A Season of Rest

"The Lord your God is giving you rest and has granted you this land."  (Joshua 1:13).

After I was sick this summer, I had several people telling me that I needed to get more rest and take better care of myself. I was a little hurt and frustrated because for the first time in a while, I actually had been taking pretty good care of myself.  I was exercising regularly and paying much better attention to my diet. I had lost some weight.  I have almost always gotten at least 8 hours of sleep since I cannot stay up late doing projects like many friends (I think I'd be much more organized around here if I did!).  So, I couldn't think of anything in my behavior that would have sparked a serious illness in my spinal cord. 

The message I was feeling from different camps was a message that it was my fault I got sick. That was a horrible feeling during my illness, feeling guilt for all everyone was going through on account of me.  And it was a sad feeling afterwards, thinking, "What just happened to me?"  I knew in my heart that I hadn't done anything to cause it, but still, this is the message that I kept hearing as people talked to me about diet and exercise and getting extra help with the kids and slowing down and resting.  My husband has been great to remind me to listen to truth, to listen to the Lord.

I wanted to have a humble heart in case God was telling me, yes, in fact, I had done this to myself.  I prayed about it, and one passage in Joshua 1 (see above) really struck me.

When the Lord ordains a season of rest for His people, it might look different than we think of rest.  In my mind, I'm imagining sleeping all day and not lifting a finger.  But looking at the context of this passage, He is talking about a season of no conquest.  He has given land, and He has given rest, so His people do not need to conquer a new land.  This does not mean his people would be sitting around sleeping all day; they would still have daily work to do, but they would not need to be plotting and scheming about the next big thing.  The Lord may have other plans for them in the future, but for now, He has given land into their possession and given them rest.  For now, they do not have a battle on the horizon.

This aspect of rest is good for me to hear. I need a restful heart. As my friend MK recently told me, "The opposite of rest is restless," and that is a struggle for me, to think about what the next big thing is.  As my youngest started school two days a week, it's easy to imagine all this new free time opening up and wondering what I should do, what could I accomplish?  But resting in His provisions, being still in His presence is a season to embrace. And truly it is a discipline to be at rest.

I do not feel I caused my illness, but I do think God has used it to His glory in many ways, especially in building community and a closer bond with family.  I also think the well-intended messages to me have been used to His glory as God is showing me more about what rest actually means and that it's a good thing and not something to disdain.

And the truth is that when given a season of rest, we need to obey and rest because, when God is ready, He will call us to the next thing (as He did with the men given land and rest in the verse above; he called them out of rest for a period to "help their brothers until the Lord gives them rest, as he has done for you, and until they too have taken possession of the land the Lord your God is giving them" --Joshua 1:15). 

I would rather be rested when the battle arises; wouldn't you?

Remembering to Remember

And Joshua set up at Gilgal the twelve stones they had taken out of the Jordan.  He said to the Israelites, "In the future when your descendents ask their fathers, 'What do these stones mean?' tell them, 'Israel crossed  the Jordan on dry ground.' For the Lord your God dried up the Jordan before you until you had crossed over.  The Lord your God did to the Jordan just what he had done to the Red Sea when he dried it up before us until we had crossed over.  He did this so that all the peoples of the earth might know that the hand of the Lord is powerful and so that you might always fear the Lord your God."  (Joshua 4: 20-24)

Yesterday in church, our pastor spoke about the meaning of Worship and the different ways we worship.  (http://www.newheights.cc/pages.asp?pageid=89495) He pointed to scripture for clues on all the types of worship, including prayer, singing, dancing, silence, exercise, work, study, and other areas.  He also pointed out the vast number of times that scripture uses the word "Remember."  Remembering what the Lord has done is another act of worship.

I have had conversations with friends over the years with all of us wondering how Israel couldn't just "get it" that the Lord is who he says he is.  God's people had witnessed miracles like the parting of the Red Sea and the provision of manna; how could they doubt his power? Why couldn't they trust him and obey?

Well, I could ask the same question of myself. How can I doubt God's power? His mercy? His provision? His goodness? How can I doubt when I've seen it? How can I let fears creep in when I know God is bigger than all my worries?

We often don't look at things with God's perspective; we look at what we can see right in front of our faces. And a lot of times that is scary!  We don't know how this episode of our lives will end, and we want to know now....so often we try to figure it out ourselves, in our own strength. And sometimes we fall flat on our faces. I hate that.

Remembering how the Lord has worked in our lives or in those around us is an act of worship; we acknowledge Him and praise Him for what He's done.  This aspect of worship can also strengthen our faith.

I want to make more time for remembering. I want to look back so that I'm stronger looking forward.  I want to think about the 12 stones and what I can tell my children when they ask about their meaning. 

What are ways we make time to remember?

Help from the Sanctuary

"May the Lord answer you when you are in distress;

may the name of the God of Jacob protect you.

May he send you help from the sanctuary

and grant you support from Zion" (Psalm 20:1-2).

I have always appreciated that the Bible confronts the fact that we WILL go through times of trial in our lives. Jesus told his disciples, "In this world, you will have trouble.  But take heart! I have overcome the world" (John 16:33).

As my family has recently been going through a trial of health problems, I haven't felt like writing much.  I've written in my journal sporadically, but my mind has been mush and my energy has been low.  As we have had some good doctor's reports this week and see the hope of crawling out of this trial soon, I have had renewed mental energy.  Besides the desire to be active and creative, I have an overwhelming sense of gratitude.

When I read this morning's verse about God sending help from the sanctuary, I thought, "That's it! That's what we have been experiencing in the past three weeks!"  As we've navigated eight different doctors and seemingly endless medical tests, not to mention battling symptoms and getting ready for school to start, we have felt carried along. Even as we've been confused and wondered why and how and what, we have felt carried along. 

Our sanctuary of help has been our family, who has traveled from out of town, cooked meals, folded laundry, taken care of children, sat by our side in waiting rooms and doctors' offices, prayed for us, cried with us, kept us laughing.   Our sanctuary of help has been our friends, who have brought us meals and flowers, visited us, entertained our children, called and emailed constantly, prayed for us, cried with us, kept us laughing.  Our sanctuary of help has been our church family, who came to pray with us, brought us food, reached out, cried with us, kept us laughing.  Our sanctuary of help has been my husband's work colleagues, who brought us meals, helped with transportation of our children, supported my husband at work, sent notes and emails.  Our sanctuary of help has been our children's school teachers and school families, who have helped with transportation and helping our children have a smooth start to school.  Our sanctuary of help has been our team of doctors, who have been accessible and concerned and seeking truth and healing.

Yes, we have felt distress, but yes, the Lord has sent us help from the sanctuary and has granted us support from Zion.  Thank you, Lord.

Prayers for a Woman I Haven't Met

Yesterday, I wrote about the book I am reading and now re-reading.  Later in the day, I was reading another blog and saw something about "Praying for Joanne" with a picture of a woman who looked to me like the author of this book, Joanne Heim. I clicked on the link and was thrilled to find a link to her blog "The Simple Wife" (http://thesimplewife.typepad.com/).  Then I was deeply saddened to see that in January of this year, she suffered a stroke at age 38. 

I only had time to read for a second yesterday and just had time to read a bit more, but my heart aches for this family! To have been reading about her active life with her family these past few weeks, I feel like I've gotten to know her.  To read all they are now going through is so sobering.  A recent post written by her father--probably around my own father's age--talks about all the accomplishments to be thankful for these past six months (from waking from a coma, to breathing on her own, to talking...) and her next set of goals as she re-enters rehab (http://thesimplewife.typepad.com/the_simple_wife/2011/07/papas-post.html).   I can't imagine how hard this is for a father to watch his daughter endure this tremendous life change.

Her goals include some of the most basic daily routines, some we even grumble about (going to the grocery store, cleaning the house, driving, typing, not to mention walking unassisted and showering).

I am teary today. And I'm prayerful.  And I'm wanting to be more present and more alert and more grateful, savoring each moment.

I am thankful to see how God is working in this beautiful family, how He is binding them together even through suffering.  I am thankful to be allowed to witness His faithfulness.

Honoring the Sabbath

I just finished reading a simple but inspiring book that my sister-in-law gave me a few months ago: Living Simply: Choosing Less in a World of More by Joanne Heim.  I just finished reading it; and I just started re-reading it.

It is such a refreshing look at how we live and how we could live.  The whole book talks about intentionally choosing a simpler life in the face of a culture constantly screaming that we need more--more stuff, more money, more activities, more trips, more nights out, more, more, more.  This message is one I need repeated.

One chapter talks about the Sabbath and how our culture has begun to treat Sunday as a regular day full of errands and activities.  Heim remembers coming home from church as a child and smelling the pot roast supper her mother had prepared. Her mom had set the dining room table with china the night before and had done the prep work on the meal to make it easy for Sunday.  When the family got home from church, they brought another family or couple with them to share the meal.  Heim asks what has happened to this tradition?

I thought this was worth bringing up to my family. So, Saturday night at dinner, I told my husband and the big kids about what I'd been reading. We talked about why Sunday should be set apart as a special day and wondered what we could do to make it special.  Everyone was excited!

Two suggestions that Heim makes about thinking through a Sabbath are--stay flexible and plan ahead.  She knows that for her, family time and being restful are a part of honoring the Lord's day, so she doesn't want to be scurrying around all day.

Sunday, I put a whole chicken in the crockpot before church, made scalloped potatoes that afternoon (which was super time-consuming, not necessarily restful!), made a cake with the kids and put it in the oven as the potatoes came out and we made the salad. We set the dining room table and lit the candles.  We brought in the children's Bible to read a story and talk about while we were eating.  It was such a special meal, and we really all enjoyed treating Sunday as a special day.  We want to incorporate asking other people to dinner in the future!

How do other families honor Sundays?

**(By the way, if you didn't see Rachel's comment from the last post, please look because I want to know a recipe idea like that, too! Please add your own comment with any last-minute recipe ideas!)

Feeding Masses with Loaves and Fish

"'Here is a boy with five small barley loaves and two small fish, but how far will they go among so many?'" (John 6:9)

Twice this summer I have invited over friends for lunch only to realize once they had arrived that we were low on provisions. Hmmm... the whole swim class and moms and siblings? How did I miss that all our sandwich bread had dwindled to only half a loaf?  Tuna salad for my friend and me while our kids ate their sandwiches? Oops. Good thing I had half an apple and some sweet pickles to add to my measly can of tuna. I always have extra tuna in the pantry. Where did it go?

The good news? Everyone was fed. Everyone was satisfied.

I am glad to learn this lesson of creative stretching, of opening doors before realizing maybe I "shouldn't."

I need to extend this to more areas of my life. I try to take control instead of letting the Lord work in His way, in His time.  I want to get my ducks in a row.  I want to know how everything will turn out, and if I can't see how, I need a plan! And a backup plan.  It gets exhausting.

I love the little boy in this passage of Jesus's feeding the 5000. He is earnest and trusting.  He does what he's told and is generous, but he's bold and courageous, too.  I tend to be more like Andrew, the disciple reporting to Jesus about the boy's offering; I tend to doubt that such a little portion could actually pan out into a miracle of provision.

And not only does Jesus provide; he gave them each as much as they wanted. And there were leftovers.

Our God is an awesome God.

Ranch-style Cooking

While my family is on vacation, I have been doing a lot of reading. One of the books is Don Strange of Texas: His Life and Recipes.  I have been curled up in the leather armchair in the great room at my grandparents' ranch, reading fabulous recipes and interesting biographical tidbits about this famed Texas caterer.

I have especially loved reading it here because he catered our wedding at this very ranch.  Each recipe brought back the delectable tasting menu we sampled at his Don Strange Ranch outside of San Antonio.  Genius. And so Texan.

Prickly Pear Margaritas, Caprese Skewers, Mango, Brie and Avocado Quesadillas--these are just a few of the clever takes on Texas cooking.

My favorite part of the book, however, was reading about Strange's own history, from working in his parents' grocery store to becoming a premier foodie all with guts and bravado that can only come from Texas.  For example, I love the story of his trips to San Franciso and New York with his wife to learn about "gourmet cooking" and broaden his horizon.  The director of the McNay Museum in San Antonio, for whom Strange catered many events, sent them to a famed New York restaurant with a sommalier.  They did not even order wine they were so intimidated, and his wife ordered a whisky sour because it's all she'd heard of. 

Another great story was his invitation to do a barbecue for the NFL commissioner at his New York estate.   When local New York butchers couldn't provide as much beef as Strange required, he had to freeze the side of beef in Texas and take it on the plane with him to New York.

The personal anecdotes combined with the brilliant recipes make this a fantastic and fun read.
Don Strange of Texas: His Life and Recipes

Listening Daily

"Blessed is the man who listens to me [wisdom], watching daily at my doors, waiting at my doorway.   For whoever finds me finds life"  (Proverbs 8:34-5).

I want to take more time to pause and be still during each day.  I want to make sure that, at some point, I take a moment to withdraw from the hectic pace, turn off the background noise, shut my eyes to the visual chaos... even if it means locking myself in the bathroom for a few minutes.

For me, the daily discipline of being still and listening to wisdom is even harder in the summer.  Not being on a schedule and not having the rhythms of the school day make me very loosey goosey.  I'm on vacation! We all are!

But there are times during summer's action-packed days when I crave time to be dreamy.  I want to be alone. 

I loved the reminder in the verse above that daily watching, waiting, and listening for wisdom is a blessing and brings life. 

The fact that this listening brings life is why I start craving the stillness. I know my time has been busy with travel and fun and togetherness, but I also need to make sure I'm taking time to be still.

How do you watch, wait, and listen during summer?

How to Create a Sense of Occasion

My mom has a knack for making a holiday seem special.  She goes all out on decorations, and she makes sure that all the details of the gathering point back to the reason we're celebrating.

This 4th of July was a perfect example.

At the bay house my parents share with my brother's family, we all gathered to celebrate.  When we arrived, we were immediately in the spirit of the weekend.

And throughout the weekend, we had to appreciate all the details and effort.  Who knew a simple flag or two could add such a sense of occasion?

Besides decorations, games and paper goods added to the festive air.

On special occasions, I appreciate that my mom has always added her own touch to the holiday.  It has inspired me to want to do that for my own family, to create memories and treasure significant moments in our lives.  It takes time.  It takes effort.  It often takes advanced planning. But it is so worth it.

How do you create a sense of occasion?

Playing with Pea Gravel

Our old house had a section of pea gravel in the backyard.  It was perfect for the swingset, and it was perfect for toy dump trucks and shovels and wheel barrows.  (Our dog also thought is was perfect as a sort of kitty litter-type spot for him to do his business.)

When we moved, we no longer had pea gravel. Just grass and dirt.  I had no problem with this and did not even really notice, but after a few weeks, my 6-year-old brought it up.

"Mom, I need dad to go to Home Depot to get some pea gravel," he declared.  "And I need to go with him because there are different types of pea gravel, and he might get the wrong size."

"OK, honey," I said, "but why do you need pea gravel?"

"For my trucks. We used to have it, and I need it for my dump trucks and digger trucks."

Well, there you have it.  They came home with a tub full, and he and his sister had a great time digging.  You never know what will make kids smile.

Does anyone else have easy summer backyard ideas for kids?

What Season Is it?

I read a passage from Ecclesiastes this morning that I hadn't read in ages.  The writing is beautiful, the words simple; but it really got me thinking.

"There is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under heaven:
a time to be born and a time to die,
a time to plant and a time to uproot,
a time to kill and a time to heal,
a time to tear down and a time to build,
a time to weep and a time to laugh,
a time to mourn and a time to dance,
a time to scatter stones and a time to gather them,
a time to embrace and a time to refrain,
a time to search and a time to give up,
a time to keep and a time to throw away,
a time to tear and a time to mend,
a time to be silent and a time to speak,
a time to love and a time to hate,
a time for war and a time for peace."  (Ecc. 3:1-8).

What season are you in right now?

For the Love of the Game

Our youngest son, age almost 20 months, loves balls. He will go to great lengths to keep track of a ball.  No matter what hurdles he may encounter--table, chair, human, dog--he will find a way. 

Sometimes he gets stuck and needs help. But then he doesn't dwell on the obstacle or the effort, he goes back to playing.

Once the ball is securely in his clutches, he will throw it.  He throws with great enthusiasm, rather than great accuracy.  He smiles and laughs, watching which direction the ball goes.  He will scamper after it, or he'll wait for you to bring it, depending on the game.

He does not know how to catch yet, but that doesn't mean he won't play.

Sometimes I wonder what I may be missing in life.  Am I doggedly determined to pursue a passion? Am I dwelling on hurdles?  When I get stuck, do I quit?  Am I wildly enthusiastic, or do I try too hard to be accurate?  Do I wait until I know I can succeed before jumping in and playing?

I like watching our toddler's gusto.  He is inspiring.

Nesting

When we'd been in our new house about two days, my son looked out the window and pointed.

"Look!" he said. "A bird is building a nest inside our birdhouse!"

Sure enough, we watched the progress of a little bird carrying twigs in its beak, wings fluttering in to land. A new home!  

We had brought this clay bird from our old house. Originally a gift from my mom, it was really a yard decoration in my mind, not an actual home. I loved it, but I just looked at it.  It even became part of the background after a while, not something I regularly admired.  It was beautiful, but I didn't see it as a home.

I loved that my son now took the time to notice what was happening outside our window. This clay bird, a new home to two real little chirping birds, dangles right outside my daughter's window.  We all like to lay in her bed and sleepily watch those birds.  The way our house is built, we can also see the birdhouse from our living room, dining room, and kitchen.  I like to keep tabs on them.

Their nesting has reminded me of our own nesting in our home.  It also reminds me how simple we can be if we choose. We can gather what we need for being cozy, and then we can get right on with living.  They aren't sitting around fussing with the twig placement; they're flying!  Our birds seem peaceful and right at home. I love watching them, and I love that they moved in right when we did. Our neighbors.

Boxing Day

One thing about unpacking boxes is it leaves new possibilities for the boxes themselves.  My main way of thinking is that they go to recycling.  But my son's way of thinking is a little more creative: a pirate ship.

Last weekend, he carefully cut a plank to attach to the top, and then he cut a hole for the flag ("Pretend it's a pirate flag," he instructed.).

For the inside of his ship, he constructed a spotting scope, ice blocks, and a map collection.  By this time, his sister was getting engaged in the fun, and they promptly added a second box to attach as sleeping quarters.  The hauled out their sleeping bags to make it nice and comfy.

Throughout the week, they spent hours in these boxes. Whenever the baby came to interfere, they called an alert about an intruder!  Individually or together, they would disappear into the pirate ship.  My daughter would take her crayons and coloring books and color in the ship.  A time or two, the baby even stole a ride when no one was looking.

By Thursday, the tide had turned on this ship.  I noticed the box had been flattened and scissors were involved again.

"What happened to the pirate ship?" I asked.

"Oh, we're making driftwood."

A Good Song

This evening, I was reading a blog I like and hadn't read in a while-- The Big Mama Blog.  She's super funny and grounded and a nice person in real life, too, so I like to check in periodically.  At the bottom of the post, she had a link that led me to a singer's website, Shaun Groves. 

Back in the days when I would sit around and listen to music and hear new songs and go to concerts, I really liked Shaun Groves. His song "Welcome Home" was one you could listen to over and over, and I even gave a talk on it once at a Young Life club.

I was so excited to find this site and be able to click on the song and hear it again, and then I saw I could download the lyrics, too. It was especially fun to read them right now as we set up our new home. 

Hope you can take the time to listen and enjoy (and low and behold--there are like four other albums of his since then! Where have I been??).  If anyone has good songs, pass them on. I'm stuck in the old days and need some new tunes.

How To Be Content

When we moved a few weeks ago, I was extremely anxious.  We had several delays with the closing of our old house due to circumstances beyond everyone's control.  Those delays caused delays in closing on our new house. What was supposed to be an exciting time was extremely stressful.  I walked around with a continual pit in my stomach.

While unpacking a box, I came across a book I'd read years ago called Calm My Anxious Heart by Linda Dillow.  Oh, what good medicine this book has been this month as I've been re-reading it. Dillow has lived in Europe, China, and now in Colorado, working in international ministry with her husband.  While she offers wisdom on contentment and letting go of anxieties, she also writes profiles of some of the extraordinary women she has met around the world. Each time, she is faced with how much she has and often how little the other woman has; she is confronted by how easy it is to complain when you have been given much, and how her friends that have been given little do not complain.  She reminds us of what it means to have an eternal perspective instead of a worldly perspective:

"I am not saying this because I am in need, for I have learned to be content whatever the circumstances.  I know what it is to be in need, and I know what it is to have plenty.  I have learned the secret of being content in any and every situation, whether well fed or hungry, whether living in plenty or in want.  I can do everything through him who gives me strength" (Philippians 4:11-13).

One particular "prescription for contentment" she recorded was especially powerful.  She told of a woman who had been a missionary with the pygmies in Africa for 52 years.  Along with her husband and kids, she endured temperatures over 120 degrees with no AC or electricity.  Her daughter wondered how she didn't complain, and later found these words in her diary:

• "Never allow yourself to complain about anything--not even the weather.
• Never picture yourself in any other circumstances or someplace else.
• Never compare your lot with another's.
• Never allow yourself to wish this or that had been otherwise.
• Never dwell on tomorrow--remember that [tomorrow] is God's, not ours." (Dillow, 11-12).

Hmmm...seems to me that this list might cut down a lot of our conversation topics--the comparing, the complaining, the future.  But I love how this list leaves gobs of time for gratitude. And contentment.

Oh, Deer

This morning I went for a walk before the heat starting breathing on me.  It was around 9 in the morning, a popular Saturday walking time in our neighborhood, and I wasn't alone.  I saw other walkers, and then I saw a surprise.

As the main road curved, a deer poked her head out from behind a small tree in the yard of a corner house.  She looked at me, blinking and studying me. I stopped and watched.  We were both still and stared.  She stepped out into the yard. Then we both heard a car. A white SUV drove up, and my deer took off running down the street in the opposite direction, her hooves clacking on the pavement.

I followed her into a cul-de-sac, but she disappeared -- probably into that expansive lawn that backed up to the golf course.  Looked like a nice spot.

I couldn't stop smiling for the rest of the walk. Such a fun surprise. I kept hearing the hooves on the pavement and just wondering.  I love little gifts of nature in our busy world.  They just make you smile.

Internet Access

We moved to a new house. Major life disruption. We didn't have a washer/dryer for a week, but I did get to do a load a day at my sweet friend's house.  We didn't have phones for a week, but we did have our cell phones.  We didn't have internet for a week. No blog writing.  And then... here it is later than that...and I'm just now writing.

Because it's not only the access to these daily tools that's important. It's the routine. When we fall off the routine, oh... so hard to get back into it.

I got so far behind on laundry that it just seemed too overwhelming. I didn't have a strategy for catching up; I just started these measly loads of mishmash that weren't really achieving the needs--tball uniform ready for the game, socks ready for a new school day, towels, sheets... you get the picture. I would get a load out of the dryer to fold, and it was like one sock with a kitchen towel and pajama bottoms with no top, etc.  Even yesterday, my husband asked about a laundry item, and all I could say was, "We're really backed up on laundry" and go start a new load.

And with blogging, same deal. It sounded overwhelming. What do I have to say? I'm backed up on laundry? I have a box of toiletries in my bath cabinet that's too daunting to unpack?  The "office" boxes in the garage may never be opened?

I guess now that my excuse for no access is over, I better just try.  One step at a time.  Another day, another box. One word at a time. One post at a time. We'll take it from there.

Old Friends, New Friends

Over the weekend, our family and another family went to a nearby lake.  The other family lives overseas, but they had come to the States for a few weeks.  The last time we did this was four years ago, and between the two families, we had 3 babies.  Now, we have 6 children between us.  The kids don't remember last time we were all together, but they loved playing this weekend... swimming, swapping hair bows, boating, hunting for Easter eggs.

What is most amazing to me about this weekend is the history behind it. My friend M and I have known each other since we were in pre-school and lived on the same street.  The picture of our daughters shown here is eerily similar to how we looked in the 70s.  In fact, I sent the photo to my mom who forwarded it to M's dad, and he asked where she dug this photo of us up from the 70s!  He was kidding, but it is similar.

This precious little 3-year-old girl is my god-daughter, and I had not gotten to spend much time with her until now since she lives in another country.  She is hysterical and truly reminds me so much of her mom ... her expressions, the careful way she sings So Long, Farewell , her desire to borrow things she likes--whether an item from your dinner plate or an item from your closet, her calm manner and peaceful smile.

When my daughter and my god-daughter were playing on Saturday evening at an outdoor restaurant, I could see M and me in the backyard of our childhood. The boys of the group this weekend were wild, banging sticks like swords, talking in booming voices, sweaty hair sticking to their foreheads; and these little girls were holding hands and trying to protect themselves. My daughter even walked up to the boys and shouted, "Can you please be calm for a minute!"  Like them, back in the day, M and I used to be on home base, "making ammo" and talking in the backyard, while the boys raced around from yard to yard,  playing war.

Today, I am thinking of the sweetness in these new friendships. Who knows what the future brings, but I sure hope these new friends will know the sweetness and certainty of being old friends.

Another Book to Read

In November, I got to hear Susan Baker speak at a book signing for her book Passing It On: An Autobiography with Spirit.  What struck me most was her honesty.  Though she touched on the notable public life she has had, along with her husband former Secretary of State James A. Baker III, she spoke in the same breath of her personal life--made up of suffering, joy, blessings, and faith.  I was especially moved by her use of this time to glorify God.  In a room full of nicely dressed women at a country club, Susan Baker was more interested in being real and pointing towards her personal savior Jesus Christ than she was about impressing anyone with stories of Washington and rubbing shoulders with the elite.

Last week, I finally read her book. That same humility mixed with humor and faith shone through each chapter. Beginning with her life growing up on a ranch, moving through marriage, children, divorce, remarriage, blending and growing family, politics, tragic deaths, and even cancer, she writes of each event through a faith perspective.  The book is very much her spiritual journey, as anchored by different events, rather than a political story or family memoir.  The last couple of chapters even read more like a devotional or a book to be used in a women's Bible study.  I gleaned much practical wisdom from her chapter on prayer (chapter 14, "Why Pray?").

Prayer seems to undergird almost every aspect of her personal story--from the moment she truly came to know God in a personal way to the public arena of Washington to surviving her battle with cancer.  Prayer in Washington was compelling to read about, especially the non-partisan prayer group to pray for First Lady Hilary Clinton and another prayer group for Iraq. What an amazing behind-the-scenes look at life in our nation's capitol.

Originally meant to be a story of encouragement and lessons learned for her own family, Passing It On certainly offers encouragement and wisdom for me, too. I think it is critical for us to hear from older, wiser people at each step of our lives, and if we don't have a formal mentor at the moment, a good book can provide direction and food for thought.

Embrace the Wait

Over 12 years ago, I wrote a poem called "Waiting."  No matter how much time passes, we still go through seasons of waiting. Or even simply days of waiting. Waiting is hard. I like to know things for certain, have them wrapped up neatly with a bow. 

I guess waiting can take different forms:
...the giddy with anticipation times of waiting... like finding out if the baby in your tummy is a boy or a girl. 
...or the fear-inducing times of waiting, like wanting the results of an MRI.
...and then the waiting on circumstances outside of our control, maybe outside any human control.  Waiting on God.

Sometimes the waiting makes us weary, as in when a longing in our chest hasn't been fulfilled. 

Sometimes the waiting motivates us. ...What can I be doing in the meantime?

And sometimes like today, I have felt like a balloon drifting aimlessly in the sky, dodging tree branches and telephone wires, trying to stay afloat.

I had the thought today, though, that though I feel like someone let go of this balloon, I know I am tethered. I know God has me.  Even if I feel a bit tossed about in the breeze, I should enjoy the ride because I am in His hands.  Maybe He gave me a longer string today, but He's still holding it. 

My poem from 1998 is:

"Waiting"

The arc
of the sway
of the hammock
should bring a lullaby.

The arc
of the sway
of the hammock
makes the limbo sigh.

That's all it says. But today, while the sway is making me a little seasick, I want to rest in the hammock. I want to feel caught in the trees and know that I'm caught. I want to embrace the wait and see what it has for me.

Revelation Song

Today during naptime, I sat down to read a little in my Bible study and write in my journal. But I didn't feel like it. I just kept wanting to hear this awesome song we sang in church yesterday. But I didn't know who sang it.  And I could only think of part of the chorus--"Holy, holy, holy is the Lord God almighty." I knew I couldn't get too far on Google because of the hymn "Holy, holy, holy."

That was my favorite part of church yesterday. That song. It was so awesome. I just felt like we were all the children singing to the Lord like it talks about in Revelation.

So today I decided to put on Pandora, and just type in Third Day because I love their newish song and really all their songs. And I could listen to lead singer Mac Powell's voice all day long.

I sat there and sang with my eyes closed to the first two songs--gorgeous Third Day songs--and was thankful that no matter all the busy-ness and hard, sad things I have heard in the last couple of days, no matter the blessings and joy and laughter, no matter the anxiety and fears and tears... He is faithful and so big and so there, available, here, present.

And then... the third song... the one I wanted all along! The one from church yesterday... I could belt it out again!  I could pull up the lyrics to have all the words! 

So here's the song:  "Revelation Song" by Phillips, Craig, and Dean.  I'm going to go listen again.

The Clogfather

When we lived in Kansas, our plumber was called "The Clogfather." His logo on his card was in the style of the movie logo for The Godfather.  I don't remember his name because ... do I need to? The Clogfather is whom I remember.

He had dark curly hair and had almost always just finished a cigarette.  While outside de-clogging something or other, he'd continue smoking.

One time, the Clogfather had to fix the toilet in the master bathroom.  After showing him the problem, I left to go deal with dinner or a baby.  When I returned, I headed through the master bedroom toward the bathroom.  As I wheeled around the corner, ahhh! The Clogfather was standing there using the toilet!

"Sorry, sorry!" I backed out in horror.

"Oh, sorry, m'am! So sorry!"

I still can't figure out why he left the door open.  Scarred by the Clogfather.

Recently, we have had various repairmen at our house to fix a few things that the house inspection revealed needed fixing.  One air conditioning man came to give an estimate.  A large gentleman, he was dismayed to see the tiny passage leading to the attic crawl space.  He quickly changed directions and tested several other areas first.  Then he looked down the hall toward the attic passage as beads of sweat developed on his forehead.

"Oh, boy," he said, shaking his head.  Then he paused before heading that way.  "I need to go make a call."  He quickly walked out the front door and sat in his truck for a good 10 minutes.  He returned with the estimate all written up--having never set foot in the attic crawl space!  He explained all the reasons this would add up to $1000.  He was nice, but sorry, dude. That doesn't instill much confidence.

Today, a Russian electrician arrived. I had talked to him on the phone several times, and I was definitely picturing all the Russians I know best... Putin, Yeltsin, Gorbachev, and harkening back to the movie White Nights, Baryshnikov... never mind the fact that these Russians don't look much alike.  He was decisive from the moment he walked in the door.

"Is easy," he declared. "$250."  He fixed everything then and there.  Plus, the baby loved the tool belt and ladder and did his best to get in the way.  Because this man was built a little more like Putin and a little less like Yeltsin, he managed the crawl space just fine. As far as I know, all is well with the electrical world.

Recent Good Reads

1. Hotel on the Corner of Bitter and Sweet by Jamie Ford. So sweet. Set during WWII in Seattle and follows a Chinese boy and Japanese girl from when they meet in 6th grade until they meet again when they are gray.  Deals with the Japanese internment camps in the U.S. during this time.  Many of the women in my book club did not even know about the camps, and we all agreed that none of us who did know ever heard about in school--even college.  Raises great questions, but also just sweet.



2. Nurture Shock by Po Bronson and Ashley Merryman.  More food for thought with parenting and teaching. These journalists look at scientific research on learning and behavior in children and write about it in a splashy way that a lay person can understand.  Now whether the lay person can remember all the details is another story, but... I do remember sleep is super important! This would be a good book to read with someone else and discuss as you go. There is so much in it that it needs to be talked about to be remembered.  I'll write more about it eventually.



3. American Modern by Thomas O'Brien.  A gorgeous coffee table book by the designer who does high-brow decorating as well as, shall we say, accessible decorating (Target).  I especially loved that he started the book with a look at his Manhattan apartment when he first moved in, and then he ended the book with the same apartment today.  He still lives there, but he lives in it differently than he originally did. I also loved that all of his interiors were a beautiful blend of antique and contemporary pieces. The reason I splurged and got this book is because it was our anniversary (8 years), AND we put a contract on a house. The house we have under contract is contemporary (as in 1980 contemporary), which is a far cry from our previous 1960s ranches with their cottage-y feel. I was needing some inspiration to match the huge windows and sculptural trees outside. This book is lovely, and it did inspire.

Lockdown

This morning my older children did not have school because of parent conferences.  While I was making beds and starting laundry, they were playing in my daughter's room. I heard a lot of banging around and the baby laughing hysterically.

"What are you doing, guys?"

"Nothing," the chorus shouted.

I opened the door and saw clothes flung everywhere.  With innocent expressions, everyone froze on the various pieces of furniture they were standing on.

"Mom, Lilla's stuff that is too small is out of her closet now,"  my older son stated responsibly. Hmmm....

"OK. Thanks. That is on our list today--to clean out closets. But please don't add to that pile."

"OK," said the chorus.

Next I heard urgent, loud talking--an emergency! Back and forth down the hall from the room to the bathroom.

"What are ya'll doing?"

"We're having a lockdown!"  the chorus informed me.  They are having a "practice lockdown" at school tomorrow during lunch.  They had told me this means they all crowd into the class bathroom with their teachers in case "there is a stranger at school or someone sees smoke."  Now they were playing like they were the teachers, and the baby was their student.

I opened the door to the lockdown.  The lights were off except for flashlights. One of the "teachers"--the eldest--was weilding a toy cowboy pistol and sitting on the toilet lid.  Apparently, the "student" was a tad unruly and was trying to play in the toilet water.  They had books, a changing pad, and some sticky notes...all the necessities. I closed the door. After a while, my daughter emerged because they had forgotten a few things. She must have fixed her hair while in the lockdown because she had a clip pulling half her hair back in a sort of unfinished Pippi Longstockings-do.  She grabbed a school reading chart from the office and gave me a status report:

"We had to send the student home because he was talking, and you're not allowed to talk in a lockdown."

As the talking student toddled in the office while I was writing this post, I had to finish it later in the evening. And though the whole incident seemed a version of dark humor this morning, I'm not exactly sure the best way to cope with the fact that we live in a world where my 4- and 5-year-olds are playing "lockdown." 
But let's hope the drill at school goes a little smoother than the one at my house.

Here, Lee-zard Lee-zard

Who in their right mind would sign up to show their house when they have three little ones ranging in age from 15 months to 5 1/2? Showing your house when you are trying to sell it is not fun for anyone, but this go around, I am somehow nostalgic for the days of house-selling when the biggest worry was dog hair.  These days, it's much harder to keep clean because little ones are always undoing what I've done.

Two weeks ago, we had been in a lull on the house showings. And then that Tuesday night, we got a call about a showing the next day. My sweet husband helped me get the kids to bed and then he raced to Home Depot to get lightbulbs and new plants for the front pot. He got home at 9 p.m., and then changed lightbulbs and planted the pot on the front porch! Talk about physical energy. He amazes me.

The next morning we found out we were actually going to have three showings that day, so I put the baby in his crib that morning (even though he's given up morning naps!), armed with books and stuffed animals. Hoping he'd entertain himself for a while, I got busy on floors, countertops, mirrors, and the regular tidying/kitchen/laundry/beds.  When I got to the hall bathroom, I noticed we had a visitor. A little green lizard. 

Lizards are not my department. I just don't do lizards.  So, I decided to ignore the lizard.  I swept, I mopped, I sprayed and wiped.  I kept thinking he would scurry off, but he froze like a little green statue on my white tile--as if I wouldn't notice him. 

I left to finish up elsewhere, and when I returned to check on him, he was hiding under the bath mat--with his green tail sticking out.  I don't care how cute and clean the house looks: if there is a lizard hanging out in the bathroom, who's gonna want it?  I was really starting to freak out.

I called my husband in a panic and left a long, hysterical, high-pitched message about the lizard.  Couldn't he please come home to capture it? Couldn't he take time off from his out-of-control busy week to help me with my lizard situation?  Thankfully, he did not get the message until much later.

I must confess. I considered murder. Maybe some potent cleaning spray would knock him out?  We'd never hear from him again. No one would have to know.

But then I felt guilty. So, I gathered all my courage and got a little dustpan and hand-held broom. I envisioned success.  I would just sweep him quickly into the dustpan and race to the door and flick him outside.  It sounded so easy until I got a living creature involved that didn't want to be swept. He kept slithering and sliding and scurrying whenever I'd get him onto the dustpan, and then I'd get scared and jerk the pan, and out he'd go. After numerous tries, I gave up.  I decided to pray instead.  Lord, you are bigger than a lizard. If you want this person to like the house, please don't let that lizard show his little tail or face during the showing.

I haven't seen the lizard since. I'm guessing the lookers didn't either because they made an offer on our house. 

Forget Failure

The baby is 15 months, and he doesn't walk anymore. He runs. Or trots, rather. Everywhere he goes is full steam ahead. No hesitation. He definitely gets some bumps and bruises along the way, but after a quick fall or falter, he's up and at it again.  While it's exhausting for the mother, it's also inspirational. He's not intimidated; he just goes.

I was out of town on Saturday, and my sweet babysitter took all three kids to a superhero birthday party. She told me that the baby only wanted to hang out at one spot: the basketball court. This court was not really where the party was; it was for big kids and adults to use.  And I guess the occasional toddler.  She had to try to keep him off when big people were using it, and the second they were gone, he'd race back out to play.  My daughter laughed when I told her about this.

"Yes," she said. "I saw him over there from the pirate ship."

In thinking about the baby's audacity, I am reminded how utterly cautious I am. I like to have my ducks in a row before proceeding. I like to envision the outcome.  I don't like the messy "what if's" or the unruly "maybe not's."  I don't like to fail.

I fail a lot, but I don't like it. I feel it. It makes me scared to try again.

I have been thinking about this topic with writing lately. When I was younger and braver and would sent out bold query letters or send poems to literary journals, I felt hopeful of the outcome. But rejection letters aren't that fun. They make you think you might not really be a writer after all.  You might just be a journaler or a scribbler.

As reminded by my Bible study teacher, I've been trying to do some listening prayer lately instead of just talking prayer.  Last week, I heard: "Forget Failure.  Just do what I tell you."

Forget failure.

What would we all be like if we could forget failure and just do what He tells us?

"Forgetting what is behind and straining toward what is ahead, I press on toward the goal to win the prize for which God has called me heavenward in Christ Jesus." (Philippians 3:13-14).

Dog Days

When I first met our dog, Emmitt, he was a teeny chocolate lab puppy who tumbled out of a neighbor's wagon onto our front lawn and stretched out for a nap. Our kids were 18 months and almost 3 at the time, and our savvy neighbor told his high school-age kids to bring a wagon full of their new litter over to our house.  Emmitt promptly nestled up close to me and slept.

I strolled the kids over to the neighbor's house a few days later, and that little Emmitt was his same laid-back self. Just a sleeping blob. What's not to love?  If we were to get a dog, I wanted this one. Quiet, still, a sleeper. I didn't want one of his jabbering sisters or playful brothers. Just one to snooze quietly on the floor next to me. Like a cat.

Well, turns out that the second Emmitt moved over to our house, he got a new personality. A jumpy, barky, social personality. Where, oh where, had my sleeping dog gone? 

I now spend a lot of time saying, "Emmitt!" in an exasperated voice.  Grabbing a pull-up out of a trashcan and racing through the house shredding it? Emmitt! Snatching a favorite stuffed animal out of a shrieking child's hands and running around the yard like a maniac?  Emmitt!  Barking like crazy, but then not coming inside when called? Emmitt! Knocking over the baby on his way out the door? Emmitt!

But this week, Emmitt has been my buddy. My husband has been out of town, and I HATE staying at home without him. I almost always figure out a way around it--importing a friend from out of town, loading up the kids and going to stay with family, or loading everyone up and just traveling with my husband! But this week, after I had exhausted all options, it was time to suck it up.

And one little pearl from the week is that in the evenings after the kids are in bed, I have given Emmitt a rawhide bone and let him hang out with me in the family room. His tail thumps loudly and he scoots my ottoman over continuously with his closeness, but I'll admit, he's been nice to have around. It made me think that in a few more years, he just might be back to that Emmitt I first met. That nice, quiet, sleeping dog.

Not the Right Time

"These people say, 'The time has not yet come for the Lord's house to be built.' ... Is it time for you yourselves to be living in your paneled houses, while this house remains a ruin? ... Give careful thought to your ways.  You have planted much but harvested little" (Haggai 1: 2-6).

I came across this passage today in reading a book called Made to Crave: Satisfying your Deepest Desire with God, Not Food by Lysa TerKeurst.  She was looking at this passage in relation to living a healthy lifestyle--treating your body as a temple of the Holy Spirit (that idea based on 1 Corinthians 6:19).  She wrote that we are often full of excuses about timing before starting to make changes in our lives. 

For me, major life transitions uproot my routine and my intentions each time--whether a move, job change, marriage, having a child.  Hmmm...now that I think about it, it seems even little life transitions can topple the routine (illness, holidays, vacations). 

Knowing that things are going to come up, how can we make lasting changes in different areas of our lives, whether physical, spiritual, mental, financial, or relational?

The above passage from Haggai continues:
"Give careful thought to your ways.  Go up into the mountains and bring down timber and build the house, so that I may take pleasure in it and be honored" (Haggai 1:7-8).

Not only does this Scripture call for self-reflection, but it calls for major effort and work. Before even starting the building process (which we know takes time), we are to climb a mountain and haul down timber! This doesn't sound like a quick 911 phone call or prayer.  How can we gear up?  How can we not feel discouraged before even starting?

I am reminded that in building a huge building, construction workers use scaffolding.  To me, this image of a structure to help the building process is useful.  I think creating structure--even a temporary one--helps me get back into building my life in the direction I want it to go.  That structure can include the accountability of friends or other people; or it could include the structure of time or space to think and plan and act.  But whatever it is, a scaffold can help focus the building project.

But perhaps the most significant way to press on in the face of a huge personal goal is to focus on the spiritual aspect of the goal, the thought of building a house that honors the Lord.

TerKeurst also quoted this verse:
"My flesh and my heart may fail, but God is the strength of my heart and my portion forever" (Psalm 73:26).

Cold Again

When we woke up this morning, the temperature was in the 40s, but it was in the 30s by the time the kids left for school and in the 20s by the time the baby and I left for Bible study.  I could see the traces from last night's rain starting to freeze on the picnic table.  A flip flop on the patio had ice on it.  I was debating even leaving the house, thinking I should call my husband and have him block off time so HE could bring the kids home from school later in the day. 

I called my friend who was oblivious to the fact that it was so cold and was loading up her kids in the car.

"Oh? I didn't know it was 28.  I'll call and let you know how the roads are," she said.

"O.K." I answered, "But don't call while you're driving."  You know, safety first.

I had been feeling very self-righteous about last week's cold, remembering how tough I'd become from living in Kansas.  Shoot, these Texans just don't know how to handle it.  But then my car slid on an icy road last Saturday and I panicked. I turned around from our goal of a movie, kids' crying in the backseat with the injustice of it all, me starting to cry with fear and frustration.  My sweet husband, who spent six years in the Northeast, was not getting it when we came in the door with all our drama.  He ended up driving us safely to a later feature. Pitiful. But that's why I was nervous today.  What if there was ice?

I remember skidding on the ice in Kansas, too. And turning around and going home.  My husband patiently said the same thing then that he did this time: "You just don't know how to drive on ice.  You just need to slow down."

I tried to keep that in my head today.  Drive slowly. Anyway, I made it. I didn't see a lick of ice on the road. But better to drive like an old lady than be sorry.

I guess I'm not so tough anymore. I'm used to the warm weather of South Texas. I'm so cold right now--even inside--wool sweater over my long sleeve shirt, jeans, snuggly boots, blanket.

When my babysitter came last night, I asked if it was cold outside.  "Not to me," she said. She's from Colorado.

Teeth-chattering, Book-reading Weather

With crazy cold weather... even snow in South Texas!... it's hard to think about being productive.  Most of the city has checked out and hunkered down.  For me, this behavior started yesterday. It was so cold that all I could think about was sweatpants, hot tea, a couch, and my book.

Because the baby took a long winter's nap yesterday, my dream came true.  Pure luxury.  And I finished my book!  I was reading The Glass Castle by Jeannette Walls, and I have already asked for her next book for Valentine's Day.  I had actually put off reading this book despite numerous recommendations; it seemed like a sad story, and I wasn't quite in the mood. But then my book club chose it, and my sweet neighbor and friend (who took the above photo) dropped her library copy in my mail box.  She had read it furiously and finished in a few days.  Reluctantly, I read the first paragraph, and from that moment, I looked for every excuse to read it.

My husband and I have a habit of reading first lines of our books to each other. We love really strong first sentences.  This one is a doozy:
"I was sitting in a taxi, wondering if I had overdressed for the evening, when I looked out the window and saw Mom rooting through a Dumpster" (Walls, 3).

Walls' writing captivated me from that first sentence; it was gorgeous throughout. The detail was stunning so that each place where she lived was so clear, whether a trailer park, the desert of California, inner city Arizona, rural West Virginia, or New York City.  I also appreciated that, even though this story was her personal story, she didn't editorialize much; she just wrote what happened (from her point of view, of course).  She didn't try to make sense of it all, and she didn't even place square blame on anyone; she simply told the story.

I started this post on Friday morning, the snow day, when the temperatures were below freezing.  I am finishing it today, Sunday, when it's sunny and 60s.  Regardless of the outside weather, The Glass Castle has been sitting with me all weekend.  My mind keeps returning to the Walls family's wild ride, the sadness, the determination, the survival instinct, the ability to laugh, the unorthodoxy, the bravery, the hunger, the need to dream, the need for art, the tragedy, the heroism. I am excited for book club.

Afternoon Antics

My plan for an after-school activity today was to get going on making Valentine's.  That lasted a little while, but pretty soon, O and L were rehearsing a show in the living room, with O plunking on the piano and L doing a ballet/modern dance in a bridal dress from the dress-up box.  They were very serious about the show, as usual.  I did my best to corral the baby in my lap to watch, and he clapped for a while at the dancing bride, but pretty soon, he moved on.

We broke up the performance and promised to reconvene after more rehearsals. I went to change the baby's diaper, and O followed me.  Spotting a diaper box, he dumped out the diapers and disappeared with the box.  I later glanced into the family room and saw him on the floor with grown-up scissors, stabbing them into the box.  Amid sawing noises, I kept hollering, "Are you being careful?" in my best school-marm voice.

The next thing I know, I am bathing the baby, and in walks a robot! O had made the box into a robot costume all by himself. How do kids learn these things?

Maybe I am too easily impressed by what a five-year-old can make out of a box, but I think I'm also impressed by the act of making something out of nothing.  How often do we see raw materials--or even garbage--and create? Poof!  I also like that there are a million plastic toys and trucks and action figures and builder things hanging around, but he chose the cardboard box instead.

I had been talking on the phone with my friend in Paris yesterday, and we were recounting a few childhood memories.  We both have strong memories of us as children planning elaborate games and playing, but we don't remember parent involvement.  Yet, we had and still have very involved moms.  We aren't sure if we don't remember because we were too little, and by the time our memories kicked in, we were more independent; OR if we don't remember because our parents let us play and didn't organize our play.  Either way, we liked thinking about how we played, and it made us wonder why we all feel the need to plan "play dates." Do we feel like supermom when we decorate cookies and have special crafts?  Will that be what our kids remember? Or will it be the backyard fort they dream up and build on their own?  I don't know. I'm just asking.

The Doghouse

This morning, the baby learned a new trick: how to let the dog out of his crate.  While making a bed, I was surprised to have the dog trot down for a visit. I let him outside and went to investigate.  I found a little mischief-maker in the crate.

Our dog, Emmitt, is a humongous chocolate lab with a tail that can thwack, a bark that prompts calls from a "concerned neighbor," and a bad habit of eating children's socks.  Yesterday, I found several of said socks in the yard; they had made their way out of his system one way or another. Gross.

There are dog people out there, and then, there are those of us who marry dog people. 

I have a friend who is one of the funniest non-dog people I know.  She has four kids, and her husband and kids started in on the dog theme a couple of years ago.  She hemmed and hawed until a scruffy little dog showed up at her house one night for dinner; some dog-loving and -rescuing friends had come for dinner and were real keen on this dog "Molly," but they couldn't keep her because they had too many dogs of their own.  She was tucked into a tiny box and looked so sweet that, lo and behold, my friend MK welcomed Molly into her home.

Molly is a pint-sized version of Sandy from Annie, with the huge bonus that she arrived with heartworm. She seems a touch like those malteepoos you see, but maybe without the bloodlines.  Suddenly, MK, who had barely glanced at anyone else's dogs over the years, was carrying this scrawny mutt in her arms when she opened the door to her home and then holding her in her lap while you sat in the living room.  She took her on trips.  And she took her to the vet (heartworm, you know).  Molly really was kind of endearing and didn't seem to cause a bit of trouble (except maybe the heartworm thing).

One day, her little buddy Molly refused to go on a walk with MK.  She just sat down on the sidewalk and wouldn't budge.  MK thought it was a little odd, but didn't give it that much thought. She has four kids to think about, after all.

That night, when they got home from dinner, they found Molly on the floor not moving and breathing heavily.  MK sent her husband to the emergency vet and began to prepare her children for the worst.  Her husband called with the news: "Molly is in labor."

Now, my friend who is not a dog person has two dogs. And they don't know who the father is.

New Friends

New cities or new churches or new schools or new neighborhoods bring new friends. Even though I have been in this city almost 4 years, I am still making friends here. I read something the other day that talked about how new friendships can stretch us, make us grow.  That made me think about some recent new friendships.

Last week, my friend Lauren gathered a group of us to meet at a Thai restaurant in order to spend time with a woman who just moved here a few months ago.  I called Lauren on the way there because I was running late and wasn't entirely sure where I was going. Plus, the neighborhood was seeming a teeny bit sketchy.  I was still on the phone with her when I found it.  "Um... how did we hear about this place?" I asked Lauren.  I pulled into the lot of the restaurant which was attached to, as Holly later put it, "a stop and shoot."  The other women saw children peeking out the window sill of that convenience store, but I didn't take enough time to really assess. I didn't want to be hanging in the parking lot too long.

Once inside, I completely left my exterior doubts outside. It was a beautiful, cozy room with wood paneling and a tranquil setting. I saw Holly already seated and sipping tea, and I saw another woman at a different table who looked like she could be part of the group, and as soon as Laura walked in, she was able to connect all of four of us without Lauren's help, which was good because she was still trying to find this tidy little restaurant.

By the end of the evening, I had met two new people, Laura and Becca, and had tried some yummy new dishes.  I love ordering family style anyway, but it was nice to do with people you didn't know well because you felt too bad to say--"I don't think that sounds good" so you tried more. (Except Lauren, who is pregnant, had a license to say, "No. I won't eat that."). Laura is an architect and just bought a house in a historical district, and Becca is married to an architect and lives in another historical area. So, this totally fed my desire to be an artist (or at least be friends with them!).  Plus, one had been to Thailand and one to Nepal. I mean really. So cool.

All this to say, I like the stretching part of meeting new friends. I like the new connections and the way your mind opens up and goes in a new direction than it has in a while (Nepal? Not sure my mind has ever really traveled there). I like the unexpected turns of conversation; you don't have the same ole complaints you share with some old friends, and you can't get into too much gossip because you don't know all the same people. It pushes your topics.

Even though we didn't linger in the parking lot (because some new characters were arriving at the convenience store), we had lingered at the table inside.  And my thoughts have returned to that table and food and restaurant several times since then, thinking I need to cultivate new friendships more often.

Foiled Again

I have always heard the story of how Abraham Lincoln lost all these political races before becoming one of the most memorable and respected Presidents of all time.  I have heard about people being told they could not do something, so that made them all the more determined to accomplish that goal.  My husband recently heard a talk by Aimee Mullins, a woman who had her legs amputated as a baby but who has gone on to compete as a runner, be a model, and be an actress.  http://www.ted.com/speakers/aimee_mullins.html

I usually hear these inspirational stories a bit removed from myself. I think of the human spirit, the way God works hardships to the good.  I tend to think that these are extreme cases of nobility, people designed to be heroes. 

What I don't dwell on is the part about getting over rejection.  The part about saying yes, when circumstances say no.

That is hard stuff, and that is something I encounter most days.  I set a goal like getting up early to write, but the baby wakes up at that time, too. Goal interrupted.  I set a goal like going to the gym to exercise, but the baby is sick and can't be in the gym nursery.  These are little bitty examples from an ordinary human life--not anything like the heroic goals of some people out there--but what I am thinking about today is that it would be heroic for me to respond to these "No's" with some creative "Yes's."

Yes, I have to be realistic that when babies and children are in the picture (a beautiful picture!), things are messy.  Schedules are unpredictable.  You put them ahead of you.  You take care of them.  You love them.

But what if I didn't accept defeat of my goals? What if I didn't give up so easily? What if I worked harder and was more creative with my time?

I'm just thinking that Aimee Mullins and Abraham Lincoln did not throw their hands up and say, "Forget it. Why even try?"

Recognizing Talents

Last night at dinner we were talking about someone who is artistic.  The kids each mentioned an artist they had met recently, and my husband pointed out to them that each of us has certain gifts and talents.  He looked at my five-year-old son and asked, "Do you know what some of your gifts are?"

Without hesitation, my son, said, "Yes. Smart.  Leader.  And I help people when they need it."

Wow. I was bowled over.  I had anticipated some confusion and our having to help him out, perhaps a discussion about how gifts can be more highly developed over time.  Seeds planted...blossoms eventually growing...that sort of thing.

I guess I could learn a thing or two from my son. He feels sure of some wonderful qualities in himself and knows they are gifts.  If I ask myself, "Do you know what your gifts are?," what is my answer?

I think in some sense, I may have had a clearer picture of innate gifts and interests as a child.  Some of the games we played, especially when alone or "unsupervised," revealed such interesting versions of ourselves.  The library we started in my brother's room, the plays we were always producing and starring in, the rodeo we planned, the school we started for the toddlers on our block, the kid-fort-town we designed behind the garage. If we could dream it up, it could happen.

As adults, we sometimes let obligations, responsibility, and maybe a little cynicism cloud the picture.  If we can dream it up, we don't always believe it can happen. We overthink the logistics.  We spend too much time planning a dive instead of jumping into the pool, making a splash, and starting to swim.

Sometimes we should think back to those bold dreams and childhood clarities.  Oh, to know that you are wise... or a leader.. or a helper or...  What a gift to internalize these qualities and feel sure.

The Discipline of Writing

Writing is like a diet regimen.  You have to get up every day and make it a priority.  You have to make time in your schedule to deal with the logistics...What's the weekly menu?  What do I already have and what do I need?  When will I make the meal? How will I stay inspired?  How can I exercise to stay in shape?

Funny how on New Year's Day I can re-commit, and here on January 19th, I am having to re-commit again.

What I know is that when I write regularly, I start thinking like a writer.  All during the day, I get ideas and think, "I want to write about that;" I'll think of phrases or hear dialogue I want to remember.  I get excited to write. I feel like it's part of the day, part of my "to do" list.

What I also know is that when I don't write regularly, I find it very hard to start again. My mind is blank, no ideas. None. I look at a lonely computer and remember when.  I think about a sharpened pencil and blank journal and all the ideas that were, and I wonder where they went.

Last week, I fell off the bandwagon.  The end of last week, we listed our house for sale.  So during the first part of the week, when I wanted to sit down and write, I told myself, I had to do some chores first.  I needed to prepare the house and clean out closets and pack up clutter and go to Goodwill and be stressed and cranky and not exercise either for that matter...just try to focus on the task at hand.  But I have to say I missed the writing. 

And though it's already Wednesday of this week, I really didn't know what to say. So I'm just saying that I fell off the horse and am climbing back in that already dusty saddle. 

Growing in Freedom

"And we pray this in order that you may live a life worthy of the Lord and may please him in every way: bearing fruit in every good work, growing in the knowledge of God, being strengthened with all power..." (Colossians 1:10-11a).

Focusing today on "growing in the knowledge of God," my mind does not leap to what verses or Bible trivia I need to know (mind knowledge); rather, I think of my desire to grow in heart knowledge of God's true character.  Simply, I want to know God, the real God, the faithful God, the loving God.

I too often fall into false notions of who God is and what He thinks of me.  Is he mad? Disappointed?  I try to make God fit into my little world when, in fact, he is huge.  Staring at the stars, I am reminded of my smallness, and I need to remember that God is bigger than the stars.  It's not all about me.  I need to pay more attention to the whole truth of God's character, not dwell on half-truths.  God is loving, but do I realize the extent of his love?

One of the truths I have only partly swallowed is the freedom I have through Christ.

"It is for freedom that Christ set us free.  Stand firm, then, and do not let yourselves be burdened again by a yoke of slavery" (Galatians 5:1).

"He has sent me to bind up the brokenhearted, to proclaim freedom for the captives and release from darkness for the prisoners, to proclaim the year of the Lord's favor" (Isaiah 61:1b-2a).

"Now the Lord is the Spirit, and where the Spirit of the Lord is, there is freedom" (2 Corinthians 3:17).

I have come face-to-face with my lack of freedom lately.  I care too much what people think.  A friend reminded me recently of this verse:

"Am I trying to win the approval of men, or of God?  Or am I trying to please men?" (Galatians 1:10).

Wow.  Wake up call.  I have freedom from this!  I do not have to be a slave to what people think of me, to being a people pleaser.  What are ways to let go of this habit?

A friend had asked me to her house last night to hear about a women's retreat she has attended twice.  Each time she has left feeling rejuvenated.

The woman who started this retreat, Melissa Tamplin, told us part of her life story that led to launching these retreats.  When she told about the name PURE, she gave its definition: "thus and no other..."  She was talking about a ministry aimed at helping women grow in this way, the purest form of themselves, not mixed with the world's influences.  I heard this definition and thought about my desire to grow in freedom, to celebrate the total person God made me to be, not be affected by the approval of others or the influence of the world.  I don't know if I'm going to this conference yet (http://pure2011austin.eventbrite.com/), but I am thinking about it.

Bearing Fruit

"...And we pray this in order that you may live a life worthy of the Lord and may please him in every way: bearing fruit in every good work, growing in the knowledge of God, being strengthened with all power according to his glorious might so that you may have great endurance and patience..." (Colossians 1:10-11).

Today I want to focus on the highlighted part of these verses: bearing fruit in every good work.  When I think of bearing fruit in the Biblical context, I think of two passages, the one in Galatians on the Fruit of the Spirit and the one in John where Jesus talks about "I am the vine, you are the branches."  I want to look at those and think about how I might bear more fruit in every good work this year.

"But the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness and self-control" (Galatians 5:22-23).  As I look through this list, I see some fruits that have grown in me, and I see some that I would love to see grow this year.  But the holy spirit's living in me is what produces these many fruits.  I cannot do it on my own.  To bear more fruit will require more than my desire to do so.

This concept is explained by Jesus's words in John 15:
     "I am the true vine, and my Father is the gardener.  He cuts off every branch in me that bears no fruit, while every branch that does bear fruit he prunes so that it will be even more fruitful. ... No branch can bear fruit by itself; it must remain in the vine.  Neither can you bear fruit unless you remain in me.    I am the vine; you are the branches.  If a man remains in me and I in him, he will bear much fruit; apart from me you can do nothing. ... This is to my Father's glory, that you bear much fruit, showing yourselves to be my disciples" (John 15: 1-8).

I love that, even when we are being pruned in an area, it is so that we might bear more fruit.  I love that we can't do it on our own strength. How many times do I have to learn this truth?  I love that all the fruit is ultimately to the Father's glory.  I love that we are not abandoned in this journey, that we are in a relationship, the vine and branches; he is our support, our roots, our strength and power.

"...being confident of this, that he who began a good work in you will carry it on to completion until the day of Christ Jesus" (Philippians 1:6).

Run or Tiptoe?

"We have not stopped praying for you and asking God to fill you with the knowledge of his will through all spiritual wisdom and understanding" (Colossians 1:9).

How often do we want to know God's will?  I am forever wishing I knew what I should do in a particular situation, wishing I knew the future and could plan accordingly now. Life continually throws new challenges at us, new paths we could follow if we choose.  How do we know how to make decisions? How do we know if we should go forward with something or hang back cautiously?

I am not pretending to have "the answer" to knowing God's will in all circumstances, but I do think this verse offers insight as I look to the New Year and any new directions I may be pondering.

First of all, knowing God's will involves prayer.  We need to be praying, actively seeking God's guidance, as well as allowing other people to pray for us.  I remember a friend once advising, "Never pass up the opportunity to let someone pray for you."

Second, knowing his will requires spiritual wisdom and understanding.  Such wisdom often stands in opposition to the world's wisdom.  Spiritual wisdom can only come from God, as the result of his Holy Spirit giving us discernment to comprehend truth in a specific situation.

As I look to the excitement of a New Year and all its hopes and dreams, I know of several areas in my life that require prayer and spiritual wisdom to know God's will for me.  For example, with a new time commitment, how much time should be spent on that commitment?  When will I fit it in?  How will this impact other aspects of my life?  Will I need to make changes to accomodate that commitment?

Through prayer and a prayer journal, I need to spend time bringing each goal for the year before God and pray about it. Once I feel I have understanding, I can run forward on the path instead of tiptoeing.  I'm good at tiptoeing.  I need to work on the running.

Waking up to the New Year

After Christmas and New Years, I am always spent.  I need to recover from the lack of schedule in all areas of my life.  I need to reboot and recharge in order to get some self-discipline and order back into my life and household.  Now that school has started and I have had a few moments of quiet in my house, where better to look for motivation than the scriptures?

Here is what I found today that I think is an amazing passage to start the New Year (emphasis is mine):

"...We have not stopped praying for you and asking God to fill you with the knowledge of his will through all spiritual wisdom and understanding.  And we pray this in order that you may live a life worthy of the Lord and may please him in every way: bearing fruit in every good work, growing in the knowledge of God, being strengthened with all power according to his glorious might so that you may have great endurance and patience, and joyfully giving thanks to the Father, who has qualified you to share in the inheritance of the saints in the kingdom of light.  For he has rescued us from the dominion of darkness and brought us into the kingdom of the Son he loves, in whom we have redemption, the forgiveness of sins" (Colossians 1:9-14).

I think I will hang out with this passage for a few days.  There is too much in it for one sitting.