When Winning Isn't About Getting There First

When I was a runner, I didn't do the whole distance thing.

I put on my shoes, I got my rear end out the door, and I ran hard for 30 minutes.

And then I met John. He's a distance runner by nature so my fast spurts didn't really appeal to him.

Nonetheless, the boy was smitten with me so he laced up his shoes and hit the pavement with me often.

If my motto was get going and get it done, his was most certainly slow and steady wins the race; and he is as slow and steady as they come.

During one of our runs, where I told him he was dragging his heals and prolonging what I wanted to be done with, he kind of smiled at me and started talking about his days of playing tennis in high school. Apparently they called him the bulldog because he play slow and steady, and he could wear out his opponent even if the rival was a "stronger" player.

I think I smiled adoringly at him, told him that was great and then told him to pick up the pace because we had places to go and things to do, so move it, Mr. Worth! {I'm always super gracious, you know.}

So I married John knowing that he was Mr. Slow and Steady, except when it came to marrying me; then and only then was he fast-paced and quick acting.

Buying anything, picking doctors, mapping out trips, planning for the future, buying a house -- all slow and steady.

It used to drive me a little nuts, but lately I've been learning why the old adage -- slow and steady wins the race -- is likely true, especially if that race is a long and daunting one. Especially if that race is the race of life.

I've always been fast paced, a doer who gets it done; it worked well for a long time until it didn't. After I gave birth to our second boy, I realized I was running on fumes. I needed more down time. I needed less busy. I needed more rest. I was sick. I was always tired. I was never rested enough. Slowly I began to give myself fully into rest times, vacations and relaxation, steadily letting go of the busyness and fast pace that was killing me.

Going at a million miles per moment had left me tired, sick and malnourished in so many ways I didn't even fully understand until I started to become healthy, maybe for the first time in my life, physically, emotionally, spiritually and mentally. It's been a long road of rebuilding, and I'm still on it. There is no "get it done" to this; it's slow and steady all of the way. The road to real health often is.

This morning, I'm snuggled up against my youngest boy, and I'm a little bummed. We're missing day two of Christmas choir shows as well as our normal church service because he fell to the flu this past week; I've been dancing the line of sick and well for the last 24 hours.

I internally groaned when I started feeling like I was also getting sick because now is not the time for illness, I'd said. It's Advent season, and I want to engage fully in everything fun. We're also only a week out from our host daughter arriving from Eastern Europe, and I have much to prepare. I'd planned on going full-steam ahead from now until she arrived.

But yesterday I had to make a choice. I could run forward and run myself into the ground and full-fledged illness, or I could slow down, take it easy and go at this slow and steady, resting more than moving and listening to what my body needed. This morning, I'm asking my brain to slow down, too. I'm inviting it into rest and relaxation so that I can burn brightly instead of burning out.

This slowness isn't just affording my body a chance to heal; it's also giving my mind and heart a chance to focus on making space for Jesus as we prepare to celebrate the greatest gift the world has ever received.

Slow and steady may not be my natural inclination by any means, but it builds endurance and that in itself gives the strength and perseverance needed to run the distance. And I've come to the conclusion that winning isn't about getting there first; it's about getting there well.

Advent: When Something's Gotta Give

When he quietly sneaks down the stairs at quarter 'til nine in the still of evening and crawls into my lap while I'm working away the dark hours and says right before he drifts off to sleep in my arms, "Mommy, I miss you," I know that something's gotta give.

When I ask my oldest son how his day is going, and he asks me if I'm done working for the day so I can really listen, my stomach jumps into my throat and sits there choking me up, and I pray that something's gonna give.

When the conversation turns from what we can do to make the load lighter {jobs and businesses and work} to who put the final straw on the camel's aching back, I find myself staring at the man with whom I yoked wondering what the difference is anyway, since we're both under the same weight and what's ultimately gonna give isn't going to be what we want to give if we just wait for something to break.

A few weeks back, a wise woman told me that sheep were never meant to bear loads.

They weren't made for it.

And neither were we.

I understand this now like I wouldn't have before.

And so we cry out --

we wait for the Shepherd to hear our cries

because something's gotta give.

****

Busy days turn into heavy weeks, and we pass into the season of Advent as easily as the days sneak into nights and back into days again. I am the spinning hand on the clock, and I go until one day when I come home from church and retire to my bedroom because I'm suddenly not feeling well, the third in my family to be out for the count in less than 24 hours.

I sleep the morning into afternoon and wake only to pull my weary body from bed and join the family on the couch for a few brief hours.

I have plans. There are things to do, action items screaming for my attention during the three days I'm down and out myself and the span during which my boys are all suffering, too. There are staff meetings and business meetings and preparations to make before our host child arrives in just mere days and business to manage and posts to tend to and people to feed and bodies to bathe and clothes to launder and food to prepare.

But it all halts on a Sunday, the second Sunday of Advent, where we talk in church that morning about the surprising way Love came down to meet us here on Earth in a nowhere town, inside a nowhere stable, through a bunch of nobody people after 400 years of everyone thinking, you know, something's gotta give.

My husband picks up the food ropes and the rest of what isn't urgent all sits dormant while the urgent keeps on spinning with the rest of the world … without me.

The boys and I exist in spaces between the bed and the couch for two whole days.

On the third day, I find myself trapped beneath a four year old's body nearly every hour of day, and I start giving some serious thought to what it means to break and what it means to give.

At first it doesn't seem like catching the flu is anything akin to catching a break but when you're at the point where you feel like you can't bend with the pressure anymore, it suddenly and surprisingly. It's the break you knew you needed but never expected.

The give isn't what we wanted or planned, but when I look and I really see, I see that the give wasn't the ability to bend a little more without snapping, the give was a gift unexpected of slowing down enough to remember that the sun rises and sets each day without our help, without my help.

And isn't that the break I've been begging for and the give I've been praying to see?

He gives me a break, He slows me steady into the season of Advent, the season of preparing my heart for what's been given

again, in the most surprising of ways.

BTSBTW - Confession: The Spin-Cycle I Accidentally Perpetuated with My Life

During the past several years, other women often asked how on Earth I did everything I did:

Care for two kids./Nurture a marriage/Cook from scratch,/Garden and preserve./Write for blogs and websites./Own a business./Work part-time for a church./Volunteer./Keep a clean house./Engage in friendships./And take care of myself.

I've stood there uncomfortably as others have remarked such things, hearing not only disbelief in their voice but also a sort of self-depreciation at the admission of not being able to do it all. My response used to be something along the lines of not really doing as much as they thought I did.

But I wish I would have answered differently because this issue goes way deeper than my reply; that little sentence speaks worlds about the intersection of perfectionism and busyness and comparing and success and embracing ourselves. And it has much to do with perpetuating cycles of shame and feelings of failure and not loving ourselves and others.

I wish, instead, I would have said:

1. "We can have it all -- but we can't have it all at the same time without something suffering.  I may do a lot of things, but I don't do anything well. "

Don't miss it: anything and well are the key words in that sentence. But being a perfectionist {recovering now, thank you}, I had given it my best shot for too many years.

Now that I've cleared many responsibilities from my plate that just made me entirely too busy, I can tell you that doing all of that, even while not doing any all of it well, didn't come without a price.

Often times my family suffered -- namely my marriage because while you can't just leave two small children unattended, you can, indeed, leave a grown man alone after a long day so you can crash face first into bed.

Also, my health has suffered. I spent way too many years burning the candle at both ends and creating stress responses in my body and mind that have had lasting effects  I hadn't totally started identifying until two summers ago when my body started crying out for some serious TLC. Thankfully, my husband and I recognized its cries before serious disease states set in and began diligently working to lighten each of our stress loads.

And also, our small business, some of my friendships and even at times my kids have suffered from having an owner/friend/mom who simply had too much to juggle to invest a good chunk of time into any one thing.

So while it looked like I was doing it all, and maybe it even looked like I was doing it all well, I really wasn't.

I didn't understand that busyness was actually eating away at the parts of life I want to do really, really well -- build a strong marriage, nurture the two small souls with who we've been entrusted and be in community with others.

2. And then there's the bigger issue -- the comparisons we make when measuring ourselves against others help us form terribly imperfect definitions of success and also degrade the beauty of being created as individuals.

What I wish I would have said more often during these conversations was that while I can write an article or blog post or poem in 15 minutes or so, I simply could not balance my check book in that amount of time. Or fix a broken anything in our home with ease. Or sew anything relatively straight.

Because none of those things come naturally to me and none of those things naturally interest me enough to want to invest time into learning about them.

And that's ok. Because that's not me. And just because I can't do those things or you can't write a blog post with ease doesn't mean we are failing at anything other than trying to be someone else. I wish I would have realized long ago how demeaning it is when I compare myself to others. By doing what we were created to do and what we love, we are actually far more successful at being ourselves. And I think who we are and how that influences us to live is far more important than what we accomplish purely out of skill or muscle power.

I guess that would have been awkward to have said all of that during those exchanges, but I often wish for redos on those conversations -- a chance to stop the spin cycle I was accidentally perpetuating by living that kind of life coupled with relative silence.

A chance to honestly dialogue about these issues that keep us stuck on the spin cycles of guilt and shame and self-deprication and instead hang all of the truth out to dry ...  hooked up to the clothesline, dancing in the wind for everyone to see.

'Twas the Write Before Christmas: All is Calm

It's unbelievable, she thinks

and no one would understand

try as she may to explain

that beneath a star bright shining against an inky sky

amid the busyness of crowds moving through the streets

surrounded by bundles of hay

that stillness

and peace

and beauty

shine brighter than any star in little eyes staring widely back into her own.

It's unbelievable

really

as the world rushes by

how the moment she held him in her arms

fresh from her womb

fresh from heaven

it all seemingly stopped spinning.

Breathing in His scent

in the midst of the chaos

in the craze in the dizziness of life

how all is calm in the moments

she spends meeting His gaze with her own

and

holding open her palms to be filled with Life.

'Twas the Write Before Christmas: But I Have Promises to Keep

I spend the entire day trying to figure out which day of the week it actually is.

There are Christmas cards to address

cookies to finish baking

presents to wrap

rooms to clean

gifts to find

meals to make

friends to hug

little boys to snuggle

places to be

oh, the endless places to be ...


I find irony in the busyness during this time of year -- Advent, this season of waiting.

I half joke that Advent has too literally become a season of anticipated waiting ... waiting for the Christmas hustle to go and life to slow, return to normal pace.


All I really want to do is curl up on the couch, snuggle beneath a blanket, open my Bible and my journal and bask in the light of the Christmas tree

bask in the Light of Christmas

wait for the anticipated coming of celebration of a Savior

make more room for Him in this time

in this space

in these crowded and crunched days.

But I have promises to keep

and many {many many many many many} miles to go before I sleep.

Need a moment of inspiration? Link up here!

Five-Minute Friday: Stay

Some days I want to lay it all down

gently 

and quietly walk away. 

Return to the open spaces we once swam freely

among the sea of so many hours in the day

I had the luxury of wishing away 

the last few in the afternoon. 

Those days long passed

those long hours

used to scream at me

to do something significant

as I washed walls and windows and sticky fingers --

to be someone more than 

the stay-at-home mom, long-order cook 

and housewife extraordinaire.

And now as the hour hand races from number to number

and I scramble to make it from 

place to place

activity to activity

little body, to preschool body to strong arms

these short days whisper

to slow down 

return to  

that extraordinary ordinary

I'd so desperately wanted to escape. 

Bigger Picture Moments: Pushing Away from the Table {I Lost It}

In the early-morning rush of getting the boys out the door, I lost it over cinnamon apple oatmeal.

I lost it amid the heat rising from the hot bowl of breakfast he irritably pushed away from his place setting at the table, amid the heat rising from my own flushed and rushed body, fluttering about in a hurried shuffle to get in the car and begin an over-scheduled day.

From the moment I pressed my feet on the ground beside my bed, I felt a like a whirlwind of movement and thought, and despite trying to order my day by sinking myself into the the Word in the morning, I could not quiet myself enough to stand still let along sink and soak.

When tears of outrage came over the cinnamon apples being mixed IN the oatmeal instead of being served one the side

when the refusal to even try this breakfast came

when the thought of him having to sit through two hours of class in the morning and then the dentist, thus likely ensuing a meltdown before we made it to lunch,

steam began rising from my hot-headed rush

and words began firing out of my heated mouth

and I lost it over cinnamon apple oatmeal.

The heat of irritation, fueled by rush and movement, left my body so quickly through raised voice and regretful words that it left me solid frozen in my steps shortly after I huffed out of the dining room while my oldest cried about how it was "just oatmeal, mom."

It took fire burning strong and hot and fast and furious to bring me into stillness, an icicle of realization grounded in my kitchen that though I've long given care to never ever ever feed the bears spaghetti on days the hard days, the tough days

but have never given really thought to not overfilling my own plate

and making those days more likely.

And, so, today, I scoop onto the plate only what is necessary to sustain life

and tonight, we'll all push away from the table for a longer pause, fasting and resting in what is necessary for life only in the moments spread out before us.

{Oh the humbling experiences that parenting brings; shortly after my flames burned out, I got to eat some humble pie, apologize and reinforce that even when we are piping hot, we still treat each other with love and kindness and respect. I call this lessons from the trenches.}

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 HERE! 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.

Bigger Picture Moments: On community and creativity

I was desperate.

By last week Thursday, after weeks of feeling like we're at the over-saturation point with all the demands of life -- a small business in limbo, my new job, my writing and John's increasingly demanding full-time job -- bleeding over the lines we'd carefully drawn to protect our family life and our inner lives, we didn't just need to put the brakes on, we needed to full out stop the car, fling open the doors, get out and breathe together.

So one night we did. While that time was exactly what I needed with my husband, I still felt in need of refueling --  but I needed a stop that would take longer than one at the pump.

I needed nourishment and strength -- the kind you get only when you surrender from the road for an entire night after you've been driving wildly for days {weeks?} on end.

When life goes into overdrive, what suffers most {behind, unfortunately, our marriage when we're not careful} is my inner life. 

When my voice goes quiet here for lack of time or energy to write my heart out

when there are no hours to spend with people who get and love me

when prayers become quickly shot arrows into heaven

when stillness is found only in the few silent moments before drifting off to sleep

there's a slow sinking of my heart, my inner life into a sand trap of depression.

As we rested heavy into Saturday's Creative Soul with times of writing, reflecting, sharing and pouring our hearts out onto blank canvases spread before our hands forming Visual Prayers,  I was reminded that we weren't made for a life of long-term over-drive. 



But, rather, we created for a life of rest stops

where we refuel around the table

together

Photo courtesy of Melissa.

not just to eat but to be nourished.

where we reconnect through stories shared,

remembering where we've seen Faithfulness

weave into our interwoven lives.



where we refresh our souls through

Conversation that often happens in the quiet.

A weary traveler, I stopped in my desperation to refuel this past Saturday.

But instead of simply just filling up the tank,

I found renewal in the purpose of continuing the drive.

Link your Bigger Picture Moment at Corinne's!

{Interested in Creative Soul? Read more here! Also, we're doing it again, and we'll release details soon!}

Everyday Life: Brake

He messages me in the middle of the day.

It's not unusual, but it's more than the characteristic "I love you" or "good morning."

I read heaviness, words hanging like soggy sheets on the line.

I feel like we've gotten beat up in some ways. Maybe it's just that we are walking in fog and need a lamp to guide each step.

It resonates.

These past few weeks have been damp with fine mist, thick and heavy, hanging in the short, hurried conversations, in the rush of meals around the dining room table, in the quick sinking of bodies into the bed at night -- a fog we've been trying to feel our way through.

A fog so thick it's forcing us to slow from the rapid speed we've been driving because highbeam headlights are useless.

And blinding.

That afternoon before he leaves work I call him; we are supposed to go separate ways tonight -- me to an appointment, him to a meeting, the boys with a babysitter.

Instead, though, I ask, could we just brake?

Could we flip off the bright beams and pull over to the side of the road?

Come together and look at each other instead of straining our eyes to see out the windshield a few more miles beyond where we are?

He drops the road map, and we halt to a stop.

We fling open the doors for some air,

whisper prayers for clarity into the darkness, breathe in

Your Word is a lamp for my feet and light to my path. Psalm 119:105

We sit in the soft glow.

together.

in the heavy fog.

in the stillness.

and realize we can see the ground on which we're standing.

And for now

it's more than enough Light to see the next step.

{This piece was written live at our Creative Soul Writing Circle. More on this tomorrow! In the meantime, join a virtual Writing Circle.}

Thinking, That's All: On Busyness and Superficiality

"Superficiality is the curse of our age. The desperate need today is not for more intelligent people, more gifted people but for deep people." Richard Foster

In the busyness, the chaotic clutter of an over scheduled life, I felt this pang of loneliness in my heart that never really left.

Until about six months ago, I was so inundated with plans and to-do lists, that I couldn't even find time to have coffee with friends without scheduling it two weeks in advance.

I didn't think it was a problem at first; I was busy with really, really good stuff.

The stuff that suburban house-wife dreams are made of -- volunteering, Bible studies, attachment parenting group meetings, preschool meetings, meetings at our small business, MOPs meetings, babywearing meetings, church, blogging meetings.

Really, really good stuff.

Really, really good stuff that when laid out on a calendar seemed daunting and completely overwhelming.

And isolating.

And, erm, kind of empty.

And all of the sudden, I'm the guy with the trash bag bursting open in the middle of the garage and raising my hands in complete anxiety toward the heavens while sporting a robe and slippers and wondering if this is as good as it gets: {Watch this if that visual doesn't make sense}



The Emerging Journey: An Invitation... from VANTAGEPOINT3 on Vimeo.

Isn't there more to living than this -- this busy, overcommitted, over scheduled, relationships-on-the-backburner kind of life?

That's the question I was asking myself about a year ago when my mentor extended an invitation to apply for Vantage Point3, the Emerging Journey at our church.

She was vague about this nine-month-long, homework-included VP3 class, but I was intrigued, nonetheless.

Without ever knowing what I was getting myself into, I submitted an application.

And about three weeks into the class, questions about who God is and who I am and what God really wanted me to do with my life began to rock my world, much the way an earthquake shakes up a house -- knocking out old foundation blocks, jiggling and revealing faulty connections, ripping apart loose beams.

But God, the gracious carpenter, rebuilder that He is, moved in and began repairing the foundations, relying the bricks and reinforcing the beams.

In that rebuilding, I began to understand that busyness did not mean important.

Busyness didn't mean successful.

And busyness didn't mean productive.

Busyness was the bricks I'd haphazardly tried to shove to fill holes of loneliness and need for success into my own cracking foundation.

And while I was shoving replacement parts, regardless of whether they were built to do such a job, into places that needed reinforcement, it felt study.

Until it didn't.

VP3 helped me sort through these thoughts and take the time I desperately needed to reflect on what exactly I'd been doing.

And what God had been up to while I was busy doing whatever I'd deemed important.


During our leader training this week, I reflected on the journey I'd taken with VP3 and I began hearing the words of Richard Foster with ears that hear:

"Superficiality is the curse of our age. The desperate need today is not for more intelligent people, more gifted people but for deep people."

Often, busyness breeds intelligence, skill and utilizes giftedness.

But it steals the time needed to become deep people --

the time required to pay attention in the stillness to what God is up to in our own lives and in the world around us and in our neighbor's lives.

the time it takes to reflect on who God is and who we've been created to be.

the time necessary for building relationships and vesting our giftedness into people who are also part of our journey.

I know for me, I spent so much time building my resumes and building my skills and building my own small kingdom, that I totally missed the part with which God's always been most concerned about building: my character, the depth of my person, the foundations of my soul.

If superficiality is the curse of our age, busyness most certainly is the spell that casts the curse.

Each day I fight being bound up in its empty spell, but it's a battle I've deemed worthy of waging.

{If this strikes a chord in your heart, maybe VP3 might find a home in your heart, your church. If you're interested, I'd be happy to connect you with the coordinators of the program.}

****

Today as I begin my third year of Vantage Point 3, year one, with a new group of journeyers, I still find these truths I wrote more than a year ago to be applicable and persistent. Would you pray for our this new group and this new year as we walk together on our journey of discovering who God is, who we are and what God is already up to in our lives? Blessings on your Wednesday, friends. 

Five-Minute Friday: Focus

There is soft gray smoke gently billowing from the chimney of my neighbor's house on a cool September morning, dancing beautifully as it rises.

It presses against blue sky, and I can see it rise amid the shadows of the still-green leaves on tall, thick trees.

But it fades quickly once it hits sunlight, and my focus is no longer on the intricacy of its dance, the gracefulness of its movement, the beauty of its rich color.

Instead my gaze is drawn to the strands of golden autumnal Light

and it rests there

in fullness

in gladness

in peace.



I whisper-pray, too, from behind the foggy window in my dining room

for this moment to spread, seep deep into my bones

so that in the steady movement of my own body

my own mind

my own heart

in the everydayness of life

would focus less on the dance performed in the shadows

and more on the radiant light into which the movement flows.

Everyday Life: So We Eat Cake

He's looking out the floor-length glass windows at tracks as a commuter train sleekly brakes to a halt and then swooshes off toward the city, as if to say that a quick exchange of passengers was merely just a blip in its day.

And I guess that's why we are here, eating lunch together just the two of us, though I don't completely know it until the moment the train jets into the distance, E's small hands pressed against the glass, his blue eyes still glued to the end car that's almost out of sight -- I don't want to be that train.

That's been my whole week, flying off from one destination to the next, slowing only enough to stop for quick pick ups and drop offs and pauses, kisses exchanged deftly before the engine again revs and roars.

But not today.

Not today especially.

He'll be newly three just before bedtime, and I want to linger in two for just a little while longer.

We wander back to our table in the quiet cafe, and soon we are talking about our lunch as we indulge.

There are meetings and there is work looming in the near hours, and I want to throw my phone with its clock and schedule across the room to shatter into a thousand pieces but instead just tuck it away into the depths of my shoulder bag telling myself that truly this schedule won't last long. And truly, we will find ourselves back in the beautiful grooves of tracks that run long, slow freight cars.

I sing happy birthday a few times to his delighted ears and he tells me about light sabers and birthdays in broken sentences while I just eat him up.

I can't resist capturing him still in a few photos, and he looks at me and commands through giggles "no more peetures, mom!"

I sense that it's time to pack up our lunch date and head to the next destination.

But he says "birfday cake on E's birfday?"

There are a dozen reasons not to.

And then there's him.

So we meander up to the counter, pick the perfect slice of lemon and almond polenta cake and return to our seats.

A fork in his hand, he takes a big bite and then scoops one for me.

"You too, mom?"



There are dozens of reasons not to {including not having had anything with more than a hint of sugar here and there for months}.

And then there's him.

So we eat cake

together

train stalled out on the tracks, amid the horns honking, people waiting, giving pause to our runs as the world rushes by around us

and we are better for it.

Living Healthfully: How to Stay Well During Cold and Flu Season

It used to be that if someone so much as sneezed in my general direction, I'd come down with some sort of full-fledged version of whatever virus or bug the offending sneezer had to offer.

For as long as I can remember fall, winter and spring meant nothing good for my poor hacking lungs, tender nose and achy muscles, and I became well acquainted with my friends lotion tissues, throat lozenges and, of course, antibiotics. 

Sweet relief only came in April for a few weeks or so before flowers started blooming and allergy season blossomed right along beside them. 

In a turn of unexpected awesomeness and grace, my allergies dwindled to almost nothing during my first pregnancy just five summers ago and for the first time ever I could enjoy being outside without my tag alongs of tissue boxes and allergy medicine. 

Even after giving birth, I remained mostly allergy free but I still struggled with illness every September through April, catching some sort of bug or virus almost monthly just until this past year. 

When I began cleansing my body this past January in an effort to reestablish my gut's health with whole, clean foods and cultured foods after a terrible six months of irritable bowel-like symptoms, I noticed that my digestion wasn't the only thing that improved: my immune system did as well. 

In fact, by the grace of God, I've only been sick with a cold once during the past eight months, and I've avoided the stomach flu twice when it's taken up residency in our house on two separate occasions. 

Aside from grace, I've noted several changes that have aided in my staying well, and after researching the validity of each practice, I knew I had to share my experience {in hopes that the minute I press publish my whole house doesn't come down with some sort of ailment in a sudden twist of irony!}.

And though there's no magic pill or herb or supplement for staying well during cold and flu season, there are plenty of practices, that when combined, offer hope even to someone who always seems to play magnet to germs.

Say No to Sugar

I know. I know. No, really; I know. 

Sugar is a tempting little devil and it tastes so darn good that it's hard to even think about saying no to the teaspoon in your morning cup of joe or the chocolate chip cookie ice cream awaiting you after the kiddos are fast asleep. Or maybe you don't think you eat all that much to begin with. Or perhaps you just don't think you can survive the 2 o'clock in the afternoon meltdown that ensues when your toddler wants some sort of sweet treat and you deny him that goodness. 

I know. I've been there, there and there. 

But after a solid six months of life with extremely limited natural sugars {I didn't even eat fruit!} and now having reintroduced small amounts of fruit and tiny amounts of honey, I can feel a major difference not only in  in my energy levels but also my body's ability to fight off stress and illness as opposed to this time last year when I ate some processed foods and more sugars than I realized. {Let's be clear: I feel much better with moderate amounts of natural sugar in my diet than no sugar at all!}

Really. Sugar in excess suppresses the immune system. And aside from that, there are about 76 more ways excess sugar consumption damages or hampers our bodies and minds and emotions.

So as painful as it may seem, cutting processed sugars out and eating natural ones in a good moderation may be one of your best defenses against getting sick. If you can't fathom cutting out the sugar daily, at least remove all of it when you feel an illness coming on. Since reintroducing even small amounts of natural sugar like fruits and honey, I've noticed that if I back off for a days when I feel even a hint of a sneeze coming on that my immune system responds better to invaders. 

Say Yes to {Pro} Bugs

Homemade Ginger Lemon Water Kefir

Fermented foods like real sauerkraut and drinks like homemade milk kefir and water kefir are some of the best preventive medicines for fighting the cold or flu. 

Because 80 percent of our immune system function begins in the gut, it's important to consume cultured foods like homemade kefirs because they often contain hundreds of species of beneficial bacteria and yeasts.

And once consumed, these probiotics take their jobs within their new homes very seriously; the moment they are introduced into their new residency they get to work cleaning. Good bacteria and yeast must remain in high population within the gut so as to keep any detrimental bacteria or viruses in check -- as long as the good guys are numerous, they'll keep the undesirables at bay. 

{Also, our bodies actually are made up of more bacteria than cells; so think about it -- we need to keep the good bacteria in abundance in order to keep our immune systems firing well.}

Hold the Light at Night

On your iPhone or your TV or whatever else that engages you come about 9:30 at night so your body and mind can begin winding down. The light glowing from these screens actually awakens our bodies, which can delay sleep. And we need our sleep, especially during cold and flu season because our body makes major repairs during sleep as well as cleanses certain organs.

Chinese medicine says that between 9:30 and 11:30 p.m. your body restores your adrenal glands, which are responsible for giving us rushes of energy when we need them most. Some of us, especially those who like to burn the midnight oil consistently and others of us who bear heavy stress loads, start to wear down our adrenal glands, fatiguing them, which then in turn begins to decrease immune system function. And that's just one example of how tiny glands even determine our immune system response!

Our other major organs and systems also experience restoration and rebuilding while we rest, as the body increases cell division and protein synthesis during sleep. And we need all of these systems to work well in order to keep illness at bay, so uninterrupted sleep is integral to fighting off infections.

Uninterrupted sleep is sometimes impossible with small children, but doing what we can to promote it for both the kiddos and ourselves goes a long way:

* Keeping the bedrooms cool -- about 65 degrees -- seems to help the body rest best
* Sleeping in darkness also promotes uninterrupted sleep -- that means turning off nightlights, keeping cell phones in the next room {we have a charging station in our upstairs hallway}, dimming clock faces, etc.
* The white noise of a fan often provides a peaceful background noise for maintaining steady sleep

Let Go

One of my major pet peeves is when people tell me to just relax and let go of the stressors I'm feeling heavy on my shoulders -- as if that were an easy and effortless effort! Truth be told, I'm mostly go-go-go personality who thrives on energy and activity, and I like being active and busy. It seems like stress follows those of us who like living life in the fast lane. Unfortunately, though, if we're ever moving and always engaged in busyness and activity, we're likely wearing down those adrenal glands we just talked about, thus weakening our immune systems.



Aside from learning there is beauty in slowing down the fast pace of life, I've learned how to incorporate rest and relaxation into packed days:

* quiet time in the morning spent in prayer and reading my Bible
* 10 minutes during the late morning spent snuggling on the couch and reading books to the kids
* enjoying a glass of tea and staring off into the sky in the afternoon while the kids play and the dishwasher runs
* finding forms of exercise that incorporate stretching and focused meditation



Even just five minutes of quiet meditation and prayer a few times per day can reduce stress levels and restore the body and mind.

Maybe you might need more restoration time than five minutes a few times a day? We have a perfect all-day retreat, Creative Soul, coming up at the end of September, and registration is now open for this day filled with connecting, creating and calming.

Don't Feed; Nourish

When making food choices, especially during cold and flu season, keep one important mantra in mind:

Don't feed cravings; instead nourish the body. 

When craving something sweet, don't turn to refined foods filled with flours and processed sugars; turn to something seasonally available to satisfy instead:

Cinnamon butter apples and coconut flour bread makes a nutritious and delicious treat

* apples coated with cinnamon and nutmeg and baked at 350 degrees in pastured butter
* pumpkin pie coconut bread {recipe coming soon!}
* baked apple pie oatmeal

Instead of eating foods that are abundant in ef="http://www.culturesforhealth.com/waugar, packaged, found in the bakery section of the store --, eat ones that are packed full of the vitamins and minerals that support our bodies' many functions, including our immune systems.

Everyday Life: On Vacation

 

"As the sun on summer days gladdens us with beams more warm and bright than at other times...so is it with the mercy of God; it hath its golden hours; its days of overflow, when the Lord magnifieth his grace."  - Charles Spurgeon

One glorious week spent beneath August sun on the sands of a tiny lake in Michigan, and I find myself full.

Full from a feast of gladness.

Every now and then we have to get brave

and brake

in order to break up this steady daily rhythms of the rushrushswoosh of time.

Every now and then

{despite the pull to just keep swimming through the currents}

life needs to be interrupted by

waves gently sweeping over sandy beach

toes immersed in clear water

laughter erupting from little lips

crickets singing in the crisp air of dusk

whispers uttered beneath stars, amid burning embers.

And then

like the golden summer light of August, of summer making way to fall

mercy begins to drip thick

like honey from a hive

as the heart hears

and the eyes see

and the lips confess

all of the small and beautiful blessings

we breeze over in the day to day

but realize in full

when we brake

and break

from the spin cycle of the everyday.

Thinking, that's All: We're not in Chicago anymore

Beneath afternoon sun and clouds, only the shadows of tree leaves and branches danced besides our own, shading tiny stretches of sidewalk beneath our feet, as we walked with purpose and precision in search of lunch.

Though shops and restaurants, boutiques and businesses lined the brick-paved walkway, almost all had signs propped in windows quietly sharing a secret that those of us from the always vibrating and lively Chicagoland didn't know:

Closed Sundays.

"I guess we're not in Chicago anymore," I'd said aloud and shrugged my shoulders, half amused, half irritated.




As we walked the beautiful yet deserted streets of downtown Kalamazoo finding only a smattering of open doors, only a few other bodies moving along the streets, I felt our pace noticeably slow.

We drifted away from the task at hand and lunch as planned as we slipped into conversation and an rogue open doorway for a tea and coffee before we headed back to the cabin to make a meal of garden veggies and turkey slices that found their way into the vacation cooler we'd packed just two days before.

And somewhere amid closed doors and that one that opened, a wave of relaxation swept over me; as the sleepy city rested and breathed, I found myself doing the same.

When we returned to the cabin, nestled against the still blue waters of a little lake tucked into rolling hills just about 20 miles beyond the little-big city, I quenched my hunger for food, but the one for that feeling of deep rest lingered long in my chest.

And it left me really ready to let go of the shoulds and needs and musts for this week of scheduled family vacation -- this upcoming week where I'd told myself I'd press the brakes and take a break from all of our normal life affairs {how lucky are we that we have good friends who babysit our garden and our house and our business?!}, including writing -- my very first intentional writing sabbatical.

No deadlines. No schedules. No memes. No edits. No publishing. No work. No feedback.

Just my pen and lots of open, empty journal pages while my family and I enjoy time together and the beautiful spread of this lovely lay of far-from-home land.



Because, no, we're not in Chicago anymore.

And, you know, that was the point all along.

*****

While I'm on my hiatus from blogging, I have the privilege of introducing you to my little sister! 

Jill's going to be here all week telling stories -- like how she was a rock-star during the home-birth delivery of her daughter and maybe also about how our mother gave us mullet hair cuts when we were younger along with an apology letter she penned her sweet baby E regarding the former hair debacle and genetics. 

 She'll probably also try to tell you about the time I was pulling her in a wagon and went around a corner too fast and tipped the wagon thus breaking her finger. And she'll probably tell you I was being a little snot when I did that, and probably, you'll believe her because she's the charming, younger sister ... and if you do, we can still be friends. Because I don't blame you; she *is* charming.

She'll be hosting Bigger Picture Moments  HERE this THURSDAY, too, so be sure to come and share life Thursday this week as she hosts her first link up!

Everyday Life: The Weight of Even Good

On a Monday, I read aloud the letter slowly and deliberately for the first time. 

We sit around my dining room table as the boys play not-so-quietly in the adjoining living room.

Our hands -- they are so very full, I explain, smiling at the goodness of blessings in arms. 

Our employees, who are more like family, friends, they nod as my words unfold and then come together again realizing that this letter I'm speaking isn't one of just gratitude but rather one explaining our decision to seek out new hands to take the ropes of our Curves. 

Our hands, I say again, they are too full.

I can feel the heaviness lifting out of my arms when the understanding comes pouring out of their lips and shows in their knowing nods. 

Everyone knows what I'm saying is true, and I probably was the last one to realize it anyway. I've been feeling the heaviness we've been carrying since the first of this year brought about an unexpected health journey and the emergence of two growing boys who require more than just extra muscle to haul their lengthening bodies but also extra endurance and strength to shoulder the pangs of getting older. 

Then God, being good and being God, well, he's been pulling me toward living out the strengths He's given me, by not just opening doors, but hand-crafting them with only a carpenter's skill out of seemingly enormous and solid and unlikely walls. 

I can almost feel the stress in my arms when I think I about trying to carry it all ...

or when I think about trying to strong-arm my will against His out of the simple fear of change. 

We don't entertain the thought of carrying the entire good but heavy load -- the club, the boys, our marriage, writing, the ministries, the new callings -- for longer than it takes to pray and seek council and hear

that something has to be given into new hands

because we simply can't carry any of it well, if we keep dropping pieces of everything along the way.

And, so on a Monday, I turn my palms up and unclasp my grip

willing to let another set of hands unload from our arms 

some of the weight of blessing we're no longer meant to carry.

Everyday Life: Rest and Rain

It rained on our vacation while we we were at the lake.

I prayed it would. 

Normally, I don't pray for weather beyond begging to be spared from two feet of snow in April.  

But we've been entrenched in this forever-long feeling drought; this summer has been one of endlessly sunshiney days with hardly any lost to rain or chill.

And we've done what most midwesterners who've been cooped up during long prairie winters do -- we've taken advantage of the sunny skies, filling our days with parks and swimming and walks and friends and cramming each one from sun up until sun down. 

Though it doesn't show as obviously as it does on the trees, the plants, the flowers, all distressed with their brown leaves, drooping stems, wilting blooms, I began to notice the harshness of the deep-summer elements taking a toll on our family last week. I felt like I was at my breaking point before we left for the lake this past Friday as I impatiently barked orders at my squabbling boys. 


We've been feeling just as scorched as our plants. 

The rain that would normally send us inside for a quiet afternoon or inside day of play hasn't come. 

We've been as out of rhythm as the weather. 

So Saturday, after a long day in the sun, when the wind started blowing and clouds started thickening into gray just over the lake while we were getting ready for dinner Saturday night, I prayed it wouldn't just rain on our parade


but that it would pour

because the parade has long needed a reason to stop

and just be still.

There's growth in the sun, yes.

But there's refreshment, rhythm repaired in the steadiness of a good rain.

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. 

Everyday Life: Summer Liberation

Today is G's last day of school, which means summer vacation begins this afternoon!

I thought about making a summer must-do list and checking adventures off one by one. 

But. 

I'm trying to declutter our lives, simplify our schedules and make enough space to burn with passion -- so adding more to-do lists to the fridge would be sort of defeating. 

Instead, I've been thinking about all the liberation summer brings.

So here's what you won't catch me doing this summer:

Copious Amounts of Cooking 

Yeah, I said it. I'm not going to spend a bunch of time in the kitchen preparing meals. Of course, we're not going to feasting on boxed dinners or processed food either. Rather, we'll be eating plenty of fresh food from the garden, grilling our meats and veggies and rarely turning on the oven. 

And if my kids want celery and almond butter for lunch with a side of blueberries? Cherry tomatoes right from the vine? Raisins and nuts?  Go for it, littles. Go for it. I'm not doing the food fight this summer. {But I will still be culturing my coconuts and veggies and giving the old Vitamix smoothie-blending workouts; I haven't totally lost my mind.}

Grocery Shopping the Middle Aisles

Speaking of the food fight that I'm not engaging in during meal times -- well, I'm not doing the food fight during snacks either, which pretty much means I'll be bypassing the middle aisles of the grocery store a large percentage of the time.

With so much fresh fruit and veggies, which both boys like one or both, we'll be snacking on easy-to-prepare snacks like strawberries and nuts, pears and peanut butter and carrots and hummus. Because we are NOT spending all summer debating which snacks are sometimes snacks and which ones are always snacks. 

Scheduling 

Even though we're involved in really good activities and we enjoy so much time that is scheduled and planned, we're not filling the calendar days this summer. 

Today, the sun was bright shining and beautiful and it was so nice to say yes to a friend's text message asking if we wanted to meet at the park in our neighborhood. When weeks are totally scheduled, though, it makes those kinds of impromptu fun dates impossible. 

I kind of want to see what happens when we wake up and just live the day. 

New Projects

My brain twin and I are masterminds of projects. But this summer, as soon as we wrap up the first-ever Little Lake County Green Guide, we're writing down ideas and tabling them until school restarts. Mostly, I've decided to say no to any new projects simply so I'll have some time to work on my long-awaited and already started e-book and its corresponding site. 

Sorting Socks

Now that I have my barefoot shoes for working out, I'm tossing all of our socks into a bin and saving them for cold weather; I've spent way too much time lately trying to tame the sock explosion.

And I'm allowing my children to buy and wear the croc shoes I've been adamantly against for several years. {Do I have the only kids in the free world who hate wearing sandals every day? Why do they prefer gym shoes?}

Fight the Daylight

Bedtime is a huge struggle during the summer months because of the lingering light -- this summer, so long as we don't have crabs scurrying around the house or yard, we're not enforcing lights-out bedtime at the normal 7:30-8:00 time period. 

And because we aren't scheduling, it's no biggie if we sleep later in the morning and eat breakfast at 10 a.m. 

So. What are you NOT doing this summer so as to live the simple life for a few months out of the year? Please share your ideas!

Thinking, That's All: The Space of Rest

We all quickly pour ourselves in through the door, breathing out the chaos of the day and inhaling the quiet of the space stretched out before us

Weekly we come together to slow down, to discuss life in this foreign land of busy, seven polar explorers* trying together to navigate the harsh terrain of our over-busy, over-scheduled lives in bodies that weren't meant to pushgopushpushgo.

You know that jar analogy? one of the seven asks, a half smile spread across his face. The one with the rocks and the sand and how if you put the rocks -- the big pieces of life -- into the jar first and then put the sand -- all the small, less important stuff -- in, everything fits?

The rest of us nod, all too familiar with the jar and the overflow of the sand spilling out everywhere and the rocks never all fitting.

It's a lie, he says, spitting out the words like bitter fruit.

I lean my head in to really hear what he's saying, and he continues.

All of that sand, all of those rocks -- you just can't fit it all. Some of that sand, some those rocks just have to go, he finishes, relieved to have spoken up against the prevalent thought that if we just ordered it all right it would fit.

The jar is only so big, someone else pipes in. 

It's true, I say. There's only so much space. 

We sit around this truth like its a fire radiating warmth into cool arctic air, explorers intent on thawing cold noses, hands, hearts that have been captured by numbness.

I know this all too well; time and space have long been rigid squares on the flipped open calendar I'm forever trying to pen my life into.

Thing is, though, just like the jar, all of the life I'm trying to cram in doesn't fit in two by two inch squares.

Just like we can't make the jar bigger, there's no way to add inches to the calendar boxes.

And, the truth be admitted, we weren't made to fill every crevice of time, every inch of the jar until both are overflowing out of control.

Truth be admitted, we were meant to rest, remember every one day out of seven.

Sabbath.

It's a  foreign sounding word here in the arctic -- archaic and bound up in thoughts of rules and judgement and nos.

But at its roots in means rest and remember.

After we unlearn all of what it isn't, breathe in a bit of understanding that was lost in translation of restirction and culture and supposed righteousness, what remains seems to be this enormous box with a ribbon.

And all I can ponder is if I'm really going to unwrap it instead of just picking at the paper.

*Annie Dilliard first related our journey here in this time and space to that of a journey of polar explorers who find that they cannot do life alone in such harsh elements. Her short essay appeared in our VantagePoint3 material that detailed what it looks like to live in community. Our group of seven is journeying together through year one of VP3. What we discuss in our groups is sacred, and I sought out permission before publishing from the group member who shared about the jar before sharing here his revelations that have lead to truth in my mind, just to be clear. :)

This piece is a product of our Bigger Picture Blogs Writing Circles, where writers come together virtually to share a work and then offer encouragement while giving constructive criticism while applying benevolent pressure to others in the circle.