Closet Cleaning...

Cleaning the closet.
I just wanted to make space for my vacuum.
Who knew a simple task would eventually lead to tears.
On a mission, sorting and chucking, I didn't think I just did. But, as I dug deeper into the closet, the magnitude of my task struck me. I pulled out box after box bearing scribbled labels like: army guys, Playmobile, Lego's, blocks, Lincoln Logs, Play Dough, beads, and Lord of the Rings. That's when it really hit me. I remember buying the Helm's Deep playset for the boys oh-so many years ago. I remember the unabashed look of pure delight and disbelief on their faces Christmas morning. How can I give this away? How can I simply throw it in a box, drive it to the donation center and leave it? I know it's just plastic, but...
All these memories wrapped up in all these toys...my heart hurts...there's a lump in my throat. I'm saying goodbye to an era in the simple act of cleaning out this closet.
Good bye to marathon sessions of building make believe towns and communities that eventually pushed out beyond the playroom doors and spilled over into the rest of the house.
Goodbye to Polly Pockets and Littlest Pet shops and American Girl dolls.
Good bye to epic battles fought and re fought over mountains of furniture and in valleys of carpeting.
Good bye to the time when simple kisses made the hurts all go away.
Good bye to cuddling and sipping hot chocolate curled up together in a comfy chair. Good bye to this home, these toys, these memories being the center of their universe.
In reality, these boxes sit untouched in the closet. They haven't played like that in a long time. Yet somehow keeping them felt like holding back time for a while. Who's foolish enough to try that?
I'm surprised at myself. I just told a woman yesterday how much I loved this stage right now and how I didn't really miss when the kids were younger. They get my jokes now. They make me laugh now. They have original thoughts and ideas and opinions of their own now and I love it. I see each of them reaching out for God and faith and finding it. I'm proud of who they are and what they're becoming.
And honestly, until this moment, didn't pine for earlier days.

But there it is again, the tears welling in my eyes and my heart tearing just a little.

I wish I could tie this all up with a profound quote, Bible verse or life lesson. But the closet is calling and if Brad walks in a finds me typing and crying instead of sorting, it might be a long day.
I know I'll be ok.
I know the tears will stop and my heart will go back to normal and that I'll be happy when my vacuum takes it's new spot.

beautiful

Winding and twisting my old beat up van through the city, I drove as if on auto pilot. The gray streets and monochromatic urban scape left me dull. Heart weary and questioning the future, thoughts bounced around hitting the corners of my brain like it was the concrete sound barrier lining the beltway. A song started to play on the radio. Half listening, the words "You're beautiful. You are made for so much more than all of this." intrigued me. Beautiful was not the first descriptor that came to my mind as I thought of myself or anything around me. As the melody continued, the lyrics gripped my heart and mind. The phrases reverberated...you were made for more than this...more than asphalt roads and concrete walls...more than old vans and new cars...more than the sum of what you do...more than the worries of the future...more than the regrets of the past...more than the pressures of this day...you are treasured. you are sacred. you are His.You're beautiful.
Stirred in spirit the immediate question sprang to mind: For what, then, was I meant?
St. Irenaeus said: "The glory of God is man fully alive, and the life of man is the vision of God." But what does it look like when I'm fully alive? When you're fully alive? When God's glory manifests itself through us? Will we shoot little moonbeams from our fingertips? Will we feel something different? Does it happen once then stay that way all the time or is it rare? Do we always know when we're fully alive?
Pondering my life, there are a few instances when all my senses were heightened, my purpose seemed clear and the promise of eternity permeated my being. Like lazing in the heat of a fully exposed south window on a cold winters day, His glory-His Life radiates from the inside out. It's moments when clarity, peace and a deep sense of rightness rule my being. You'd think those would all be associated with positive, happy feelings. But I'm pretty sure the point isn't the feelings. As I think about those fully alive moments, they're not always particularly good times surrounded with warm fuzzies. Some moments are delightful like Megan's wedding or a friends surprise party just a few weeks ago. But others came in the midst of deep suffering and intense pain during times of great loss. One moment in particular, I wasn't even actually involved but witnessed the Holy Spirit work through someone else in a way plain, clear and powerful yet so intimate that I felt voyeuristic being there. Even though it wasn't pleasant, it was sacred, infused with the Holy.
We're meant for Holy moments. Moments of personal surrender. Moments of a usefulness beyond our ability. Moments in the midst of both the mundane and the spectacular. Moments of the sacred cutting through the secular like a knife through butter. Not always grand or happy or even noticeable. But in those moments God's glory and power seems revealed through His not-so-holy created ones. And we see His beauty and sense our own beauty in ways intangible and at times unimaginable and see that we are treasured...sacred...beautiful.
Psalm 27:4
One thing I ask from the LORD,
this only do I seek:
that I may dwell in the house of the LORD
all the days of my life,
to gaze on the beauty of the LORD
and to seek him in his temple.

Will you take a minute and listen to Beautiful by Mercyme?

The Long and Winding Road

You can see for miles. Roads stretch out before you with very little to obstruct the view. Over the open prairie, the sky's big and the earth gently heaves and sighs. It's beautiful and I've grown to love it.

On our way to Gavin's Point Dam over the July 4th weekend, we drove over hills and through dales that actually twist and turn so you can't always see where the road leads. I found myself looking down the byways and wondering what was around the bend. One little road, for some reason, seemed magical. It looked lovely and mysterious and like it could only hold treasures.

In my younger years, I'm quite sure I saw my future through those same curious, hopeful eyes; anticipating the best kind of magic. But at some point in my life, I'm not even sure when or how it happened, my view changed. What lay beyond the bend became something I feared. Instead of hopefully trusting that life (or more aptly the Giver of Life) would be full of ups and downs and twists and turns that eventually always lead to someplace lovely, I started believing that danger lurked in the unknown places.

Maybe it's because not knowing what's next makes life not only unpredictable but messy. When Brad's feeling out of control over something in his life, he quotes Steve Martin from Parenthood: "I don't like messy." I don't know if any of us like messy, but at some point we all have to accept that it's part of life and we can either 1) live with it begrudgingly, 2) keep trying to manage and contrive and control and drive everyone-including ourselves- crazy or C) Look beyond the mess and enjoy the journey despite the uncertainty.

More than you could ask.

A concert of monumental* proportions takes place in less than 24 hours. For me, it's the concert of a lifetime. And I realized today that I've hardly talked about it and only mentioned it in passing on facebook and in this blog. I think it seems so unbelievable to me that I actually get to go that I haven't wanted to share it for fear of it not happening. I also really didn't want to see and hear people's reactions or have to explain who they are or what their music means to me.
But as I sat on my deck I realized I've been afraid to be excited, afraid to enjoy it, afraid to anticipate. Little by little satan's been eroding my joy of something that's not only a gift from my husband and friend, but a gift from God.


As I sat mulling it over, God brought this verse to mind: Now to him who is able to do immeasurably more than all we ask or imagine, according to his power that is at work within us, to him be glory in the church and in Christ Jesus throughout all generations, for ever and ever! Amen.
Immeasurably more than I could ask...


Yep, it's gonna be good.




*well, monumental to me ;)

Good Grief

Precious in the sight of the LORD
is the death of his faithful servants. ~Psalm 116:15

The white haired organist played the old hymns. Flowers in shades of pink adorned the chapel. People spoke in hushed tones as they dabbed away tears. Friends and family gathered to say good bye and celebrate life.

It's a scene played out over and over again and yet, when it's your mother, father, brother or friend, it's no longer a common occurance because now...now it's personal.

She lived a long, full life. Sitting in the pew, listening to adoring sons and loving grandchildren, you might think it was a perfect life. But anyone who lives knows there's no such thing even for this lovely woman. Blessed, faith-filled and faithful yes; but not without hurt, tragedy and pain. And yet, through it all, she loved God and her family well. Passing on a legacy of strength, loyalty and trust in her Maker, her funeral honored her story but more importantly pointed everyone in the chapel to the Giver of that legacy.

Several thoughts struck me as I sat in the church during this sacred moment simultaneously mourning and celebrating.

What would she think of her own funeral?
What would my kids say about me when I die?
What would they laugh about?
Would memories spark hurt or anger about me or would love truly cover the multitude of my sins?
Would the funeral be more about me or the One to whom I belonged?

When I ordered flowers for the service, I told my talented florist friend that the most distinguishing trait about the deceased was her faith and trust in God. I couldn't think of hobbies she had or what she loved to do. I could only think of Who she loved (well, that and the fact that she regularly prayed for the Twins--yes, the baseball team--but I didn't want a Twinkies floral arrangment).

What would someone tell a florist about me?
At the graveside, the pastor asked the family to say just one word that described their mom and grandma.

Selfless.

Loving.

Faithful.

When I'm gone, what will those closest say about me? Will they struggle to find appropriate words or will the praises come out fast and furious like they did yesterday for this lovely, dearly loved woman?
What would I want them to say?

What do you want those nearest and dearest to you to say...

Marion R. Solfelt 6.27.1924~5.24.2011

Blank pages

Type a sentence.

Delete the sentence.

Type another.

Delete.

Stare at the screen.

Start typing.

Stop typing.

Stare some more.

Delete everything.

Hit "New Post" button and repeat the process.

Walk away and let another day pass.

A million thoughts run through my mind. None seem to stay long enough to be put into actual ideas. Flitting through my brain like a drunken butterfly roaming from flower to flower they never stay long enough to grow and develop.

Posts about rebelliousness. Posts about cancer. Posts about weariness. Posts about hardships and trials. Posts about beauty. Posts about things that upset me. Posts about my family, my kids, my friends. Happy posts. Hopeful posts. Depressing posts. Post after post after post half completed sitting in my "drafts" folder.

My brain's been thrown into a whirlpool spinning endlessly around.

Unlike writing, avoidance comes easily.
I avoid conflict.
I avoid dairy.
I avoid work.
I avoid people.
I avoid talking. yes...I do...believe it or not....

There's too much. So much of life feels like it can't be shared right now. Not in a blog. And not in person. For so many reasons, right now, at least one major part of my existence remains wholly private.
What do I write about when I can't share the thing closest to my heart and foremost in my mind?

Brand New Clothes

I spent the weekend laughing, talking, eating, shopping, laughing, crying, more talking, more eating, and more laughing with three of my favorite people: my mom and two sisters. We had a lovely time celebrating K's 50th birthday and I'll probably write more on that later. But my search for the perfect ensemble is on my mind right now.

My niece's wedding is coming up and I wanted a new outfit to wear. I don't know about you, but the older I get, the harder it is to pick out clothes. I used to be so confident. Now I'm never sure if something looks right or is too old or too young. So, while I had my sissy's with me, I made them play Clinton & Stacy for me. After a series of try ons and errors, I'm happy to say I did find an outfit and it's not black (a big thing for me since every dressy thing I own has vast amounts of black).

I came home and tried on my new digs for Brad and he loved it. A departure in style yet flattering, comfortable and I think classy, I'm thrilled and can't wait to wear the outfit.

While reminiscing with my sisters this weekend, I thought about how throughout our lives we try things on like outfits. We try on personalities when we're teenagers, we can try on people when we're dating, we try on parenting styles, methods for running a household, careers, and even religions. I'm not saying we should do this, I'm saying most of us do try things on without even knowing it. It's not always bad. It can help us sort out who we really are, where we belong and most importantly, to Whom we belong.

So this morning when I read this verse from Colossians 3 "Therefore, as God’s chosen people, holy and dearly loved, clothe yourselves with compassion, kindness, humility, gentleness and patience." I couldn't help but think of my shopping trip. It felt more comfortable to me to stick with a basic black sheath dress and then accessorize. But I knew I couldn't do it. I needed color. I needed style. I needed something more reflective of who I am.

We settle so often in our lives for comfort. For a basic black sheath and some cheap costume jewelery.

We've tried on the world's way for dealing with life and accepted it.

We settle for the convention of "nice" instead of the radical idea of "grace".

We offer civility instead of true kindness to people.

We offer politeness instead of patience.

We give condescension instead of humility.

It's so much easier that way. People don't question us...our sanity or motives when we conform to the world's standards of what's decent behavior to our fellow humans. But when you love and live like Jesus did... when you realize how dearly loved you are and choose to live a reflection of that love...well, then, you can appear foolish, radical, and just simply too much. It's easier to blend. To wear our black sheath dresses and fit in.

But that's not the end to which we're called and it's also not reflective of who we truly are. If we belong to Christ, we're a new creation. The old is gone. No more black sheath's for us. We're called to grace, mercy, kindness, compassion, justice and peace...reflecting Christ in us.

He has shown you, o man. And what does God require of you? To act justly, to love mercy and to walk humbly with your God. ~The Prophet Micah

Don't let the sun...

I've read Little Women so many times, the back is worn and many of the pages dog-eared. But no matter how familiar the story, I'm stilled moved, convicted and touched by it. One time, reading in bed late at night, I started sobbing. Brad asked what was wrong and I slobbered through tears Beth died!
But, you've read it before, you know she dies came the quizzical response. I had no answer, just more tears as I continued reading. That's what it does to me.

As I cozied up with my fuzzy blanket, hot chocolate and a storm raging outside, the touching story of the four dear sisters carried me to tears again. No, it wasn't Beth's untimely death that provoked the flood. It was Jo's unforgiveness towards Amy after the younger sibling burns her prized possession: her manuscript. After the incident, Marmee (their mom) admonishes Jo to forgive her sister and "not let the sun go down on your anger". Jo dismisses her mother's wise advice and allows the anger to fester. Later, when they go ice skating, Jo knows that Amy didn't hear the warning about the thin ice and doesn't inform her or even stop her as she glides out toward danger. If you haven't read the book (which is a shame and you really should read it even if you're a guy) I have to tell you that Amy falls through the ice but is saved (thank you Lauri) and there is sweet reconciliation between sisters. Jo, though still prone to rash behavior, never again lets the sun go down without forgiving.

That's when I started crying.
No one else knows the anger, bitterness, envy or secret grievances we carry around with us.
No one knows when we go to bed, night after night, angry for real or perceived wrongs.
Sometimes, people can guess by words we say or how we respond to certain situations, but no one really knows.
Yet, that anger or unforgiveness or envy or jealousy or whatever we harbor, festers like an infected wound.
Sometimes those around us are hurt by it, but most often, we're the ones who suffer the most from our unforgiveness.

Friday, a beautiful young soul was lost in a tragic car accident. There was no warning. No time to say goodbye or one last I love you or please forgive me. One moment she breathed oxygen, the next she stood with her Savior in another world.

The older we get the more obvious it is that life is short and unpredictable. Each day begins and you have no idea how it will end...sitting together in front of another episode of Mythbusters or mourning over a casket.

Forgive while you can.
Say I love you while you're able.
Don't let the sun go down on your anger.

Suspended Time

Snow falling, tiny flakes blowing horizontally out my window I contemplate another week. Five to eight inches expected with high winds today and tomorrow. Gray, cloudy skies, every object covered in white, this monochromatic world stirs a longing deep within and makes me both sleepy and fully awake...time suspended.

Playing under the eaves in the attic, I'd don dress up clothes and create my imaginary home. Complete with invisible husband and child I'd play house. Arranging furniture, cooking, speaking with a foreign accent, creating both crisis and resolutions, whiling away hours in my own world I lived contently.

All grown up and on the cusp of my 44th birthday I long for the days under the eaves. And yet, I wouldn't go back if I could.

So what do I pine for from my youth?

Certainly I'd love the energy, stamina and smooth soft skin again.

I'm glad I know more and have experienced more-both the good and the bad.

Perhaps it's the magic and wonder.

Or maybe simply the time to explore and get lost in my own imagination.

Or the daily discovery of life.

But that's still all right here, right at my fingertips.

It's not chronological age that hampers me.

My dad never stops learning and digging and wondering.

And I often see my mom filled with awe.

Tears sting my eyes when I'm lost in a moment with beautiful music or walk through trees covered in hoar frost or contemplate the deep lasting true love of my husband or connect on a heart level with one of my kids or experience the joy of seeing God at work.

All that beauty that stirs my heart points me to a different kind of grown-up life... one that will never end.

"I have seen the burden God has placed on us all. Yet God has made everything beautiful for its own time. He has planted eternity in the human heart, but even so, people cannot see the whole scope of God’s work from beginning to end. So I concluded there is nothing better than to be happy and enjoy ourselves as long as we can." Ecclesiastes 3

**Under the Eaves by Henri Matisse**

Laughing at the days to come...

If you read this blog with any regularity you know I'm always wanting more in this life...searching for deeper purpose and meaning...longing for more intimacy in relationships...striving to be everything God intends me to be.
Well, I'm not a New Years Resolutions kinda gal. Never have been and really don't know why. I just know I'm not. But when my friend Jennifer wrote about a "word for the year" my interest was sparked. Coming up with a single word for the year doesn't feel like a resolution to me but a focused call to more. Yeah, a focused call to more...I want that.
Thinking, praying, reading and trying to come up with the right word here are a few of the ideas traversed:

fearless
willing
kind
verbal
Integrity
silence

Reading through the book of Proverbs the other day, I inevitably came to the 31st chapter. The last part of the chapter is about "The Woman of Nobel Character". If you're not familiar with it, click here. Sometimes I read about this chick and I'm in awe. Sometimes envious. Sometimes convicted. But most of the time she completely annoys me. I mean, what's she doing making the rest of us look bad? She basically never sleeps, keeps a perfect home, is an amazing friend, savvy business woman and wise mother. Oh please. So, does the writer really have a wife like this? Maybe he combined all his different wives best traits and came up with this picture? Or was he observing someone elses spouse? Perhaps he's writing to one of his wives for some sort of ancient Mother's Day?

When I finally got over my annoyance with Little Miss. Perfect Proverbs, I started truly rereading the passage with an open mind. The phrase "she laughs at the days to come" struck me. Since turning 40 I don't laugh at all about the future. I worry about the days to come...that our society will collapse, that we'll be broke, that something will happen to my kids, that I'll experience pain unimaginable, that I'll have to work until I'm 80, that we as Christians will face growing persecution.
Why can she-this mythical, perfect, supermom/wife- laugh at the coming days and I cringe?
Because she won't lose her outward beauty? A few phrases later the writer says "charm is deceptive and beauty fleeting; no, wrinkles will crop up and everything else will drop down and she will, like the rest of us, succumb to the effects of gravity.
So why can she laugh?
Financial security? Maybe she's got enough in her 401K's to relax and travel in her old age?
The fact that both her husband and children love and respect her?
Does she throw her head back in abandon because she doesn't care what anyone else thinks anymore--is she an early version of a Red Hat--it says she's wearing purple.

The only indication of why she can laugh at the days to come* is implied in the phrase immediately prior: she's clothed with strength and dignity.

strength
physical power: the physical power to carry out demanding tasks
emotional toughness: the necessary qualities required to deal with stressful or painful situations source of support: a source of strength or support

dig·ni·ty [ dígnətee ]
self-respect: a proper sense of pride and self-respect
seriousness in behavior: seriousness, respectfulness, or formality in some body's behavior and bearing
worthiness: the condition of being worthy of respect, esteem, or honor

I know a lot of women who are clothed with strength and dignity as defined above but not all of them laugh at the days to come. Upon reflection, the ones who seem to face the future with a smile have two common denominators: they've accepted their age(or aging) and they're not worried about physical provision for the future.
That touches on something tough for me, something I have a hard time admitting and harder time writing. I feel so shallow. But somehow as I look at the future my fears boil down to aging and money. It's ridiculous, really. And I know it. All the money or physical vigor in the world doesn't ultimately lead to security. Just like more friends doesn't mean less loneliness.
When I dig a little deeper and get honest with myself, it's not really about looks and money, but security which in turn, for me, points to a serious lack of trust.
God's been with me before, but somehow I fear He won't be with me later or He'll be with me, but what He leads me through will be too much.

Ok, I'm starting to ramble.

Sorry. I guess I'm still sorting out more than I thought.

Back to the word for the year thing. I heard someone described once as being curious but not adventurous. That's an apt phrase for me, I believe. Curious? Yes. Adventurous, risk-taker? Ummm, not so much.

So, I think my word of the year will be "yes". To answer in the affirmative to whatever comes my way this year. To not just survive or put up with life, but embrace whatever Providence places in my path... without fear...in trust... in hopes that a smile or even a laugh might come along with it.


*The Message: "she faces each day with a smile."
New Living Translation: "she laughs without fear of the future."

artwork: Calvin & Hobbes by Bill Waterson

Joy

I held the song book for her but there's no need; she can't read or even speak the words anymore. Her hand felt soft and warm in mine. I smiled and she squeezed my fingers. Her eyes lit up as she heard the familiar strains on the piano. Immediately she hummed the tune. She closed her eyes, the edges of her mouth slightly curved in a little smile while she continued humming along. She remembered the song note for note. As we sang, the words fell fresh on my ears.
"Let every heart prepare him room."
She can't speak and doesn't remember or understand enough about her faith to articulate it, yet, as she smiled and hummed it seemed obvious to me that her heart not only had room for, but was praising her Savior, Jesus.
I sat and listened to her and looked around at the Christmas tree in the corner and the wreath adorning the door and remembered how she loved Christmas. Each year she lovingly decorated the tree, put out her Christmas village, the nativity set and her collectible carolers. Powdered crescent cookies and homemade peanut butter cups covered her counter and apple cider with cinnamon red hots perked away while she prepared to celebrate the Holiday with family and friends. She didn't treat any other holiday with this much attention to detail or tradition or care. Christmas was special to her. She once told me that Easter felt solemn because of the weight it carried--the fact that Jesus had to die for her sins overshadowed the fact that He also rose again. No, the joy of Easter was dampened by the death on Good Friday.

But Christmas, well now, Christmas was a truly Holy Day that was all happy and good. A precious baby here to save the world, now that was a joyful occasion.
As we watch her, week after week, slipping away, it's comforting to get little glimpses like this. To remember who she was and what she loved and to listen to her hum a Christmas carol. God hasn't left her or forsaken her. He's still her salvation even as she slowly loses mental and physical ground. He not only accepts, but loves her simple, unencumbered hummed offerings. Her joy seems pure.

Let every heart prepare Him room...may all our hearts be open and ready to receive Him in pure Joy.
.

In Between

Earth's crammed with heaven, And every common bush afire with God: But only he who sees takes off his shoes. ~Elizabeth Barrett Browning

On the cusp of dawn, leaving the night behind, but not quite daybreak.
The in between.
Mysterious. Dark and light mingled and entwined and, for a few brief moments, inseparable.
Wide awake during the in between, praying, thinking, I strangely had a flashback to college.
Religion 101. Junior year--yes I realize that is late in a college career to take a general course and the registrar and prof were not happy with me, but I was and still am of the opinion that the point of a liberal arts education is to have a diverse, balanced course of study all the way through school...ok, sorry about that...stepping off my soap box now and back to the blog... Religion 101...junior...oh yeah...
Willis P. De Boer. Close to retirement, lanky with what I thought at the time were unusually long appendages (now I know that it's just part of being Dutch) and a slight brogue, he gestured with those far reaching fingers and said we were the in "the already but the not yet".
The already but the not yet.
The in between.
Like seeing a mountain range far off we recognize the majesty and vastness, but don't really begin to understand their scope until we travel into them. The view is different from the foothills to the passes to the mountain tops to the high plateaus. Discovery is around every corner and rarely looks the way we expected it to.
When Jesus came to earth, He ushered in God's Eternal Kingdom. It's already here. But as is painfully obvious, the fulfillment of that Kingdom seems forever in the future with, at times, little evidence of its existence. For the past 2000 years we, the human race, have been journeying through the mountains of the already but the not yet.

Oh, we're in awe of the beauty and rugged delicacy. But we're fickle people and even the majesty of the mountains becomes mundane and all we see are the rocks and foot falls. Sometimes we're fearful that any misstep could lead to disaster. Not always aware that what we're in is so much bigger than us, we continue on.

I know I've felt lost in the mountains...in the in between. Caught in the middle...wanting desperately to get through or at least to a peak so I can get a bigger view and maybe see how much farther there is to go. Caught. Between night and day.
But then there are those moments, when beauty or art or music or communion with loved ones, or acts of kindness and generosity, or the realization of sacrifice transcends what we can grasp and is something felt not thought, and we get a glimpse of the already but the not yet. Signs of the coming dawn.
Life in the in between.

***forgive mixing metaphors and being a bit melodramatic...remember I wrote it in the wee hours and after reading Bronte.***

1st Day

Nine months pregnant and two other little ones in tow, I didn't cry when he went off to Kindergarten. He was ready and excited and it was right.

When he climbed on the bus for the first day of high school, I didn't cry. But, I did worry...30 minutes away, not knowing anyone, all new school, teachers...Would he find friends? Would these years be happy or painful?

Would he make it?

Snapping pictures left and right as he made his way down the isle in his long navy robe at graduation, I didn't cry. So proud, so happy for him, and so filled with gratitude that my fears on the first day of high school were unfounded, I smiled and laughed but I did not cry.

He's not going that far away.

He'll be in the same town where he went to high school.

He knows a few people.

He's confident and fun and I have no doubt he'll be fine.

But home will feel so empty.

He's funny and quirky and kind.

He leads with quiet strength and conviction.

His "collection" of energy drink cans and numerous pairs of old Asics will be left behind as he moves ahead.

I know he'll come home again to visit...but it will never be the same.

It's good it won't be the same...his independence is something Brad & I have worked towards and prayed for and hopefully he's prepared.

But the change feels profound and hurts.

And tomorrow, after we've unloaded all his clothes, shoes, computer, fridge, and books and said one more good-bye...I just might cry.

Dear Josh,
‘May the Lord bless you
and protect you.
May the Lord smile on you
and be gracious to you.
May the Lord show you his favor
and give you his peace.’
love, Dad & Mom
Numbers 6:24-26 (New Living Translation)

Mercy's Door

"A beggar poor at Mercy's door, lies such a wretch as I;
Thou knowest my need is great indeed, Lord, hear me when I cry." ~John Newton

Throughout my life of faith, grace (or rather Grace) has meant everything to me. The knowledge, belief and experience that Grace is real has been a bedrock for me. Grace: being given something I didn't ask for and don't deserve that's more than I could imagine. I've been given saving Grace, sustaining Grace, guiding Grace, forgiving Grace. It's all a gift.

Lately, another reality of God ignites my soul: Mercy.
Grace is all about Love...free, unconditional, pure, saving love.
Mercy has a quality that's different. Mercy suggests being spared from something. There's an element of judgement in Mercy that makes it even more wonderful. I deserve A but am shown Mercy and get B instead. Beautiful.

The words above by John Newton, who also composed "Amazing Grace", grip my heart each time I hear them.
I show up, beggar poor...nothing to offer, nothing to give...at Mercy's door. He opens the door and instead of sending me away empty handed or throwing me some scraps then slamming the door in my face, He invites me in. Essentially, because of sin, we're all strangers to Him. And yet, even as a stranger, because of His Mercy, He opens the doors wide open. He asks me to live there...in this place of Mercy.
But here's the thing, if I leave Mercy's door, I leave beggar poor once again. I can't go there, fill up and expect to distribute the wealth I've been given as if I were Father Christmas. No, I come a beggar, and if I leave, I leave a beggar. So often, we, as Christians talk about being "filled" in such a superficial way. It's as if you can tank up on God like you would gas and run for a while until you're empty then go back for more filling. He's not a cosmic gas station. I come to God with nothing and I leave Him with nothing.
The only way I can share His gifts...the only way to be "filled" is by staying at His Mercy Door and truly becoming a channel or instrument of His grace, love, forgiveness and mercy...not a distributor of it.


"I am the vine; you are the branches. If a man remains in me and I in him, he will bear much fruit; apart from me you can do nothing. If anyone does not remain in me, he is like a branch that is thrown away and withers; such branches are picked up, thrown into the fire and burned. If you remain in me and my words remain in you, ask whatever you wish, and it will be given you. This is to my Father's glory, that you bear much fruit, showing yourselves to be my disciples.
As the Father has loved me, so have I loved you. Now remain in my love. If you obey my commands, you will remain in my love, just as I have obeyed my Father's commands and remain in his love. I have told you this so that my joy may be in you and that your joy may be complete. My command is this: Love each other as I have loved you. Greater love has no one than this, that he lay down his life for his friends. You are my friends if you do what I command." ~the apostle John

Man of the Hour

"There is still no cure for the common birthday." John Glenn

For me, turning 40 was hard. I don't think it was the number, I think it was all the physical changes that occurred within weeks of the milestone: tiny wrinkles, visible veins where you don't want visible veins, dimmed eyesight, slowing brain etc... But despite all that, I've tried to embrace the 40's and three years later, there's a glimmer of hope that I'm progressing. Maybe by the time I hit 50 I'll have come to terms with 40.

The 40's are a thing of the past for you.

Today, you're turning 50.

And I know it's hard for you.

I don't know what to say to make it easier except to remind you that you are a loved man.

Your children look up to you and crave your words, attention and time from you because they value you so much.

Your siblings (including in-laws) appreciate your humor, talents, and steady character.

Your mom, even with her rapidly declining faculties, still knows when you're near and smiles.

Your parents in law adore you...and have told me again & again how thankful they are that you married their daughter.

Your friends see your wisdom & discernment and seek it out.

Your clients are in awe of your skills and proudly show off their homes naming you as the builder.

And your wife? Your wife is humbled again and again by the incredible gift given to her in all that you are. She wouldn't be the woman she is without your love, patience and encouragement. She thinks you're amazing.

You are loved, Brad.

Loved to the core of your being for all God's made you to be.

"I thank my God every time I think of you." Phillipians 1:3

My Town

Driving down the road I noticed the green leaves getting bigger and brighter by the day. Unleashed by the warm weather and gentle rains, the earth is alive with tulips, lilies of the valley, daffodils and flowering crab apples. Laughing, playing some combination of touch (with a little tackle) football, they only stopped long enough to move out of the road for the car. More were riding their bikes with baseball gloves & bats slung over their shoulders. Enjoying life in safety with freedom that few children today are able to experience. Kids on Sunday afternoon in my town.

Yep. My town.
For 18 years now (since April 25, 1992) this sleepy little Iowa village has been my town.
Slow paced...there's only a handful of stops signs and no lights in our town.
Odd habits...like the whistle that blows at 7 a.m., noon, 1 p.m. and 6p.m. every day.
Quirky people...like the man who rides his ancient bike at a poky pace everywhere-winter, spring, summer and fall-...or the neighbor who mows her lawn at least 3 times a week...or the guy who named his illness "Arthur".
We notice when something's different in our village...a change in someones house, a new vehicle, a new resident, visiting family.
We know one anothers habits. Like when we saw our elderly neighbors kids at her home on a Sunday morning when they'd normally be at church, we knew there was something wrong.
We know who runs in the morning and who runs everyday at 6 pm...we know the guy with the dogs.
We know who to call when we need advice with our plumbing or we want to know how to can applesauce or freeze sweet Iowa corn.
Emergency vehicle sirens are a rarity and usually cause for concern. No airplanes flying overhead, just a host of birds. The loudest noise we hear day or night, is the whirr of the dryers at the grain elevator.
I've witnessed this community come together to support people with ill children, people who've suffered loss and experienced tragedy. When it was time for a new library, the community united.
We still have a little parade to honor our veterans. We celebrate Flag day. And we make a big deal out of a new local swimming pool. Churches observe Lent together and share Vacation Bible Schools and youth groups.
Not everything in my town is perfect. I've witnessed abuse in this little town. I've seen marriages fall apart and families decimated. I've been judged in this town for how I live. I've felt like I didn't and would never fit in this small town.

But, then, do any of us fit anywhere?

There are days I'd give anything for a ten minute drive to Target (the nearest one is over an hour) or more choices in restaurants or simply anonymity.
But I'd be giving up so much if I left my little town.

No, my town is worth more than convenience.
And thankfully, after 18 years, I've embraced this quirky little midwest town with all it's oddities, absurdities, joys and see the richness of community that it holds so dear.

Letting go...

From the time we're born, we're letting go. From the cradle to the grave we let go of--well--eventually everything in our lives ending with our own bodies. We let go of ourselves...who we were, who we thought we were, who we thought we'd be. Hopefully, as we grow and mature, we let go of prejudices, dogmas, and judgements. We let go of people as they leave our lives through moves or choices or death. We let go of our children. We let go of dreams. We let go of homes, cars, clothes...all the stuff of life. We let go of the boxes we've built to hold God or people. We let go of the walls that either keep others out or ourselves in.
There are some things that aren't too hard for me to let go of, and others, the mere thought of giving them up makes me panic. Yet, eventually, all will be stripped away. Will I willingly let it go or will it be taken?
My kids will grow up and leave. They, hopefully, will find loving spouses and establish homes of their own. Will I let them go? I have three teenagers right now (soon to be four) and it always surprises me what I have a hard time letting go of in regards to them.
My heart's heavy this morning as I continue to let go.
But not just letting go of my kids, but of wrongs (real or perceived) committed against me, of hurts new and old, of words spoken to me and words I've uttered, of mistakes filled with shame, of past choices that I'd do anything to change...
Letting go is filled with fears for me...
fears that wrongs will go unpunished...
that healing will not come...
that reconciliation is beyond hope...
that mistakes made may be irrevocable...
So much fear.
And yet, in the end, there is no choice but to let go; to let other people's "stuff" be theirs and not take it on myself.
I'd love to end this post with a nice little happy Bible verse or cliche or meaningful song, but the truth is, letting go is just something you have to do whether it feels ok or brings any sense of comfort or relief or not and all the words in the world can't make it any easier.

***Brad just read this and said "That's what Jesus did. He willingly let it all go."

Too much. Not enough.

I'm too much...

too emotional.

too needy.

too overpowering.

too up.

too down.

too aware.

and at the same time a deep nagging sense of being not enough...

not smart enough.

not pretty enough.

not happy enough.

not faithful enough.

simply... not enough.

I'll always be too much for people and not enough.
In one sense, of course, that's not true. It's satan's ploy to render me helpless and hopeless (and frankly it works a lot).
But in a very real way, it is truth.
I am too much and not enough for other people. We all are.
There's a line from When Harry Met Sally (one of my all time favorite movies) where he tells her she's "High maintenance. Definitely. And the worst kind. You're a high maintenance who thinks she's low maintenance."
I really want to be low maintenance. I wish I was an easy going, baseball cap wearing, live life on the edge, carpe diem kinda girl. But I'm not. I'm a picky eating, obsessive, over analyzing woman who hates to sweat and looks lousy in a baseball cap.
But in truth, I'm not the only high maintenance human. As individuals, it seems we're all high maintenance. Men. Women. Children. We're all imperfect beings in desperate need.
Needing love, needing care, needing approval, needing acceptance, needing grace.
"But he said to me, 'My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.' Therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ's power may rest on me." ~2 Corinthians 12:8-10
So here I am today, boasting in my frailty, knowing that He is the "author and perfecter" of my faith...resting in the fact that He loves me just as I am...all too much and not enough of me.
He loves you too, friend, just as you are...

Lasting Beauty

Charm is deceptive, and beauty is fleeting;
but a woman who fears the LORD is to be praised. ~King Solomon

Fleeting beauty...boy, don't I know it. Betrayed by the mirror, the tiny lines spreading like ripples on water, threaten to cover my whole face. And they will some day. Putting cream on my legs, I notice another kind of "line"; tiny blue veins creeping steadily toward my knees. My hands have wrinkles and age spots. I don't like aging. I don't like that I gain weight in odd places. I don't like forgetting things. I don't like the fact that now I'm not only near sighted, but need reading glasses!
We (okay, women, I'm including all of you, but maybe it's just me) spend vast amounts of time moisturizing, coloring, dieting, working out and deliberating over what clothes flatter us. Why? To look good. To feel good. To be our "best".
None of this is wrong or bad. But the other day, it struck me, as I was once again mourning my youth-or at least youthful appearance- that I have a hard time seeing my value beyond usefulness and outward appearance. If I'm not young or pretty or at the very least useful, what good am I? Before you start extolling all my virtues to make me feel better, please, I'm reflecting...asking questions...so come along and take time to evaluate how you see yourself.
Is it hard for you to age?
When you look to the future are you excited to age?
I recently asked a wonderful, godly woman in her 70's how she coped with aging-specifically physical aging. Her reply was honest and direct: "You don't have a choice but to accept it and keep living."
The Forsyte Saga, a novel by John Galsworthy, details the lives of several generations of the Forsyte family in England between 1886 and 1921. There's a part in it where a youngish widow is trying to marry off her step-daughter because they've been left with no money. In the attempt to engage Irene, her step-mother is at a ball dancing with a man (older than herself) that seems clearly taken with her. However, in the course of the evening, it becomes apparent that the man's intent is for the daughter, not the step-mother. ouch. The middle aged mother, embarrassed and heartbroken, whisks Irene away. The scene is so tragic to me. The step-mom is lovely and delightful and yet of little to no value because she's not as young or beautiful as Irene and she has no money or power.
Has that much changed since the novel was written in 1906?
Do we, women, know our value beyond our beauty or usefulness or ability to manipulate men?
Do other's honor us for aging...seeing the wrinkles, greying hair and varicose veins as signs of wisdom that comes from living?
Are we honorable women?
A friend who has lived in Africa now for several years, was talking about how there are not many older people in Nigeria, so when someone does live a long life, they're respected and revered. Our society, by contrast, has a long average life span yet everyone seems to use those years to try and look younger and feel younger and live even longer. Americans idolize youth.
I know we can have youthful hearts. I know we can keep learning and growing and experiencing life no matter our physical age. I know elderly women who have beauty beyond imagination. But does everyone mourn the loss of youth?

People, I'm pondering...reflecting...asking questions...of course I know I'm loved and beloved and valued for more than outward appearances (thank God)...but what motivates my actions and reactions? Am I an honorable woman? Are you? It's worth thinking about.


The LORD your God is with you,
he is mighty to save.
He will take great delight in you,
he will quiet you with his love,
he will rejoice over you with singing. ~Zephaniah

The Promise

It's spring fever. That is what the name of it is. And when you've got it, you want - oh, you don't quite know what it is you do want, but it just fairly makes your heart ache, you want it so! ~Mark Twain

Enveloped in white, the Iowa earth seems to breathe a sigh of relief as her winter blanket slowly melts away. Record snowfalls, frigid temps and seemingly endless days of low hanging gray clouds add up to a long, bleak, memorable winter.
But now...
the snow is melting.
the ground is showing.
the sun is rising earlier and setting later.
the season is changing.
the promise that there is life under the frozen ground is real.
this winter, I was fooled at times into thinking that spring would never come.
that the snow wouldn't melt and the icicles would become permanent fixtures stretching from my eaves to the ground.
the endless gray sky clouds blurred my vision and perspective.
we know that we know that we know that the seasons always change; that spring follows winter.
yet somehow in the middle of it all, we lose sight of facts and are dictated by appearances.
since we don't have x-ray vision we can't perceive the dormant plants nestled safely in their winter cocoons waiting to be called up from their subterranean homes into the light and air of a warm spring day.
all we see all winter is what's on the surface...snow and if there's not much snow, dirt.
but the promise is there.
buried under earth.
the promise of life.
the promise of renewal.
the promise of more than meets the eye.
hope.

Awake, thou wintry earth -
Fling off thy sadness!
Fair vernal flowers, laugh forth
Your ancient gladness!
~Thomas Blackburn