A Zest For Something

We don’t get out very much.  This became even more apparent to me when I was stuck in the middle of a conversation revolving around the most recent films to hit theaters.  The women were chatting it up about The Blind Side, It’s Complicated and a host of other grown up movie treats.  Subsequently they turned in my direction, as to not exclude me from the conversation, and asked if I had seen anything good lately.  If Chipmunks – The Squeakquel counted then, yes indeed, I’d seen something good.  Real good because, for an hour-and-a-half, my three chipmunks' eyes were glued to the movie screen.  

Date nights don’t materialize too often, or as often as Joel and I would like them to.  And when we do get a night out to ourselves we, more often than not, choose to go somewhere conducive to talking and looking at each other, rather than a movie.  It would have to be a pretty good film for us to spend twenty bucks on something that will gobble up one of our rare and precious date nights.  One such movie that I was willing to sacrifice coffee and conversation for was Julie and Julia, which came out late summer, early fall.  Sadly, for me, our schedule was too packed, and we never got a chance to see it.  So, when asked what DVD I might like to find in my stocking for Christmas, I didn’t hesitate to say, Julie and Julia.  And Santa was good to me.

We watched it on a Saturday night.  I remember this detail as I had made minestrone soup in my crock-pot for dinner, and hailed myself as a gourmet genius for producing such a tasty and flavorful meal.  However, as I watched the ladies in the film cut, pour, mix, marinade, stuff and wait, I realized that my idea of cooking was a little less complicated.  I’m a throw-it-all-in-one-dish-and-cook-for-thirty-minutes type gourmette.  I don’t like anything that takes hours, days or weeks to prepare.  In fact, the truth be told, I don’t really like to cook – plain and simple.  I’m not very good at it either.  Seriously.  If you want to know how to kill a dead chicken, just ask me.  My technique is both flawless and consistent.  I believe this is why the crock-pot is my favorite kitchen appliance (besides the dishwasher and coffee maker, of course).  So, while I wasn’t inspired to run out and buy Julia Child’s “Mastering the Art of French Cooking”, I was deeply impressed by both women’s passion for food and cooking, and where that passion took them.

The movie challenged me to take a critical look at myself and ask, “What am I passionate about?”  What is it that motivates me to get up in the morning (besides coffee), and what am I willing to face the ups and downs, the growing pains and the dry and empty days for?  Some things are just a given: my love and devotion for God, my husband and children.  Still, there’s got to be more to this time I spend on earth than serving God, loving my husband and raising a family.  And I don’t believe this feeling to be selfish either.  I need to have a zest for something.

My ponderings brought me to writing.  I love to write.  Now whether or not I’ve got the chops to actually write a book that will be purchased by more than just my immediate family, I have yet to see.  Time will tell.  I started my blog for the simple purpose of honing my craft.  If people like what they read then I’m moving in the right direction.  If it stinks, then I need to find a new passion…and quick.  There are days when I honestly wonder if all this work is worth it.  I wonder if I’m really making much of a dent in my dream to be a published author some day. 

There was one scene in the movie that spoke volumes to me.  Julia Child entered cooking school in France.  They were chopping onions.  She was slow…slower than my crock-pot.  While the other students had completed the task, and done exceptionally well at it, she was only half way through her onion.  Rather than throw in the towel and surmise that cooking was not in the cards for her, she went home and started chopping - lots and lots and lots of onions – until her skills had surpassed those of her classmates.  If Julia Child had to actually work at her technique, what makes me any different?  She didn’t start out as the shining star in her class, but as her passion led the way, her name became synonymous with French cooking.

Mine may not be the most widely read blog on the internet (in fact, I can tell you with great certainty that it is not), but I’m going to take my bag of onions and keep chopping until I’ve perfected this skill.  Until I have reached my dream and realized the passion within my heart.  I can’t say that I’ll be cooking up Beef Bourguignon anytime soon ever, but I will be cooking up all kinds of thoughts and words, paragraphs and stories that will, I pray, one day waft through the aisles of Barnes and Noble like the succulent aroma of Coq au Vin or Choux de Bruxelles a la Milanaise.

What are you passionate about?  What dreams keep you up at night?  What are you willing to chop to perfection or “pound into submission” (to steal a line from Julie and Julia)?  What will be your Beef Bourguignon?  I urge you to find that thing - your zest for something – and give it everything you’ve got!

Let’s not waste another second hoping and wishing.  Let’s get out there and chop our onions.  Let’s seize our zest for something and see what rich flavors we can all bring to the table. 

Bon Appetite, my friends!

The Cool People

I think I moved a few rungs up the ladder of coolness after my family gave me a pair of Uggs for my birthday.  They are divine (as far as a winter foot accessory goes), and I feel slightly glamorous each time I slip them on my feet.  Although, I can’t seem to fight the compulsion to explain that I did not buy them myself (because the thought of paying almost $200 for a pair anything knocks the wind out of me), but they were a gift. 

The only glitch I encountered was figuring out how to wear my brand new, gray Classic Cardy Uggs.  I don’t trust my judgment on matters like these, and the first few times I walked them out the door, I wore them exactly as they came in the box.  I didn’t want to take any chances.  Then, one morning I thought I would be daring, and started playing around with the buttons, thinking perhaps I would wear them straight up the leg instead of folded down around the ankle.  Of course, I had an audience of three – Sydney, Brooklyn and Jackson – who were quick to give me their input and fashion expertise.  “Down!  Wear them down, Mommy!  They look much better down.”  They seemed to agree on one thing for certain, I should wear my Cardy Uggs folded down.  I crinkled my nose, tilted my head and followed their advice (daring, I know).

Later that day I was having dinner with friends, one of which who also received the Classic Cardy Uggs recently as a gift.  Hers were folded down (sigh of relief coming from me).  She is probably on the top of my list of friends with amazing taste and a flair for fashion.  I went ahead and asked her for some Ugg mentoring.  What I learned from this brief coaching moment was that only dorks wear their Cardy Uggs all the way up the calf.  The cool people (and I gotta be cool) wear them with two buttons clasped and folded down (another sigh, and a quick kudos to my girls who saved me from being a dork earlier that morning). 

Thank you to my parents and my sister for my warm, cozy and fashionable Uggs, and to my children for making sure I wore them the way the cool people do.  Where on earth would I be without my family? 

Oh.  I know. 

Uggless and, most definitely, uncool.

Legacy - Part Two

Have you thrown a temper tantrum lately?  I have.  I know what you’re probably thinking:  “That’s something I’d like to see!  Amy throwing a temper tantrum!”  Before you get all excited envisioning my five foot eight frame flailing about on the ground, my meltdown was a little less exuberant.  I didn’t realize at the time that my outburst was, in fact, a temper tantrum until we starting dealing with a succession of bedtime battles with Sydney.

Whether it was coming off of the holiday sugar high, or the stress we’ve been under over the past few months, or the fact that Joel was preparing to leave on an eleven-day building trip to Nicaragua with a group from our church, Sydney downright lost it.  And when I say, “lost it”, I mean lost ALL of IT.  Night after night we faced the same drama:  arms and legs twisting and swinging this way and that; blood curdling screams that made our hearts drop to the pits of our stomachs; red-faced angry words that stung and bruised and didn’t make sense all at the same time.  Sydney has always been a challenge, but meltdowns of this proportion are very rare, and this specific behavior hadn’t graced our lives in well over a year. 

While Joel was in Nicaragua I begged God for a hiatus from these explosions.  I think He must have had mercy on me, because, while there were still outbursts, they were manageable.  Either that, or He granted me some much needed wisdom and insight in dealing with them properly.  On one such occasion we were driving home from an outing, and it was late.  Sydney started spiraling out of control emotionally.  Instantly I had the good sense to stop her, and in a calm voice ask her what I could do to help.  I said, “Sydney, I can see that you are upset, and I really want to help you.  What is it that I can do for you right now?”  She sniffled and snorted then said, “I can’t think.  I’m crying.”  I replied, “Then, you need to stop crying and start thinking.  I love you and I really do want to help you, but until you stop crying and start thinking, there’s nothing I can do for you.”  It was like magic.  Instantly anger was diffused, muscles relaxed and she quieted down long enough to think and listen.

I’m not a super mom, by any means, but by remaining calm and thoughtful in an irrational moment, I was able to safely reign in my emotionally expressive child.  This has made me think a lot about my relationship with God.  While I haven’t been physically thrashing my body in a heated temper tantrum over not getting my way, I have been mindless in my cries to God.  In my head I thought things were supposed to go a certain way, and they didn’t…so rather than stop and find out God’s thoughts on the matter, I’ve whined, cried, questioned, and blubbered out selfish one-way prayers.  Sydney’s tantrums have brought much conviction to me.

When I finally drew in a deep breadth and exhaled, God had a chance to speak, to say, “Hey Amy, I really love you and I want to help you, but you need to stop crying first.”  When I stopped crying, and started listening to the still, small voice of my Heavenly Father, He started speaking. 

The following four life practices that I will be implementing this year are what I sensed God calling me to do in that quiet moment of reflection:

• Wait (in silence and solitude) – Psalm 46:10 NIV “Be still, and know that I am God.” Isaiah 40:31 KJV “But they that wait upon the Lord will renew their strength; they will mount up with wings as eagles.”  Before I rush out planning and making decisions, I sense that God is quietly urging me to pause – to wait in the stillness of His presence.  Rather than fret and worry, He is calling me to quiet my mind, seek after Him, long for Him, and He will bring clarity, straightforward answers and peace that passes understanding. 

• Delight in the Lord – Psalm 37:4 “Delight yourself in the Lord and He will give you the desires of your heart.”  When I begin to delight, cherish and take care of those things that are dear to God, then He, in turn, will do the same for me.  And really, God cares a million times more about my husband, children, daily needs, hopes, heart desires and dreams than I ever could.  (I have a strong feeling I will need to practice this on a daily basis.)

• Thanksgiving – Psalm 50:23 NIV “He who sacrifices thank offerings honors me, and he prepares the way so that I may show him the salvation of God.”  Sometimes it’s easy to come before God with a heart of thanksgiving; like after a long-awaited prayer has been answered, or everything in life is going our way.  However, there are those times when thanksgiving is a sacrifice.  It doesn’t come natural.  It may even hurt.  You know that scripture, “Hope deferred makes the heart sick, but a longing fulfilled is the tree of life”?  Well, offering up words of thanks and gratitude to God when the heart is sick is what I believe it means to offer up a sacrifice of thanksgiving.  I believe God is calling me to thank Him even though I have yet to see the longing of my life fulfilled.  In due time, He will make all things beautiful.  I am going to focus on the hope of what is to come, thank Him in advance for it, even if it hurts.

• Sacrificial giving – Psalm 65:11 NIV “You crown the year with your bounty and your carts overflow with abundance.”  Tithing is a no brainer.  God’s Word instructs us to give Him a tenth of our earnings (Deuteronomy 14:22).  When we do so, we are living in obedience.  I don’t believe God to be a tyrant up there in heaven wielding a big stick, ready to swat at anyone who so much dares not tithe.  However, I believe that those who do tithe are in a much better position for favor, blessing and protection than those who don’t.  God is not legalistic, but He has set these instructions before us for our benefit.  When we don’t tithe it only ends up hurting us, not Him.  That said, even while tithing may sometimes feel like a sacrifice, Joel and I believe God is calling us to re-align our finances and give beyond our regular tithes and offerings – to give sacrificially.  Only blessing can be reaped when we give to that which touches our Father’s heart, especially when that giving isn’t an easy thing to do.

So, there you have it, in a not-so-little nutshell.  This is only the tip of the iceberg, but a great start to what I hope will be a life well lived – a life bearing fruit, pursuing a dream and leaving a legacy.

Legacy - Part One

I’ve had a lot on my mind lately.  Deep thoughts and not-so-deep thoughts alike have been swooshing around in this noggin of mine.  And each time I’ve tried to sit down and start typing them out there would, of course, be some crisis to be addressed – like keeping Jackson company while he sat on the potty for an hour waiting for his “business” to come out into the toilet and not his pull-up, or spending two hours at bedtime dealing with non-stop emotional meltdowns by child #1, or playing referee to a multitude of sibling knock-down-drag-out fights, on top of the day-to-day challenges of raising three kids with the hope that they become well-adjusted, law-abiding, rational adults some day.  Needless to say, time has not been on my side, and the vast majority of my deep musings and insights have completely evaporated in the heat of childrearing.  

With that said, the following is what has lingered profoundly in my soul amidst the crazies in my life.  It is the thought, the conviction, the goal and where I have zeroed in emotionally, spiritually and cognitively over the past few weeks.  The big question to myself:  What am I leaving behind?  What will be my legacy?

A friend of mine wrote on this at the beginning of the month, and it stuck with me, as this was something I, too, had been wrestling with.  When I’m gone, what impression will I have left behind?  What will my husband say of me?  My children?  My friends?  Those God has called me to serve?  Will their words be mere accolades of my sweetness and quick smile?  Or will I have left a fruitful orchard of spiritual substance for my loved ones to feast on long after I’m gone?  My legacy. 

I have high hopes for myself, but fear I fall short more often than not.  I lose my patience, hold grudges, compare, whine and complain, and try very hard to justify each one of these offenses, only to end up staring straight into the face of conviction when I sit down to read my Bible.  I wonder if there’s any hope for me?  (And I’m eternally grateful that the answer to that is “YES”!)

I had a conversation this week that both challenged and encouraged me.  I was challenged to look at my life in the context of a bigger picture…a God-sized picture.  For a thinking person like myself I find dreaming big to be extremely difficult.  I’m naturally inclined to focus on the here and now…not so much the vastness of what can be.  So, in conjunction with my thoughts on legacy, I sat down and started looking at where I want to see myself down the road, and what it’s going to take for me to get there.  Yes.  I want to leave a cherished and rich legacy behind.  Now, rather that simply writing the story of my today, I am challenging myself to begin writing the story of what can be, what I will be, and how I believe God is going to take me there.

In my next post I will share with you the four areas in my life that I have sensed God calling me to go deeper, and how I plan to do so.  I have bigger dreams for my future, but with a keen understanding that big dreams start with small steps - each one building on the next.  For this year I will be incorporating these four things into the DNA of my life, with high hopes that they will become second nature to me, and through them the first step to my dream fulfilled will be realized.

Haiti

Have you been watching the news lately?  The images of the tragedy taken place in Haiti are sobering.  It is impossible to avoid or ignore, even if you don't watch t.v., the horrifying destruction and devastation that millions of people are living through right now.  

I've been convicted over the past couple of days that my sorrow and condolences for this nation are simply not enough.  While I don't have thousands - or even hundreds - of dollars to give, I have realized that I must do something.  However, if I am going to donate I want to make sure of two things:  1.  The organization is legit and viable and 2.  Giving is simple.

Here's one way I found that I can contribute to the cause, and I would encourage you to pray about how/what you, too, can do to reach out:  The U.S. Department of State has recommended texting "HAITI" to 90999.  By doing so you will donate $10 to the American Red Cross.  Thus far  they have received 37 million dollars in donations for the relief effort in Haiti.  While my $10 is a mere drop in the bucket, to say the least, I know every little bit helps. 

Beyond the financial need, Haiti needs my prayers too.  And so, even as I write this, I am praying for the people of Haiti.

A Taste For Rhinestones and Faux Fur

If it’s fluffy, shiny or covered in rhinestones my girls are drawn to it like moths to a flame.  It would seem that, while I have poured all of my fashion expertise into their young lives since the day they were born, they have developed their own sense of style.  A sense of style quite contrary to mine - one that prefers a little bling, bling and wild colors to that of warm hues, traditional dresses and coordinating outfit ensembles (with matching hair pieces, I might add).  Try as I might to convince and persuade them to tone down their spicy taste in couture, it is to no avail.   In their small world of pink glitter nail polish and cherry lip smacker Chap Stick, black velvet totally compliments hot pink, sequins and faux fur.  My girls put the “girl” in girlie.   

After all these years – all six-and-a-half of them - you would think that I would have learned the valuable lesson of which battles are worth fighting and of which ones to let go.  Usually I’m pretty good at keeping this at the forefront of my mind.  However, the other morning as we were preparing to leave the house for church, my obsessive compulsive controlling nature kicked in to high gear, and I fought for a good thirty minutes with Brooklyn over which coat she was going to wear.  I could have slapped myself silly for blowing such a minor difference of opinion into a full-blown war over appropriate outerwear.  When the grown up rational side of me finally came to, and realized how foolish I was behaving (it’s not like Brooklyn was resisting wearing a coat at all…she just wanted to wear her fluffy, white coat, not her navy, tailored wool coat that I just happen to prefer), I acquiesced and we all left for church smiling…and warm.  Just another example of how far I have to go in this thing called motherhood.

To my credit, I’ve come a long way baby!  Two years ago, when Sydney was displaying her strong tendencies for wild and crazy fashion, I struggled to relinquish the tight fisted hold I had on her wardrobe.  Over my dead body would she be permitted to wear red tights with her pastel pink skirt and coral colored track-jacket.  These days, I have learned to simply look the other way when it’s time to lay out their clothes for the morning.  Sometimes I cringe, and have to fight hard, the urge to intervene.  Other times I find myself pleasantly surprised and impressed by some of their outfit choices.  And I am always there to lend a helping hand or suggestion, but only when asked. 

What I’ve been learning is just how valuable it is to let go of the little things and allow my kids to develop their own sense of self.  There are boundaries and limits in our home that pertain to the rules of the house, and those are non-negotiable.  However, when it comes to clothes, as long as it’s modest and tasteful, I let them have the control.  Let them figure out how to put it all together.  Let them experience a safe kind of independence and autonomy through dressing themselves. 

I’m still working on this, as noted in the earlier part of this post.  The control freak in me still pops up every now and then, and I have to smack her back down with a good dose of “does it really matter?”  Does my daughter’s outfit, or coat, have anything to do with her character development or a core family value?  When the answer is “no” then I have to let it go. 

And slowly, but surely, I’m making progress…and so are they.

Bag Lady

Before I entered the world of motherhood I had some pretty strong (and ignorant, mind you) ideas of what kind of mom I was going to be.  I visualized myself prancing around town toting my offspring in a pristine and crumb-free stroller, with my hair bouncing on my shoulders just like Gwyneth Paltrow and baby Apple.  I was going to get up early every day, shower, do my hair and make-up and would not allow myself to look like the exhausted and haggard moms I spied at the mall, donning their husband’s over-sized t-shirts and worn out sweats, with a multitude of bags hanging from their shoulders and forearms.  Their strollers, encrusted with sticky substances and stale cheerios, grossed. me. out.  I vowed that my children would be forbidden to eat in the stroller, that I would only carry one bag, and I would never be caught dead sporting anything from my husband’s dresser drawers.  My baby would coo and giggle while out and about on our shopping ventures; not scream, cry and throw tantrums like the ones I so often observed parked in goo-infested travel systems outside MiMi’s Maternity Boutique.  I was going to do motherhood right – a one bag, spotless stroller, stylish Mommy, and adorable offspring kind of gal.  

Let’s flash forward about six years.  I am now the proud mother of three, ages 6, 4 and 3.  Our stroller looks like it’s been pummeled with applesauce and bananas with remnants of saltine crackers wedged into every nook and cranny.  It’s a health hazard.  Try as I did to firmly adhere to the “no food in the stroller” rule, a peaceful shopping experience won out, along with goldfish and mushy fruit.  (Anyone with a baby over the age of six months knows exactly what I’m talking about.)  A squeaky clean stroller was just a pipe dream.

Speaking of outings.  Remember my vow to “never be caught dead sporting anything from my husband’s dresser drawers”?  Children, too, have changed my perspective on what is appropriate “going out” attire.  These days comfort is key.  I long to be comfortable.  I have worn Joel’s t-shirts, sweatshirts, socks and ball caps.  And all I’ve worn shamelessly to the grocery store, shopping, walks around the block and running errands.  There have been days on end when not a smudge of make-up has touched my skin.  It’s not that I don’t care about my looks, but looking good tends to take a back seat when I’m absorbed with the needs of my little ones. 

And then there are the bags.  (Oh…the bags!)  They were, in fact, the inspiration of this post today.  As I was preparing to head out the door the other morning I stopped when I suddenly caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror with bags hanging from various body parts. I looked like a Christmas tree decked out in backpacks, book bags, lunch bags, my purse, coats and sweaters.  “Oh no!  Say it ain’t so!”  I turned from my reflection, blinked my eyes hoping the image was not as it appeared, and snuck a second glance.  Nothing had changed.  I knew right then and there I had become the bag lady. 

Not just the bag lady, but the poor mom huffing and puffing her way through the church foyer, feeling like she has forgotten something, hoping her hair still looks as cute as it did before Jackson’s curious hands touched and grabbed it while being buckled into his four-point harness car seat, and praying that no one will drop on the floor in blatant protest to mommy’s whispered instructions.  I am the mom that I said I would never become.  I’m the icky stroller, multi-bag toting, wearing hubbies cast-off tees, exhausted, and breathless mommy.

In the literal sense, it seems that everywhere we go requires huge amounts of excess baggage.  Just managing all the kids’ miscellaneous items is enough to wear me out – even when they, too, are carrying part of the load.  Which brings me to my “big thought” for the day.  What about all the excess stuff I carry around spiritually?  All the worries, stress, needless expectations I put on myself, the guilt (Oh the guilt!), and the fear…the list could easily go on and on.  Even when I unburden myself to my husband or a close friend, still the “bags” continue to hang from my shoulders or pull on my arms.  While there’s not much I can do about all the backpacks, water bottles, blankets and coats while my kids are young, there is something I can do about the bags I carry around in my spirit.  Those bags are unnecessary, and there is nowhere I can find that God desires for me to continue clinging to them. 

So how do I get rid of this spiritual baggage? 

By setting them down at the feet of Christ.  The whole reason God allowed His son Jesus to come to earth, dwell among us and sacrifice His life on the cross, was so that He could take every care of the world, every sin of every man and every burden we struggle to balance onto His own back and carry it for us.  We love to sing, “I surrender all”, but most of the time once we’ve left the altar where we’ve made that submission, we end up picking up our “all” right outside the door.  The challenge is not so much to spill out our lives in a moment of emotional surrender, but to daily give everything over to God.  Daily lift up our hands and say, “Take my fear today, take my sadness, take my struggles, my finances, my priorities, my family…take every burden weighing on this heart of mine…today.”  And then daily, He can take all those spiritual bags we’ve been dragging around for so long, and bring us the relief and peace we so desperately need and want. 

Psalm 68:19

Praise be to the Lord, to God our Savior, who daily bears our burdens.

Good Grief and New Beginnings

When Jackson turned a year old I embarked on a bittersweet  journey through grief.  People grieve for a number of reasons: Death of a loved one, a loss of some kind, a move, a change in job, divorce, an empty nest or their team losing the Rose Bowl.  There are so many reasons.  And I believe each one to be valid (and I will add that the process of grieving for any one of these is healthy and good).  It’s an important step, in my opinion, and a necessary one to move on to the next season of life.   

For me, my period of grief lasted about a year.  I wasn’t depressed.  I wasn’t experiencing post partum blues or any sort of clinical or physiological problems.  Simply stated, I was grieving the loss of having babies.  We all have our own issues.  This was one of mine. 

I love babies.  I have loved babies since the time I could hold a baby doll in my arms.  All I ever wanted in life was to get married and be a mom.  I dreamed of what it would feel like to have my own baby – to love, nurture, swaddle and kiss the sweet face of my very own child.  Joel and I had made the decision long ago that we would have three children.  I initially suggested four or five, but judging by the look of horror and downright fear on his face I quickly realized I was going to have to downsize my dream.  We settled on three, and have never questioned that decision.  In fact, after Jackson was born (even as I held his tiny body up close to my face and in a hormonal moment of tears and sweat blubbered, “Oh please don’t let this be my last baby,”) I sensed in my heart that our family was finally complete.  Even through Jackson’s first year, that conviction continued to solidify deep inside bringing me much peace and contentment.

Then my little guy turned one.  And something snapped.  No more babies.  This season I had so long waited and hoped for was coming to a close…and fast.  I felt sad.  I felt a sort of loss.  No more maternity clothes.  No more newborn sleepers and teeny tiny diapers.  No more toothless grins and late night feedings.  It was all passing away right before my eyes.  It’s not that I suddenly wanted another baby - I knew that season was completed.  Rather, I found myself needing to grieve it.

I shared this with very few people.  Most of the time if someone would ask us if we were going to have more children I was quick to roll my eyes and state matter-of-factly, “NO WAY!”  While on the inside I was struggling.  I had my moments when I knew if Joel had shown the slightest interest in having a fourth child I would have jumped at the idea.  It was an emotional roller coaster year for me.  One minute wishing we could have another child, the next minute being grateful that those years had come to a close.  Back and forth.  Back and forth.

Part of the grief was wondering what lie beyond the baby years.  What was my purpose beyond cleaning spit up and changing copious amounts of diapers every day?  I had always looked ahead toward the time I would finally settle down and have children, but I had never looked further than that…to the after part.  And this was where I found myself when Jackson turned one.

It was a good year.  God did amazing things in my life through the grieving process.  And slowly, as that year drew to a close, I discovered new things about myself.  An unexpected sense of confidence began to emerge, and eventually joy unfolded within me as I looked forward to a new beginning that was awaiting me.  A season that consists of making lunches, helping out with homework, sports events, ballet recitals, school programs, sleepovers, communicating with words instead of sounds, and family activities that don’t require strollers, diaper bags, and burp cloths.  A season of being a family, instead of building a family. 

Today Jackson turns three-years-old.  I can hardly believe my 8 pound, ruddy faced baby is now running around, tackling his sisters, playing with his cars, doing his “business” in the big boy potty and talking to me with a mouth full of teeth.  Amazing.  I would be remiss to say that I don’t feel the slightest little pang of sadness as I look at this precocious boy of mine and realize he is no longer a baby.  But that sad feeling doesn’t linger.  It wells up only for a brief moment, and then fades away fast in the pleasure I take in this new season I am entering.  

The grief was good.  I needed to face it, feel it and learn from it.  The blessing here is that I didn’t have to stay in that state of grief.  Once I journeyed through it what was waiting for me on the other side was a new beginning, and thus far I am becoming more and more convinced that I am going to thoroughly love this season as much as I loved the last.

So in conclusion I just want to say “Happy Birthday” to my little man.  Thank you, Jackson, for three marvelous years of growth, laughter, joy and unconditional love.  You are a blessing and a delight to me.  You brought me to this new beginning.  And, oh my, how I love you!

What's That Smell?

From the depths of sweet slumber I felt a tap, tap, tap on my shoulder.  Turning over and blinking my eyes, Sydney's face came into focus.  She had a bad dream.  I looked at the clock.  Not quite 4am.  

Rolling out of bed (my warm and cozy little nest), I took Sydney's hand and, in a state of drowsiness, quietly escorted her back to her room.  Covers were arranged, water was administered and a short (but to the point) prayer was prayed.  I leaned over to give her a kiss. 

Sydney paused.

"Mommy, what's that smell?

"What smell?"

Silence.

"What smell?"

Again, silence and Sydney's eyes peering into mine.

"Oh.  Is it my breath?"

"Yes."

"I'm sorry."

"It's okay Mommy.  I love you."

"I love you too." 

(But that's what you get, kiddo, for waking Mommy up in the wee hours of the morning from a deep, coma-like sleep.)

And we all returned to dreamland...happily ever after.

Auld Lang Syne

This girl doesn’t make New Year’s resolutions.  I think I stopped making lists like that ten or so years ago.  Not that there’s anything wrong with New Year’s resolutions, but I have found them to be ineffective for me personally.  Rather, before the New Year begins I take a look back at the year passing, make an objective assessment of how much I’ve grown and any areas that I can see need to be strengthened (as objective as one can be when looking at one’s self, mind you).  Then I look ahead.  Leaving the past behind, I shift my focus towards the future with high hopes and renewed faith of what I believe God can and will do in my life through the course of the New Year.  

This past year, as I wrote a few weeks ago, was somewhat of an unexceptional year.  However, God was still present in it, and I believe will use even the mundane for His glory.  This coming year I look forward to what God has in store.  Whether it be the miracle I’ve been waiting for, or simply the steadiness of His hand in every situation I encounter over the next twelve months.  Above all I expect to look back a year from now and once again see God’s goodness, His providence and His grace. 

So, as the modern translation of “Auld Lang Syne” goes, I will embrace the New Year with a toast to days and times gone by and look ahead with great expectation to the days and times to come. 

And I pray your New Year be blessed too!

For auld lang syne, my dear, for auld lang syne, we'll take a cup of kindness yet, for auld lang syne.

-Scottish Poem written by Robert Burns in 1788

The Most Wonderful Time Of The Year

I just botched every single warm fuzzy mommy moment only a few minutes ago as I snapped angrily at Sydney for asking (whining) for the umpteenth time if it was lunch time.  This outburst of mine completely undermined the earlier draft of this post I had been working on throughout the morning.  

In fact, I'm still not fully in the proper state of mind to tell about how I was sitting here at the computer tyring to figure out what to write when I heard this voice over my shoulder saying, "Don't panic. Don't panic."  From the corner of my eye I could see Sydney coming closer and closer to me with a big, white hair bow in hand.  She wanted to do my hair for me.   Meanwhile, Jackson and Brooklyn had been fighting over who got to massage my back.  (Oh the pampered life I live!)

We are only two days away from the big day.  The day my three wild ones have been anticipating and dreaming about for weeks and months.   One minute I'm basking in the simple pleasures of watching the excitement build in their eyes.  The next minute I feel like I'm barely holding on by a thread to keep some semblance of peace in the home.  These people, with their little hands and little faces, in a brief moment of sweetness, have worked extraordinarily hard to make sure I (Santa's wife) feel appreciated and loved (minus the first thing in the morning meltdown, the bickering over some stupid plastic toy and the tears shed when it was firmly explained that M&M's are not an appropriate breakfast food).   I know it's hard to be good all year long, let alone all day long!

If I could only manage to press hold and make time stand still, just for a moment.  For this moment when all three are peacefully playing, and the moment tomorrow that has yet to come and for the first peek at the gifts under the tree on Christmas morning.  In the minds of my children time is moving ever so slowly towards the day they've been anxiously awaiting for so long.  In my mind time is flying at the speed of light, and I've not enough space on my camera's memory stick to capture all the moments I long to remember and never forget: preschool Christmas programs, cookie baking mis-haps, potty training through the holidays, driving down Peacock Lane, eating Christmas treats and marveling at the warm glow of creative exterior lighting, the story of baby Jesus and the look of absolute conviction that crosses the faces of three young children, eyes large as saucers, as they give detailed accounts of their Christmas lists. 

As stressful as it can be, this truly is the most magical time of the year.  And inspite of my momentary lapse in motherly sweetness, I really do long to savour every single moment of this holiday season with my family.  So, I'll take the good parts, wrap them up in my heart, and open them every time I need a reminder of just how magical those hard-to-come-by well-behaved moments are. 

And in sheer delight I'll hold tightly to those twinkling passages of time that usher me right back into the joy of the season - the most wonderful time of the year!

Rockin' Around The Christmas Tree

Very few things make me want to get up and make a fool out of myself like Amy Grant’s CD Home For Christmas.  Bought in 1992 (yes, you read that correctly – nineteen ninety-two), this CD is probably considered a Christmas heirloom these days.  My college roommate and I played it continuously throughout the holiday season of our freshman year.  We rocked out to “Rockin’ Around The Christmas Tree”, transforming our hair picks into guitars.  We were the original guitar heroes.  Then, of course, our eyes wet and throats choked up with tears, we would sit on the floor, in our dimly-lit dorm room and listen to the song “Breath of Heaven”.  To this day, when I listen to that song, (hands down the most played tune I own on CD) I can’t help but laugh and cry at the same time.  I laugh as I recall our deep thoughts and musings through tears on how anointed that musical composition was.  I cry because I still believe it is one of the most anointed songs I’ve ever heard.  

Christmas isn’t Christmas until I’ve rocked around the Christmas tree at least a dozen times (pick in hand) and bawled my eyes out to Breath of Heaven just the same.  I honestly hate doing it alone.  It was way more fun with my college roomie.  Maybe it’s time to pass on my pick and fabulous dance moves to my children, although I suspect I may be scaring them a little bit when I get all jiggy with it.  Oh, well.

I’m so thankful to Amy, my college roommate - who is still one of my dearest and most cherished friends ever – for e-mailing me yesterday just to say hi and share this memory with me.  College just didn’t realize our coolness and the awesome dance moves we created in our cramped up shoebox of a dorm room.  We were way ahead of our time.  I’m thankful for my lifelong friend, lifelong memories, Amy Grant, and the fact that I’m still limber enough to pull off a good ol’ “Rockin’ Around The Christmas Tree” jig.

Christmas is all about giving, and today I’m remembering the gift of laughter my friend Amy has always been quick to give to me.  She inspires me to smile when I want to cry, dance when I want to pout and give when I want to hold on.  I wish I could wrap up a dozen gingerbread lattes, Bath and Body Works soaps and lotions, and thirty minute deep tissue massages and send them all to you, but that won’t happen (for obvious reasons).  Instead I’m just going to share a little laughter (hopefully), and a quick run down memory lane.  Maybe it will inspire you to do the same – to share a laugh or two with some friends (me included…that would be nice!).  Or, perhaps you’re just dying to rock around the Christmas tree.  Believe me, it’s catchy and it’s fun (just don’t rock out so hard that you knock your tree down).

In any case, I’m going to head downstairs now, pop in my Home For Christmas CD, turn up the volume, grab a kid or two, and start rockin’ out.

"Rockin' around the Christmas tree.  Have a happy holiday.  Everyone dancing merrily in the new old fashioned way!"

(Music and Lyrics by Johnny Marks - 1958)

This Far

This year, as December approached, I found myself in a reflective state of mind – pondering the passing year and what the New Year may bring.  I get this way when December rolls around.  Usually I find myself in awe of what God has done, the miracles, and His goodness to me, and my family.  This time, however, I struggled to see the wonder of the past year and even more to anticipate a better 2010.  Depressing as this may sound, 2009 was – simply stated – an unexceptional year.  Without going into a lot of detail, I would have to say that my hopes and dreams and list of things I was believing God for in the year 2009 never materialized…at least not as of the first of December.  In my brief review and reflection I was disappointed…and even worse, I wasn’t feeling all that excited about the year to come.

Then, something happened.  It wasn’t a mind blowing, heart pounding, once in a lifetime kind of event.  In fact, it wasn’t just one something that happened.  It started with my quiet time.  It started with a Psalm.

Psalm 40:1-3, 5

I waited patiently for the Lord; he turned to me and heard my cry.  He lifted me out of the slimy pit, out of the mud and mire; He set my feet on a rock and gave me a firm place to stand.  He put a new song in my mouth, a hymn of praise to our God.  Many will see and fear and put their trust in the Lord.  Many, O Lord my God, are the wonders you have done.  The things you planned for us no one can recount to you; were I to speak and tell of them, they would be too many to declare.

This passage triggered a memory of another scripture I had studied way back in April:

I Chronicles 17:16

“Who am I, O Lord God, a what is my family, that you have brought us this far?”

I was feeling pretty convicted as I read, and re-read those scriptures over and over.  In fact, the following morning I opened my Bible and meditated on them again.  And then again the next morning.  And the morning after that.  And every single day in December thus far. 

It occurred to me that, while I hadn’t seen the one, big miracle I believed would be evidence of God’s presence and provision for the year, there were dozens and dozens of little miracles throughout the course of 2009.  So many that “were I to speak and tell of them, they would be too many to declare.”  Looking once again at my family, and what God had done in our lives, internally and externally, I found myself frozen with gratitude for God’s graciousness to us.  That He had brought us this far.  That he had brought us through another year…evidence of His mercy, His love, His attention to every detail of our lives.  I recalled His protection, His provision of our daily needs, and His peace in the midst of the many ups and downs we’ve encountered.

This realization has been profound and humbling to me.  Just because I didn’t see God work the way I wanted Him to, or expected Him to, does not mean He wasn’t working.  He was just doing it His way - the best way.  He makes all things beautiful: the pain, the struggle, the disappointments and hurts.  He weaves them together with the threads of hope, grace, humor and unconditional love to produce a tapestry of indescribable depth and beauty.

I will remember this year forever.  Not as the year that “that one thing happened”, but as the year that God had brought us this far.  His wonders were too many to recount.  The favor of His hand was in the breathtaking brush strokes of the ordinary, the uncertain, the pain and even the little miracles of life.  Amazing to me that once again, He has brought us this far.

What about you?  Can you say that God has brought you this far?  I hope so.  I hope that if you are struggling to see it just now, that you will discover the wonders God has done before the year ends.  And I hope you too will be able to say:

“Who am I, O Lord God, and what is my family, that you have brought us this far?”

Easy Button

I need an easy button.   

Running errands yesterday on less than a quarter tank of gas, calculating how much cash I have to spend, how much I’ve spent, how many more gifts I need to buy, how can I make due with what I’ve got, and can I make it to the cheap gas station before the “low fuel” light starts blinking, I secretly wished I could press a button and everything would end up working out perfectly…easily.

Then, last night when my six-year-old decided she couldn’t sleep and woke up her siblings right around the time I was getting ready to crawl into bed myself, I thought how nice it would be to have an easy button right about now.  Instead of a bedtime battle, screaming and tears there would be sugarplum fairies prancing and dancing my daughter to sleep. 

Just this morning as I was trying to get out the door for a Christmas brunch, Jackson insisted on wearing his new mittens.  I couldn’t find them (I only bought them yesterday!), and ended up rummaging through the winter accessories basket in the coat closet.  Scarves, hats and mismatched glove sets were strewn all over the floor.  Irritated, I started looking for an easy button hiding in the knitted mess. 

It didn’t stop there.  Pulling Jackson’s mittens on to his little hands proved more difficult than expected.  He couldn’t seem to grasp the concept of separating his thumb from the rest of his fingers thus culminating all his frustration into one gigantic outburst as I worked feverishly to find his lost thumbs: “Jackson, give me your thumb.  Put your thumb here.  Stop fighting me.  Do you really want to wear these mittens?  Then you need to cooperate with me.”  Ugh.  Easy button?

Errands before the brunch, errands after the brunch (I seem to be running errands a lot these days), I figured I deserved a little “me” time when we got home.  Jackson screamed when I put him down for a nap (press “easy” now), Brooklyn followed me downstairs playing twenty questions (or something of that nature), and I realized that having time for myself was probably not going to happen. 

Then, BAM, I hit my own easy button; something internal, I really can’t explain it.  Suddenly I was inspired to start our Christmas baking.  Donning our aprons and Christmas music blaring, Brooklyn became my sous chef as we measured, mixed, stirred and rolled out the most scrumptious of holiday treats.  I can still smell the peppermint from our candy cane cookies – a family favorite. 

In that brief span of time - baking with Brooklyn, then taste testing our yummy confections – being a mom became as easy and sweet as our holiday candy fudge bars.  The stress I was feeling rolled right off my back, and when Jackson woke up I felt like a brand new mommy. 

With one click of the easy button I was armed and ready to search for Jackson’s “Lightning McQueen” car (that he loses multiple times a day), help Brooklyn “type” an e-mail on the computer, clean out my fridge and freezer, tidy up the kitchen and sweep the floors.  All before 4:30pm.  Easily completed so that I could have a few minutes to write this post for my blog. 

I may not have discovered a tangible easy button, but I learned a lesson far more valuable.  It is actually one I tried to teach to Sydney this morning before she left for school.  It’s all about the attitude.  We don’t always have control over our circumstances and the junk that comes at us day in and day out, but we do have control over how we look at life.  If we think we’re going to have a bad day, then we probably will (the world out there is merciless and will no doubt gladly contribute to the badness).  However, if we change our perspective, even just a little bit, it can be the catalyst for an absolutely amazing afternoon – as I learned so well today.

Time In The Bustle Of Christmas

Dashing through the store

With my cart leading the way

'Or the aisles I go

Laughing all the way!

Here and there I dart

Searching for a steal

Oh what fun it is to shop

And find the perfect deal.

Oh...Jingle bells

Jingle bells

Jingle all the way!

'Tis the season for crazy drivers, holiday deals, gift wrapping, cookie baking, carols, parties, gifts, cards, hustling and bustling through the all of the holiday festivities.  As much as I have wanted to sit at the computer and focus on deep thoughts and life lessons, the busyness of the season pulls me away...continuously.  Instead of pouring out my heart in a post, I am pouring over online discounts and free shipping specials in order to tick a few more items off of my Christmas list.

I've been working on a series for the past several months, but have become slightly distracted.  One of the posts in this series is about simplifying my time...my priorities.  I realize that the holidays are one of those seasons in the year when the pace of life picks up, but only lasts for a short period of time.  The next few weeks for us are jam-packed with concerts, shows and church activities.  I must confess, I do love it.  Sadly, a few things tend to get neglected:  my house, for one, and basic routine tasks and chores.  It's not the end of the world that my house is not completely put together and orderly.  I can handle that.  However, one thing that cannot fall by the wayside for me is my quiet time with the Lord.  As I was re-reading the post that I hope to soon publish I realized that when life gets busy, and my time no longer belongs to me, there remains one thing that I can't let go of: quiet time.  Time with God.  Time to pray.  Time to reflect.  Time to thank.  Time to sit in the presence of God and allow Him to strengthen me, lead me and guide me through the hustle and bustle of the Christmas season.

When all is said and done, Christmas is about Jesus anyway.  There's really no point in all of the festivities if my mind and heart aren't centered in Him to begin with.

So if I seem a little distant, and the posts aren't as regular, just know that I am fully engaging in the spirit of Christmas.  

And I truly hope and pray that you are too. 

Count Your Blessings (instead of sheep)

One of my favorite songs from the beloved classic "White Christmas" is a duet sung by Bing Crosby and Rosemary Clooney.  The song is titled "Count Your Blessings" and begins with these simple lyrics:  

If you're worried and you can't sleep

Just count your blessings instead of sheep

And you'll fall asleep counting your blessings.

I'm counting my blessings.  Even the ones that seem a bit shallow - they still count.  Here is a short list I've compiled of a few things I am thankful for today:

• My Heavenly Father - without Him I don't know where I would be.

• Joel - read here for a more detailed explanation.

• My children - my reasons are simply indescribable.

• My family - and the fact that my sister is already planning my 40th birthday party which is a little over four years from now.  (To be perfectly honest, I'm not sure how I feel about this.)

• I'm thankful that what I thought was a bright, white hair in my head was actually a piece of lint. 

• I'm thankful for staying up until the wee hours of the morning talking and laughing with friends (even though it takes me a week to recover).  I'll sacrifice sleep for friends any day!

• That a couple who thought their adoption fell through are now the proud parents of a beautiful baby boy! 

• My home.  We have a roof over our head, beds to sleep in, food to eat, clean clothes and (if I really stay on top of things) a well vacuumed floor.  Home doesn't have to be big.  Home doesn't have to have all the latest and greatest appliances and gadgets.  Home is a shelter and safe haven for my family.  I'm so grateful for our home.

• Les Schwab.  (I threw this one in for my husband - he's made quite a few visits there recently.)

• Hope.  I am overwhelmed by the hope we have day in and day out.  Life happens (quite frequently at my house), but in the midst of it all I have hope.  God is faithful.  God works all things for good- even four flat tires and a blow-out.  God sees everything and holds us firmly in His hands.  He is my hope, and truly the reason I can get up and get moving every single day. 

I could easily keep the list of blessings going, filled with detailed testimonies of God's faithfulness throughout the year.  I know I am not alone.  I am certain we could sit around with a cup of coffee and share all of the wonderful ways God has been good to us.  I hope your Thanksgiving allows you time to stop and reflect (perhaps between turkey basting's) on your own blessings.  And if you are worried, if you are coming to the end of the year and still waiting on your miracle, and if you can't sleep tonight, may you count your blessings (even the blessings of the past).  May you be reminded of how faithful God was, how faithful He is, and how faithful He is going to be!

Happy Thanksgiving!

Show & Tell

Our deep early morning conversation began like this:  

Sydney: “Mom, do you remember when I was a little girl?  You know…when I was five years old?”

Me: “Why, yes I do.” because that was all of six months ago.  (I know I’ve been forgetting a lot of things since I became a mom of three, but a five-year-old Sydney?  This I do remember.)

Sydney: “I was a cute kid.”

Working hard to stifle a laugh, I concurred: “Yep.  You were a very cute kid.  And you still are.”

Sydney has show-and-tell today at school.  She is supposed to bring something that she is thankful for.  Sydney decided that she wanted me to be her show-and-tell.  Today, I am the object of her affection.  My highly challenging, deeply intuitive and strong - both in will and passion - daughter wants to show me off to her entire first grade class as the thing she is most thankful for. 

I’ve never been so honored to be an object.

I’m going to take this day, put it in my heart and never let it go. 

A Mighty Tree

This morning as I was driving Sydney to school, a huge gust of wind came rushing through; blowing leaves and dirt and bending tender tree branches low to the ground.  Sydney was impressed.  Even the large and sinewy evergreens waved to us as we listened to the rustle and howl.  Finally, once the flurry subsided, Sydney asked me, "Mom, will the wind knock those trees over?  Will they start flying at our car?"  "No,"  was my reply.  I went on to explain that those trees have deep roots that cling to the earth below.  When the wind blows, the roots hang on tight to the soil so that the trees will not fall over.  

Of course, this thought continued to ruminate in my mind long after I had dropped Sydney off at school. 

There are some pretty strong and mighty storms that are blowing through life these days.  Without deep roots and fertile soil to cling to I fear I could be swept away like chaff in the wind.  Sydney's simple question drew me to a scripture that I memorized years ago - Jeremiah 17:7-8:

But blessed is the man who trusts in the Lord, whose confidence is in Him.

He will be like a tree planted by the water that sends out its roots by the stream.

It does not fear when heat comes; its leaves are always green.

It has no worries in a year of drought and never fails to bear fruit.  (NIV)

No fear.  No worries.  Roots planted deep, clinging to the rich soil of God's faithfulness.  I pray to be one who trusts in the midst of the heat and through the course of the drought.  Whether life comes at me as a gentle breeze or a gale force wind, may my confidence be rooted in the One who holds me tightly in His grasp and steady through the storm.

A Cornucopia Of Thanks

Everyone seems to be in a perpetual state of thanksgiving these days.  At least, the people I have encountered on facebook.  A few days ago, as I scrolled through my facebook homepage, I picked up on a recurring theme in many of my friends’ status updates: thanksgiving.  They weren’t reminding the world that November is a month for giving thanks, but they were reminding themselves, by declaring to their friends, just how much they have to be thankful for.  At first I thought it was just another facebook fad, and I wasn’t going to jump on the bandwagon.  God knows that I’m thankful, and I don’t need to list my blessings for all the world-wide-web to see.  

Then later, after further thought, I came to realize the power of stating publicly the things, people, blessings and provisions that so often I take for granted.  In a sermon a few weeks ago we were challenged to thank God for our daily bread; recounting the ways God has provided and continues to sustain us.  So profound has this exercise in breathing simple prayers of thanksgiving been to my personal faith walk that I was inspired to openly share my own words of thanks (even on facebook).

Sometimes getting started is the toughest part, especially when going through a “valley” experience.  Giving thanks comes more naturally to me when I am on the mountaintop of provision, miracles and easy living.  Counting blessings becomes more challenging when I am on a mountaintop of needs, and my natural reaction is a far cry from gratitude.  When I find myself weighed down with the burdens and cares of this world, struggling to see the silver lining, I look to Psalms.  If I can’t seem to muster up the words for myself, I turn to the words of the Psalmist and let them speak for me.  Eventually my heart is seized with the goodness of God - past, present and future - and what pours forth from my lips is nothing short of giant cornucopia of thanksgiving and praise.

Psalm 100 (NIV)

A Thanksgiving Psalm

Shout for joy to the Lord, all the earth.

Worship the Lord with gladness; come before Him with joyful songs.

Know that the Lord is God.  It is He who made us and we are His; we are His people, the sheep of His pasture.

Enter His gates with thanksgiving and His courts with praise; give thanks to Him and praise His name.

For the Lord is good and His love endures forever; His faithfulness continues through all generations.

I love the translation of the Message version, which says this: “Bring a gift of laughter, sing yourselves into His presence.”  Praise and thanksgiving to God doesn’t always precede my feelings.  Many times I have to literally sing myself into His presence - recalling His promises and declaring them, even though I don’t feel it in the depths of my soul.  Once my proclamation of praise has been made, then my heart is ushered into the very presence of God that I have been longing for.  There comes the powerful conviction that there are not enough words to express my gratitude for how much I have to be thankful for.  God has been, is currently, and will be in the future, good to me, faithful to me - sustaining me, leading and guiding me.  He is my rock.  He is my strong tower.  He is my provider, my deliverer, the God who sees, the God who promises to never leave me or forsake me.  The God who supplies my daily bread, a warm home to live in, three vivacious and energetic children - reminders of a healthy family - the piles of laundry that remind me of how much excess we have, the washing machine that allows me to clean the latter, beds for sleeping and afternoon naps, and even the creamer in my coffee.  He is also the one who supplies the finances when we need a miracle, the wisdom when I don’t know what to do, the grace when confronted with a difficult person, and joy in the morning after a night of weeping. 

Just like the adorable paper cornucopia that Brooklyn brought home from school the other day - a wet gluey mess plastered with all her favorite things – I, too, have a sticky, messy cornucopia of thanksgiving that I offer to God.  I am grateful for the little things, I am grateful for the big things and I am grateful for the things yet to come. 

How has God been gracious to you?  What do you have to be thankful for?  If you are finding it difficult to pour out a heart of thanksgiving just now, remember Psalms.  Remember to “bring a gift of laughter and sing yourselves into His presence”.  Even if it is a broken song from a broken heart, God’s presence will envelop you and soon the praise will follow.  As in the words of David from Psalm 51: “O Lord, open my lips, and my mouth will declare your praise.”

Looking For The Funny

It seems over the past several weeks and months I haven’t had very many humorous experiences to write about.  There is so much tragedy, almost too much, happening all around me; friends and family members all touched to some degree with suffering, pain, loss and grief.  To tell about my most recent brush with the wild and unruly little people in my home might come across as shallow and empty, in light of the real hurt that others are walking through.  I find myself overwhelmed, grappling with such serious and heady issues.  With a heavy heart I’ve asked God, “Where’s the funny?”  

I’ve been looking for it.  Looking for the funny.  Even this morning, when all three of my children melted down simultaneously, and in perfect harmony I might add, while eating breakfast.  I paused for a moment and briefly analyzed the situation, “How can I spin this moment of shear chaos into something funny?”  Unfortunately, by 7:30am I was already pulling out my reserve nerves because my kids had successfully trampled on the last of my daily supply.  All this after waking up early to pray for these three monkeys!  There was nothing funny about that.

As I was trying to finish getting ready, my son came into the bathroom to help me.  In his effort, and to his credit he really was trying to help, he slammed my foot and finger (don’t ask - I don’t know I managed to have both my foot and finger in the same place at the same time) in the bathroom cabinet.  It hurt.  It was not funny.  I was not funny.  After I let out a glorious shout of “OUCH!” I looked at Jackson, his eyes wide open, and stifled what was about to leak out of my mouth next and started to pray…loudly.  Jackson was concerned and laid his hand on my foot and prayed too.  Then he gave it a kiss.  That’s not funny either, but it sure was sweet.

Once recovered, I sat down at my desk to collect my things for Bible study.  I had been praying this morning and preparing my heart for this time of fellowship with other women.  We are all facing various challenges in our lives, and we have been rallying around each other in prayer and encouragement.  These women have been high on my prayer list.  I was deep in thought when I turned to look at Jackson, who was once again following me.  He was picking his nose.  Then he was eating “it”.  I said, “Eew, Jackson.  Don’t eat your boogers.  Icky gross!”  He looked straight at me and said with defiance, “No!  I like my boogers.”  Then he stuck his germ-encrusted index finger up his nose, pulled something out and proceeded to plunge it into his mouth.  Completely satisfied with himself he let out a triumphant, “Mmmmmm,” and walked away.  And there it was.  The funny.  I found the funny.  Thanks to my two-year-old son and his appetite for boogers, funny found its way into my day.

Amidst the pain and sorrow that surrounds each and every one of us, finding the funny can be so hard - almost impossible.  I know that there are situations that are completely out of my control; things I need God to intervene on and I don’t know how or when He will.  There are other issues that seem inexplicable to me – pointless in the present – and again I just have to trust in the sovereignty of God.  In the meantime, I need a good laugh.  I need to feel the sides of my mouth turn upward while my heart flip-flops in glee.  I need the funny.  Sometimes the funny can be found everywhere and in everything.  Other times we have to look for it.  We have to set out to find it, and then relish in every moment of laughter it gives to us.  If you need to find the funny, then I truly hope you find it.  If you’ve found it, then I hope it lingers long enough to satisfy your longing.  For me, I’m still thinking about Jackson and his boogers, and I can’t help but smile.

Proverbs 15:13 (NIV)

A happy heart makes the face cheerful, but heartache crushes the spirit.