Pause to Breathe

I am so glad it is Friday. This week has exhausted me. Maybe it is simply nearing another birthday…mine is two weeks away…mixed with all the emotions of this election and the issues being hilighted. Maybe it is the awareness of my mother’s presence and yet longing for her true presence. Maybe it is migraines that have been annoying me all week. I’m not sure…maybe just the culmination of all of that, but I am worn out today. 

I am thankful for Friday morning in the coffee shop with the oldest boy. Thankful for laughter and watching goofy videos.  Thankful for good books to read and for warm fireplaces.

Last night we had an Arts Night at the homeschool tutorial. Such talented kids, and so much joy. 

Sometimes it is easy, and I know this is stating the obvious, it is easy to think that everything is falling apart and the world is ending. It is easy to be overwhelmed. There is much to occupy our thoughts in a somber and heavy manner, and we need to take the time to think through heavy issues.

We need to take the time to breathe as well. And we need to take the time to rejoice whenever we can. We need the youth around us to celebrate and remind us to dance and turn the music up too loud. We need their talent and their energy. 

Driving yesterday with the youngest two I was caught by their delight. Silly, goofy delight in simple things. Running around with sticks like light sabers and building fires out of sticks and leaves. Pretending. Delighting. 

Living.

They do not have the weight of sober thoughts bearing down on them. 

I’m so thankful for their delight. 

So, it is Friday. Let’s take a breath and find something to bring delight, something to celebrate. Something to refresh. Something to bring wonder. We cannot exhaust ourselves in the heavy things only, or we will not have the endurance for the long journey we are on. We need these Friday mornings of reflection and calm. I know I needed it this morning. 

Let’s find a way to model for our kids today that we know how to delight and how to dance, how to rejoice. Especially in this season when they sense the tension and the uncertainty around them. Let’s remind ourselves of the good the Lord has done in our midst, and let’s point it out. 

I have the goofiest thing from last night, but it almost made me cry. I had a terrible headache and it had been a long day. Of course Arts Night involves a lot of sound. So, I picked up a coffee and came back a bit late…and realized I had the consequence of parking about a block away.

I forgot to mention the blister I was working on, didn’t I?

I parked and sat there for a few minutes, then simply told the Lord that I didn’t have the energy to walk that far and if he wouldn’t mind opening up a space for me. In the middle of the performance. You know, one of the six spaces in front of the building with 200 people. 

He did.  Actually two spaces. Maybe someone else had a headache and a blister.

Now, I can hear an atheist friend of mine snickering right now, and guffawing at my naïveté that the God of the Universe would open up a parking space. I know.

That’s why it almost brought me to tears. I would rather He would sweep in and solve some of our big issues and overwhelming prayers. I would love several things to happen so easily…but here’s the thing. Sometimes something very simple and very clear happens. We can guffaw and pass it off….or we can stop and realize He is telling us He is listening. 

I’ll take the latter interpretation. 

Leaving you all with two of the seniors from last night, Lilliana Napier and Joseph Gunnells, singing “The Prayer” from David Foster.​ Grace, my friends…we sure need it. And these kids are a great blessing of grace and delight.

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I do not understand…but I hope.

Indeed the Book of Job avowedly only answers mystery with mystery. Job is comforted with riddles; but he is comforted. Herein is indeed a type, in the sense of a prophecy, of things speaking with authority. For when he who doubts can only say, ‘I do not understand,’ it is true that he who knows can only reply or repeat ‘You do not understand.’ And under that rebuke there is always a sudden hope in the heart; and the sense of something that would be worth understanding.  — G.K. Chesterton

 

There has been so much dialog lately about strong women. Worthwhile dialog. Conversation happening between women I consider strong, and women I respect. Underlying all of it I cannot help but think of the woman who instantly comes to mind when I think of a strong woman.

 

Grant me a little grace on this post. I am not in the mood to define for you what strength in a woman should be, or how we should exercise our rights. In this moment, late at night on January 25, I am not interested in marches or or name calling. I am not interested in the vulgarity of a president, or the necessity of standing in solidarity.

 

Right now, I am thinking of a woman standing in her bathrobe just inside the the door of a bus. Remember the old buses with the door that had the handle the driver had to pull to close the door? She was standing just inside and the driver was pulling that handle for all she was worth, trying her best to slam that door on this woman. Didn’t work. Bathrobe. Coffee in hand, and rant about to begin.

 

I don’t remember what this substitute bus driver had done that so ticked off my mom, but it was a doozy. I remember coming home and telling her after the first day about our ride. I remember being upset, and I remember coming out that morning and watching my mother explain things in no uncertain terms. The bus rides were much better the rest of that week.

 

That was my mother. Strong woman.

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I remember so many situations when she walked in a room and filled it with her presence. She was elegant, intelligent and incredibly witty. She had a flair and charisma that drew people to her and a generosity of spirit and kindness which made her friendships last for years.

 

She had a wit and a humor that could absolutely leave you rolling on the floor laughing, or stop you in your tracks if you were out of line.

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Today was her 81st birthday.

 

So, why the Chesterton quotation? Because, I do not understand.

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It is not that I think we deserve any great grace or dispensation from a disease, or that because she was strong she should have been spared. It is simply that today is her birthday and it continues to break my heart that she is lost to us in her mind.

 

That the strong woman walks with a shuffle and hums her songs now without a tune, with lyrics made of words strung nonsensically together. She has not known us for some time. We have been on this journey of Dementia for nearly ten years. My brothers and my Dad walk it with an intimacy and strength I admire beyond words, while I watch more from a distance.

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I do not understand why we have to lose her to this dark place in her mind. I do not understand why she does not know her granddaughter carries not only her name, but the set of her jaw when she is determined, and the quickness of her mind and her wit.

 

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I do not understand, and God does not explain. He responds, “You are right, you do not understand.”

 

This is broken, and while it is broken there is still purpose. There is still wonder in the midst of the brokenness, and even here in the midst of this heartbreak, He is present and continues to work.

 

I don’t like it. I wish she could come to the phone and hear us wish her a happy birthday. I wish she could know. But still, I know that there is hope. I lean in on days like today and long for heaven. I long for the healing of the One who can make all things whole. The One who can make all things right, and Who can bring rest in the midst of all this chaos.

 

I remember late on Monday night I think it was, maybe Tuesday nights, listening to the tapping of the typewriter. Mom was the teacher for BibleStudy Fellowship in our city, and she would be typing her lecture.
Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap….and then that Whhhiiiirrr, SNAP! as she hit return.

 

Late at night, thoughts flowing. I inherited that from her, along with her strength and few other things. The setting of my jaw, for instance, when I’m really ticked off.

 

It’s almost midnight, but I will get this post in before your birthday is done. We need to hear about hope in these days. We need to be reminded…that even though we don’t understand, there is reason to trust and to hope. Not in man, but in God who has time and again proved Himself faithful. It is not easy, and some days we do it through tears, but we hope.

 

Happy 81st, Mom. I trust somehow you knew all the flowers that filled the house were for you.

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“”Let the sea roar, and all that fills it, let the field exult, and everything in it! Then shall the trees of the wood sing for joy,”” says David (1 Chron.16:32-33). And shall is the verb of hope. Then death shall be no more, neither shall there be mourning or crying. Then shall my eyes behold him and not as a stranger. Then his Kingdom shall come at last and his will shall be done in us and through us and for us. Then the trees of the wood shall sing for joy as already they sing a little even now sometimes when the wind is in them and as underneath their singing our own hearts too already sing a little sometimes at this holy hope we have.

The past and the future. Memory and expectation. Remember and hope. Remember and wait. Wait for him whose face we all of us know because somewhere in the past we have faintly seen it, whose life we all of us thirst for because somewhere in the past we have seen it lived, have maybe even had moments of living it ourselves. Remember him who himself remembers us as he promised to remember the thief who died beside him. To have faith is to remember and wait, and to wait in hope is to have what we hope for already begin to come true in us through our hoping. Praise him.” -Buechner

The Strength of Beauty

Oh my soul, FaceBook, as if my headaches have not worn me out enough the last few weeks!! I began to wonder if I needed to take a break from FaceBook.

I watched the Inauguration, and then I watched my FB feed explode. Some with great excitement, some with tentative hope, some with great anger and some with outright hatred. All friends. All people I know in real life and care about. 

Over the last twenty four hours I have listened. I have witnessed such a spread of opinion not just on the news, but in the heart of my friends. I wonder how we will bridge this gap. I wonder how the conversations will develop.

I watched as friends began to post pictures as they marched in the Women’s parade, holding their posters and beaming with pride. These are friends I respect and love. Not women I shrug off and easily disrespect. Then I saw others posting articles with pictures of women dressed as vaginas, wearing shirts with vulgarity. 

Shouting profanity. 

Then the protests against the president with businesses destroyed and property damaged. 

I thought more about shutting down Facebook. 

Then…I saw pictures of a friend who had just suffered a heart attack, and I prayed. I saw pictures of another friend with their baby granddaughter just born, and I rejoiced. I saw pictures of friends celebrating and I remembered why I love Facebook.

Sunday morning I went to church and saw friends who were frustrated by the women’s march and friends who had marched. We all worshipped together and I got to hug them all and talk with them all. We all want our girls to be strong women and pray for the same things, hope for the same things for the country and our neighbors. 

So, as I sit here Monday morning my thoughts are still not clear. I could not march in the Women’s march because it was so clearly tied to Planned Parenthood, but also because I was frustrated by how it seemed to meet Trump’s vulgarity with a vulgarity of its own. Women wearing ‘pussy’ hats and calling themselves ‘Nasty Women’ simply does not resonate with me. I understand the need to demonstrate, and I even understand my friends who marched and wore the hats, and I value the freedom they have to do so. Most of my friends walked with different signs.

I want my daughter to be strong, and I want her never to know what it is to have a man take advantage of her…a man feel that he can do as he wants with her. I have had men push me beyond where I was comfortable, and that is a feeling you can never erase. I want my girl to never experience that and to have the strength to never need the approval of a man who would act that way. So how do we get there…marching dressed as vaginas?  
Maybe.

Maybe that is part of it. Maybe we need to shock ourselves into a conversation about all of this. About women’s health care and about rape culture and dating culture, about our incredibly loose sexuality in advertising and movies and culture. About ‘locker room’ talk and our young men learning to treat women with dignity. Maybe we need some shock…

But maybe we need something on the other side as well, and this is a bit more where I fall. I want my girl to be strong. I seriously want her to take Karate and know how to defend herself. I want her to know her rights and speak up for herself..but I want her to know beauty and wonder and love. I want her to know she is made by a Creator who loves her and created her in beauty. I want her to know that at her core she is loved by a Savior who came to redeem her because she is loved that well, and if that is true, she does not need to settle for a love that would abuse her. I want her strength to come from an identity rooted in love. 

And…her brothers need to know this as well. We need our boys to be raised knowing that they are to love well. They are to love with a tenderness and a protectiveness and an honor. They are not to talk about women as commodities and . They are to love with love that honors beauty and does not ravage it. To be strong  means that we create beauty and sanctuary and peace.

 To create vulgarity and chaos is easy. To create peace and beauty is difficult, and that requires true strength.

I do not mind the march. I do not mind my friends who marched. The vulgarity bothered me, but I guess that was part of the point…it forced me to think. I do not consider any of my friends nasty women, though. I consider them women who carry beauty with them, and who carry the ability to create wonder and peace all around them. Where others are creating vulgarity…let’s bring true strength.  

Sometimes I just need help with an Ugly Cry.

The links have begun to pour in. Stories telling me of the importance of diet and of exercise, stories of how to organize the house and my life. Lots of links about bullet journaling, mostly because I am rather obsessed with this right now.

Links about new starts and plans for the new year. I wrote yesterday about my intention to avoid resolutions this year, my intention instead to focus on embracing more how I am wired and figuring out how to make that blossom.

I am fearfully and wonderfully made.  Psalm 139:14.   In all my haphazardness and all my inconsistencies, in all the things that spark wonder within me, and all the things that bring life to me…I am fearfully and wonderfully made by a Creative God who has marked me as His own. He has left His Image upon me.

Part of that, I think, is this deep affinity to story.

And that is why, I think, one of the links which continued to pop up in my FaceBook feed caught my attention.

The Wall Street Journal. The Need to Read.

The Need to Read.





Beyond just a tag on to my days, or something that would be nice to fit in to the schedule, there is a need to read. Will Schwalbe writes in the article above that the need to read is tied to a need to be exposed to ideas beyond just our own. We are able to experience and understand different ideas and people through reading. This is such an enormous reason to read.

It is not the only reason.

Right now, as I near 47 years old and parent kids from five to fifteen, I realize more than ever the need for wonder and story. That image of God marked on my soul? Part of it is is this innate affinity to story, this perking of the ears and the heart to a good story. Being drawn in to the characters and the setting, wondering what will come next and how the characters will resolve their challenges. Rejoicing in their successes and feeling that ache of heartbreak over loss and suffering.

In fictional stories.

Yep.

Crying those messy, snotty, tissue-necessary cries at the end of a story that releases our emotions. *

Sometimes we need that release. Because we have had to hold things together in the midst of a world that is stressful and filled with heartbreak. We cannot walk in mourning or anger or fear or sorrow all the time, even though we have valid reason for all those emotions…we have to learn to keep them in check and function with some sense of health in the midst of a crazy world.

Sometimes we need the catharsis of a good cry, the release of getting really ticked off at a villain worthy of our anger. We need our wonder sparked and ignited by the heroism of a fictional, or historical, character. We need our authors to give us a moment to release our emotions in the safety of a story so we can return to our realities of bills and parenting and teaching and health issues and dementia and cancer and fears and hopes and sports and joys and all that makes up our lives. We return with our hearts enlargened and ready to love well, to wonder well and, yes, even to have anger when needed.

Stories give us room to feel. They give us room to listen and to experience beyond our neighborhood. They are not a luxury, they are a necessity.

So, do not take it as a burden, and surely do not add it as a resolution…but go buy a book and read. Something. Ask a friend for a recommendation and find something worth reading.  If you need a place to start, check out this list over at The Rabbit Room.  Or, better yet…tell us in the comments what you are reading to start this new year! Currently I am reading Scarlet Pimpernel and Pride and Prejudice.

*The last book that left me in that state of an ugly cry (messy, tears falling and snotty nosed), was The Warden and the Wolf King…the last book in the Wingfeather Saga. You haven’t read these? Go…now. Read them to your kids, starting tonight!

An Adjustment in Vision 

There is something refreshing about a shiny, bright new year. Even though the situation is the same as a few days ago, there is a spark of hope and a spark of energy present this morning. Even on this very grey, rainy morning.


Christmas and New Year’s were dominated by migraines for me, so the presence of merely a minor headache this morning has also helped the enthusiasm. Still, there is something about turning to a new calendar, a new journal, a new … year. Resolutions, Revolutions, Hopes, Imaginations. And sometimes…

Desperations. 

We all have those thoughts on the changing of the year. The things we would like to be different in the coming months. The exercise routines and the diets, the reading plans and the shunning of social media. I have posted years on end how I would step away from online activity to focus on real life activity. Only to be drawn back continually. 

Then to feel frustrated with lack of discipline and lack of persistence. Then to meet the next new year with a sense of desperation that the list of resolutions remains the same as last year. Still unfulfilled. 

Not this year. This year is different.

Sitting here in one of my favorite coffee shops organizing my shiny new bullet journal,

I realized that this year I do not want new resolutions. This year, I want instead to be at ease with who I am.

That is not to say that there is not room for improvement. There is always, always room for improvement. 

I realized this morning, however, that some of the frustration I face is trying to force a system on myself and the kids that simply doesn’t work that well. Instead, I need to find a way to make what is good and unique about us blossom and flourish.

Yes, I know. That was obvious.

And yet, not so much.

When we began home school one friend who had done this for years challenged me not to simply bring school home. We had before us this great freedom to do things differently, and the challenge is to find the way to flourish in that freedom. I’m not sure we have hit our stride yet. There is still this sense of knocking out the work so they can get to the fun stuff…and my heart wants the kids to see the learning as the fun stuff. 

I know it cannot completely be fun all the time, but the learning can make us come alive. When we find the way to learn that speaks to us. This translates to the work, to the resolutions as well. The resolutions do not make me come alive, and they surely are not fun after the second week. So how do we approach this year differently so the resolutions are not so much a drudgery but a way of understanding ourselves better? A way of giving ourselves the freedom to operate in a way that nourishes our souls?

I’m honestly not completely sure how this works out yet…but I think the key is to be looking. What makes me feel alive? Music. Books. Really great movies. Discussions with people I love. The giggles of little ones. 

What makes me pull inside myself and become depressed? Not meeting unrealistic goals. Feeling constantly behind and unprepared. Failing to complete things. 

What about you? What speaks life to you? Make room for that this year. What makes you step with energy and with enthusiasm? Make sure that is present in your life. 

We still have to make our beds. We still have to wash the dishes and put away the laundry. We still have to do the work, but maybe our resolution can be to find a way to do the work and nourish our souls at the same time.  Or nourish our souls so we have the energy and strength to do the work. 

That is my resolution on this January 3rd: Find a way to nourish my soul and make the ‘work’ of keeping the house and educating the children become something that speaks life. Rather than forcing a structure that builds frustration, building a freedom which encourages learning and work to be done with enthusiasm. Naive and impossible? I’m not sure, but I think it is worth the effort. I think it is worth the adjustment in vision rather than a list of resolutions.  Let’s see what we can do with 2017.