On Not Buying the Biggest Lie

Early last month, we shared the news that our family is #nowpendingseven, as we are pursing the international adoption of our girls' older sister.

Shortly thereafter we began the arduous process of compiling all of our paperwork and getting all of our clearances ... again. 

Starting the process all over again after just having finished our first adoption last year at this time, feels overwhelming in so many ways; the process is long and complex and heart-wrenching because 

the waiting. 

the uncertainty.

the emotions. 

It's just a lot. A lot that is all worthwhile, don't get me wrong, but a lot, nonetheless.

A few afternoons ago, as I was pondering in particular finances, I was feeling like 😳 and {crying face} and {freaking out face}.

But I knew I was needing to stop thinking like that and embrace 😇 and 😎 and 😊.

So I began having an honest conversation with God about how that feels more than a little challenging because lots of lies have started popping up ... like, specifically in that area of finances,

how could we really ask for help again?

And where’s this all going to come from?

And we are so unprepared.

Lies, God said.

But lies I was being tempted to linger in, believe and allow to dictate my actions and thoughts and behaviors.

Lies ...

Because we can always ask for help.

Because can always humble our hearts and admit when we need the body to be the body and come together to make something happen.

Because God designed us to do life together.

Because God could drop a million dollars in our laps however he wanted but He invites us in to be part of the beautiful things He's doing.

And then a message from a friend popped up as I pondered buying the lies or digging my heels into the truth:

“I have something I want to talk to you about. Can you call me?”

I called my friend quickly, and she proposed a fundraiser where she could offer a class because God has been bringing this back to her heart repeatedly.

And that’s when tears sprang to my eyes.

But it wasn’t about the class. Or even the funds. Or even just her genuine and sweet offer.

It was about this:

"Worry is belief gone wrong." {Ann Voskamp}

Worry was washing over me because I felt alone, like I had to do this all by myself. 

But God. God always, always, always sees us, and He is always, always, always with us.

Do we see Him?

When I take a step back from my worry, He so often finds a way to show me that He's there. Many times it’s through His word or a song or other people saying “God laid it on my heart to …" reach out/call/come over/pray/give/help.

And so the biggest lie I was buying wasn’t that people are sick of helping or that we couldn’t ask for help or that we are so annoying or that we weren’t going to have the funds …

the biggest lie I was buying was that God didn’t see me, that He wasn’t and isn’t near, that He won’t or can’t be or isn't in the midst of this part of challenges that come along with all the different parts of our lives.

We don't have to see over the mountain we're still climbing or around the curve in the bend on the road we're heading  because we have a very good Guide by our side. 

"I will never fail you; I will never abandon you." {God, Hebrews 13:5}

Yes, the mountains are steep. And the curves are dark and deep, but we don't walk them alone.

And that's what makes the difference: when we know God, who is good, is with us no matter the steepness of the mountain or the curves of the road ahead, we can replace worry with worship and we can face the journey ahead with hope and with joy and with courage instead of despair, fear and anxiety.

And, more than the height of the mountain or the starkness of the curves in the road, that's really what makes all the difference in the journey. 

Bigger Picture Moments: Lightening Flashes

There's a storm brewing off in the distance and long before I can hear the thunder, lightening sets thick approaching clouds aglow.

The day has been warm and muggy; air hanging heavy in late spring is a sure-fire sign of approaching storms.

And how the day has unfolded, so goes my heart.

Today was deep joy and bright sun and spring warmth, air thick and heated, and I knew tonight would be one of those stormy nights in my heart and head.

We celebrated my niece's first birthday today with balloons and family and cupcakes with thick frosting, and it was good. My youngest played his heart out and snuggled me as he inhaled cupcakes and breaths of air. My oldest fawned over my niece. My niece smiled and snuggled against my chest, tired and deflated by the end of the party.

In those moments of holding her close and heaving to pick up my youngest and watching my oldest wear his heart of love on his sleeve, I remembered the first baby we lost ... one I'd hoped would share a birthday or birth week with my niece.

And in those memories, the second and third little lives we lost came to mind, too.

I silently shushed tears during the party and instead soaked in what was right there before us, celebrated  the lives of the children with which we've been blessed, gave thanks for the lives of the people we call family and friends.

But tonight as I watched the storm clouds thicken and build and blow in, I couldn't help but blow out the deep exhales of frustration and tears I'd held back earlier in the sunned part of the day.

On a whim, I captured the pink of the clouds lit aglow by the lightening.

Twice.

That never happens.

And I thought about the news we'd received a few weeks ago from the genetic testing; it showed a probable cause for the miscarriages, a genetic one from my own DNA.

An inversion on chromosome 13 likely explains why we lost those three precious babies; but we haven't pursued much more insight through the genetic counseling offered because honestly we're just not anywhere near the point of doing much more than healing.

But I've looked long at these two boys we have with wonder since we got the test results.

And I've wondered and awed at their lives, how they made it here into the land of the living when we'd barely uttered a prayer or laid a plan for growing our family,

how they might be these tiny miracles clothed in skin walking around my house day in and out and we just never really realized or understood the magnitude of such miracles.

I wonder if they are much like having captured lightening flashes twice in one storm

unlikely



perhaps impossible



but very much planned

to light up this space in time

and leave a long memory

just not exactly planned

by us.

The Bigger Picture: How I'm Voting Tuesday

Honestly, I don't write about politics or religion for two extremely good reasons:

I still want to be friends after you're done reading

and

The political is deeply personal.

Heated, intense debates about moral issues turned government debates that many of the religious right and liberal left and everyone in between often heatedly word-spar about especially around election times?

I don't want to even want to touch on those subjects in a blog post because honestly it's a lot like discussing s*x life or something equally as personal.

And those types of deep discussions, I believe, deserve face-to-face, flesh-to-flesh interaction. 

But.

I think I've sorely overlooked a game-changing differentiation:

just like I've long differentiated religion from my relationship with God because while they are seemingly the same to some they are immensely different to me, I've long needed to separate the politics from leadership.

But this morning, in Divine revelation, it clicked. And I walked away from a message by our senior pastor about God and Government compelled to share how I'm voting Tuesday. {The rest of this post is largely inspired by his message, which you can listen to here.}

Because maybe, if you're like me, you've been so caught up in the political you've missed the essence of elections: leadership.

Honestly, though? It's easy to miss when we're totally bombarded by the issues:

Economy. Taxes. Health Care. Women's Rights. The Right to life. Social justice. The separation of church and state.

These are all issues, and I agree they are important ones that affect our daily lives. Personally, I've long clung to the separation of church and state because, really, I don't want my government telling me who I can and cannot worship. I deeply appreciate our religious liberties, and I'm thankful I live in a country where I won't be jailed or stoned for pledging my heart to Jesus.

And there's also a long list of other things I don't want my government telling me what I can and can't do with, oh, say my body or my family or my business.

But the thing is -- all of these issues become bullet points on platforms that serve to divide rather than unite, points of contention rather than discussion detracting from the real issue I'd barely given thought about during the process leading up to me visiting the polls: leadership and character.

What makes for a good leader? Really.

Ones who have inspired good and who have led by example and who have walked the walk?

Is what makes a good leader a laundry list of qualification, degrees, pedigrees, awards, distinguishings?

Because we've had a WHOLE lot of that recently, and it's seemingly left us parched and thirsty for something more.

When I think of good leaders I think of people who left the world a better place. People like Mother Theresa. People like Martin Luther King. People like Jesus.

People who weren't just giving orders from the top but those who were serving others on a day-to-day basis. Who were feeding the hungry while they, perhaps, were hungry. Who were standing alongside those being oppressed while also in oppression. And, in the ultimate act of servant leadership, Jesus, who took on the flesh of being human and washed feet knowing fully that He was the Creator of those feet, who took all fault as He bore a heavy cross though He was faultless.

Those who ruled in love, humility. Those who didn't just serve at a job but served with their lives.

God's qualifications of a good leader set the bar at a high standard not only in the example of Jesus but also in word:

"Do not look on his appearance or on the height of his stature, because I have rejected him. For the Lord sees not as man sees: man looks on the outward appearance, but the Lord looks on the heart." 1 Samuel 16:7

"But select capable men from all the people—men who fear God, trustworthy men who hate dishonest gain." Exodus 18:21

The heart.
A fear of the Lord, who is good and righteous.
Trustworthy.
Those who hate dishonest gain. 

Leadership is built on a foundation of heart rather than towering platforms.

Now I know full well that platforms can essentially have been built on values and values stem from character but in our political system it seems that platforms are more built on party systems.

And I think that distracts us from really looking at the integrity of character of those we seek to elect to make decisions on our behalf.

Do we need to take some of the platform issues to the polls with us to help make our decisions?

Yes, but I really think the driving issues should be ones that reveal the character of those we are electing.

What do not only their platforms but their lives say about the heart? About their willingness to be a servant leader? About their fear of a good and righteous God? About trustworthiness? About their disdain for dishonest gain?

I can't help but to think that if we voted for our leaders based on heart rather than appearance -- political party, oozing presidential essence, pedigrees, race, gender, etc --

that if we elected a servant instead of a "leader" in the definition of the word we've come to embrace

there may be no need for such political platforms and heated discussion

because we'd be taking the political out of politics and redefining it as service.

So how am I voting tomorrow?

I can't sum it up by simply naming parties, citing blue or red or green, naming supporters on one side or another of a specific issue.

How I'm voting is for the heart with the heart -- by prayerfully and carefully selecting those who mostly closely resemble "capable {people} from all the people— {people} who fear God, trustworthy {people} who hate dishonest gain."

{Comment rules: You may politely disagree. You may politely state an opposing opinion. You may share encouragement or other ideas that have encouraged and directed you as you prepare to vote.
There is no room for rudeness, name calling, bashing {of me or each other in the comments} or general mean spirited remarks. Any comment that doesn't exhibit care or respect will be deleted.}

Bigger Picture Moments: I Am Ready

After the leaves break free of the trees and race away leaving behind barren branches, I know it won't be long.

Winter around here is a full-invasion of forces -- the whipping winds, the blustery cold, the retreat of the sun ... each hand-delivering the winter blues that nestle seasonly into my mind.

Halloween afternoon, and I sigh as I layer my clothing; I pull hand warmers onto my hands, wrap the boys in scarves and hats and gloves and then squeeze them into costumes all while wondering why on Earth we live where we live, why we call home this six-months-out-of-the-year cold lay of land.

We decide to brave the elements and trick or treat the neighborhood behind ours; we take the small, tight, beaten path through the preserve to our destination rather than the trail or main road via car.

In glorious surprise, we come face to face with the parts of winter we don't often see as magnificent color spread out during our single-file march through trees and bushes skirting the edge of one of our prairie wetland marshes.

I'm reminded that beauty doesn't flee during the quick march of winter into our neck of the woods.

Rather, it's me.

I'm the one who retreats, waves the white flag of wool-socks, heavy scarves, down coats as I sink into the indoors while winter settles for its stay.

And.

I'm reminded that sometimes we just have to suit up

layer

by layer

by layer

to not just brave the elements

but enjoy them.

   

*****

Starting NEXT week, we will be gathering our harvest of blessings and naming them one by one, sharing the gratitude in our hearts every Thursday through the end of November. Won't you join us? Share a picture, words, creation or list; just come to the table with thanksgiving in your heart. 

Live.
Reflect on the blessings that were apparent to you this week.

Capture.
Harvest them!

Share.
This week link up your BPM moment at Alita's. And next week, come to the table ready to feast on gratitude at Brook's. Please be sure to link to your post, not your blog. Your post must link back here or have our button in your post or the link will be deleted.

Encourage.
Try to visit at least the person linked before you and encourage her in this journey we call life.

Bigger Picture Moments: What Only God Can Do

It begins quietly and simply.

A few-sentence email enters my inbox asking if I can attend a meeting at our church regarding social media.

Though I've long been thinking our church has needed a social media presence and I'd love to help, I doubt I can make the meeting; John is in Europe that week, and babysitters are hard to come by mid day in the mid week -- like raindrops in drought.

But there is an easy sprinkle from a small little cloud, and I'm able to attend the meeting despite all of what normally works against such possibilities; I leave the meeting, hope rising in my heart at the response of our leaders who deem social media important to implement at our church. But when I leave the meeting, though my mind is spinning and racing with ideas, I return to life as normal and tuck them away. I'm at capacity, and I can't volunteer time to any kind of project beyond what I'm already doing without something having to give.

****

Month's later, there's been no resume submitted but there has been a meeting of the minds, and there has been the Spirit of God heavy in conversations and lastly there has been a perfectly tailored job description and offer extended to me to join the church staff as the social media coordinator.

An opportunity to serve in a way I'd only thought was a dream {me? small-town girl from the middle of nowhere evolved punk-rock mistress turned cynical journalist thrown a life jacket of grace me?}.

An opportunity to reach into people's everyday lives and help them know better the God who loves and created them, help them know better the community of God within a church we've been extremely vested.

And the fine details, lined up like just right, stars in a constellation:

Working only 15 hours per week.

Doing what I've long loved, while working out of my top five strengths from my home most of the time, nonetheless.

Confirmation from daily wanderings in the Word and conversations with those who shepherd my heart.

All of this after we decide to listen to the unexplained stirrings of our heart to put our Curves up for sale ... and then meet with extremely interested perspective buyers within two weeks of our letter of intentions saying we are looking to sell.

All of this amid one of our closest family friends, who lives within minutes of the church, sharing that she'd love to babysit for our boys one day a week during the weekly staff meeting {more raindrops ...}.

All of this folded up into a beautiful package at the heels of years spent investing time and effort and thought and heart and soul into the sharing of our story, my story, here at this blog, of investments made in virtual community and social media.

Some might call it serendipity or awesome coincidence, but I know it to be more; I know it to be grace revealed, blessing given, opportunity shared.

This story, it blows my mind.

This story, it's so different from the ones I've written in the past.

Because this time, I'm telling a story of which I'm not the one striving to write

One of which I've had only a very small, responsive hand.

This time

I feel like I'm telling the story of something truly only God can do.

During the next few weeks, I'm transitioning into my new position at church all while ensuring that I'm spending time with my family and taking care of all the Curves details, so please be patient with my sparser posting and interactions. I'm so excited to share how God moved my heart into this place, as it didn't come quite as thoughtlessly as I would have expected such a thing with such worked out details to have come. Prayers are appreciated, as is any encouragement during this extremely important transition month.


Each Thursday we come together to share the harvest of intentional living through sharing a piece of life gleaned: a picture, words, creation or list; just come to the table with the beauty in the simple moments of the week. Link up your gleaned moment this week at Sarah's!

Link your moment at Sarah's this week!

Bigger Picture Moments: Solstice

"Do you always watch for the longest day of the year and then miss it? I always watch for the longest day in the year and then miss it." -- Daisy Buchanan, The Great Gatsby


And miss it I almost did despite reading a friend's Facebook status with the above beloved Great Gatsby gem. 


I am Daisy in ways, waiting and waiting and then getting distracted and missing what I'd so anticipated. 


Today was no different. 


No sooner than I had realized it was the Summer Solstice, the longest day of the year drenching us with the glorious sunshine I crave from autumn until spring, I had forgotten in the thickness of busy. 


The day began spiraling and circling and spinning and doing the things that days do when a business needs immediate attention and there is Bible study to attend and kitchens beg for a wet mop and children need things like lunch and hugs and mommy hands to find the missing green light saber. 

After an impromptu shift at our business, I arrived home, made myself a hap-hazard dinner of green smoothie and perched myself in one of the big blue chairs in the back yard. 

John arrived home with the boys a few minutes later and before I could say the word bed time, E was out the back patio door and swimming in the pool while G was off and picking berries from the bushes along the fence with his dad. 

Sun still bright, hanging in the horizon, I checked the time -- 8:15 p.m., bedtime -- and I remembered the long-awaited summer solstice. 

And so we ignored the clock and remained in the backyard, enjoying the extra moments of added daylight

because they do what everything in life seeming does:

they all too quickly fade into the mental noise

or disappear while we're too busy being busy. 

But last night -- those moments were lived in fullness. 

Five-Minute Friday: Real

I retreat sometimes into words I was fed as a child:

If you haven't got anything nice to say, don't say anything at all. 

It's advice that's served me well for the most part, encouragement to tame my tongue before my tongue tames me

But I find myself quiet here in this space when I'm drowning in weeks that have dumped heaviness, weariness on my back or I find myself striving to glimpse the bigger picture amid the suckfest that's unfolded right before my eyes.

It's a way of thinking, taking all thoughts captive, remembering the bigger picture, and that's served me well.

But.

The hurt, the pains, the hardships -- the not so nice parts of life need voice, too.

And I find myself struggling for balance.

Struggling to be real about being real.

Because the reality of this week is that it's been hard.

Yes, I see hope wound tightly, wrapped beautifully in the Bigger Picture. And, yes, I hold fierce tight to the gift of Eternal Summer He's given so graciously.

But the truth of the matter is that I cried wet tears, almost choking on grief last night while thinking about the sweet babies to whom our friends have said untimely goodbyes.

Thinking about the tiny lives nestled deep in my womb to whom we've bid farewell too soon.

And thinking about how much I hate that death ever sauntered into the scene disguised as knowledge and life.

The not-so-nice stuff.

But as real as it gets

and it gets its five minutes today.  

Bigger Picture Moments: For the Worse

It's been hard for him.

These past nine or so months have grown him, too.

I haven't been the only one who feels as though I were stretching outside of my very own skin's capacity.

Though it seems like I've been the one whose been forced-chosen to ungrasp my clenched knuckles from so much, we've both let go of a lot.

Time together as a family, as a couple.

Opportunities and weekends away.

Small pockets of late-night connection as I've slept and he's battled a strong-willed toddler.

Two tiny babies from inside my womb.

And sometimes I feel like he's sort of lost the woman he married while in the thick of all her spontaneity and fun-laced ways, found himself left with someone who has a list of nos that run the trunks of century-old trees ... someone who can't even go out to dinner on a whim anymore because she must first scout out the contents of the menu.

But in the loss, in the for worse of what seems worlds away from the better, roots have been established.

We stood tall through the beautiful times of our engagment and job changes and births of babies, and now, too, we've sunk our roots into firm Soil and weathered storms of illness and loss and grief and anxiety and time spent growing together while being apart.

There's nothing flashy and romantic about the protruding of roots creeping into Solid Ground while the skies rage.

There have been days where we've come together only to utter prayers before tired eyes close, succumbing to sleep. Moments of deep-seated frustration in the boiling over of pots and helplessness in the melting of a crying, shaking body falling into open arms. Exhaustion in digging deep to find more of yourself to give to rambunctious little boys when her arms can't even hold the shovel.

But after the pounding of the rain softens and the thundering of fronts breaking the apart air fade to rumbles in the distance and the whipping of the wind gives way to soft breeze there is a beautiful calm that emerges in seeing that the tree is still standing strong-armed with thick branches and budding green with new life.

There is a growing peace found in the roots of abiding, together.

Share a picture, words, creation or list; just come to the table with the beauty in the simple moments of the week.. 

Live.
Reflect on the blessings that were apparent to you this week.

Capture.
Harvest them!

Share.
Link up your gleaned moment this week at Alita's! Please be sure to link to your post, not your blog. Your post must link back here or have our button in your post or the link will be deleted.

Encourage.
Visit at least the person linked before you and encourage her in this journey we call life.

The Bigger Picture: Where I want to Live

Isn't my friend Katie of Katherine Salvatori Photography mad-talented? 

I find myself sometimes stuck living life in the grayness of shadows.

Of living timidly, fearfully, hopelessly in the Saturday after the cross wondering how everything could possibly come together for the good and work out for His glory.

Of living in the chasm between the cross and the empty tomb, like I don't know the end of the story.

But, as it does when we pull open the curtains, Light streams through the windows with the dawning of the morning Sun, and the Sun shines down grace and mercy in the surprise of Sunday morning.

We don't have to live in the shadow of the Good Friday cross; instead we are welcomed to live in the open-space freedom of the Sunday morning empty tomb. 


There are no legalistic rules to obey, no expectations of perfection, no lists of strikes being tallied because He took them and replaced them with the free-flowing grace-gift He offers freely when we let go of lording over our own lives and let Him claim the rightful spot on the thrones of our hearts.


It's Monday, yes; but today, this day after Easter Sunday, I'm reminded to live like He overcame the world and all its laws with undeserving mercy and love because He has loved and He has risen, indeed. 


And that changes everything. 

Bigger Picture Moments: Playing Favorites

 

Each Thursday, we come together to share the harvest of intentional living by capturing a glimmer of the bigger picture through a simple moment.  As a farewell to 2011, we're playing favorites and picking one Bigger Picture Moment from 2011 to share. Head over to BPB to share yours!


Share a picture, words, creation or list; just come to the table with thanksgiving in your heart. 

Live.
Reflect on the blessings that were apparent to you this week.

Capture.
Harvest them!

Share.
Link up your favorite moment of 2011 at BPB this week. Please be sure to link to your post, not your blog. Your post must link back here or have our button in your post or the link will be deleted.

Encourage.
Visit at least the person linked before you and encourage her in this journey we call life.

Here are a few of my favorites from 2011:
Broken from Diet Coke on the Rocks
God Gave Me You from Girl of Grace
On Not Living Numb from Tasting Grace
Faded Colors by Achieving Clarity
Inside Out by Michelle Pendergrass

There are a dozen others that I absolutely loved reading, too, but the boys are not readily cooperating with giving me a few minutes to compile any more, so I'm off to snuggle and build log cabins.

Head over to BPB, share yours, encourage others and enjoy! Happy New Year!

Bigger Picture Moment: Lingering

Every Thursday we come together to share the harvest of intentional living by capturing a glimpse of the bigger picture through a simple moment. Won't you join us?

Sometimes I wonder if God lets seasons linger just a bit longer than we expected not just so we can soak these fleeting moments of Indian Summer into our skins, tattoo them onto our hearts and burn them into our memories but, more, so that we really revel in, give thanks for the days we're given just before the leaves begin falling from the trees in masses, just before the summer sun sets and gives way to autumn light.



I wonder, sometimes,

if He gives us these unexpectedly warm and brilliantly sunny days in the midst of fall so we pause --

if He writes the warning across burning red leaves on fire from faded summer green, in the warm sunlight that yet stretches across blue October skies so we can really enter into them, like we're living fully, as if to say, come on -- you don't want to miss this.



I wonder if He wishes us to wrap fingers around the moments that were so generously gifted into open palms so that we could say, I don't just remember it well; I lived it.




And I lived it well.

{Today, we're living it well. Enjoy your Indian Summer.}

Bigger Picture Blogs. 

****

Live. Capture. Share. Encourage.

Bigger Picture Moment: Wholeness of Truth

I wonder how many of us grieve our losses -- however varied and different-- in silence.

How many of us smile, respond with OK when asked how we are doing while we feel anything and everything but fine. 

I wonder how many, and I wonder why. 

I wonder why my first thought was to tuck away my sadness, the loss, bury it deep down inside the deepest wells of my heart ... why I thought I could, well, rather, should walk this journey alone. And the more I thought, the more I questioned. 

Don't I know yet that there is comfort in arms wrapped around my shoulder, in words spoken, in stories shared, in love given freely?

That there is nothing more scarring than letting the battles wounds of life sit in the darkness of heart wells?

That there is healing in the Light?

I wrote my hurt into the pages here, etched the words of this piece of our story into the white and shared because I thought it would somehow maybe help someone else who felt like hiding her hurts way down deep. 

I thought maybe I would be a hand in the darkness of those wells in the heart stretched out offering to pull someone else out of those depths. 

But the wholeness of truth is, and I didn't quite know it until so many friends began showing up in so many ways, that sharing would continue the work He's already started in layering salves on a healing heart. I didn't know it, but I needed some other hands to reach out, clasp mine after I emerged from that darkness, sun blinded, a little shaky and raw. 

Thanks for being His hands and feet and His arms and mouth --pulling me up and embracing me in the steadying of my own two feet and walking beside me as I take baby steps forward into the light of a new day. 

I likely won't ever forget it. 

"For where two or three come together in my name, there am I with them." Matthew 18:20

Have you seen a glimpse of the bigger picture through a simple moment? Share at Melissa's this week.

Bigger Picture Moment: Everything Under the Sun

A few nights ago, as I was trying to come up with a bigger picture moment from an exhaustingly packed week, I found myself walking next to blooming purple wildflowers and towering auburn prairie grasses.

The beauty caught me off guard during my walk, a time when I was admittedly trying to pound all the gunkiness of tough day into the pavement while grasping at any moment from the week I could recall seeing a glimpse of the bigger picture through a simple moment, which isn't actually easy when you're moving at 154 thousand miles per hour.

Nonetheless, I'd wondered why I'd never before seen these brilliant swatches of color set against the Midwestern landscape; I mean, I have tread this ground at least a thousand times before.

So I got to thinking -- I wonder what else I've breezed by a thousand times lately but haven't really seen, really experienced.

the intense blues of late August skies

the way 75 degrees perfectly enwraps my sun-drenched skin

the deep belly giggles of two little boys laughing in rounds

the quiet hand tucked into mine before we hurry into the store

And, quickly, I admitted to myself that all of these things I've been missing as I fly right by them have only been missed because I wasn't looking.

But that? It wasn't actually my Bigger Picture Moment. I know I have a tendancy to pass by the extraordinary ordinaryness of everyday beauty as I rush from place to place, project to project.

My Bigger Picture Moment actually came on the heels of this reoccurring thought of slowing down to enjoy the beauty.

My Bigger Picture Moment was in the realization that I have captured more than 52 weeks of extraordinary ordinary moments I likely would have passed by had I not been intentionally seeking to find the bigger picture in the midst of sometimes chaos.

I finally saw those beautiful purple flowers and the surreal blue of the sky and felt the perfection of 75 degrees and a small hand slipped into my own because I've been training myself to see these moments, to live intentionally, to practice enjoying what's been placed before me.

The real gift probably isn't only the actual bigger picture moment, but, also, it's the act of having identified its loveliness.

Are you ready to begin seeing a glimpse of the bigger picture through simple moments? Walk this road of intentional living with friends! This week's linky is at Sarah's.

Live. Capture. Share. Encourage. {Bigger Picture Blogs}

Bigger Picture Moment: Instead

Thunder is rumbling a deep moan in the near distance while a web of lightening spreads across the sky, dances in the horizon.

An early morning thunderstorm lulls a snugly toddler back into slumber, and I quiet, creak, sneak out of bed at the beckoning of a preschooler's loud whisper of hunger and subsequent grumbling from his small stomach.

Holding my hand, he all but drags me out of my room and down the stairs.

We talk thunder. We talk rain. We talk lightening on the way down in hushed voices.

Heading toward the kitchen, I try to talk breakfast while pulling out the rolled oats, but he instead pulls me over to the big red rocking chair in the living room.

"I think I need mommy snuggles more than my tummy wants breakfast," he says through an overzealous whisper. "I think we better snuggle instead."

And so it waits, breakfast, uncooked atop the stove, because willing preschool arms and hearts don't.

Have you caught a glimpse of the bigger picture through a simple moment? Share with us at Melissa's today, and then encourage others on the journey of intentional living.

Bigger Picture Moment: Tyranny of the Urgent

I have a headache.

I have a headache, and the children are melting down.

I have a headache, and the children are melting down, and it's lunch time.

I have a headache, and the children are melting down BECAUSE it's lunch time.

I have a headache, and the children are melting down BECAUSE it's lunch time. And there's a giant turd on the floor {no, I'm not kidding}.

I have a headache, and the children are melting down BECAUSE it's lunch time. And there's a giant turd on the floor {no, I'm not kidding}. Now I have no appetite.

I have a headache, and the children are melting down BECAUSE it's lunch time. And there's a giant turd on the floor {and oh, how I wish I were kidding} because now I have no appetite. And I get a good glimpse of my chipped toenail polish.

I have a headache, and the children are melting down BECAUSE it's lunch time. And there was a giant turd on the floor {and oh, how I wish I were kidding} because now I have no appetite. And I get a good glimpse of my chipped toenail polish, and I'm reminded of my overgrown bangs draping over my eyes, blocking my view.

I have a headache, and the children are melting down BECAUSE it's lunch time. And there was a giant turd on the floor {and oh, how I wish I were kidding} because now I have no appetite. And I get a good glimpse of my chipped toenail polish, and I'm reminded of my overgrown bangs draping over my eyes, blocking my view because I'm leaving for the Midwest Media Moms Brands and Bloggers Summitt Saturday morning.

I have a headache, and the children are melting down BECAUSE it's lunch time. And there was a giant turd on the floor {and oh, how I wish I were kidding} because now I have no appetite. And I get a good glimpse of my chipped toenail polish, and I'm reminded of my overgrown bangs draping over my eyes, blocking my view because I'm leaving for the Midwest Media Moms Brands and Bloggers Summitt Saturday morning AND {crap!} I still don't have business cards.

I have a headache, and the children are simmering from the meltdown while eating lunch. And there was a giant turd on the floor {and oh, how I wish I were kidding} because still I have no appetite. And I get a good glimpse of my chipped toenail polish, and I'm reminded of my overgrown bangs draping over my eyes, blocking my view because I'm leaving for the Midwest Media Moms Brands and Bloggers Summitt Saturday morning AND {crap!} I still don't have business cards nor will I have time to remedy most of this because we are scheduled to the max through the weekend.


OY!!! I unknowingly exlaim outloud.

Both kids abandon eating, stare at me.

"What's wrong mommy?" G asks, eyes scanning my face for hints of distress.

Just as I'm about to list off all of the thoughts sumo wrestling inside my brain, I'm struck by his compassion, the concern written across his face.

And I'm reminded, today, Thursday, a day I'm having trouble finding the bigger picture amid this busy and chaotic week, that none of those listed things -- the chipped toenail polish, the newly untamed bangs, the turd on the floor, the headache, the business cards -- are all that important. Rather, they are really just teeny tiny concerns that have been magnified by a brain in overdrive.

But the two priorities staring me squarely in the face are real and larger than life and so much more worthy of my immediate attention.

The Bigger Picture: Clarity

Today has been one where I've had to step back from the microscope through which I usually view life and blink blinkblinkblink because I suddenly realized I've been way too zoomed into the littlenss of it all.

The sleep woes of our toddler. Some family strife. Lack of time. Grasping onto only grains of patience. Struggling with adapting my normal eating plan while on vacation.

All little things that have become way too big under this lens I've been using to filter and see.

Upon opening Facebook {Facebook, Facebook, how I love thee, let me count the ways}, I discovered that a fellow mom I know through church, also, the sister of a friend I absolutely adore, was admitted to the hospital and underwent emergency surgery to try and prevent a brain anuerism from rupturing.

The meatiness of the situation, the reality, the bigness, it all forces me to stand back and cry out to God as I move toward clarity and take in the bigger picture instead of just finely focusing my lens on the smallest of trials.

Could you wrap Gen in prayer tonight as she recovers from the emergency surgery? And her family, too?

Bigger Picture Moment: Clarity

As two giggling boys wrestle under spring sun in the grass just a few feet away from my own feet, I swallow the hardest question I've asked myself in quite some time.

Could I love another him?

And that question -- it sits unsettled in my stomach like I've eaten rocks for breakfast, and my body is trying its hardest to digest, make some sense of what's been swallowed.

Heavy with discomfort, acceptance comes as I whisper aloud what's been circling in my mind, sitting in the pit of my gut, weighing me down:

Would I, instead of soaking up a moment like the very one I'm watching unfold, be disappointed if three years from now a third boy was rumbling around in the grass with his brothers?

Would I welcome watching my stomach stretch and swell if I knew for sure I'd be housing another baby boy?

Would I, complete with joy and thanksgiving, welcome the sounds of a tiny baby boy seeking a mid-night nursing session in the same way I would that of a baby girl?

Because my fingers long to sweep through the thick, long dark hair of a daughter.

And my eyes can almost see two big brothers learning to be the very men God created them to be through engaging daily with a sister.

Because my heart so very much wants to tether its strings to that of my very own little girl's.

And my ears can almost hear my husband's gentle but strong voice whispering in her ear that she's a prize for which to be fought.

So with thoughts of a daughter, a sister for my boys, so deeply embedded in my mind, so rooted in the garden of my wildly tangled heart, I cannot neglect to really swallow such a hard, solid question and examine the why behind the third-baby dreams before we make them reality.

But there's no clarity in that moment.

Though I want desperately to say that I'd be just as happy to discover another baby boy blooming inside my own body and that health was the most important thing, I can't.

It stings my heart that I could be so ... I don't even know.

But it stings, nonetheless.
****

There are weeks of wondering, wrestling myself, crying out to God to search my heart and know it, to give me peace about moving into the journey of adding another little life into our family if my heart wouldn't suddenly drop at the news of a third little boy.

I want to know, like I knew with both of my other boys before I ever knew they were boys, that my heart won't sink, even a tiny millimeter, should a daughter not be part of our family picture through what will likely be our last pregnancy.

I know I need to make peace, and I don't know where to begin.

****
Another wrestling session is unfolding before my eyes, this time of the living room floor with John as the referee.

Pretend swords and battle axes become part of the play, and before I know it, my oldest is talking about making my youngest, who is playing the unjust king, walk the plank among facing other punishments.

I love, love, love my boys with all of my heart, but when they start talking about pooping on faces as part of the consequences the testosterone in our confined corridors elevates beyond my preferred-exposure level.

I bid them goodbye and for two seconds they turn their lips toward my own offering the sweetest kisses and showering my with a bit of affection before I fly out the front door seeking silence and a bit of time to clear my head.

I walk through chilly air with warm sunshine bathing my face and ponder the ways of these boys of mine.

I recall their poop talk, their delight in conversing about the grossest of gross things.

Their wildness streaked with small moments of gentle grace.

Their warrior hearts laced with desire for justice and righteousness.

Their quests for battlegrounds that are worthy of their time and efforts, a fight worth fighting, never settling on chasing windmills.

Their efforts to comfort the unjustly wounded, rescue the princess and capture the bad guy.

All things I don't totally understand, but all things, when unfolded and laid out on the table, I love and respect and need.

All things that have drawn me to John, beckoned me to fall into his strong arms and trust his leading.

I ponder it all in my heart.

And I know almost instantly that I've given a chance to help make a mark on these boys for a reason: because I know a strong and loving and firm and compassionate and just King.

And I can introduce my little warriors to a King worthy of their service.

This mothering gig is not simply for my enjoyment; it's for gifting the world with men who serve in their leadership, for preparing them to serve the Prince of Peace and even for helping develop them into men who will love and respect and protect daughters of mothers I may not yet even know ...

Finally, they are digested fully, those rocks.

And I can honestly say that should we decide to add to our family my heart won't dip even a bit upon welcoming a third baby boy someday because it will be too busy soaring with hope for the man I pray he would become.



Link your own moment at Sarah's.

Five-Minute Friday: A Hard Love

I've so often prayed
"Father, your will not mine."
only to find myself
in the thick of His
and wanting to dance
right back over into mine,
settle in its alluring safety
and seemingly solid soil.

And my prayer changes
to "Father, let this cup
pass from my hands"
with no regard
to the bigger picture.

In those moments
of being asked
to go
where I dread
and do
what I cannot fathom
and be
who I don't want to be
but was created to be

I cling to the One
who went
and did
and was
and is
and is to come.

A hard love, lived out loud,
and still echoing
grace and redemption and promises
of life beyond the now.



During Five-Minute Friday we write with abandon of getting it all right for five minutes flat. Then we encourage others in their journeys. To play along, visit Lisa Jo by clicking on the Five-Minute Friday button above.

Happy Good Friday, friends.

Bigger Picture Moment: My Consolation Prize

Every Thursday, we share the harvest of intentional living by capturing a glimpse of the bigger picture through a simple moment.

Want to join us? Simply capture your moment in whatever fashion speaks to you. Grab the Bigger Picture, Simple Moments button {code to the right}. Link your piece. And then encourage the two {or more} people who linked their moments.

After linking, you might find your moment shared at our community site for Bigger Picture Blogs.

Live. Capture. Share. Encourage.

That's the essence of Bigger Picture, Simple Moments; we're looking forward to walking together in intentional living this week.

****
At his funeral, long faces, downcast eyes, quivering lips promised it would get easier.

A few weeks.

A few months.

A few years.

That time would heal my heart.

That memories of my father's large, olive-complected hands, deep, calm voice would bring smiles instead of tears when I gazed upon a picture of his young, proud face beaming, strong frame standing tall, dressed finely in his firemen's best, his fatherly hands resting atop my tall eight-year-old shoulders, our coppery penny locks and soft caramel eyes accenting each other neatly.

They tried to tell me that time would ease the heart-sinking feeling induced by dusting picture frames amid the dim spring sunlight sauntering through my dining room windows.

That the open-chest wound would feel more like a finger nicked by a knife.

Maybe there's some truth to these smattering of promises that I have yet to find and pick up, inhale and breathe in so deep, internalize.

But so far.

So far -- time?

Time hasn't actually made it easier.

Time simply has made it more real.

Less fragmented,

less I-just-woke-up-from-a-bad-dream,

less alternate universe

less really-that's-not-going-to-be-his-voice-on-the-other-end-of-the-line.

But not easier.

At least, not after the span of nearly a year, after 360 round days of swallowing

over and over

and over and over again

my new reality of life without my dad.

Easier.

Maybe not ever.

But real.

Real has the possibility of being a suitable consolation prize after the days tick by and easy never does come knocking on the heart's door.

In loving memory of my earthly captain, Brian W. Filippi.

Bigger Picture Moment: When did this become beautiful?

In the bite of cold mid-March air early last Tuesday afternoon while on our way home from preschool pickup, I found myself totally transfixed by a stretch of amber-hued winter flora while pausing at a stop sign.

Over come with awe at the beauty of my nearly back-yard scenery, my fingers, wrapped in the soft confines of knit gloves, fumbled for my phone so I could snap a picture of such beauty.



Of the loveliness of winter weeds in the soft, glowing sunlight. I've lived in the Midwest my entire life.

I've spent 27 winters trapped in between endless seas of golden tasseled grasses tossing in the frigid Arctic winds, with only spotty sunshine warming the dormant prairie landscape.



And of those 27 winters, I've spent 20 of them wishing I were instead standing on the edge of an actual sea, drinking in the blues and turquoise and jades of water beneath miles of sunshine, praying instead to feast my eyes of the cool tones of ocean and white sand.

This was the first time I've ever noticed the brilliance of the coppers and auburns and hazels that warm the landscape during the dragging days of winter here in Chicagoland.



And I thought to myself, as we drove the last two blocks home, when did this become beautiful?

And what other loveliness has fleeted before my eyes while I've been longing for the beach?

My thoughts were quickly abandoned after we entered the house, and I began the rat race of shuffling E upstairs for a post-lunch nap.

After wrestling my over-tired toddler down to sleep, I quietly exited his room only to bump right into the rear end of a preschooler who was crouched on the floor behind the living room chair.

"EEEEEEEEKKKK!" G screeched and jumped up, completely startled.

Before I could shush him and reprimand him for yelling while his brother was napping because, um, hello, wasn't he old enough to know better, G exclaimed, "Mommy, I was trying to hunt for alligators, and I thought YOU were an alligator coming to get me!"

And that moment? It, too, became beautiful once I stopped wishing for the ocean and instead soaked up the sunshine that is 3 years old.



{These pictures are captures of that very stretch but they were so totally NOT taken with my iPhone. I went back and shot them with my Cannon.}



Every Thursday, we share the harvest of intentional living by capturing a glimpse of the bigger picture through a simple moment. Won't you share life with us? To read more and link your own moment, visit Melissa this week.