thirty-five powerful ways to be

Simple mindset statements that are powerful ways to live. Be blessed. ~Rachel

Be bold.

Be kind.

Be loving.

Be aware and awake.

Be intentional.

Be joyful.

Be authentic.

Be empathetic.

Be understanding.

Be a dreamer.

Be learning.

Be giving.

Be a listener.

Be positive.

Be helpful.

Be approachable.

Be genuine.

Be brave.

Be real.

Be creative.

Be the change.

Be determined.

Be rooted.

Be balanced.

Be good to others.

Be compassionate.

Be purposeful.

Be forgiving.

Be strong.

Be inspiring.

Be generous.

Be loving.

Be wise.

Be a voice.

Be you.

to subscribe by email - click HERE.

Images and original content are sole property of Rachel Martin and may not be used, copied or transmitted without prior written consent.

*******

for those of you wanting to share your friday favorite links feel free to add below. This is week 111 of intentional - focused - loving the little things- finding joy gratitude.

the lost art of stillness

I sit in the studio. Classical music fills the air and in front of me, my daughter Grace, works through her ballet level examination. Focus fills her determined eleven year old face as she meticulously moves through pattern after pattern after pattern.
It is quiet.

Even with the classical music around, it is a world of stillness.

I sit there. With my phone, that electronic phone that goes with me everywhere, with the ringer now completely off, and the email unchecked, and the twitter stream temporarily silent.

It was uncomfortable.

Even in my intentional focus of not letting social media rule my world there is this odd letting go of being in the constant and steady stream of information that blurs time together and makes one dependent on always being needed, on, and in the know.

She was in front of me. Trying, oh so hard, to not smile as she worked patiently through each combination. Feet pointed, graceful hands, and intense concentration. I could see that she was watching me - from behind the serious look - her eyes would catch mine, just for a second, checking to make sure I was paying attention. Me that ever so distracted mom.

I kept my phone in my purse. This was the second day I had attended examinations, and on the first day, I had my phone on my lap - I was waiting for a text from my oldest daughter letting me know she arrived home - and I took a couple pictures. But this day, this Friday, I wanted to learn to be in the still again and live in the moment of watching my daughter.

I wanted to let my focus be focused.

Still makes one listen to the dialogue in the mind - a dialogue that can be pushed aside as we race from thing to thing to thing. Still takes work. I wanted to pick up the phone, to check messages, to take a picture. As I sat there watching pattern after pattern I began to realize just how rapid the world is that I live in and how until one removes themselves from it the frenzy is simply accepted. Noise, alarms, notifications, and more are no longer something new but something normal.

Our culture numbs the ability to become comfortable in the still.

And yet, we are meant to be able, to be comfortable in the still.

But, how? How to cultivate times of stillness in a media saturated noisy world?

Grand battement - I hear the instructor tell them the next set.

She starts another pattern. Then it hits me. It's training, discipline - much like my eleven year old ballerina. Her classes are mainly spent perfecting the art of ballet and not as much time on the performance. Yet, the performance, the recitals are exquisitely beautiful - because the forms, the posture, is perfected. I began to realize that creating moments of stillness within this frenzied pace of life will allow greater clarification and energy to filter to the rest of life.

I need to unplug more than I already do - to retrain my brain, my mind, my body, to be comfortable in the quiet so that I have more energy for the noise. And this, this will help me be a better mother, wife, friend, writer, and well, me. Stillness is an art, and like art, needs to be cultivated, perfected and practiced.

Laptop lid closed now.

How about you? Are you comfortable in the still? How do you cultivate moments of intentionality within the frenzy of a busy media saturated life?

sticks and stones may break my bones

sticks and stones may break my bones
but words will never hurt me....

She was just a girl. Little, in fifth grade, with uncontrolled frizzy hair and a freckly face. But, despite that, oh so awkward stage, she felt good that day. In fact, she felt amazing and full of confidence. She had on these cool pants - floral pants, very 80s pants, with a bright bold pattern splashed about everywhere. And she had on her white sweatshirt - cute with the 3/4 length sleeves and the trendy emblem on the front. In her mind? Perfection.

She got permission to look at the nailpolish in Target while her mom and dad looked at the shampoo in the next aisle. She looked - at the reds, blues and the pinks - feeling as if nothing could stop her right then. To her, it was the perfect growing up type of afternoon. And just then, three boys, teenagers probably, came around the corner, saw her, the anonymous girl, and decided to yell something at her.

Hey Ugly.

She looked up, the once confident little eleven year old in her favorite outfit, and saw them. Laughing. At her. They ran off and left her standing there in the midst of pointless nailpolish. Who cared about luscious pink and cherry reds now. Now, she hated her clothes. She hated those pants with the purple flowers splotched about. She hated her hair. She now thought she was ugly.

And she lived with that. For years and years and years.

Hey Ugly.

She grew. Got married. Had children. Yet, still in the background of her mind were those two little words. Hey Ugly. She let them grow and grow and grow. Then it developed into more and more more lies about herself that developed from one little lie yelled at her in the midst of an early years Target.

You're not good enough.
No one likes you.
You're dumb.
You can't do it.
You'll never do anything.

All from Hey Ugly.

Until, one day, that little girl, who was now an adult learned the truth of Hey Ugly. She learned that she was not ugly, but rather a daughter of the King. She learned that those kids, those boys, probably never thought again of the words that they yelled at that little girl in Target with her fabulously cute, but never worn again, floral pants. Or how those words could define a life. Until the girl, now an adult, decided to no longer live with those words defining her life. She instead began to live knowing that she was beautiful - In the Lord.

She learned about the power of words. She learned how callously and carelessly they are thrown around - little phrases here and there and when these words are left unchecked they grow into lies distorting the truth of self. She learned that as a mother that she needs to absolutely guard the words that she tells her children. She learned that she is not an emotion. She is not angry, sad, mad, scared, fearful and all of that. She is much more than emotion.

And she learned to forgive and let go of the hurt from those boys that decided in their world to be funny and yell at a little girl Hey Ugly.

She wasn't ugly. She just believed them.

But, not anymore.

She learned how those are lies of a culture that are destined to hold people, to hold women, to hold moms back. The lies don't define a life. The lies don't define worth. They don't define value. Or potential. They don't define beauty. They don't define capability. Instead she learned that truth defines.

And now, she's sitting here, behind a laptop writing to you.

She's telling you that you are not ugly, worthless, pointless, never going to measure up, a failure, don't matter, and all of that lie filled chatter that can run through our minds. Rather, you are beautiful. You are worthy. You are full of potential. You, right now, in your home with all that you are doing and have to do, with those old lies that no longer need to run through your head, you are absolutely beautiful.

Do not ever forget that.

Do not ever listen to the Hey Ugly cries of this world.

You are more than that.

You are a beautiful daughter of the King.

She's telling you, she's imploring of you, to listen to that finding joy truth instead.

*****
this post is  a small portion of the keynote that I gave at the 2:1 Conference 
to receive daily updates simply click subscribe to finding joy by email

open my eyes

My mood was a bit sour.

My arm hurt.
My arm hurt tremendously.

I had pushed myself all day to make things feel like normal.

And now, I just wanted to be quiet.
To sit still.
To rest.

In my clean house.

As I got up and wandered in the kitchen I could feel irritation creeping in -- the little hairs on the back of my recently iodine scrubbed neck and arms began to rise. It was the kitchen. Again. After dinner it's supposed to be cleaned. The counters wiped, food put away, and floor swept. It's my haven -- and I love it to be, well, almost spotless. At least as spotless as it can get on a weeknight in a family of nine.

There was some stuff on the floor. A piece of paper, some legos, a map.
The stove wasn't wiped down.
Rags hung over the edge of the sink slowly dripping water to the rug below.
Pans needed to be put away.
Certainly not my haven.

I was irritated.

Quickly, I grabbed my brand new gleaming white kitchen rag {which I bought at Target in a pack of ten for $2 in that crazy 2Day Sale} and started to scrub away at the stove with my one good arm. As I pushed away at the remnants of scrambled eggs, sugar and cinnamon, and who knows what else, I started to speak -- to complain -- about how poorly I felt the kitchen was cleaned tonight. Then for some reason, some reason that I'm extremely grateful -- I stopped completely.

I stood there, in my kitchen, and started to look around.

I could hear the hum of the dishwasher running.
I could see my stainless tea kettle recently scrubbed.
There were pans washed and drying.
A cleared table.
Little paper candy canes dotting the cabinets.
A note on the fridge.
My candle, lit by Chloe, flickering above the sink.
Little joys.

My eyes were so set on seeing what was wrong that I missed what was good.

And there was more good than those minor things that were wrong.

Was it perfect? Was it clean the way that I would have cleaned it? No. But there was effort. Work. And that work was done without grumbling. Instead of being grateful for the diligence that was shown instead I became focused on me. On how I would want to see the kitchen. Instead of seeing it as an opportunity to teach and bless it became a spot where I could easily have instilled shame.

Did I ever tell them to squeeze out all the water in those rags? Or did I just assume that they'd know that? What if the reason the stove wasn't wiped was because that old glass cooktop of ours was still warm and they were just being safe? Would I want someone always complaining because I never did things just the right way?

So now, tonight, I chose to thank them for their work and quietly let go of the rest. More running away from that perfectionism. Again. Tomorrow we can talk about that rag, or picking up the toys, or when to wipe the stove. But, not now, not after they've worked hard. Right now is a time to encourage, to thank, to be grateful.

It's all too easy to look at the wrong things and miss the good.

Open my eyes.
Open my eyes.
Open my eyes.

It took me six minutes to finish the kitchen.
Six little minutes.

Thank you, Jesus, for that still small voice that shifted the focus from me and onto to them. It's not about the kitchen. No not at all. It's those hearts, those dear, dear hearts.

Open my eyes.

get out the steel wool -- it's 59 degrees

{photo - hannah nicole}

That's what we woke up to this morning.  Inside our home.  Outside? It was a balmy -6degrees making the 59 feel like a faux heatwave. Yet, judging from the little ones wrapped in blankets and wandering around complaining about the cold, you'd know we weren't very comfortable.

The furnace wasn't working. 

And we were cold.

Immediately I began praying.  We didn't have the budget room to fix the furnace -- life was complicated and busy -- and we were cold.

57 degrees.

It was dropping.  The windows were starting to get ice on them.  I ran into the garage and found a space heater from my hubby's days in construction.  My little blanket wrapped babes gathered around the heater as if it were a glorious roaring fire from days long past.

We worked quickly downstairs in our utility room. Phone calls made. More prayers. More distracting myself trying to get all those loads of laundry folded in case a repair man came -- even though I was praying so hard that one wouldn't come. Socks, and t-shirts, jeans, and sweaters. The piles became higher as my worry tried to creep in.

55 degrees.

Now it almost seemed imminent - a repair man would need to be called. We called a friend -- who owned a hvac company -- and he told us to clean a sensor.  Fear crept in as I saw the bolts being unscrewed. Panel after panel coming down each with bold warnings about not messing around with the furnace. I heard the electric screwdriver whizzing and felt my heart racing.

I needed faith.  I needed to trust that my husband would be safe. Out came the steel wool.  Scrub, scrape, scrub.  More prayers. And we'd wait. Again. And again. We'd start it up, and hear it stop. More scrubbing and scraping.  More prayers from me as the piles of folded laundry grew higher.

Then we heard it. The furnace kicked in. And stayed on.

62 degrees.

The temp was going up. The little ones huddled around the once-intriguing and warming space heater gradually dispersed throughout the home. Life began to regain its normal rhythm.

I had forgotten to be grateful for heat.

It wasn't till it was gone that I realized just how thankful I am for that two inch sensor plate in our furnace.  It didn't look that dirty -- it just looked like a layer of white dust was resting on it. Yet, it took minutes and minutes of firm scrubbing and scraping to remove the film that triggered our furnace to shut off.

Isn't that like life? We get so wrapped up in our agendas and start operating out of ourselves that we forget to clean our sensor plates -- instead of resting and relying on God.  It becomes this time of self - until we burn out. And then we remember.

68 degrees.

The sun is pouring in -- the house is warm.  The boys are running around without shirts pretending to be on an expedition.  The windows are clear, and the laundry that was folded out of desperation is all put away.  But, I don't forget. It could be so different now - we could have had to pay hundreds of dollars. Our house could still be cold. In the end we just needed to take care of that sensor.

Just like my heart.

Thanks, Lord, for reminding me to look at my heart and pulling out the steel wool -- the truth in you -- to clean and scrape it and remove the grime so that it could be buffed clean of earthly lies and once again focused on you.

Warm.

walking forward - steps for the new year

My daughter wrote a beautiful post regarding the new year.  She titled it dreams goals and hopes for the year - not resolutions.  Her list inspired me to create one of my own.

I want to laugh more

to play on the floor with my little ones

to listen to my teens tell me their dreams

to have an open shoulder for them to rest on

and a heart for their heart.

to drive without a phone

no calls, no incoming texts, no nothing

to drive focused

safe

wise

to make my husband coffee in the morning

to smile 

to look at him

 and not all that needs to be done.

to not be on the computer as soon as I get up

but rather be in the Word

truth

real life

I want to not worry what others think of me

to walk with confidence 

to love

to serve others

Let me be thankful

to not forget how blessed we are

to not lose sight of freedom.

Let me remember the past

learn from it

but not be bound to it.

Even when there are worries 

let me release them to the Father.

Am I not more important than the lillies in the field?

Let me be aware of time

that moments spent with my loved ones

trump time spent doing my own thing.

As the seasons pass may I be filled with hope

and joy

and wonder

and let me notice those around me.

Those hurting

or in need.

Those I love

and those I don't even know.

Let me see beyond me.

May I worship fully.

And pray without ceasing.

Whether it's doing the dishes

or folding laundry

or next to my children.

Let my eyes focus on my Savior.

Let me open my home.

And not worry about having everything perfect.

May my heart be one of warmth.

Inviting.

When I write let it be from the heart.

Real.

Funny.

Hopeful.

Intentional.

Authentic.

I don't want to stuff emotions under the surface.

(I've done that)

If I need to mourn

then I'll mourn.

If I need to laugh

then I'll laugh.

If I need to seek truth

then I'll be on my knees.

There are only 12 months.

365 days.

8,766 hours.

525,949 minutes.

31,556,926 seconds.

Time is precious.

Time moves fast.

Let me be awake.

Alive.

Grateful.

Happy Birthday dear Gracie...& Momentous Monday

my sweet Gracie born 4/12/01

Happy Birthday to you!

Where does time go?  It just seems like yesterday that my Grace Eva was born.  She's the third child of ours, and our third daughter.  What a joy she is to our family.  She's funny, smart, and oh...so creative.  And she's a spitfire.  I've got to tell you that I've discovered that if you have a child named Grace that you need to be blessed with an abundance of grace.  She's so determined, focused, and yet is tender, loving and oh-so-sweet.

Grace doing an experiment

It's a bit bittersweet having Gracie turn nine.  Sigh.  My girls are growing up.  Soon the cute braids and bows won't be desired as much.  I miss those little moments of little girls sometimes.  Oh, don't get me wrong...I love, love, love my four boys (who are all six and under)...but there is something tender and sweet about having a little girl in the house.  And, yes, I know nine isn't THAT old, but it FEELS old.  It feels like those days of young childhood are leaving and she'll be crossing into that threshold of her older sisters.  Those times where she'll crave being the little girl and yet at the same time want to be older.  Where she'll question if she should play with that toy...even though part of her really wants to...and the other thinks she's too old. Will she still love pink?  Or her Littlest Pet Shops? The finite days of young childhood seem to be racing in all too fast.

Grace with her sisters (2007)

I love my Grace.  Sometimes I forget just how special a gift she is for our family.  Birthdays are great reminders.  They smack you in the face with the importance of those around you that you love.  As I sit here I'm thinking of all the times where I was too short-tempered with Grace, or when I didn't really listen, or when I told her I'd play a game, or read a book, or did something...and didn't.  Tonight as I was working on the yard I was showing my husband places where it was worn bare.  Of course it was right in front of the swingset...nestled in between that and the garden and the steps from the deck.  My husband replied:

We're growing children...not grass.

Straight to the heart.  Truth.  Does it matter that our grass is matted there?  Absolutely not.  Does it matter that my children, our children enjoy the freedom to run and play in our yard.  Absolutely yes. So, once again, I need to refocus and refresh.

Grace's 6th birthday

So often it's easy to allow the people around us to be tainted with "build up."  You know...where we keep a record of wrong.  When we look at them and we don't allow them to move past the mistakes.  It's like we see them with a record of short-comings, or mistakes, or wrong-doings.  That lens needs to come off!  Our Savior has washed me, and you, white as snow.  All of my sins are forgiven through Him.  And yet, here I walk, forgetting to wipe the slates clean of my own daughter...or sons. I need to learn from their errors, but give them the grace that they deserve.  Our Father bestowed on us grace that we could never ever ever deserve.  I need to learn from Him...the truth.

Grace's art

Writing this makes me love her more.  And it fills me with such gratitude for her, and my six other children.  They are such blessings from the Lord.  It's all to easy to get overwhelmed with the nitty-gritty ins and outs of daily life.  Whether the dishes are done, or the laundry folded, or the yard watered, or socks put-away, or things dusted...and then miss out on the beauty and joy right before us.  Grace is growing up.   Too fast.  I need to slow down and soak in this gift of time that I've been blessed to have with her.  That's why I love birthdays.  They refocus my heart.  I see the truth and value of REAL importance again....the gift of time with these blessings from the Lord.  Use it wisely.

Happy 9th Birthday Grace Eva!

____________________________________________________

____________________________

I'm joining in on Momentous Monday today.  It's a wonderful way to remember those daily things that make life beautiful.  Well, of course I had to think of something that Grace did or said last week since today is her birthday. :)

I decorate the house for my kids the night before their birthday so that when they wake up it's quite festive.  I have had one friend laugh and tell me to just keep the decorations up since I've got birthdays all the time.  Well, anyways, last night before bed, Grace came to me and was trying to stay awake, you know getting water, asking a question, etc....so that she could peek at the decorations. After a bit I told her she needed to go to bed.  Then a couple minutes more I heard,

you know the streamers that you hang from the door?  Well, those are my favorites.  Just thought you'd want to know.

This morning?  A bunch of streamers hanging down from her door.  That's memories.

Grace's 7th birthday