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 :)