Readers over Roses : Middle Aged Love

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. 

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. 

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!

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 Enneagram 8 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.)

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. 

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?"

"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."

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.

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 this 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. 

Week Five: A New Normal

We are entering our fifth week of social distancing. 

For posterity's sake, here's glimpse into daily life. I try to make just one trip to the grocery store each week for produce, milk, and other essentials. People are now encouraged to wear masks and stay six feet apart. The stores are strangely quiet and I have realized it is the absence of children and social chatter. I have tried a couple of different grocery delivery options, but prefer to make my own trips. 

But for driving me on these essential errands (where they stay in the car) or trips to our farm property 8 miles across town, our kids do not leave home. 

Ryland is still working, although most surgery is still on hold to save PPE (personal protective equipment) in the event of a surge in the virus. His office has most of their staff only working 3 days a week now and financially everyone is hurting. For my husband, a helper, leader, and problem solver being sidelined during a medical crisis is a frustrating experience. Surgery is not the cure for a virus, and so he is doing all he can, spending hours daily catching up on the ever-changing research. At this point, we do not see an immediate way forward and so settling into a new normal is the order of the day.

Yesterday was Easter and the end of what would have been Masters week. Instead of Augusta National's beauty and visits from out of town family, we watched church from our sofa, had a take out feast here at home and enjoyed a Zoom call with family from Atlanta, Maine, and Denver.  There was terrible weather in our region throughout much of the night, so we spent hours in the cellar during tornado watches and warnings. 

Life these days is a bit surreal.

We are keeping a record of Covid losses and gains. As the days have turned to weeks, the list of cancelations has grown to include the following: 

- Neighbor's wedding in New Orleans
- Young Life camp for the boys
- Kate's braces off
- Masters Golf Tournament
- Soccer, lacrosse, and track seasons
- Study abroad in Spain for Kate
- Driver's license exams for the kids (already canceled even though birthday is weeks away)
- Big Sweet 16 bash we'd been planning since February. 


We are waiting with bated breath to hear the official word on Summer camps. Kate is a club leader and truly relishes this two-week experience each year. This was to be Ryland's age-out year and his last chance to be tapped for Palladin. (A big accomplishment that he hoped to follow his Dad's footsteps in achieving.)

This is to say nothing of all the daily life losses like time with friends, small groups, our former foster child, and the grandparents. There were also many boarding students at our school who never returned from Spring Break and my children are disappointed there was not a proper goodbye.  

These are small in comparison to loss of life, homes, businesses--but we mourn them in our own ways. All were extras, not critical to our survival, so rather than deep grief, we are experiencing a quiet reorienting of what we thought our privileged first-world Spring was going to be.

In happy news, we adopted a puppy. We've learned new games, made new memories, and enjoyed time together that we would have never had in the hurried pace of a typical high school Spring. 

The children are beginning their fourth week of online learning and it is going fairly well. I am trying to take my own parenting advice and let them own their academic life, but this is new to all of us and having a child with ADHD and other executive function challenges is causing me some confusion as to how much to enter in versus letting them learn to self regulate. There is no handbook for adolescent crisis learning during a pandemic!

While we are on the subject of parenting during a pandemic, I am realizing that allowing my teens room to grow while we are stuck in the same house all day every day is extremely challenging. When they are at traditional school I can let go with an "out of sight- out of mind mentality." I trust the adults there. I know the process is essential to their healthy development--and not having to witness it all relieves me of my overwhelming feelings of responsibility. At home, the gap between what I want to do (back off) and how I feel (responsible) is a true source of stress. Managing this gap is exposing some control issues in me. 

I know how important it is to be consistent and I find I am quite the opposite. I try to give everyone space to do the right thing in terms of chores, screen time, academic work, etc...but after a few hours of ignoring, I frequently swoop in and have a mini freak-out from all my stuffed feelings of anxiety. I fear I am not being a good Mom and they are regressing instead of progressing. I really hate this cycle of loose-controlling-loose. I am hopeful that we can settle into a space that is healthy for all of us.  

It is ironic that I trust the Lord with their spiritual development, but feel a LOT of pressure for their social and academic progress. Awareness and admission are good first steps, but I am ready to move forward. 

Truly, the inability to move forward is perhaps one of the most discouraging and frustrating aspects of this pandemic period. What is the way forward--economically, financially, socially, professionally, academically? Who will define it? 

I trust the Lord for the long-term big picture, but the daily challenges necessary to get there are a struggle for me. This is where the rubber meets the road of daily devotion to the Lord and my inadequacies are being exposed.  


I wrote this on Instagram last week, but it bears repeating here. The frustration with the unknown timeline has led me to ponder why it seems to matter to me so much. In addition to planning and control issues, I think it also has a great deal to do with a desire to pace myself and my family. I am reminded that we are exhorted in Galatians 5:25 to "keep in step with the Spirit." The Lord of the Universe is to be the pacesetter. We cannot allow ourselves to fall too far behind or rush ahead. So, I am renewing my desire to stick with Him as the refinement and sanctification continues. 

Onward, into week five. 

Ill-fitting skin

A few months ago I noticed my restlessness. I have a hard time describing the emotion exactly, but it felt like a mixture of boredom, annoyance, fear and exhaustion. I am a positive person. I am truly grateful for a circumstantially terrific life. I have strong feelings of purpose and hope for my eternal future. And yet, my skin just felt like it wasn't fitting just right.

Ahh, the beginnings of the proverbial mid-life crisis, I thought.  But there was no crisis. The more I examined my feelings, the more frustrated I became. On paper, it did not make any sense.

I don't want to run away from my life, but in some ways, I felt like it was running away from me. Our little one, who was here via foster care, went home to her biological family. My teenage children are moving rapidly toward independence--which is the goal, my husband reminds me. My husband has taken a passionate interest in his new hobby of flying...and I am just here holding down the fort--which I am truly so grateful to be able to do.

I have important and fulfilling roles and relationships outside of my family. My to-do list is never complete. And, yet, I could not find my mojo.

One afternoon, exhausted by wrestling with my thoughts on the matter, I called a friend of mine (who is also a counselor) and described my feelings. I explained that as I tried to pin down what I was lacking and express it to my family, I would be inexplicably annoyed by their attempts to meet the need. I imagined myself as a person trying to identify their craving--only to find they still felt empty after eating.

When I finished, my counselor friend said, "what you are describing sounds like grief. It doesn't always feel like you would expect and it operates on its own timeline."

As she spoke the words, I wept. She touched my soul with revelation and permission to stop trying to solve and instead just feel for a bit.

I am being forced into retirement from my favorite job I have ever had. Being a hands-on Mama to birdies in my nest has been incredibly stretching, humbling and satisfying. I don't want it to change! And while I know motherhood continues for decades, it shifts in ways that feel unfamiliar and uncertain to me.

In four short months, they will be driving themselves to and from school. Car conversations are my favorite and I am NOT ready to give those up. And yet, spreading their wings and learning to fly has always been my hope.

So forgive my silence in writing (and maybe my grumpiness in person), I am going through a thing over here.

Trusting the Lord. Asking Him to nip and tuck this old skin to fit the way my role is changing--and trying to savor all the car rides in between.

Moving Day: A Modern Day Parable

Saturday morning a group of students in my community were scheduled to leave for a week of camp with Young Life's Capernaum ministry (for high school students with special needs). One of our college leaders, Lori, showed up at 17 year old Eve's apartment as planned to give her a ride to the bus. As she knocked on the door she was greeted by Eve's grandmother, Mrs. Jones, a strong-willed 71 year old widow with a cane. She explained that Eve was not going to be able to go to camp after all, as the family had been evicted and she needed to stay and help them move. Lori knew Eve is one of three mentally handicapped people living in the apartment being cared for by Mrs. Jones--and the most capable. Looking around the apartment, she knew Mrs. Jones couldn't handle this move without help.

Lori was crushed. She had loved on Eve all year through monthly club meetings. She had helped raise the scholarship money for Eve to attend camp--and she was so looking forward to accompanying Eve for a week full of sights, sounds, adventure, laughter and love at camp. Quick-thinking Lori had an idea.

"Mrs. Jones, if you let Eve come with me to camp this morning, I promise I will send people over today to help you move."

Lori was leaving town for camp too, but she trusted and believed in the Lord's provision--and her community's commitment to seeing Eve get to camp.

A text message was sent and within an hour Mrs. Jones had a moving truck and a crew of helpers. Despite the June-in-Georgia humidity and the short notice, by 5pm the contents of her three bedroom apartment, including medical beds and equipment had been moved to her temporary residence and a secure storage facility.

All while Eve and her leader Lori were carefree and on their way to hear about the God that loves them so.

As we were driving away Saturday afternoon I asked my 14 year olds (who honestly were age-appropriate in their less-than-thrilled response to moving strangers on a day they'd planned to spend in other ways) to tell me one thing they learned. Each reply was proof that God was using this situation in more ways than I had known, but the one that struck me most was from my daughter:

"I will never forget that all those people were willing to show up and work that hard just so one girl can hear about Jesus."

We talked about the Parable of the Lost Coin and the Parable of the Lost Sheep and I pray they will never hear those two passages in the same way again.

I am so incredibly grateful for the ministry of Young Life. It is not just about pies in faces or preaching from a stage. This ministry is truly incarnational--entering into the (messy, complicated, challenging) lives of teenagers and really loving them like Jesus would--meeting practical needs so their hearts can be open to Him meeting their spiritual needs.

Eve is at camp this week, hearing the glorious news of the One who sacrificed not just his Saturday, but his Life so she can be free. Connections were made for meaningful friendship and support of her extended family. This is not the end of this story, just the beginning. Will you join me in praying for this family and Eve's heart?

Because I think I am Mom to the world...

Yesterday my family and I were on a major college campus for a huge rivalry football game. The stadium was electric with a sold out crowd of over 87,000 people. There were hundreds of additional people watching the game via satellite television and enjoying the revelry at the tailgate tents that covered the surrounding campus. The atmosphere was everything people love about college football.

As we walked around enjoying the college experience, I had four 13 year olds with me who had many real-life examples of the different types of choices older teens and young adults make. In a mere four hours within one city block, there were two outstanding examples of the dangers of reckless alcohol consumption that I feel need to be retold.

(This might be the time to tell you my husband no longer takes me to concerts because I cannot handle the dangerous situations I see highly intoxicated young adults--especially vulnerable girls and women--find themselves in. It pushes ALL my buttons. I am an advocate/busy body/protector to the core. In other words, I am not fun at parties.)

Back to the game.

Within a couple of minutes of the 2:30 kickoff we saw a young man being carried out of the stadium by his two larger friends. They were laughing and he was terribly incapacitated. The young man was slung over their shoulders because he literally could not hold himself up. I offered to help as his girlfriend approached them (also laughing). They assured me they had it under control. Within 30 minutes EMTs on bikes were rendering aid and an ambulance was called to transport him to the hospital for treatment.

Late in the third quarter darkness fell. I walked two of the children from our party to the restroom in a nearby building. As I waited in the hall outside for the kids to come out I witnessed an interaction between a very inebriated college aged couple. Three guys wearing fan gear from the opposing team had been flirting with her and she said something back. Her date started pulling her away from the building by her hand and up a short set of stairs. At the top, she tripped and fell. Her boyfriend walked away and left her--on her back, highly intoxicated in the dark and alone.

Just then, I heard one of the guys who had been flirting with her say to another of the guys in his group, "Hey, man, he just left her. Here's your chance."

The young man he was speaking to raised his eyebrows and the other guys laughed as they walked out of the hallway and towards her.The boyfriend was no where in sight.

I have no idea what their real intentions were. They could have been the nicest gentlemen on the planet, planning to help her get back to safety, but the sight of this incapacitated young woman on the ground like a wounded bird with laughing young men circling around her lit a fire in my belly. I went into Mama Bear mode.

"Hey, guys, I've got this."

They looked a bit surprised and were still laughing as they stood over her.

"I'm not kidding. Do you know her?"

(Nods no)

"Back off. She needs a Mom right now."

(Their smiles faded as they looked at me then each other trying to decide what to do.)

Honestly, I don't know why I pulled the Mom card here, but it as if I cape emerged on my back that made it my responsibility to protect her as if she were mine.

I won't bore you with the rest of the details, but the summary is this: After a couple of minutes and the back up of another middle-aged man we were able to find the tent where her real-life Mom was tailgating and return her to safety.

But here is the thing that compelled me to write this. As a Mama raising young teens who will likely reside on college campuses 6 years from now and be confronted with alcohol before then, I was reminded there are issues other than just breaking the law or DUI they need to understand.

Please talk to your kids about personal safety--and their responsibilities towards their friends or dates.

This girl told me over and over again she was fine--because she thought she was. She had no cell phone. She was alone, incapacitated and in the dark. She could not walk without assistance. And she was dating a guy that would leave her like that. This is how terrible things happen.

I know sheltering and creating a childhood where everything is magical seems more fun and protective--but our kids need to know before they are in the situation about the dangers that lurk. I am not a fearful person -- but the beginning of wisdom is truth. Please, parents of teens and college students, remind them to be smart and safe.

I will step down from my soapbox now as I try and decide whether I want to make it my ministry to go out every weekend and "Mom" people who need it, or put myself back on restriction from large parties and concerts. ;-)

The Hardest Part

When we were preparing to open our home to foster children, I prayed daily over the bedroom where these children would sleep. Each time a car pulled in my driveway to introduce a new friend to our family I knew deep in my soul this was a child for whom I had prayed long before I knew their name. As I bathed, tucked in, and tended each child, I wondered how long they would be part of our life. Even though we are not pursuing adoption, I allowed myself to wonder with each individual child if they might become a permanent part of our family. Much like a school girl with a crush, I'd whisper their names with Scott on the end. It wasn't a wish or a prayer as much as an acknowledgment that God--not us--held the future--and anything could happen.

In the last two years of fostering, we have had five school aged children in our home for periods ranging from 10 days to 17 months. Twice, we have had the difficult task of requesting a child be removed and placed elsewhere. It is not a part of the fostering process that anyone likes to discuss, but it is a reality I felt led to write about--if for no other reason than to quiet some of the self talk running through my brain at 2am.

It is a difficult reality to admit. My family enjoys challenges. We believe in grace and second chances.  Neither of us considers human beings items that can or should be "traded in" when the going gets tough. We are not shocked easily. We don't want to raise bubble wrapped children and we certainly never entered into foster care thinking we would "give up" on a child--especially ones who had already been let down by the adults in their early lives.

Early neurological development is impacted by life experience, disruptions to bonding by being moved around, witnessing and experiencing violence and even highly stressful pregnancies. All of these things are outside of the control of a child--and yet, their behavior is impacted in ways they can't just "straighten up." You cannot discipline and correct a child of trauma with the same methods that worked for your non-traumatized children.

Sometimes the behavior is such that even with knowledge of the reasons behind it, a family cannot tolerate it. For safety's sake, every heart and developing life in a home has to be considered.

I deeply believe in the need for loving, stable foster families and gulp hard when I write about the challenges. I do not ever want my words to be used to justify someone's decision to turn the other way and ignore the plight of the orphans among us. I do, however, think it is vital that people understand the deep and real challenges of this system. I trust that God will continue to call people to this work not because they've been shown only a rosy view.

It is frequently generational cycles of sin that result in children coming into care. Those of us on the frontlines of this ministry are also plagued with sins of fear, pride, self-reliance, and greed. Sinners helping sinners in a sinful world. Of course, it is broken!

Both times we have requested removal it has been with an overwhelming sense that we could not serve the therapeutic needs of the child and the others in our home as well. Both decisions have held a moment of eyeball to eyeball unity with my husband. Each time as the child was driven away, I have cried tears of loss, resignation, regret, shame, and relief.

Even knowing the intimate details of our situations and trusting the wise counsel of those who agreed with our moves, I cannot help but feel ashamed that we couldn't 'cut it,' fear that maybe it wasn't really that we 'couldn't' but instead that we simply wouldn't. I've had to lay down a Messiah complex I can be reluctant to admit. I'm realizing this work is sometimes a marathon and other times more like a relay. We aren't always called to cross the finish line, but instead to merely run the baton for our leg.

As I've processed some of my disappointment, I've recognized my preference to 'lick my wounds' privately--reserving the exposure of my vulnerabilities to only a few. I tend to shout from the rooftops when life is good and go quiet when I'm wrestling. May we never forget there is a deep blessing in the wrestling as well.

This is the part of the journey that has stretched and grown us most--especially in our reliance on the Lord instead of the opinions of others or our own wisdom and life experience. Each time has been a great humbling, but also a reminder that following God where He leads means letting go of the cleaner/neater/more flattering-to-our-own-image story we would write. I am reminded that God uses it all--every broken and confusing piece.

This is real life. This is where growth happens.

Checking In & Catch Up

I never intended to let so much time pass before checking in...and now it seems there is so much going on that I do not know how to catch up. Because the intent of this blog is chronicling for posterity as much as anything else, I fear I must resort to hastily recorded bullet points!

It is the second week of May and somehow my children are two weeks away from becoming teenagers and the completion of their first year of middle school. I haven't been able to really process this passage of time in a meaningful way, but I am definitely "in the thick of" watching their strengths and struggles reveal themselves and leaning hard into the Lord for wisdom on what coaching is necessary when--and how to continue to make home a safe place where they are free to truly relax and feel loved and built up to return to the arena of life.

I am pleased with where they are, who they are now and the tiny glimpses I get into the possibilities of where they are heading. But I am also grateful we have 6 more years together! As the clock's ticking gets louder I am increasingly aware we cannot teach them everything or launch them as perfect adults--we must narrow down our objectives to include lifelong skills like seeking truth, building strong community, and faith in their loving, Sovereign God. (Much easier to write in a sentence than to implement line upon line into human lives.)

Our family has changed a lot recently. I accidentally ran over our beloved pet cat in the driveway a couple of weeks ago. It was truly horrific. The accident, the dealing with the aftermath as I was home alone, the telling of my husband and children, and the grief. Through it all there were powerful lessons about telling the truth--even when it is hard, and the beautiful grace and comfort my children and husband offered to me despite their own sadness.

About a week and a half after the accident, my children gifted me with a kitten for Mother's Day. A couple of days after that we welcomed a new foster child into our family-- a delightful, fun and high energy 6 year old boy.

As I type this we are on our 5th day together. Much like a 2nd or 3rd time mother, it seems this transition has been smoother than the previous ones--largely because we have been here before and can recognize many parts of the situation as simply being phases--we know they can/will pass with time and investment. I have also learned to love hard and laugh often. It feels smoother to not be dramatically rising and falling with every extreme high and low.

This week we had our first court hearing. It was scheduled to begin at 9am, but we sat in the hallway waiting for almost 3 hours due to a delay. Directly across from me was a darker skinned woman with a familiar face. After about an hour we recognized each other as the biological Mom and the right-now Mom of the same precious little boy. Our affinity for one another was immediate and we spent the next hour and a half getting to know each other and discussing our shared young man. I don't know where this is all heading, but what a blessing to begin with a face to face, heart-to-heart. I was able to assure her that we are not trying to "take" her boy and we want nothing more than for them to become a healthy family again. This relationship is beginning as a partnership--not us versus her, but both of us for HIM. I pray it continues.

I also pray he learns to sleep. We are on a newborn schedule with multiple wake ups each night and days that begin before 5am.

Little man is calling so this is all for now...

Foxes

Saturday night was New Year's Eve but with a Daddy on trauma call and a viral bug that had kept me feeling bad all day, our plans were for a quiet evening at home. The boys and I watched football during the afternoon while Ryland was at work and Kate was with a friend. The family was reunited for dinner, then we enjoyed a little sofa pile/movie time before sending everyone off to bed around 9:30.

Kate came downstairs during the bedtime preparations and told me she wanted to go outside and check on the bunny since she had been away most of the day. Ever the conscientious pet owner, she wanted to refill his water supply and assure his comfort in the outdoor hutch during a rainy drizzle.

About 30 seconds after she went outside, I heard her howling cry as she rushed back into the house. My husband and I jumped up and followed the sounds of hysterical tears. We collided with a terrified Kate in the dining room.
"Something got, Bear," she sobbed, "The hutch is destroyed. He's gone."
My husband and I exchanged panicked looks as we ran outside into the rain and darkness.
As Kate had described, the hutch was indeed mangled. Two entire sections of wire paneling had been pulled back and three wooden planks had been pried off the structure.
The bunny was not in the hutch.
"He's so fast and so smart," I hopefully offered. "I'll bet he is hiding safely under the storage shed."
As the words came from my mouth Ryland tersely instructed us to get out of the rain and go back inside. I knew from his tone he had insight into the situation and we should heed his advice.

The commotion drew RyGuy back downstairs. Although Bear officially belongs to Kate, RyGuy has also taken a strong interest. He craves responsibility and has a soft spot for animals. He frequently feeds the bunny as a favor to his sister and faithfully checks on him daily. As we caught RyGuy up on the situation, the concern on his face was immediate. He quickly pulled on shoes and straightened his shoulders into a masculine rescue stance.
"I'll get a flashlight and help Dad find him. I know the places he likes to hide."

Ryland came back in the house with a face full of dread. Kate wrapped herself around him like a spider monkey as he picked her up for comfort. She buried her face in his neck and over her dark curly head he shot me a look that instantly conveyed Bear had not survived.

We broke the news to Kate and RyGuy. Their pained responses were enough to beckon Parker, our resident introvert, back downstairs from the comfort of from his nighttime book and bed. I was forced to deliver the traumatic news all over again.

The next half hour was painful and tender as we cried and hugged and talked about love and loss. Kate wanted to understand every detail. The fact that she and her Daddy had spent hours selecting and building the hutch for the rabbit's protection added an additional layer of pain. What kind of predator was likely to blame? Did Bear experience a painful death or could he have died of fear? What type of injuries did he appear to sustain? Where was he left? When do we think it happened?

Ryland tried to be more stoic--pressing his fingers into the corners of his eyes to stop the tears. He blamed himself because he had been the last one to see the bunny alive. He confessed that he had a fearful feeling following a nightmare earlier in the week of something dark crashing into the hutch and killing the bunny.

Parker expressed his broken heart openly through painful wails. After a few minutes he rose to retrieve a journal where he wrote an epitaph and attempted to cheer us up with his quirky sense of humor stating "Well, 2016 has managed to take another victim."

Around 10:30 we were finally able to get everyone settled down for bed. Ryland and I were then left to deal with our own emotions and questions. We eventually settled on a theory that it must have been a fox that struck the hutch. We felt violated, sad and angry. Not only had we lost a beloved pet, but our kids had been hurt deeply in the process. Then the second guessing ensued. How had we allowed this to happen? Had we been foolish to leave the bunny outside? In 6 months of bunny raising we had felt no threat of predators. Shouldn't we have known better? We had invested in a fine and sturdy hutch. What more could we have done?

As I laid down and attempted to find rest I couldn't help but think about how this marks a new stage of parenting. When our children were younger we could tightly control their environments, severely limit their exposure to harmful threats--but they are now entering a period of adolescence where figurative (and, I suppose, literal) foxes are lurking. We identify and prepare for as many threats as possible, but there are things we can't predict.

We pray. We plan. We talk. We love. We protect. And yet, we cannot guard against everything.

When I posted about Bear's death on Instagram several people messaged me with their own memories of the traumatic loss of a pet at about this same age. I remembered my devastation at age 13 as I found our cat, Patches, surrounded by the feathers of my parakeet, PJ. Like Kate, I had purchased him with my own money and been fiercely protective. And like Bear, PJ had fallen victim in one rare moment of opportunity when a predator could pounce.  

2016 has been full of goodbyes for us--my Grandmother, three foster children and in the last 2 hours of the year, a beloved pet. Love followed by the heartache of loss and grief is a part of the human condition. We cannot spare our children the very pain and life lessons that will be used to mature them into thinking, feeling, compassionate adults, but even that truth doesn't make it feel any better. 

Yet, as we sat together in the family room sharing our grief--loving each other through it-- I realized even if protecting against all hurt were possible, it would also mean blocking moments like these. The bittersweet times when we get to put all these years of loving, intentional investment to work by being each other's soft place to land are foundational for future relational needs.

I am reminded again that adolescence is a different season, but one God has been working us steadily towards. Our parental roles are shifting. As our children bud into young adulthood we have a choice: We can try to protect them from life or prepare them for life...including the times when the sneaky foxes break our hearts.

I am so grateful for my faith that God created every life in this family for His purposes--all of this is training ground for what lies ahead. So we lean into Him, trust His Hand and love the hearts He has entrusted to this home. Even when it hurts. 

The Present

When I stay away from writing more than a week or so, it can be difficult to come back. Like catching up with an old friend you've been absent from too long, it is hard to know where to begin. I want to just dive in--to tell the truth-- but these days MY story is inexorably tied to the story of lots of other (mostly little) people. I must respect that my story is also their story, even as I long to express all that is going on in my own heart.

Just typing that paragraph makes me tired. It's complicated. So, I am unusually quiet. 

This week marks 10 months since our oldest foster daughter, Bug, joined our family. It has been 3 months since her youngest sister, Gigi, moved in and  7 weeks since the middle sister, LuLu, moved out. This week I had the opportunity to see my blondie for the first time since her departure.

It was just five minutes, but my arms can still feel the tender hug 48 hours later. My ears are still ringing with the sound of her shout, "Jennnn-niiiiii-ferrrrrrrrr" and the sight of her swinging arms and ponytail as she ran open armed to me. I will always love that little girl.

It sounds heartless, but I had not yet shed a tear over her departure in late January. There honestly hasn't been time to process. As I drove away from our reunion my heart felt the sharp ache of her absence and the impact she has made on my life.

A friend recently observed that it will likely take months or years to truly absorb all that has transpired in this season and how it has impacted our family. I think she's right.

There's just no time for analysis right now. I am in the midst of life, therapy appointments, baseball season, musical rehearsals, soccer, bio family visits, overseeing school assignments, teacher conferences, tax preparation, homemaking, trying to be a partner to my husband and SO MUCH laundry!

And tonight, I am at peace with this. 

There is a time for everything,

and a season for every activity under the heavens:

a time to be born and a time to die,

a time to plant and a time to uproot, 

a time to kill and a time to heal,

a time to tear down and a time to build, 

a time to weep and a time to laugh, 

a time to mourn and a time to dance, 

a time to scatter stones and a time to gather them,

a time to embrace and a time to refrain from embracing,

a time to search and a time to give up,

a time to keep and a time to throw away,

a time to tear and a time to mend,

a time to be silent and a time to speak...

Ephesians 3: 1:7 NIV

There will come a time when I can marinate in all that has occurred.
But that is not today.

Now is the time to be present--in all the challenges of the emotional roller coaster, the mounds of clothing, the many souls in my home that need broken little me to look in their eyes and love their hearts.

And God willing, I will deal with all the rest tomorrow.

In the Middle of It

Here in Georgia, the current weather pattern reflects a sense of not-exactly-Winter but still not-quite-Spring. Usually one who prefers definition and logical categories, I am finding surprising enjoyment in the mild in-between. Perhaps it is because it is such an accurate reflection of my current season of life.

I haven’t intended to stay away from writing for three weeks, but I am simply in the middle of it--no post-worthy stories or adventures—just paddling and pushing through.

We are three months away from my trio's completion of elementary school and their 12th birthdays. My husband and I are both in our 40s and have recently celebrated 14 years of marriage. We've lived in the same home for nine years and my husband's been employed in the same place for 13. We are undoubtedly "middle" aged, in the "middle" of life and racing towards "middle" school.

Even with our foster parenting ministry, we've reached a milestone of 9 1/2 months and this family of seven feels like a new normal. No unusually high highs and no desperately low lows--just one foot in front of the other life.

For an itchy footed adventure lover like me, it is tempting to be unsettled by these calm seas. Yet, as the hormones in our offspring are beginning to make their presence known (3 different ways, of course) it is clear we still have a great deal of excitement to come in this family. But for now, we are just HERE (even if it is with an awareness that somewhere on the horizon the next doozie is brewing.)

I don't feel stuck. I feel like I've been granted a flat place on an otherwise steep and winding journey--a glorious chance to enjoy the scenery and catch my breath. Although it feels strange after so many months of deep feeling and exhausting stretching, I am quite grateful to be here in the middle, practicing faithfulness in the mundane.

Plate Spinning

When we took on the 6th child we knew it was going to involve a few breathless weeks of what I like to describe as plate spinning. I shed tears of fear as I imagined some of my plates would likely fall and get a little chipped. Frankly, I have grown to like my collection of metaphorical plates. Some I chose and others were gifts, but regardless of their origin--this quirky collection is uniquely mine and keeping them spinning is my daily work.

I want to be a sold out servant, holding nothing back, until of course it starts to hit too close to home. I want to give, but I want 'my stuff' (physically, emotionally & spiritually) to stay intact.

Last week, a mere 4 days into being a family of 8, I felt like a Cirque du Soleil plate spinner on a trapeze wire--the balance was precarious, but with constant adjustment, doable.

Just when I felt we were at absolute capacity, we hit a bump. My sons, after weeks of being ill, were diagnosed with bilateral atypical pneumonia--and one was briefly hospitalized for IV antibiotics.

Six kids, busy husband, really sick boys--and did I mention a major court date for our foster children and the grandmother I adore in hospice?

When I got this text from my friend Cabell I couldn't help but laugh.

Plates spinning, flying, in danger of crashing to the ground...but a miraculous thing happened...He didn't stop seeing me.  As I hunkered down with the ones who needed me and braced myself for the destruction, God provided and I saw Him more clearly as a result of the way my community showed up.

Within 30 minutes of checking in the hospital, my family was covered. As I played Monopoly in a quiet room with an eleven year old boy who reveled in my undivided attention, rides home were provided from three different schools. Someone brought me lunch. A kid friendly spaghetti dinner was delivered to my home. Babysitters were arranged to hold down the fort at the house. A teacher supervised homework. Somebody took care of my field trip money, someone else went and picked up contacts. Plates were flying, but none hit the ground.

And the only thing that got chipped was my pride.

I was reminded that these plates were all given to me through the generous hands of my Father--and it is HE that set them in motion and keeps them spinning. To think otherwise is a prideful illusion.

Once again the humility of being in totally over my head and His faithfulness to our family are searing lessons on my heart I hope we never forget.

And this fiercely independent woman is truly coming to embrace the real beauty of swallowing my pride, getting out of the way and allowing sisters to serve out of their God given gifts. There is truly nothing more awe-inspiring than to watch the body function as it was designed. These are our community's children and to watch them be cared for by our 'village' makes me weep. There are dozens of fingerprints making precious and healing marks on these broken hearts.

I am grateful.

The Duty of Delight

These days I am usually operating at a baseline of worn out. As a result I can sometimes find myself defaulting to annoyed rather than amused. Recently, as I was having a bit of a deep sigh filled, pity party while cleaning up yet another kid/dog/cat/kitchen/life mess I heard a whisper in my heart.

"Hey, you know this is real life, right?"

Early on in my marriage, thrilled that I had my own personal MD to whom I could report every ache, pain and random body quirk, Ryland said something I will never forget.

"Jen, you realize no one's body is perfectly pain and symptom free all the time, right? The body is a complex system. These little things don't mean something is drastically wrong with you. They just  happen."

It can be hard to convey tone, but he is such a patient man. He said this compassionately. And as silly as it sounds, it was a revelation to me. That stitch in my side, the heartburn, the twitchy left eye, the bump on my leg that has been there for years...Turns out it is actually normal life stuff.

The same way it is hard to find a perfectly functioning human body, it is equally rare to find a annoyance free life. Here in my 40s I am increasingly aware that much of life includes the little nuisances, some of life includes the really scary, painful times and sprinkled throughout are the plethora of small but delightful moments that refresh our souls, lift our spirits and keep us keeping on...We simply have to train ourselves to look for them.

I just finished reading Gregory Boyle's wonderful book Tattoos on the Heart--in it he references a phrase from John Ruskin "the duty of delight."

It is not something I had considered before...
Delight as a duty.
Revelry as a necessity.
Counting blessings as a requirement.
Choosing joy as part of my job description.

We have so many other items on our busy Mama To Do lists...but what if we added delight as a "must do?"

What if we made it a daily priority to pause and breathe in the restorative beauty and wonder in each other and in the moments that tickle us.

As I wrote in a previous post, I think social media gets a bad rap as a place where people fake their lives--and of course, there are those who use the platform to do so. But, I prefer to think of it as an instrument for the discipline of delight. Like a photographer gifted in looking for the shot, I hope my heart is trained to seek the moments. Typically deemed insignificant in the grand scheme of life, I want to search for the daily randomness that brings joy, peace, love and laughter.

Like a kid-purchased light up bow tie at the skate center, 

the randomness of  a disco dancing Grumpy Cat,

Squeals at being carried like a sack of potatoes,

the ingenuity of bored kids on a Saturday morning,

the warmth of a post bath sit by the fire...a feeling I clearly remember from my own childhood.

Real life with all its ups and downs holds so many sweet treasures--in our backyards, our living rooms, around our kitchen tables...

These are the moments that make up our lives...rather than rush by them, what if we instead reveled. Just a momentary pause to freeze the frame, take it in and grin at the random, messy, quirky, delight of it all.

And as we approach this week where we celebrate gratitude it can be easy to speak in trite phrases--to make sweeping statements about our gratitude for broad categories of family, health and friends.

But I pray in the normal days that come after the feast I may be found faithful in practicing the duty of delight.

Living for the Moment

I love Instagram. I post almost every day. Ironically, the criticism social media receives for being a mere highlight reel of people's actual lives is exactly the purpose for which I use it. One quick snapshot a day to memorialize what I want to remember--a slice I hope to hold onto--a moment that made my heart cry "yes, this was a good thing today."

There are a lot of parts of my life that are present every day and yet not what I want to promote, preserve or perseverate on. The chores, the squabbles, the messes, the outbursts...spilled coffee, dirty floorboards, hurting hearts. Of course those moments are there--and God is working in them to sanctify my heart---but who wants that in their chatbooks to flip through later?

So, I post the moments my heart treasures--the ones that make the rest worthwhile. Lately I have felt a real twinge every time I post a photo--a desire to tell the rest of the story. So, without further adieu, a few of my recent Instas and 'the rest of the story.'

Last night Ryland & I had a long overdue date night to see Drew Holcomb and the Neighbors perform...To get here it took not only concert tickets but 2 hours driving, coordination with an out of town soccer tournament, 90 minutes of packing 4 duffle bags of lovies, medicines, contacts, church clothes, play clothes, books and the like with the 'help' of five children, awesome grandparents who fed, loved and put to bed our big boisterous brood.

About 30 minutes after this picture was snapped we returned to my inlaws' house to a very sick little girl who I spent 3 hours laying with in a toddler bed as she cried and coughed--and an outraged brother who was exhausted from sharing a room with her and took personal offense at the noise from her coughing fits.

BUT...for  a few beautiful hours, I was just a girl on a date with a guy I adore and that is the picture I want most to remember.

A couple of weeks ago I captured this shot of little girls, staring out the door waiting on Trick or Treaters to walk up onto our porch. It was Halloween. They were simultaneously revved up and exhausted, squabbling even as I snapped this photo. There were tears. I had to make a rotation system for who got to hold the big basket of candy when the people arrived. But they were giddy and nervous as this was the first time they had ever been Trick or Treating or passed out candy.

(And the next several weeks are going to be magical as I recently received a breathless, incredulous question..."Wait! What? Christmas is Jesus' birthday????")

This make up free, unflattering angle recorded the freedom and joy we all felt last Sunday as we had an outing as only a biological family of five. It was a true Sabbath afternoon. We exhaled. We enjoyed each other with silliness and true, guttural laughter. (And if you look closely you will see that R is ducking in the middle behind my head because he is an 11 1/2 year old boy who doesn't particularly enjoy photos.)

And today, a snapshot of two of my girls walking along a bridge our foster daughters have been curious about for weeks. What you can't see is the one who most wanted to go made choices that caused her to miss out on the outing, and we left her behind shedding angry tears. Shaken and sad, we went anyway, because sometimes that's just what you do. As we walked I replayed all of the events that almost kept us from going, while these two girls chatted like sisters and I thought "This is good. I'm glad we didn't give up."

Looking through my camera roll I realized I could do this for most of our pictures. For every sweet reason I want to remember a moment there is at least a tinge of bitter. It's what makes life so complex and full.

Most are familiar with the 80/20 rule (also known as Pareto's Principle), a business term stating that 20% of what we do is vital and 80% is trivial. The older I get the more I can see that this seemingly off-kilter ratio is applicable to many parts of my life--and can often feel more like 90/10.

The majority of what I do during a day seems insignificant, dull, frustrating even--but when I experience those rare flashes of clarity, focus and purpose I KNOW they have redeemed the less memorable parts. Fruit comes from faith and work. I can almost hear my soul remark, "OK, now I get it. This is what all the drama was about."

Every day it seems God is sending me a little wink--a reminder that He is still VERY MUCH in charge.

Last week a challenging morning resulted in a tearful apology from me to one of our girls. In a stressful situation I jumped to the wrong conclusion and in doing so had hurt her little heart. I later heard from a friend that she had observed the whole thing (unbeknownst to me). Embarrassed, I fumbled to explain the circumstances that led us to that moment in the hall at church. She tearfully told me how God had used the picture of me, humbled and on my knees apologizing to this child, to speak to her heart. God redeems even our messiest moments.

As a tired and overwhelmed 40+ year old housewife/mama of five, my definition of "living for the moment" has evolved. It is far less about being footloose and fancy free and instead about keeping my eyes wide open for the moments that redeem so much of the challenging parts of my life.

These glimpses of beauty right smack in the middle of messiness are IT. Like the gold miner who sees the tiny glint and realizes the hunt has been fruitful...redemption is found in the small moments that dot our path. May we fix our eyes on the PRIZE not the circumstances and the challenges on the way.

Yes, we must give those obstacles our attention as we pass through...but I want my eyes to be fixed on redemption, grace, love, lessons being learned and the truth that God is active through it all.

A Real Life Sunday Morning

Today started with such potential.

I woke up without an alarm before everyone else in the house (a minor miracle considering how much I like to sleep) and had a whole hour alone to sip coffee and finish the book that I've been lost in for days. Buoyed by the incredible, redemptive plot of Francine Rivers' Mark of the Lion series my heart was pondering how God really is in everything...how His Plan is often a slow unfurling...how we need to keep our perspective and not get sucked into circumstances.

As each child stumbled downstairs, the aroma of bacon mixed with coffee hung in the air. Like I said, the morning had such potential.

Then we realized we didn't have enough milk to make pancakes...or to fill cereal bowls...and the snowball of Sunday morning chaos was set into motion. I forgot something I needed for my Sunday School lesson. A boy's dress shoe was declared missing as we were hurrying to load--launching an all out family search throughout the house for almost 5 minutes--which made us late. I wish I had handled it like Mary Poppins, with creativity and joy. But back here in real life, anxiety, more contagious than a stomach bug in our home, quickly spread. Its symptoms were blame, snappiness and tears.

At the stop light halfway to church my husband glanced down at my coffee cup precariously balancing on my cup holder and quipped, "You know that is going to spill this morning too, right. Have you prepared yourself?"

When we made it the short 4 minute drive to our church parking lot I realized I had not yet managed to put on my make up. My ADD child burst into tears because he had forgotten to take his medication--or to eat his breakfast (a bad combo for our already frazzled kiddo.) My husband and I did a quick tour around the Sunday School classes--surely we could round up a doughnut or a biscuit. But, alas, we are Presbyterian not Baptist ;) and there were no breakfast foods to be found. 

As the call to worship began I sent my husband and 4/5 of our brood to be settled into the service while I took P on a quick ride to a convenience store a few blocks away for peanut butter crackers and a breather. A minor skirmish occurred with another child on the way out. He didn't want to stay at church and laid out his case for why he should be allowed to come with us. He did not take my answer well and continued to plead. Through clenched teeth and with a threat of docking his allowance I sent him back into the service. As he turned to walk away I watched the look on a deacon's face a few feet away. At first I thought he was trying to see if I needed back up, but realized he may have been observing to see if my son did.  

As I cranked the car P said, "Can you turn on some Christian music, Mom? We need it."

I exhaled a slight smile and heeded his request, knocking over the coffee cup in the process, wondering why my flesh falls for this so often. My heart soaring on heavenly thoughts, eternal perspective, godly pursuits and then something as insignificant as a lost shoe becomes a pinprick to my hope & joy-filled balloon. I crash from the serenity and peace of a 50,000 foot view to being lost in the weeds over such silly things. A reminder of how fickle the human nature can be!

Real life means running out of milk, children losing shoes, and far more challenging, anxiety-producing circumstances. But faith means knowing THIS is not all there is. Yes, we must handle our business here, but I pray we remember to cling to our perspective in the process. 

We found the shoe. We were right on time for church. I rounded up what I needed for the Sunday School lesson. The hungry belly was fed and back in the service by the announcements. I bought two gallons of milk after lunch. 

In the grand scheme of life...these were all such little things. What mattered most was my heart response and, frankly, it needs some work.

My favorite part of our Western vacation this Summer was the views.

The world is breathtaking from the right perspective. Weeds, potholes, and other minor defects blur into a beautiful landscape, not in spite of but because of the texture and depth they add. And so it is with this life. What seems overwhelming up close is awe-inspiring with a little bit of distance. 

While I wish I could invent a drone type machine that would suck me back up from the muck and the mire to a perspective that is always serene--I know I have something more reliable: the availability of the Holy Spirit at a moment's notice through the mere whisper of His name.

Most of us gird ourselves for the big chapters of life--the devastating phone calls, the major losses and life changes. It's inspiring to watch people rise to the occasion and be champions of the faith. But may we not forget that we are called to be faithful in even the little things. 

Yes, our children learn about having a real personal relationship with God from sermons, music and Sunday School--but they get to examine its authenticity in OUR lives through things like lost shoes and anxiety-riddled mornings.  Lord, I pray, you will meet me there and pull me out, bearing YOUR fruit of love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness and self control. 

Tomorrow is a new day.

Learning Loss

My Grandmama has been a constant thread through my whole life--my early childcare provider and next door neighbor from age 2-17. I've spent 40 Christmases in her living room. She led me to the Lord. She has always been my Steel Magnolia.

We returned from vacation last week to news that she had been diagnosed with terminal cancer. At 90, the decision has been made to not pursue treatment.

This is not my children's first experience with loss. A close family friend succumbed to cancer when they were in PreK and they lost their other Great Grandmother in 2nd grade. Regardless of previous experience, walking through this at 11 feels different. I am trying to be as compassionately forthright as possible with my bio kids--but mindful of shielding our foster daughters from any additional feelings of loss.

The triplets know she is terminal. My little girls only know she is 90 and feeling ill.

Despite her diagnosis, she still looks well. So, yesterday while our little girls were in school I took the trio on the 5 hour round trip down to visit her. I attempted to prepare K, R & P as best I could, but some parts of life are just hard regardless of your preparation.

Even though there were a couple of house calls from Hospice, our time with her was sweet--a little porch sitting, some Scrabble playing and lunch out at a pizza place.

Everything was smooth, normal even, until it was time to tell her goodbye. As we were all walking out together, my trio rushed back to give her big hugs. With their tan, skinny arms braided around her waist, tears welled up in her eyes. Releasing their grips, K, P & R scampered away. Grandmama took two more steps before she stopped shuffling halfway to the door and leaned against a chair.

Suddenly this woman who has always seemed strong--spiritually, emotionally & mentally looked weak and frail. She stood in the middle of Johnny's Pizza with her face crestfallen, eyes red, mouth trembling--and there was nothing I could do to ease her pain, fear or concern. My heart hurt--and I wanted to shield my children and fix her broken heart.

But I couldn't.

I scanned the room quickly to see what my children noticed. R was frozen in his tracks, analyzing the situation. When he saw me notice, he quickly glanced away. He will remember this.

All I could do was take steps towards Grandmama and grab her hand like she has done to me so many times before and squeeze. She is extremely hard of hearing and there was a great deal of background noise in the pizza place, making words a challenge. I leaned into her right ear and shouted, "This is not goodbye. We will come see you again soon." I led her out the side door where I squeezed her again as she exhaled and her shoulders dropped.

She is a believer on her way to a better place--but she has some business to attend to here first. My Grandmama has 5 living children (plus spouses), 13 grandchildren (plus spouses) and 17 great grandchildren--and she has to tell them all goodbye.

Life can be so brutal.

We cannot shield and shelter the people we love from the realities of love and loss. Everything living will pass away. For those of who believe we have great hope that this is not the end. But, today, I am feeling the weight of walking my children through the dying process and managing grief--while experiencing it authentically myself.

One step at a time.

I am not predisposed to worry, but I confess our emotional day, plus monthly hormones led my heart and mind into an anxious spiral. Suddenly it wasn't just about the loss of my Grandmama, but the eventual loss of the little girls we are fostering and even our 12 year old lab whose predicted lifespan is ticking to a close. (Our minds and hearts can haunt us so cruelly sometimes, can't they?)

As I asked the Lord for perspective and comfort the lyrics of a recent favorite Casting Crowns song came to mind:

"He's already there."

I don't know the day or the hour or the circumstances. I don't know how my children's hearts will process these events--I can worry, but I cannot know. The certainty I can cling to, though, is this...He does.

"From where I'm standing, Lord, it's so hard for me to see where this is going and where You're leading me.
I wish I knew how all my fears and all my questions are gonna play out in a world I can't control...

Oh, when I'm lost in the mystery, to You my future is a memory 'cause You're already there.
You're already there.
Standing at the end of my life, waiting on the other side and You're already there.
You're already there.

From where You're standing, Lord, You see a grand design that You imagined when You breathed me into life.
And all the chaos comes together in Your hands like a masterpiece of Your picture perfect plan.

One day I'll stand before You and look back on the life I've lived.
I can't wait to enjoy the view and see how all the pieces fit."
-Casting Crowns, Already There

The Tension of January

It started with a teasing comment from a friend last week as he opened the back of my Suburban to load something in the trunk. "I thought you had it so together. Seeing this mess changes everything."

He was referring to the gingerbread house frosting smashed in the upholstery in the back of my Suburban. (There were plenty of other messes too, this was just the most egregious.)

He winked playfully and as a Dad, I knew he was just goofing off...but the striver in me, the one that constantly struggles with keeping my priorities straight versus pleasing others, cringed. I have been intending to clean that mess for weeks, but there always seems to be something else more pressing. On the surface I keep things pretty tidy, but look closely and there are countless places where I have chosen to let things slide because there is life to live outside of perfect order and organization!

This morning as I went out into the driveway to attempt to clean out my car I passed several other small messes that seem to mock me: the weather stripping around my backdoor that my beloved kitty has clawed to shreds, the mark on the wall caused by a hurried attempt to clean so we could get onto more fun parts of the day, the wrapping paper, bags, tissue and ribbons I shoved in a closet to tend to another day when children were not home on break and the sun wasn't shining so invitingly. And although my heart is full, there are reminders everywhere of how far my home is from a checklist definitions of 'perfect.' (I will spare you the photos.)

Because it is the season of cleaning house, evaluating our lives and setting big goals I thought about what I could do differently. How can I get this all UNDER CONTROL? A friend told me she was shutting down her calendar for the month to get her home whipped back into shape. I like the sound of that, but fear it wouldn't end in January. I might never leave my house! I look at my list with all the things that need to be wrangled back under control, or that I have committed to supporting, serving and starting in 2015. Suddenly, I feel overwhelmed and it is only January 5th.

See, as much as I adore orderliness and plans, I also really love the spontaneity of living each day. I don't just want the checklist, photo worthy/inspection ready life, I want one that can relax and play in mud puddles after heavy rains or take off to visit a friend just because. I want a pet cat even when it means shredded rubber, dogs even when it means muddy prints on my back door, kids even when they mean LOTS of messes, a husband who leaves his own marks, and piles of laundry that mean I spent the day doing more than just cleaning.

Yes, my responsibilities must be managed. It's called reality, but I don't want to swing so far to the side or order that I am unavailable for the adventure of life. I also don't want to be so far gone in the adventure, that I miss the rhythm of schedule and the structure my children need.

So, this year, I am trying to live in the tension of both. Like a trapeze artist I find the balance in small, constant adjustments rather than big sweeping changes. I am striving to start and end each day with some common themes. Quiet, coffee, exercise, a notepad and a plan for the day--written in pencil, with a heart attitude that matches and with margin for real life to unfold. And at the end of the day? I want to get back into writing at night, reflecting on what I learned when I kept my eyes and ears open, my hands not so tightly clenched to the agenda and left some room for God to move amidst the errands, the laundry, the bill payment and the volunteerism.

I have a few phrases posted inside my agenda: "I am doing a great work and I cannot come down." (Nehemiah) "So that I may bless whom?" (Lysa TerKeurst) and "What does love require of me?" (Andy Stanley)

And in terms of full disclosure, I do have a reorganization task list too...It is written in pencil and starts and ends with the word GRACE.

Here's to 2015!

Because Long Division is Life

There is a word that strikes fear among the hearts of students and parents alike. It is the source of great emotion in homes across this nation each evening. It interrupts our notions of 'family time,' ruins many dreams of Rockwellian dinner scenes and leads to breakdowns in both adults and children.  It is homework.

I believe in letting my children do their own work. I try not to nag or hover. I seek instead to create an environment and a schedule that allows for adequate time and space for work to be completed independently and be on hand for clarification or feedback.

And yet, there are vocabulary pages, technological hiccups and most recently...long division. 

Last night as K was struggling with 'not getting' her Math, I looked into her face and saw my own. I could completely remember the frustration Math assignments often brought to my academic life. I wanted to curse Math with her until I considered the beauty of learning to do hard things early on...and, seriously, can we just pause to praise the Lord that her 'hard things' are Math assignments not the litany of other things some children her age around the world have already had to face.

It's not cancer or molestation or divorce or terror or hunger or ebola or the loss of a parent. It's long division. And I get the chance to cheer her on and encourage her as she tackles this hard thing at 10 years old, hoping and praying this will be a relatively painless building block God uses as she works her way up to countless other hard things in life.

We can dismiss homework as a stupid interruption or we can see it as a tremendous opportunity to work together on perseverence and problem solving. (Some days I'm better about this than others.) This is part of real life. Frustrating, inconvenient, challenging.  

Tonight she had second thoughts about a commitment she made to run in an elementary cross country meet Friday. The timing means she will miss all the Halloween festivities at school, which have historically been very enjoyable to her. But weeks ago she committed and now she wants to drop out. This isn't a major life decision--and yet, it is a wonderful, safe opportunity for her to learn about keeping her word, being honest, and thoughtfully choosing 'best yeses.'

Her Dad & I listened to her. We offered our opinions. Then we let her email the coach & prayed God would give her strength to honor whatever they decided.

As a parent, I have a choice. I can try to remove all the 'hard' things in her life--which again, mercifully at this point are pretty small in the grand scheme of things--or I can listen, counsel, pray and let her work through some age-appropriate life lessons at 10 that God will use to strengthen her and embolden her for what is to come.

Frankly, the desire to remove all the obstacles in our loved ones' lives is a false hope. We cannot protect our children from every danger, threat or bad choice. Attempts to do so make us feel courageous, but can communicate that we believe our children are weak, untrustworthy or unable to make solid decisions. 

God is leading us through a changing parental season. I feel him urging us to guide, direct and encourage a deepening faith that truly trusts God and His voice in their gut. 

It is so tempting to keep the reigns. Letting go means risking embarrassment, relinquishing control. Honestly, I like to rescue. It feels good for her to still need me...but increasingly, this is not the best long term parental strategy.

It will be hard for my children to recognize their need for Savior when I am busy trying to fill that role.

I feel peace tonight that these are places where God is telling me to back off and give Him some space to show Himself as real and relevant in K's life..

So I pray, exhale and loosen my grip a bit more, trusting that He has got her (and me.)


**Before the comments turn into a debate about the merits of homework, I acknowledge some types of assignments are more beneficial than others. My point really was about the temptation to remove all 'struggle' from our kids lives.