For those kinds of days {the hards ones especially}

It was that kind of morning -- hard.

Probably, you know the kind — the one where everyone wakes up grumpy and out of sorts. 

The smallest child grabs things from her brothers’ hands, sending them both into fits of irritation and her into fits of giggles. The oldest boy-child wakes confused and a little irate while the oldest girl is largely annoyed. My youngest boy is on day three of illness, and yesterday my balance went way out of whack. As my husband tries to go through with his preconceived plans for the morning, I boil over in the midst of frustration and physical struggle and throw two toys onto the living room floor while refereeing a dispute between the youngest three and then cry. And then the three youngest children, all baffled, surround me and hug me while trying to make sense of it all. 

So that kind of morning. 

During the day, it’s no wonder that I find myself struggling against the way of panic and anxiety about everything within our four walls and, well, heck, about terrorism and orphans and all the tragedy that goes on around the outside of our four walls. The whole gamut. Because in my head, at least, when it rains it pours.

As I tuck the two littles in for a nap, I pray with them, and I pray aloud a very heartfelt, honest prayer, one that’s a plea for help and one that’s a certain cry of surrender. 

Because every now and then, more frequently this past year, I find myself keenly aware that what I’m trying to carry is too heavy to shoulder. 

I am reminded of this in increasing frequency. 

Most lately, I’m reminded of it when I’m outside walking with my oldest boy-child as he memorizes a verse he wants to learn. 

“Do not worry about anything; instead pray about everything. Tell God what you need and thank Him for what He has already done. Then you will experience God’s peace, which is far more wonderful than the human mind can understand.” Philippians 4:6-7

Today I’m at the end of my rope. Today I take seriously this invitation to tell God what I need and thank Him for what He’s already done. 

I muster all my tiny faith, and I pray bold prayers and ask for miracles, small and big and in between because with God nothing is impossible or too little or too big. It all matters to Him because everything is within his matters. 

And then I come downstairs to make some medicine out of lemons and garlic and ginger -- when I hear something. 

A voice. 

A man's voice.

And his voice is saying, "we learn how to pray in our family. We know that God hears and cares. We ask Him for wisdom and help from above and thank Him for answered prayers."

For a moment, I think maybe I'm going crazy. 

Maybe I’m losing my mind. Maybe God is literally talking to me -- and then I remember the book a friend bought us in honor of our forever family celebration, and I'm certain one of the kids has sneaked this beautiful narrated, talk-aloud book into this room during nap time.

I head toward the stairs to get the book from my youngest son, because I’m certain he has it and that’s why it’s talking, but there it is, sitting closed on the front bench in the foyer. 

Normally it only talks when it's open. 

But there it is -- closed.

I open it to the first page thinking it was the words from there that maybe could have been triggered and stuck.

But nope. Not page one or two or three but page four.

Specifically page four.

And at the bottom of the page, this verse-- "Your father knows what you need before you ask Him." Matthew 6:8

God's literal voice. 

I'm taken aback, but I'm not shocked. 

God shows up in our mess, and our mess is often so often He shows. 

It’s like a companion verse to the honest prayers I just prayed.  And following is the loud and startling reminder that God already knows. 

He already knows. 

I have prayed for what He already knows, and He has acknowledge my prayer. 

And so what follows the sharing of what’s on our hearts, according to Paul in his letter to the Philippians?

Thanksgiving. 

My heart, in the midst of chaos that is my own and chaos that I cannot claim, lands there figuratively just a few days before we land on there on the calendar. 

And I’m reminded anew that we can always be in a state of thanksgiving because God ever exists in a state of giving us something for which we can give thanks. 

He is a God who already knows. 

A God who cares. 

A God who keeps giving so we too can keep giving thanks. 

Because His love for us never changes. 

Even on the hard days. 

Especially on the hard days. 

When Worry is Your Drug of Choice

I stumble into worry the way an alcoholic stumbles into a bar after a long day spent trying to keep it all together.

"I'm just here for a few minutes," I stammer ... but before I know it I've spent the entire night drinking cocktails of what ifs and mights and maybes. I leave drunk on fear, and I wallow in the certainty of death ... before waking up in the morning and realizing I've done it all over again: I've died more times than I've lived this week, and yet I'm still breathing.

It's a waste. A waste of time, a waste of breath, a waste of energy.

A waste.

And is that how I want to summarize my life?

Wasted, drunk on fear. Wallowed in and swallowed by worry.

There is a beckoning of Grace nodded in my direction each morning as I walk in the shame of another binge, a gift from Heaven waiting to be received.

And I? I eye it wearily and mistake the offerings of grace for that of disappointment and anger, wonder if I'm still so drunk that I can't even determine between the two.

When will I live like I am living instead of like I am already half-way dead?

You asked who of us by worrying could add a single second to our lives. I realize the simplicity of this truth. And I also realize something more that was written in between the lines.

Who of us by worrying could erase seconds of our lives

moments that could be spent smelling the sweetness of a preschooler's hair

or the warmth of the sun shining boldly through the cold of March winds

the embrace of strong arms around my waist

and the faint smell of winter melting into spring just outside my window.

If worrying empties today of its strength

then I want to empty my heart of worry.

I want to fast from fears, forget even taking one sip of the drink that pulls me under.

I won't swallow it any longer

because I won't allow it to swallow me whole.

In the watering holes of my mind

I empty my bottles of fear

and I drink of the grace

You've poured for me instead.

Everyday Life: On Miracles

I've lost track of time in the long summer days and short nights during this second round of hosting our host daughter, and I've neglected to write all of what I've so desperately wanted to remember about this time in our lives where miracles have rained down on us like soft, sweet drops of water on a thirsty land.

It was so dry for so long after Selah passed from this time into eternity, and I was parched last summer and praying and begging God for a miracle. I'd begged Him to fill the empty that was aching inside the hollow spaces of my heart.

As I began slowly taking those empty pockets and the ones filled with all of the memories that left me bitter and weeping and angry, as I slowly and gently began giving them voice and giving them over and really receiving the love God has been lavishing on me, life began to slowly and steadily change.

While circumstances greatly changed, too, I'm convinced more of what has changed is my heart.

The miracles that have played out before our eyes in the time and space of the past year have been great and deserve a space all of their own -- I mean, we've been praying for a daughter, the boys asking for a sister and here we are standing on the edge of having our heart's cry turn reality; greater still, though, is the miracle that has played out in my heart: the realization that I am deeply loved by God, and that I need to deeply love myself.

I thought for sure that I had loved myself, but when I began to ask questions of myself about my actions toward myself and my thoughts toward myself and my love toward myself, I realized I'd actually been eating the lie that speaking the word love equates actually loving.

It doesn't.

Our actions speak much louder than our words -- not just toward others but also toward ourselves.

As I began taking this to the Lord in prayer, I began realizing that I hadn't been loving myself through actions or thoughts or words.

"When will I lose this weight?"

"I'm sorry I'm always so thoughtless."

"I always forget everything."

"I suck at this mothering thing."

And the kicker -- I asked myself if I was treating myself the way Jesus would treat me. All I could do was shake my head in wonder at how far I was from really living in the grace and love and truth of Christ.

For the longest time, I've come to realize, I had accepted Christ's forgiveness  ... but I never accepted the grace He offers for us to leave behind the guilts and shames of those things for which we're not even sure why we feel guilty and shamed ... for those things which we're not even consciously carrying shame and guilt. The subconscious is a beast. And since we operate out of our subconscious 95 percent of the time, I figured I'd better pay attention to what I've been doing because it was telling me a lot about what I actually believe.

And what I'd been believing was that I was not enough.

Not good enough. Not thin enough. Not healthy enough. Not fit enough to be a mother or a wife. Not pretty enough. Not smart enough. Just plainly and simply not enough.

It's amazing what happens when we start giving the lies we've been living to a living and loving God.

It's amazing what happens when we start believing and accepting what Christ actually says about us in John 15 -- that we are chosen, we are his friends, we are beloved.

And it's amazing what happens when we start treating ourselves that way.

A miracle, indeed.

Interested? Here's the self-talk I began changing:

Before: "I want to lose weight because I'm uncomfortable with the way I look."
Now: "I love every part of myself. And every part of me tells a story. My body does so much."

Before: "I'm so fat."
Now: "I have fat on my body, but that's not who I am."

Before: "I suck at this motherhood thing."
Now: "I love being a mom even during the tough moments."

Before: "I always forget everything."
Now: "Forgetting is part of life; I'll try to do it differently next time."

Motherhood: When You Want to Run Screaming From the Mission

Call it the perfect storm.

I went away on a retreat last Wednesday and then headed out for a conference early the following morning; I didn't return until mid morning Monday because of an unexpected delay, so my family was out of its groove for a good six days.

Nonetheless, I was SO excited to come home. I missed my boys, and even just thinking about their sweet little voices while I was gone made me teary. I missed John, too, and I wished he were with me often.

And then I arrived back, and all chaos inside these four walls I call home ensued. The boys, in rare form after a weekend of special everything with their dad and grandparents, were out of routine and out of sorts.

And they have been driving me out-of-my-mind insane.

Which is ironic, because I spent this weekend deeply pondering motherhood and how it is an unexpected joy in which I never could have guessed I'd find so much purpose and fulfillment and meaning. Before I met John I was pretty set on becoming a journalist who covered foreign affairs and wrote eye-opening feature stories about the faces behind those front-page news headlines. One of my college professors told me that if I stuck with journalism, I could be a Pulitzer Prize winner. And so that was a dream that called to my heart and was the epitome of fulfillment to a young heart that pulsed justice and understanding.

This past weekend during the conference in beautiful Chattanooga, I was reminded of a conference I attended three years ago. Back then I had given up on my dream of foreign reporting and pulitzer prizes and traded them for writing a best selling book and becoming a big blogger with a big following.  But something happened at that conference that radically changed my definition of fulfillment and success; during a Q&A session at the conference three years ago, Sally Clarkson said something that resonated deeply: "The greatest books I have ever written are {the names of her children}."

I was reminded of this because during our travels this past weekend, I thought I'd lost a precious necklace during our travels to Chattanooga, a necklace I'd received at that conference, hand-stamped with the word love and John 13:35: "By this all people will know that you are my disciples, if you have love for one another."


As I frantically searched for it this past weekend, I shared the story of how the Spirit, heavy and persistent, buried that image, that thought, that mission of motherhood deep inside my heart.


That thought, that verse, it fit together inside my heart and it challenged me into an understanding that this job of motherhood was, indeed, important and beautiful and meaningful and lovely and pleasing to God. I accepted mothering as my primary career for this season at that conference, gave it to God and I've asked Him often since to bless it abundantly and awesomely.

I've thought of that almost daily as I've mothered my boys, the necklace I often wear around my heart a reminder of my mission -- to write beautiful books of love on the hearts of my boys and have it show through their lives.

That mission -- after the search for that necklace -- was fresh on my mind as we looked in the Bible at what it means to walk in the courage of faith.

I was challenged this weekend to remember that we must walk in the courage of faith in all of our life missions so that we can have life and have it abundantly.

And also so that we can live in the freedom of God's promises to His beloveds instead of as slaves bonded in fear and worry. If our faith is to run deep and true and real, we must be strong, take heart and choose to steady our minds on the Truth of His word instead of the fears and worries of this world.

I was challenged to dig deep into His word and apply it in my life in all situations, to all of my missions -- even the beautiful and sticky and complex mess of motherhood included.

That includes raising my children in a world that is broken and full of hardships and sadness.

That includes not walking in fear but rather faith as we continue to pursue growing our family in whatever way will bring God glory.

And that includes remembering that my children are His children first ... that I am His child before I am anyone else.

I needed this  -- these specific course-corrections for the Bigger Picture Mission and this specific mission. Because a mission played out in fear instead of faith probably would end in crash-and-burn style ... I needed to be reminded of the best practices of writing so that I could best write {according to the Great Editor and Chief} the books of my boys -- books others will read by watching their lives as they grow and become adults who do justly, love mercy and walk humbly with their God {Micah 6:8}.

I needed it for the big picture of my motherhood mission  ...

and for the mission of mothering just this week after the perfect storm of unusual bred enough chaos to send me running and screaming back to Chattanooga, where the missionary was on a refueling from the mission field.

Instead, though, I press on toward the goal, practice bravery, take heart.

And take tonight off of bedtime duty so that I don't actually go legitimately crazy.

{Also, I found my necklace. It wasn't lost; I actually left it at home in my 4:45 a.m. departing time stupor. And I'm glad I did because of what it brought to mind. I guess there's something good about 4:45 a.m.}

Bigger Picture Moments: At the intersection of Gay Marriage and Abortion Poltics and Being Cool

Probably he lied.

I cupped his five-year-old face in my hands, his cheeks still round enough to remind me that he's not all that old, and I asked him earnestly, softly if he had stretched the truth and why.

Why would you stretch the truth out of the shape of reality? Why would you lie to your friends, son?

It cascades out of his mouth, a waterfall of truth spilling over his lips after the damn was broken by the sheer force of a genuine inquiry. 

"Because I want to be cool."

We all do, baby.

We all want to be cool.

We all want other people to look at us and see that we are worthwhile and lovely and valuable

I confess this to him as much as I confess it to my own self.

We care for what others think of us, and we forget for Whom we're living

so much that we

forget to care for others and remember the life we've been offered through grace.

We forget that every interaction is either laced with grace or condemnation; we can either help each other see the goodness of a good Creator that they were intended to reflect

or we can pick apart each others' flaws and parade them across the stage, encouraging those around us to wear the mask, to hide our hearts, to lie for acceptance.

I share with my boy, this oldest soul with whom our family has been graced, and I tell him that even when the rest of the people in his life miss the mark

even when grace isn't overflowing in relationships

even when we feel everything but loved and valued and worthwhile

we can rest heavy into God's grace

we can know we are loved because of that grace

and simply because we are His. 

Still, though, I know, that our hearts long to also be woven into the threads of community here.

Our hearts long to be unwrapped carefully by those around us who can show us pieces of the character of God

and also help us see His very image in our own lives.

He nods in understanding and says, "Yeah, and wouldn't it be boring if we were all the same? If we all tried to be like everyone else?"

It would be boring.

And it would be limiting.

And it would be the farthest thing from a great design.

We meet each other on the solid ground of Grace, on the solid ground of the Word that gives us truth and grace and decide that as we move forward in loving God and loving each other, that we'll camp out on this sacred ground. 

I remember these words this morning when I wake up

and I find myself on edge.

This morning there's been a lot grounds on which to land and stand firm: the Supreme Court appealing parts of the Defense of Marriage Act, more abortion politics out of Texas, gun rights here in our local community -- all topics that stir deep thought and even deeper feelings.

All topics that leave us divided and irritable and shaking fingers at each other.

All topics that grieve me because we are constantly missing what's at the heart of the matter in more cases than one and in more ways than what can be summed up in a short paragraph.

I'm human, and I'm tempted to go to those other grounds, and die on those hills where others lay slayed open and bleeding out beliefs and values, their convictions and understandings.

I'm tempted to go there and say, "but this is {fill in the blank}" and "that is {fill in the blank}, and I'm often tempted to go and do it all in the name of God. 

But I remember what my boy and I discussed yesterday, and how does that help me love God and value others?

I remember our conversation about feeling valued and loved. It's not me, but the Spirit who does the hard work of changing people's hearts when they need to be changed. And see how I said hearts? Not their politics. It's the heart that needs to be changed toward the heart of the Father. We know the Father's heart for us because His Word lays it out. We don't have to guess. But when we use scripture as a weapon, words as swords to piece each other instead of a truth wrapped in love letter, I just wonder what we are doing to each other; I just wonder what we are doing to the Body. 

We act either as agents of grace, showing His heart for us, or squash grace before it overflows; we either help find the image of God in each other or we reflect a heart of condemnation. We can help others see the Father's heart for them, or see help them see our own individual beliefs. We can speak the truth in love (and, friends, there is truth and it's His Word), or we can speak it mercilessly.

I am reminded, slowly, almost daily, that 

the only hill on which I want to stand and dig my heals in

is the one where Jesus died, Truth splayed across a cross and grace came alive.

Everyday Life: All Day Long

"It is a serious thing to live in a society of possible gods and goddesses, to remember that the dullest and most uninteresting person you can talk to may one day be a creature which, if you saw it now, you would be strongly tempted to worship or else a horror and a corruption such as you now meet, if at all, only in a nightmare.

All day long we are in some degree helping each other to one or other of these destinations. 

It is in light of these overwhelming possibilities, it is with awe and circumspection proper to them, that we should conduct all our dealings with one another, all friendships, all loves, all play, all politics.

There are no ordinary people. 

You have never talked to a mere mortal. Nations, cultures, arts, civilizations -- these are mortal, and their life is to ours as the life of a gnat ... Next to the Blessed Sacrament itself, your neighbour is the holiest object presented to your senses."

C.S. Lewis, The Weight of Glory

I read this gem of thought by C.S. Lewis early this morning after four days of comforting a snuggly yet extra cranky and angry toddler sick with a stomach bug ... after days of cleaning up more bodily fluids than I care to list, after doing more loads of laundry than I care to count, after being held hostage on the couch or in bed more hours than I care to remember by the poor little sick {extremely crabby} youngest of the family.

By last night, I was feeling more than just done; I was feeling burnt out -- like I didn't have an ounce of patience or compassion or snuggling left in my body. And as he screamed for me to come back to him and snuggle him on the couch, yelling angrily, I simply could not muster up a loving response. Instead I snapped at him to stop screaming at mommy ... which made him burst into tears. 

Thankfully, despite the snowstorm raging outside, John arrived home earlier than normal and relieved me of mothering, giving me a chance to regroup and recharge. 

In a super gift of grace this morning after being refreshed sleep, God gave me time to spend in His word and reflecting on what it means to love others the way Jesus loved us and why it's so important when my oldest dressed himself and went outside to play in the snow at the same time the in-recovery child put himself back to bed.

The truth, the perspective was enough to fill my cup so that I can pour back out again.

Which is a good thing.

Because the oldest just went down with the same thing.

So I remember: "All day long we are in some degree helping each other to one or other of these destinations. "

Link up at Adrienne's today. 

Just Write: On a Tuesday

On a Tuesday there is snow pouring down from the heavens like salt out of a shaker in the hands of a toddler

and I am eating homemade oatmeal cookies like there's been a cookie draught for the past five years.

Today's motto is something like cookies are meant to be eaten

and snow is meant to fall

today

on a day in February

where my toddler screams angrily every time I leave him on the couch

and

where my husband finds odd pleasure in navigating his way home from work in a blizzard.

On a Tuesday

my heart sort of longs for the chasm in between their two extremes.

I'm tired of the couch

but I'm also not longing for any more stretching adventures.

because I've been submerged in both simultaneously every day since we discovered God has been growing this new little life inside my ever-expanding belly.

On a Tuesday,

I live wildly

a juxtaposed life

and find grace

in thanks

and the extremes.

Five-Minute Friday: Connect

Under the wide-open overhead spread of stars

I see Your hand stretched out, palm open

pouring out blessings in the form of rain drops

over parched land

parched heart-soil.

I watch You move

steady and in the time-beat

I must learn to keep daily;

You are purposeful,

unfolding each day with intentions

and grace.

I am awed,

unwrapping each day with clumsy hands

but willing heart.

At the end, when the sun fades behind the horizon

I stretch myself over grass

gaze up

and try to connect the dots

you've so strategically placed

in sky

and in my days.

Everyday Life: Rest

It came in the midst of living. 

In the aftermath of crying out to God and feeling held in His peace. 

In the determination to live life in the now instead of living life in waiting. 

Standing on the deck of a friend who is a soft landing 

in the bright sunshine

of a late Friday afternoon

nearing the after-business hours of the weekend

the phone finally rang. 

Before the doctor's receptionist could share the MRI test results, 

I reminded myself of the song that clicked onto Pandora

as I was begging God for calmness of heart earlier that afternoon.

"Only one thing doesn't change.
Only one thing stays the same.
All I know at the end of the day is
Your love remains." {Paul Coleman Trio}

Because no matter what she said

no matter the results of this particular test

or any tests to come

none of it would change the most important Truth in my life:

He doesn't change. 

That He is always and forever good. 

And, as my mom reminded me while I all but hyperventilated in my living room the day of the MRI, sometimes He calms the raging seas.

And sometimes He calms the passengers in the boat. 

But no matter which He chooses, He is still the Giver of Good Gifts. 

Always.  

As she apologized about the late call and the doctor being away from the office

I knew well that 

everything could change

and still nothing could change

and He would still remain. 

When she calmly and joyfully shared that everything looked perfectly NORMAL (!)

praise spilled from my lips

in a choir of gratitude and awe and reverence.

Not just for the rest, the relief of knowing that everything appeared normal

but also because in that moment and in that day

He calmed the storm

and He calmed the child.

I cannot thank you enough, my friends, for praying for me. For thinking of me. For loving on me during this growing time. Some have inquired about my symptoms -- dizziness, off-balance feeling, head pressure are a few. We're looking into hypoglycemia as a possible cause stemming from my super-low sugar, anti-candida diet and eating practices. 

I'm taking the rest of the weekend to practice Sabbath -- the act remembering His goodness and His faithfulness while resting deeply in both. 

Living Healthfully: A Mirage in the Desert

Editor's Note November 2012: If you are looking for information on restoring your digestive system, please know that The Body Ecology Diet helped me, but it didn't completely restore my health. My body actually stalled out on the the diet, and I needed to go off it to heal other parts of my body. You can read about my last steps in healing by clicking here. 

At first it was so very much about arriving at destination deep dish pizza.

If I could just make it to the point of indulgence without suffering from a debilitating stomach ache and nausea in the aftermath of such a feast, I'd have successfully arrived at the end of my super-restrictive dieting. 

My eyes were set on a finish line of Lou Malnati's and a piece of Baklava by my January 2013 birthday. 

But at the start of 15 weeks{!!}on the Body Ecology Diet*, which has been aimed at restoring my inner body ecology and recovering my health from a candida overgrowth in my gut, it's becoming clearer now that the finish line I'd set eyes on was a mirage. 

Not an insanely delusional mirage like that of shack taking the shape of a well in the middle of the desert; it's been much more like that of an actual well taking the shape of an actual well ... but one that bears only still, stagnant water.

The kind of mirage that looked so good and so refreshing in the distance but dips its bucket into bitter, smelly water ... 

That's where I find myself at the completion of 14 weeks of eating only vegetables, eggs, protein, good fats and no sugar; I am approaching the well that looked so promising -- my GI tract having been healed graciously by God, in part through this way of fresh and whole eating -- and finding I could dip my bucket in ... but why would I want to?

As I'm approaching the well, there's some sort of off-stench wafting through the air, a screaming, halting warning to bypass. 

I don't dare drink it because I'm realizing this isn't the finish line. 

Though I couldn't see it until I got nice and close to the well, there's actually this fresh spring-fed river flowing just a few miles beyond it.

And destination deep dish pizza just doesn't hold a candle to fresh, whole foods anymore, to health. 

Instead of craving cheese and crust, I'm finding myself craving the foods that make me feel how the healthiness I've felt while eating what I've considered to be desert manna:

Energized, healthy, light, satisfied. 

I just don't want to lose that. 

Now that my body seems to have overcome a good portion of the gut flora imbalance and defeated a good deal of the bad candida, I only want to grow stronger and stronger.

I don't want to take steps back toward the heaviness, the bloating, the stomach pain, the brain fog, the irritability, the intense cravings; it just doesn't seem worth it for a slice of deep dish anymore. Or a piece of coffee cake on a special morning. Or even an occasional frozen cup of sweet java and cream. 

And taking that step back ward actually seems like it would be a welcoming invitation to have to walk through that desert of painful detoxing again; I don't want to relive the hives, the night-sweats, the chills, the exhaustion, the stomach pain, the anxiety, the tightness in my chest and the weakness in my bones. 

This way of eating, this desert manna diet, isn't just a diet aimed at merely sustaining energy and fixing an impaired digestive system; this way of eating is more a lifestyle geared at healing the whole body.

I believe this is how we were intended to eat -- food grown from the soil, unaltered and whole -- food harvested from growing healthy animals in the wide-open space of pasture. 

I'm trading in the dirty well water for the fresh-running river and praising God for the revelation of a promised land overflowing with honey. 

Because I'm just not willing to settle any more for a mirage being my destination point. 

{It's such a huge praise to bring news of such healing! Though I'm not at 100 percent, by the grace of God I am worlds away from where I began in the beginning of January. 

Would you offer praise on my behalf for his goodness in healing my body? And would you also pray for wisdom and discernment as I very {epicly} slowly add back in some of the whole, fresh foods that have a bit of sugar content during these coming weeks? I'll be doing quite a bit of listening to my body to make sure the candida that remains isn't being fed by the new additions of things like Granny Smith Apples and plain Greek Yogurt.}

*I have been following the Body Ecology Diet along with some additional protocol {and food restrictions from the experts at The Candida Diet forum.

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: What I Almost Missed

He carefully plucked a tiny violet flower from the Earth and brought it inside as a love offering for me.

At four, not much is done gently, but this gift, he knew, required delicate care.

Here mom! Look! he says bursting in through the patio door, I brought you this beautiful flower so you can look at it inside the house. 


I was in the middle of cooking dinner, my hands in too many pots, trying not to burn and overboil, and I almost missed it.

But then he says,

I'll put it in water, so it can have a drink and stay alive.

And stay alive.

I abandon dinner, turn my back on the too many pots and instead oooohh and ahhh over the flower's  loveliness, its faint smell of spring.

It needs water to stay alive, to revive after the picking, I repeat.



I catch glimpses of its brilliant purple through out the next day.

I marvel over its soft, royal petals and I think to myself, I've almost sold my soul, my heart for supposed gifts that are bigger, flashier but far less lovely.

But this gift?

These gifts that keep bringing more gifts?

They came free, picked just for me by a Loving Hand who seems to keep no memory of the times I've really blown it, the times I've almost sold myself in exchange for what seemed to be silver and shiny.

And I almost missed it all, all of it.



But grace flows, and so I didn't.

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!

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Link up your gleaned moment this week at Jade'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.

Everyday Life: On Grace through Green Macaroni

All is quiet upstairs now.

He's gone to bed hungry after refusing to eat his dinner tonight. There was a storm of angry tears and frustration first, though, along with a sinking-stomach feeling settled deep in my body.

We're no longer caving to all his wants for food that isn't delivering him the nutrition he really needs.

Three long days of torture for the mother-heart, I tell you.

This trying to do what is right, what will nourish and heal his body instead of allowing his cravings and desires to infiltrate reality as needs.

It feels like a battle of epic proportions, taking on the 2 year old and his food preferences for only carbohydrates, meat and dairy. Nothing green goes in unless its been finely shredded and mixed in with another food. And that's only a recent development.

I cling to it, and I cling to His feet.

This is about so much more than whether our toddler eats green beans.


And yet, it is exactly about our toddler eating green beans, too.

Because like with anything else in life, the mind and the will directly relate to the health and the strength of the body and both the heart and metaphorical heart.

This battle is mind/will and strength/body combined in a doozie of a saga.

I know what his food preferences lead to -- they lead to catching every cold that comes his way as well as long-term illnesses parents pray their children will never face.

This sugar-loving, acidity-forming, antioxidant-lacking diet doesn't lead us down paths we want to tread.

Try explaining that to a two year old who knows the wonders of cheddar bunnies, though, on his tongue.

We must grow, though. Him in his tastes and me in me ability to determine how to best help him make healthy choices.

And all the while be sure that enough grace is laced into the hardballs life naturally throws in our faces; I must keep reminding myself that we parents don't really have to teach our kids the hardness of life. Life teaches that on its own.

But grace.

Grace must be lived out, shown with flesh on.

So while there will still be the movement toward healthier eating for sure; we'll probably never repeat him going to bed hungry again.

I know; one missed meal won't hurt his body. It's true. He will learn to eat his dinner if we continue to tow the hard line. But maybe the line can be towed without the fast-forward jerkiness that comes from my desire to teach him to eat well and eat what's served nownownow.

I don't know if I know what that looks like in real practice, in real life. Maybe love, maybe grace while still standing firm looks like the green macaroni we had for lunch today -- when I blended spinach into the cheese and milk and made a green cheese sauce for his quinoa/kamut/amaranth/durum noodles.

I really just don't know.

But I do know this -- neither his belly nor his heart are overflowing with anything but anger and emptiness tonight.

And, when thinking, that's not a place I'm willing to go again.

'Twas the Write Before Christmas: Day One

Source: imgfave.com via Ally on Pinterest

****
Let it fall,

heavy grace,

like snow coating my branches,

covering the bareness

heavy winds left behind.

Let it stick,

thick mercy,

like ice frozen solid

a layer beneath

to bear the weight.

{The first picture is Day One's prompt for 'Twas the Write Before Christmas at Bigger Picture Blogs.}

Pinnacle Moment: Forgiveness

His two-year-old footprints shimmer in the sunlight dancing on the wooden floor as we both sit in a tangled heap crying, his small body draped over a rather pregnant stretch of baby beneath my skin.

In a moment of twoness that I just couldn't understand, he scampered across the freshly mopped floor for a fourth time in so many minutes.

In a moment of selfishness, irritation he just couldn't understand, I'd forcefully reached out, grabbed him by the arm and all but yanked him from the still-soaking floors while yelling loudly and denouncing his repeated attempts at puddle splashing.

Eyes wide, full of surprise, he looks at me stunned. He's never heard that mommy before, never felt an ungentle touch come from her hands.

But I keep ...

The rest of Forgiveness is being featured over at Jade's Pinnacle Moments today. Come visit? 

Five-Minute Friday: Unexpected

Knee-deep in fear and worry,

I'm trying to count blessings like stars in the sky

or 

more appropriately

flakes of snow falling to the ground

because

you know

we simply cannot be fearful and thankful

simultaneously

she's reminded me time and again. 

The two emotions run the same pathways

in the brain; 

so it simply cannot be done.

I pray:

thank you, thank you, thank you

for 

two bodies merging into one flesh

two small sets of arms that will be slung 'round my neck

beautiful souls with whom to spend a weekend

in an unexpected October snowstorm spreading up the East Coast.

And: make a way for me to return home.

The flakes dissipate by dinner,

and the forecasters promise clear skies in the dawn light,

our departure day,

and as an extra bit of grace, 

an extra gift of mercy

He sends reassurance

in the form of a creative soul

comfortable behind the wheel 

from days spent navigating a semi

to take the helm

And as she drives

we take the conversation to places

of not just when and what and where

but How and Why and Who.

We drive through snow-covered hills,

and Truth, expressed

Along the Pittsburg turnpike

and mercy, experienced

To South Bend, Indiana

and to grace, unexpected

Thinking, that's all: Afloat

We'd been playing phone tag for a week solid, coming almost to the point where I normally give up on the old phone conversation hopes and defer instead to e-mail.

But in a moment of serendipity and in a moment of grace, we connect.

Voices only, at first, just giving play by plays and catching up on each other's husbands and boys, but there is goodness in it nonetheless.

Though we haven't seen each other in a year, the conversation rolls right along, smoothly, comfortably and it's almost like she's actually walking next to me on the sidewalk, enjoying the same splashes of color streaking across the expansive blues of the dusky midwestern sky.

And like so many conversations we've had in the past, so many dialogues we've shared over the years, the talk of current events morphs into actual conversation of how said current events of life are settling and digging into our hearts.

I share that I've had some emotionally exhausting weeks, and though my husband had thrown me life line of grace just about a week ago, hauling me back to His feet, honestly, I admit, I'm still finding myself treading water to stay afloat more often than not.

She says she's had the same kind of previous week, too, one in which her church community also suffered an extremely soul-wrenching loss of a young life here on Earth.

Instead of just glossing over the hurt, she dives right into it with me -- into the depths of where those losses leave our reeling hearts and minds.

She goes there with me.

To the place of "why."

To the "I don't get it."

And to the "Where is He right now?"

Those places we don't normally don't tread water together, the places we try to swim alone in the deepness, in the vastness of our own oceans of thoughts.

So I grab onto the Lifeline she's clutching, too.

Again.

I grab onto His word, the Promises of grace and love and restoration that's she's reminding me of, reminding herself of by saying them aloud.

Even though it's deep and it's choppy and it's kind of scary, I finally stop kicking and thrashing and just hold onto those Promises for dear life, trusting that it will keep me afloat, thankful that He's sent another person to weather the waters with me.

Thankful that maybe, finally, I have come to the end of trying to swim it all by myself.

{And all of this after another friend poured some truth right into my ears -- but that's my Bigger Picture Moment for Thursday and an entirely new post.}

Bigger Picture Moment: Grace Personified

In the chill of early summer air Saturday night, I slide my body in between our bedsheets and will my racing mind sleep simply so this week would end.

All of these end-beginnings and beginnings-ends filled with death and eternity and life and the delicate balance that spans the space between had left me saturated in a monsoon of emotions that run the gamut of sorrow and empathy and awe and grief and relief and gratitude and maybe even fear.

So when John whispers a simple question about which church service we would attend in the morning, I simply just refused even going at all.

I feel him suck in a large breath of air, and I think perhaps he might push me on the subject, but instead he exhales, kisses me cheek and lets me fall into sleep.

****
Sun streams in through the blinds of our bedroom, luring two little boys' eyelids open, both of whom had found their way into our room that night before.

We swing into our Sunday morning routine of breakfast and Veggie Tales and hot tea and showers, though my words from the night before are sloshing around in both mine and John's minds.

He asks again whether I'm coming along to church service.

And, again, I refuse. As though I were a teenager protesting against my mother's wishes to attend Sunday services, I dig my heels into the ground at his questioning.

And like a teenager, I can't really put it into words what I'm feeling, so I simply mutter I don't want to go and how no one can actually make me.

I quickly head back upstairs, my husband following at my heels.

I plant myself on our bed.

Quietly, swiftly

without the guilt trip

or the shame

or the judgement

he asks again what's going on.

Nothing.

And again, firmly, gently, what's going on?

I ponder -- saying I've been in some sort of funk for the past week would be the guilty confession of one whose probably already been figured out -- it all adds up but in order for it to be totally sold as truth, an admission needs to be uttered.

Bathed in the warmth of sunlight after days of rain and John's strength, his patient readiness to just love me where I was, I suck in air and spit out the words as we sit on the edge of our bed, my finger tracing the outlines of goldenrod flowers sewen into our sheets.

Where is He? I ask.

In this grief?

In this sadness?

In this pain and this tragedy?

And in my broken hopes and stalled out dreams and the stuckness, the mediocrity?

Where is He?

I can't hear Him for the life me, and if I'm going to be honest, I'm not sure I'm even listening anymore, right here.

We sit, soaked in words that have spilled over the floodgate, me in my own tears, John's hand sweeping up and down my back.

He doesn't offer many words, just his presence, his compassion, this understanding that this, too, shall pass.

And pass it does nearly half way through a message delivered directly to my heart by our pastor at the church service I so desperately wanted to skip.

****

We leave the sanctuary basking in truths about taking captive our thought lives and banishing thoughts that don't speak to His true nature of holiness and goodness and righteousness and love. The message was good -- so good, and it helped lift me out that deep funk by pouring the Truth of His Word back into my parched soul.

As we drive home beneath blue skies and sunshine, John grasps my hand while heavy realizations grip my mind -- I think about what it took to pull me out of bed and carry me into that place where I could be revived.

I eye him up --my husband, completely unaware-- as he drives, and I see that he is grace personified this morning.

And that while sermons are strong and necessary and so helpful, there is nothing that shows itself as powerful as grace wearing flesh.





To share your own Bigger Picture Moment and immerse yourself within a community of creative, talented women also on the journey of intentional living, head over to Melissa's place.

Also linking to Thought-Provoking Thursdays at

Living Healthfully: This is Really Happening

Editor's Note: After taking my journey with calorie-restricted diets and and restrictive food diets, I no longer feel that either are healthy. You can read my hard-fought-for, hard-lesson-learned food philosophy here. 

All right, bear with me.

I'm in a state of almost disbelief coupled with shock and complete estaticness. {Is that a word? If not, I claim ownership!}

But.

Tonight we went to Target {because we're very fancy}, and as we were walking by the clothing section, a cute pair of shorts caught my eye at almost the exact minute I had to hike the pants I was wearing back up to my hips.

And in a moment of complete abandon for time, toddler attention span and normal panic when it comes to clothes shopping, I asked/told John I was going to try those shorts on.

And I took with me into the dressing room a size ten {the currently baggy pant's size} and a size eight.

That's right -- SINGLE digit clothing and I went into the same dressing room with the intent of us mingling in a super close kinda way.

Mind you, I didn't actually expect for said size-eight shorts to fit.

I haven't worn a size eight, well, um, ever.

As I slid my legs into the shorts and slipped them up my things I expected to meet my normal major speed bump: the hips.

But there was no major bump -- just small ones! And the shorts flew over them.

I almost cried/died/squealed like a schoolgirl/called my sister in the dressing room at Target.

But instead I got a handle on it all, and I simply just asked for husband approval of the shorts before we bagged them up and called them mine.

I think the most shocking part is that I've only lost 9 pounds almost five weeks into the Curves 90-Day Challenge {a challenge issued to Curves owners and coaches to walk the walk by the Curves founders at our spring regionals}.

I still have about seven more weeks left for the challenge and -- seriously, I cannot even believe I'm about to utter these words, so I'll whisper them -- I might make it to a size four.

I cannot even begin to unwrap what that really means because I could gush on and on {and on} about the health benefits of being at a weight that fits into size four -- my BMI would fall into the good range, my organs would be under much less stress, less risk for diseases like cancer and diabetes and high cholesteral, all of which run in my family.

And this? This is coming from someone who has had food issues ever since she can remember -- from the same person who invented The Fat Kids' Club in college and dubbed herself president. And the same person who hate, hate, HATED exercise with a passion until she was 21.

So far, I've been highly motivated to press into this kind-of-tough journey. A lot of people have come along side me and given me courage and encouragement, as well as celebration, insight and comraderie.

Ironically, some of these very confidants have been the same people who've been nudging me to jump in and do a vlog {which would be a video blog post, for those who don't speak bloggese}.

I'm committing tonight to doing that vlog July 31 if I do, indeed, make it to my goal weight by then.

So, that's roughly 9 to 11 more pounds to shed in about seven weeks.

And, perhaps, by July 31, I will have accomplished two things that have seemed completely overwhelming and terrifying -- taking these last, long steps toward true self-control and real health.

And talking to the interwebz using my actual voice {and I'll tell you in the vlog why I'm so hesistant about the art of vlogging}.

Without further ado -- the emotion-provoking single-digit Target shorts [that I likely will keep forever and frame as a momento}:


{Before picture here.}

Thanks for listening and celebrating with me. :)

Five-Minute Friday: Every Day

Sometimes I forget that

busy doesn't mean important.

And growth is fueled by rain just as much as sunshine.

Every day, it seems, I need a reminder that

blessings are not burdens.




And that actual burdens aren't so heavy when you're well-yoked as well as Well-Yoked.

Sometimes I forget that

toddler doesn't mean baby,

and preschooler doesn't mean 17.



And I don't often enough remember

that you have to start with the end in mind



but also remember that the future is not yet here.

So, today, I turn my palms up, crane my face toward the heavens and soak up reminders like I do sunshine in hopes of remembering the warmth wrapped in the realities of the every day.