mud can be beautiful

Spring has come.

Along with that comes buds popping, birds returning, grass growing, and mud.

Everywhere.

Kay, at Heart and Soul Pursuits, started a new project called Inspire Me. A couple weeks ago she contacted me asking if I could write about specific ways in which I live -- destined, devoted or daring -- and how. Honestly, I really believe that life is a collection of all three each ebbing and flowing creating each day. That being said, right now, in my journey, I've been focused on the idea of devoted.

Devoted to finding joy.
Devoted to my family.
and
Devoted to embracing who God made me to be.

You see, I struggle with thinking that I'd be better if -- if I was better scheduled, or more structured, or I finish an entire curriculum, or my house was like this, or I look like this, or so on. As I gradually begin to listen to these ifs regarding myself I begin to focus on just the mud.

At least it seems like mud to me.

So I've been praying. And thinking. And pondering. And starting to recognize that maybe, just maybe, I need to start resting in some of the character traits that I've been fighting. These traits are who the Lord designed me as -- and that instead of running from what I think is muddy I just need to sit in and embrace it.

Here's an example:  I've looked at how I homeschool -- without the rigorous box checking and tight daily schedule -- and have realized how I've fought that part of me for years.  I so wanted to fit this mold of what I thought was ideal homeschooling -- so sure that that way was the right way and certainly convinced that my way didn't measure up.

Ever since Samuel got sick with Celiac Disease this winter, God has used that challenging situation to challenge me. I've begun to look at myself and our homeschooling philosophy as no longer muddy, but unique, designed for our family and for our lives. We find joy and beauty and life in it -- from choosing to utilize a sunny day and work in the garden and save math for the days of rain or snow or in making lunch together at 1:30 pm instead of 12 noon sharp or in letting my kids read and read and read and read and forgetting the schedule for the morning.

Or letting them play in the mud. Being creative. Kids.

God designed me. I've become determined to embrace and devote myself to becoming who HE wants me to be -- not who I think I should be or who I think others think I should be or who the world says I should be -- but the wife, mother, daughter, friend that is what Christ wants.

And sometimes, just sometimes, that discovery means being okay in the mud.

Because even mud is beautiful.

My challenge to you? Start looking and praying about the muddy places. Maybe, just maybe, those things that we don't like are exactly how we're meant to be.

the bottom line

Bottom line?  Life can be tedious day in and day out.  There aren't many gold stars given to moms.  We just work and work and work.  And after awhile it's easy to start to carry a grudge -- resentment can creep in -- and then the beauty of life starts to fade away.  Dishes, and reading, and laundry, and cleaning, and teaching, and all that becomes overwhelming.  Life appears to be a list of never-ending to-do items.

Bottom line? Those areas of life can be redeemed.  They can be beautiful.  For me, it's when they're surrendered.  It's those breath by breath moments asking for Christ's strength coupled with asking Him to reveal the honor and beauty in being a mom.  A wife.  A daughter.

Bottom line?  Society yearns to rob the dignity of womanhood from us.  Being a mother isn't noble -- we hear.  You're not beautiful -- screams in our faces.  You'll never measure up -- we read.  Everywhere we're reminded of how we potentially fail.  Truth?  We're (especially me) listening to the wrong voices.  Rather than the taunts of the world we need to be focused on truth. My barometer of self can never be measured on the world's scale.  Ever.

Bottom line?  I failed last night.  I was crabby and discontent and overwhelmed.  To make it worse, it was on Chloe's birthday.  Nothing like adding salt to a wound.  I was just frustrated and tired and my family knew it.

Bottom line? My night was redeemed.  Not by myself.  But in humbling myself.  Letting go of pride.  And instead focusing on the truth in Christ. It took me stepping away. Taking ten minutes by myself.  Honestly telling my kids that I needed to be alone for just a bit.  And then looking at my mistakes.  Writing.  Admitting that I'm not perfect.  Seeking forgiveness.  And starting again.

Bottom line?  I love that Christ's mercies are new every morning.  That is fabulous news.  Especially for me...today's bottom line? Letting go of that need for perfectionism and instead focusing on my word - content - and truly living that way.

letting go of fear

I have a confession.

I tend to worry.

(if you were my mother and were reading this you would be nodding your head in agreement)

Especially about medical stuff.

We've had our share.  Cancer.  Hematology issues. Even me and my silly shoulder.

Now with Samuel dealing with his bowel problems I've found myself tiptoeing -- make that running -- to worrying.  Google Searching.  Wondering.  Fearing.

Not praying.  Surrendering.  Living.

While researching options or possibilities isn't intrinsically wrong, spending hours of time allowing fear to take over just might be crossing the line into the territory of worry.

Can any of you by worrying add a single hour to your life? Matthew 6:27

And yet, here I was last night, tiptoeing in Samuel's room and checking him sleeping.  I made that trip three times - in twenty minutes.  One time I woke him up just so that I could hold him.  I'd like to state it's because I love to look at that angelic face -- which is true -- but, I've also recognized that I'm fretting over him.

Then people brought little children to Jesus for him to place his hands on them and pray for them. Matthew 19:13

Worrying will get me nowhere.  Well, it will make the terrible knot in my shoulder worse, but will not succeed in answering the root cause of Samuel's problems.  I simply need to surrender my fear.  Let go of the baggage.  The answers will come, and when they do we will move forward.

It's all too easy, at least for me, to switch from spending times on my knees in prayer to sitting in front of the computer screen.  I admit it.  I want to figure stuff out on my own.  I'm stubborn in that way.  But, I know, really really really know that the Lord is calling me to remember.  To remember that He knit Samuel.  That He knows Samuel more intimately than I do.  That He knows the answers.

That I'm to rest in Him.

And that's exactly what I plan on doing.

Right now.

Come to me all who are weary and burdened and I will give you rest.  Matthew 11:28

i remember. again.

rainbow - by Brennan 9/09

As I near the 5 year Anniversary mark of our family's journey with cancer, I've been remembering the ups and downs of this path.  I was overwhelmed at the out-pouring of support and kind comments last week over my post  

i remember.

Here are thoughts that I had 5 years ago but never expressed. Thoughts about walking with a spouse sick, about friends, and about life.

the wife's thoughts

Don't hide from me.
Don't ignore my situation.
Even a simple "I'm sorry" or "I'm praying for you" is good.
Better than nothing.

I know you talked about me.
When I came up the stairs and you all looked at me.
With pity and empathy in your eyes.
Come over and share your words with me.

Don't leave me alone.

It's okay for me to laugh.
Even if I'm hurting.
It's okay for me cry.
Even if I'm happy.

Thank you for the meals.
The cards.
The twenties slipped between pieces of paper.
Coffee runs.

Ask me about the cancer.
Let me explain to you what we are fighting.
Listen.
Just listen, please.

Thank you for sitting with me.
Thank you for holding my hand as I wait.
Thank you for your tears.
Thank you for your prayers.

I know you mean well, but no cliche answers
Sometimes they hurt more.
I just need an ear to hear
And a shoulder to cry on.

Thank you for helping with the kids.
Or doing laundry.
Or putting groceries on my steps.
Thank you for those little things to you
That are so big to me.

Thank you for asking.
Remembering.
Even now, five years later,
Thank you.

i remember

I know you're out there.

You're the one whose heart aches with each post about Christmas.

Where walking through the store is a challenge.

Your life is messy, or scary, or confusing.

You feel alone.

It's hard now, at Christmas, isn't it?

When the world, and bloggers, seem to have beautifully packaged lives.  Pictures and recipes and gifts and laughter and happiness.

Inside you feel sad.

Why doesn't anyone notice?  Why does it have to be so hard?

Why now?

Why at Christmas?

Don't people know?  Don't they know that it's hard to do Christmas when life is so hard?

Do they see?

I do.

I know.

I remember.

I remember walking through Target, with eyes brimming with tears, wishing someone knew that the only reason I was there was to try to find blackberries for the nausea for my husband that was caused by pain-meds from cancer surgery.  I remember feeling sad and angry and bitter when I saw the carts bursting with goodies -- like I wasn't a part of the grand celebration.

I remember.

I relied on God greatly during that Christmas.  God blessed me with a strength I didn't know I had.  A strength to push that cart through Target and to say thank you to the cashier -- and not cry.  At least not every time.

I remember thinking about all the hidden others, masked behind their lives, carrying loads.  Burdens.

I remember.

Will you remember?

That perhaps that mom that is a bit shorter with her kids, or you, or the cashier, might just have a husband at home sick?

That there are many others who would love to fill a cart with food at Target?

That people, and friends, are way more important than things?

That there is a tomorrow.  There is hope.

There is joy.

Even when life is hard?

I remember.

joy

That doesn't look too joyful. 

Darkness.

There was a huge storm system that swept through Minnesota this evening.  At 6 pm skies were blackened, tricking the mind into thinking it was later. Rain pelleted the windows, and the trees swayed wildly.  There were numerous tornadoes and funnels throughout the area.  In my neighborhood the siren rang multiple times.  I knew I was to go to the basement -- like my children -- and yet I stood at my back door.  In awe.

I stared as clouds swirled in circles, dancing a dangerous waltz.  The utter power of nature, of God, mesmerized me. Then, in the midst of turbulence, complete calm.  The trees in the back yard stood straight, while the trees in the front bent as if bowing to the ground.  I knew I should move -- downstairs -- but I still stared.

It's so easy to start believing that we can control everything.

And yet, there's more. There's real power. Not from ourselves, but from our God. The God of power. A power infinitely more powerful than this storm that we label as power. And that brings me joy. Joy to know that my God, our God, has power beyond my imagination. Joy to know that He can still a storm with just two words.  Whispered. And coupled with that power? An infinite love for you. For me.

And that is reason for joy.

He got up, rebuked the wind and said to the waves,

"Quiet! Be still!" 

Then the wind died down and it was completely calm. (Mark 4:39)