One...Two...Breathe...

This weekend's one thing: Say thank you.

It's not that we don't think it. It's that we don't always say it. And there's something more potent about saying it. There's something meaningful - to you and the person receiving - if you go out of your way. What if you didn't just say it but instead, you show it? What if you write a note by hand instead of an email? What if you call the person instead of sending a text?

This was a busy week. For many of us it was spent with family. Someone opened their home. Someone cooked. Someone cleaned or watched kids or played or made you smile.

Who can you thank? 

Not because you have to. Because you can. 

Give Thanks

I've explained before that I have a tradition with my friends. When we are struggling or stressed, we ask others to start an "I'm Grateful" day. There is something therapeutic and motivating about hearing the praises of others. Thanksgiving is our country's version of a Grateful day - regardless of where you are or what you've been through, it's a day set aside to give thanks. It's a day to pause and step back from the normal routine of life. But unfortunately, some routines can't be stepped away from. Sometimes you are in the midst of a struggle you can't put on hold. There is no pause button on divorce, unemployment or cancer. Those are the days when you need a little help. You need to hear the praise of others to help motivate and heal your spirit.

My family is in one of those seasons. Zoe can't put traction or spinal surgery on hold. My sister and brother-in-law can't step away from the hospital routine. There is no pause button. A Grateful day is in order and it just so happens, the entire US decided to join us! I may not be able to go to Australia, but praise doesn't need a plane ticket. (Look at that! Zoe is bridging international boundaries and she's never left her bed!)

So today, on Thanksgiving Day, these are a few things I'm grateful for...

iMessage
camera phones
Skype & FaceTime
AT&T myfi (I don't actually know what you call it, but this little white box means I can connect to the internet in the middle of a hay field)
Brynna's laugh
AJ's innocent spirit
Zoe's smile
real Dr. Pepper
Kleenex
warm socks
heating
indoor plumbing (it's cold out there!)
reading glasses
enough food to eat and share
my fingers (the keyboard is how I speak)
David's hug
Taylor
my dad's wisdom
my mom's heart
watching Brynna dance with Nia and Nala
Autum, Colby and Chassidy
snuggles with Miles
high heels
tall boots
biscuits & gravy
my girlfriends
grace
mercy
Jesus

(my list is CLEALY not in order of importance!)

So now it's your turn. Will you please list a few things you're grateful for? You can add it as a Facebook comment or here below. You can tweet them with hashtag #ImGrateful or you can take a pic and post them on Instagram. Just know that the more you praise, the more you help my sister (and everyone around you) do the same. The more you praise, the farther away the worries get. The more you praise, the more you see the good and the less scary the bad seems.

ps...this is not rhetorical. I'm literally asking you to literally post the things you're literally grateful for.
pps...this is not a writing contest. There is no great wisdom in my love for Dr. Pepper.
ppps...when you're done, share this post so my sister can see how many people all over the world are willing share their praise
pppps...I don't actually have another note. I just wanted to put "pppps". but while I'm here - What are you grateful for???

Good Word Wednesday

It's Thanksgiving break. For most people, that means a few days off. The temperature dropped considerably in most areas this week, and colder temps mean more time inside. If you're anything like me, there's one cure for time off when it's cold outside: a good book! I haven't read near as much lately as I'd like but that's mostly due to the 3 ft. blonde person I can't seem to shake. She's cute, but sitting quietly while Mama reads is not on her To Do list...ever. But I have read several good "time off" reads. Here's a few...

Cry No More is one of those books you don't want to end because it's so good, but you need it to end because you haven't slept in 2 days. The end of every chapter leaves you thinking "Well, I need to know what happens. I have to keep going now!" And this continues until about 3 am when someone pokes you and asks if you're ever going to turn off the light. (Or that's what happens at my house.) It's not new, but if you're like me, you heard it mentioned, filed it in the "I'll get to that one day" section of your brain and never have gotten to it. I'm telling you. Get to it.

The Secret Keeper is much the same. Not at all similar in story, but exactly the same obsessive need to find out what happens. The trick with this one is that you don't keep reading just because you want to know more, but because by the time one chapter ends, you are tempted to hate the character that in the last chapter you loved. I often give David the cliff notes of what I'm reading, and with this one he kept asking "so what's happening now?" and my answer was usually, "I'm not sure."

                                                         

If you don't have a little person dogging you at every turn, you might have the luxury of a few more minutes. If you do, and you want more than just one book, a trilogy is always fun. It cures that need for more because when you get to the end, there's another book waiting! (Until you get to the last book. I guess that logic only goes so far.) If a trilogy is what you seek, look no farther, friend. I mentioned Francine Rivers a few weeks ago. One of her most well-known pieces is the Mark of the Lion series. I felt like scenes from Gladiatorwere coming to life in my mind's eye. It's literally one of the best things I've ever read. Ever. And while I am not much for rereading something (I get bored when I know what's going to happen), these books I plan to revisit.

                                              

I hope your Thanksgiving is filled with love, laughter, gratefulness and a good book (or three)!

Not the Same Thing

It needs to be said. I'm sorry to be the one to say it, but it's necessary. For some of us, it's going to hurt. I'm warning you now.

Your dog (or other pet) is not a child.

There. I said it. I know at least 6 people have already stopped reading and 2 of them are drafting emails to tell me how insensitive I am. I'm not insensitive. I'm also not against having, caring for, loving and nurturing an animal. My dog is a member of our family. He makes me laugh and cry. I love him for being by my side for some of my darkest days. Miles goes on trips with us and snuggles in when we have movie night. Miles also goes outside to pee. He licks the floor and eats stuff out of the trashcan. Miles is a dog.

It's not that I'm against loving your pet. I love Miles. It's not that I'm minimizing the responsibility involved in caring for a pet. Pet owners do have to be willing to rearrange schedules and make accommodations that you otherwise don't have to do. I'm also not suggesting that pets don't add joy and comfort to our lives. When a tumor threatened my niece's life, it was Miles who made her smile again for the first time after surgery.

What I'm saying is that he's a dog, and it's best for him and for me to treat him that way. I don't know how many parents I've known who consider their dog their child only to one day have a child and then have a conflict of heart. Sadly, they often end up getting rid of the pet that was once so precious to them because he threatens what is now most precious to them. They pour the same obsessive attention on the child that they once did on the dog. And the result is that they force themselves to choose. If the dog is a dog, and the child is a child, no one has to choose. Are there instances where the dog isn't good with children or other extenuating circumstances? Of course. But let me ask...when was the last time you heard someone say "The baby was allergic to pet dander so we had to give the kid away"?

Dogs are dogs and kids are kids. They aren't the same thing. I spent a lot of nights potty training Miles not to poop in the house. That was NOTHING compared to months on end of night feedings with a newborn. I want Miles to obey, but if he doesn't, few other than me bear the consequences. If Brynna doesn't learn respect, she and everyone she comes into contact with will suffer. The implications are higher because she's a person who will affect other beings. Miles is an animal. Parenting a pet involves giving up a piece of your selfishness to accommodate another. Parenting a child involves giving up every selfish bone in your body to do what's best for that child regardless of how it affects you. I love my dog. I know you love your pet, but don't confuse the difficulty of motherhood with scooping poop in the backyard. I've done both. It's not the same thing.

Silver Linings Playbook

I never saw that movie. I actually don't really know what it's about. But I love the title. I want to live by that playbook. I want to take my cues based on the silver linings rather than the clouds.

My niece, Zoe, is in traction in a hospital in Australia. My sister is sitting by her bed and I'm not there. Zoe is in pain. Vikki is tired. Those are some dark clouds. And if all we look for are the clouds, there are more to be found. But if we look for the silver linings...what a better skyline that is. What a more beautiful sight!

The hospital they are in is set up differently than we understand in the US. You don't suffer your pain quietly and personally but laying right next to another child in their own pain. There is no private room with your own bathroom and place to lay by your baby's bed. There isn't space to take a moment to yourself to regroup, pray or cry. That cloud feels pretty dark and heavy. But if you look for it, there's a silver lining. That lack of privacy means you know the people around you. The day Zoe was admitted, she shared a room with two other kids. One little boy was undergoing chemo, so Zoe and Vikki could relate personally and give them encouragement. The other was just out of surgery similar to the one Zoe will have next week. Those close quarters meant that Vikki was able to talk to parents. Those conversations meant those kids were prayed for by people an ocean away. I prayed for them just this morning.

Sometimes a cloud feels darker because of when it rolls in. In the middle of the night when Vikki had just gotten Zoe calmed down and resting, a little girl was brought in to the room where Zoe is in traction. She needed constant supervision but her parents were less than concerned for those around them in such critical conditions. As you can imagine, Vikki initially responded with frustration at the effect their outburst had on Zoe. I have a "you wake her, you take her rule" and that's just on a Tuesday. But throughout the next day they got to know that little girl. They learned about her life and struggles. Vikki circled her bed in person, and I joined her prayer in spirit. They were able to be a little bright spot for her. They were a silver lining for her and she was one for them.

And my favorite silver lining of all... The night Zoe shared the room with two kids, one of them, Anthony, had complications from his fusion surgery. It's sad to see any child hurt. It's hard to not be able to help them. It was scary on a new level to see Anthony's pain knowing Zoe would have the same procedure. That cloud isn't just black, it's ominous. That's the kind of cloud that feels like it blocks out the sun. But God had the lining ready and waiting in the room down the hall. Zoe was moved into a room with a little girl named Rachel. Rachel is 12 and has paralysis and severe trauma as a result of a car accident years ago. Her family lives hours away, so they aren't at the hospital with her. She's been in rehab and under observation for so long that it's been arranged for Rachel to be able to go to school. That means that Rachel wakes up, go to school and then goes "home" to hang with the nurses in the afternoon. I could hear the heartbreak my sister felt as she described Rachel's situation. But where Vikki saw sadness, Zoe saw opportunity. Zoe may be in a hospital but she's a child. And children have a way of seeing what we can't. As they talked, Zoe asked Rachel where her mom is. When Zoe finally understood that Rachel was alone, her response wasn't pity. Her face lit up and she said, "Well that's great because my mom's here and she can help us with whatever we need!"

We see a little girl alone in a hospital. Zoe saw a friend to share with.
We are sad for a mom who has to watch her baby hurt. The girls just saw a mom being a mom.
We cry for what is. They smile at what can be.

Rachel is no longer alone. She visits Zoe in traction, and Vikki keeps tabs on Rachel's progress so she can answer when Zoe asks how she is.

When we look for clouds, we will find them.
When we look with the eyes of a child, we will see the silver linings.

One...Two...Breathe...

This weekend's one thing: God is bigger.


"Than what?" you ask. Bigger than whatever just popped in your head. Bigger than the thing you use as a trump card when you think no one, ever, could possibly understand or help. Bigger than the thing that's so big you don't talk about it and still it feels like it's consuming you. Bigger than the thing so small you think no one notices.

What if, just for these TWO days, you commit to sit the excuses on a shelf and think about ONE thing? What if you consider what could be if He really is bigger? What would change? How would life look different? What could you let go of or move on to? How would your thoughts change? 

Now, let me add a side note: I see you. You're thinking "If I were to accept He's bigger than my hurt and He doesn't take it away, then He does me no good. That's not a loving God." Have you ever seen a kid learn to ride a bike? When he falls, you are big enough to pick him up; you're able to take away the bike and drive him around for the rest of his days. But would he learn to ride that way? Does it make you less capable or less loving that you stay right by his side but let him learn through the skinned knees and bruised pride? It's actually harder. But you can do that for him because you're older, wiser, smarter, stronger, bigger.

God is bigger.

...than cancer and surgery and a little girl I love hurting so far away.
...than whatever it is that you think He's not bigger than. He's bigger than that, too.

God is bigger. 

Try it. For just two days. Look at everything you think and feel through the lens that even THAT - God is bigger than.

Who Holds Tomorrow

My niece, Zoe, is a survivor. Not like in the dreamy "little girls are resilient" way. Like in the Zoe kicked cancer in the face way. We walked through some really dark days a few years ago. My family held hands and we prayed all the way through the valley of the shadow of death - literally. As I walked to Zoe's hospital room one day, I asked the nurse what the colored signs on the doors to the right and left of Zoe's were for. She explained that the signs alert hospital staff that the tiny, precious patients in those rooms are near death. It was a silent way of reminding people who entered to be sensitive to the broken hearts inside. It was also a silent reminder that death literally knocked next door. So we prayed and cried and prayed and cried. Through chemo and radiation and puke and fear. And still holding hands, we slowly but surely, walked out the other side, led by a little bald head who now, 5 years later, has long, blonde hair.

Her head is no longer bald and her nails aren't chipped from drugs - they are usually painted a sparkly shade of pink. But rarely do wounds heal without leaving scars and aftereffects in the wake. For Zoe, that lingering damage is in her back. The tumor wrapped around her spine and that area of her body has tried to compensate for the trauma by compressing and turning inward. Her spine has curved and isn't allowing her to stand or walk straight, which is affecting her organs, hips and more. So today, Zoe is back in a hospital. After today's surgery, she will remain in the hospital in traction and, then in a few weeks, she will have a second surgery to fuse the vertebrate that have died.

Zoe is scared. Her mama and daddy are scared. Her grandparents and her Aunt Gigi are scared. And if her Aunt Gigi can be candidly honest for a moment: I'm so sad. I'm sad she has to feel one second of pain. I'm sad I'm an ocean away and can't sit beside my sister and say nothing. I'm sad that some of the childlike faith of a little girl in Zoe has been replaced with hurt. I'm sad that I can't hug her and hold her and tell her I love her. I'm sad I won't be there when she wakes up. I'm sad someone else will hold the pink bucket when the anesthesia makes her sick. I'm sad someone else will paint her nails and blow bubbles to take her mind off what's happening. I'm so sad.

I'm also speechless at how good God is. That may sound an odd thing to you in the midst of the sorrow I've described, but the truth doesn't change with our situations. The truth is the same when we're up and when we're down. And the truth is: God is good. He doesn't want Zoe to hurt anymore than I do. He loves her more than I or her mom or dad, even, could imagine loving her. He has surrounded her with a family who would walk through fire for her. And we will. And just like last time, He will go before us. A sweet new friend approached me Sunday to ask for specifics about Zoe's situation. I shared a bit and thought it overly compassionate when she started crying. But then she told me why. She told me that while we don't really know one another, she felt compelled to fast and pray for my family. After I talked to a friend this morning in another city, she prayed with a group of women I will never meet. God was paving the path before I knew how bumpy the walk would be. My sister and her family live in Adelaide, Australia. While they aren't close enough for my family to be there every day, my brother-in-law's family is, and they are. And that means that even though I'm not beside my sister in the waiting room, God made sure she's not alone. Some friends "happened" to have a business trip that took them to Adelaide last week, and my mom and dad will arrive soon. God is in the details. He knows our need before we know to ask for help. Even when we don't understand, God is good.

Does it mean I'm not sad? No. My heart feels like it's in pieces and some of them are on the other side of the world. Does it mean any of it's easy? Not at all. But does it mean we have hope beyond what we feel? Yes. A million times, yes!

Because as I trust Him even when the sadness leaves me empty, God fills the void with joy and peace.
It doesn't mean I know what tomorrow holds. It means I know who holds tomorrow.

May the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace as you trust in Him, so that you may overflow with hope by the power of the Holy Spirit. (Romans 15:13)

Good Word Wednesday

I recently finished Unbroken: A World War II Story of Survival, Resilience, and Redemption. As a writer, I was amazingly impressed with the author's ability to weave a story spanning continents and generations from the notes she read in journals and gathered in interviews. (She also wrote Seabiscuit, soooo she's kind of awesome.) Oh, and did I mention it's true? Every word. So she not only had to make the story compelling to read but remain completely factual out of respect for those represented.

But as inspiring as the writing is, the story is what made me unable to put Unbroken down at night. Here's an excerpt of the book description:

On a May afternoon in 1943, an Army Air Forces bomber crashed into the Pacific Ocean and disappeared, leaving only a spray of debris and a slick of oil, gasoline, and blood.  Then, on the ocean surface, a face appeared. So began one of the most extraordinary odysseys of the Second World War. ... The lieutenant’s name was Louis Zamperini.  In boyhood, he’d been a cunning and incorrigible delinquent...  As a teenager, he had channeled his defiance into running, discovering a prodigious talent that had carried him to the Berlin Olympics.  But when war had come, the athlete had become an airman, embarking on a journey that led to his doomed flight, a tiny raft, and a drift into the unknown. ... Ahead of Zamperini lay thousands of miles of open ocean, leaping sharks, a foundering raft, thirst and starvation, enemy aircraft, and, beyond, a trial even greater.  Driven to the limits of endurance, Zamperini would answer desperation with ingenuity; suffering with hope, resolve, and humor; brutality with rebellion. Telling an unforgettable story of a man’s journey into extremity, Unbroken is a testament to the resilience of the human mind, body, and spirit.

It's not even so much the story but this man - with character we all want to possess and flaws we all have, too - that compels you to keep reading. How often we face challenges far less extreme but feel like giving up or giving in. Louis Zamperini should have crumbled and died time and time again. But instead, his life became a story of hope for millions of people - hope that we all have access to, if we choose to smile in the face of tragedy, believe in times of fear and hope with every breath.

Why My Daughter's Not A Princess

We have the same crazy infatuation with princesses at our house as you do at yours. We have Barbie princesses and Disney princesses. We have princess dresses and princess tiaras. We have cars named after princesses - my Jeep is named "Belle"; the car is named "Snow White." And, of course, we have every princess movie known to man (or girl). The one thing we don't have is a princess who lives here. You won't hear me call her princess because she doesn't get to act like a princess - not in the way the word has come to be known.

They say she gets her way; I say she goes out of her way.
How dare we raise a generation of girls who think so solely of what they want that they miss the needs of those around them. How dare we take what's best about being a girl - our hearts - and turn them inward instead of outward. We were designed to love and care for people. It's what makes us great. How dare we teach our daughters that their wants come before someone's need.

They say she's beautiful to look at; I say she's beautiful.
I never want Brynna to look in a mirror and think that what she sees is less than a work of art. I never want her to think that the way she looks defines anything about her. If her long lashes break off, if her blonde hair falls out, if her skin isn't smooth as porcelain...I never want her to think that changes her worth.

They say she's the object of a man's affection; I say she's the object of God's affection.
This is not a feminist argument, although one can easily be made, that a woman's value is not rooted in how a man feels about her. I actually believe that whole-heartedly. The love of no (hu)man can heal a hurting heart. No earthly sacrifice - no matter how big - can save a broken soul. There is nothing on earth that can satisfy the deepest longings in her heart. When Brynna reaches the age of searching, when she starts looking for something to fill her life with meaning, I never want her to think she has to chase the affections of a boy. I hope she gets to experience the joy of being loved fully and completely by another. But until she understands her place as the object of God's affection, she won't be able to accept love from any other source. My job is not to teach her how to turn eyes. My job is to teach her to focus her eyes on one place only, no matter who's looking.

They say she's sweet; I say she's bold.
"There is nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other people won't feel insecure around you." You are unique. You are smart. You are strong. It takes courage to stand in who you are. You have to be bold to influence others rather than letting them sway you. What a disservice I would do to her if I let her think she needs to lessen who she is to gain acceptance.

They say she's special; I do too.
There is one person who does call Brynna princess. He's the same person who calls me princess. He's the man who is unconditionally committed to loving, protecting and providing for us. He's the man whose compliments come with no strings attached. He's the man who will model for her what it means to be loved and respected by a man. He loves her not for what she can do for him but simply because she's his. And if she gets that, deep down in the quiet places of her heart, it will help her to understand that she is also loved by God not for what she does or doesn't do but simply because she's His.

We have a saying at our house. Every now and then, I ask Brynna, "Do you know why I love you?" Her answer is always "because I'm yours."

And she's His. My daughter's not a princess. She's the daughter of a King.

It's my job to teach her that.

What matters matters

This weekend's challenge was to focus on the question: Does it matter? I'm not going to say that I brought it on myself, but....I may have brought it on myself. I practically begged the craziness out of the corners. And by "craziness" I, of course, mean Brynna Grace. Who, this weekend, I affectionally (not really) referred to as GoGo the dancing monkey.

GoGo has been asking to set up the Christmas tree since October. I held her off as long as I could but decided we would decorate before we leave for Thanksgiving so it's done when we return. I made the comment that we would ask Daddy to get the boxes down from the attic over the weekend. Apparently my child's understanding of a week is defined similarly to a college student, and the weekend now starts Thursday night. David didn't get his work clothes changed before she was dragging him up the attic ladder. They retrieved the few bins in that part of the attic, but he told her he would get the rest above the garage the next night. People. She sat on the tubs "to be close to them." Friday was the same song different verse. You'd think she was at the circus with the squeals and excitement, but no. Just going up and down the attic ladder. It was around this time that GoGo lost complete control of her senses. We started opening the boxes of Snow Village figurines, and she tore into them so quickly we had to take them away. She was allowed to look as we removed them from the packaging but that turned into talking to them, which led to them talking to each other, which led to them saying hi to each other, which meant glass and ceramic family heirlooms were banging into each other in the hands of a madwoman. Have I mentioned my OCD issues? Have we discussed that I need things to be done in order? DOES ANYTHING SOUND ORDERLY ABOUT THIS? No. I had to walk away. We all had to walk away. Fast forward to Saturday morning when I'm greeted with "Mommy, I don't need breakfast or milk today. Can we just set up the Christmas tree?"

I want it to be fun and exciting; I do. I want to take advantage of her excitement and celebrate her joy. But Oh. My. Gosh. We first had to finish Snow Village after abandoning ship the night before. A note about Snow Village for those uneducated as I was: these are hand-crafted ceramic buildings, people, etc that when set up together, form a village. They light up, you add "snow" and a winter wonderland forms in your living room. (Or in our case, David's office that will be out of use for the next month and a half. Sorry, babe.) David's family started collecting them when he was little. The boys got to pick buildings to add, and when we got married, David's mom split the collection between David and his brother. Not only are they expensive, but they've been a part of most every Christmas of David's life.

As "snow" was flying through the air (literally - she wanted it to snow in the room so she didn't just place the batting on the table, but threw it), I had to stop. One...Two...Breathe. Does it matter that we have to vacuum this room (again). No. Does it matter that Snow Village doesn't look the way I would have arranged and decorated it on my own? No.

After the Snow Village fiasco, we moved on to the tree. But before you can put ornaments on a tree, you have to put tinsel/ribbon/SOMETHING around it. Before you can do that, you have to place the star on top. Even after those things are done, you have to carefully unpack the ornaments. The past several years, I've done a "pretty" tree (matching ornaments, ribbon, etc) vs. one with sentimental ornaments. Before I could decide the theme/plan for the tree, Brynna had half the family ornaments spread on the coffee table. Does it matter what the tree looks like? No. Does it matter that I didn't get to plan a "vision" in my head before being in the midst of doing it? No. Does it matter there are no fancy bows, flowers or accessories? No.

While I was finishing the ribbon on the tree, Brynna moved on to looking through tubs and found the stockings. We have 4 stockings - David, me, Brynna, Miles (the dog). When I say she put them up for 45 minutes, I'm being conservative. She would hang them, step back and admire her work (out loud, of course), then she would taken them all down and repeat. Over and over and over. She tells me she was practicing. I have no idea for what. Is there a stocking hanging competition I don't know about? Is there a meet? Do you get a medal? I'm so confused. And so annoyed. I said it - annoyed. If you need state secrets from me, no need to get drastic. Just have someone do the same thing over and over in front of me. I'll crack like an egg. But when I took a step back (and away. I had to leave the room for a minute), I asked: does it matter? Is she hurting anything? No. Is it damaging the stockings, mantle or step ladder? No.

We eventually got ornaments on the tree, and that's about it. It goes against everything in me to post this for the world to see, but this is my living room currently. It's looked that way all weekend. When I posted the challenge to concentrate on ONE thing for TWO days, I meant theoretically. I didn't know I would be walking through the middle of chaos. (It's always easier to SAY you'll do it than actually DO it, huh?)

The question you're all wondering...did GoGo the monkey ever stop dancing? No. Does it matter? Yes. THAT does matter to me. Greatly. More than a tree or a messy house or family heirlooms, it matters that Brynna is excited for Christmas. It matters that she is free to express her excitement and joy. It matters that she knows I am willing to let her. It matters that she's so proud of the tree and Snow Village and tells everyone that "Mommy and I did it together!"

She doesn't look at this weekend and think it was hectic or irritating. She thinks it was fun. She thinks she created something beautiful. And she did.

That matters.

What matters to you? And/or what doesn't? 

One...Two...Breathe...

What if...for two days...rather than trying to answer all the questions about all the things, what would happen if you focus on one thing?

This weekend's one thing: Does it matter?

the laundry isn't done
I need to call her back
I have to pick it up by 5pm
legos are EVERY.WHERE.
every blanket in the house is being used for a fort in the play room (or I'm told that's what it is)
I will have to refold all of those blankets
we need groceries
she looks like she dressed herself (bc she did)
he's taking forever
she's SO LOUD
that's not even the right words to the song
I can't believe she said that on Facebook
I'm mad he didn't notice
the floor is dirty
the house is a mess
I'm a mess


Does it matter? If it does, do it and do it well. If it can wait, if it won't hurt anyone, if it doesn't mean imminent death...does it matter? Really? Then let it be...just breathe...

Shallow Depth of Field

Years ago I started a challenge with a group of photographers. I wanted to capture with words what others capture so beautifully with a camera. Sometimes that's easier said than done, especially when I have no idea what the photography term is! I found a zillion gorgeous pictures and explanations, and as I understand it, the depth of field is the part of the picture that's in focus. You can see a lot through your camera lens, but shallow depth is when all the background stuff gets blurry to focus all the attention on the intended subject. Now THAT, I can relate to.

I've been up and moving since 5am. I've run from one place to another and only just got home. I set a goal to write each day, so I ran in to the computer to meet my day's deadline before hurrying to get dinner ready. I've yet to be able to complete a coherent thought, though. The conversations and remaining items of the day's To Do list are running through my head. I'm thinking about what I need to do tonight and what all has to get done tomorrow. I'm distracted but the fact that I have a lesson to teach Sunday that still needs work. I'm well aware that the dogs haven't eaten AND I REALLY NEED TO PEE. In the midst of my crazy brain ramblings (and nature callings), Brynna keeps interrupting and asking me to play with her. In full disclosure, I brushed her off once and told her to wait another time. I've shushed her more times than I can count. And then I turned to see what she's doing. She's playing with the Playmobil Nativity set she got last Christmas. She's talking to the tiny lego-like figures of Mary, Joseph, Jesus, wise men, angels, etc.

Insert that sound in movies where the scene comes to a screeching halt.

As though the lens in my camera focused suddenly and everything in the background became a blur, I saw my daughter, sitting on the floor, focused on nothing more than talking to Jesus.

How is it that a 4-year-old gets it so much better than we do?
I don't have the answer to that, but I know I'm going to take a note from her playbook. My depth of field just got real shallow. (I'm sure that's very butchered photography speak. Whatever. Go with it.) If you need me, I'll be sitting on the floor, letting everything else take a backseat for a moment while I talk with Brynna and Jesus.

The Great Divide

I knew it was inevitable. I knew it would happen eventually. The older Brynna gets, the more sure I've been of it's inescapable arrival. It's been happening in little ways over time but never to the extent that it was so glaringly obvious. Now is different. Now we've reached the day (the first of many), the point (with more to come), the great divide when she had to pick a side. Do what Mom says? Or do what everyone else does?

We had lunch with friends at Chick-Fil-A today. When we arrived, I told Brynna that she was not allowed to go into the play area until our food arrived, and she was finished eating. I reminded her that regardless of what another is allowed to do, that was the expectation we've always set and we will uphold it whether alone or with others. Brynna went to find us a table, and I ordered at the counter. When her friend arrived, she called Brynna to come play with her. Brynna explained that she had to wait until she was done eating. The friend suggested that she could come back out when the food came but just to play for a minute. Brynna said again that she couldn't. The friend asked if she was in trouble and that's why she had to wait. Brynna said no. Then, the friend reasoned, that since I wasn't there and she wasn't in trouble, she should play just until I came to the table. **I pause in the telling of the story to point out: I know every word they spoke because we were IN CHICK-FIL-A. I didn't leave the building. I was 12 feet away!** What I saw over the ketchup and napkins was maybe one of my proudest moments. It's a picture I will hold in my heart forever. Brynna obeyed. Brynna chose to do as she's been taught even though it's not what she wanted. She chose to say no to her friend to say yes to her mom. She was forced to do so, and she picked a side. In that moment, the divide that's been a little obvious for a few weeks became evident for all to see.

But here's the thing: before Brynna could reach her day of great divide, I've had to face hundreds of them. Before she could choose to obey when it was hard, I had to. Before she said no when everyone else was doing something different, I had to. Before she could show me what it looks like to trust the one in charge, I had to show her how. I had to be the mom who doesn't let her wear makeup when everyone else is allowed on special occasions. I had to be the mom who does her hair everyday even when she doesn't want to sit still. I had to be the mom who enforced the punishment even when it was  more work for me. I had to be the mom who got up and left when I said I would. I had to be the mom who took it away when I said I would. I had to be the mom who sat on the floor after each instance and explained not just what she did wrong but why she needs to do differently. I had to teach her that you obey not because of who's around but who you are. And I had to do it over and over and over again.

Hear my heart. This is not a dissertation about my friend or her little girl. This is not a judgement about the choices of other moms (We put enough pressure on ourselves. We don't need to add to one another's burdens.) , nor is it a commentary about the misbehaviors of kids. They're kids. That's what they do. We've been that kid, too. And we will have opportunities to learn by being there again.

This is a declaration from a proud mama!
This is a statement of truth - they will do what you do.
This is encouragement to keep going; they will learn what you teach.

But, moms, we have to DO. We have to TEACH. Every. day. When we feel like it and when we don't, when it's convenient and when it's not, when we've got the energy and when we feel like we don't.

I have to show her that I am willing to be the different mom so she has the courage to be the different girl. I have to stand on one side of the great divide so when she gets there, she's not alone.

Good Word Wednesday

I love historical fiction. No longer are you merely reading facts about war; you become deeply intertwined in personal experiences that changed the shape of people's lives. No longer is there a mental line between "me" in the present and "them" from the past. No longer is slavery an extraneous event in history that I can't relate to. Speculating what he thought or she did is an art form that makes feelings, pain and sorrow real. Drawing a picture with words gives an even more vivid illustration than a photo because it was painted on the vast plains of imagination in your mind's eye.

This is why I especially love biblical historical fiction. The Bible is full of stories about real women (and men) dealing with real problems. From adultery to addiction, there are stories of women who messed up, tried again, obeyed and overcame. They are not stories we can't relate to but stories we live each day. They are accounts of imperfect women who felt the same pain, brokenness and need that we do. By listening to what they may have felt or said, we can enter their situation and gain hope and healing for our own. These stories aren't fable. They are freedom if you let them be.

The pioneer of biblical fiction is Francine Rivers. I'll reserve a separate day for the book she's most known for because I plan to read it again in the near future. The books that taught me how to walk in the footsteps of women in the Bible are part of a series called A Lineage of Grace. It's a collection of 5 smaller books - Unveiled tells the story of a 14-year old girl named Tamar who's thrust into a marriage of abuse and betrayal, Unashamed is about Rahab - a prostitute, Unshaken is about Ruth - a widow, Unspoken is a saga of adultery, power and Bathsheba's love affair with a king, and Unafraid walks with an average girl named Mary who became more when God added some "extra" to her "ordinary."

If you are not a Christian, I promise you there's not a boring page in the book. And each one is super short. Try the first one and see if you can keep from reading the rest. They're like Girl Scout thin mint cookies. You can't have just one. :)

If you are a believer, the pages aren't just "not boring." They are life-giving. They will teach you a discipline that will change the way you read God's Word and understand His heart. Rather than just reading the Bible, you will learn to listen to it.

And I promise what it has to say is anything but ordinary.

Blessing Bags

We go to church at least twice a week, and to get there, we drive up a very busy street. Often, while stopped at a traffic light, we are asked for money or help. Have you been there? Did you respond? Dig in your purse? Look at your phone? Or did you even notice? I've been guilty of them all.

What you can tune out yourself, though, you can't ignore when you have kids in the car. Being a parent changes the game in every way. You are no longer just looking past someone's need, you are setting an example for your child to do the same. That conviction took about 37 seconds to sink in to my heart. I never want Brynna to learn to look past someone's need. I always want her to know that I am willing to make sacrifices for others and she should, too. And the irony of where we are usually headed is not lost. I never want to be in such a hurry to get to God's House to love people, that Brynna sees me pass silently by God's people who need love.

So we made blessing bags! I've heard people mention the idea before but never paid enough attention to what goes in them to do it myself. With a little research into organizations who work with the homeless, I learned of some mistakes often made:

• Don't put fragranced lotions or deodorants in the same bag with food or you end up with an anti-bacterial tasting granola bar. (We solved this by including a separate quart-sized ziploc with toiletries - right side of this photo - so they are separate from food items. We also put mints in this bag because no one wants a peppermint flavored raisin.)
• Don't put anything that melts or smashes easily (chocolate or crackers) - the bags will be in your car, and your car gets hot. Especially when you live on the equator also known as Houston, TX.
• Try not to include things that aren't self-contained and/or require utensils - although apple sauce is suggested even without a spoon.
• Don't add items already in supply (i.e.: soap and shampoo are available at most any shelter).
• Think about REAL needs, not just the first thing that pops in your head. Or the cheapest thing on the shelf. Gloves that come in a 6 pack don't keep hands very warm. Living on the street means a lot of walking. That makes socks a commodity. That means you don't want anything too heavy, bulky or awkward. It means you likely don't have access to dental care, so items too sticky or chewy are hard to eat. (There is a glaring exception to this rule: beef jerky. Everyone wants beef jerky.)
• Avoid items often included in bags that can be more harmful than helpful. Mouth wash includes alcohol. Some pain relievers are addictive. 
• The thing that stuck with me most was the request (by a Christian organization) not to include religious literature. One girl said, "Homelessness does not equal Godlessness. Don't assume anything. Trust that God was on the streets long before you came into the picture." 

With info in hand, we went shopping. And by we, I mean WE. Brynna did each part of the process with me - we shopped, we talked about why one item was better than another, we picked out stickers for the cards we'd make so the people had something special to keep. And when it came time to assemble it all, we spent a Saturday morning as a family making almost 40 bags. David and I assembled and BG made cards. Our finished products went in a large bag that now sits permanently behind the driver's seat of my car. When we see someone in need, I roll down the window, BG grabs a bag, and together, we give a little bit of what God gave us to someone else.

I've learned a lot through our bags, but two things especially:

1. God's got this. Each time BG pokes her little head out of that window, she says "This is for you! God has blessed you!" I started to correct her the first time, but now it's my constant reminder. Not God WILL bless you, but He ALREADY HAS. He sees their need, and He loves them enough to move us to help.

2. Searching is part of rescuing. We've been known to circle a block or do a u-turn because now we don't ignore a need, we seek it out. 

If you're interested, here's the list of what's in our bags and what I got at each store.
From Sam's:
socks (black)
water
fruit juice box
sweet and salty mix (although I learned my lesson and next time it will just be nuts - didn't realize there were M&Ms)
chewy granola bar
applesauce
beef jerky
fruit chews
peppermints
chapstick
bandaids
advil (individual packs)
gallon-sized ziploc bags

From Target:
razor
toothbrush set with toothpaste and floss
hand sanitizer
comb
kleenx
spoons
wipes

If you've done a similar project, leave a comment and tell me what you learned. If you know any other tips, tell me what you did differently.

Do Whatever

I had several separate and unrelated conversations with girls this weekend about knowing what God wants us to do. The question they asked and we all have is: How do I know what I'm supposed to do? We feel like we pray and ask God, and we still don't have a clear answer. Sometimes that's because we are waiting for God to write it on a neon sign but He rarely works that way. Usually it's because the answer is "whatever."

I strongly believe, and I know more than a few pastors who would back me up on this, that the conversation goes like this:
Me: God, what am I supposed to do?
God: Whatever
Me: But really, God, show me what to do.
God: Whatever you do, I'll...
Me (cutting off God - never a great idea): Why won't you answer me?! God, what do I do?!
God: Calm down, child. I've got you. Just trust me and take a step. Whatever you do, I'll take care of you.
Me (yelling bc clearly God is hard of hearing): God, do you not care how much I hurt?! Do you not see that I need help?! I'm asking - what do I do?
God (whispering bc He'll wait for you to listen but He doesn't yell): whatever...

I'm not making light of serious decisions and their consequences. I'm not suggesting everything is black and white. What I'm saying is that God cares less WHAT you do and more WHY you do it. He wants your heart. He's big enough to fix the repercussions. He wants you - all of you - your doubts and fears, your trust and faith, your strengths and weaknesses. He wants your heart.

So if you find yourself having this conversation with God, ask these questions:
What did God say?
Seek wise counsel, but if you don't know definitively, chances are the answer is: "whatever."
What do you want to do?
We rarely want what God wants, so if Option A seems much easier and more desirable, it's probably Option B.
Why do you not want to do the other?
If your reason for not wanting to act is fear, rebellion, doubt or discomfort, it's highly likely that's the very thing God is trying to help you overcome. But you've got to face it before He can overcome it. 
What happens if you do nothing? 
If you keep doing (or not doing) what you've done, you'll keep getting what you've gotten.
What happens if you act?
If you aren't sure, that's the space where faith begins. And God will always choose faith because He wants you - all of you.

"WHATEVER you do, whether in word or deed, do it ALL in the name of Jesus, giving thanks to God." (Colossians 3:17)

Do whatever, but do something. You'll miss 100% of the shots you never take.

Confessions

Sometimes the answer is no. No, I don't really want to stop what I'm doing to see the coloring page for the 12th time. No, I don't want to hear the song again. No, I don't want to glitter paint right now.

After giving BG a riveting speech about how bad it is to eat sweets before bed and cutting off her Oreo habit, I promptly put her to bed, poured a glass of milk and ate 3 chocolate chip cookies.

I've been adding minutes to the Ok to Wake clock (i.e.: the greatest invention ever made). It now turns green at 7:36. (Don't hate. You know 6 minutes can save a life. It can be the difference between a shower or not, peeing in private vs. with an audience, sanity or...the alternative.)

Of all the kids in all the world, sometimes I just stare at her and can't believe God lets me be her mom.

I don't care what you do in your room as long as you're in your room. And I'm not.

I wouldn't be mad if BG punched ***** on the playground. I'd teach her about appropriate behaviors and responses, but I wouldn't be mad. (*****'s name removed to protect the bratty 4 year old child who won't let kids play, is rude and encourages other kids to be rude, talks back to adults, pushes kids and is generally not a joy to be around. Also to protect me. I could explain Brynna punching someone on the playground, me - probably not.)


I realize my confessions run the gambit from sweet and loving to...well...threatening to punch a 4 year old. Welcome to motherhood. Welcome to being a girl, for that matter! Will you leave a comment and share some confessions of your own? No one is grading on eloquent words or justifiable feelings. It's ok to be real. If you can't be real, you'll go real crazy! (Been there, done that, have the meds to prove it!)

ps: I'm serious. Leave a comment. Or I may begin to feel like I'm the only one. Either that, or I'll know you're all leaving me high and dry, and I'll have to come find you on a playground!

One...Two...Breathe...

For many of us, the weekend is no longer a time of rest and refreshment from the week of work. Saturday and Sunday end up being even busier and sometimes more stressful than Monday - Friday. With laundry, cleaning, soccer games, birthday parties, work that spilled over, church...your brain can't focus on one thing before it's time to rush off to the next thing. But what if you only thought about one thing? What if you focused on one theme for the whole weekend? What if you didn't pressure yourself to keep up with all the things but, instead, meditated on one thing? This is my new weekend philosophy: What's possible if I focus on ONE thing for TWO days and BREATHE? That doesn't mean that the other things aren't still present and pressing, but think of them in light of the one thing. As much as we claim to be multi-taskers as women, our brains can't actually have more than one thought at a single moment. If you decide to focus on one thing, you momentarily free yourself from the other things. You make space to breathe. So rather than trying to answer all the questions about all the things, for these two days, what would happen if you filter every thought, emotion and action through that one thing?

This weekend's one thing: obey anyway.

When you contemplate the change of plans, don't worry about how and why and when and where...obey anyway.
When she tells you to do something, don't give excuses...obey anyway.
When you're scared...obey anyway.
When the mom at the birthday party drives you crazy...obey anyway.
When you're tired...obey anyway.
When you're even more tired that you thought you were capable of being...obey anyway.
When they make a mess...obey anyway.
When the laundry piles up...obey anyway.
When you have an excuse not to...obey anyway.
When you don't think you can...obey anyway.

I don't know what you're supposed to obey. Maybe it's to be present as a mom and not also on the phone. Maybe it's to do one thing at a time. Maybe it's to be willing to go where you don't want to go. Maybe it's to say no to what you want because you need to say yes to what's best for your family. Maybe it's to stop AND BREATHE.

As you sit at the 3rd soccer game of the day, don't let your mind wander to work or chores, meditate on the ONE thought obey anyway. And take a breath. What does that mean for you? What does it mean for your family? What do you need to obey that hasn't gotten much of your brain space lately? As you rush from a birthday party to the store to the dry cleaner, don't stress about the time or think about what else is on the To Do list. Think about the thought obey anyway. And breathe. How can you apply it right where you are right when you're there?

Summertime

When we first learned we were moving to DC, the first thing everyone asked was, "Do you know it gets cold there?" That was quickly followed by "It rains there. Do you know it rains there?" My response was the same each time - I've spent most of my life in the midwest, so I was excited to live in a place where there are distinct seasons. We don't have many white Christmases in Texas, and the trees have to get a break from scorching sun before leaves can change colors and fall. (Well, they fall. It's just a pile of dead, brown leaves. Not so picturesque.) I never did get used to the cold or like the rain, but I did enjoy seeing the beauty of the changing seasons. (And if clarification is needed: by changing seasons, I mean changing fashion seasons. Uggs to pumps to wedges to riding boots and back to Uggs...the circle of life according to Regina.)

What I know is what all those friends knew about me when they first asked the question. I'm a summer girl. I would much rather endure 120 degrees in the summer than 20 below in the winter. I will always be more happy in a tank top and shorts than layers of clothes under layers of coats. Because that's what I have to do to stay warm. [I'm] a tropical people. (That's a movie reference. I'll send a Starbucks gift card to the first person who can name the movie.)

What I also know is that living in DC gave me even more appreciation for what I love. Summertime is beautiful but it's that much brighter when it comes on the heels of a rainy spring. Summertime is warm but it's warmth is that much more appreciated when you have experienced the bitter cold of winter. You can love something and become so familiar with it that you take it for granted. When seasons of life change and shift away from what you prefer, remember that the dark times are the times that make the sun shine brighter when it returns.

Lay Down

I have a friend going through an extremely difficult trial. I absolutely hate knowing that someone I love hurts, and I can't make it better. But those are the times my prayers are most raw. Those are the times when I pray not out of obligation but out of the heaviness of my heart. My heart literally aches for her. I want to take away the pain and sadness, and I can't. There's no better place to know God than when you're helpless. It dawned on me today that she is not the only one hurting while loved ones stand nearby. And like my friend, you, too, may be holding that love at arm's length. It hurts to be wounded, but it's a pain like nothing else to let that wound be reopened. So we keep people at a distance who make us feel vulnerable. And that's what love does. It exposes a wound - not to cause more hurt but because you have to let Love see it, so Love can heal it.

One of my favorite stories in the Bible is in Mark chapter 2. I talk about it a lot not just because it's a great story; it's my story. It's about a man who was sick. He didn't have the flu; he was paralyzed. You can't really put make up on that and pretend everything is ok. It's visible. It's obvious. Everyone could see his problem, exposed for the world, and that he was helpless to fix himself. And sometimes we have to get to that place, too. That's why if you cover up the headaches, eventually they will become so debilitating that they can't be ignored. If you keep the abuse a secret, it will isolate you from the world. If you hide the turmoil in the marriage, it will grow until it feels like it will consume you. If you cover up the wound, the infection will continue to grow under the surface. Often, the infection has to become evident to others before we address it. This man's problem was clear. And a solution was no where in sight...to him.

When you're paralyzed, your viewpoint is limited to what you can see from your incapacitated position. From his mat, the man saw nowhere to turn. But his friends could see Jesus. From where they stood, they could see the answer that alluded their friend. But it's one thing to see the answer. It's another thing to get there. These men could tell the man about Jesus all day long. They could preach of other miracles he performed and people he healed. They could describe how great the man's life would be if he would go and let Jesus heal him. But all that talk would be meaningless to a man who can't move. He couldn't get himself to Jesus no matter how hard he tried or how bad he wanted to go. It was literally impossible for him to get to Jesus..on his own.

So the man did what we fight against so fiercely. He laid down, and let his friends carry him. He didn't tell them where to go or what to do. He didn't know the best route to take, and he had to admit that. He had to err to their wisdom and better view of the situation. He had to trust them. Getting to Jesus wasn't easy. The friends had to go to great lengths to help. Because they couldn't get through the crowd, the friends made a hole in the roof of the building and lowered the man to Jesus. That man couldn't walk; forget about climbing a building, making a hole and lowering himself through it. He couldn't see where to go until he let them lead him. He would have never gotten to Jesus if he forced his friends away. He would have never experienced healing without admitting he couldn't make it better on his own.

And he did experience healing. He was made completely whole! If you look closely at verse 5, you'll see one of the  most beautiful promises. It says "When Jesus saw their faith, he said to the paralytic, 'Son, your sins are forgiven'." Did you catch it? He saw THEIR faith. It didn't take just the faith to believe Jesus could heal. It took a man being willing to let his friends carry him. It took all of their faith. It took steps the man couldn't see or take on his own. It took walking, climbing, digging and lowering. Together.

Sister, those people aren't standing by to watch you squirm. They are waiting and pleading for you to let them help. When you love someone, you want what's best for them. That friend or family or doctor or therapist doesn't want you to hurt anymore than you do. But they can't do anything if you hide that wound from them. They can't comfort, encourage or enlighten what you won't share. They can't carry you to Jesus if you won't lay down and let them.

Someone wants to help. Her heart is aching because she can see where you need to go and that you can't get there alone. She loves you enough to carry your cot. Will you let her?

Good Word Wednesday

"To be a good writer, you have to be a good reader."

David and I have seen a therapist for years. Nine years to be exact. If I could give a gift to the world it would be the freedom to embrace therapy. There's this unfortunate misconception that it has to be "that bad" to see a counselor. That means that millions of people are walking around each day in various states of sadness, pain, hurt and turmoil because in their minds it's not yet "that bad." It brings to mind the picture of a trip David and I took years ago. After a very busy period at work, we planned to spend a few days in Las Vegas. But by the time we got there, the toll of long hours, lack of rest and exhaustion had caught up to me. I was so sick that I barely made it to the room before passing out. Our first night in Vegas, I spent sleeping and David took a walk alone. I hated to ruin our trip, so I tried, but nothing was enjoyable. Casinos, shows, people watching on the strip - things I would normally love were hardly bearable. I was in a cool place but I could only appreciate a shadow of it. My experience was a lesser version of what was intended because my illness held me back from its full potential. It makes me sad to think of so many who aren't getting to experience the fullness of life - so many families living only a shadow of who they were meant to be. When they don't have to! With time and NyQuil, I was ready to take on the town. With grace and hard work, our families can thrive instead of just survive.

Getting the Love You Want by Dr. Harville Hendrix has been written, edited, revised and updated since 1988. It's been used to help millions of couples acknowledge, accept and work through the issues keeping them from experiencing the fullness of their potential. The book is equal parts educational material, philosophy and self-help. It not only tells you WHY your relationship is struggling, but it tells you WHAT to do and most importantly, HOW to do it.

The book is phenomenal not because it's light reading - although it is surprisingly easy to read. It's value is in the change possible both in you as an individual and your relationship if you will commit to do the work suggested. Now, just like a gym membership, it's only as effective as the time you actually work out. (You can't blame the trainer for your muffin top if you won't do the sit ups! Believe me. I've tried. He laughed at me.) But if you are willing to let some therapeutic light shine on your past, the way you think and how it's affecting your life, I promise it will change you from the inside out.

Therapy is expensive. Getting the Love You Want is about $13.00 on Amazon -- $8.00 if you get the Kindle version! :o)

Lilly's Day

A year ago, I posted a letter from their baby girl to my friends who lost her. The letter has been used to comfort parents who lost babies and encourage women considering abortion. In all those cases of all those moms and dads, not once has someone written to tell me that it gets easier. No one has said it becomes simple and painless to do what's best for your child when it tears you apart. Lilly will always be gone, so there will always be a void in our lives that she would have filled. It doesn't get easier to lose a child. It doesn't get easier to go through a day and not miss her. IT doesn't get easier. But YOU get stronger.

Today is Lilly's birthday...and the day she died. Birthdays are usually happy occasions. They are the day we celebrate a life beginning and the hope of the future. They are filled with cakes and balloons and colors and joy. They are a day to look back at the last year and look forward to the next. They are a day to be thankful.

We all have tears to shed today because the space in our lives Lilly would have filled is still empty. That sadness doesn't go away. But today, my prayer for those who know the pain of losing a child is that today - Lilly's day - will be a day to be thankful.

I'm thankful that Lilly Claire spent all her time on earth tucked safely under her mama's heart.
I'm thankful that even in that place that hurts, we can celebrate her day.

I'm thankful for the hope of a future where we understand God's comfort in a way we couldn't before because we hadn't needed it so profoundly. 

I'm thankful that we can have cake and balloons and colors and joy because Lilly is our constant reminder of God's faithfulness. She is the picture in our hearts of what it means to trust Him beyond what you can see or think or feel. 

I'm thankful that we can look at the last year and see every step of hurt where we were carried. 

I'm thankful that we can look forward to the next year and know we are stronger than we were before.
We can be thankful - not in a fake way, not with empty platitudes, not as those who take life for granted. We can be thankful that one little girl changed us forever.

Losing a baby doesn't get easier. Sometimes the hurt comes even when we pray with all we have that it will be different.  IT doesn't get easier. But YOU get stronger.

And we have Lilly to thank for reminding us of that.

Notes from Family Fun Fest

Saturday morning, after donuts and College Gameday, David, Brynna and I headed out for some family fun. We had lunch at a little burger place we've grown to love that should be featured on Diners, Drive-Ins and Dives. How do I suggest that? Food Network, are you listening? Little Bitty Burger Barn! (I realize that I just disclosed that we ate donuts for breakfast and burgers for lunch. I can also disclose that both were delicious!)

Anyway, so after lunch we went to a little Family Fun Fest at City Centre. For my DMV friends, it's like Reston Town Center -  lots of stores and restaurants, surrounded by lofts and condos with a few open areas. In one of the open areas, they had booths set up with info on everything from hospitals to an animal rescue shelter. (I think that's what that was. There was a chihuahua named Pinky giving kisses for $1. ?? I don't make this stuff up. I just report the news, people.) The festival was sponsored by a kids magazine, so there were lots of things to interest little people - balloons, face painting, radio Disney, etc.

I took exhaustive notes...

1. Houston is not located on the east coast. It seems elementary. You'd think given that I'm from the midwest and love warm weather, I am more acclimated to Texas weather than DC. But apparently I'm still adjusting. It's November. It was 85 degrees. My sweatshirt was unnecessary.

2. Seasonal fashion rules are not universal. While it's obvious that seasons in the South are different from those on the east coast, I was under the impression that certain principles were held across regions. For instance...whether you are fashion savvy or not, you've probably heard the recommendation not to wear white after Labor Day. Let me tell you what else is not recommended after Labor Day - sun dresses, flip flops, tank tops and shorts (of all makes and models). There's no written law punishable by death or anything, but it's a good rule of thumb, folks. Let's dress responsibly!

3. A guy on stilts is highly entertaining. Highly. For hours. I'm hiring a guy to come walk around my backyard next week.

Exhibit A

4. Face Painting is a skill. If you can't paint on paper, you probably can't paint on the face of a sweaty, fidgeting kid. HOWEVER (this is key) - children do not care. Brynna was willing to wait in line for 45 minutes to ask for a bunny. I thought she meant on her cheek, but she wanted her whole face like a bunny face. (Sidenote: I fully admit that I was likely over-compensating for a lack of face painting experiences as a child.) When the lady answered, "A bunny? Ok!" I took that to mean she had done this before. I was wrong. I knew we were in for a treat when she covered Brynna's face white and then looked at me and said, "What does a bunny really look like?" I'm pretty sure she still doesn't know.

5. Belly dancing is not for everyone. As part of the exhibitions, two different dance schools brought kids to perform. From a more traditional dance academy, we watched adorable little people make valiant efforts to grand jete and plie. From another performing arts school, we saw miniature flamenco, salsa and belly dancers. I understand the cultural significance but was still slightly concerned about little girls performing such a provocative style of dance in the middle of hundreds of strangers. And then came the adults. Belly dancing. In the middle of hundreds of strangers. I'm not going to provide commentary, but I am going to say: belly dancing is not for everyone.

For Eyewitness News, I'm Regina Johnston. Good night.

Better to Give Than Receive

Brynna had her costume (back) on and started asking to go trick-or-treating about 4:30 yesterday afternoon. I say "back" on because she had already been a ladybug earlier that morning to gymnastics. She also went to school in costume, twice to church and around the house the day it came in the mail "just because." Say the words "dress up" and she's there. No explanation needed.

She was bouncing around the house, couldn't sit still to eat and when her Aunt Vikki called to Skype, she spent 4 whole minutes screaming excitedly and running in circles. (I'm kind of painting a picture of a puppy...) With all that enthusiasm, you'd think she loves candy. Or you'd assume that we had big plans to meet up with friends or go to a particular event. The answer is D: none of the above. We had already done all our fun with friends, so the plan was to walk around the neighborhood and be back for regular bedtime.

We held her off until 6:30 - a feat in and of itself. David looked over at me and said "Are you sure you want to stay and hand out candy? Do you want to walk with her?" At this point I introduced myself to the man I've been married to for 12 years because clearly he had forgotten who I am. Stay in a quiet house, watch NCIS and pause occasionally to greet cute neighbors...or walk. Outside. Surrounded by little people hopped up on sugar. Hmmmmm....let me take a minute to think.......(I can fill you in on last week's NCIS if you're interested.)

David and Brynna made the rounds and she ended up with a bucket loaded with candy that she will never touch. They then went quickly over to her grandparents' neighborhood so she could ring their doorbell. While there, they walked to a few houses, at which point Brynna started doing what she does best. She gave it away. She would ring the doorbell, and when it opened with an adult ready to give her candy, she reached in her bucket, pulled out a handful and said "This is for you! Happy Halloween!" She repeated this until Daddy said it was time to go home. When she got back, I said she couldn't answer the door until she was ready for bed. She hurried like she never has before so she could be there for the next Captain America that came to the door. And when Brynna gives, it's not a piece or two of candy. She reached into the bowl and grabbed all her little hands could hold, and kid after kid, she gave it away. I asked if she wanted to keep some of the M&Ms (the one thing she will eat). She said "No, Mama. I want more kids to come so I can give them more."

How different would our lives be if we let ourselves be thrilled with excitement just to dance in a tutu?
How much joy would we have if we didn't need a "thing" to motivate us to go say hi to the neighbors?
How much more would we GET if GIVING was our goal?

When was the last time you rushed just to be there to bless someone else?
When did you last give away the very thing you had been given?

There is wisdom in the faith of a child. Don't miss it. They are handing it out like candy. :)