Joy Killers

Have you ever met someone that makes your day just feel warmer and brighter the instant you are around them?

Often called an Optimist, these folks look on the bright side of life, have a smile on their face, and have a kind word to share, no matter what their own circumstances may be.
 I like these people. 
I am blessed to have a choice number of these kind of people in my life.
It's terribly difficult to not let circumstances affect our moods and interactions with others. I'm constantly telling my girls that our emotions may be hard to control, but only we can direct our own emotions, no matter what state our life is at that moment.
But with all the baggage and battles coming at us, isn't it important to first identify the things that kill our joy? In order to change so that we can be someone's sunshine, bring glory to God, and just not be a miserable dud all the time, it's essential we identify the thieves of joy.

5 Things That Sap Our Joy:

1. Bad Relationships

We constantly warn our kids about the dangers of choosing the wrong friends, and yet, when an apparent toxic relationship comes into my own life, I am often quick to forget all of my own rules and suffer through it.
All relationships in our lives should encourage growth, support healthy and moral choices, and lovingly guide when we are taking bad, destructive options.
However, there are times when people take more than we can give, demand and manipulate, which in the end causes weariness and discouragement.
Now, there are relationships in our life that we have no choice about. Relatives come to mind. Though we may limit our interactions with them, set up boundaries, and maybe chose to forgo certain events, they will always be there.
But for those relationships that we CAN choose, the ones that steal our joy because our energy is being hijacked and our confidence is being snuffed out, can I just encourage you to really reconsider keeping that individual in your life?
This life is but a vapor, one moment here, gone the next. To waste our resources, especially the most valuable ones like time and strength on a person that does not give back to you the same, is not only wasteful but very unwise.

2.Busyness

We are constantly making lists, going to events, checking Facebook, reading articles, running errands, managing projects, and just doing life. Our hearts and minds are full of musts and nows. But we are missing the big picture here.
We were created to bring God glory by doing His will, not doing our agenda.
In the book of Galatians, when the Apostle Paul talks about the fruits of the Spirit, we see that joy made the list. The question here though, is how  do we get the fruits of the Spirit?
This is one of those circumstances in life when time,energy,and focus need to come into play. When we daily commit ourselves to the Lord, constantly being conscious of His presence and workings, we are living in the Spirit. (Galatians 5:25)
Making the choice every day, every hour, every minute to be ruled and guided by the Holy Spirit puts you in that category of people that gets to enjoy those fruits of the spirit, including joy.
Turning off distractions and recognizing that things which seem so important are not and should not take precedents over listening, waiting, and acting on what God wants from us. This is the "secret" to joy, though it is really no secret since it is plainly written out in the Bible. Doing what we are supposed to be doing and doing it with focus and full attention brings happiness to our hearts. It also brings peace and gentleness into our lives. 

3.Making it all about me

Am I the only one that genuinely gets sick of myself? Maybe it is just me, but sometimes I find myself having that inner dialogue and hearing the words, "Move on. Suck it up. Get over it."
Iphone, selfie, and "me time" are HUGE phrases in our daily lives nowadays.
When did service to others become degrading? When did feminism turn from equal rights for women into bringing your husband a cool drink on a hot day is simply derogatory? As a culture, we fight the idea of putting others first because, let's be honest, it's so much easier to think about yourself first.
I know it. I do it all the time. Every day.
But what if for a moment we think about fighting that urge and put aside what we want and look on others.
Now, I know there are some wonderful, self-sacrificing folks out there, so do not get me wrong. But can we honestly say that our average day is majority rule: others?
For me, I am not sure.
My comfort, my time, my energy are always in the forefront. And when those things get interrupted or inconvenienced, well I assure you my feathers are ruffled.
But then I think on those times when I have served without expecting anything in return. What was I feeling? Was I miserable? Was I depressed?
No.
I had joy. The kind that you just cannot fake. The pure, unadulterated kind that makes you walk around with a goofy smile on your face the rest of the day.
When we turn our focus outward, instead of inward, we find joy. 

4.Not asking

God is in the business of miracles. He loves to show His power, presence, and majesty on a daily basis. The problem does not lie within Him, but within us.
We are simply not asking anymore.
All too often, when a situation arises, my initial reaction is not to go to God but to ask a friend for help, read a book, or Google it. (I am not lying when I say that if the possibility of my Google search history ever got published I would find a cave and live in it for the rest of existence. Or, they would just commit me.)
When we fail to ask God to work, we limit Him. Seems an odd thought that we could limit the Creator of the universe, but it is true. He so desires to hear our request, to see us looking up as He does His work, and to hear our " Oohhs" and "Aahhs".
But we are failing in simply requesting a miracle. We aren't keeping our eyes open for his workings, answers, and blessings.

5.Holding on to the past

This will touch a nerve or two I am sure. but it needs to be said.
Time is such a bizarre and curious thing.
Our pasts have formed us into who we are. Life experiences affect our personalities, quirks, fears, and reactions. But this does not mean that our past is our future.
Sure, we want to hold onto the good and use that to hurdle us to the next phase. But when it comes to the dark, ugly closets from before, we want to quietly rock and nurture our wounds, holding onto grudges.
We need to let go.
Christ brought forgiveness.
Christ brought healing.
Christ brought resurrection.
He has brought so much, but when we do not allow ourselves to move on,whether by forgiving ourselves, forgiving others, or even stopping the licking of wounds by reliving them, then we stop ourselves from moving onto the joy of new beginnings.
I know that there is necessity, at times, to acknowledge past hurts.
I can not think of Molly without simultaneously feeling the pain of her slow road to death. There are brief moments when I recall the ache and loneliness I felt as a confused child when my parents were divorced. Intimacy can hurdle into something dark and ugly when suddenly, without warning, I recall the abuse I received as a child.
But I know that staying in that dark place for too long is dangerous and unhealthy. My joy can easily be ripped away from me day after day if I allow myself to hold onto the past for too long.

Dear Lord,
You created joy and happiness. We are made in your image, so I know that you smile and relish in the good things. But I so often get in the way of joy. Help me to be quiet and still as I listen to your words of wisdom. Help me to know how to spend my time and with whom. Help me keep my eyes open for the things that you are doing around me. And lift me up out of the muck and mud of the past so that I can enjoy, with happiness, my future. 

The Sanctity to Surrender

Think of your happiest moment.
Are you picturing it in your mind?
Perhaps it was the day you got that shiny, red bike you were dreaming about for months. Or maybe it was the day you shared your first kiss with the love of your life.
Was it the moment you laid eyes on your child for the first time and fell madly in love?
Are you picturing that moment right now?
So am I.
Although, mine may look like an odd choice to an outsider.
Trust me when I say, my first kiss with Peter was magical. I'm talking fireworks, red hot sparks, David Copperfield kind of magic.
And when I gave birth to all three of my girls, I thought my heart would explode, To think it even possible to make room for more love was inconceivable and then a new addition was added to the family and I realized my heart didn't make room but grew in depth, height, and dimension.
I've had wonderful family vacations, gone to amusement parks and on nature hikes. There were even some awesome evenings that I pulled the best all-nighters with my best friend. But none of these are the moments that come to mind at the moment.
My happiest moment started in the dark.
It was 6 a.m. and I was sitting at my dining room table with tears streaming down my cheeks.
Why?
Well to  really tell this story, I need to back up about 6 weeks.

Every morning I like to get up before everyone else and just prepare my heart, mind, and body for the day. A big part of this is reading my Bible and just chit-chatting with Jesus. I honestly look forward to it every morning.
Don't worry. I am not super spiritual. Most of my excitement is because I can spew out my hopes, dreams, worries and fears before anyone else hears them without being interrupted by little talkers. I also can just sit and be quiet if I so desire before the chaos really begins in the form of brown hair, brown eyes, and a mischievous smile.

But during days of late, my quiet mornings had transformed into a wrestling match with God.
I know. Very holy. Very submissive. Very... well, true.

God was beginning to turn my heart in a certain direction and I was fighting Him on it. I'm talking put-em-up-swing-duck-lunge kind of direction.
I didn't know at the time why, but God had been asking me to step out of my comfort zone of life and step up my faith. He wasn't offering details of what was going to come, but He was asking me to surrender myself to Him,which also included whatever was to come.
Do you trust me?
Will you obey?
Can you give up your expectations and just let me lead?
 Let me tell you, I was squirming. I know what stepping out in faith meant. It main fire, like refiner's fire. It was a time when God turned up the heat of life to mold and make me into something new.
  Sure, I love the idea of being shiny, beautiful, and useful, but I do NOT like the idea of having to hang out in a hot, uncomfortable place for a period of time beforehand.
But this is where I was. At a cross roads. Standing at that fork in the road, wrenching my head back and forth, trying to calculate which turn to take. Do I follow God blindly or continue in the way I was going?
 I wasn't doing anything outwardly wrong. I loved and served my family, taught in children's church, went to nursing homes to sing, paid my taxes, and even ate broccoli. So why would I need to change anything?

This is so true.
If we are not making steps closer to God, than we are falling further away. There is no standing still and being OK. This is truth for every single interaction and relationship we have in this life.

God wasn't satisfied with how things were going between us, even though I apparently was content and clueless. And since God is always the same and never changing, it was obvious that the problem was me, not Him.
So, of course, I submitted.
(Insert loud buzzer sound)
Wrong!
The creation (me) told the Creator (God) that I was just fine the way I was and there would be no more changes needed.
Of course this went on for a while. Six weeks to be exact. Hey, what can I say, I am thick-skulled and stubborn and will not be rushed.  Every morning God so tenderly poked and prodded my heart with the same request... trust, submit, allow Me to be in control.
I was beginning to get pretty miserable about the whole thing, really. I was perpetually exhausted, always on edge, feeling weary and just not happy.
Finally, one morning I woke up, worn out, unsettled, and wretched. I trudged to the table really dreading the same questions and giving the same answers. I wanted change, but I was scared to allow it to happen. I sat down, didn't even open my Bible, and started to get real...fast.

Lord, this is no fun. This is utterly miserable. I'm tired of fighting you, but I am fearful of what you are asking of me. Faith? I don't even know if I have any. But I know that you won't ask this of me unless you will supply what I need. I. Am. Done. I'll do it. I will obey and change and be all that you are asking me to be because anything that is ahead of me has got to be better than fighting you on this. Thank you for being patient. Honestly, thank you for not giving up on me. 

I found joy that day in submitting to God. 
So many people look at religion as a bunch of "don'ts" and a list of "dos" and it all sounds oppressive and rueful. 
And they are absolutely right. It is. 
But I don't have religion. I don't participate in the emptiness of trying to please a God through my puny acts of kindness and ritualistic performances. 
What I have is real. 
My relationship with the Almighty Creator is so much more than me trying to earn His favor. 
I can't. 
I never would be able to be good enough, smart enough, obedient enough to please Him. 
But you know what I can do? 
I can come in my frail state, lift up my hands and say, "Here I am. Do what you will. Use me."
I found joy that morning in the surrender of trusting my Protector. Following my Leader. Waiting on the One that makes all the appointments. 
Joy comes in trust. Trust comes from knowing truth. And Truth IS God. 

One call

So with this grieving thing, I am still learning as I go.
Having lost before, I can say that this loss is so much different.
I heard the quote that said:

"What greater grief can there be for mortals than to see their children dead?"~Joan Didion

I find this true. 
I am not belittling anyone else's grief. I'm just sharing where mine is today. 

So a I received an unexpected call this morning that shattered me and I haven't recovered yet. 
It was Molly's Oncology office. 
At first, I thought the phone call was an error. The lady on the line was asking for someone by the name of Long. I assured her that was not who I was and mentioned the name Little. 
There was my mistake. 
She proceeded to tell me that she had the wrong file open and asked if this was the family of Molly Little. 

What kind of sick joke is this?
I hadn't heard anyone but close family and friends speak her name. Why was this person bringing this up? Did they know she died? Are they confused? Am I?

It's amazing how quickly I became derailed. The phone call only lasted 30 more seconds. They were inviting us to a bereavement retreat for those families that lost their child. 

Ya, right. Last thing I want to do. Drive 8 hours and bring up all my feelings about how awful this has been with total strangers. 
I kindly declined, but before I even hung up I was already crying. I choked out my polite good bye, but I am pretty sure she already knew she had upset me. I honestly don't care. Seems cold, but it's truth. If my grief made her uncomfortable, well, there is really nothing I can do about it. Except perhaps take Molly's name off of their call list. 

I realize that I may come off harsh and mildly cynical, but I have my reasons. 
Grief is such an inconvenience. I wasn't expecting to cry today. I wasn't expecting to be brought back to the day they told me Molly was terminal. I didn't want to re-walk those hallways, smell the antiseptic, feel the tightness in my throat as I held back bawling just so Molly could have a simple check up.
But grief doesn't care what I want today. It shows up uninvited. Sloppy, messy, rude, and intrusive.
I plan on stepping out later and putting a smile on. Others will never know what's going on inside, because honestly, it's awkward.

Grief, you win today. I give into your demands. But only for a little while. Because know this, I don't intend for you to run my life and rule me. But I know that you are necessary and that you have a purpose, so for today, I will embrace you.

Joy

In a culture riddled with the indoctrination that you should do what makes you happy, feels good, and brings you satisfaction, it's hard to find the truth of what real joy really is. We spend thousands of dollars, hundreds of hours, and tons of energy on finding the secret to happiness.
A few years ago I felt the urge to study on the topic. Little did I know that I was only six months away from my joy being taken from me, or so it would seem. You see, it was in December of 2013 that I began to embark on the quest for joy. Looking back I find it humbling how much God was preparing me for the deep questions in my heart that would be coming. The whys and buts that would daily hang on my heart once Molly was diagnosed.
I began a list.
My questions at the top of my journal were:
Are we always supposed to have joy?
Where/how do we get it and keep it? 
Are there promises associated with joy in the Bible?

I desperately wanted these answers, because despite the healthy and yes, often times hot  marriage I was in with my best friend, despite getting to raise three crazy fun and exciting girls, despite having all the necessities of life, and so many more extras, I found often I was lacking joy. I was empty of happiness, though nothing was obviously keeping me from it.

Though we all go through bouts of sadness due to events, circumstances, and even people that suck the joy right out of us, it's good to know where our source of joy should really come from. That's where I have been recently. Discouraged by an ailment that I had no control over, I began to sink into an ugly hole. I hopped on over to my journals from years past and looked up my joy study. It refreshed me, encouraged me, and gave me so much hope..

What is joy, anyway?

I have this blissful memory from childhood that I have held dear for years. Very few memories are vivid in my mind. Everything usually is gray and blurry. But this memory is one of the few that is so clear that I remember the cold air coming in and out of my lungs, the smell of the snow, the color of the red sled in one hand, the green hose in the other, and the feeling of the crusted snot around my nose.
It was winter and my brother and I were in the back yard setting up the most wicked awesome sledding system in history. We had a huge hill in the backyard that steeply descended until you ended up at a wooden fence at the bottom. At the top of the hill, we packed up a high pile of snow and then proceeded to etch out a path down the hill with the sled. To finish it off, we took the garden hose and let the water run down our make-shift track. As the water ran down, it froze quickly and honestly, looked so pretty.

We were pumped. 

Being the good older brother that he was, J let me go first. Of course, I am sure the possibility of breaking a bone, slashing a leg, or receiving a head wound had nothing to do with his decision. (OK, now that I think of it, I am pretty sure I was the guinea pig for way too many crazy ideas he had. Maybe that's why he has never broken a bone or gotten stitches and I, well, have.)
I stepped on top of that homemade ramp, placed the firetruck red sled on top, jumped on, and flew down the hill. As fast as it started, it was over. I went so quick down that hill that I was most certain  there were sparks streaming behind me. Thankfully, the wooden fence was there to stop me from ending up in the next county.

I hit hard. And I am pretty sure more than my well-being, my brother was terrified of the repercussions that would take place if I was hurt. He ran up to me with fear in his eyes. But then he heard me laugh. More than laugh. I was hooting, hollering, giggling, and just full of life. It was the best sled ride I ever had, and even though I did it again and again that day, that first ride could never be beat.
This was joy.
Or at least according to the Webster dictionary. Pure delight, keen pleasure, and superb happiness.
I think this is why we constantly get confused and frustrated with the idea of joy.
Though Webster was a most intelligent man and I really don't know how he did what he did, we have to look deeper than the good old dictionary to find the true definition.
When the word joy pops up in the Bible, there are so many reasons people had it.
People had joy when God's Word was received in their hearts.
When the disciples heard that Christ was no longer in the grave: joy.
Zechariah had joy at the news of John the Baptist's conception.
After worship there was joy.
When someone is saved, there is joy.
Abiding in God brings joy.
Honestly, my list is so long. I looked up every single time the word joy was used.
Here's the condensed version.

You have joy when:
1. You see God working and have answered prayer. 
2. When the Gospel is received.
3. When you inherit the Kingdom of Heaven.
4. When you hear and receive God's teaching.
5. With worship.
6.When you abide in Him.
7. When you do His work.
8. Even in tribulations, there is joy.

Here's my challenge to you this week. 
I went down this list and asked myself which one of these I had experienced. Which have you lived and seen? Which have you known?
I found this an excellent starting point in really getting down to the real question: Where does my joy come from?
I know that I personally have learned that my joy comes from many different reasons, but One True Source. 

Love thy neighbor

I will never, ever do this again...

These were the words repeated over and over in my head last week as my girls and I tried to hop on a Space-A flight to Germany to see my husband.

The military life is a challenging and sacrificing one, but there are some perks. One advantage is the ability, under certain circumstances, to fly stand by on a military flight. There are an assortment of planes to choose from. 

Why not try the comfy 777, stocked with cushy, reclining seats, stewardesses bringing drinks, snacks, and headphones for their in-flight movie? Not your cup of tea? Prefer something... edgier? Why not hop on a C-5? Loud, dark, and ready to carry 20 million tons of cargo, this beast goes all over the world. It's massive size may impress, but wait until you see the bathrooms! There is the C-17, which we got to enjoy, stocked with netted seats and a cold metal floor for napping. My personal favorite, the C-130 has a cozier feel, equipped with a bathroom with or without curtain. So many choices...

This was us last Sunday.

We drove up to Baltimore with a smile on our faces, excitement in the air, and suitcases galore ready to take the 8 hour flight onto our adventure in Germany.

Of course,  flying stand by means uncertainty, but we were feeling optimistic... or maybe naive is a better word. The reality is, you are paying with your time, willing to give it a try for a few days, being flexible, and making a flight when you can. It's a great plan for retirees who don't really have anywhere to go and are in it for the adventure. Moms with kids, well, not so much. 

(Sleeping on the floor of a C-17)

Problem is, I wasn't thinking it all through very clearly. Or at least, that is what it felt like when 6 p.m rolled around and they didn't call our name on the flight.


(Photo taken right after we didn't make the second flight)

We pause here to take a quick rabbit trail to discuss luggage.

When you have three ladies, an international flight, and a vacation for two weeks,(plus school supplies), your bags get heavy. I don't consider myself an over-packer, but in the end, I had one large suitcase, 3 smaller ones, two back packs, three coats, a laptop bag, and a purse. It didn't seem all that much until I started carting it around the airport for an entire day. It was like one million pounds of heavy that by the end of the day, I was certain I would either get ripped like Arnold from carrying all these bags or my arms would fall off.

Back to Sunday night...
We didn't make it on the flight. This means we weren't going to see Daddy in 10 hours, we didn't know when we would get on another flight, and we were pooped.
God works in very mysterious ways. And even though I was extremely disappointed that we didn't make the flight, I was quick  to smile when He showed up in little blue eyes, blond, messy hair, and a wobbly walk.

  Meet Bella.

  

Bella was a beautiful little toddler flying back to Germany with her even more beautiful mom. If I was being 100% honest about it, Bella's mom really saved the day. Her calming presence talked me down from plunging off the roof of insanity. The kids were starting to see the crazy build up inside of me and the concern was growing. At any moment I would either start crying from sheer exhaustion or begin throwing every piece of luggage I had at the smug attendant behind the counter. Either way, it was about to get ugly.
But Britta, beautiful, perfect, thank-you-for-saving-my-dignity Britta, came to the rescue.
She was really in the same boat I was in. No husband to carry a bag. Small child ready to eat. Tired and desperate to be home in her own bed.
So, we joined forces. 

The next 72 hours were full of obstacle after obstacle just trying to get to our destination.
There were hotels, driving in the middle of the night to other bases, loading and loading the van about 47 times, and of course, tiredness beyond belief.
But through the whole ordeal, we didn't cry, lash out, or lose it. We kept one another grounded. True camaraderie.
And this got me thinking about love.
Love.
Love thy neighbor...
Love is the only reason two strangers would stick together for days, stinky, tired, and with their own set of problems and help one another out.
Love is the driving force behind every kind and generous act in this world. Love is a command, a sacrifice, and a gift.
Sure, a sweet little 18 month old is easy to love. But how about a room full of tired moms and about a dozen kids 10 and under. That's where we ended up on our last day before we flew out.
Here we were. Five military families, all wives with no husbands with them. We all were trying to get to Germany and we all had gone 72 hours with minimal sleep. Some were nursing moms, but all were desperate and exhausted.
If you pooled all our resources, energy, and attitudes together, at best, we were one mediocre mom that didn't even have her coffee yet.
But then love stepped in.
When you look around a room and see so much need, this adrenaline tends to build up inside you and get you on your feet. I saw this in each and every mom at one point. We carried one another's bags. We held one another's crying baby. We shared our food when someone was hungry, a blanket when someone was cold, and shared a smile when the anxiety showed in someone's eyes.
Loving thy neighbor was being fully exhibited that day in a cramped waiting room on Andrew's Air Force Base. And it continued to permeate the C-17 that we rode on that night.
There are few times in my life that I have been that exhausted and frustrated, and without love, I would have never made it. 

Love IS God. 
And I truly believe that whether a person believes in God or not, He uses us all to express who He is through these simple actions.
So who knew that a lousy trip on a dark, dingy C-17 could teach me about love. Who knew I would feel loved just because someone helped me unload my van. And who knew I would know love through the presence of so many strangers.

They Are Not Mine

This story begins with my daughter in a drainage pipe.

 Yes, you read that correctly. My six year old, coaxed by her ten year old sister, decided it a good idea to crawl through the drainage pipe at the end of our driveway.
Barely small enough to fit, she and her sister got a flashlight, a rake, and a load of courage and headed to the dark hole. Thinking they were smart, they checked the hole, first for animals, (including snakes), then for insects of course, and finally, with the rake, took one last swipe to make sure they didn't miss anything.

Now, I wish this story had another ending. Like, I saw what they were about to do and I rushed out to educate them on the dangers of drainage pipes. But, nope. I was inside my house, blissfully enjoying the quiet and talking to my best friend on the phone. I figured the girls were having a great time playing pioneers, building birdhouses, or kicking the soccer ball around, which is their norm.
But when the little one came racing in, big grin on her face and covered in something that resembled vomit and mowed grass, I knew I was in for trouble.
Why, when you think you have reached a certain point in parenting, do you kids just spin you around and kick you back to the start line? Never would I have thought I would have needed to have this conversation with them.
I stripped her naked, threw her in the shower, and began to "loudly educate" the girls on all of the "could haves".
"You could have been bitten by a snake. Bitten by a poisonous spider. Got a cut which would then have gotten infected because, do you know how dirty that pipe is? You could have gotten stuck. You could have twisted a limb, bumped your head, eaten a centipede,gotten lost, gotten scared, gotten a disease..." I am not even kidding when I say this went on for twenty minutes.

You know what this was really about? I assure you, this had nothing to do with a drainage pipe adventure. It was about me and my fears.
I need a daily reminder that my kids are not mine. They are on loan from the Lord. He's entrusted me to care for them, teach them (even about drainage pipes), and send them off so that they can go do more for Him. It's the hardest of concepts to get for us parents because we play a part in their creation. (OK, men, maybe a smaller part, but still, they are involved, for about 5 seconds.)
We gave our girls to the Lord a long time ago. We publicly dedicated them to the Lord in the church. We prayerfully asked God to lead and guide them as we knelt beside our very bed. However, I often forget this truth. I need to be reminded that He's got this. I just need to trust.
I've already given one child back to the Lord.
Hardest of things I have ever done in my life.
But I can't help but think that because we established so long ago that they are not ours, it made it the tiny bit easier.
 I hope that doesn't sound like I'm diminishing our loss, ache, and questions.
But as Molly entered heaven, I had a peace that she was returning home. Her true home. OUR true home that we will one day be together in.
Here's the point.
As much as I fought to keep her with us... and I did. As much as I prayed and begged God to heal her here on earth... which I most certainly did with every ounce of my being. As much as He knew my heart's desire to live out this life in the "normal" pattern of things, parents dying before children, I realized that He was in control. God ultimately decided the timeline, the diagnosis, the day.
I just don't get it. And I won't on this side, but I do understand that she was never mine to hold onto. I needed to let her go, because the big purpose she had here on earth was accomplished.
Though I gave one child up, I don't wish to give my other two girls. I can not comprehend that kind of loss.
I do, however, know that they are still not mine.
I do the best I can with them, with the time that I have, which is right now. And then tomorrow, if I see their smiles again, I do my best then. And the next day. And the next.
I will do my very best as a Mother and Caregiver until God chooses that job to come to an end. My prayer is that it's not for a long time though.
Dear Lord,
Help me to remember that I came into this life empty handed and the only reasons my arms are full are because of your goodness, grace, and mercy. Please keep them full for many days. Take away my fears and worries that you will end things sooner than I wish. May I do my best today and not worry about tomorrow.
Amen. 

He Made It Again

In first grade, our art teacher gave us the project to make a gift for our parents out of clay. 

We were to form it into the shape we desired it to be and then she would place it in the very hot kiln to harden into pottery. Finishing touches were made to our gifts days later, as each child carefully painted their piece in an assortment of colors. 

I decided to make my mom an ashtray. 

Now, I know my mom, and she will be mortified that I am even writing this, but let me say, she no longer smokes. I am so proud of her for quitting. So, go Mom!
But at the time, I thought she would like nothing more than an ashtray so that she could use it daily and think of me.
I can still see the present being held in her hand.
It was a disaster. I mean, really, even for a first grader it was very clear that the arts were not my strong point.
It could have been a bowl, a shallow vase, a funky tile, who really knew. The colors all bled together and there were lumps all throughout the pottery.
But in her hands, it looked beautiful. 

It represented love, patience, and care. It held a memory, a space in time that would forever be a part of her. If you ask her today, yes, she still has that ugly old thing. 

But as I think about that gift, I think of the story in Jeremiah about the potter and his vessel. 

God told Jeremiah to go to the potter's house and He would reveal something to him.
As he watched the potter form the clay, an amazing thing would happen when he found an imperfection. You know what he did?

  He made it again. 

He crushed that clay, formed it into a new ball, and began the process of shaping, cutting, and molding his creation anew.
We are like that clay. 
So many times I have looked back on my life and realized how much I have seen and known at just the age of 33. I've lived a long life already and carry so many scars, both physically and emotionally.
I'm marred and imperfect.
But I'm reminded at what the book of Jeremiah says. 

"And the vessel that he made of clay was marred IN HIS HANDS..."

The whole time the "hot mess of a vessel" was marred and incomplete, it was in the potter's hands.
That means, through it all I have not been alone.

 I have never been out of His control.
Some difficulties were self inflicted, while others were out of my power. But no matter how those marred lines and jagged edges got there, God holds me up and molds me to perfection.
He continually makes me better, more beautiful, more adequate for His use.
You don't ever hear about the clay standing up and saying, "You are not doing this right, Maker. Let me have a go."
It's a silly, dumb thought, but how often do I try to take control and fix myself?
I don't desire to be a cracked, useless vessel. 

I want to be used for exactly what I am intended to be used for.

Only the Maker knows what that is. So I must allow Him to smooth my edges, put on some pressure to form me, and wreck me again and again until I am just right.
I won't be perfect this side of heaven. Right now, I'm in the building process. We all are. And the more I remind myself of this, the easier the pressure will be when it comes.

 God is making me.

 God is molding me.

 I am in His hands. 
One day, in heaven, I truly believe we will get to "see" the process and understand each pinch, poke, spin, press, and squash.
Until that day, may I remember that this pressure I am feeling is for my good. Because God is always, always good. And He knows what a beautiful vessel I will become. 

If I Could Write You in Heaven

Dear Molly, 

I thought of you today. I think of you everyday. Every minute, really, as I go about the "normal" things of the day. I say "normal" because really nothing is normal anymore.
Since the day you left, my life line was severed and a new one began. Sure, some things are parallel to the old life line, but so many things are different.
I heard a friend say that death is a date on the calendar but grief is the calendar and that is my truth. Everything in my past is put into the perspective if it was before you died, after you died, or while you were sick. 

I can't seem to remember things any other way.
I find that this new life line is moving further and further from you, and for that I am sorry. I know you would never wish me to stop my life. I know you want me to carry on, laughing, living, and loving. And I do. But I am still trying to figure out how I will really be able to do all those things without you here. 

I daydream about your cheeks. No, really. I miss kissing them so much. They were soft, sweet, and I could always feel your smile as I pressed my lips against them.
If I could only read you a story today. Hold you on my lap as you snuggle in. You head resting on my chest as I slowly turn page after page.
It's so hard to believe that this will never happen again. It's so final. So surreal. So dreadfully awful and sad.
Our home, our life, is covered in pictures with you smiling, being silly, being beautiful. And yet today, I find them not nearly enough for me. I want more. I want to hear you laugh, see your beautiful curls bouncing around, and watch you close your eyes good night.
I've imagined what I would say to you if I could just call you on the phone and talk. I've decided I would say nothing. I would just listen to you. And when you were done talking, I would hang on every breath you took until we had to hang up. 

Being your  mother has been the most wonderful accomplishment in my life and I would never trade  it. But losing you in this life is by far the deepest thing I will ever feel.
I'm so sorry you are gone. I could never say that enough.
I'm sorry you won't grow with your sisters.
I'm sorry we won't watch you grow.
I love you. That will never change. The only thing that has changed is how far I have to love you from.
Love,
Mommy

Come

Language is simply fascinating to me. In high school, Etymology was by far my favorite subject. We use language all day, every day. We communicate information, emotions, ideas, and everything that falls in-between.
This year, as I reflected on where I was at and where God was sending me, I kept landing on the word "come". It's a simple word, really. We use it all throughout our day.
"Come here, honey."
"Will you come to my house on Saturday?"
"Come and get it!"
"When will bedtime come?!" (OK, this one may just be something I say lately.)
Christ used the word often, as well. It's no surprise really. He came to call the lost and eventually bring them with him to eternity. 

But what I am really trying to figure out is how this word "come" will be applicable for 2017. What will it look like in the day to day?

As I asked this question for about a week, God brought the answer... in frozen pipes. 

We had a pretty bad snowstorm last weekend in Virginia. Of course our first winter here, not only did we get 13.5" of snow, but we got temperatures that hit zero and wouldn't budge much. Mix these two things together, snow and arctic cold, and you have the absolute perfect recipe for frozen pipes, at least at my house. Now, the locals have sworn to me that this is bizarre and very uncommon, but as the days kept hitting us and the snow kept falling, I continued to be skeptical. But whether this is normal or not, the fact is I had frozen pipes.

My first reaction was to panic.

Though this was not the first time they had froze, this was the first time the entire upstairs was not working. I began to have visions of exploding pipes, flooded floors, and total loss of the house. Tears began to well up and I felt that tightness in my chest that is so familiar.

But then God said, "Hold up."

I needed to stop and come to Him.

I hadn't read my Bible or spoken to the Lord at all that morning since the very first thing I did after opening my eyes was use the restroom and discover the pipe dilemma. But honestly, it didn't seem like a good time to be doing that. I mean, I have a situation here, Lord. Can't you see that my house is about to flood and all will be lost?!
It didn't phase Him.
I was told again to "come" and read His Word.
I knelt down next to my bed and opened my Bible to the next chapter in my daily reading. Deuteronomy. Like anything in one of the book of laws will help me with my pipes. But that is when I saw it.
On the page before me, the words, "That thou mightest fear the LORD thy God..." flew off the page. And then He asked me a simple question.

"What are you fearing?"

This moment of forgetfulness came over me and I began to have this inner dialogue as if it was with myself, but really, it was with God. Denying that I feared anything was my first reaction. I'm super woman, right? I'm not scared. I'm tough. Thick skinned. Hard.
Then He asked again.
As if slapped out of my imaginary conversation and thrown into place, I realized who I was talking to. The King knows all. He knows me better than I really know myself. There's no fooling anyone here, except maybe me!

"What ARE you afraid of?"

My answer began to flow out in a mixture of tears, relief, and doubt.

I'm afraid of the house flooding. I'm afraid of messing something up, costing us thousands of dollars, and looking like a fool. I'm afraid to ask for help and show weakness. I'm afraid of being afraid.

Ah, there it is.

Now, this story could go on and on, but I want to get to the point of it all. (But for those interested, three later, all pipes were thawed. Thank the Lord we have a downstairs bathroom that was fine. This girl has not mastered peeing in the woods.)

This year, God wants me to come. He wants me to come and kneel at my Savior. He wants me to worship and reverence who He is. He wants me to pull my family beside me as I come to Him. Come in the good. Come in the bad. Just come as I am.
When we forget our constant state of need, we forget that we can come. We become complacent and roll with the day until, bam! the pipes freeze. Then it's panic mode and we forget.
I want to get into the habit, nay, the mindset that I can constantly come to the Lord. I don't want to come when I am just in trouble or just so desperate.
Woke up tired? Come.
Saw a beautiful sunrise? Come.
Fight with the husband? Come.
Feeling lonely? Come.
Got an unexpected happy surprise in the mail? Come.
Frozen pipes? Come.

Lord, you know I don't come nearly as much as you desire me to. Thank you for being patient. Thank you for even wanting me to come. For being willing to listen, comfort, talk, and even smile with me. Remind me this year to come to you, no matter what my state, what my circumstance, or what my mood. May I come to you more and more each day. 

Go-To Woman

Moving to a new location brings on many challenges. We've been through the "fun" of finding a new house, figuring out where to shop, and choosing a good church. Friendships tend to grow from there. But one absolute necessity for me has always been to find my go-to mentor. You know, that lady who is well-versed in this thing called life. She has had years of marinating in marriage. She's seasoned with mothering. She has been stirred in trials and hardships. A sprinkle of humor and a douse of self preservation, this woman knows a whole lot.
I want to be around this woman. I want to soak up her knowledge, her toughness, her confidence. I want to sit down with a cup of coffee and just consume her know-how received from just living life.
We all need a mentor. Whether we are 15 or 50, there is always someone who knows a little more than we do. And it would be foolish of us to think we couldn't learn from anyone else.

"The aged women likewise, that they be in behavior as becometh holiness... That they may teach the young women to be sober, to love their husbands, to love their children, to be discreet, chaste, keepers at home, good, obedient to their own husbands, that the word of  God be not blasphemed."
Titus 2:3-5

There is so much wisdom in this verse. The problem with so many young women these days is that they are scared, or day I say, too prideful to seek out someone who can teach them. I'm from a generation that knows everything and can do anything without any aide whatsoever. That must be why we have homes filled with marriages falling apart, toddlers ruling the home, and the balancing plates all crashing to the ground at once.
We are seeking advice from our girlfriends that are in the same boat as we are instead of asking someone who already walked this path years ago. Why not be taught from their successes and failures? Why are we not sitting at the feet of our mothers and grandmothers and listening to what they did when they were 20,30, or 40?
I'm in the process of seeking out my "go-to lady." It's hard to find an older woman who is not too busy, not too tired, and has enough care to bring me under her wings and guide me to the next phase. But I know she's out there.
For the older generation who has "done their time" and "raised their kids", I implore you to consider us young ones who are helplessly helpless. Just like you in your younger years, we don't know what we are doing. Even more so now as technology and a faster paced life continually fights for our time and affections, we are losing so many battles.
Take us under your wings. Scoop us up and love us. Correct errors when you see them, but do so with words that ooze love and understanding. Tell us your stories. Tell us what you did right, what you did wrong. Share. Encourage. Embrace.
I know I don't have a bit of it all figured out. I still fail as a wife on a daily basis. (Have you ever fought via text? Oh, it's possible.) My kids are constantly changing and growing, which I absolutely love and adore. But with that comes new challenges that utterly terrify and confuse me. Next week we have our oldest in double digits. I suspect it's all down hill from here.
Even more so, I need guidance in knowing God deeper. The chores, fights, to-do lists, and running around often fog my view of the real Priority, Him. To have an older woman to come beside me, put her arm around me and encourage me with His word and truth... well, there is nothing more this hungry soul could need.
So young women, find your go-to woman. Don't be ashamed. Don't be embarrassed. Don't think you know it all. Because you just don't.
To my older generation ladies, I just love you. Thank you for helping me spread my wings and learn from you. Keep teaching. Keep talking. Keep walking. 

Hot or Cold?

I have lived in the South since 2007 and the one thing I have never understood was the love for sweet tea. I feel like I am risking life and limb here by even admitting this publicly, but I just don't comprehend why people make such a big deal about it. To base your restaurant choice off of how good their sweet tea is sounds incredibly foreign to me, but it most certainly happens. I don't even like the taste. (You may now cast your stones.)

I came from New York where it's cold about 7-8 months of the year. You're laughing, but I am most certainly serious. I am pretty sure babies from the womb are drinking hot tea or hot coffee.You would think that I would at least like hot tea. Nope. Not for me.
Hot or cold, I guess tea is just not my thing.
As a mom, you really don't tend to get hot or cold drinks. Busy with tending to other's needs, your hot tea cools down or your sweet tea warms up. Everything always ends up lukewarm. Even though I don't care for the stuff, I know well enough that this is a real bummer when you can't enjoy your beverage at the correct temperature.
In the book of Revelations, Jesus likens the church of Laodicea to this lukewarm temperature.

"I know thy works, that though art neither cold nor hot: I would thou wert cold or hot."

How often have I gotten caught up in the busyness of life or the glit and glamour of the world around me and forget about the task at hand.
 Today was a perfect example.
 I totally dropped the ball on life. There was no glit or glam in this house, but there was plenty of distraction mixed with a tinge of crazy and a whole lot of beastliness. Finances were on my mind, since my husband is deployed it's in my hands to make sure we don't end up on the streets. So far, I have succeeded! I kept thinking about big projects on the house that need to be done, verses what I really wanted done. (Do we really need a new heating unit for $5000 when I could paint the whole downstairs for half that much? I mean, I can wrap up in my Snuggie, but I can't poke my eyes out to stop looking at these ugly walls. FYI: We bought a foreclosure so that equals lots of work.)
 We, of course, can not forget about school. The daily grind, constant correction, list of goals to achieve in the curriculum for the day. It is endless.
I totally missed the mark. I was neither hot nor cold. I was walking around in a haze, trying to accomplish "life" and really getting nothing done. When my zombie-like trance was broken by the shrieks of little girls fighting or just being silly, I would lose it.
There are days that I am just with it. God and I had a chat in the early hours. He reminded me once again about how amazing He is and what He wants to do in my heart. We keep our chats throughout the day and I feel so ready to tackle everything that is before me because I remember Who is with me.
But everyday is just not like this.
On the days that I'm simply lukewarm and coasting, I'm utterly miserable. I indeed make everyone around me feel the same way as well. Sigh... all I can say is thank God for new mercies.
The absolute wonderful part of this sad story is that it is 8 p.m. That means in 4 hours I get another chance. I can add some ice to keep my cool for the day ahead, or I can heat up to boiling and remember what God has already done in my life. First and foremost, He saved me! If that doesn't get your body pumping, I don't know what will.
We all have spells that are dry, or lukewarm. The difference between days and months or years, though, is monumental. We can't let ourselves climb into this tepid bath and just sit. Reevaluate and move on. That's what I am doing. I will shut my laptop, sink into bed, dream about who knows what, and then start afresh tomorrow.