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.