Don't follow me on Pintrest....

Don't do it. I can't handle the pressure. Every time I am notified that someone is following me on Pintrest I cringe. I don't fully understand Pintrest, and I have no delusion that these followers believe I am über creative.... I don't follow people on Pintrest... I am more of a look-up-something-in-a-pinch kind of girl. I tried to make boards but alas.. Failure. Everything I have ever "pinned" is someone else's good idea. Anything I've done myself would pale in comparison. I can be creative, but antique lace valentines? Block letters covered in gold leaf? Stencils on the stairs? Homemade hairbows out of Homemade felt? .......... I got nothin'....

I won't lie and say I am not into social media. I'm addicted to Instagram.... I love the look and the mood of the pictures and I have driven many a follower away with my constant stream of kid pictures. I keep my Facebook to connect with friends overseas... I like a good on-line flea market now and then and I do 90% of my shopping on EBay.... I just have to constantly draw a line.

How many of you have kids as honest as mine? "Mom, put down your phone. Don't post that picture of me. Mom take a picture of me and post it. Mom, let me video. Mom, stop texting and driving. Mom, you look kind of fattish in that picture. Mom, can I play your phone. Mom, put your phone down, I'm talking to you."

Sound familiar? They know I have a line. They know I sometimes cross it. I struggle between being in the moment and capturing the moment. Sometimes you can't do both. I struggle between being open and wanting interraction and wanting to be left alone. I want interraction that costs me little. That's called selfishness, in case you were wondering.
I am so excited about the world being open for me, but am I  ready to accept the constant tap tap tapping of the world on my doorstep. The very irony that I post that question on a blog is evidence of my inner struggle. I am an open book... And I desire to be more open even...
But what is honesty without temperance, wisdom, and love? Nothing but a jerk.

I apologize for every time I've appeared to have it figured out or for every time I have not posted the picture of the kid with the dirty dishes in the sink behind them. It is difficult to air the "dirty laundry" but I want so desperately to be real.

So like my photos and keep up with me often. I love bumping in to you at the market and you knowing my life. I love you recognizing my kids before you recognize me ..it lets me know you haven't unfollowed me yet! .... Send me a message, sell me a mid-century modern couch on auction, but please please please don't follow me on Pintrest.

Summer Failure

I have a sort of winter amnesia it seems.  Every year I forget how extremely hard it is to keep the balls in the air in the summer....

Perhaps it's the 18 years in school and the 5 years as a teacher that kept me on sort of a "school year" schedule....whatever the reason, I cannot, cannot, cannot wrap my brain around how I am supposed to parent in the summer.  As soon as the temperature reaches about 66 degrees, any semblance of organization, planning or responsibility, that I have been roughly maintaining at best, flies out the pollen coated window. 

Let me out....Set me free! Summer is here!....

Wait, why are there still dishes?...not just dishes, but now grilling pans, coolers, popsicle making trays....

There is still laundry...but not just laundry: bathing suits, overalls, dress-up clothes, table cloths, "fort" sheets, and the endless mountains of towels upon towels upon towels.

The first week or so always goes rather smoothly.  This year I had a list of to-do projects, a list of books I wanted to read, and a list of activities to do with the kids.  I also had a scheduled itinerary of the kid's activities, camps, vacations, etc.

Of course, you guessed it. I have read only 1 of those books, my kids are bored out of their skulls, we don't have any extra money to throw at activities and my to-do list may as well be a taunting joke in the NOTES ap on my phone......

I am not the first mom to rant and grieve the loss of what I envisioned as the perfect summer. 

But I may be the first to admit that the reason it does not work is because I am a selfish child.  

Despite my lists and intentions, I lose sight each year of what I need to be doing and focus mostly on my desire to just basically do whatever it is I want.

To put this in simpler terms, let me paint you a picture of what I want.

The kids sleep in- all of them- until at least 9 am. We eat breakfast as a family. They smile at me the whole time.

We attend some exquisitely beautiful and free activity that all my kids love.( mind you, they are 11, 6 and 1). They each learn something new and talk about it like it was the most fun they have every had.

Someone fixes lunch. not me. I'm tired. I want to nap. I want to sleep on a float in the middle of a pool for 3 straight hours.  I want someone to bring me tea. I want the children to play sweetly and energetically for hours. I want them to say "mommy, you are the best mommy in the world." 

 I want to have a chef cooking dinner. I want my husband to come home early.  I want lemonade on the porch. 

Am I kidding? no....

Between my own high expectations and freakishly immature selfishness I become a summer failure.

If you were looking for 10 summer boredom-busters or a list of free activities to do or even a blog that gives you an out for not being summer super-mom this isn't it. There are plenty out there if you do a google search of "I'm already a big fat failure of a summer mom can someone please help me and make it all better so I can take a nap" ...believe me.

No. This isn't an out. This is a loving push to help you grow up....to help me grow up.  This is a message to myself to remember...I am just sharing in case you too need a reminder.

1) Boredom isn't a sin.

2) Sit down and read.

3) Snap a picture now and then. Your memory isn't as good as you think.

4) Schedule time with your spouse. Family time isn't marriage time.

5) Go to bed when the kids do.  Or stay up late.

6) Leave the dishes.

7) Go for a drive without electronics.

8) Mind your own business and stop comparing yourself, your life, your family.

9) Get take out.

10) No kid died from drying off on a dirty towel.

The story of Jaden Lily Hope

   From my Testimony Given at Hope Resource's Annual Banquet- April 11, 2013

  As early as age 7, I was standing on the thin line of green grass between the curb and Concord Street in Knoxville. There was no yelling- only quiet conversations. I remember the faces of those walking in. They looked desperate, helpless. I remember the faces of the adults I was with…also desperate, also helpless- but with eyes of hope, mission and restoration.

I remember the conversations about why they were there…the shame…the hopelessness.

At age 10, I remember the prayers at the jail for a man I adored that had been arrested for stepping across the line to have conversation with a client at a clinic. I remember his passion for babies, for women, for life.  I remember the signs, the prayers, and the decisions. But what I remember most are the conversations.

The questions:

Why would someone kill a baby?

What does God think?

Does it make Him mad?

Why does He let them?

            I spent my first 18 years engaged in those conversations- the ones that make parents squirm, stutter and hesitate. Many of these kinds of conversations don’t ever occur…they are hushed, or pushed aside in fear. Sometimes adults are just so afraid of losing credibility. 

            But my mom didn’t push them aside.  At 8, at 10, at 17, she was honest and transparent. She was imperfect- and it gave her credibility. She had been vulnerable with me. There were times she had succeeded and times she had failed.

She courageously told me all of it over the years. It showed evidence of the Father’s love…proof of the power of His restoration.

            By the time I was a teen, I was most decidedly pro-life. I had asked the questions and I knew my answer.

I would never do that....

            In my first months out of high school I found myself in uncharted waters.  I went off to college heartbroken and insecure from a high-school breakup, and without the accountability of a church or those that knew me best. Within a month I was abusing prescription medications and lying about where I was going.  I began, for the first time, to allow myself to be used sexually.  I engaged in a whirlwind of mis-decisions and lies; and after a weekend high at an older man’s apartment, I found myself in bed for the first time.  I immediately ended the relationship... swept it under the rug. I was ashamed.  I pretended it was as if it had never happened…until 4 weeks later when I found myself staring at a positive pregnancy test in the dorm bathroom.

            I was in shock. I was in disbelief that this had happened, not only the first time …but to ME.  After a frightened and tearful phone call to my mom, we came to Hope Resource Center.  I watched the screen as the nurse showed me the little bean floating inside me… heard the fluttering heartbeat... I held the tiny slippery picture.  A woman held my shaking hand in hers as I sat numb on a couch. Once again, this time with a volunteer counselor from Hope Resource I had a conversation about the scope of God’s love, His design and the mission that He had in mind for me and this baby…and for all babies. 

Was I aware that I was loved? Yes.

Did I know my baby was alive? Yes.

Did I understand that there was restoration?

            The next day I made an appointment for an abortion… At the very clinic I had stood outside as a child.  I had a vivid conversation with myself…I was not ready to allow my years of being who I was to be replaced by the reputation that would follow this pregnancy.  I was not about to bring this child into a relationship that I was convincing myself never happened.  I would never have this baby.  I would never look upon the disappointed faces of my friends and family.  I would never admit to my future husband that I was not a virgin.  I knew an abortion would be wrong, but God would forgive me. I would move on. I would carry the burden of the abortion as the consequence of my actions. It would be my penance. I would never be able to forget. It would be a secret that I mourned.

At age 18, I had decided- I would erase this.

            As I sat in the waiting room, these thoughts flooded my mind…The conversation between myself and the volunteer at Hope Resource reminded me that there was restoration. I remember looking at the faces of the women in the room and remembering that childhood conversation with my mother.

Do they know it is wrong? Some of them.

Does it make God sad? Yes.

Does He forgive them? Yes.

How do you know for sure? Let me tell you. 

See, my mother had had an abortion, and when my 8 year old self needed answers to those questions, she was there to know me, to be real with me, to connect with me. I believed in the restoration she spoke of because I had

seen that restoration walked out in real life.

            In the midst of these conversations, she had no idea that I would be sitting in a clinic remembering her stories- her tears as she told me- as she remembered and grieved- then as we remembered and grieved together.

Those conversations were the only thing that mattered that day in that moment- not my knowledge of sin, not my definition of when life began, not even my desire for this pregnancy to remain secret mattered as much as the promise and example of restoration that the counselor at Hope Resource had given me.  I knew that this abortion would grieve my mother, my Heavenly Father and myself for the rest of my life.

            I left the clinic that day because I had proof of restoration…proof of hope. Restoration was in a conversation, a growing belly, a testimony, a sanctifying marriage, an adoption, a fruitful womb, a story, and more conversations along this ever-changing road that I am still walking. 

            I am forever connected to Hope Resource Center. God began using our story for His glory.  As I look out among you, I know that many of you are involved with this Crisis Pregnancy center because you yourself have been face to face with crisis pregnancy.  It is your stories, and the support of men and women sharing their stories, that will save the lives of babies- and it is your stories that will save the lives of women- those in the midst of their decisions and those looking for restoration. It is the mission of Hope Resource.  Your support means that this mission can press forward.

            Yes, they are running urine samples and taking tests, but did you know that the quiet heroes of Hope Resource Center are blessing the lives of girls who are working hard to parent.

Did you know that they meet to love and honor post-abortive women? Did you know they counsel men in crisis?  Hope Resource is speaking honesty and truth into women and men every day. These quiet servants daily offer restoration at the expense of time, emotion, and even persecution. 

            God continues to restore and refine me.  Restoration came most tangibly in the form of a beautiful baby girl, now ELEVEN, who was not aborted. She knows this story, my story… for it is the beginning of her story. God gave her to me- even when He knew the real me.  Restoration came in marriage to a man with full knowledge of my shortcomings who continues to daily choose to love me…  It has been refined by miscarriage, career changes, and the sudden death of a parent… restored again by a wild little boy who’s mission it is to be a superhero… tested again by the loss of a sweet baby girl and showered with blessings again by the birth of another. Each dip and rise in the road of restoration gave me a glimpse of His love, His power, His mission and His plan for me.

In preparing for what piece of my testimony to share tonight, I am more and more convinced that it is the mission of each of us to have the intentional presence to honestly share their own stories- with our children, our friends, in and out of the counseling room.  Sharing both the successes and the failures will be what make the difference.....Not determining whether or not those listening will experience fire, but determining whether or not they experience the refinement and restoration that can come from that fire. 

            So take a look at those God has given you-

the 9 year old looking at a fallen world asking questions, the 14 year old pushing the boundaries of freedom, the college freshmen, the engaged daughter.  These are the ones God has given to you. He knows your story- and He is ready to use it.

Silence

It would suffice to say I am mid-thought most days. If I finish the thought, I rarely have time to digest it, much less type it out... As I write from my bed- phone light in my face- I can't help but soak in just this hour of quiet that I have....nothing. Silence. It is a missing piece of my life. I remember when Jaden was little that I was so glad to be in the car by myself.. Radio to myself.. Singing at the top of my lungs.  Recently, however, like tonight on a quick errand, I found myself sitting in silence. The radio was off.... The hum of the engine.. A click in the left wheel... But silence. It was grand. I hope to find it again a little every day. I sometimes seek it in a stolen moment hiding in the house or a quick shower. I adore it. I also adore the messy-faced interrupters that end it.

Fault

I let my baby fall.  
I pivoted away from her...and she fell.  
I didn't even see how she hit the floor.  
She was so small and naked,  and all I could do I scoop up her crying body and bring her to mine.


It was a few minutes before I took a breath as she nursed and I examined her body..... She looked fine.


I was not.


I am not writing about an incident from yesterday...or even last week. It has been over a month since this happened... I hadn't written- posted- shared..... I didn't sit down to write. I didn't even post an update to ask for prayer.  I didn't share much at all...and I am a sharer.


When we first heard of Branson's diagnosis, I shared what was happening to us. I asked for prayer. I asked you to rally for her... for me.  When we lost her, I asked for prayer for myself, my children, my husband.  When we announced we were pregnant with Vivi, all I wanted from you was prayer....prayer for the innocent- prayer for those enduring the circumstance of God's will.
Yet, here is my baby in hospital overnight with a skull fracture....and I am silent.


Why.  Because it was my fault. Because I was embarrassed and ashamed. Because I wanted no advice, condemnation or excuse. I couldn't bear the thought of someone trying to make me feel better by telling me that "things happen" or "we aren't perfect".  I didn't want to admit that I had turned my eyes from my baby and that she had fallen.  No facebook posts this time.  I wanted it all to go away.


So, why post now? 
Because otherwise I am a fraud.
Because if I don't share it all then I'm not authentic....and I have been called to be authentic...and I will continue to pour it out even when the water isn't crystal clear...for it is in the murky and muddy water that I again find my Savior...the one who cleanses and cradles me.  

Sitting in my baby backpack

graduation from preschool...

They have the audacity to continue to grow.  You turn away for a second to tie a shoe and the little one rolls over.  You wake up one morning to your oldest asking to wear make-up.  Don't worry.  This isn't a "carpe diem" post, moms.  I think you hear it way to often....from the little old lady at the grocery store...from everyone..."It goes so fast."  "Sleep while you can!"  "In the blink of an eye..."
It isn't that these pieces of advice aren't sound. It is true.... But the pressure to "seize every moment" causes you to do just the opposite.  You have been there. I know I have.  Overplanning the birthday party so the MOMENT is perfect.  Spending hundreds of dollars and hours on the scrapbook to document all of the perfect MOMENTS. All of that seizing ends up exhausting the socks off of you.


It is becoming more apparent that chasing "carpe diem" isn't what God was asking of me all along anyway.  Phew, right? He was asking me to put one foot in front of another on a path that was rarely lit.  It was usually dark, with turns along the way...turns that often were deceptive, "obvious" doors that were often closed...things that I was sure He wanted - like Branson's life here on earth.  Doors that opened out of nowhere - like the opportunity to do this blog.  It is almost as if "seizing the day" would have complicated His path for me all along.  
Proverbs says that there is a "way that seems right to man, but in the end leads to death".  There have been twists and turns along the way- and my way would have ended up in need of a search party. In fact, at times, it did.


So, what does that look like in real life.  How do you balance? How do you enjoy the moment, look to the future and learn from the past all in the same "blink of an eye"? 

I don't know....and I am glad.  It is this "lost" feeling that keeps me looking at the path before me...straining my eyes for glimpses of His wisdom.  Unlike really being lost, however, I am embraced in Him along the way. I am riding in the baby backpack of my Father...sometimes open-eyed and blinking, sometimes crying to walk, sometimes snuggled deep and sleeping.  Those moments are not to be seized...merely soaked in.


Release the pressure of always getting it right.  You won't.  


Remember that the path He set for you requires faith to step through puddles and leap over gorges- but that most of the time you are being carried.

crying it out

It is 11:42 pm. It may as well be 3 am. That is how tired I am.  However, at the moment, I am letting my teeny tiny baby cry in her crib.  Why? Because she is well and fed and dry and sleepy.  We have cuddled and patted and snuggled and she has eaten and eaten and eaten....and eaten.  So, she is crying.  A few cries...then long periods of silence with eyes closed.  Then crying again...a few mad screams that sound like a pterodactyl...then a few snubs and sniffs...and then silence.  
She is fine.  I am not.  I am sitting in the living room hoping this will distract me from the one sound that I am conditioned and instinctively built to respond to. Everything in my body wants to run to her and promise to hold her all night long for the rest of her life...no matter what her husband will one day say.


But, she would never learn to sleep.  Sleep. It seems so simple, yet it is one of the first tasks that babies must learn: how to sooth themselves to sleep.  Sure, there is nothing wrong with rocking, nursing, patting, bouncing or even driving your baby to sleep....but whatever tool you use to help them will be the thing they learn to depend on.  


I wonder where my Jesus sits when I am crying it out sometimes...those moments where I must learn how to walk through the next step He calls me to...the times when it is painful.  While I am whining and complaining or asking Him to fix "it", is He waiting patiently- urging me to trust Him- reminding me that He knows best?


I am reminded of Lucy's question of Aslan in "Prince Caspian". After all the loss in Narnia, Lucy finally sees Aslan again.  She immediately asks him why he has not come roaring in to save the day like he did last time.  Yes, Lucy. I agree.  I find myself asking that as well.


However, even in my doubts and fears and fits it is still evident that He has never failed me.  Ever.  He has walked with me through fire and death.  He has walked me through mistrust, anger and resentment.  He has never failed me.  When He decides to let me cry it out, it is with the love, compassion and wisdom of a Father....of a mother who listens intently at the nursery door.


It is 11:56.  14 minutes of snubby little cries....I had decided to go in at 12....no need. I knew best.  And so does HE.