tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-146425922024-03-13T02:09:34.287-04:00Lots of ScottsAsking the Lord to keep the eyes of my heart open to the extraordinary lessons of every day life.Jenniferhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03903375700915031290noreply@blogger.comBlogger2629125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14642592.post-71230003242076487202023-08-22T15:40:00.002-04:002023-08-22T15:40:47.755-04:00A New Normal<p>Last week we dropped both boys off at their new college campuses. It was a whirlwind. My husband and son Ryland left Georgia Monday evening and drove to Jackson, Mississippi for the night. The next day they completed their drive to Ft. Worth, Texas. I stayed behind to wrap up loose packing ends with Parker then flew out to join them early Wednesday morning. </p><p>After an efficient TCU move-in day and a requisite trip to Walmart for last-minute items (mostly snacks), my husband and I spent the night in a DFW airport hotel. Thursday morning our flight departed at 7:30. Upon arrival in Atlanta we quickly gathered our bags--including one with very suspect items like zip ties, garbage bags, a mallet, and duct tape--and drove home to Rome. Two hours later we were on the road to Nashville, Tennessee with Parker. We had breakfast in Texas, lunch in Georgia, and dinner in Tennessee!</p><p>Parker's move and drop-off were upbeat and smooth. So much so, we canceled that night's hotel stay and returned home earlier than expected. </p><p>Both schools have clearly put a lot of thought into the move-in experience and had many opportunities for the new students to meet others and get acclimated in a positive way. </p><p>Sunday we travelled over to Birmingham to meet Kate's new roommate and her parents for the first time. It was nice to get to know each other a bit before the craziness of move-in day.</p><p>It is a quiet week as we finalize preparations for Kate's relocation this weekend--and so far it really just feels like my boys are away at new camps. I anticipate a lot more emotion when the nest is truly empty and life returns to 'normal' in a new way. </p><p>A Fall without football games and cross-country meets is hard to imagine--but our calendars are full of weekend travel, parents' weekends, and middle-aged adventure. It still seems surreal that this chapter of our lives has ended--but I have great peace. </p><p>One thing my husband and I continue to remind one another is that our kids have heard everything they can hear from us. That is not to say they listened or obeyed, but we have said all the things. Now time and maturity must do their work.</p><p>When they were nine months old we baptized them--publicly acknowledging our belief that they belong to the Lord and had only been entrusted to us. This is the season for putting that belief to the test. They are His. He has plans. We desire to trust, pray, encourage and counsel (when asked). We recommit them back into His Hands. A new normal indeed. </p>Jenniferhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03903375700915031290noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14642592.post-291151405824046052023-03-21T11:32:00.001-04:002023-03-21T11:47:40.731-04:00A Different Kind of Pregnancy<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaTGJoufaEB9zV3v7M-9BrrnFPWS6PzztKMJItZSXWvqQejapWaiL7NFi3rakRjW8s8-anBEURL5zukIAvZcZ99HgPX3N9QvCK9x1d_-ofdnapVmbF6cR9YSYdAo86TVfBpw4E2tq3kJVnRyN5Hw56hC4TVAuT8hQP8DYPkq-oLSiTl-cdvhU/s2062/IMG_0128.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2062" data-original-width="1603" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaTGJoufaEB9zV3v7M-9BrrnFPWS6PzztKMJItZSXWvqQejapWaiL7NFi3rakRjW8s8-anBEURL5zukIAvZcZ99HgPX3N9QvCK9x1d_-ofdnapVmbF6cR9YSYdAo86TVfBpw4E2tq3kJVnRyN5Hw56hC4TVAuT8hQP8DYPkq-oLSiTl-cdvhU/s320/IMG_0128.jpg" width="249" /></a></div>Spring is always a time of remembrance for me. I start walking back through the timeline of the last 1/3 of my pregnancy. Bedrest in March, first at home, then in the hospital. The entire months of April & May were inpatient at Northside Hospital. The delivery in late May, the ICU for me for 1 week, 5 weeks of NICU...a July release.<p></p><p><br /></p><p><a href="http://lotsofscotts.blogspot.com/2007/01/our-babyies-story-pt-1.html">All of this occurred</a> 19 years ago, and yet the rhythm and timing today is strangely similar. Waiting with anticipation for college decisions here in March. Hopeful, concerned, and trying to make sense of bad news mixed with good. Instead of weekly ultrasounds on Tuesdays, we have decisions in portals on Fridays. Information that will shape and change our lives, but yet we have no real control over what is happening internally. We simply wait to be told.</p><p><br /></p><p>We deliver in May--then into the world as infants and now as baby adults.</p><p>So here in March I start to feel the contractions. The babies are getting crowded. There is the urge to push--but questions linger about their readiness. Anxiety lurks about how radically all our lives will change. The difference? My ability to be present and wide awake in it now. I am not <a href="http://lotsofscotts.blogspot.com/2007/01/babies-story-pt-2-crash.html">ill and on the sidelines</a>, honestly concerned <a href="http://lotsofscotts.blogspot.com/2007/01/part-3-diagnosis.html">I may not survive</a> to see them grow up. Those prayers were answered. Praise the Lord, for that.</p><p><br /></p><p>There is a perspective I lacked before. God is sovereign. He can be trusted. His Will be done. I couldn't help but think about Romans 8. I particularly love the plain-speak of the Message translation.</p><p><br /></p><p><sup>19-21 </sup>Everything in creation is being more or less held back. <strong>God reins it in until both creation and all the creatures are ready and can be released at the same moment into the glorious times ahead. Meanwhile, the joyful anticipation deepens.</strong></p><p><sup></sup><br /></p><p><sup>22-25 </sup>All around us we observe a pregnant creation. The difficult times of pain throughout the world are simply birth pangs. But it’s not only around us; it’s <i>within</i> us. The Spirit of God is arousing us within. We’re also feeling the birth pangs. These sterile and barren bodies of ours are yearning for full deliverance. <strong>That is why waiting does not diminish us, any more than waiting diminishes a pregnant mother. We are enlarged in the waiting.</strong> We, of course, don’t see what is enlarging us. But <strong>the longer we wait, the larger we become, and the more joyful our expectancy.</strong></p><p><sup></sup><br /></p><p><sup>26-28 </sup>Meanwhile, the moment we get tired in the waiting, God’s Spirit is right alongside helping us along. If we don’t know how or what to pray, it doesn’t matter. He does our praying in and for us, making prayer out of our wordless sighs, our aching groans. <strong>He knows us far better than we know ourselves, knows our pregnant condition, and keeps us present before God. That’s why we can be so sure that every detail in our lives of love for God is worked into something good.</strong></p><p><sup></sup><br /></p><p><sup>29-30 </sup><strong>God knew what he was doing from the very beginning</strong>. He decided from the outset to shape the lives of those who love him along the same lines as the life of his Son. The Son stands first in the line of humanity he restored. We see the original and intended shape of our lives there in him. After God made that decision of what his children should be like, he followed it up by calling people by name. After he called them by name, he set them on a solid basis with himself. And then, after getting them established,<strong> he stayed with them to the end, gloriously completing what he had begun.</strong></p><p><br /></p><p>Three versions of delivery--2004, 2023, and God's eternal way--and in all three, my heart is very much involved. </p>Jenniferhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03903375700915031290noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14642592.post-9715557770051411702022-10-14T11:43:00.002-04:002022-10-14T13:33:32.459-04:00What Really Matters? <p>Like many parents before me, I have found the challenge of handing over the reins to my young adults emotionally challenging. Too much to fast, too little too late--it all depends on the child and the situation. </p><div style="text-align: left;">Early this Fall as I started processing the ending of this chapter of parenthood and the beginning of another, I became a bit Ecclesiastical. In my exhaustion and cynicism I wondered if intentional parenting doesn't guarantee a result, what has all our investment been for? The temptation for a person who has long believed that everything matters is to swing wildly to the other side. What if <i>nothing </i>matters? </div><p>I had the privilege over the last couple of weeks to read my Seniors' college admission essays. It has been a gift to read how they define themselves--especially what moments from their adolescence they determined to be transformative. Frankly, the big memories I tried to engineer aren't their watershed moments. Instead, it has been the more mundane, organic moments they cite as formative. </p><p>So, I have arrived at this: <b><i>You don't get to know in advance what matters down the road. </i></b></p><p>Parenting, it seems, is a lot like throwing mud against the wall. Some sticks, but you can't predict what. So we sling love, hurl encouragement, and fling opportunities against the sturdy wall of our secure bond. Then, we wait to see what stays. </p><p>Thanks to my blog hobby, I have my own version of some of my children's essay topics. Unsuprisingly, my perspective in the moment differs slightly from their recollection years later. A nod to Ecclesiastes 3: 11 "He has made everything beautiful in its time. He has also set eternity in the hearts of men, yet they cannot fathom the work God has done from beginning to end. "</p><p>These blog posts reveal my own sanctification in the process of my children's formation. As a result, I can say with confidence that <i><b>none </b></i>of it is meaningless. God is always at work in the "unadorned pots of our everyday lives" (2 Corinthians 4:7)</p><p>To Him be the Glory!</p>Jenniferhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03903375700915031290noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14642592.post-18838731689303866392022-09-29T14:46:00.003-04:002022-09-29T14:47:04.955-04:00Packing Their Bags<p>Perhaps because of the demands of my husband's career, we learned early that getting far away and off the grid was the best way to truly relax together. Travel has become a part of our family DNA.</p><p>When our children were younger, I did all the packing. As they got into upper elementary school, I would give them a fairly specific list and they would select items accordingly. In high school this evolved into me asking them what they thought they needed for the trip. I might give general reminders and feedback, but they learned to evaluate the activities, weather and length of trip to decide what they needed. Because journeys are unpredictable, there are times when we miss the mark. I am thinking of many sweatshirts, swimsuits, and shoes through the years that have been purchased at our destinations.</p><p>As I brainstormed Christmas gift list ideas last week, I thought about the bags my young adults would need. I don't yet know their destinations. Will they be mostly driving home from school or flying? Will they land in places where they might hike on weekends or settle into an urban environment? I can't predict what types of bags they will need just yet, nor do I fully understand what they will practically need to put inside them.</p><p>When we elected to give our kids a redshirt Kindergarten year, I started calling this 18-year-old Senior year our 'victory lap.' Little did I know it would actually contain its share of hard lessons that sometimes feel more like defeat. </p><p>As I was discussing this with a friend recently she said "It's all going in their adulthood bag. These are the lessons they will carry with them. Aren't you glad they are happening when you are still close enough to really coach?"</p><p>Much like the destination, the challenges they will face in their journeys remain unknown. An encouraging older Mom friend urged me to view the lessons they are learning this year as essentials they will need in their emotional/social/spiritual bags. Especially the difficult ones. </p><p>Another important point was made by my husband recently when I was in a tizzy about something that had barely affected one of my children. As I talked through how it triggered something from my own high school experience he wisely and lovingly reminded me, "That's <i>your </i>stuff. They have enough of their own. Don't ask them to carry yours too."</p><p>Sigh.</p><p>So here we are, doing the work of packing bags for adventures and destinations unknown to us, but already fully covered by the <a href="https://www.gotquestions.org/author-perfecter-faith.html">Author and Perfector</a> of our faith.</p>Jenniferhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03903375700915031290noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14642592.post-61986773949261824632022-07-07T15:08:00.002-04:002022-07-07T15:08:53.301-04:00Our Training Wheel Summer<p>Twelve years ago we made the decision to "redshirt" our children by having them repeat Kindergarten as they changed schools. We did this for many reasons including their prematurity, early Summer birthdays, mixed genders, small stature, and our general observation that while we knew a handful of people who wished they had given their children the gift of an extra year at home, we didn't know any who regretted doing so.</p><p>This Spring, as similarly-aged students were preparing for high school graduation, I found myself full of gratitude that we had another year. I felt strongly this Summer was going to be instrumental in giving our freshly minted 18-year-olds opportunities to experience independence, maturity, and space. </p><p>Kate & Ryland were hired as counselors at the camps in Mentone, Alabama & Black Mountain, North Carolina where they spent their childhood Summers. Parker decided to serve on the Work Crew (doing outdoor maintenance and sound tech) at a Young Life camp in Brevard, North Carolina. By the end of July, all should return with 5-8 weeks of out-of-the-nest experience under their belts.</p><p>Meanwhile, my husband and I have been practicing a new normal herein the nest--where we eat smaller meals in a quieter house with much less frenzied schedules. We have been referring to this time as our "training wheel Summer." </p><p>As my people start returning in the next two weeks, I want to be intentional about honoring all we have learned. I am praying about exactly what that looks like, but I am convinced the first two steps are being mindful about it and putting it down on paper. </p><p>I have been making lists of things we need to cover when they return...from college applications to high school Summer work and haircuts and sports practices in between. I am hoping to have a couple of individual meetings with each one to debrief when they return and reinstate weekly family meetings as the Fall begins. </p><p>But I am posting this as a pause to honor the gift of this victory lap...as the training wheels are loosened and we remain a soft place to land. I hope we can start to deliberately transition from chaperone to coach/consultant--and hope our kiddos will have grace for us as we learn to ride on two wheels too!</p><p><br /></p>Jenniferhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03903375700915031290noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14642592.post-86579929761557185642022-06-09T13:02:00.007-04:002022-06-09T13:02:55.914-04:00An Ode to Being Older<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiC_q5n7tPdYtqA7okoeh8bRgSgP1N3Do94VQdJehAOi0CIDSGOzdnwOb_rYR7APTtGaggS2O0I8YGZKOXiYBbYhX4EBVvoM3DJ6hwftuUPSK_yJV8MkRH9XELOXH1OFMIkYXdhiTrjrUeG-08mwgE8ZeoDAs0TdX_QFVb-m28-sn3_coU4MWM/s2178/IMG_2949.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2178" data-original-width="1170" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiC_q5n7tPdYtqA7okoeh8bRgSgP1N3Do94VQdJehAOi0CIDSGOzdnwOb_rYR7APTtGaggS2O0I8YGZKOXiYBbYhX4EBVvoM3DJ6hwftuUPSK_yJV8MkRH9XELOXH1OFMIkYXdhiTrjrUeG-08mwgE8ZeoDAs0TdX_QFVb-m28-sn3_coU4MWM/s320/IMG_2949.jpg" width="172" /></a></div>Most mornings my coffee brews while I catch up with a couple of old friends who live in other states via an app called Marco Polo. We send each other video monologues with headlines/prayer requests from our daily lives and it serves as an important touchpoint/ongoing conversation among friends of 30 years. <p></p><p>When we started this practice 4-5 years ago, we frequently commented on our less-than-stellar selfie faces when we turned on the camera. As time has gone on we seem to have gotten more comfortable and most mornings my videos are filmed early, as I am brewing my coffee before makeup, hair brushing, or even a shower. </p><p>I think this practice of sharing my heart in selfie mode has been an interesting exercise in embracing the full accurate picture of my age. For every line, spot and sag I see in my reflection I am finding peace, humility, and insight in my words (which are an overflow of my heart). The same aging process that has reduced my collagen has increased my faith. </p><p>In my 20s and 30s I often felt as if I were playing house, only pretending to be the grown-up my responsibilities indicated I ought to be. Here in my late 40s, there is no denying it. I recently walked through a difficult season in a relationship. As it has been worked through, with mutual patience, grace, and honesty, the refrain I have had on repeat is how <i>good </i>it is to be an adult. Adult circumstances aren't easier, but they are more manageable. </p><p>Adults can say what they mean and mean what they say. Adults have enough life experience to not expect perfection--and an ability to give the grace and forgiveness they desire to receive. Adults can listen and not just speak. </p><p>As I am parenting young adults, I am reminded that one of the greatest gifts I can give is an example. So while I plan to continue with some of my youthful aesthetic regimens, I am renewing my focus on embracing the ying and the yang of aging. And today? I am feeling grateful for the gifts of being "old."</p>Jenniferhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03903375700915031290noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14642592.post-18114158577066378002022-06-03T10:14:00.002-04:002022-06-03T11:32:38.012-04:00Confessions of a New Senior Mom<p>Watching the class ahead of us over the last month was a little overwhelming, and apparently, I am not alone. Talking to other rising Senior mamas is electric. The emotion under all our actions is palpable, even if we can't name it.</p><p>I am a planner with a real bent toward control. I can easily fall victim to the one-time-only anxiety as a Mama of multiples. <i>This is my one shot. I have got to be on top of things.</i></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigUtD7wJf_m3tQFe0bH1kz05j8aTq4Ga_fqXz6wj_wJSTM2lXbt016sggLNMyJeFrGcEQK5uwNteznMYkK-Yh1xtTWE9hPCCrIAw8d9r0ybsgbqfSX5CxABA_LbV3--3ZgZvm9Io8bemRD98Fu8-G_4R2kTTID0AxGn5eyQT3iTgBKkHXDo98/s4032/IMG_2831.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigUtD7wJf_m3tQFe0bH1kz05j8aTq4Ga_fqXz6wj_wJSTM2lXbt016sggLNMyJeFrGcEQK5uwNteznMYkK-Yh1xtTWE9hPCCrIAw8d9r0ybsgbqfSX5CxABA_LbV3--3ZgZvm9Io8bemRD98Fu8-G_4R2kTTID0AxGn5eyQT3iTgBKkHXDo98/s320/IMG_2831.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>As a personal coping mechanism, I composed a Google Doc of all the dates I am aware of for next year and a month-by-month to-do list of the actions I need to take, appointments to be made, and reservations to be secured. It was already three types pages long--in May! I felt prepared and paced until I talked to other Moms. <p></p><p>Oh, what is that phrase about comparison? Such. A. Thief. The blissful peace of preparation (and maybe even the illusion of control) was ripped away and I felt behind. Egads! <i>(Side note: I love that the official definition of Egads is expressing surprise, anger, or affirmation because I feel all those things--plus the embarrassment that I should be more mature than to feel those things!)</i></p><p>Thankfully, the Holy Spirit and my husband are excellent settlers of my anxieties. </p><p>After a couple of episodes of panic, I thought about what really matters--and it is not the "perfect" X, Y or Z. It is that I provide a settled and peaceful place for my three Seniors who are about to ride the roller coaster of emotions involved in college applications, big future decisions, friendships separated by miles, living independently, etc. </p><p>What if my desire to plan and list and do in order to 'not miss a thing' was actually the reason I missed the ordinary moments that make this phase of life so sweet? What if my panic over what's coming prevented me from enjoying what's now?</p><p>Frankly, as a planner, some degree of advance preparation is necessary on my part to feel that peace. This is the way I am wired. But I must remain on guard that this does not become a place for comparison. Everybody is managing their own stuff. And a lot of Senior mamas are dealing with their own flood of emotions in addition to those of the other hearts in their home. I want to be an encourager to the fellow Mamas I am crossing the finish line with, not a competitor. There is no prize for who does this best. </p><p>So, I am actively working to reorient. I am praying the downtime of Summer while all my people are away on their camp employment adventures will allow me space to prepare my heart and my Spirit for what is to come for the journey. I am fighting the tide of carefully curated. I am praying for the perspective that a picture-perfect ending is not the goal. </p><p>I know it is going to be a constant wrestling match with my anxious flesh, so I am writing this for accountability. </p><p>And if it involves a checklist or two, so be it ;-)</p>Jenniferhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03903375700915031290noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14642592.post-56670116822388138462022-05-20T08:40:00.002-04:002022-05-20T08:59:57.781-04:00The Power of...<p>I graduated from high school 30 years ago, a spunky teenager who frequently had more energy than sense. Although I checked the boxes of a 'good girl,' I drove like a maniac and my mouth sometimes got me in trouble. (Both things are true to a lesser degree at 47.) </p><p>My career aspiration from the age of 12-19 was to be behind the desk on television reporting the news. I was heading to the University of Alabama as a Telecommunications and Film major having shadowed people at our local news station. My friend Jill and I were even the morning co-anchors for our school's Channel One daily announcements broadcast.</p><p>Somewhere in that experience, I got out of bounds. I have racked my brain (and even asked Jill) for the story. Neither of us can remember the specifics, but nonetheless, I abused my position in a way that landed me in the Principal's Office. And even though I don't recall the details I absolutely remember my punishment--a lengthy essay on "The Power of the Microphone."</p><p>In the last few years of social media craziness, I have reflected on the difference it might have made for everyone to be assigned that essay. But it was a powerful punishment for someone like me who loves to communicate--and was pursuing that field as a career. Even after switching gears professionally and wearing many hats since, the lesson about harnessing my tongue and the power of influence remains. </p><p>Thirty years later, as a parent of teenagers, what I am now struck by is what happened <i>after </i>I was disciplined. </p><p>At our high school graduation, our principal Dr. F bestowed his award--the "True Viking" Principal's Award. As he spoke of the recipient, my ears perked when he emphasized "the power of the microphone." I could not believe it when he called my name. I was stunned to be honored after being 'in trouble,' but Dr. F. wasn't rewarding perfection. He chose to award a young person willing to learn and grow.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOFhPEZcv5XxVD-XVape11ldMTuCzXobZxWFvCLaHud7s0mlpek44KjwO5ZTTPBDLiWv5Y7t-Zxk46xqlALAXEOKDI8U8iY5Q8uzjNR2bmoqKQstj0wGZ0dxEh__bM012U3Le2OG5E0uWvwrs5LXIEG7nH8Bz9_B68_T-LY5PT_iVJDolfzdg/s4032/IMG_2482.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOFhPEZcv5XxVD-XVape11ldMTuCzXobZxWFvCLaHud7s0mlpek44KjwO5ZTTPBDLiWv5Y7t-Zxk46xqlALAXEOKDI8U8iY5Q8uzjNR2bmoqKQstj0wGZ0dxEh__bM012U3Le2OG5E0uWvwrs5LXIEG7nH8Bz9_B68_T-LY5PT_iVJDolfzdg/s320/IMG_2482.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><p></p><p>I wasn't canceled for a mistake, I was disciplined. There were consequences, but all were done in an instructive and restorative way. As a result, I don't think back on that experience with shame--I don't even remember what I did! Three decades later, I see it as it was, a powerful building block for the places God was going to place me and use me in the future. </p><p>So while many of the certificates and statues handed out annually in May are discarded or tucked away in boxes--the lesson from mine was so powerful that it has gone with me into adulthood and parenting. </p><p>Today my physical award (a clock) sits high on a shelf in my study, but I have been thinking a lot about how to apply the principles to the way I view the inevitable stumbles of the young adults in my sphere of influence--especially as we embark on the increased freedom and responsibility 18-year-olds bear. I needed to reflect on this as I prepare for the stage to come. Grace is more powerful than shame. Instructive can be more beneficial than punitive.</p><p>And of course, I wanted to share because I believe in the power of the microphone (and grace).</p>Jenniferhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03903375700915031290noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14642592.post-923434267139718272022-05-01T15:05:00.006-04:002022-05-01T21:37:40.019-04:00Junior Spring<p>May 2022 || Our trio turns 18 in a few weeks and we have one year to go until graduation. </p><p>It seems fitting that the season is Spring and I am surrounded by sunshine and pleasant days full of evidence of new life and growth. Rather than extreme sadness or anxiety, I am truly feeling the excitement of all that is to come. </p><p>The last month has seen a flurry of college visits and each time we have walked on a campus I have enjoyed 'trying on' some version of what life might be like for my people if they attended that school. Of course I have no crystal ball, but the promise and potential of each place serves as a reminder that there are many paths they could take. I feel like a child at Christmas, waiting for the time for gifts to be unwrapped.</p><p>In the meantime, I am watching our trio each rise to the occasion in their own way. My expectations of what defines being 'ready' for launch are shifting and becoming more refined. I can also sense our young people want to listen a bit more now that the reality of living away from us becomes more clear. </p><p>This weekend has allowed us to spend true quality time together as a family and I am really enjoying each of my people right now at this age. I don't just love them, I like them a lot. My husband said our focus for the next year should be to savor---and I am leaning into that challenge. </p><p>I read a quote last week about how raising older teens was like starting the last chapter of a book you love--you can't wait to see how it turns out, but you aren't ready for it to be over. </p><p>I couldn't have said it better. </p><p><br /></p>Jenniferhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03903375700915031290noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14642592.post-78258047714163058552022-04-06T17:29:00.005-04:002022-04-06T18:10:15.761-04:00Of course you are tired. Keep going.<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1qRsDzRicJQfhCcNJ9cMo9x9J2IYPbqzRsYc2MxRP3rqB2JR5U9e1LttudMN5EgaeRqmhO-rGw8nn2NIilgcVGaO5r-AjEtPDdZ_bZ8xnZ1jdzuyHFpWOqD5bx6Fh5Y-l2RI6mYlWIou2V6by-paEvuTFfUZv39EZuDax7k1MpC-mpNwHd_U/s3000/5871201-5871368.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1688" data-original-width="3000" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1qRsDzRicJQfhCcNJ9cMo9x9J2IYPbqzRsYc2MxRP3rqB2JR5U9e1LttudMN5EgaeRqmhO-rGw8nn2NIilgcVGaO5r-AjEtPDdZ_bZ8xnZ1jdzuyHFpWOqD5bx6Fh5Y-l2RI6mYlWIou2V6by-paEvuTFfUZv39EZuDax7k1MpC-mpNwHd_U/s320/5871201-5871368.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />We are in the midst of track season with Kate. She primarily is a distance runner, but sometimes participates in the 4x800 relay.<p></p><p>No matter how many races I have seen, the relay gets me every time. Runners push their bodies to the limits as they carry the baton for their leg, individually contributing their best to the team score, and then the focus shifts to the runner awaiting the handoff. There is anticipation, positioning, and movement. Sometimes it appears seamless, other times awkward, as the two runners try to match their speeds for a brief moment of connection. </p><p>It takes true technique to secure a smooth handoff and despite all the practice, there is the occasional slip or miss that produces a loud clanging, a sympathetic crowd reaction, and a shift in the anticipated outcome of the race. </p><p>I was thinking about all of this today because I have spoken to six different parents in 24 hours who are in the thick of teen parenting. We all feel this same sense of anticipation, excitement, and exhaustion as we try to finish this portion of our race well and hand off the baton of daily responsibility for these almost-adult lives. </p><p>What I didn't understand until I experienced this phase is that there is not a <i>single </i>moment of release. Instead, we are performing this hand-off over and over again as we are passing our teens the responsibility for their academics, social lives, finances, health, and all other manner of choices. Sometimes we are more in sync than others. And THIS is the part of teen parenting that is exhausting.</p><p>I heard a seasoned Mom recently say, "I am really not worried about the outcome. I truly trust God with that. I just want to know I did my part well." Isn't that the cry of a faithful heart? </p><p>So how <i>do </i>we do this part well? I think the attitudes of our hearts are a huge part. Much of the rest, ironically, came from one of the many online lists I saw of proper baton handoff techniques. I couldn't help but giggle when I read these seven steps in a ten-step list.</p><p></p><ul style="text-align: left;"><li>One carries the baton.</li><li>Adjustments are made as they approach the handoff.</li><li>The runners share the baton.</li><li>Communication is vital.</li><li>Release when the baton is firmly in the next runner's hand.</li><li>Do not slow down until the baton is passed. </li></ul><p></p><p>And the last one made me laugh out loud...</p><p></p><ul style="text-align: left;"><li>Stay in your lane.</li></ul><p></p><p>As always, so much easier to pontificate than to practice, but I couldn't help but share this metaphor God used to speak to my heart.</p><p>My runner taught me another important lesson recently. When I asked her how she ran so many miles without pain she replied, "I don't. After 2-3 miles my body starts to hurt a little but I tell myself 'of course you hurt, you've run a long way,' and then I keep running." </p><p>That, my friends, will preach. </p><p><i><b>"Let us run with patience the race marked out before us." -Hebrews 12:1b</b></i></p>Jenniferhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03903375700915031290noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14642592.post-4385407807802515472022-03-17T23:03:00.061-04:002022-03-18T14:24:58.181-04:00A Prayer of ReleaseA friend sent this to me recently and I have re-read it daily. I decided to record it here for easy access (and in case it blesses anybody else!) I tried to find a source, and it appears it was taken from a 30-year-old book called <a href="https://thefathersbusiness.com/product/prayer-portions/"><i>Prayer Portions</i> by </a><span style="background-color: white;"><a href="https://thefathersbusiness.com/product/prayer-portions/">Sylvia Gunter. </a></span><span style="background-color: white;"> </span><span style="background-color: white;">What a reminder that through the decades humans have struggled with the same root desires! </span><div><span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="background-color: white;">The person who texted it to me referred to it as a Declaration of Release.
Even the title convicts me to loosen my grip in faith and trust. May we trust the Lord to keep that which we already committed Him at the time of their baptism/dedication!<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i> ("...</i></span></span><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i><span style="background-color: white;">I know whom I have believed, and am convinced that he is able to guard</span><span style="background-color: white;"> what I have entrusted to him until that day." </span><span style="background-color: white;">2 Timothy 1:12)</span></i></span></div><div><span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="background-color: white;">"Because Jesus Christ is
my Lord, </span></div><div><span style="background-color: white;">I free you from my anxiety, fears, and control.</span></div><div><span style="background-color: white;">I trust the Holy
Spirit to lead you and show you the way that is right for you, the way of love,
joy, peace, and all that salvation includes. </span></div><div><span style="background-color: white;">I place you at God’s
throne of grace. </span></div><div><span style="background-color: white;">I cannot force my will on you. </span></div><div><span style="background-color: white;">I cannot live your
life for you. </span></div><div><span style="background-color: white;">I give you to God the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. </span></div><div><span style="background-color: white;">As much as I love you, God loves you more. </span></div><div><span style="background-color: white;">Your life today is
totally in His hands, and I trust Him with it. </span></div><div><span style="background-color: white;">I release you from my expectations,
I place you on open
palms to the Lord. </span></div><div><span style="background-color: white;">I give you my blessings. </span></div><div><span style="background-color: white;">I let you go, in His love." </span></div><div><span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="background-color: white;">It is God who works in you to will and to act according to His good purpose.
Being confident of this, that He who began a good work in you will carry it to
completion until the day of Christ Jesus (Phi 2:13, 1:6).</span></div>Jenniferhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03903375700915031290noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14642592.post-81841247254610144792022-03-04T08:28:00.005-05:002022-03-04T08:43:18.440-05:00In the Tension of Intentionality<p>"The thing is, for parents like us who have been so intentional, we can't forget that we also have to <i>intentionally </i>let go."</p><p>My friend's words stopped me in my tracks. </p><p>This is exactly where I am. Even though I had three humans on the same day within minutes of one another, there have always been differences--physically, emotionally, socially. They are individuals. Of course, each will be on their own timeline for development! And a lesson my pride keeps having to be reminded of is that this is merely one leg of a lifetime journey. There is not a prize for speed. </p><p>Lately, I have fallen prey to a pressured timeline. Our chosen social and academic environment compounded by my task-oriented nature has me feeling the real pressure of a ticking clock. Over and over my head and heart remind me: 14 months until graduation. </p><p>The peace I have felt regarding God's faithfulness to complete this work and my ability to shepherd/steward/manage is crumbling under the weight of my anxiety. Like the story of the emperor's new clothes, the closer we get the more naked I feel. It is NOT a good feeling. I desire to do well, but how do you measure 'well' when you are referring to in-process human beings and your own scrambled heart?</p><p>So, my friend's words keep coming back--letting go is also an act of intentionality. It is the job.</p><p>The rate, the speed, the degree--all of these decisions (because they are individually based, NOT according to a manmade calendar) keep me humbly on my knees and/or awake at night ;-). </p><p>This is the job: To stay in the tension, prayerfully. To be consistent, but not formulaic. Loving, listening, and learning. Letting the Lord set the pace of my letting go.</p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>Jenniferhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03903375700915031290noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14642592.post-62494686927869143052022-03-03T09:10:00.003-05:002022-03-03T09:10:19.975-05:00Fully themselves (and figuring it out!)A few weeks ago one of my children made a public stand for their faith in a meaningful way. My heart leaped with the boldness they were displaying. A few parents even reached out to remark the example being set. And yet, what they did not know is that a mere week before I had to coach this same teen on their online presence and some concerns I had about the mixed message it was sending. <div><br /></div><div>As I was talking through how to hold both--the celebration of their public declaration AND the fear of their mixed signals--a youth minister friend of mine offered the greatest perspective.</div><div><br /></div><div>"Isn't that the greatest thing about teens? Both of those things are FULLY and truly who (teen) is in this moment."</div><div><br /></div><div>I had to laugh at the truth. </div><div><br /></div><div>Our teens are figuring it out. That is the job of adolescence. </div><div><br /></div><div>It can look messy. It can be cringe-inducing in one breath and a source of great pride in the next. </div><div><br /></div><div>They are doing the work. And we must trust the process!</div>Jenniferhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03903375700915031290noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14642592.post-32630951740107769592022-01-27T12:58:00.002-05:002022-01-27T13:03:27.807-05:002 AM StuffWhen you are married to a surgeon you learn how to sleep through a lot. When your spouse/sleeping partner takes call, they are paged throughout the night. Many of us learn how to sleep through not only the sound of the page but the resulting call to the hospital and detailed conversation. <div><br /></div><div>Parenthood revealed an entirely new talent--selective waking in response to kid sounds versus on-call sounds. I can be unaware of my husband conversing, dressing, and leaving in the middle of the night to handle trauma in the ER and yet hear tiny footsteps going to the bathroom or funny-sounding cough or whimper down the hall. (Ryland, by the way, has this talent in reverse. I have been astounded through the years at the kid and pet drama he sleeps through.) </div><div><br /></div><div> In recent years, I have fallen victim to another sleep interruption--middle-of-the-night waking/anxious thoughts. Although it only occurs a couple of times a week, the disruption has been annoying enough to cause me to get curious about its origins. </div><div><br /></div><div>My evening routine is partially to blame. While warm chamomile tea is a delightful signal to my brain and body to wind down, my middle-aged bladder responds between midnight and 2AM with the need to adjust my fluid levels. Upon the return to bed, my racing, yet not-quite-coherent brain focuses on a concern that keeps me in thinking loops for an hour or more. It is maddening! </div><div><br /></div><div>I have tried writing, praying, breathing--none of which are reliable solutions. I finally settled on a theory that my busy-ness during the day allowed me to escape thoughts and concerns that God could only capture my attention with during the distraction-free darkness of 2AM. I tried to create more quiet space in my daily schedule--margin for daytime contemplation that might help alleviate the nighttime anxiety loops. I like this theory and the changes it has inspired, but it hasn't resolved my problem. </div><div><br /></div><div>Last week after a rough night of restlessness I randomly noticed a book on my shelf I had forgotten I owned. I pulled it down and immediately opened to this passage from Eugene Peterson's Message translation of Mark 7: <i>Jesus called the crowd together again and said, “Listen now, all of you—take this to heart. It’s not what you swallow that pollutes your life; it’s what you vomit—that’s the real pollution.” </i></div><div><br /></div><div>Ryland and I had recently discussed the randomness of dreams and how they often feel like a messy collection of thoughts that never got filed away properly during the day. Dreams seem to be our brain's way of tidying up the scattered things--a junk drawer of sorts. </div><div><br /></div><div>I couldn't help but consider my middle-of-the-night thoughts similarly. Taking Peterson's translation into account, they feel akin to my heart's reflux. Maybe all these anxious thoughts and concerns are the issues I haven't fully surrendered. They are my heart's vomit. </div><div><br /></div><div>Frankly, I am unwilling to surrender my tea routine at this point--but I am recognizing the need to let go of some of the issues keeping me up at night. I am certainly not making a dent in them with sleepless nights!</div>Jenniferhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03903375700915031290noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14642592.post-63522967012794797522022-01-21T08:04:00.008-05:002022-01-21T08:08:15.896-05:00Encouragement that Matters<p>When my trio was starting 9th grade I recognized that successful encouragement needed to be in a language teenagers not only understood but <i>personally valued</i>. I asked my teens to each give me three words they hope other people would one day use to describe them by the time they graduated. </p><p>Because this is a somewhat odd question to pose to 9th graders, I framed it around all the job and college applications they would complete in the coming years. What words did they hope people used when writing a positive recommendation? Some of their responses were more thoughtful than others, but even their ability to answer the question provided insight into where they were in the process. </p><p>I kept these words on a sticky note on the side of my refrigerator for months. I tried to tailor my praise and coaching to use their personally chosen attributes when possible. When positively reinforcing a trait I would say with a knowing grin, "That sounds like something a _____ person would do!" Likewise, when facing a tough choice I had language they cared about to say, "what would a ____ person do?" As silly as this sounds, it was a great way to invite conversation (and reflection). It also gave me insight into what traits mattered to my children and allowed me to tap into their values.</p><p>Like many parenting tricks, this one faded away over time, but recently, I decided to revisit this conversation with a slightly different spin. Over Christmas break as we discussed the importance of this Junior Spring semester, asking them to set goals felt flat. So, instead, I acknowledged that after 17 years, they knew what their Dad and I valued, so I wanted to hear what THEY thought was important. </p><p>Of the nine goals they mentioned, only three involved performance. I was surprised to hear words like community, family, and music. It gave me a lot to think about in terms of what we emphasize and celebrate, as well as what I have neglected to recognize as valuable to my teens.</p><p>I challenge you to ask similar questions of the kids in your life. It makes for great conversation and sets you up to listen to their hearts!</p><p>As we head towards our launch from the nest it is helpful for our kids to get accustomed to naming not just their academic or career goal, but their values. This will set them up to make much better decisions about the life they are making and the people they are becoming, not just the next accomplishment. </p>Jenniferhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03903375700915031290noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14642592.post-49317097274655510962022-01-13T09:08:00.002-05:002022-01-13T09:49:43.139-05:00Reorienting<p>As Instagram became a more popular app, my longer-form blogging <i>here </i>suddenly became micro-blogging <i>there</i>. This busy Mama rejoiced as <a href="http://www.chatbooks.com">Chatbooks </a>allowed my memories to be automatically printed, bound, and shipped each time I reach 60 posts--and in the short term my 'documenting family life for posterity' box was checked. </p><p>Now that my children are old enough to drive and handle more of their own daily responsibilities, I am catching my breath. In doing so I have started to realize the gaps of the quick 'insta' posting. Much like a person who changes their diet from fast, cheap, and easy eating to slower, heartier, more nutritious meals, I am learning to <i>digest</i>. </p><p>As my focus shifts away from instantly posting a thought to the world and towards more thoughtful reflection (and because there isn't always a snazzy photo to accompany the things God is really teaching me) I am interested in wading back into these blogging waters. We shall see if it sticks!</p><p>A quick list of recent reads and listens that are most influencing my reflection right now:</p><p>1. <a href="https://www.shoptheword.com/product/the-wisdom-pyramid-feb-2021/?&utm_source=Google_cpc&utm_medium=adwords&utm_campaign=11590621370&utm_adgroup=113300708536&utm_term=&gclid=Cj0KCQiAuP-OBhDqARIsAD4XHpeJXDxIg4d4BL-kKX1yRziIbi1pqdG6bXfaIJth7FqRneoNItLoOBAaAsRJEALw_wcB">The Wisdom Pyramid</a> by <a href="https://www.brettmccracken.com/blog/2017/8/3/the-wisdom-pyramid">Brett McCracken</a>: I started this in November and have been slowly working my way through because it demands digestion. His words are clear and wise--and countercultural. If you are sometimes an audible listening, this is one I recommend you get a hard copy to mark up. So many solid points. I cannot recommend it enough.</p><p><br /></p><p>2. I removed the Instagram app icon from my phone. I still have the application and check it a few times a day--but I learned by doing this with Facebook and Twitter a couple of years ago how drastically it reduces your lost time to simply make yourself have to type the app name instead of a simple click. That couple of seconds it takes to type the name are often all I need to pause and ask myself if there's a better use of my time. I am not anti-social media--I just want to keep it in its proper place and I had gotten out of balance. Turns out, guardrails are my friend! The time I spend mindlessly scrolling the app have been drastically reduced.</p><p>And can I admit something? It turns out I like people in my real life much better than online images--real face-to-face conversations and phone calls make me feel far more connected and known than glimpses into curated highlights ever did. </p><p>Also, the algorithms had gotten VERY good at spotting my taste. I am certain reducing those direct ads has saved me money! ;-)</p><p> </p><p>3. Memorizing <a href="https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Romans%2012&version=NIV">Romans 12</a>. I confess I haven't worked on Scripture memory in a very long time. Slowly working through a passage one verse at a time has filled my mind with new perspective. So many phrases floating around my head, straight from Scripture that come to mind throughout my daily life. Always a good thing.</p><p><br /></p><p>4. My small group read and discussed Jeannie Cunnion's <a href="https://bookoutlet.com/products/9780764238222B/dont-miss-out-daring-to-believe-life-is-better-with-the-holy-spirit?source=ppc&ppc_campaign=PLA-US&keyword=&gclid=Cj0KCQiAuP-OBhDqARIsAD4XHpcClK5fouSqSMPydh327RIiiuUfhbeZJlx7J_2-ZKrxh39RZ6UjW4caAgxeEALw_wcB">Don't Miss Out</a> in the Fall and plans to dive into <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Never-Alone-Bible-Parenting-Spirit/dp/108772905X/ref=asc_df_108772905X/?tag=hyprod-20&linkCode=df0&hvadid=555733275240&hvpos=&hvnetw=g&hvrand=14850004849368620553&hvpone=&hvptwo=&hvqmt=&hvdev=c&hvdvcmdl=&hvlocint=&hvlocphy=9010851&hvtargid=pla-1455265175973&psc=1">Never Alone</a> (also by Jeannie) next. Both of these resources have been excellent reminders that it is not up to me to control every outcome. </p><p>I am truly learning how to reorient my achiever, checklist, efficiency mindset to be more focused on trusting the work of the Lord and joining Him where He is. I am significant, but He is sovereign. </p><p>The tendency here at the end of the "parenting them under your roof" phase can be frenetic--like contestants on a cooking show dashing against the clock to throw on garnishes. You can only do so much to cover. I do not want that to be the focus of our last 18 months together--and for my personality type, that means constantly dying to my tendencies.</p><p>As I heard Jeannie say on the <a href="https://www.raisingboysandgirls.com/listen">Raising Boys and Girls podcast</a>: "Lay down what God hasn't asked you to carry so you can thrive in what He has."</p><p>So, here it is, a public proclamation that I am trying. ;-)</p><p><br /></p>Jenniferhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03903375700915031290noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14642592.post-78702745738654265112021-11-20T17:18:00.004-05:002021-11-20T17:36:20.563-05:00From a Mama in the Stands<p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHjhQjgN1d0LsL4RmxSk36LJaHfdB8jrIhC8Ds3fTyFypgD0wTmLe0qjAu0Unl4jbs4cPG6zQ9p_959bCXa7guRrgqfNaYnARaElyqAYOlULN2BTnRzwoNqqlXoL2hBLjbl9HnLA/s2048/IMG_9966.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHjhQjgN1d0LsL4RmxSk36LJaHfdB8jrIhC8Ds3fTyFypgD0wTmLe0qjAu0Unl4jbs4cPG6zQ9p_959bCXa7guRrgqfNaYnARaElyqAYOlULN2BTnRzwoNqqlXoL2hBLjbl9HnLA/s320/IMG_9966.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><span style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-family: "Segoe UI Historic", "Segoe UI", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 15px;">Last night our high school’s football team won a thrilling game in the state playoffs. As I was looking through my photos this morning, this one struck me: Our kicker standing alone on the sidelines with the field goal in the background. The score was 7-6. Our team was one point behind after our son’s point-after attempt bounced off the upright.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-family: "Segoe UI Historic", "Segoe UI", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 15px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-family: "Segoe UI Historic", "Segoe UI", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 15px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-family: "Segoe UI Historic", "Segoe UI", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 15px;">I took this picture as my Mama heart was in the stands watching, praying, and hoping. This is so often the role of a parent of an emerging adult--the hearts we have shepherded for so many years are now increasingly out of our reach in key moments as we are relegated to the audience, crowd, sideline, or stands.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-family: "Segoe UI Historic", "Segoe UI", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 15px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-family: "Segoe UI Historic", "Segoe UI", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 15px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-family: "Segoe UI Historic", "Segoe UI", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 15px;">It occurred to me last night that even if I had known the perfect encouraging words to say, I had no way to get them in my son’s ear. I was watching and hoping that the voices he COULD hear--coaches, teammates, and his own inner voice would suffice. The momentary feelings were strong and real, but there was a lot of game left to play. (Isn’t that a life metaphor that will preach?)</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-family: "Segoe UI Historic", "Segoe UI", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 15px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-family: "Segoe UI Historic", "Segoe UI", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 15px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-family: "Segoe UI Historic", "Segoe UI", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 15px;">This moment of pulling away passed quickly. He told me later he just needed time to clear his head. I watched as he “reset” and coaches and teammates wandered over with supportive handshakes. He moved back into the pack and the team pulled through with strong play by so many kids. Our fella even had two more successful scoring attempts.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-family: "Segoe UI Historic", "Segoe UI", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 15px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-family: "Segoe UI Historic", "Segoe UI", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 15px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-family: "Segoe UI Historic", "Segoe UI", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 15px;">Ryland has had a terrific kicking season, and yet, there have been misses. As a kicker’s parent I have been reminded that life is quite the roller coaster if we allow the transitory drama of day-to-day circumstances to become our score of life.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-family: "Segoe UI Historic", "Segoe UI", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 15px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-family: "Segoe UI Historic", "Segoe UI", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 15px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-family: "Segoe UI Historic", "Segoe UI", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 15px;">Next week we will play another round and I will rejoice at the opportunity my young man is having to try, fail, succeed, learn, and grow. I will continue to pray for the voices speaking into his heart--especially in the times when mine is relegated to just one more of the crowd.</span>Jenniferhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03903375700915031290noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14642592.post-56843076206122471812021-10-18T21:11:00.003-04:002021-10-18T21:18:03.898-04:00Homecoming 2021<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div>Twenty years ago this February before I had learned the concept of mindfulness, my friend Liz cornered me in my Bridal dressing room. She put an Altoid in my mouth, straightened up a few errant parts of my ensemble, and said something to the effect of <i>"This is going to be a whirlwind. You have to intentionally take moments to just look around and take pictures with your heart. You will be glad you did." </i><p></p><p>That advice has carried me through not only a wedding day but decades of life since then. It is a sermon I keep preaching to myself--especially as my children age and I know this chapter is coming to a close. I feel this practice is largely why I started blogging/Instagramming. </p><p>Pause. Notice. Savor. Seal the moment. Sometimes with an actual photo, but at the very least in my heart.</p><p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZuHmHUsm5kiq7rv5O9k2x4-6IvbAhsVe0fJghsfv7RTHuHf4W5KohIzYg33goWTJMJhLCCSs6Q6cLx4bZUk9oRHpmzXMnGmWv-4oIA38W0Myb5HcXs4iVXZanCbJDnllD8giJxw/s2048/IMG_8983.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="127" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZuHmHUsm5kiq7rv5O9k2x4-6IvbAhsVe0fJghsfv7RTHuHf4W5KohIzYg33goWTJMJhLCCSs6Q6cLx4bZUk9oRHpmzXMnGmWv-4oIA38W0Myb5HcXs4iVXZanCbJDnllD8giJxw/w170-h127/IMG_8983.jpg" width="170" /></a>This weekend was FULL of those snapshots. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEierkWaBSvs4tSox1z8pDTZ0NKc1GD03q1bI8Ou1YHKszJ5LrRHwnUVAxOdYlqC2P1tYydpnBNoWiI4VdcKWuRHvFGtBkrVIO-KefrhS0TjQl_7lA7a2D0vsQNRYJx0XtIaa3kcxw/s2048/IMG_8947+%25281%2529.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="192" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEierkWaBSvs4tSox1z8pDTZ0NKc1GD03q1bI8Ou1YHKszJ5LrRHwnUVAxOdYlqC2P1tYydpnBNoWiI4VdcKWuRHvFGtBkrVIO-KefrhS0TjQl_7lA7a2D0vsQNRYJx0XtIaa3kcxw/w145-h192/IMG_8947+%25281%2529.jpg" width="145" /></a></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBXwXgbqd11_oJ4dbGldXYSEkAtNMfmTM_zxLEHLakR7cco_3ArmMj1IaoV2HR8cFc1WN9NyOJAfhAAKszSQUNnG9hwcbk3ZcRs5G7Ho0BZPVRh5ksxzHMWKr3BARuV9zkxEnAHQ/s1242/IMG_9012.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="807" data-original-width="1242" height="116" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBXwXgbqd11_oJ4dbGldXYSEkAtNMfmTM_zxLEHLakR7cco_3ArmMj1IaoV2HR8cFc1WN9NyOJAfhAAKszSQUNnG9hwcbk3ZcRs5G7Ho0BZPVRh5ksxzHMWKr3BARuV9zkxEnAHQ/w179-h116/IMG_9012.jpg" width="179" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>Friday night's football game felt like a scene from a movie. The weather was perfectly comfortable Fall crisp. It was our first home game in a month. Covid has relinquished its grip on our region to the point that things felt like old normal again. There were familiar faces, family, and friends that have become family. As I looked around I felt so tenderly grateful for the life God has built for us here (as transplants) and the dozens of people we have literally raised our children alongside. <p></p><p>My senses were heightened to the sounds, smells, and sights. The game was action-packed and came down to the last minute. The student section was lively and involved like a professional soccer game. I knew that I would relive the night in my heart for years to come. </p><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNpPK-E6GwvfvTS2p4u7RtQFuviMTJBo_gliQ11K_C1sRLusPOzbe-0m7XZ1ZoGWWRPrF3jSPslj_JrXINSET6Y26slW-FXA2kxaLiB31aPfSywFGJ2TzEc6WOEGwQg3wKwnCtjQ/s2048/hocofam.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1365" data-original-width="2048" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNpPK-E6GwvfvTS2p4u7RtQFuviMTJBo_gliQ11K_C1sRLusPOzbe-0m7XZ1ZoGWWRPrF3jSPslj_JrXINSET6Y26slW-FXA2kxaLiB31aPfSywFGJ2TzEc6WOEGwQg3wKwnCtjQ/s320/hocofam.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><div><br /></div>Our kicker performed with poise. Our mascot was full of energy and patience for the throngs of little people following him around. Our girl was gracious and beautiful as she served on Homecoming Court. </div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipmA1r4Q5XJID1-lnJh6gdwfEnvEUqXkKBWZgRQ-KGWKDly95dQyctcAmRRoTJfakei17jSyeH7Iwi2cKrljtTb55E-oGobxwaNHn4m5tNq3u8WSMIB-V96KIzta9yupVwA8POyQ/s2048/hococouple.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1365" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipmA1r4Q5XJID1-lnJh6gdwfEnvEUqXkKBWZgRQ-KGWKDly95dQyctcAmRRoTJfakei17jSyeH7Iwi2cKrljtTb55E-oGobxwaNHn4m5tNq3u8WSMIB-V96KIzta9yupVwA8POyQ/s320/hococouple.jpeg" width="213" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirIGrDHTrd8tcnrcc1eF6Ei_Jf3EoMNdxmvWqu58lx113li03KL_3jGvdKQ7zUOq03vTSuOY2-JO88438DaLUUWp2ahOQxNU8BRrh83ymTvTWaGwvTd-gnL6f4SuRfMDLn_vH-rQ/s2048/IMG_9036.PNG" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1152" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirIGrDHTrd8tcnrcc1eF6Ei_Jf3EoMNdxmvWqu58lx113li03KL_3jGvdKQ7zUOq03vTSuOY2-JO88438DaLUUWp2ahOQxNU8BRrh83ymTvTWaGwvTd-gnL6f4SuRfMDLn_vH-rQ/s320/IMG_9036.PNG" width="180" /></a></div></div><p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>I was keyed up until early morning, full of the joyful emotion of being parents to Upper Classmen--and fun of these days. It was a nice change from where I sometimes get stuck in the anxiety, pressure, and ticking clock until launch.<br /><p></p><p>After a few hours of sleep, Saturday was an absolute zoo! Our teens had duties at school with a 5k race, giving Alumni tours, and rehearsal for a play that opens this weekend. Meanwhile, Ryland & I were setting up to host a dinner for 17 kids with other parents and an afterparty at a separate location in addition to hair, make-up, flowers, etc for our three and their dates. In the midst of all the frenzy, as I was miles from my home rushing to pick something up, I found a cat asleep in my back seat. (He had climbed in while I was loading party supplies in my driveway!)</p><p></p><p>Despite the last-minute stress of wearing contacts, hand-tying bowties, and accidental sportcoat swaps, we all made it out the door on time. </p><p>The kids' sweet dates were each just right--and there was no drama and lots of fun and laughter. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuJRzTjdYrT6c1FmsalgpLyiuurBBSHwAwzzns6ETDNO8K3kip58dge8fHcrLlKbdnJgVWyWlXwZOv7HHM33IzBT1cgEcNz6V1emZgEL8s4EKBkS5-fxUoMCtWhf67plNAr4wq8w/s4128/_DSC5093.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4128" data-original-width="2752" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuJRzTjdYrT6c1FmsalgpLyiuurBBSHwAwzzns6ETDNO8K3kip58dge8fHcrLlKbdnJgVWyWlXwZOv7HHM33IzBT1cgEcNz6V1emZgEL8s4EKBkS5-fxUoMCtWhf67plNAr4wq8w/s320/_DSC5093.JPG" width="213" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3x3I0hbAsL3SkJKwlcNBtn_h7VjoXsei1xrfYeOUd_0nY7gDHi7Xte59zmyGdwZwmQ2v-2i38GyG9Ag22ofUWimovjtGgSMR3ONIQTuH3bk2Qo_otBPiqbRrgaNcJrtSSKo6C9A/s4128/_DSC5097.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4128" data-original-width="2752" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3x3I0hbAsL3SkJKwlcNBtn_h7VjoXsei1xrfYeOUd_0nY7gDHi7Xte59zmyGdwZwmQ2v-2i38GyG9Ag22ofUWimovjtGgSMR3ONIQTuH3bk2Qo_otBPiqbRrgaNcJrtSSKo6C9A/s320/_DSC5097.JPG" width="213" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBHYGA9WN9lDwMUqOEuUOYqtPnPN-pf0K99gbGiSVXKDvUhr7EjWOlm-hYTH3U0svWsQzWi0XdzYm2gCsJpVJ17aHkVYP7RYHwv2PGTtt8h_1shmocU2A_WHCr4ZBLgawgyc3KMg/s2048/32844223-4DEC-45EC-9985-E590D7214311.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1152" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBHYGA9WN9lDwMUqOEuUOYqtPnPN-pf0K99gbGiSVXKDvUhr7EjWOlm-hYTH3U0svWsQzWi0XdzYm2gCsJpVJ17aHkVYP7RYHwv2PGTtt8h_1shmocU2A_WHCr4ZBLgawgyc3KMg/w169-h300/32844223-4DEC-45EC-9985-E590D7214311.JPG" width="169" /></a></div><p></p><p>Of course, the combination of milestone events and hormones led me to some deep thinking alone in my car as I buzzed around Saturday afternoon. </p><p>What was the point of all this hoopla? Were we overdoing it? Perhaps. But these once-a-year events are important tools for teaching the finer points of social graces--formal dates, dressing up, nice dinners. (Especially after the last 19 months of Covid!) </p><p>After so many years of teaching them independence, it is fun to find things our teenagers <i>could </i>do themselves, but we choose to do for them simply because we won't be able to much longer. The preparations felt like a "get to" not a "have to." It was fun to be involved. </p><p>I hope the <i>home-making</i> before the <i>home-leaving</i> will make the future <i>home-comings</i> so sweet-- returning to the place of such great memories and love. </p></div>Jenniferhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03903375700915031290noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14642592.post-70741708671412433562021-07-27T10:47:00.000-04:002021-07-27T10:47:28.457-04:00Notes From the Trenches: The Summer of Seventeen<p>A quick note today from a grateful heart.</p><p>The early parenting years were largely about survival. The middle full of adventure, humility, and revelation. These last couple of at-home years remain to be seen...but this Summer has been providing glimpses that fill me with joy and wonder. </p><p>I don't want to speak too soon. I am well aware that life takes twists and turns. Undoubtedly, we still face chapters of tragedy and triumph, joy and pain. But I don't want my fear of those future chapters to prevent a pause to savor the sweetness of right now. So, today I am writing this for myself. </p><p>I am finally (mostly) finding peace and joy in my role as the Pit Crew. As these young people are dashing in and out from sports, jobs, camps, and social outings I am here. My role is feeding, clothing, reminding, listening, and otherwise providing rest from the last adventure and equipping for the next. I still have plenty of my own responsibilities and interests, but the ministry of availability is beginning to feel as rewarding as my prior obsession with productivity. </p><p>And by the grace of God, the Cinderella feeling that once tinged these roles has dissipated and I am relishing the chance to show love to my people in practical ways. Their independence is still my goal, but being a soft place to land--a spot they want to come home to--is a gift. </p><p>What fun to watch the young adults emerge from these children! They need space and grace. I am truly thankful for the opportunity to provide both.</p><p>Seventeen, I like you so. </p>Jenniferhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03903375700915031290noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14642592.post-3992905913095370622021-06-09T11:09:00.006-04:002021-06-09T11:22:52.965-04:00Breezy<p>My heart and mind are still coming to grips with the fact that our trio turned 17 last month. </p><p>Perhaps it is true of all parents, or maybe enhanced because we are typically celebrating a new age during the last week of school, but we tend to make significant adjustments to rules and responsibilities each May. </p><p>Although they are only a year away from the 18th birthday milestone associated with adulthood, redshirting them in Kindergarten gave us the gift of an extra year with them in our home. Because I am a person driven by responsibility, the heat is on to make the most of EVERY OPPORTUNITY. (All caps are to emphasize the pressure I feel from myself in this regard.)</p><p>So now, the countdown is 24 months--the first three of which are during the loose days of Summer combined with the freedom of driving. I want to do well with what I have been entrusted with, but could someone please give me a handbook for each one? </p><p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyXKtamZlYgMbEysk8ytiqOr9lkNsAa99XivaC-MLZ-HHVRjGCrzp9vzZA7cXpZE73T0HO4OsZcrv_vXGHeQVZxmfHIKnx0aBLiaMrkEsxVzZAym7q1H1Y-rioP996xESnZwz1qQ/s2048/IMG_5833.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyXKtamZlYgMbEysk8ytiqOr9lkNsAa99XivaC-MLZ-HHVRjGCrzp9vzZA7cXpZE73T0HO4OsZcrv_vXGHeQVZxmfHIKnx0aBLiaMrkEsxVzZAym7q1H1Y-rioP996xESnZwz1qQ/s320/IMG_5833.jpg" /></a></p><p>I read somewhere that the posture of a teen parent's heart should be "breezy" and haven't stopped giggling about it since. Many adjectives could be used to describe me, but this word wouldn't be at the top of anyone's list. I am, however, committed to trying. </p><p>I know these are the days when our teens should be learning independence. I would much rather them take some risks while they are under our daily influence and have a soft place to land--but after 17 years of schedules and structure, it is a hard habit to break.</p><p>So, daily I wrestle (and often in the darkness of late night/early morning too) with how and when to lighten up, while still coaching and teaching specifically to where each teen is developmentally. (Are you exhausted yet just reading this?)</p><p>My kitchen nook is covered in sticky notes bearing quotes about surrendering control to my Sovereign Father--but the struggle is real in my heart. </p><p>Kate, a wonderful young lady who happens to be quite messy, was the recipient of one of my first attempts at fewer rules and more responsibility. I <i>breezily </i>announced that I was no longer going to police the cleanliness of her room, but that meant I wouldn't be picking up the dirty clothes either. I braced for impact.</p><p>"Oh, thank goodness!" she replied, "you do that for yourself, Mom. It doesn't bother me." </p><p><i>Yikes. Ouch. Wow.</i> And also? She's right.</p><p>With teens coming and going all Summer to various overnight camps and retreats, this is the time to let some things go--but it isn't my nature and is taking a renewed faith that God is growing them up and into the people He has always planned. It is time for me to lay down the self-imposed nitpicky pressure and lean into the few heart-focused issues God has impressed upon my heart.</p><p>When it comes to the role I play, I love this reminder from Jeannie Cunnion: </p><p><i>"I am significant, but God is Sovereign."</i></p><p>Now pardon me while I return to structuring my life to be more breezy. ;-)</p>Jenniferhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03903375700915031290noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14642592.post-50746821670123120022021-02-17T10:32:00.008-05:002021-02-17T15:42:00.691-05:00Dormancy<p>While my Northwest Georgia home has escaped the icy deep freeze wreaking havoc on other Southern states, it is still a cool 21 degrees this morning. My schedule is quite light due to the Pandemic. My adolescents are all at school after a 4 day weekend. Our two dogs are sleeping soundly at my feet and I am in my quiet house with only a soundtrack of a softly swishing dishwasher.</p><p>My task list today includes lots of laborious tax preparation, so I am procrastinating by thinking about the changes the last 11 months have brought to my life. </p><p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmY3ZZkyuRRXlXn_KzQIiBKBRSPj1QzDLwYSdRSYN68snMvpPYqK4WHR48VzhkM_xw68C6nzWlvfzNA20v_Q01raUTetYS_4gi6tzDXjSFupfa0TPBBCMv8YKqL9wKTvhsQqyBjw/s2048/IMG_3227.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmY3ZZkyuRRXlXn_KzQIiBKBRSPj1QzDLwYSdRSYN68snMvpPYqK4WHR48VzhkM_xw68C6nzWlvfzNA20v_Q01raUTetYS_4gi6tzDXjSFupfa0TPBBCMv8YKqL9wKTvhsQqyBjw/s320/IMG_3227.jpg" width="320" /></a>I am curious how we will define this chapter in retrospect. </p><p>As I stare out my kitchen window at the barren branches of Winter trees, the word that seems to be rattling around in my brain this morning is dormancy. (Of course, this led me down a rabbit trail of researching middle school science facts I had long forgotten about what really happens during a period that mostly feels like a pause.)</p><p>I will spare you the whole lesson, but what struck me was the two types of dormancy: <i>Predictive</i>, which happens <i>in anticipation </i>of adverse conditions and <i>consequential</i>, which results <i>from</i> adverse conditions. As a parent of triplet teenagers during this last crazy year, I think I have experienced a double dose of dormancy caused by both the anticipation of challenges (driving, dating, college readiness, etc.) and the actual circumstances of living through 2020-21 (Covid, politics, culture wars, etc.) </p><p>I have always heard that parenting teenagers is the loneliest stage of motherhood, but doing so when usual outlets for meaningful face-to-face connection are missing adds a whole different layer. Additionally, my ability to process our challenges out loud through writing has been stifled by my desire to protect my people's stories. The last thing an adolescent needs in their tenuous growth phase is hyper analysis and play-by-play reports or veiled references on the Internet.</p><p>Add to this mix that I have a few political takes that don't fit neatly in any box and the result is feeling quite alien and increasingly unknown. The reality is that I am a communicator. I don't know how to 'be' in relationships when I can't be totally authentic. I despise the illusion of connection that happens when people cannot talk about what is really on their minds--so I have been in retreat mode. The upshot to this has been a deepening of trust with my teens, more partnership with my spouse, and increased reliance on and intimacy with the Lord. </p><p>As I reflected on all this today, I was drawn to the words of poet David Whyte:</p><i><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-small;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #050505;">"Withdrawal </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #050505;">can be the very best way of stepping forward and done well, a beautiful freeing act of mercy and as an art form, underestimated in this time of constant action and engagement... </span></span></i><i><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-small;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #050505;">Withdrawal is often not what it looks like - a disappearance - no, to withdraw from entanglement can be to appear again in the world in a very real way and begin the process of renewing the primary, essential invitation again...</span></span></i><p></p><p><i><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-small;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #050505;">...We withdraw not to disappear, but to find another ground from which to see; a solid ground from which to step, and from which to speak again, in a different way, a clear, rested, embodied voice, our life as a sudden, emphatic statement, one we can recognize as our own and one from which now, we have absolutely no wish to withdraw."</span></span></i></p><p><i><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-small;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #050505;">-‘WITHDRAWAL’ From CONSOLATIONS:</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #050505;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #050505;">The Solace, Nourishment and Underlying Meaning of Everyday Words. © David Whyte</span></span></i></p><p>It seems appropriate that I am writing this on Ash Wednesday, as Lent represents the 40 days of fasting and prayer during which Jesus prepared for the next season of his ministry. </p><p>And this is why dormancy is such a hopeful word for me today--because it isn't permanent. Dormancy is a necessary phase in a healthy growth cycle. Even more exciting is the reminder of what follows dormancy--explosive growth and blooms of new life. </p><p><span style="background-color: white; color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i><b>See, I am doing a new thing! Now it springs up; do you not perceive it? I am making a way in the wilderness and streams in the wasteland. Isaiah 43:19 NIV</b></i></span></span></p>Jenniferhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03903375700915031290noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14642592.post-12545937374880689172021-01-08T16:03:00.002-05:002021-01-08T16:37:58.896-05:00Where do we go from here? <p><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; white-space: pre-wrap;">In 2021 I am a white, middle-aged, doctor’s wife living an hour outside Atlanta, but I spent the first part of my life in rural Alabama. I had many colorful experiences growing up, including serving beer at a cockfight during an elementary school slumber party in a doublewide trailer. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; white-space: pre-wrap;">I’ve walked through extended family struggles with domestic violence, suicide attempts, death from AIDS, drunk driving, adultery, addiction, abortion, transgenderism, and teen pregnancy (Half of that before I was old enough to drive a car).</span></p><span id="docs-internal-guid-58edad8e-7fff-0473-f46b-e0a3791239dc"><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I am a politically Independent, cradle-to-grave pro-life voter in a deeply red part of the country.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I am a Jesus follower who does not believe God needs a politician to save anything.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I am a member of (and live adjacent to) a Country Club and spend hours each week advocating for my undereducated and economically disadvantaged neighbors who live less than a block away.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">My inner circle includes black people, white people, doctors, business owners, and struggling single mothers.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I have simultaneously served as a foster parent, deeply entrenched in lives of addiction and poverty, and a private school parent-teacher organization president. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">You may have followed me on social media for years and not know these things. I share all this as a reminder that most human beings are far more multi-dimensional than your initial assessment or their online persona. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I also offer this backstory today as a context for the deep concern I have, in my everyday life, for <i>all </i>kinds of people. And while most of us are still processing the many lessons of this period in history, I realized something today that the last 10 months have solidified for me.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-weight: 700; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">My friends from all walks of life do not feel heard</span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">. This is frustrating and exhausting. You don’t have to look much further than the toddler having a tantrum to see where that leads. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">When my children were younger I frequently had to remind them what a difference their tone made in my ability to really hear what they had to say. Now that they are teenagers, we still sometimes have these talks. Whininess, entitlement, blind spots, hard truths, hunger, exhaustion, hypocrisy--real or perceived--all impact our ability to listen with understanding, as opposed to wanting to teach each other a lesson. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">As adults that share a society, we cannot continue to just step over the people having tantrums and go about our business. </span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-weight: 700; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">We have to pause and help each other find our words. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Adults know they cannot win every time--and I don’t think most people expect to, as long as they feel there are people in leadership listening and working towards a common good. </span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-weight: 700; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Unfortunately, it is no longer clear what COMMON good looks like.</span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">When everything becomes win or lose, all of life feels like war. Conversation shuts down because it doesn’t feel productive. So, frustrated people march, yell, protest and then retreat to their echo chambers where they are fired up and refueled for the next big fight-</span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-weight: 700; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">-but nothing happens, except increased divisiveness. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">We cannot move forward in this cycle of fearing what is different. We have to humble ourselves and start trying to listen to each other again...not through shouts, but through honest sharing of our fear and need. Less they and more we. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I am praying and processing what this looks like in my own sphere of influence. How do we enter into mutually respectful conversations (during a Pandemic) with friends, family, and neighbors where defensiveness is soothed by loving and productive curiosity? How do we start to trust each other again? </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I believe we are seeing the fruit of a lot of things that don’t work: depersonalizing people, swiftly judging and putting labels on others, and making everything a fight. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">We must get our conversations off of screens and back in real life, where humanity is more recognizable and the tone can be heard in the context of relationships. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">It will be painful, slow, and cost all of us something...but the profit will be progress, peace, and a true living out of our faith as we love one another in sacrificial and meaningful ways.</span></p></span>Jenniferhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03903375700915031290noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14642592.post-13158559220256558142021-01-07T14:29:00.004-05:002021-01-09T19:17:26.805-05:00My 2020 Recap <p>I had planned to take the first week of 2020 to reflect and write some sort of wrap up to the year...but 2021 has been off to such a start that it didn't happen. </p><p>I post our major milestones on Instagram, but this post is an effort to quickly put some sort of bow on the happenings in our family this past year for posterity. (Basically, a Christmas letter I am putting here instead of sending out.)</p><p>In January, we wrapped up a trip to Costa Rica a few days short because my husband was very ill with high fevers and hallucinations. He spent 24 hours in isolation in Costa Rica before we masked him up (assuming he had the flu) and returned to the US. He spent another couple of days ill in bed here. Now we wonder if perhaps he was an early unrecorded case. Thankfully, I am a bit of a germaphobe and a believer in isolation when sick--so the treatment would have been unlikely to look any different regardless of diagnosis.</p><p>In February, I spent a lot of sweet time with our last foster child due to some upheaval in her birth family. It was sweet and good for both of our hearts. I had no idea our time together would end abruptly and unceremoniously as the virus caused quarantining and her birth family decided that didn't need my support anymore. We also enjoyed Parker's musical, Shrek, and our church's annual DNOW youth weekend.</p><p>March started normally with lots of lacrosse and soccer then Spring Break in Patagonia/South America. We left one version of the United States and returned 10 days later to an entirely different one due to Covid. The kids were introduced to online school & we adopted our Goldendoodle, Boomer.</p><p>April brought many sweet, sunny days spent outdoors, as we adjusted to life in lockdown. Church at home for Easter and beyond--and lots of home cooking.</p><p>In May, we rented a place at Watersound Beach for a change of scenery and spent a lot more time outdoors! Kate, Ryland 7 Parker celebrated their 16th birthday with a driveby, front yard celebration as opposed to the super fun DJ party I had planned--but they still felt loved. Their freshman year officially fizzled to a close and Kate & Ryland took their drivers' tests.</p><p>In June, we attempted to use my husband's newly minted pilot's license to take our first college tour at Clemson. Our failure to plan ahead for guaranteed on the ground transportation during a Pandemic led to a crazy adventure that concluded with our entire family hitchhiking. All three of our teens started their first real jobs (K & R lifeguarding and P at a local deli). R had his wisdom teeth extracted. K finally had her braces removed (after a frustrating Covid-induced delay.)</p><p>In July, Ryland & I were able to sneak away for a couple of days to Palmetto Bluff, SC while our teens went on a small group Young Life lake retreat. The break after so much togetherness was good for us all. This was our first foray into Covid testing, but not our last. At the end of the month, Ryland passed his instrument rating exam for flying. I helped coordinate a virtual Vacation Bible School. </p><p>August started with a family trip back to Palmetto Bluff. Fresh air, social distance and new experiences were great for all of our spirits/mental health. K had her wisdom teeth extracted. The trio started their sophomore years in person at school. My small group reconvened after our long break, meeting outdoors in all kinds of weather!</p><p>September brought the beginning of soccer season for Ryland, Cross Country season for Kate, and mascot representation for Parker. The guys went on a multi-generational men's fishing trip to Homosassa, Florida with Grandaddy Scott. Life started to feel a bit more like our old normal. To cap it off, Parker got his driver's license--although he has only driven independently once in the 4 months since! (His choice.) Having two built-in chauffer's has its benefits. </p><p>October included a long weekend school break that allowed us to sneak away to Bald Head Island for to celebrate my birthday with more social distancing and an ocean view. More soccer, more running, more mascot appearances. </p><p>November brought a lot more Covid cautiousness, so as sports seasons wrapped up we hunkered down. One more quick escape for Thanksgiving since we were not planning to mix with anyone outside our home anyway. This one involved two Covid tests each and so many complications with mechanical issues that our planned 6 hour trip turned into 28 hours and an unintended stay in Ocala, FL as we awaited repairs. (When Ryland started pursuing his pilot's license, we had no clue how much freedom it would allow us during a pandemic, but it certainly requires more flexibility than I realized.)</p><p>December brought non-traditional Christmas celebrations--quiet, cozy, and almost exclusively in our spirits. Every tradition outside our home was nixed, but after an at home online candlelight Christmas Eve observance, we were able to get Waffle House takeout as some sense of our normal tradition. We unwrapped gifts with grandparents on separate days when it was mild enough to sit outdoors around the fire pit. Sweet new memories were made. </p><p>In the final week of the year, Ryland received his first dose of the Covid vaccine with no complications.</p><p>I remain committed to a few ministries in our community in addition to our church: Young Life, South Rome Alliance (community development and early childhood education for lower-income students), and Restoration Rome (foster care advocacy).</p><p>Much has been written about what a strange time it is to be in healthcare. That would fill another post, but suffice it to say having Ryland in the hospital daily added another level to our Covid understanding, precautions, and concerns. </p><p>Reflecting on the experience of living through 2020, the word I want to remember is resiliency. People have continued to find ways to preserve what is important. I have been so proud of the extraordinary efforts I have seen in almost every facet of life to adapt and keep moving forward. There is a lot less pomp and a whole lot more meaning (and circumstances, haha).</p><p>My faith feels stronger because it is more simplistic. The extra fluff has been stripped away and what remains feels increasingly authentic! I truly believe we will be better off for the lessons learned this year</p>Jenniferhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03903375700915031290noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14642592.post-76039720854256083242020-10-27T21:28:00.004-04:002020-10-27T21:33:32.245-04:00Readers over Roses : Middle Aged Love<p>Last year, much to his dismay, my husband had to start wearing reading glasses. Like many middle-aged people, he has several inexpensive pairs scattered about our home. His favorites, however, are a tortoise-shell clicker set with a magnetic nose bridge and a band around his neck. </p><p>After dinner most evenings, Ryland assumes his place behind his laptop, catching up on work. I buzz in and out as I recall topics in need of discussion. </p><p>Right around this time, we both started to notice our nightly discussions frequently took a sharper tone. I was more defensive and found myself feeling unfairly questioned or judged over the slightest things. One night we confronted this head-on. What is going on? Why are relatively simple conversations feeling sharp and frustrating? Neither of us could pinpoint any significant marital issue. Then it hit us...it was the readers!</p><p>When I would walk into the room to ask a question, seated Ryland would lower his chin and gaze at me over his glasses. This position caused his forehead to wrinkle and his brow to furrow--and as ashamed as I am to admit it publicly, this <a href="https://www.enneagraminstitute.com/type-8" target="_blank">Enneagram 8</a> received it immediately as being 'parented' or judged by my spouse. I would become unnecessarily defensive simply because of the signals this body language sent. (I am sure this sounds ridiculous to people who aren't wired like me, but I am just being honest. I wish I weren't this way, but it's one of my issues.)</p><p>For the next several nights we tried an experiment, as we started talking, instead of peering at me over his readers he would remove them--and suddenly openness and good attitudes were restored. With the sound of the magnetic click of removal, I exhaled. </p><p>And then one night after dinner, I walked in to find him signing off on charts in his work safety goggles. I started giggling and asked, "What are you doing in those?"</p><p>"Well," he replied with a grin, "they have magnifying lenses built-in and they look so ridiculous I thought it would be hard for you to feel judged while I was wearing them."</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGaSENqFYWtt5RQ-M9NgTmiQtXsWj4xVjMrsPiX42a5Qs1OnqXrAjz7Xw7G4NxUKk_McSZtwKrH-WCHAfpHHIA6s_b_EDOQDqfzifQFYS83UpD_Hl8ChLQKVsMYsMwhLrxzipsXg/s2048/62553371459__EEA76715-BF5B-4093-9B33-B3CAD1E461A7.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1539" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGaSENqFYWtt5RQ-M9NgTmiQtXsWj4xVjMrsPiX42a5Qs1OnqXrAjz7Xw7G4NxUKk_McSZtwKrH-WCHAfpHHIA6s_b_EDOQDqfzifQFYS83UpD_Hl8ChLQKVsMYsMwhLrxzipsXg/s320/62553371459__EEA76715-BF5B-4093-9B33-B3CAD1E461A7.jpg" /></a></div><p></p><p>He was right. Those goggles have had the exact opposite effect. They make me feel known, accepted, and loved. When he looks up from his work, even if it is a harder conversation, I am softened by the immediate reminder that if he's willing to look silly on account of my insecurities, I can rest assured we are on the same team. Such a simple, humble adjustment in response to my idiosyncrasy is a nightly reminder of his care for me.</p><p>This isn't exactly the kind of love story we tell young people...that after a couple of decades very unsexy safety goggles will mean more than chocolates or flowers, but <i>this </i>is the beauty of old love. I don't need flashy or expensive, just a man whose actions reflect his sacrificial love for the real, quirky me. </p><p><br /></p>Jenniferhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03903375700915031290noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14642592.post-56839597035993795032020-10-21T11:44:00.004-04:002020-10-21T12:22:29.785-04:00From Terror to Trust<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTvpouweDHkCF62R9gn-h05kD8QVbbKMfCRbwT0ZoE9LLWxOnpvYGoF-KwhYj8LkhgQWd2RqD0bE9Gej1WDhlLbSyijHHhNg_9rFgcoADgVTkUmWgBUaxXEs93i-8V5or3VjeJdQ/s2048/IMG_9369.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTvpouweDHkCF62R9gn-h05kD8QVbbKMfCRbwT0ZoE9LLWxOnpvYGoF-KwhYj8LkhgQWd2RqD0bE9Gej1WDhlLbSyijHHhNg_9rFgcoADgVTkUmWgBUaxXEs93i-8V5or3VjeJdQ/s320/IMG_9369.jpg" /></a></div>My husband started pursuing his private pilot's license two years ago. I didn't share his interest. I had safety concerns. But, he is a very detail-oriented person and was so passionate about this pursuit, my love for him compelled me to lean in despite my fear.<p></p><p>As time went on and he poured himself into the preparation, I trusted his research and conscientiousness. I also decided supporting his interest was a more loving approach than being ruled by my anxiety. This is not to say I don't <i>still </i>have my occasional reservations, but ultimately there was a decision to be made: <i>terror or trust?</i></p><p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZkqxcRpjeNXLRyK6vRF_mkQQJ4fk7uwE9StGnTemi0cLYaErtP25XCX00RrN-urIGsYFu1Oll4VwyMikF8adTIoV9hHHa-PhFbAYDAMQzyuUynVDuPJh4R7_qrm1PjbFTTxMneg/s2048/88B45201-A0A0-4D7C-84DA-87987AB9D6FB.JPG" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1152" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZkqxcRpjeNXLRyK6vRF_mkQQJ4fk7uwE9StGnTemi0cLYaErtP25XCX00RrN-urIGsYFu1Oll4VwyMikF8adTIoV9hHHa-PhFbAYDAMQzyuUynVDuPJh4R7_qrm1PjbFTTxMneg/s320/88B45201-A0A0-4D7C-84DA-87987AB9D6FB.JPG" /></a>I am finding this same thing to be true as I parent growing teens. Much like flying, it is stretching and growing my faith. Letting your children take on their own choices and consequences is a true test. Do I really trust the Lord with these, His children?</p><p>I am in a constant tug of war. My mind can go into overdrive (especially at 3am), terrified at all the things that can go wrong. I believe God can redeem anything, but I also know certain choices carry weightier consequences than others--and there is a whole wide world out there vying for my children's hearts. I want to spare them learning too many lessons the hard way. </p><p>One thing our new normal has allowed is a lot more space to think and pray. As my gaze has been reoriented toward the Lord's plans rather than my own, I have been reminded that my role in these last few years at home is to literally switch seats--from driver to passenger (with permits) and ultimately to exit the vehicle and let them drive away on their own. (Available by phone, of course! ;-) </p><p>This is the phase where we must trust the training, the process, and the skill that comes from actual practice. We put in the prep work, and now it's time for the literal rubber to meet the road. </p><p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVNszH-YS9GraV4UzwUkza-n0CmWA8U-4FsNc2yUzZt5hlV9RBJV0A0sw1nIxBNxtlNXn18n1WTzLVPJkKPh1KQAHN33ip0Hlx9l8YJAveFGSotzCD-KncM2ddYhGp-CuXZHBy9g/s2048/IMG_9240.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVNszH-YS9GraV4UzwUkza-n0CmWA8U-4FsNc2yUzZt5hlV9RBJV0A0sw1nIxBNxtlNXn18n1WTzLVPJkKPh1KQAHN33ip0Hlx9l8YJAveFGSotzCD-KncM2ddYhGp-CuXZHBy9g/w240-h320/IMG_9240.jpg" width="240" /></a>Releasing the reigns of the illusion of control forces me to face the facts of this life. Growth won't be without scrapes and crashes. There will be heartache, disappointment, hard lessons, and consequences--but I am finding that there is also true joy in watching the growth and a sigh of peace as the pieces do start to coalesce. There is increased confidence and relationship as we step out in risk and trust.</p><p>Parenting from a posture of fear is where I make a lot of mistakes. I recently heard Katherine Wolf say "anything that is not transformed is transferred." I want the Lord to transform my anxiety into trust of Him, lest I transfer it onto my children. </p><p>As I lean into Him in faith, He is proving himself faithful. As we are trusting our teens with more they are also (mostly) rising to the occasion. Moving from terror to trust, with a long-range view and an eternal perspective, certainly makes for a smoother ride than reacting to every bump and twist along the way. This is proving to be a more joyful experience for us all!</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCosLAO1Oomy6ao5Pg8gIinba6crnoXcpk5UlphV3TaiJ-oCmCYYWWgvqZ7HLpmOcrz3E0tbbDl8O03YWY_MBDSt4tXhdPN5yHTU31SYaTRrg5M9LHv_NgDEn6Zsxq-6KVvQUbog/s1440/761419C8-C8D9-4579-99AC-B0D2F74DB5BD.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1440" data-original-width="1440" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCosLAO1Oomy6ao5Pg8gIinba6crnoXcpk5UlphV3TaiJ-oCmCYYWWgvqZ7HLpmOcrz3E0tbbDl8O03YWY_MBDSt4tXhdPN5yHTU31SYaTRrg5M9LHv_NgDEn6Zsxq-6KVvQUbog/s320/761419C8-C8D9-4579-99AC-B0D2F74DB5BD.JPG" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p><br /></p>Jenniferhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03903375700915031290noreply@blogger.com3