The Mom Eats Alone

I've said for years that I'm going to write a book with the title of this posting. I don't really know what it will be about. But there are certain things that are true about moms and particularly about moms who are full-time homemakers. One of those truths is that at meal times, we are so busy topping off apple juice, replacing dropped spoons, blowing tiny noses, and snatching fresh napkins, that by the time we sit down to eat, everyone else is finished and gone.

A few months ago, I had a photographer (who also happens to be my sister-in-law. Bonus!) come to my home and photograph our family in the mundane. We didn't do anything special. I intentionally left our house un-vacuumed and un-swept, as it would generally be on that day. I wanted her to capture us as we were. To seal up a capsule of our family in the "now."

When I got the pictures back from her, I was surprised about three different things.

1. I found that I didn't remember much of anything about that day, except that she had come. I didn't remember that it was light at bedtime or that we ate s'mores or that my friend Sara sent us a box FULL of candy from Germany to open that day or even that my brother-in-law and his posse stopped by to drop off hand-me-downs from my aunt.

Part of that is beautiful, because our lives were legitimately captured in the raw. Nothing stuck out to me because none of it was abnormal. But that same beauty holds somber undertones; I know the sun's rising and setting is out of my control, and it's leaving things in an indiscernible blur.

2. I don't smile nearly enough in my daily routine. That needs to change.

3. I was shocked to see how many of the pictures were of myself or of my "office."

Side note: I spend a LOT of time standing in front of the sink or stove. That's where I tape up notes of encouragement so that I see them as much as possible. This helps to remind me of the value of my position, and it safeguards against Routine swallowing me whole. I call this area my office. :)

At first I was annoyed that so many of the photos featured me in some way, because I wanted the shoot to be about our life as a family. But as I continued to scan through them time and again (you know you do it too), my mother-heart awakened to an interesting truth.

The home is like a piece of art. From a distance, people think it's effortless, aesthetically pleasing, and quaint. But if they stepped into it, they would understand that it is crafted from wild vines. Moment by moment, pieces are changing, jutting here or there. The artist's job is to take the mayhem and weave it together into a functional, healthy organism (with minimal shouting). If said artist stepped away for a day or two, she would have a lot of repairing and resetting to do upon her return. Because it's life. And it's live. And it's hard. And it's beautiful.

The pictures depict me cooking dinner, cleaning dinner, helping with homework (which is actually usually Dad's job around here), sweeping floors, managing candy intake, and more. Many of the pictures where I don't physically appear, you can still find remnants of what I've done. Examples of this include ice packs on wounds, water for the toddler's paint, billions of pictures tacked to the walls of my fledgling artist's bedroom, and a basket stocked with fruit that was budgeted and planned to purchase for the family.

Fellow mom, you are vitally important. If someone came to your house to still-shot your day, you would be in half the pictures, and that's a good thing. :)

In my "office," I have a now-dish-water-flecked, dusty card that my church handed out on Mother's Day nearly a decade ago, and I'll end with its message.

"God has called you and gifted you to be the wonderful mother you are. In a special way today may you sense His nearness, rejoice in His love for you, and know the joy you bring to others."

More pictures are coming soon to a Facebook near you!

Eleven

My kids usually sleep with a box fan running to mute outside noise. Yesterday, one of our two fans mysteriously kamikazed a blade. Now when it's switched on, it walks (er, hops) across the room-- loudly.

We're at the tail end of a humidity streak which has blanketed our area with 90+ degree weather for two weeks. Really, we shouldn't have been shocked when our trusty Walmart was sold out of box fans.

So last night, we made the only logical decision. All three of our kids would sleep together in one room. Our room.

Shortly after being tucked in, the oldest came to us, complaining that her 2-year-old sister was babbling on and on, and that "I can't understand anything she's saying." We assured her that this was normal behavior and sent her back to bed.

By the time we got to bed ourselves, one of them had already had "an accident" in his resting place on the floor. So we cleaned him up, laid down a towel, and went to sleep.

Little did we know that those first few hours would be our only hours of rest.

The 2-year-old was awake from roughly 3:30-5:30, playing quietly on her own. During that time, our oldest came to me to complain about her nose hurting (for which I know no remedy) and again later because she had pain in her back (which I'm sure had something to do with sleeping on a concrete basement floor-- just a hunch).

Around six o'clock or so, my son accidentally moved (and unplugged) the beloved, precious, sleep-protecting box fan. Faster than a cat out of water, I shot from my bed to fix it and salvage the rest of my girls' potential sleep. But that was pretty much it.

To frost the cake, I was up three times, myself, to use the restroom (sometimes being a hydrated runner has it's downsides).

It wasn't until the kids were up and Rodney was in the shower that either of us thought to wish a groggy "happy anniversary" to the other.

I thought back to our wedding day. About how his pesky little brothers ran over to wake my maid of honor and myself up at the crack of 7 a.m. and how I wanted to gouge their eyes out for doing so.

Today, 7 a.m. is sleeping in! Boy, how our lives have been taken down a completely (and I do mean completely) different road. We are no longer the kids who exchanged vows on our wedding day. Our perspective has grown, and our life experience has gained value one hundred fold. Our lives are rich and full and significantly less self-focused.

It seems fitting, in a "God has a sense of humor" sort of way that our night went so horrendously. It is a reminder of where we have come in just over a decade. We almost didn't make it to year 2, and here we stand at 11. For that, my hat goes off to God-- the great sustainer.

We've known each other now for a majority of our lives. And my favorite part is that this is still just the beginning.

Finding God at garage sales

This weekend my church is hosting a garage sale, and I volunteered to help "price" items. That's maybe not an ideal job for me, because I really don't have the best sense of value. I would never win on The Price is Right. Ever.

My first assignment was to price about a dozen identical leather arm chairs that were lined up in the hallway. With $10-15 in mind, I asked my leader what she thought they should go for. She said that they were high quality chairs that typically sold factory fresh for about $1,000 each.

That sent my value-ometer a little berserk. I know garage sale items should be significantly less than new ones, but where do I make the jump between $10 and $1,000? I thought maybe I could label them at $50 so it would seem like a sacrifice to buy them, but people would still be getting them at a bargain. Then again, if someone came along who didn't know that chairs were actually that awesome, they would stroll past the 95% off deal and continue browsing elsewhere. And my job was to "price to sell." What a dilemma (insert "first world problems" jab here).

I was finally instructed to mark the chairs at $20, so I got to work writing up stickers. Now I don't know if it's because I'm a woman or because I was born an "Ivey" woman, but knowing the gap between what they were worth versus what they were priced sparked an urgency to get one into my possession. I have no need for a chair. I have no space for a chair.

That was yesterday.

This morning, I was awake early and settling in for my quiet time with God. And yes, I was still thinking about the stupid chairs. I reflected on how I had wanted to mark them for at least $50 but couldn't, knowing that garage-salers wouldn't recognize their worth. And this thought came to me:

"When you understand the value, you're willing to pay the price."

Bing! The connection is that God assigns and therefore grasps our value. He paid the same price for you as He did for Mother Theresa and for Adolph Hitler.

Hebrews 12:2 reads, "For the joy set before Him He endured the cross, scorning its shame, and sat down at the right hand of the throne of God."

That "joy set before Him" was the relationship He now gets to have with you and with me. Even just the opportunity-- the hope and chance that we would choose Him back, and He could be close to us. We are His joy. His reason for living and dying. He has always seen value in us. I wanted to encourage you to live in the truth that you were eternally paid for at the highest price. And with Him, there's no buyer's remorse.

Put in my place

Today, I have a hotel room to myself for the entire business day. That may sound boring to some of you (especially if you're an extrovert), but to this introverted mother of 3, it spells glorious reprieve.

This prolonged period of silence lends itself well for me to connect deeply with the Father. It somehow allows my heart to unfold and expose itself with freedom and vulnerability more so than when I'm rushing to squeeze my quiet time in between kids' naps and chopping tomatoes for supper.

There's a particular trial I've been enduring for a little while now that I've just had trouble putting to rest. Every day I seek His power to gain victory over this. I have even pursued counsel on the matter, but it seems like I gain minimal ground before sliding back into this rut. I have no doubt that I will ultimately overcome it; it's just taking longer than I'd like.

Because of my extended time this morning, I felt the courage to address the Lord with my "beef" about Him not coming through and just rescuing me. So I said,

"God, I know You want me to listen to You and fight for You, but sometimes that feels like a one-way road."

I slowed down and stopped at "but" (yes, I pray out loud). I did finish the sentence, but mostly based on principle. I wanted to get the words out-- to dig up and release the feelings I had been sweeping under the rug of avoidance.

However, it was simultaneously humorous to hear how ridiculous the sentence actually sounded, escaping my lips. By the end, I was shaking my head and had a giant smile on my face. I sensed no condemnation, but a humble reminder of my smallness.

How short-sighted I can be, to think that I could possibly be carrying the heavier work load in this relationship.

It was just an interesting moment I thought I would share.

Feeling so small, yet so adored

Disclaimer: The blog post you are about to read is a little heavy on nature and other such Jesus-loving, hippie themes.

We are on our way out to Salem, Oregon for a business trip. Last night, after 2 full days of driving, we were about 3 hours from our final destination. We tossed back and forth the idea of pressing through and arriving at midnight or stopping short and “roughing it” in the kind of motel that's spelled with flashing lights and has bullet-proof glass shielding the check-in counter.

Rodney, being the tough, manly leader that he is made the executive decision to stop-- because he didn't want to miss out on the beautiful scenery by passing it all under the cover of darkness. I love that guy :)

I do have to just interject quickly and say that he was right. I'm typing while we're driving, and this is quite possibly the most beautiful view we've had over the past 1,800 miles. There's a tremendous, white-capped river to our right and mountains engulfing everything around us-- like a bowl. Double-stacked trains chugging out of Portland are slithering by between us and the river basin. The sky is clear, and the sun is bright.

Today was simply birthed as amazing.

That first morning out West is always great because that the 2-hour time difference hasn't set in yet. So I “slept in” until 7:00 my time, but was awake with the morning's first blush here at 5 am. I eagerly threw on my running gear and quietly slipped out the door.

Our hotel was nestled beside a smaller river, which made for nice company while running. I found myself surprised at my own surprise, however, when I lifted my head and noticed that I was surrounded with mountains. I knew they were there, of course, but the darkness from the night's drive and habitual Wisconsin programming in my mind's eye rendered me forgetful and caught me completely unaware of the silent towering giants.

I rounded a curve in time to see the sun just cresting the tip of one of these majestic beauties. Without hesitation, I turned around and jogged straight back to my hotel room to find my camera.

During this trek, I discovered an awesome little spot to sit and connect with my Jesus. So I ran to snap the picture that you see at the top of this blog, ditched the rest of my run, and showered so I could meet up with my Love. It felt a little like primping for a morning date :)

I snatched my bag of reading and writing supplies and started my little journey to the meeting place. Unfortunately, by then there was a man working to repair a gazebo very near my spot. Who cares about a gazebo at 6 in the morning? Seriously.

Anyway, I detoured around him, hoping to spot a park bench bathed in sunlight to escape the chilly air. No such luck. But I didn't care; my heart was full. So I sat down on a cold, metal seat and allowed time to take in the river against it's tall, rocky backdrop.

I cracked open my Bible (well, Rodney's Bible, but that's a long story) and discovered broken bits of sweet sunshine dancing through the shade trees onto my pages. It felt like a divine, loving, playful "elbowing" gesture, which swept a smile over my face.

My bookmark directed me to 1 Corinthians 12 which is about believers being part of a body-- one working entity, not unlike the river before me. The passage goes on to explain how He gives us each something different to contribute to that body. I thanked Him for the ways that He uses me, despite my constant weakness and occasional rebellion. I reveled in His patience and His heart for me. Me!

By the time I was done reading, the bench I was seated on was still blanketed in shadows, but a familiar, comforting heat rested on my shoulders. I imagined my Father spreading the branches above me just so-- affectionately knowing the depth of my heart and how it connects with the warmth of the sun.

For a long time I gazed at the river and mountains ahead of me. I thought about how the calloused, rugged hands that molded those unfathomable stone fixtures were the same scarred ones that tenderly crafted my heart and lungs, skin and eyes-- all in a mother's womb.

I am ashamed to think of how I limit Him. That I respect Him in the grandeur, but lose Him in the little things. When I can't sleep or when I'm not immediately rescued from a trial or temptation, I forget that He is everlasting-- the Beginning and the End. He is radiant. He is just.

I felt that I could die and be no closer to Him than I was right then. This world really isn't my home. Someday, this morning's moments won't be an excerpt or a memory, but my living, breathing, waking, eternal life. For He makes everything glorious!

The Beautiful Mundane

I have a photographer coming over this afternoon to shoot a "story telling" session in my home. This means that she will be capturing our lives exactly as they are. No posing, no make-up, no matching outfits.

I cringe a little, because my house isn't exactly pristine: stacks of papers are awaiting their home in the filing cabinet, dishes are dirty, and my son needs a haircut. But, well, that's kind of a highlight for this type of thing. This is my life as a mom. Gritty. Messy. Real.

All morning, I've been resisting the urge to "fix" the surface things in my world so that we can look better. But one of the core pillars of my heart is "authenticity." So I can embrace this. Deep breaths. Messy is okay. Imperfection is o--kay.

Actually, the more I think about that, the more excited I feel. I've been looking around my home and falling in love with the ordinary things about my life. There are literally a dozen toothbrushes in my bathroom (if you don't know, we own our home with another family). My daughter has about nine art projects lying on our counter (so they can dry. . . 3 days ago). Naked baby dolls are scattered everywhere. My fridge has a billion kiddish magnets stuck to it.

Today, the usual annoyances are being brought into a new light of appreciation for the speeding moments I'm living in. I can't cook without someone hanging on my leg. I can't go to the bathroom without an audience (or tears behind the closed door). If I want to shower alone, I need to be awake before 6 a.m.

I had a baby just yesterday, and she's turning 7 in August. The cliche is true: "The days are long, but the time is short." That baby brought some looooong days.

Twenty years will go by in the blink of an eye, and this time of toddler, first-grader, and all-boy will be a vague memory. No more catching worms, running in the sprinkler, digging up the yard with toy tractors, riding bikes down the hill, or chubby fistfuls of Play-Doh at my table. Miscellaneous still shots of random moments would be all we had.

But after tonight, I will have a capsule of exactly how things look right now including bed time routines, the faces around our dinner table, and the fights over homework.

This "every day" deal really is a beautiful thing. And it's passing me by like a careless breeze.

Day By Day

I went for a run this morning. The last time I did that, I was in my second trimester, it was after completing a half marathon, and. . . it was nearly 3 years ago. Needless to say, taking the 2-mile loop was biting off a little more than I could chew. Or. . . run?

Anyway, once I was finished and hacked the film from my lungs, I felt great. I was doing the right thing for my body, I could feel that weird mix of pain and awesomeness that only comes from exercising, and it just felt good to be "back in the saddle." But the strangest thing happened.

When I squeezed into my [shrinking] jeans, they were still hard to zip. That can't be right. I worked hard on my run, sweating and burning calories. I ate a healthy breakfast. I drank a glass of water. I should be thinner!!!

Yes, I realize how illogical that argument is. But it doesn't change my feeling that I should see immediate change.

Maybe this is over-thinking things, but I considered how this relates to the Christian life. Sometimes I'll have an awesome time in the presence of God and feel like I can overcome any obstacle. I can be like Jesus. But within hours (or. . . often just minutes) of this motivating time, I am back to yelling at my kids, being short with my husband, and complaining about insignificant things.

I have heard people use the term "exercise" when it comes to using their faith. I'm not sure I had ever thought of it before in the way of using repetition to build one's self up. One of Webster's many definitions for the word exercise is:

"something performed or practiced in order to develop, improve, or display a specific capability or skill."

I think it's just a good reminder that we need to get alone and meet daily with the Lord. We cannot understand & know Him, deepen our faith, or love people better if we aren't breaking away from culture and tapping into His life.

Maybe prayer is awkward for you. Do it anyway. The more you do anything, the more comfortable and efficient you will be. I can't think of anything this doesn't apply to: administering insulin shots, riding a bike, playing an instrument. Geeze, you should see me play the guitar right now. It is awkward, indeed. And in these beginning stages, it is even painful. I do not enjoy the process of learning to play. But I look forward to being able to play.

I dream about the day I can sit down and crank out chords like anyone else. But more than that, I eagerly await the moment when the relationship I'm working toward with Jesus is complete. When I can look Him in the eyes as daughter and Father, closely knit, having been bonded for so many years.

And until then, I want to be so enraptured with Him that it pours into my daily interactions. But that is a process. And I'm working on it. Every day.

The Big 3-0

Whew, just writing that title in reference to myself is like taking a wrecking ball to the sternum. Ack!

Over the course of the past few years, I have been watching each of my friends tip over the edge of 29 into the world of the age-ed (which sounds a little like "ancient" if you say it out loud). They all have wrestled with and conquered the milestone, some with more grace than others.

I'm not particularly "stoked" to be heading in the direction of arthritis, wheel chairs, and incontinence. But on the other hand, I'm excited to be growing up. I was talking to someone the other day who was 23. I considered my life that age, and came to the conclusion that there isn't compensation enough in this dimension to persuade me to return to 23.

It was where I stepped out of the working world and became a mother (If that landmark sounds rosy and idealistic to you, you either haven't crossed it, or you haven't had a baby like my first). We bought the house we're in now and began sharing our lives with the Schillings. We started our first La Crosse small group (at the pilot event, one of my nephews nearly cut another nephew's finger clean off with an axe, prematurely ending the night with a trip to the ER).

A lot has happened since then. I have watched some friends and relative pass away. But I have also met new friends since then (and held onto some of the old "keepers."), I have become an active member of my church, I have started writing a book, and I have gained an immeasurable amount of experience in the world of mothering and wife-ing. I have watched the baby butts I changed in the nursery walk across the stage and take their diploma. In short, I am enjoying the benefits of getting older.

I thought that since most of my closest friends are either just over 30 or fastly approaching to the mark, I would throw out some things that speak loudest to me about this particular age. Enjoy :)

• A wardrobe consisting of more pajama pants than jeans
• We remember when our mom was our age (although this won't be true for me until I'm *gulp* 40).
• Half-way to 60
• My hair is pulled back into a frantic ponytail most of the time.
• There is an expectation of responsibility; people no longer look at our screw-ups and compassionately toss out the old, "Eh, you're still young."
• I am neither an "old, boring mom," nor a "hip, young teenager." The clothes at the stores I usually shop at don't accommodate my birthed-3-children figure. And every other store is for my mom to shop at (no offense, Mom). Additionally, Maurice's no longer carries anything "cute," but only weird clothes that could only possibly look attractive on super models. I find myself asking "why do they only make clothes for 1% of the population?" And then I realize just how old the premise of that very question makes me sound.
• I chase my 2-year-old until the end of the day, when I hardly even have the energy to get off the couch and pee before going to bed.
• Wondering where my flat belly and smooth thighs (that I thought were fat) went to go multiply themselves into misfit clumps of matter stuffed under my skin-- like a pillow that's been washed too many times.
• On that note, we all know what a "pillow that's been washed too many times" looks like because we've changed too many toddler sheets in the morning (side note: Pull-Ups are a gimmick).
• I've had Spaghettio's, Oreos, hot dogs, and every other "kid" food regurgitated onto myself at some point.
• Any dreams of being a doctor, lawyer, or anything else requiring more than a 2-year degree are pretty much off the table.
• A 9:00 bedtime
• I'm finally used to my new last name.
• I was a teenager half a lifetime ago.
• My bedroom isn't decorated with the latest chic fashion or pictures of my buddies, but with thumb-print flowers and hand-print turkeys and stick people saying, "I love you Mom."
• My evenings aren't spent partying and hanging out with friends, but hoping the kids don't get out of bed AGAIN and mustering enough sanity in the quiet to make it another day without anyone calling up the homicide department on my behalf.
• Crows feet
• I have Goodnight Moon memorized.
• I get to keep the name "Mom" for the rest of my life :)
• I have a 30-year track record of a God who has never left my side-- despite many years of my keeping Him at arm's length.

The earth is full of His glory

"I saw the Lord, high and exalted, seated on a throne; and the train of his robe filled the temple. Above him were seraphim, each with six wings: With two wings they covered their faces, with two they covered their feet, and with two they were flying. And they were calling to one another:

'Holy, holy, holy is the Lord Almighty;

    the whole earth is full of his glory.' "

Isaiah 6:1-3

This is the anthem of heaven. Day and night, this is happening. It's beautiful and humbling, and many song writers have included words from this passage in their music. I was singing one of these songs a few days ago, when I sensed a twinge of discord with the idea of the whole earth being full of "His glory."

I thought about the slums in Chicago, orphans dying in Haiti, North Koreans starving to death, women being raped for for sport in the Congo. And it seemed to me that the earth is full of suffering, pain, and death more than "His glory."

In my quiet time this morning, I was hashing this pill of contempt out with God. Instead of planting His heels and defending Himself, it was as if He gently took my face in His big hands and reminded me of just the sliver of His glory I have experienced in my limited lifetime. Things like;

• how a summer night's wind stirs conversation among trees, caressing the evening air with their voices
• the Rocky Mountains in all their splendor (who says the rocks don't cry out in praise?).
• ocean waves' relentless crashing onto the shore, and how something so violent can be so soothing to us.
• the sun and moon never tire of taking their turn in our sky.
• that He has lovingly programmed momma cats and newborn kittens to know what to do at birth.
• crisp moon shadows of craggy trees etched in fresh snow.

I thought about how this beauty, even in all its perfection, is marred. About how Creation is groaning for liberation from its bondage to decay (Romans 8:20). And it occurred to me that His creation is perpetually waving a wand of glory over the earth. But the selfishness and destruction of the human race dulls its roar of grandeur to a whisper-- a steady stream of praise, abuzz with compliments to His mercy, righteousness, sovereignty, and power.

It's not that the earth isn't full of His glory; it's that we're muting it out.

Glad to be where I am

This morning, I was running around vacuuming, sweeping, filling sippie cups, fetching garbage cans from the yard (thanks to last night's storm)-- normal houseworky stuff. In the midst of it all, this angle caught my eye and paused my busy day.

I had set my mop down to check on the banana bread. This particular time, my 2-year-old didn't run off with my mop (to "wash" the windows or toilet or whatever), so it rested beside the stove. And something about this moment made me feel full. It was something of an epiphany for where I have come.

Over 10 years ago, I married Rodney. I had never even browned hamburger. I had no idea how to cook anything other than Easy Mac and Cream of Broccoli Soup and various brands of microwave dinners.

We had the number of our children picked out (as most couples do), but I didn't really want any. I figured that would change some day, but wow, was I not a fan of kids. Truth be told, I'm still not a fan of OTHER PEOPLE's kids much. There's a smack of truth to the phrase "Kids are like farts; you can tolerate your own, but others' are unbearable."

But slowly, my life has morphed, and the nearly-30-year-old-Laura bears little resemblance to the teenager who stepped into her new life in Wisconsin all those years ago.

I don't wake up, scrape the windows on my car, and head to work every morning. I don't go out to eat, almost ever. I don't stay up late or hang out with big groups of friends. Blasting my music and dancing with the cat are a thing of the past. And my calendar never has more than 5 or 6 "blank" dates on it.

No, my days consist of rising early to spend time with my Jesus to give me strength. I lift babies from their beds, bathe them, wrestle with them, dance with them, comfort their "owies," sing to them, snuggle them, chew on them (just a little), and give tons of kisses. Of course I'd be lying if I didn't include the fact that I also yell at them, ignore them, get frustrated with them, and do a lot of apologizing.

With the exception of that beautiful, precious hour in the afternoon called "nap time," my life is not about me anymore. Teenage Laura would not have approved of this plan.

But as I looked around my world this morning, I saw dishes drying, buns rising, clean floors (it's the little things), and happy babies. And it exposed a sense of purpose and belonging and fulfillment.

Today, I loaded up my crib, changing table, and a number of other "baby" things to give away to another mom. My kids are growing up. This chapter of my life will be over sooner than I can possibly fathom. Whether I rush through it or try to hold onto it, I'm grasping at the wind. It will be gone.

I wrote this blog recently about my calling to stay-at-home-momming. I can't imagine ever doing anything else. I have never lived my life this rich, and I don't want to move on. But after today, I won't have a crib in my house-- for the first time in over 6 years. The truth is that I am already moving on. Lord, prepare me for the years to come. Because right now, I don't really like teenagers much :)

Silence in Storms

I listened to a sermon yesterday titled, "Why Does Our Faith Fail?" It was about Peter walking on the water with Jesus. Honestly, even I wasn't very excited to listen to the message, because I kind of felt like I knew all there was to know about that passage. And having been in church nearly 30 years (and having attended a rigorous Christian school for 7 of those years), I was pretty sure that by now, I knew not to "take my eyes off Jesus in the midst of life's storms."

*Yawn*

But I guess I'm not as awesomely smart as I thought I was. Because a few new concepts popped up on my radar. I'll save the best for last :)

The first is something that wasn't necessarily "new" for me, but the way it was presented in the Bible was a twist on my perspective. It's simply that the old adage of "the safest place for you to be is in God's will" is a misnomer. Here are a few examples:

• Prophets like Elijah and John the Baptist resided in deserts, living off of insects and food that birds brought to them.
• The prophet Ezekiel had to lay on the ground on his left side for over a year (Ezekiel 4:5).
• Jesus was in God's will. We all know how that ended for Him.

Clearly, being in God's will isn't any indication of "prosperity" or easy living.

But Mark 6:45 says, "Jesus made his disciples get into the boat and go on ahead of him." Not that He offered them the option, but that He "made" them. He knew that there was a whopper of a storm coming. Yet He sent them out AND left them.

The second thing I learned was shocking to me and blew me away. If we read on in Mark 6. . . well, let me just quote it for you-- with minimal interruption. My words are in brackets.

"Later that night, the boat was in the middle of the lake, and he [Jesus] was alone on land. He saw the disciples straining at the oars, because the wind was against them [He saw them in the midst of their struggle]. Shortly before dawn he went out to them, walking on the lake. He was about to pass by them, but when they saw him walking on the lake, they thought he was a ghost. They cried out, because they all saw him and were terrified."

Wait. . . did you see that? "He was about to pass them by." No way!! Check out a few other translations:

• "He would have passed them by." KJV
• "He meant to pass by them." ESV
• "He intended to go past them." NLT

In each translation, every time, the phrase is followed with "but. . ." And it's beautiful. The reason Jesus stopped to help, the reason Peter got to walk on water, and the reason the whole storm subsided was because they "cried out." And it wasn't a well-worded plea, premised with eloquent, poetic praise. They were scared out of their minds, crying out in fear.

I kind of wish the Bible included what they had said. But the incident was recorded in three books of the Bible, each of which was written either by the hand of a disciple who was there, or by a man who had interviewed a disciple. And I bet they weren't talking :)

Regardless, the fact remains that the sound of His children's cry stopped Him in His tracks and altered His path. I think it's easy to buy into the idea that God has some concrete slab carved out with our exact moves and His exact response. That there's no spontaneity in the Deity. And that concept puts a pretty heavy damper on a person's prayer life. What is the point?

But this passage (along with some Old Testament examples) portrays a God who is sometimes willing to set aside His omniscience, and treat us as if He is on our level. He is powerful enough (and in His own right) to vaporize me, yet He is willing to sit with me on my bed and chat. That is the God I'm excited to know more.

It's Your Call

As Christians, we often get wrapped up in what God may call us to do some day. And our projected dreams are grandiose; we will minister to an indigenous African tribe or start a Panamanian orphanage or rescue all the greyhounds of the world-- in the name of Jesus.

Not many aspiring college students have ambitious goals of applying for a degree in factory work or janitorial services or cashiering or dish washing or farm hand-ing. And yet this is where many of us land, holding to a status of "less than." We believe that, "If only [fill in the blank] then I could be happy and do the Lord's work."

The truth is that whether you're 6 or 106, wherever you are, you are called. You are called to be free (Galatians 5:13), to love (Matthew 22:35-39), and to exude fruit of the Spirit (Galatians 5:22-24). You may argue that these are just general callings to all believers. That you can fulfill these no matter your vocation.

That is my point.

You are called to be where you are. I often listen to a pastor named Steven Furtick. Several weeks ago, he preached a sermon titled "Can't Call It," which has stirred up a fresh outlook for me.

I am a stay-at-home mom, so I spend every day with my kids. On good days, I realize that this is blessing. But most of the time, I'm just trying to make it through the burden of another day. If I can just press on until the next time they're in bed, I'll be able to breathe easy. If they can play by themselves, I can get things done. If I can sit and type up a blog post without pink, little feet on my keyboard or being summoned for more juice, potty help or various sibling injustices, THEN I can be a great writer.

But what if I started viewing their interruptions as invitations instead of irritations?

I have been challenged to start calling my calling what it is. The Bible tells me that my kids are a blessing, and they are! What if I started calling them that? It's possible that by calling them a blessing, I may begin to believe that they are a blessing. And if I treat them like a blessing, they may start acting like a blessing.

Maybe for you, you need to quit griping about your dead-end job and rename it your "temporary assignment" or your "training ground." If you refer to your marriage as "the old ball and chain," it's going to feel like the old ball and chain. If you complain that the demands of life are stressful instead of thanking God that you're able-bodied and busy and not stuck in a hospital bed somewhere, then you're going to feel stressed.

"When you call it like God sees it, God will change it to make it what He knows it truly has the potential to be." -Steven Furtick

On the Run

Friends and faithful readers, it has been many months since I've blogged. Part of it has been laziness or simple lack of inspiration. But for the past few months, my reason has been more noble.

The whole purpose for starting this blog was to exercise the "writing" muscles in my brain. The hope was to hone in my skills enough to properly write a book. Not just any book, but my story.

Throughout the 15 years Rodney and I have been together, I have been unfaithful on many levels and on too many occasions. I've talked to many other women who have also been unfaithful. And most of them share a sense that they are alone. That they are the first and only ones to experience the emotions that come with this branch of life.

Someone once told me (in a lofty, philosophical tone) that your story doesn't matter until you share it. I disagree with that to some degree. But God has brought me through a struggle of great magnitude, and if I could be used to help women with insight I have gained, why would I NOT want to share that?

To get to the point, I am taking this weekend specifically to work just on this project. I'm leaving tonight to spend the next 2 days in the home of a generous family who has no little kids and no responsibility for me. I will be spending most of my time plopped in front of a computer screen, typing words to women I may never meet.

I know I will need prayer in this.

1) I need to have a clear mind. Everyone is familiar with "writer's block," and I would like very much to NOT encounter that this weekend. I've been given a time that's rich with potential, and I don't want it to go to waste.

2) I ask that you pray for spiritual protection. Undertaking the task of this book has brought on strife in my marriage, dreams of old flames, the desire to seek out other men, and other oddities that can be attributed to the hand of our enemy. He is not excited about this project, and he has made that abundantly clear.

3) Pray for my remaining family at home. Rodney isn't used to running this place without my assistance. With this week's release of a new computer game, he will likely be working on less sleep. And Murphy's Law ensures that the kids will certainly be more needy and difficult :)

Thank you in advance for caring for my family in this way.

I am going "off the grid" until Sunday afternoon. So I will see you all on the flip side :)