good to do a little 'creeking' now and then...because maybe you'll realize that it's all just one small part of one great big adventure.

The Blessing of Busyness

I killed it yesterday.

 

As in, I totally rocked it out – this stay-at-home mom thing.

 

It was an errands-completed, groceries-purchased, house-cleaned, laundry-done, kids-fed, 30-Day-Shredded (Jillian Michaels, you ain’t got nothin’ on me!), bible-studied, words-written, dinner-prepped kind of day. Whew!

 

Today? Well, let’s just say…if only every day could be like yesterday…

 

But I’m still giving myself credit because, as I’ve said before, it’s about balance. We need the busy and the still…the hurried and the relaxed…the chaos and the quiet. I think it all has its purpose. 

 

I have been learning a lot lately about the difference between doing the ‘busy’ things and doing the ‘important’ things, so I’m trying to make a conscious effort to rid myself of distractions and focus on the essential. I think I’m doing better at weeding out those activities that only serve to divert me from those with actual significance. I’ve been adding more to my plate, that’s for sure, but I’ve been adding the more meaningful stuff.

 

Busy can be good, I’ve realized. We often talk about how we all need to slow down a little more and savor our moments, but there is good to be found in the productive days as well. Busy means ‘life as normal’ – we haven’t been derailed by something awful or interrupted by illness or suffering. I have before, and I don't enjoy that kind of 'busy'. Give me the contentment of a boring ol' routine any day.

 

When I have that perspective, it makes it so much easier for me to accept how ordinary my days are.  And boy, are they so incredibly ordinary. Bill-paying, cooking-and-cleaning, errand-running ordinary. Busy, but not so busy that I lose sight of why I'm doing the work.

I’ve kept a journal for years. In looking back at all my past entries, I’ve noticed an underlying theme that has plagued my thoughts – insecurity. Am I good enough? Do I measure up? For years I have tried to overcome my struggle of feeling like I am not doing enough. But it's not about how much I'm doing. It's not even really about what I'm doing. It's about why I'm doing it.

 

I am most effective when I enjoy what I do and feel that it has purpose and significance. When I’m busy but the tasks don’t feel meaningful, all I feel is a depletion of energy. Yet when I fill my time with worthy tasks, there is a sense of accomplishment, and with that, contentment.

 

And do you know what I've discovered? Sometimes even the most menial, ordinary tasks have an incredible amount of significance.

 

Even the tiniest conversation can have an impact. Even the shortest moment can last a lifetime. A little boy gets scared, and a big sister hugs him tight and says, “Don't worry, baby boy. I will always be with you.” And then it all makes sense.

 

It's not that every day is perfect. It's not that there aren't worries and frustrations that get in the way. It's not that those insecurities never creep back in, begging me to notice them and give them the value they don't deserve.

 

It's that I'm in a sacred place of knowing I'm right where I'm supposed to be, doing just what I should be doing. My days are busy, in quite the ordinary sort of way. But there's one thing that makes them uncommonly extraordinary – I wake up each morning knowing that today matters.

 

It's Not Always What We Expected

But sometimes it's something much better.

I think one of the most surprising things I've learned about raising a child is that I'm not raising a mini-me. I used to think that having a baby was like having a tiny version of yourself, and you would know how to raise that baby based on your own character and experiences. In other words, since I understand myself pretty well, of course I would always understand what my child – my own flesh and blood, a creation from my very own womb – needed.

Oh, wait – there was another person involved in the creation of that flesh and blood, and some traits come from him. AND, even more surprisingly, it turns out that the little being actually develops personality traits of its very own that are an enigma even to both parents.

I mean, how can anyone not like mashed potatoes? It's just bizarre.

So I have discovered that raising a child is not an opportunity to re-raise myself. Instead I have the pleasure of raising this unique individual unlike any other who has ever walked this earth.
 
That means realizing that although we're alike in many ways, she's not always going to make sense to me.

I was an introvert who barely spoke; all she wants to do is talk.

I was a bit of a tomboy; she is obsessed with princesses.

I think mashed potatoes are like manna from heaven.

We are two different souls – woven together by an eternal love that knows no bounds, but different, nonetheless. And the truth is it's probably best that I'm not raising another little version of myself because I'm still raising me (and I've got a long way to go).

That's part of the beauty of parenthood – it's full of surprises. It's totally one of those gigs where you really don't know what you're getting into until you actually dive in.

I had no idea that ‘mommy blogging’ was such a big ‘thing’ until I started my own blog, and when I delved into the world of online sharing, I discovered that mommies everywhere – stay at home, working, homeschooling, and even dads – were baring their souls to the Internet.

Why is that? Why are there so many parents out there willing to share their private thoughts, their struggles, their failures, and their triumphs with the world?

It’s because it really is one of the most important things we’ll ever do – raising these little people up to be honorable adults – and we’re all battling the same foes. We’re all trying to escape those thoughts that rise up within us that we're not good enough, that we're failing, that so-and-so is doing a better job than us because he/she does x, y, and z...

Let me tell you something: I guarantee you that you’ve never had a single emotion that has never been felt by another human being on this earth. We all doubt. We all fail. We all question ourselves. That's why so many of us choose to share these things – to know that we're not alone and to tell another struggling human being that he/she is not alone either.

By all means, try to be a perfect parent. But know that you will not be.

Sometimes she will talk and talk and talk, and it will drive me nuts, and I will get impatient. Sometimes she and her brother will run circles around me, and I will lose my temper. Sometimes I won't know the right thing to say because I won't know exactly what she's feeling.

And yet we were chosen for each other. I'm meant to be her mama, and she's meant to be my baby. We were uniquely designed to go through this life together.

Nothing else on earth brings me more joy.

It's not always easy. It's not always predictable. It's not always what we imagined. But do you know what makes you a good parent? Taking it seriously. Knowing its worth.

It's recognizing that you're in a relationship unlike any you've ever had before and that you can make it something great. This is your gift, your joy, and your privilege – to get to know your child every day and to guide her in becoming the best she can possibly be.

I don't want her to be exactly like me – I want her to be better than me. And that's worth more than all the parenting books can ever say.

The Beauty Of Turning Thirty

I turned thirty last week. People act like it's some sort of scary milestone that everyone is supposed to dread, but I figure I've got a few more years before I need to bust out the Depends. Besides, I think I reached my peak at around 25, so it has all been going downhill anyway. No biggie.

A few years ago my youngest sister – in her teens – commented on the ugliness of my slip-on backless shoes.

I shrugged. “They're comfortable,” I said.

She eyed me for a moment.

“Thirty's comin',” she said.

I just laughed in hearty agreement. Thirty was nothing to fear. It was just another tickmark on the wall, another calendar day gone by, and now that it's arrived, I feel exactly the same way. Plus I'm totally okay with sometimes wearing ugly, comfortable shoes and not giving a flip what anyone else thinks.

But I suppose I sometimes feel like those shoes. The hardest part about getting older, I think, is that we start to believe our external beauty is fading – at least, we women do. (Why do men get better looking as they get older? Seriously, what is up with that? So not fair...)

We don't like to admit it, but beauty is so important to us girls. Especially us mamas, because we tend to push ourselves to the side while we care for others' needs. We may shift our focus and priorities as we get older, but that doesn't mean we don't still long for others to see beauty in us.

I have never felt 'beautiful' by the world's standards, so I can't really say I feel like I'm losing something in this new decade. Instead I'm finally beginning to grasp what beauty truly is. It has nothing to do with the lies that we tell ourselves for thirty years, and many times our whole lives. (You know, that list you keep of what you need to change about yourself in order to be attractive.)

If beauty was meant to be found in perfection, then there would be none.

No, beauty has never had a standard. It has never been about achieving some vague idea of 'perfect'. It's in what we create out of the imperfection.

It's in our silliness, in laughing at ourselves, in our loving each other despite our faults. It's in the worn hands that have labored sacrificially, and in the little eyes that reflect a love I don't deserve. It's in the hope that springs from our brokenness; it's in every precious moment we take a breath.

With age comes wisdom (I have the strands of gray to prove it), and perhaps that is why I see more beauty around me than ever before. I know the truth about it. 

I know that I am completely and utterly imperfect, and I know that I'm okay with that.

These thirty years have molded me each and every step of the way. They have not always been kind, but they have been full, they have been blessed, and I am a richer woman than I ever could have imagined I would be.

I know how much life can be lived in thirty years, how much beauty can be found. And to that I say, bring on the next thirty.

On Losing Heart And Finding It Again

I know all of you are oblivious to deeply concerned about my minimal online presence lately, and I wish I could tell you that it's because I've been doing all this amazing intentional living where I'm having loads of fun playing with the kids, creating Pinterest-worthy baking masterpieces, reading books, writing a novel and such, but the truth is I've been in a state of MOM...Mental Overload Mode.

Although I can absolutely say that we have been enjoying the heck out of being back home and that there has been a lot of that stuff going on – like kite flying, first-time fishing (for Hannah), campfires, and family – there is also an awful lot of fatigue and stress that comes along with a big move, so there has been some of that as well.

For starters, our former house needs to get rented out ASAP and terrible pestilences need to quit plaguing our household...but I try to remind myself daily that these are mere inconveniences in the scheme of things, especially when I take into consideration all the things in our life right now that are so good.

Sure, there's no Chipotle, and milk costs an arm and a leg. And yes, we're back in the south and I've already had to try to break Hannah of adding extra syllables to her words ("Mama, can I have a SNA-YICK?"). But nothing can ever take away from what I've gained.

On our first night here I slept better than I have in months, maybe even years. I wondered why... Is this neighborhood quieter? Is it because the dog wasn't in our room? Is it because the kids' room is further away, and I can't hear every tiny moan and sigh anymore?

Perhaps it's some of that, or maybe even all of it, but I also believe that being here has ignited a spark of contentment that had burned out at some point a while back. I think I was too busy and distracted to notice, but being 1300 miles away from where your heart is does take its toll.

For Valentine's Day Hannah's preschool class at church made paper heart cut-outs, and she carried hers around proudly...until she laid it down somewhere and couldn't find it. She was quite sad about it, for a while, but eventually she accepted its absence, as we so often do when we lose our hearts. There's always enough to keep us distracted.

Then after church one evening, she ran up to me with the long-lost treasure in her hand.

“Mama! I found my heart!”

What joy it brings us to find it again. I know so completely how it feels. Our heart gets lost in the shuffle along the way, many times, and we use our distractions to make us forget. But when we stumble across it again, we're reminded of why we missed it so much in the first place. We're reminded of why taking care of it matters so much.

Of course, afterwards we went to Kroger where she promptly lost her little paper heart again, and I fear this time it shall never be found. Good thing this is just a metaphor and pretzels are a handy distraction.

But I'm just thankful to feel it again – that sense of wholeness, of being complete. The knowing that my heart is right where it belongs and that I have the tools to find it again if ever it becomes lost.

There are plenty of other precious things that can get lost when I lose sight of my heart...my patience, my temper, my joy...and that's why I've got to hold on tight. I've got to give my heart the nourishment it needs...love, faith, hope. It's the well from which all that purposeful, intentional living that I desire can spring forth.

I see a lot of 'losing heart' going on these days, and all I can say is, maybe we're meant to find it in each other. I wish we always had the courage to share ourselves in those real, raw, uninhibited moments that are so rare, when we connect with another human being so deeply that we say, “There! There is my heart. I've found it because it's the same as yours.”

We need more of that. We need more of the hope that we find in each other. Perhaps the greatest lesson we will ever learn is how to share our little paper hearts.

What Lies Beyond The Rain

Hands aching from my tight grip on the steering wheel, I eased up on the gas and strained to see the U-Haul I was following through the darkness and pouring rain. Several times, over the sound of Abram’s wailing, I heard my tires skid, and my hands gripped even harder. Water sloshed, lightning flashed, and I rummaged around, trying to find anything I could that might entertain the little guy for a few minutes and make the crying stop.

We’d brought along walkie talkies to communicate, but mine had died and my cell phone was beeping, as I’d not been able to find my charger at the hotel the night before. Abram’s cries were growing louder, so I dug my checkbook out of my purse and tossed it in the back seat, desperate for anything that could possibly buy me a few minutes of peace. The poor thing had had it with this journey, and so had I.

We were less than a hundred miles away from our destination, on this drive that we’d made so many times before, but the slower pace of the U-Haul coupled with the terrible weather had made this trip feel so much longer and more frustrating than ever before. And for some reason, I was scared.

I guess it was the limited communication and the thought of something happening to my precious cargo in the car seats behind me, but the last leg of this trip felt so ominous. It felt as though maybe we weren’t meant to be here. Why did it have to be so difficult? Why the bad weather? Isn’t this where we’re supposed to be going?

I prayed, out loud, voice shaking: “God, please just get us there. Help us to make it.”

Looking back, I realize how silly it seems now. It was just a storm, but my first reaction when things got tough was, “Why is this happening?” I guess I always reach for that falsity in the back of my mind – the idea that if we are doing what’s ‘right’, then life should be easy.

Silly me. Since when is life ever easy?

I know with all of my soul that we are right where we’re meant to be, especially when I see my kids loving this new place, leaping into piles of leaves and finding new treasures in the backyard. They have taken to these changes as though they’re not even changes at all, as though it’s the same life we’ve always lived.

And once again, they are teaching me.

They go with it. They go with life and all of its twists and turns, and they do it fearlessly. They trust their caretaker to meet their needs. They don’t question the changes. They don’t ask ‘why’ when there are obstacles.

Both kids have been battling some sort of awful infection for several days now, and when Abram awoke in the middle of the night with a 104 degree fever, I was scared. When Hannah’s eyes turned red and gunky and continued to get worse, I was scared.

But we got through it. And now that they’re on the mend, I realize that it was just a storm. We hit patches of bad weather all the time, and sure, they’re a little bit scary – and some are longer and scarier than others – but we always emerge on the other side, birds chirping and sunlight peeking through the clouds.

In the midst of these little rainstorms, our sunlight has been our love of being home. I can already see how this move, this tiny little adjustment we’ve made, is fine-tuning the course of our lives. How it has brought us so much more to cherish and love.

No doubt there are storms ahead, but all I can see is the joy that lies just beyond the clouds. If only I always had the eyes to see it…

Like A New Pair Of House Shoes

One year my grandma told me she wanted a new pair of house shoes for Christmas. (For those of you unfamiliar with southern speak, house shoes are slippers.) Such a simple request, so I had no problem purchasing the house shoes for her, lovingly wrapping them in pretty paper, and placing them underneath her tree. I didn’t tell her what the gift was, though I was pretty sure she knew, and looked forward to seeing her open it on Christmas morning.

A few days later I visited her again. I was relaxing in her recliner when I happened to glance down at the gifts under the tree and noticed that mine appeared to have been tampered with.

I picked it up and examined it, and sure enough, the paper was wrinkled, and the tape had definitely been peeled off and replaced.

Grandma lived alone. There was only one explanation.

“Grandma!” I exclaimed. “You opened your present!”

Her eyebrows raised, but she didn’t even hesitate.

“Well, yeah,” she said casually. “I was just sitting here the other day, and I thought, ‘I’d sure like to put on my new house shoes’, so I did.”

I giggled in disbelief.

“So you just opened your present? You just…you just opened it up, put them on, wore them for a while, and then wrapped them back up?”

“Well, yeah...” she said. “They were too small.”

I rolled on the floor in a fit of laughter.

“Grandma! You’re not five. You’re nearly eighty years old – you should know better!”

She just grinned as I laughed at the absurdity of a grown woman not being able to wait until Christmas to open her present (and mostly at her attempt to cover it up).

But you know what? Her casual admission said it all – I think she did know better.

At her age she’d probably spent much of her life waiting for things to happen…waiting for the gifts to appear…waiting for the right moment to enjoy them…and perhaps she had simply decided there was no point in waiting.

I want to be like Grandma. What a tiny, simple, unimportant gift, and yet she literally could not wait to open it.

How great is it to have something to look forward to? To have something that you’re so excited about that you just can’t wait for it? To have a goal, a trip, an opportunity, an event, a moment…something that you long for and go after with your whole heart?

And how much better is it when it's something as simple as a pair of house shoes?

As I walk this path of mine, I want to stop and unwrap my simple gifts along the way with excitement. I don’t want to wait for them if I don’t have to. Life doesn’t last forever, so I’ve got to open as many gifts as I can, right?

So what are my ‘gifts’, those things that I should seek in this journey? What fascinates me? To which parts of life am I irresistibly drawn? What captivates me?

They are the moments that I feel compelled to write about or that prompt me to grab my camera. They are the tiny hands that hold mine, the embrace that calms my fears, and the desires in my heart. They are the things that make me laugh, the things that make me cry, and mostly, the things that open my eyes.

They are everything that is simple and pure and true, and so often overlooked.

Those are the things I find myself craving. Those are the simple gifts I want to enjoy each and every day, and I refuse to wait until Christmas.

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I Don't Want To Be Controversial

Many years ago – back when my children were just a distant dream – some friends and I were hanging out and ended up taking one of those silly magazine quizzes. I think it had something to do with values, and the idea behind it was that most men chose one set of answers while most women chose the other set of answers, but anyway, one of the questions asked which you would rather your children remember you teaching them – right from wrong, or not to hurt others.

Of course I want to be remembered for both, but I could only choose one, and being the softie that I am, I was the only one of the group who chose ‘not to hurt others’ (which is apparently the more common female choice, just in case you were wondering).

An argument ensued about why teaching right from wrong was more important – and I don’t disagree – but the question asked which you wanted to be remembered for. My thinking was that as a nurturer, my role in my children’s life was to teach kindness and compassion, while a father’s role was more about teaching solid values. Both parents should obviously be role models in both of those areas, but I guess I’m simply a traditionalist in feeling that children should remember their mother’s gentleness and remember their father for his discipleship. And ideally those individual roles should mesh together in a beautiful weaving.

Anyway, my purpose in explaining all of that is so that you can perhaps gain a better understanding about a certain aspect of my personality. I do not like to hurt others or see others hurt, so much so that I chose that answer.

I realize most ‘normal’ people don’t want to see others hurt, but I’m talking about being that way to a fault. I probably hold back words when I shouldn’t (I should speak up but don’t for fear of offending someone), and I definitely try too hard. By that I mean I can be overly polite or struggle so hard to say the perfect thing and keep from offending that maybe I just end up annoying instead.

I don’t know – maybe that’s not true. It’s just how I see it.

When I began this blog, my intention was to always keep it encouraging and to steer clear of controversial topics. That isn’t because I don’t find them to be important or because I don’t have strong opinions on current events (I do), but because I asked myself what I wanted this blog to be, and one thing I didn’t want it to be was divisive.

The problem is I’m beginning to see that no topic is completely safe from controversy.

Take a look at my Facebook news feed and you’ll see that I have friends from all walks of life. You’ll see a vast variety of religious, political, and social beliefs, and while I find myself feeling a bit like Samuel L. Jackson at times,

I try my darndest to be respectful.

It’s too easy to be misunderstood in social media. People already have assumptions about you based on the very little they already know, so having web debates never quite feels pure. Sometimes I feel like I’m already being looked at through a dirty lens, you know? So what’s the point?

Now, that’s not to say that we shouldn’t have discussions about issues that are important to us. I’m all for intelligent discourse. The part that confounds me is when people start getting outright hateful by making far-reaching judgments about entire groups or by allowing their anger to blind them from the implications that exist within their words.

Consider how hurtful your bias may be. Consider what your words truly mean and what they say about you. Consider that your judgment might actually be quite arrogant and born out of experiences from your past that are no longer relevant. Consider that you’re wrong. Consider that even if you are right, the manner in which you speak your words can have profound, lasting effects on the soul to whom you’re speaking.

Or maybe not even to whom you’re speaking – just a passerby who happens to see your post or read your comment.

Luckily, I’m not easily offended. I have a pretty broad sense of humor and a fairly high tolerance for bad manners. But I do get hurt. We all do, whether we’re willing to admit it or not. It’s just unavoidable when we’re in the midst of a social universe unlike one that’s ever previously existed.

More often than not, though, I get angry, and it’s an anger that comes from a place of deep conviction and passion. I’m sure that, especially right now, most of us can relate to that. My hope is that, despite my anger, my words will always come from a place of love – though I know my humanity will prevent me from achieving that.

That’s why I keep quiet. That’s why I stay out of it. I don’t want to hurt. I don’t want to offend. I don’t want my passion to put me in a place of vulnerability.

But then again, that’s life, and how am I to avoid it unless I squelch that passion?

Just as in all things in life, there is a balance, and I’m struggling to find it. When do you stay silent, and when do you speak up for what’s right?

Energies And Allergies...And A Fountain Deep And Wide

“Deep and wide, deep and wide…”

Hannah sings in the backseat of the car. It’s a song she learned at church – one that I actually never learned as a kid – but I know it’s about a fountain flowing deep and wide, a fountain that never runs dry. It’s a fountain of love born out of grace, always there to refresh a weary wanderer.

Oh, how I understand that fountain of love more than ever before, as a parent. A mama’s love is as deep and wide, as ever-flowing, as longsuffering, and at times, as painfully beautiful. It’s a love that separation or loss or hurt or anything could never, ever take away.

It’s a love that I hope she’s learning about as she absorbs knowledge like a sponge, soaking it all in. I hope I am teaching her enough. I hope I am everything I need to be for her, at this vital age.

But all I need to do is make sure she knows that my fountain is always here, ready and waiting when she needs it. She may forget every once in a while – because, after all, learning is a process. It takes time. It takes mistakes. It takes patience.

Sometimes we get stuff backwards. We might have something completely wrong but are so sure that it’s right, simply because it’s what we’ve told ourselves over and over again in our heads. We keep repeating it because it’s what we know to be true, what we’ve come to cling to.

But part of the learning process is letting go of the wrong and clinging to the right.

When she wants a treat, she won’t always ask for ‘snack fruits’.   

                                      

One day she’ll no longer call it a ‘stump tree’.

 

She’ll get it right when she asks to play with the ‘paint fingers’.

 

It’s just part of the process. We have to get it backwards for a while.

That kid amazes me every day – as does her little brother who’s not so little anymore – and I’m incredibly thankful for them. I don’t know what I’d do without that deep and wide fountain of love they’ve brought into my life.

I don’t know what my life would be like without conversations like these:

*Cough, cough*

“Mama, I have too much energies.”

“I know you have energy. You’re bouncing all over the place.”

“Yeah, that’s why I’m coughin’. Cause I have energies.”

“Ooooh, you mean allergies, honey.”

“Yeah, I got lotsa allergies.”

“Well, you have lots of energy. Energy is what makes you jump around and run and play. Allergies are what make you sneeze and cough.”

 “Yeah, that’s why I got lotsa allergies. Cause that’s why I’m coughin’.”

*Overemphasized cough*

“I don’t think you have allergies. But I’m certain you have too much energy.”

And I’m certain she’ll use that energy and those learning skills all throughout her life – whether she’s facing the planned out, predictable, and mundane…or the wild, uncharted adventure that twists and turns far off in the distance.

She’ll get the words right.

She’ll seek the fountain.

It’s all part of the process.
 

Finding Balance {And Holding On To It}

Did women in the Middle Ages worry about finding balance in their lives?

What about pioneer women? Women of primitive cultures….tribal women….?

I seriously wonder this – because I wonder if finding balance is the never-ending theme that has plagued women of all times and all cultures or if it’s just a recent trend. We sure do seem concerned with it.

Marriage, Family, Career, Hobbies…there’s a lot to do.

But here’s the secret about balance that no one’s admitting: Sometimes when we say we want to find ‘balance’, I think that what we really mean is ‘perfection’. One is attainable; the other is not. We can’t be all things to all people all the time, but we can choose how much we can do and choose to be okay with that.

My little boy is in the beginning stages of walking. He loves to stand and reach for things and cruise along the furniture. It takes a lot of balance. First he gets a firm grip on the coffee table and uses all his strength to pull himself to his feet. He grins immensely, excited to explore and conquer. He’s cautious as he maneuvers around, making only calculated, purposeful movements. Then after he’s had enough, I watch him, his eyes full of careful concentration, as he slowly lowers himself back down to the floor.

None of it is rushed or hurried. It’s focused and steady. He thinks about what he’s doing and why, and it brings him joy.

I can learn from him. Instead of trying to pull myself into too many directions at once, I could try living deliberately, focusing on each task as it comes. Perhaps we’d do well to remember that balance is less about flawlessness and more about having a firm foundation, staying centered, and slowing down just a little.

Otherwise gravity will take its toll.

My son has gotten so good at crawling now that sometimes he gets overconfident and zips over the carpet so fast that he ends up plowing headfirst into the floor. And that doesn’t feel so good.

I can relate to him on those days when I feel like all I’ve been doing is running from one thing to another until I eventually crash, exhausted and not feeling accomplished at all.

Balance is a state of mind, and I don’t think we have to give every little aspect of our lives attention in order to achieve it. In fact I think that when we try to achieve balance by doing everything, something important inevitably suffers.

Equilibrium is rarely achieved by throwing more and more stuff on the scales, right?

In my own life there are a lot of things that have been put on the backburner lately, and while the perfectionist in me says I need to step it up, the realist in me says, “Honey, relax and just pour your heart and soul into that stuff that truly matters to you.”

I like that realist. She makes sense.

She’s how I imagine those women in different worlds and different times to be – practical, doing what they can with the time they’ve been given, and not worrying about the rest of it.

What does balance mean to you, and how do you find it?