The River Into Words

With every bowl of cereal

2012-02-08T09:50:00.000-06:00

He's counting down the days and I'm trying not to mourn the 8-years-past-baby, now 9-in-three-days boy who sleeps on Clone Wars sheets two doors down the hall. I look at him in wonder, and yet still try to avert my eyes to the obvious fact he is aging, growing, living days faster and faster.

He is proof of clocks and calendars. He is the second-hand of time. His face changes by the minute, his heart is bigger and wider. His legs are fuzzier than they used to be. His mouth quickly turns from smile to smirk to puckered lips. He knows and spells words that used to be gibberish. He reads faster than we can keep up, and we find ourselves debating and discerning, wanting to keep him naive and fresh indefinitely before his brain discovers and his heart struggles with the mysteries of evil, trouble, and heartache.

Every morning he comes to me with hugs, asks for cereal, smiles with sleep still in his eyes, and I miss him so much my insides sigh. For with every moment, every word, every book and every secret he debates to share (for big boys aren't as quick as small boys with the thoughts they quickly and happily give their mother), he is less and less mine. More and more Yours.

And I give him up to You with every bowl of cereal.

On practicing motherhood, until it comes naturally

2012-02-06T00:00:00.000-06:00

It does not come naturally to me, this motherhood. To get up at 3am to the sound of a cry, to stand in a dirty kitchen haphazardly feeding little warriors with bottomless bellies, to teach and to humble and to repent and to forgive... this all does not sync easily with my haughty heart.

And there have been tears in the dark of the bathroom, and unanswerable questions whispered to the heavens, and shameful wonderings that this can't possibly be all there is: to wipe bottoms and press play on the DVD player. Because some days, this is in fact all there is. Poop and the Wiggles.

Then some days, there is so much more. With the tying of shoelaces, he is independent. With her picking out her own clothes, she expresses creativity. With toilet paper in my face in my most vulnerable moment, he asks, "I help you?" They are my partners in this. We are learning together. And it is me that they want to become, who they are trying to impress, who - with hearts full - they are actually trying to serve.

It does not come naturally to me, but they seem born for it: to help their mom discover who she is. They teach me how to ask for help, and how to rejoice in each small success. It is mostly not fairytales, and very rarely are there roses, and more than I'd like to admit there is frustration, and yelling, and stomping feet down the hall.

But then, we stand in that very same hallway as the eldest calls out, "Three cheers for Asher! Hip, Hip..." for he has peed on the potty and it is not just his success, but all of ours to claim.

"Hip, Hip..."

"Hooray!"

"Hip, Hip..."

"Hooray!"

"Hip, Hip..."

"Hooray!"

I think every day that they still love me and want to learn something new with me is victory. We are practicing motherhood together. Until it comes naturally.

Wordless Wednesday

2012-02-01T12:35:00.002-06:00

(with respect to my sister in law, who says posting pictures alone does not a blogger make. :))

On the day I started a Facebook page

2012-01-31T10:31:00.001-06:00

On the day I started a Facebook page (which was yesterday), I had almost instant buyer's remorse.

"It'll be me and 5 friends who feel sorry for me and then I'll say something off-hand about alcohol and someone will unfriend me, or call our employer, or stop supporting us (all of which has actually happened), and then I'll have to censor, and do I really want more readers, because sometimes I just complain or cry or write love letters to the lock on my bathroom door, and really, what do I have to offer about faith and motherhood and transition that wiser women haven't noted before me, so maybe I should just delete it and let it go."

But I kept it anyway, and as of this count have 13 friends who "Like" the blog, so that's like a 150% return on my initial risk assessment (that might be fuzzy math). And it's not so much about the readers, or the Likers. It's about community and accountability and maybe seeing where and how God might allow me to write, work, or serve in the future.

And rabbit holes are fun.

And so is moving outside your comfort zone.

So Outside Comfort Zone, I'm Karen. And I write. And occasionally I yell. But it's still a poem to the King, and to you. And to anyone else who has a river of words flowing from their thirsty souls, just waiting to spring forth into the wide open sea. Or in this case, Facebook.

Upon reading "One Thousand Gifts"

2012-01-30T14:04:00.000-06:00

I have finally picked it up, the book nearly every girlfriend of mine both online and off has read and sworn by this past year. One Thousand Gifts by Ann Voskamp. I will admit it, I was - and still am - a bit antsy. It seemed hokey, the counting. And her writing style is a bit, shall we say, flowery. But being the reader and the pretend writer that I am, thought I should at least give it a go.

So here I am 60 pages in and while I relate to the story on several different levels - the monastic monotony of motherly duties, the tragic event in childhood, the anxiety - I'm not sure I get it. I mean, I do get the need to count and recount and verbalize and document all good gifts from above. The soul's need to thank the Giver. The not wanting to take anything for granted. The life of praise.

But I have some nagging issues.

One, that this is the key to salvation, both earthly and eternal.

Two, that writing down all the things that make us happy ("bare toes in early light" or "jam piled high on toast") amount to thanksgiving.

And third, what about the dark gifts? The gifts that don't make us happy: a difficult employer, a stubbed toe in early light. Do these make it on the list? Aren't these the things, the hard things, that we're painfully challenged to count all joy? Perhaps I just haven't reached that part in the book yet. Maybe there's a chapter coming up about the tears she sheds as she numbers the hard, ugly thing she still receives as gift.

This may all be a bit premature, but as I sit reading with a blank notebook at my side, no matter how many times I think to write down "red front doors," my dark instincts fight the brighter ones and I don't really know how to go about my list. Are these just my happy preferences, is this a recognition of common grace, or am I working out my salvation with flowery trembling?

What I do know is that I want to live fully right where I am. So I suppose I should finish the book. And also go ahead and start with the red front door.

I help you.

2012-01-28T16:33:00.000-06:00

"I want your mom to be able to lock herself in the bathroom."

Because he knows I'm growing weary of the toddler joining me in on the toilet, smashing the door open against the wall with his chubby bare hand, fumbling for scraps of toilet paper.

"I hep oo." I help you.

The changing of locks and the switching of knobs, the hope of privacy is fresh. This apartment with the parking lot for a front garden isn't our home, but it is. Or, at least he's making it that way. With the locks. And the curtains. And the makeshift kitchen table made from old, cherished workbench.

It is not perfect. The door still bounces off the frame. Cold air leaks in cheap windows. The kitchen table is not beautiful. But it makes living here easier. And I am able to lock myself in the bathroom if I need to.

And occasionally, I need to.

Putting down roots near the rivers...

2012-01-26T21:41:00.000-06:00

Care for a carnival?

2012-01-26T00:00:00.000-06:00

UPDATE: The Carnival starts on February 6! :)

Next month I'm participating in a Practices of Parenting Carnival over at Emerging Mummy. Her blog is so sweet, poignant and fiery and I'm excited to join her in sharing the ways we love, nurture, fight, grow, and practice the delicately messy art of parenting. Well, at least for me it's delicately messy.

Would you care to join us?

If you have a blog, head over to Emerging Mummy for all the link-up details (I'm looking at you, Katie).
If you don't have a blog but would love to contribute, let me know and I'll happily post your contribution (I'm looking at you, Nicole). For reals.
If you have something you'd like to hear from me (a question I often get is, "Karen, you're so amazingly beautiful and talented and the most perfect mother. Tell me, how do you do it all???"), leave me a message with a topic or a question. In all honesty, I'm often at a loss when it comes to describing exactly how this mom/child/family thing works for us. It's an ever-evolving organism of grace and forgiveness... ooh, perhaps I'll write about that...

Early mornings are for suckers {part 2 of 52... maybe}

2012-01-24T21:28:00.001-06:00

I hate getting up early.

Since my drama days in high school, I've preferred to drink coffee into the wee hours, talking with friends or pulling a yearbook all-nighter. And these days, as mum to three loud and crazy kiddos, I crave my late night "me time" where I tune out (or tune in to Parks and Recreatin reruns), put my feet up, and just. be. me. These are my Not Mom hours and I love them and I don't want to give them up.

But I have to.

Because we have two kids in school most days. Because I need coffee in my veins to know which slipper goes on which foot. Because our apartment is small and loud and if I'm not up and consciously available by the time they are up and needing food and milk and signed homework, it all goes to pot. And indeed, it all went to pot one day too many and I knew it. I had to get up early. I have to do my job. I have to have the best work ethic possible for the most important job I'll ever have: Mom and Wife. Soft place to fall. Kisser of boo-boos. Planner of meals. Singer of songs.

So last fall I tried it for the first time. The Hello Mornings challenge: getting up for my kids instead of to my kids, praying and communing with Jesus, and preparing for our day. And it went great for a week or so (I never did get to that exercise part). And then some tough stuff went down, and I slept in a few days too many because that's how my soul recuperates after late nights of tears. Before I knew it that session was over and it was time to start anew.

Which brings me to part 2 of that 52 bites series (maybe). Develop a morning routine. Little did I know, when I started leafing through One Bite at a Time, that I'd already laid the baby step foundations for one of these "bites" towards simplicity: discovering just a few things to start my day before the kids (and man) start theirs.

Sadly, it means the old Not Mom hours after dark have to go in lieue of the new Not Mom hours before dawn. But it's not just a Not Mom hour... there is no wasting time away online or staring at the telly. It's precious moments of intentional prayer, growth, calmness, study, wisdom, self-control, readiness (and maybe eventual exercise).

It's communion with Jesus and loving my children before I even see their faces.

And then it's eating my frog. But that comes a little later, and by then, I'm ready for it. Because I know who I truly am (and it's not just as The Dishwasher).

Missional Mom : The Rest of the Story

2012-01-18T00:00:00.000-06:00

If you followed my groundbreaking (though unfinished) series, 10 Books I'm Currently Not Finishing, you may be wondering if I ever did finish any of those books. The truth is, well, just barely. As in one. I finished one.

And I had good incentive.

Helen Lee, author of The Missional Mom, was so kind enough to meet me at a conference for missional church planters, leaders, and visioncasters (is that a word? well, it is now), get in a car with a near-stranger (again, me), and share her journey, as well as the journey of other normal suburban, yet fearless and winsome women who dare to imagine a calling greater than that of mom. She is as down to earth as she is thoughtful and it was a pleasure to hear her heart for moms, for the needy, and for living a life that seeks to impact the world by serving it with and through your family.

Please check out the interview I did with Helen at Halogen, and visit her website for more information. Whether you're a mom, a dad, a child of God, or a friend in need, you will find something there to inspire the mission within.

On the day I ate my frog {part 1 of 52... maybe}

2012-01-17T12:44:00.000-06:00

So today I ate my frog.

This is the first project from the lovely ebook "One Bite at a Time: 52 Projects for Making Life Simpler" by SimpleMom herself (her friends call her Tsh, but I call her "Amazing Lady who Has it all Together"). And I nailed it on the first day! Oh wait, what? You don't eat frogs? Well, I guess I should explain.

Each of the 52 "bites" is kinda like the permission you need to get the stuff done you kinda need to do, but don't really want to do. Start a routine. Think about your debt. Catalog your digital photos. All good things, but there's so many of them! Where to start? A la, 52 bites. One at a time. At your own pace. No guilt trip.

Seriously, no guilt trip. I like to hear about other moms' brilliant and fabulous stories of crafty homeschooling and career self-fulfillment adventures, and then obsess about all the ways I'm not measuring up or what I need to do to fix myself. This isn't that book. You can take up a project, or you can leave it. And when you're done, you just feel more you. Or in my case, more me.

Which means, back to that frog. My "frog" is the emptying/filling the dishwasher. Everyday I have to do it, and everyday I hate doing it, so everyday I put off doing it until the kids are in bed, the sink is full, I'm wrecked and frustrated and just want to get to bed already, but I can't because of that. dumb. dishwasher. So today I ate my frog. First thing in the morning. I tackled that sucker in between devotions and the breakfast run.

And now? I can do all that other stuff, like update my blog and check facebook. You know, the real important stuff.

And that's One Bite at a Time. Clearing out the clutter and making room for what's important. Life, family, you, and God. Check it out. Do it. Now.

Now.

Leaving the orphanage

2012-01-11T17:01:00.000-06:00

I don't think there are more beautiful words in the English than "Guess who left the orphanage for good today?"

Just to be clear, we are not adopting, though we feel the word may apply to us one day. While our family is currently complete, we are open and curious and in wonder about a future that might include another child whom we can give a home to (once we have a permanent home ourselves, that is).

All that to say is, today I read a tweet for a family who's story I've followed for a long time. Their's is unique, and I feel honoured to stand on the sidelines, anonymous, offering up a prayer here or there. And the tweet today? A final goodbye to an orphanage in Ukraine. A new identity. A mother and a father. A home waiting with a brother and a sister, and friends, and a church. A hope and a future.

Wow. Breathtaking words, leaving the orphanage for good. He is a giver of life.

what I read this week

2012-01-07T19:18:00.000-06:00

Spent an inordinate amount of time this week catching up on blogs, film and book reviews, and other pop culture things. A wee list of the good stuff:

Her.meneutics : Why 'Girl with the Dragon Tattoo' hurts women (a misnomer of a title, but an interesting discussion)

I’m not saying Salander (or the book or the movie) should be boycotted, rallied against, or tarred and feathered. As Christians, we too often fall into the twin traps of demonization or idolization.

Books & Culture : Talking about REAL marriage

Men are to be tough in business (there will be no questioning of American economic norms in this book) and tender with women and children, who are weak. Wives are "crystal goblets," beautiful and fragile; men are "thermoses," strong and protective.

Emerging Mummy : In which [love looks like] a real marriage

You follow when I step out to a new place and I know when to slide into your new turn as a shadow and you lead us both through but usually, it's just us...

Urban Faith : Forgiving Kim Jong-Il

When we asked him why he prayed in this particular way, he replied, “He’s a bad, bad man. I don’t love him. I hate him.”

Tall Skinny Kiwi : 9 reasons NOT to plant a church in 2012

The people most likely to join a new church plant are usually those with some kind of church background - the de-churched, pre-churched, ex-churched, which means ignoring really lost people and duplicating the ministries of existing churches.

(in)courage : Goals make us available, not perfect

But practical goals should never be the measuring stick that determines our worth.

Her.meneutics : Grieving a lost child

It connected us a thousand years into our past and a thousand years into our future, like a blueprint for a person—one who will never be repeated, never recreated.

2011's not totally terrible writing : Toaster to the Fullest

2011-12-31T00:00:00.000-06:00

I changed the name of this series because "best of" just sounded so, so, perfect. And me and my writing are so, so not. So it's 2011's not totally terrible writing. This one was an epiphany. Pure mind/heart explosion. And it's still true, but acknowleding it is half the battle, right?

Right?

***

I don't read owner's manuals. I push buttons.

With each purchase or use of an electronic item, I blindly go forward, pushing buttons at random until I get the response or action I'm looking for. What do the buttons mean? I have no idea. I'm sure it's in the owner's manual. But let me just starting pushing and punching and selecting and eventually I'll get what I'm looking for.

Occasionally I'll wonder if I'm missing something, if I'm not really enjoying these items or tools as much as I could. Perhaps the digital camera or toaster is not being used to its fullest potential. Maybe I'm not really using these items in the way they were meant to be used, therefore not allowing them the full impact they could have on my life. Perfect, unburnt toast. Photos with depth perception and clarity. Distinct alarms and sounds for every day of the week.

Maybe that would be nice.

But I'll never know. Because I don't read owner's manuals. I just push buttons.

Good for a giggle

2011-12-30T15:05:00.001-06:00

Fun to see who read what this year, at least on this here humble blog:

Top read : 31 Days of Living in Transition {day 1}
Runner up : My Beef with Stuff Christians Like (special thanks to Jon Acuff for all the traffic)
Honorable mentions : 31 Days of Living in Transition : Love the one you're with {day 9} (and other 31 days posts)
Honorable mentions : Quick, before you miss it!
Honorable mentions : Must-have Easter playlist

Thanks for joining me here friends. It's not much, but it's enabled me to think, grow, create, write and mother better throughout the year. Maybe it's done a tiny bit of the same for you...

Here's to 2012.

Best of '11 in Words : Preaching a la social media

2011-12-30T07:00:00.000-06:00

The second in a short series of best of posts from 2011. This one really challenged me and humbled me. Given 7 months hindsight, how do you now feel about it?

***

‎"As surely as I live, declares the Sovereign Lord I take no pleasure in the death of the wicked, but rather that they turn from their ways and live." Ezekiel 33:1

"Do not gloat when your enemy falls; when he stumbles, do not let your heart rejoice". Prov 24:17

Just a couple of the scripture bombs falling on Facebook today. I have mixed feelings about the Osama/death thing. Relief, thankfulness, concern, crippling humility...

On the one hand I celebrate God's justice, grateful for our troops who do dangerous and difficult things to protect us, and hopeful that those who suffered loss, injury or devastation on 9/11 can close the door a little more on this chapter of pain. But I'm also wondering about the nature of evil, enemies, and sin, I'm concerned for violence to beget more violence, and I'm wrestling with my own sinful thoughts, actions, or predispositions that initially placed me in the category "enemy of God" before I praised His name, and haunt me still as I struggle to walk a life following Him.

The thing is, I think these are great issues to wrestle with and discuss in a public forum. These are fantastic opportunities to share our fears, struggles, hopes. This is a time where we can admit to rejoicing in a little vengeance, while still questioning the mercy that's so unjustly offered to you and me and him. On the contrary, I don't think it's the time to drop a little biblical napalm on spiritual weaklings who haven't yet reached the righteous highground others claim to have found. It ignores valid emotions, belittling their journey with Christ.

Yes, let's confound people with our love for our enemies. But let us also admit to struggling to do so. A one-liner of contextually removed Truth confuses more than it confesses. Let's confess together the human difficulty we have in fully understanding the perfectly divine nature of both justness and mercy that lies in a most holy God. The same God who says "vengeance is mine." The same God who says, "wishing no man to perish."

I just cannot get it. But I do trust it.

Best of '11 in Words : Facebook fasting and other Lenten activities

2011-12-29T07:00:00.000-06:00

I've not really done a Best Of when it comes to my own words, but 2011 turned out to be not too shabby when it comes to the practice of writing. Not that it's all be brilliance, but I turned back to writing this year when other things seemed to slip through my fingers. So I've spent a bit of time rereading what I put down and to see if I've embraced it or hidden from it or changed from it. And here, from March, is the first...

***

We didn't really do Lent growing up.

I'm not really sure why we didn't commemorate it, but I think we always considered our family and church just plain old Christian... nothing fancy like Catholic or mainline Protestant. They did the big-word type things (lent, confirmation, catechism, etc), not us. In fact, I didn't think twice about it until we moved overseas and it seemed like everybody - and I mean everybody, including my 6 year old little boy upon arriving home from school - declared a traditional belief in the cross by bearing it's ashen symbol on their foreheads. I think a part of me fancied this notion, this obvious display of faith (or rather, if I were to be honest, of religion). There were conversations had and ideas floated and it came to pass that the husband and I decided to do Lent.

Now, I cannot remember what I "gave up" for Lent that first year, but I'm pretty sure it was chocolate, and I'm more than sure it was short-lived. My noteworthy failure at abstaining for a few short weeks left me disturbed by my apparent weakness, lack of self control, and inability to maintain a true sacrificial faith.

Since that time, I began contemplating Lent, what I really truly wanted to give up for this period of meditation. What did I cling to that I did not need? What took up time or wasted precious energy? What was it in my life that was more distraction than enhancement of who God created me to be? The answer was quite obvious: Facebook. I could very well go on about the evil toils of Facebook, but you most likely already know them and can see where I'm headed.

Instead I'll tell you I looked forward to Lent this year, not just because of my anxiousness to rid myself, temporarily, of this self-serving vice (who doesn't get a kick out of posting mild braggings and beautiful pictures of children and husbands for all the world - and exboyfriends - to see?), but also to consider "putting on" something in deference to what Christ put on for me: all the shame, all the sin, all the pain in the world, on His shoulders as payment for what I will and would do.

So for Lent this year, as I give up Facebook for 40 days, I'm going to try and put on communing with Jesus - and with you - through writing. My mind has been too cluttered lately, my thoughts too fuzzy, my soul too parched to really share with God and with others what's in my heart. I'm looking forward to clearing the air, opening the windows, and letting the wind and the sunshine in. I know He has been waiting for me to do this, and even now I'm wondering why I needed to wait until Lent began to do this. I could've, should've, done this ages ago!

But, today is where I am and today is where I start. I'm desperate to meet the Father here in a new way, and I hope you'll come meet me here, too.

Christmas in review

2011-12-28T15:46:00.003-06:00

We had a brilliant Christmas with my family in Kansas City. Our stateside tradition is Christmas Eve with my dad's fam and my lovely brother and sisters, and then Christmas lunch with my mom and sis. Nothing disappointed! Feel amazingly blessed to spend another holiday with them.

Some awesome pics from my dad (pics of Christmas day will come later):

laughing at Home Alone

kids got pizza!

me and the wee lad

my big sister and eldest nephew

sisters!

J-Lo and C-Lo

the red-headed nephew - he loves football!

gift chaos

the man and i did not so well distributing gifts

the cousins - showcasing the wee lad's new trick

For those interested in such things (I've been told there are actually people who *enjoy* cooking), Matt made Delia's roast chicken with Riesling, grapes & tarragon for Christmas lunch. I highly recommend this recipe. It's a bit of work, but the smiles and full tummys are - I'm told - worth it!

Ting-ting-tinging on a December night

2011-12-19T20:29:00.001-06:00

I'm listening to the ting-ting-tinging of raindrops falling down our strange metal-type chimney. It leaks air and is a bit of an eyesore, but we still get a sense of grandness with the small perk of a fireplace, even if it's in the corner of a first-floor apartment instead of at the center of our home and hearth.

Christmastime is here, and I'm always a little more nostalgic, a little more sentimental, a little more teary-eyed and a little more homesick. No matter where are, I still get those slight pangs in the heart that seem to echo the thought, "I miss something, but I'm not sure what it is." It could be Dublin, or Chicago, or Kansas. It could be those first baby years, those first marriage years. It could be my friends, my family, or my childhood.

And I always find myself here, every year, by the lit tree. The lights turned off, a child asleep and the ting-ting-tings of rain, wondering, what is it I'm still aching for?

decorating my mom's place

Why do I complain, why do I say...?

2011-12-18T21:45:00.000-06:00

Words tread water

2011-12-16T16:41:00.001-06:00

Five Minute Friday with GypsyMama today, on the word that eludes me today...

Connected...

We tried to use words to connect with someone today, but sometimes words aren't heard. Apparently there are times only screams or groans or cries are heard. But we didn't do that. We used words. And they went unheard. I'm screaming for someone to fight for us, to advocate for us, to help us find our way in a maze of flaming hoops, hoops we've already fearfully jumped through only to find another one waiting. And when the miracle happens, and someone does advocate, does go out on a line, does use words and actions to invest in us and fight for us, that too goes unheard.

So, here we are, waiting and wishing we'd used different words to communicate our need, our calling, our heart-wrenching burden that hovers over everything. But the fear remains that we won't connect, we won't be heard, our words will drown in the ears of others, and we will lose the mission, miss the boat, and tread water in the sea that carries us back to chasing the American dream.

wordless wednesday

2011-12-14T22:34:00.002-06:00

a virtual christmas card!

2011-12-13T22:22:00.001-06:00

The hubby and I usually send out Christmas cards to all of our supporters, but this year we're also sending out some family Christmas cards to our friends in Ireland. Here's a preview!

Handwritten Wishes Christmas

Turn your favorite photos into your favorite Christmas cards!

View the entire collection of cards.

The Lord has blessed us with some seriously cute kiddos. Major props to my dad and step-mom for providing the gorgeous backdrops for their photos, both in Kansas City and North Carolina. We feel so fortunate to have had this year near our families!

Remembering to go

2011-12-08T23:28:00.001-06:00

18 months ago today we came back to the States. My soul was sad and weary and I did not yet know where we were going or if we were staying.

15 months ago we had a better idea, a refined vision, a calmed heart as we knew where we didn't belong and were ready to tackle the steady climb back.

12 months ago we were embedded in a community, in fellowship with a new body of believers, thankful for a detour that allowed us time and training and companionship, yet still anxious to go and to give and to love, both here and there.

6 months ago the wheels hit the ground as we finally - finally - received our invitation back, and with it the go ahead to travel, to fundraise, to spread the word, and when finances allowed, to go back to our home and our life we had made for ourselves.

3 months ago we didn't leave as planned, but knew where we were going.

2 months ago a door closed. It wasn't the only door, but it was big enough and loud enough and strong enough to throw us off our game, to crush the spirit, to wonder outloud and inside what God was up to and how it would all turn out.

1 month ago we knew Him to still be good and we knew His voice had said and was still saying: "Go."

Today... oh today. I don't remember my life there. We've spent over 7 years working towards something, 2 years living in it, and today I don't remember what it felt like to be hugged by an Irish granny or to read aloud in book club or to laugh with the Thursday morning moms. All I can remember is that He told me to go.

So, ok, Lord. When do we go?

So much happening, and yet nothing at all

2011-12-05T21:37:00.001-06:00

Christmastime around here is the season for everything happening at all once, usually a bit late, usually a bit overdone, usually a bit off schedule and out of wack and over budget. And yet, there's really not all that much going on... besides just stuff. White noise.

So because we're still in the States, for our second Christmas in a row (last Christmas for awhile? do I dare say it? do I dare even think it?) perhaps it is time for a wee top 10 list. It's been awhile and the wee ones are all in various stages of not sleeping and I've got a Boulevard Wheat spurring me on towards sentimentality, so here we go:

Source: amazon.com via karen on Pinterest

Top 10 things I love about my hometown at Christmas:

The Plaza lights. If you don't know what I'm talking about, you don't know Kansas City.
No snow. I hate snow and KC in December is the perfect place to be cold, but dry.
Shopping. I love that things go on great sales this time of year in the US. And I love that I can stop by any shop and pick up a little something special for not much cash that makes it feel like we're creating a home.
Movies! Any excuse to watch holiday movies with the wee ones, or going out to a movie on Christmas day with my sis and mom.
Church. I love worshipping with friends and family at the holidays. Sadly, we've not been to our new church home in a few weeks, and I miss it. And I'm happy to say I miss it. I think it's lovely to miss something, and to be missed.
Football.
Music. I love that no matter where you are, music makes a home sound like home and yet can still take you back to a far off place. We listen to Sufjan Stevens Songs for Christmas all winter long. It's brilliant. And fun for the whole family. And takes me back to winter in Dublin and the coffee shop by the sea.
Friends. When we're in KC, we have new friends who've just moved here, old friends who come back home, and friends who were always here and saved a place for us.
Family.
Jesus. He finds me wherever I am. And reminds me of why I'm even following Him in the first place. This is the first home He gave me. And He's given me so much.

What do you love about the place you find yourself in this season?

On being tired, in five

2011-12-02T13:35:00.001-06:00

I don't remember ever not being tired.

Nothing terribly dramatic to report, just kids and homework and toys all over the floor and trading beds like musical chairs in the wee hours.And grown-up work and meeting and travelling and praying and hoping and waiting and explaining. And medical bills and asthma and new shoes for uneven feet. And marriage and parenting and imperfect human beings with inadequate amounts of patience or wisdom.

So tired, I can't even type as fast anymore.

I remember vaguely thinking adults had it made: no school, no curfew, very few rules. But I don't remember anyone mentioning the tired part.

So I'm bag with Gypsy Mama and her Five Minute Fridays, at least for today. Thought the writing might break the exhaustion spell. No you give it a go!

Another new place to call home

2011-11-21T15:13:00.001-06:00

Was it really just a month ago we were travelling cross-country with our kids, and already we've forgotten how insanely insane, difficult, long, frustrating, and exhausting it is?! Apparently, yes. The picture above says it all, the wee lad done with the travel, done with the eating out, done with being buckled in. Just. Done.

We're here now, all alive and relatively unscathed, safely ensconced in the home of the husband's parents. The boy says, "This is a comfortable house to stay in." And it is, even though it's new to us. We lived in their old house all last summer, and when we left we said our goodbyes. Now we are staying for the first time in the new house. And it is still home, because this is where the grandparents and the dog and the comfortable-ness is.

But I digress, because it's taken 20 hours or so to get the wee lad to sleep in his bed. Some minor things have been broken. And I forget that this is the husband's family, so sometimes he disappears for long hours in the garage or the basement or the Fleet Farm. He's in the motherland, Wisconsin, and for all it's cold grey skies, it is a rather large piece of our home pie.

My beef with Stuff Christians Like

2011-11-12T14:22:00.001-06:00

I've got a wee beef with this recent post from Stuff Christians Like, entitled rather troubling, "Girls that have a past" and then subsequently subtitled as, "The unofficial identifying girls in church who have a past scorecard".

My beef isn't because:

a) I'm a girl with a past (though I kinda am, but not much of one and presumably didn't score very high on aforementioned scorecard because of my fear of white shorts);

b) I dislike SCL or its writer in residence, Jon Acuff (SCL is something I usually really like, so much so that I read portions of it outloud at dinner parties and sleepovers); or

c) Because I'm a feminist (though, again, I kinda am, but more in the way of Leslie Knope as opposed to Nancy Pelosi).

Instead, my beef is due in large part to:

a) The post saying it's meant to "call out" guys who think this way and keep such scores, but instead invites "girls" to tally up their own scores to see how they measure up;

b) Limiting the categorization of girls with a past to such profound outward signs of promiscuity as hoop earrings, a desire to drink, and tardiness;

c) Stereotyping the good girls as legalistic, un-marry-able prudes (who, in fairness, love a good orphan);

d) The host of this party, Jon, having to consistently defend, clarify, and define the post as "satire" and yet still claim it as "truth," not that he would know anything about that, as he married a good girl; and

e) The uninspired writing of a piece of satire without a clear beginning, middle or end, with no justifiable or redeeming conclusion that pierces the soul with wit, poignancy AND laughter (as all good satire must), and still also manages to reference Kim Kardashian.

I love SCL, and up till now, highly respected and learned a great deal from Acuff. But this post uses a common misconception as an excuse to judge - and laugh at - all women based on their looks, their facebook profiles, and their favourite verses (to name just a lousy few).

No wonder so many people have such a hard time going to church; we're not even safe among God's people.

halloween's gone past

2011-11-07T21:45:00.000-06:00

came across this picture today

the girl @ 12 months

the boy @ 4 years

the whole crew, 2007

oh, it goes so fast...

2006

2008

2009

2010

wordless wednesday

2011-11-02T20:59:00.001-05:00

31 days of LIVING in transition :: it's curtains for you {day 31}

2011-10-31T10:51:00.000-05:00

Ok, girls (and man), it's the last day of this slightly underwhelming series. :) I hope there's at least been a nugget or two that has inspired you to live wherever you are for whenever and however long you are there. It's good for me to remember that we are offered life to the fullest, and we have only to say yes to take Him up on his brilliant and beautiful offer.

Yesterday we did something that I'd wanted to for awhile, but with not really knowing when or how or where this year might take us, I put it off and waited for the next step or a sign or a plane ticket. But those things haven't yet come. What did arrive, however, was a sense of peace and an intense desire to live in a place that looked a little more like home, even if only for a week or a month or a year.

We put up curtains.

Our bedroom "suite", frantic and messy and crazy at it is (for being an office/bedroom/bathroom/storage closet), is now framed with lovely inexpensive curtains that kinda match the random assortment of items that were so graciously given to our family when we returned to KC. I love them. And I stayed up late looking at them until I fell asleep with a smile on my face.

It looks like my home. And I loved waking up to them. And I look forward to walking in there and cleaning or reading or working... a smallish investment for a huge payback: feeling at home.

So that's where we end. Tomorrow I'll keep trying to live with intention, but I'll enjoy not having to make it all make sense in a blog post. Sometimes it's hard to make sense of. But I truly appreciate you allowing me to try and joining me here with comments or notes of encouragement.

31 days of LIVING in transition :: resources {day 30}

2011-10-30T07:54:00.000-05:00

Ah! We're almost done with these 31 days! And I feel like I haven't been super great at sharing much wisdom or offering much camaraderie. So on this day, I wanted to point you toward some blogs and resources where I find such things like wisdom and camaraderie and other ideas for living with intention while permanently living in transition. (If you've been around, these links probably aren't new to you, but want to make sure and draw attention to these fabulous women.) Enjoy!

the experts
The Missional Mom
Simple Mom
GypsyMama
Nesting Place

friends working or living in similar contexts
The Task at Hand
Branson Family Blog
9,000 miles from Kansas
On the Far Side of the Sea

Now, back to loving on the wee sick one, prepping for some kiddo halloween fun (I usually start the preparations one whole day before), and worshiping with our church family this morning. Oh, and hanging some curtains! More on that tomorrow...

31 days of LIVING in transition :: a night off {day 29}

2011-10-29T22:14:00.000-05:00

How can one survive the daily tedium of transition? Treat oneself to a day or night off every once in awhile.

We have a kiddo sick today. A sad wee lad with a fever and a nasty cough and swollen cheeks. So there's been crying and frustration ... and this is mainly just from me and the 3 or so hours of non-sleep I spent by his side in the night.

Tonight the sister rescued me and we went to shop for some necessities and then treated ourselves to a yummy appetizer dinner. It was fab and just what this exhausted mama ordered.

So, do it. Treat yourself, even for just a couple of hours. Take the night off, enjoy some company, and remember to have fun. We did. We laughed and laughed until we cried and embarrassed ourselves. All good things for living.

31 days of LIVING in transition :: finding narnia {day 28}

2011-10-28T23:14:00.001-05:00

We spent the better part of our road trip listening to a radio theatre production of The Chronicles of Narnia. I'm so, so glad to say that our family loves this series. All of it. And when Aslan's roar comes through the radio, the children yell, "Yay, it's God!" They are discovering traits and cares of our Father through CS Lewis' imagining of Him.

And the husband and I are, too. Relearning who He is, how He loves, where and how He's at work.

One of the stories in particular, the Horse and His Boy, has a scene which hasn't left my mind. A boy, who's had terrible luck and a rough go of it, so distraught and frustrated and rightfully so, says something like, "Why has all this happened to me? Why do terrible things follow me? I'm cursed!" (a paraphrase). And Aslan, who has been working ceaselessly behind the scenes, tells him of all the ways He has worked, all theses things, these "curses", that Aslan orchestrated to protect the boy from actual harm. And also, to bring the boy home.

Oh, I'm so reminded that there is something greater than me at work. And even when tough things happen or I feel cursed or unlucky or unloved, He is protecting me, teaching me, loving me, doing good for me.

So today, we went to our park, our safe happy place in the city that we miss when we're gone and love when we're here. And we looked for Narnia, hunted down secret doors, found a lamppost, and waited for Aslan.

31 days of LIVING in transition :: sans internet {day 27}

2011-10-28T20:39:00.000-05:00

Yesterday, and the day before that and the day before that, we were without internet. I won't go into the whole story, but needless to say it was my fault and it's now been rectified (thank you, husband).

Moral of the story? um... always double check your hotel room before you check out.

And now, a funny pic:

31 days of LIVING in transition :: i know it's there {day 26}

2011-10-27T10:17:00.003-05:00

truth be told, these 31 days of living in transition have been more like days of dragging myself and barely surviving in transition. these 31 days started out rough and haven't quite yet made it out of the ditch. because the thing is, some people see a light at the end of the tunnel, an end to the transition, a start of something else, something new. and some don't, not right now.

i know it's there, but i don't yet see it.

{this post brought to you by no caps and the number 26}

31 days of LIVING in transition :: fellow travelers {day 25}

2011-10-25T00:00:00.000-05:00

We spend the evening with friends and sweet wine. They are fellow travelers, walking a similar path of transition between two worlds. So much comfort, so much encouragement is found in our meeting and laughing and nodding. The parallel stories.

The friendship is not so old - only four years in - and only a month spent in proximity, but on this couch and sitting side-by-side, nothing feels new or awkward or strange. There is no angst, not much hidden, few things left unsaid. In so short a time, we fit it all in: the smell of newborn baby, the children who have grown, the companionship of a family who knows.

No judgment, but sweet communion.

31 days of LIVING in transition :: in pictures {days 21-24}

2011-10-24T22:04:00.000-05:00

Ok, so apparently I can't blog on the road. But i was taking pictures of fall foliage. So, I'm gonna cheat on this one, and instead of sharing any deeply personal thoughts or stories, just let the pictures of Minnesota in Autumn speak for themselves... they soothe this weary-in-transitioning soul.

{forgive the overabundance of fun retro pic gadgets for the smart phone. I have no excuse.}

31 days of LIVING in transition :: follow the Leader {day 20}

2011-10-20T23:11:00.001-05:00

Blogging every day is harder than it looks! Only 11 more to go... I think I can, I think I can.

Tomorrow we go up to Minnesota for a long weekend, to share our work with a church and some family. I would say I'm looking forward to it, but the 14 hours each way, in a van, with our kiddos... well, that will take extra bits of grace and stamina.

With this whole year+ being what appears to be a never-ending transition, we're trying to take small steps in obedience, in the right direction, attempting to recognize where and how it is God leads us. Some days are more stagnant than others, and some days are more frantic than others. And this month has seen both. And I'm weary.

But still, we move forward, and sideways, and maybe even backwards a little bit, straining to get a better view, on our tip-toes and eyes straight ahead. We look for Him to give the signal, catch His eye, and then we wait for what's next.

And tomorrow, it's Minnesota. So we go, not really knowing the whats or hows, but praying and trusting in the whys. Grateful for another step. Praising the One who leads.

31 days of LIVING in transition :: falling into autumn {day 19}

2011-10-19T11:40:00.000-05:00

Isn't autumn/fall the most beautiful of all transitions? With that in mind, get out! Enjoy it! Revel in the fact that transition is a natural order of being. Nothing is intended to remain stationary forever.

31 days of LIVING in transition :: the anniversaries {day 18}

2011-10-19T10:24:00.000-05:00

The man and I like to remember dates in our history. Besides birthdays, we try to celebrate anniversaries of all sorts: when we met, first date, engagement, when we found out we were expecting the boy (or the girl, and the wee lad), when we experienced a tragedy, when we moved to Ireland, etc etc. Remembering these days, these milestones that tell our story, prove that something bigger than us is at work, and promise a future full of anniversaries, both good and bad.

So yesterday (Oct 18th) was the 14th anniversary of our first date, but we actually didn't really celebrate it all that much. Instead, I remembered the anniversary of the day before. The day he first called me his future bride. Because that is the unpredictable one, the one that came during our second conversation, the day after we met, the day before our first date, 13 months before our engagement.

Strange, but true. He was joking, of course. And I laughed and laughed. It was absurd, and we both knew it, but it would turn out to be real. Prophecy.

Sometimes I think about that day, about how ignorant I was then to the life we would have. Not a bad life at all, but one I thought I knew but still never expected. And still don't know what to expect. Our relationship, our path, our life continues to evolve.

I hope and wait for the next evolution.

31 days of LIVING in transition :: pretending {day 17}

2011-10-18T12:48:00.001-05:00

31 days of LIVING in transition :: the change {day 16}

2011-10-16T22:37:00.000-05:00

Not super transitiony, but about living, nonetheless.

Had a brilliant afternoon with our church family in downtown Kansas City; a community and a city we've really grown to cherish. Didn't think I'd ever fall in love with my hometown, but during this past year we've really embraced re-discovering the city, eclectic neighbourhoods, downtown parks, yummy cafes... It's a vastly different city than the one we left 3+ years ago.

Or maybe we're just different people, and didn't know where or how to look for its treasures.

Maybe that's the lesson. During any transition, things will change. You will change. And it'll be OK. And you may discover the hidden treasures you never thought to look for.

Oh my, that is hokey! ha! G'night all.

31 days of LIVING in transition :: make a haven {day 15}

2011-10-15T00:00:00.000-05:00

My transient existence involves moving every couple of years, give or take a new baby or two. And I've found it hard to embrace the lifestyle we've been called to live when I don't actually like living in whatever house/apartment/dorm/bedroom we find ourselves in.

A good friend of mine once told me to do what it takes to make it feel like home. Within reason, of course. In the past this has involved collecting autumn leaves to throw in our tree-less back yard, dragging our duvet from one end of the country to the other, or treating myself a new mug even if I'm eating in a kitchen stock-full of them.

Here, in our current home away from home away from home, it has meant turning our tiny little balcony into our backyard, deck, and play-area.

We're on the first floor of an apartment building, facing the parking lot, so it felt weird letting our children play out there unaccompanied and in full view of strangers. I didn't like having our drapes open at night because everyone could see everything on the inside. And we so missed our garden in Ireland and felt parched for green space.

Enter a small investment in some bamboo fencing, a ball of twine, and utility scissors. And still some autumn leaves scattered about for good measure. A small baby slide, a vintage orange patio chair, a plastic storage container filled to the brim with peppers, a thriving basil plant, and some cloth diapers hanging to dry.

We can still see the cars and talk to the people as they pass by, but we do so under hanging firefly lights. Instead of pavement, we now look out our sliding glass doors to see bamboo and greenery and life. It's small, it's cramped, it's never particularly neat, but it's our little space. Our haven. The investment was small, but everyday we live the benefits.

For the days when living in transition stinks... {day 14}

2011-10-14T00:00:00.000-05:00

But really, I don't know. I don't know at all. I have no idea where we'll be and when. If I think about it too much the anxiety does again start to raise, the pain in the chest becomes a little more acute. Or I can get up and fold the laundry, hug the kiddos and kiss the booboos. I can write the thank you notes and stamp the envelopes. I can order the prayer cards and meet the people.

I can pray the prayers, the prayers of "Yes, God. I know you, God. I trust that you've got this figured out, even when I don't have a clue. I'll wait on you, God." For the time and the place and the know-hows and the whys and the next thing and the next thing...

I'll wait on Him.

These are some thoughts of my own from May that I need to remember on this day in October. Because days 1-13 are all well and good, but sometimes living in transition stinks... I happen to average about one of these types of days per week.

Transition-y lesson to be learned? Write notes to yourself (or to God, or to your most beloved pet who rests in peace in your backyard who you poured your heart out to at the age of 12). Go back and look at the path of faith you've been walking. Some days you need to reread your own words to remember where you're going, and why.

31 days of LIVING in transition :: invite people in {day 13}

2011-10-13T00:00:00.000-05:00

Once you've mastered leaving your house, it's time to let people in.

This aspect of life I struggle with most - opening my door and opening my heart - most likely due to just pure selfishness. I like to escape to our shabby little apartment, put my pjs on, and watch Alias for three hours straight.

If I don't invite people over, into my house and into my heart, there's no one there to judge me, no one there to pay attention to, no one there to question my all-about-me lifestyle. But then, there's also no one there to love on my family, no one there to share new stories with, no one there asking questions that need answering.

My other problem: I know I'm leaving. No matter where we are, I know it's not for the long haul. In the back of my mind, the thought that we'll be leaving in one or two years haunts me and tells me it's no use, too much energy, not enough time to actually make a lasting connection with anyone.

And that, my friends, is a lie.

There is always time for a cup of tea. There is always time to let someone put their feet up. There is always time to love somebody. Do you know how much Jesus walked? A lot! From town to town, up and down Israel, from one mother-in-law's house to the tax collector's. He was constantly on the move. And yet, when the bleeding woman touched him, he stopped and asked her for her story.

If I'm going to proactively live in transition, we simply have to open our home to people. We need them to enter our chaos, understand our stories, pray for us or celebrate with us or mourn with us. And we have to do the same for them... or it's as if we never lived here at all.

No matter your transition - if you're in a moment of pain, or a moment of triumph - invite someone in to share a bit of the burden or the joy. Or at least a cup of tea. Let them see your mess.

Katharina, seeing our mess, which included a dissected baby grand piano in the dining room.

Forgotten girl, the sequel

2011-10-12T12:19:00.002-05:00

In browsing our flickr account today, I ran across a video of the girl. I watched it through silly tears streaming into my eyes and down my cheeks. I miss her so, even though she lives in my house. This sweet child, who always was a mystery, who writes on walls and on her tongue without any fear, who wants to be a cowgirl - no a knight -- no a mom, who's teeth used to not touch due to too much pacifier, who was born into our craziness and makes it so much crazier.

Oh I miss her so, though we've never ever been apart.

then

now

31 days of LIVING in transition :: leave your house {day 12}

2011-10-12T00:00:00.000-05:00

Yes, leave it. Get off the couch (or, if you're anything like me, out from under the covers, outta bed, comb your frizzy hair), open the front door, and leave your house.

As heretofore mentioned, when in transition I want to run, I want to hide (much like Bono does). And while the hiding isn't so good, the running might actually be onto something. It is all too easy to not live and hide from the reality that change is coming - or recently happened - when the only thing staring back at you is your TV and your Facebook account. Leave. Your. House.

What to do when you leave your house? I'm so glad you asked! Here's a top 10 list for things to do when you leave your house, stop hiding from transition, get out of survival mode and take baby steps towards life!

walk around your neighbourhood (bonus: meet people & exercise).
find your closest coffee shop and become a regular (same time, same place, same barista).
update your card catalog: get a driver's license, library card, loyalty card (these things say: yes, I lived here! and become part of your history).
talk to someone for 10-30 seconds (longer than a simple, "thanks" but shorter than, "so when I was in the hospital with mumps..."). Repeat daily and quickly increase to hourly reps.
go to church (even if you don't want to, even if you're brand new, even if you're not a Christian. Church people are - mostly - friendly people and will like you and pray for you if you let them).
join a club or take a class (in addition to, or in lieu of, church). Places to look for said clubs/classes are: library, grocery store bulletin board, or Meetup.com.
get a haircut. By month five, you'll really need one.
go where the people are (I will cover this more later in the week).
find a park, plop down on some green space, and people watch.
day trip! pick a spot on the map within a couple hours drive, find a friend to go with (or take yourself and a journal/book), and spend the day away from the mess that is transition.

Now, don't think I practice all or any of these things every day. I've experimented with most of these, but the idea is to discover who you are, what feeds your soul, and what grounds you when everything else is up in the air.

I try to remember that the best way to live with intention while permanently living in transition is to leave the four walls of my heart's shelter, and go where the people are, where relationships wait, where I can think and pray and actively pursue experiences in whatever current home, situation, job, mess I find myself in.

So yeah, leave your house, and find who you are, where you are, for however long you are there. Or here.

31 days of LIVING in transition :: the process and the crazies {day 11}

2011-10-11T00:00:00.000-05:00

Thought it might be good to define what I believe to be transition. Here's what the macbook dictionary says:

Yeah, that's a pretty good definition. I might edit it slightly:

Or, something looking like this:

the wee lad, experiencing the 1st Birthday transition

Yep, that seems about right.

Anyone and everyone is going through transition at any given time, whether it be moving, baby-making, graduating, healing, marrying, divorcing... any particular life event that takes you from one place of static living to another.

I think it lasts one year because it typically takes experiencing the fullness of the seasons, holidays and milestones of a year to get a handle on things. {I say I'm going on seven years now of transitiony-ness because our events (new job, illness, moving, new baby, moving, new assignment, baby, moving, next assignment, moving) have all happened within each event's yearlong transition.}

And by the crazies, well, i think if you're still with me on day 11 (or year seven), you get it.

Tomorrow, we'll try to put the crazies behind us and get on with the living.

31 days of LIVING in transition :: hokey coping {day 10}

2011-10-10T00:00:00.000-05:00

"You need to change how you cope with transition."

This is what one of our supervisors told me as we were readying to leave the field. At first I was taken aback and more than a little bit insulted. How dare she tell me that I don't cope well with transition. The nerve!

But the truth was I didn't cope well with transition. In fact, I didn't cope. I hid, buried my head, cried under the covers, put off the packing, escaped the cleaning, and pretty much just distanced myself as much as I could from the process. And it was still painful. And change still happened. Putting up a fight and refusing to participate just made the transition worse, and left me feeling lost and alone.

So with those words from my supervisor still ringing (and stinging) in my ears, I returned to the States and began our year(s) of transition looking for a different perspective.

I'm hoping that in this next week I can share with you some of the ways I've learnt to cope with transition. No big surprise here, but the most ready and obvious coping mechanism for all things hard and strange is to really, truly, purposefully live. Though that sounds all nice and hokey, there are some tangible, accessible, and daily things anyone can do to "live with intention while permanently living in transition."

At least, that's what I'm counting on.

I prefer to be known as "Freelancer"

2011-10-09T23:34:00.000-05:00

That's an Alias reference. I love it when people get that.

Anyway, forgot to mention I've started a wee bit of writing on the side for Halogen, an online mag with the tagline "be the change." Don't we all want to take part in a positive change for our communities, in the world, for people? I do. And I hope my few articles of 750 words or less can can contribute in the most humble of ways.

Check out my first article on organic baby gear, or visit other sites I've contributed to here. And be on the lookout for more. Yep, I said it. Not you gotta hold me to it.

31 days of LIVING in transition :: love the one you're with {day 9}

2011-10-09T00:00:00.000-05:00

No matter how long you live somewhere, or how short-lived you think this season in life might be, it is impossible to live it to the full - to live it with intention and without regret - if you don't invest a little bit of time and energy into where you find yourself at this very moment.

I say that having missed out on this key point. For the first few years of our transitoriness (yep, it's a word - i just made it up), I was just waiting. And waiting. And checking my inbox. And our support account. I just didn't have the energy to prepare to leave AND attempt living. And that, itself, was exhausting. I never had a break from the waiting or wondering, and I didn't really enjoy the process, or the journey, which is sorta kinda the point, right?

near our "home" - for five short weeks - in North Carolina {2008}

You gotta love the one you're with. Love the town you are calling home, even if it's just a few weeks. Explore it. Take pictures of it. Meet the people. Plan an excursion. Find a church. Read the paper. Love it so that you can call it home and really mean it. And so you can miss it a little when you're gone. Trust me, it will be a sweeter memory if it's mixed with a smidgeon of homesickness, minus the regret.

31 days of LIVING in transition :: the seasons {day 8}

2011-10-08T00:00:00.000-05:00

I originally wrote this post in May for Five Minute Fridays... so I'd repost some thoughts about the changing of seasons and bracing for the unknown.

***************

When Seasons Change...

Here, in Missouri, the seasons come quicker and heavier. The temp spikes early. The sun starts to burn a little. The grass turns green again (an anomoly here, as the grass is literally always greener in Ireland). The rain comes and the thunder booms. It is spring, nearly summer, and I love - LOVE - this time of year here in my homeland.

ok, so this is kansas actually - but you get the idea

I don't know where this seasonal change will take us exactly, or when it will take place. But I feel it coming, I feel my body readying, and I can sense that the disorder that my life will soon become isn't really disorderly at all. This was how He made us: to change, and ebb, and flow with the seasons.

I hope I'm ready.

***************

Interestingly enough, five months later, and our life here is pretty much the same now as it was then. Except I'm maybe, just maybe, a little more ready and still a little more scared.

31 days of LIVING in transition :: the roots {day 7}

2011-10-07T00:00:00.001-05:00

You know how they say, plant down some roots and watch them grow? Well, I've planted a lot of roots, and very rarely do I get to see them grow.

I used to idealize this thought, the notion that home and security meant digging in deep and staying till the end of the credits. Many brilliant people do it - and rightly so - but we haven't yet been able. And I'm getting to be OK with it, learning to see the beauty in putting down a few roots, watching them trace their way around the globe, designing our underground family tree.

Cuz actually, we have done a little bit of planting.

And for a fun season (the season of our wee lad's gestation), we watched things grow.

And then we ate them.

in Ireland.

31 days of LIVING in transition :: the days {day 6}

2011-10-06T00:00:00.000-05:00

On the days you want to scream
On the days you know it's not fair
On the days you tell God your kids deserve a backyard
On the days no one hears you
On the days with more questions than answers
On the days when it's all about you
(and by you, I mean me)

Think of the missing baby.
Think of the woman (no longer) in prison for a crime she didn't commit.
Think of the motherless children.
Think of the enslaved in your own backyard.
Think of the war.

God's heart will not forget them. And He's taking care of me more than I know.

wordless wednesday

2011-10-05T15:22:00.002-05:00

31 days of LIVING in transition :: the long obedience {day 5}

2011-10-05T00:00:00.000-05:00

Friedrich Nietzsche, via Eugene Peterson's "A Long Obedience (in the Same Direction)"

blogger design woes

2011-10-04T08:43:00.001-05:00

Is this new blog layout super lame? Kinda. Am I hoping to fix it? Yeppers. Do I know what happened to my old design? No idea. Hit me up if you have a burnin' passion for designing blogs on the cheap (read: free).

Stay tuned... and eat an apple.

31 days of LIVING in transition :: the bungee {day 4}

2011-10-04T00:00:00.000-05:00

I love Simple Mom. There, I said it. So sue me. I'm continually grateful for the internet and the ability to cross virtual paths with people who have travelled (or are in the midst of) a similar real-life path. Hence, my affection for Tsh.

Tsh has been practicing the art of living in transition for awhile now, I think, and I'm humbled by her thoughts, her actions, and her optimism. Her most recent post - written from a country she loves but no longer calls home - hit me in the painful places. A good kind of pain; more like a love jab. More like a "just get on with it already!" kick in the butt.

Today, I'm linking to her because she says it so much better than I could. And because I hope, I wish, I pray that my attitude would be one of gratefulness and praise, no matter where I find myself or how brief it might be.

See, transitioning from one thing to another is like crossing a bridge. You’re in between two worlds, moving in one direction, and in order to make it to the other side, you need to temporarily hover over deep water, as frightening as it may seem for a bit.

Read the whole article here.

be still

2011-10-03T22:08:00.000-05:00

Source: None via karen on Pinterest

31 days of LIVING in transition :: the books {day 3}

2011-10-03T00:00:00.000-05:00

The main reason I picked this topic (living in transition) for this project is because we, as a family, have been living in transition for 18 months or so. Or probably, maybe 2 years. Actually, it could be 4 years. Well, now that I think about it, more likely to be 7 years.

Yep, I'm stopping there.

Seven years of living in transition. That's when we joined our organization and began working towards moving overseas, and yada yada yada... It's only taken this long to even want to embrace living in transition, let alone just surviving in it. But as we walk towards the next stop in our winding journey, we are intentionally trying to swim with the tide, witness the blessings, grieve the sacrifices, and move right along.

Which brings me to the books. With every other move, we've left boxes and boxes of books behind. For some reason, it's the books that we really struggle with letting go of. Their pages tell their stories, but they also tell our stories. We fell in love in the library. And the books - the Lewis, the Browning, the Eliot, the theologies, the commentaries, the Bibles - breathe love.

They're just books. Just paper and words and broken spines. I know this. I do know this! I'm no sap! I can give these books away, no problem. We've got a nook. We'll be fine!

But, oh, the Lewis. I just can't bear to let go of this one. Oh wait, the Browning volume. You inscribed it! We'll just put it to the side. No, wait, wait, not *that* one!

Sigh. This will be hard. But it will be good. Because as we look through the books, and flip through the familiar pages, we find notes and drawings and the ocassional sonogram. Things we would not want to let go of. Things that speak of the children and our future. Things that weigh nothing and will hide just fine in my suitcase.

So I sent the man off with two boxes of books this morning to give away to friends who are in the stage we once were. There will still be boxes and boxes to go yet, but with the one empty shelf, my heart feels a little freer and a bit steadier.

I'm still keeping Till We Have Faces, though. I'll just leave behind an extra pair of shoes.

31 days of LIVING in transition :: the lease {day 2}

2011-10-02T00:00:00.000-05:00

On our desk sits a lease, expiration date two months from today. I look at it, fold it with my fingers, hold its weight and eye the highlighted terms. This lease, it weighs more in dreams and questions than it does in ounces. It is deep and fraught with decision. It is the beginning of the next, or the end of this current transition.

And I'm not sure which.

We are praying and planning. This much is obvious and has been stated more times on this blog and others, in prayer letters and small groups, at lunches and teas. There is no end to the praying and planning. And until a tangible number is reached or a ticket purchased, we continue this preparation circle. This dance with transition.

Transition is a terrible dancing partner, it should be said. Transition doesn't lead so well. And we don't follow transitions steps so swiftly. So instead we rely on the Choreographer. He places the steps, teaches us the moves, shows us where to put a foot, how to hold the head high. Shoulders back and eyes straight ahead.

We dance for Him.

And we keep the lease on the desk. Folded and unsigned.

31 days of LIVING in transition {day 1}

2011-10-01T00:13:00.000-05:00

Well, the time has come for a little bit of discipline and accountability in my life.

And I have to tell you: I'm a little bit scared.

You see, God has been pushing me beyond my boundaries of laziness, stress, and frustration into a zen-like place of rest, peace, and intentionality. Ok, I'm not totally zen yet. But I have been moving towards the rest, liking the idea of peace, and practicing the art of intentionality.

Over the next 31 days, I hope to share about all these wonderful things with you, but for now, I leave you with the post number one. A call to live, wherever, whenever, and for however long that may be.

day 1

day 2 :: the lease

day 3 :: the books
day 4 :: the bungee
day 5 :: the long obedience
day 6 :: the days

day 7 :: the roots
day 8 :: the seasons
day 9 :: love the one you're with

day 10 :: hokey coping

day 11 :: the process and the crazies

day 12 :: leave your house

day 13 :: invite people in

day 14 :: for when it stinks

day 15 :: make a haven

day 16 :: the change

day 17 :: pretending

day 18 :: the annivesaries

day 19 :: falling into autumn

day 20 :: follow the leader

days 21-24 :: in pictures

day 25 :: fellow travelers

day 26 :: i know it's there

day 27 :: sans internet

day 28 :: finding narnia

day 29 :: a night off

day 30 :: resources

day 31 :: it's curtains for you

wordless wednesday

2011-09-28T09:57:00.000-05:00

Is it bad that the majority of my posts from the last three weeks are wordless wednesdays? No? Ok.

Series Support

2011-09-26T11:24:00.002-05:00

So, I'm thinking of doing a blog series, similar to the one that I'm doing on 10 Books I'm Currently Not Finishing (otherwise known as The Series I'm Currently Not Finishing), probably along the likes of how to be a crazy weirdo mom, or how not to do things, or other random projects of that ilk. I'm also curious about doing something like this, with the idea of blogging through each day of October on some kind of project, goal, idea, etc.

But I need your help!

You know I'm a terrible decision maker, that I lack follow-through, and that I'm a terribly unorganized homemaker, mother, and administrative assistant to husband. So I'm afraid to pick something that I'll be unable to achieve or maintain. But if YOU pick something, I promise to give it a go, make a cute little button for it, and share my ~~lack of~~ wisdom with the whole of the world. Deal?

Now, lemme have it:

wordless wednesday

2011-09-21T20:28:00.000-05:00

A Weekend Surprise

2011-09-19T20:57:00.000-05:00

For some reason, I thought it would be fun and not at all hard to throw my wee baby sister a surprise 30th birthday party. Let me tell you, it was quite a job! I haven't worked that hard in years! :) But in the end, it all came together in a beautiful and fun way, and I think the birthday girl was quite surprised.

I was too busy with the planning and the chatting that I didn't capture a single photo. But Jessica's friend Megan, who helped me big time with the decor (along with another new friend, Emily), took some great photos. Don't you wish you had been there? ;)

Updates Shmupdates

2011-09-19T09:15:00.003-05:00

I know, I know, I'm a terrible blogger. I start a ~~lame~~ fantastic blog series, and then I leave it hanging for days (nay, weeks!). I promise, it is coming in due time. These aforementioned days and weeks have been full of goodness, God-stuff, and family, but also loads of work, a bit of stress, and just a smidge of meltdown.

All that being said, I am here and trying to write.

I'm also thinking of unplugging again, making the Lenten Facebook-Freeness a twice yearly event. It's good for the calibration and allows the soul to be heard above the white noise, ear-piercing frequency of social media. And then there's also been some writing for an online mag-type-thing, and trying to make an actual go of it: the reading, researching, writing, editing, submitting. It's nothing overly spectacular - I've only got one article in the can, but three brewing - but it has given me some responsibility and some accountability, which for this frantic gal is a good thing!

And then there's a morning mom thing I've been doing. Getting together with some ladies online, in the wee early hours, to prepare ourselves for the 400 hour work week of Motherhood. So far, I'm doing OK at the 6:30am wake up call, but still struggling with the focusing, the praying, and the oh-so-not-wanting-to exercise.

Then there's the support raising, the walking, the karate, the toddler, the switching of rooms, the unpacking and repacking of clothes, the laundry (OH, the LAUNDRY!), the planning, the missing, the hoping, the wishing, the praying... oh just. so. much. But like I said before, it's goodness and God-stuff and family. And still work, and stress, and just a smidge of meltdown.

All in a day's work!

wordless wednesday

2011-09-14T12:43:00.000-05:00

Where I can see their eyes, in five

2011-09-09T10:00:00.000-05:00

In real life, I serve them tea. I sit down and try to listen without interjecting. They drink and talk and laugh, even while the children run in and out. They grab ahold of one of them, probably the girl, and tickle and laugh some more. We run out of tea, so I turn the kettle on and sit for the 60 seconds or so, just long enough for the story to finish and the water to boil.

In real life, we sit up close. In real life, I can see their eyes. In real life... they want to know. When are we coming back, so we can live life with them? Really.

It's Five Minute Friday, don't you know, and in real life I am where He has me.

Where are you?

10 books I'm currently not finishing, part 2

2011-08-28T21:40:00.001-05:00

Part Two of my ground-breaking series, 10 Books I'm Currently Not Finishing...

The Missional Mom, by Helen Lee :: I love this book. Love. This. Book. Truth be told, though, I'm halfway through four months after starting it. I suppose it's taking me so long due to the fact that I have to sit with it, mull over it, and read it aloud to the husband. Lee is a fabulous writer, a growing mom, and a practitioner of missional living. The stories she tells, the women she introduces, and the truly inspired notion that our highest calling is not motherhood after all, but being with God, capture my heart in a way that tells me: this is possible. And this is life to the full.

Culture Making, by Andy Crouch :: I saw Andy Crouch speak at the conference I attended last month. Not only is he super smart, but he's a musician, a writer, a ministry leader, and an artist. Two chapters in and this book is already challenging pre-formed ideas of who creates culture, where it came from, how we contribute and partake in it everyday. Are Christians supposed to only critique culture, or can we also be cultivators of it? According to Crouch and the stories I've already heard him tell, the answer to the latter is yes! But I'll keep reading and let you know for sure.

Crazy Love, by Francis Chan :: Two pages in. It looks pretty good. Everyone says it's good. I'm just late (and slow) to the party. The subtitle in particular speaks to me: "Overwhelmed by a relentless God." Actual review forthcoming sometime in the somewhat distant future. (this isn't a library book, but on loaner from good friend N, so I can keep this as long as I like without paying a nickel!)

Stay tuned for the stunning conclusion to this provocative series!

10 books I'm currently not finishing, part 1

2011-08-12T13:41:00.003-05:00

Confession: I'm not a good book-finisher. Oh, I love reading books, devouring the first few chapters and reading aloud to the man all the new quote-worthy things I discover...

And then I move on to the next.

It's all unintentional, really. Nonfiction books just don't really do it for me, even though I so want to learn and grow and talk about things of importance in an intelligible manner. And a novel's got to be good - like this girl is gonna die in a game show war type of good - in order for me to persevere to the end.

But I do try. And here's proof:

10 books I'm currently not finishing

Real Sex, by Lauren F. Winner :: Four chapters in, and I think it could be a valuable textbook if you are single, minister to singles, or just want to understand and appreciate God's intentions for chastity and sexuality. Winner is brilliant. She's funny, intelligent, and doubtful. As in, if she has doubts or concerns about something (like abstinence), she's sure as you-know-what gonna investigate, interview, and write until she knows where she stands and has faith in God's best for her (and us).

Jesus for President, by Shane Claiborne & Chris Haw :: Approximately 1.5 sections in, and this one is a doozy. It's kinda like a literary WWJD bracelet for post-modern Christian hippies. I'm drawn to the design of the book, which has no uniformity whatsoever apart from being grungy or typefacetastic (a word I just invented). I'm a little afraid to finish it, as the ideas Claiborne and Haw present - whether it be about man-made empires or freedom fighters (Jesus being much more like the latter than the former) - can be difficult to digest. But I think it's worth digesting. Did I mention it's so pretty?

A Million Miles in a Thousand Years, by Donald Miller :: Seven chapters in and I'm stuck (be warned: there are a lot of chapters). I started reading this when we were still in Ireland, loaned it out, read everyone else's take on the book (all of it glowingly positive), and thought I might be missing something. So I'm giving it another go. Truth be told, I think it was Anne Lamott's recommendation that scared me - on the cover, no less. Sheesh! I will tell you what I have loved so far: his description of the filmmakers made me fall in love with the whole lot of them. Apart from being a fly on the wall, Miller's narration is the next best thing.

to be continued... hopefully... next week...

Quick, before you miss it!

2011-08-12T08:57:00.000-05:00

Life has distracted me, been out of it for awhile, need to reconnect to the keyboard and the brain for a few minutes. Well, five actually. With the GypsyMama. While the nearly-2-year-old plays angry birds.

Beauty...

She has shiny black dots on her arm, remants of a temporary tattoo. To be fair, remnants of several temporary tattoos. She demands fingernail polish, in shades of blue and green, and her daddy gives it to her. She returns the favor (on his toes). Her hair is wild, she won't let you touch it, and she always needs a hand free to keep it from her face.

When they see her, it's the eyes they notice first: wide and brown and lashes the length of I-70 across Kansas. Then her dimples, not in her cheeks, but under those big brown eyes. Then her laugh, her smile, then her speed.

Because she won't let you look at her long. She's too busy, too fast, too mature for such trivial things as the outstanding beauty of a 4-year-old girl on fire for life. But when she does let me see her, I see me. And I get a glimpse - for just a second - through the eyes of my own mother. And I hope when she saw my beauty, she saw hers, as well.

Can you see it? Your beauty through the eyes of others?

Toaster to the fullest

2011-08-04T11:07:00.001-05:00

I don't read owner's manuals. I push buttons.

With each purchase or use of an electronic item, I blindly go forward, pushing buttons at random until I get the response or action I'm looking for. What do the buttons mean? I have no idea. I'm sure it's in the owner's manual. But let me just starting pushing and punching and selecting and eventually I'll get what I'm looking for.

In times of severe distress (or when I start erasing or burning things), I dig through drawers and cupboards, looking for that one coffee-stained manual. My trembling hands fumble deftly through the torn and crumpled pages, scanning for words like "menu" or "battery" or "smoke". If I'm lucky, I'll find the page that informs me how to undo what I just did, fix what I just broke, or dispose of what I just destroyed.

Occasionally I'll wonder if I'm missing something, if I'm not really enjoying these items or tools as much as I could. Perhaps the digital camera or toaster is not being used to its fullest potential. Maybe I'm not really using these items in the way they were meant to be used, therefore not allowing them the full impact they could have on my life. Perfect, unburnt toast. Photos with depth perception and clarity. Distinct alarms and sounds for every day of the week.

Maybe that would be nice.

But I'll never know. Because I don't read owner's manuals. I just push buttons.

To write about something, the sequel

2011-07-28T13:44:00.001-05:00

July is nearly over and I've done very little writing. As luck would have it, this week I'm at a conference for "artists, geeks and storytellers". All three terms may describe me at any given time, so now is as good as any time to break away and write for a bit.

For those wondering, the baby is doing really well. He's had zero after-effects from his fall and is as wily and happy as ever. We feel so grateful to God for protecting his little skull and helping us to move on and forget the details of that bad day.

Our full-time work in the arts community downtown is closing up shop, both literally and figuratively. Where we invested the majority of our time has permanently closed its doors, opening up the door for us to spend more time investing in the climb back towards Ireland. Still, we are sad and a little bit aimless as we say goodbye to this sweet phase of ministry and relationship, while still looking forward to continuing this gospel-centred culture conversation on the other side.

I'm hoping to put some better thoughts down on screen later this week as this conference settles into my soul. For now, it's weird and slightly unnerving. In every direction, I see excess. Floor to ceiling screens, projections, free t-shirts and a fully functional coffee-shop, all within the confines of the largest church building I've ever been in. Culturally American Christianity is big business. And I feel more and more like just a mom, who's just trying to raise her kids to grow up to still love Him, and maybe try to love and serve some people in the meantime.

Do we really need a triple-wide-screen for that?

When it's too much

2011-07-13T21:48:00.002-05:00

Yesterday I woke up teary-eyed over a typo.
Last night I went to bed teary-eyed because my baby was still alive.

This morning I woke up breathless to see aforementioned baby's smiling face.
Tonight I'm readying for bed breathless because I'm so tired and frustrated and downright angry at how out of control all three children can be at once.

It's been a tough coupla days to be Mom.

The baby fell yesterday. Off a chair. Onto concrete. He was silent, his eyes rolled back, and he seized. And I thought he would die right there in my arms. I thought his brain would go to sleep and never awake. I thought the paramedics would take him from me and he'd never return.

But those things didn't happen. My despairing thoughts did not become realities. He was limp, he was trying to sleep, he was unresponsive, but then he came back to life. He didn't want the neck stabilizer on. He didn't want to be touched and felt and have a light pointed in his eyes. He just wanted his dad as he walked through the door, 10 short minutes later. He wanted a nappy change because he was absolutely stinky. He wanted to go home and watch the wiggles and dance and sing.

Because the fall was from a short heighth and he quickly became his old belligerent self (seizing is not uncommon with concussions, they say... as if it's the most normal thing in the world to see your child's body shake involuntarily), we decided not to expose him to hospital craziness and instead brought him home and watched him, watched him, watched him. Like hawks.

So every time we stirred in the night, we took turns checking on him. I awoke this morning ready to see him whole and normal and most definitely protected by God. We cuddled, played, ate, wrestled, sat, sang... the whole bit. Just overwhelmed with the delight that comes from feeling you've been given a second chance.

And then we went to eat and talk God stuff with our church family. And then I was not so grateful... with the water spilling, with the food throwing, with the biting, with the screaming, with the fighting, with the wetting, with the talking back... it wasn't just the baby, it was the whole lot of them. All three rebelling against me, as if they knew today I would be at my absolute weakness.

We went into the meal feeling all sorts of missional family perfection, and I left with my head hanging between my legs because I still, years and countries and lives later, so do not have it all together.

In 48 hours I can feel it all. Frustration, fear, despair, joy, gratitude, elation, anger, sadness, exhaustion. I feel it all, and it all feels too much for this mama who held a lifeless baby less than 36 hours ago.

Oh, Lord, thank you, thank you for protecting him. Please, please, guide me in how to mother them.

For the time

2011-07-08T22:10:00.000-05:00

I leave in tears because I'm so grateful for the time.

For the sisters who laugh at nothing, yet everything. At the boys who are so different but love with such loyalty. For the baby who learns words every hour of every day and tries out names on his tongue as he looks around the largest dining room table we've all ever seen. For the papa (my dad) who hugs, hugs, and hugs again as we leave, even though we currently live just on the other side of town from him.

{He knows it won't be like this again, and wants to hold onto it for just a second longer.}

For the nana who buys the food and sweeps the floors and keeps us all in check with a smile. For the husbands who cook the food and let us sit and talk and play. For the girl who is no stranger to fear and conquers it at every turn. For the brother who hugs his sisters with big bear arms. For the uncle who comes and joins in the craziness without minding it at all. And for his friend who's willing to endure it all and leaves us with a promise of more visits.

I'm so, so grateful for the time. And for the ocean. And for the dolphins. For creation and for family and for love.

It's been awhile, but I'm back with Gypsy Mama and her Five Minute Fridays, from a rusty old dive outside Charleston, West Virginia, on our way back home. If I can do it after 11 hours in the car, so can you!

At the beach

2011-07-04T07:08:00.000-05:00

This morning I wake up early, not to soothe a crying baby or to fix breakfast for hungry children, but to sit by the ocean, with coffee in hand. I forget my Bible, don't have a notebook, my phone doesn't work, so I just sit. And squint. Because the sun reflecting off the water is too bright and too pure for my morning eyes.

(even now I hear the baby on the monitor, talking to himself in sing-song oohs and ahhs... I think he knows I'm writing and resting, so he gives me this time and sings to me instead)

The air is warm and the breeze is slight. People walk along the beach: couples and singles, grandparents and children. My dad is out there and I missed it again; he is an even earlier riser and I'm always just a step or two behind. He'll come back around, though, and I'll grab a kid or two and walk with him, up and down the beach with water and seashells tickling our toes.

We are on vacation - a term I rarely use and feels foreign to say. But yes, we are on vacation with my dad's family, even though the ocean feels more familiar than the parking lot we usually wake up to. I know Ireland is thousands of miles away still, but somehow I think if I can just get in the water and float on my back, the Atlantic will carry me straight home.

PS

2011-06-27T10:17:00.003-05:00

As a coda to the previous post, I realize that it ended up all nice and tidy and really super-righteous sounding. Seeing that and reflecting on it since, I know how weak I really am. If you are the praying type, please pray for me and for us in the coming months. I don't want to be ignorant of the realities, but don't want to drown in them either.

We have still have a lot of work to do before even getting on the plane, so much so that giving up this chair and table I write at seems very far away and easy to do. I know, in practice, it will be hard. And that, in the meantime, Satan will tempt me with things like antique malls and Ikea catalogues.

So it's not so tidy as my late night spiritually sentimental writings would have you - or me - believe. But I'm hopeful it'll be better.

Anniversaries and possessions

2011-06-26T20:50:00.007-05:00

"I'm thinking we shouldn't take anything when we go."

I said this to the husband today after days and weeks of pondering it, knowing it, and daring it to be said aloud. First, some background:

This weekend we took 24 hours off from parenthood to celebrate our 12th wedding anniversary and hang out unhindered and fancy-free in a city we love: our current one. It was great: we walked, had dinner, saw a movie, slept in, and then we went to the City Market for our favourite childless activity: sitting down in a coffeeshop for actual talking.

Sitting across from husband I said this without knowing I would.

"I'm thinking we shouldn't take anything when we go. I don't want to send a crate. I want to leave it all behind."

We hadn't been talking about Ireland much today, still not knowing exactly how and when we'll get back, but knowing for sure that God is leading us back. It hadn't even been on my mind, but for some reason, in that place, this divinely planted wish came tumbling out, and I knew in my heart it was right.

Then came the smile and "I was thinking the same thing" and "I feel free" and "Ireland seems closer now." But also, "We still have to ship my tools" and my knowing nod as I recognize the distinction between what we need for ministry and what we use for comfort.

See, before, when we just took a few things in a large crate that ended up weighing a lot and costing as much as a 20-foot container, I felt jipped. I wanted everything, all my things, all my furniture, everything that said "mine, mine, mine" to go with me to Ireland. Everyone else got to, I said. All of our coworkers took everything, some took more than everything. But it came to be that we took less, and I resented giving those things up. When we came back, and all my things I'd left behind were here waiting for me, I felt vindicated. My rocking chair, my dresser, my table... still "mine, mine, mine."

And yet... the shine was gone. The wood chipped. The imperfections I hadn't remembered, or purposely glossed over, were still there. I sit in my brown club chair now and am happy to have had it here, relieved that it was not so hard to make another home here because of all we left behind, but that's all it is.

A chair I sit in.

Or a table we eat at.

There's no reason to take it with us. It won't make us happier. It won't enable us to love better. And it won't make things easier: the packing and the shipping and the cost of it all. There's no reason - no value to it - that equals the amount we would pay to take something that says "mine" over the sea. I will not be the person that spends thousands of dollars - not just dollars, but investments from people I cherish and admire, who have chosen to love us and Ireland through their support - on a container full of things.

And so our family purpose statement rears it's head. It's our goal and our road map. It points us home and points us heavenward. And it makes this decision, this tiny little sacrifice easier.

Value people over things.

This didn't come from me, or from us. It's what He would have us do, so there's nothing holding us back from being all there, here, or wherever.

It will still be hard, I know, to say goodbye to things that were here at the beginning of "us" and to which we came home. I'm not even really looking forward to it. And I'm sure I'll be annoyed at husband for shipping literal tools for ministry but leaving the framed mirror w/hooks he built for me behind.

But... there's a storage unit on the other side of the sea, with the odds and ends we brought or collected to make a new home. They wait for us to return - not to them, but to the people that inhabited them and visited us there and laughed at the table and closed eyes at the prayers. They want nothing to hold us back.

And yeah, it does seem closer now.

things or people? tough call when this is so pretty...

The literal call of motherhood, at 4 am

2011-06-22T13:24:00.000-05:00

The baby woke up at 4 am this morning.

(perhaps I shouldn't call him "the baby" anymore, as he's all toddler and little boy and craziness, but seeing as how he doesn't say actually enunciated words yet and still gets his bum cleaned up every three hours, we'll stick with "the baby")

It's a strange dichotomy, this motherhood: the dire need for sleep and the utter inability to lift up one's head that early in the morning, together with the sweet thought of baby breath nestled in your neck and a human pillow to hold.

So, I gave in. After waiting for a few moments to see if the crying would peter out, which of course, it never did, I unhooked myself from the girl who had burrowed her way into our bed, steadied my feet in the extreme darkness, and headed towards his call.

The cuddling was short-lived (there was a need for milk), and the laying back down was traumatic (no mother wants to close the door on a baby who wails, "Mama!"), but within seconds the house was silent again. I made my way back to our room, where the mildly sick husband tried to inch out some free space apart from the sleeping daughter.

All it took was five minutes, if that. I did my job and went back to bed. The five of us content.

he has a dimple in his chin, wouldn't you know!

Shameful thoughts on home

2011-06-17T11:01:00.000-05:00

Home...

When i first saw this topic, my chest filled with angst. If you know me or have been reading this blog for any short length of time, you know nothing quite disturbs me more than thinking about, wondering about, longing for a home. I don't really want to write about it anymore. I don't really want to think about it anymore. And I've spent more than a few hours praying that God would fill me with content with or without a home and let the idea, the dream, the impossibility of a perfect long-term security leave my heart so that the empty space it reveals can be filled with other things of greater value.

Today, I wait for an email to confirm whether or not my home is in Ireland or if we should just go ahead and plant ourselves here. I'm pretty sure I know where they will point us (back overseas, where we wish to go), but the waiting is driving me crazy and they sure are taking their time and I really really want to be selfish and petty about waiting to go home...

But...

The longing for home does not belong solely to me. I can't get on my high horse and demand a "home" when there are millions of children literally without a roof over their heads, there are babies with no hopes of homes - ever. There are mothers who have no place to take their children for protection or solace or security. There is a world filled with people with this same longing, but without any of the modern conveniences that I so harshly reject because, to me, it isn't enough to call home.

I'm wracked with shame when I truly think about it, when I look around me and in my heart I say with so little care, "Nope, not good enough, sorry." This is my sin, my shame, to have more than enough and to reject it anyway.

Oh, God, replace this sin with You. Take away this pride. Remove these shameful thoughts. Don't waste these precious resources on a heart so dark. Take those babies, those children, those mothers, and give them all I forfeit. I am unworthy. And they are Yours.

confession: sometimes I edit, and sometimes I write for six minutes, but still I write furiously with gypsy mama. where does your heart say is home?

Love from Philippians

2011-06-16T13:19:00.002-05:00

So this is my prayer: that your love will flourish and that you will not only love much but well. Learn to love appropriately. You need to use your head and test your feelings so that your love is sincere and intelligent, not sentimental gush. Live a lover's life, circumspect and exemplary, a life Jesus will be proud of: bountiful in fruits from the soul, making Jesus Christ attractive to all, getting everyone involved in the glory and praise of God.

Phil 1v9-11

A good thing to read and pray, on this rainy day

Sleive Binian, 2009

For father's day and everything after

2011-06-14T10:42:00.004-05:00

I've told this story so many times, it's become classic and renowned and certainly an ironic way to begin a marriage.

He untied my shoelaces and that was it. I knew then and he knew it, too.

When I tell the story, I remember the details. The way my head laid against the dorm room wall, cradling the phone, as I smiled and tried to remember the real name of the boy we called Tico. The girls across the hall, behind their own door, stifling giggles with hand-covered mouths. The MASH games (girls in Bible college play this best, because there is no harm, no sin in it) that had us living in Vegas, driving a blue Honda with four children and an apartment.

Part of that came true. There were four children, though only three are here with us. There was a Honda, though it was red and lived in Oak Park, IL where our love first creaked and groaned under the strain of imperfect unity and immature lovers. There have been apartments, and houses, and more apartments, yet still no Vegas. There was Chicago, and Kansas City, and Dublin instead, even more unexpected than Vegas could ever be.

But I digress. The details are this: He had a side part and I had uncombed curls (the image above is a rarity: I presume I combed it just because I knew I'd see him). He wore ties and I wore plaid flannel. His were creased khakis and mine were combat boots and a skirt with poppies. He'd had no heartbreak and the sutures on mine were just beginning to heal.

In chapel, my feet were on his chair, before I knew his name. He untied the shoelaces and I looked at him and thought without thinking, "Surely not him. He has no idea." When the giggles and the whispers hushed and I sat down beside him on that next day, he looked at me, called me his future wife, and in that moment it was us
against the world,
the school,
the giggling girls,
the frowning boys,
the painful past,
the unsure future,
the parents who no doubt would be doubtful,
against all odds.

It wasn't angry unity, but a united front. Thick and thin. Through my pain and his arrogance, to think it would be easy but to know for certainty that it would not.

And here it is: together we are nearly 12... still children, with growing pains and changing voices. His is stronger now and mine is singing new songs. We don't yet know who we will be or where we will go or how long it'll take us to get there. But between the two of us and the children we try to lead and protect as the divine gifts they are, we make no mistake:

He is the father here, following the Father of our future, and I am the mother who sings the songs that point us Home.

Feelings are not to be trusted

2011-06-10T11:20:00.002-05:00

Backwards...

Sometimes I feel like I've lived my life in reverse order. I fell in love the first time before I was old enough to drive. Got married before I was legally allowed to drink, let alone be a real grown-up. Had kids when I still felt like one, myself. You get the idea. I never really felt like I'd done things in the proper order or in the right way.

So in looking back over this past year... I came back to America kicking and screaming (figuratively, that is... no security risks here). I spent an angry, lonely, depressed summer in Wisconsin. I came back to my hometown anxiously and with a few reservations. Moved into this apartment where I type this now wondering how long we had to put up with it before we could move out and back far away. And here I am again, in June, not knowing quite how the summer, the year, or our lives will turn out.

But in looking back and seeing how not great at all I started out, I also see the people, and the church, and the art, and the family, and the school, and the community... all the things that made what started out as (feeling) wrong turn into something right. Who said we were supposed to trust our feelings anyway?

Linking up here, again, with Gypsy Mama, to make sure I'm writing... and striving towards what's ahead.

Reentry Anniversary

2011-06-07T23:13:00.000-05:00

We came back to the States one year ago today. A good, long, hard, fun, stressful, chaotic, slow, fast, happy, sad, fulfilling, frustrating, fruitful kind-of-a-year. But other than that...

Finding one's self on Google Earth

2011-05-31T12:10:00.002-05:00

I've never really lived anywhere.

Ok, that's not entirely accurate. I have lived places, but my living there didn't really live a permanent, still discernible mark.

The house I spent my first few years of life is still there, but the apple tree and swingset are gone. The pink house I grew up in is still pink, but the tree swing was taken down, the bricked rose garden has long since died. The boy's first home no longer has hydrangeas out front, the wrought iron has been removed, and strange little gnomes now guard watch.

There is no evidence of our having called those places home, no hand prints, no marks on walls showing height achievements, no sign our family really ever existed there.

And then yesterday, a fluke. The man is on Google Earth looking up directions and decides to test the matrix. He pulls up our house in Ireland. You know, the carbon copy of every other house in the estate. Same colour, same shape, same door.

But there in the window, next to the front door, are my wellies.
And to the side of the house lay the children's bikes.
The shade upstairs has been pulled up, showing the boy's toys lining the window sill.
Sitting out front are our potted plants, and in the window next to my wellies is our tiny hyacinth.

We lived there. It was real. It did happen. It was home. For two short years it was ours. And there, for all the world to see, is the evidence.

image courtesy Google Earth

As opposed to the bigger things

2011-05-27T21:10:00.000-05:00

I was gonna wait till tomorrow to link up with Gypsy Mama's Five Minute Fridays, but it just so happens that...

the kids are all in bed and
it's not yet 9pm and
the dishwasher has already been filled and started and
I'm not going to go into our bedroom yet to survey the disaster there,

so I think I've just about got five minutes to write, prompted and unedited, and share the bits with you.

Now if you yourself don't particularly feel inclined to partake in this exercise, that's totally ok. I get it and I get you and don't feel pressured to join in on this little bandwagon... (if I were to be brutally honest, I would say that I really despise the idea of being a Mommy Blogger (gasp!shock!horror!) and for this reason waited a long time to join the conversation of other Mommies and share in their journeys, though my anti-sentimental heart really wanted to) ...But if you've got something on your heart or a weight on your shoulders and five minutes of typing it out will relieve some of that pressure, I really encourage you to do so. I know that every week I have permission to spend five minutes writing, and if that's all I get, then that's really all I need.

Ok, so that took like eight minutes right there, and now I've got to start over again. So, without further ado...

On Forgetting...

Yesterday was the field trip. I remembered the permission slip. I remembered my child. I remembered to show up as I was chaperoning. But I forgot my lunch.

Today was the field day. I remembered to sign the husband up to help. I remembered to put play clothes on the boy. But I forgot to order the special "school field day" t-shirts every other student was wearing.

The sister and I made plans weeks ago to get haircuts. I forgot to make the appointment.

The girl was invited to a birthday party. I forgot to RSVP.

The wee lad is in need of cloth diapers. I forgot to wash them last night.

I am a frazzled mother, an unorganized person. I have grand ideas and schemes I hope to achieve, but I have a hard time actually remembering to make it happen. I have emails that go unanswered, phone calls unreturned, plans that need to be made...

I am trying to figure things out, to not procrastinate, to not forget (in truth, I think it's the procrastinating that leads to the forgetting). But I do think that it is maybe better to forget these little things, instead of forgetting the bigger ones. I hope I remember the latter, even at the - somewhat frequent - expense of the former.

a moment in time I don't ever want to forget

Fill me up

2011-05-27T10:28:00.003-05:00

After a few exhaustingly busy days, I'm feeling empty emotionally and physically. The wee kiddos are watching cartoons, we're all still in pjs, and I'm mindlessly surfing facebook and blogs while feeling completely devoid of energy, apart from the ability to click a mousepad with my index finger.

I'm amazed at how quickly this happens; mothering and planning and field-tripping, these seemingly natural and mostly normal activities that zap the body and mind.

I'm mildly amused by my ability to press the gas pedal without checking the gas gauge.

I'm frustrated at how quickly I empty myself without noticing the need to fill myself back up again.

I'm realizing that I've got to fill up first, or there will be nothing to give. Only an empty vessel, and empty vessels don't do much good of anything. Until they're filled again and again...

So come on, God. Let's fill 'er up. I want to overflow.

Meek in spirit

2011-05-24T12:00:00.002-05:00

I'm supposed to be at Starbucks. Sipping on a skinny vanilla latte, replying to emails, writing on this-here blog, and maybe partaking in a tiny dessert to celebrate the 40 lbs I've recently lost. But instead my legs feel unsteady and I'm not entirely sure I can get up out of this chair.

There's nothing really wrong with me. My body feels fine and good, and life is somewhat calm on this rainy-ish day, at least for me and my clan. But there are literal and figurative storms brewing, aftermaths of destruction just three hours south of here, and hearts broken from a child suddenly gone just across the neighbourhood.

This leaves me feeling weak and impoverished, meek in spirit, mourning with those who mourn who I don't even know, have never met, unable to serve or comfort. In a text last night to a friend who is close to one of these, I find myself typing, "any old verse or thought about God just isn't gonna cut it. Only He can break the darkness here..."

It was - and is - a hard day to know the mind of God. I hate those days, in all honesty.

Seasonal affective disorder, in five

2011-05-20T12:14:00.000-05:00

Yay Fridays!

It's raining, baby is sleeping, and I've got five minutes (I think!) to write down some prompted thoughts courtesy of TheGypsyMama and her Five Minute Fridays. If it's raining where you are, shove the kiddos in front of a cartoon for five minutes and give it a go. I promise, it won't ruin them... permanently, anyway.

When Seasons Change...

In Ireland, the only sure way I noticed the seasons change was by the placement of the sun in the sky. I knew winter was coming when I found myself squinting through my windows around dinnertime. I realized summer was on it's way when the boy woke me up hours before he needed to be dressed for school. The change in temperature was so casual, so incremental, that it held no clues for the seasons. It was all about the sun - or lack thereof.

Here, in Missouri, the seasons come quicker and heavier. The temp spikes early. The sun starts to burn a little. The grass turns green again (an anomoly here, as the grass is literally always greener in Ireland). The rain comes and the thunder booms. It is spring, nearly summer, and I love - LOVE - this time of year here in my homeland.

ok, so this is kansas actually - but you get the idea

And yet, I know there's still change ahead. Not just environmental change, but geography change, familial change, work change. This season our little five-person-unit is in is not meant to last forever, or very long, at all. It could be changing quicker than we realise, like summer coming to the midwest before we're ready for sweat on our brows. Or it could be longer, quieter, hardly noticeable, as we slowly see the sun rise higher and later into the day.

I don't know where this seasonal change will take us exactly, or when it will take place. But I feel it coming, I feel my body readying, and I can sense that the disorder that my life will soon become isn't really disorderly at all. This was how He made us: to change, and ebb, and flow with the seasons.

I hope I'm ready.

I'm that kind of mom

2011-05-19T08:00:00.003-05:00

Last Friday it hit me: I get to be that kind of mom.

The kind of mom who accompanies field trips. The kind of mom who makes treats to send to school for birthdays. The kind of mom who parades the grounds with six preschoolers on field day, jumping through literal hoops and tying shoelaces. The kind of mom who reads to rambunctious seven- and eight-year-olds for an hour. The kind of mom who can and does say, "Yeah, I'll do it. No problem"

Because right now, it isn't a problem. We are flexible, transitioning, practicing equally-shared-parenting (most of the time), and incubating this brief familial era, holding it close to our hearts and gratefully investing in its eternal value.

This time in our lives comes, too, with a fantastic perk: I get to be that kind of mom!

Twelve years ago when we jumped off that matrimonial high dive, I didn't envision this, wasn't sure I wanted this, and there are times when I wake up kinda don't feel like doing this... but for the moms who don't get to, or because of life's circumstances can't, I don't want to throw away this priceless gift.

Because, the truth is, I couldn't have known I needed this.

A deep breath, in five

2011-05-14T19:25:00.002-05:00

Only a day late, and a few words short, but here is my Five Minute Friday post linking up with GypsyMama.

Deep breath...

I hear him before I see him, the sing-song call,

"Mah-Meee, Mah-Meee, Mah-Meee."

I open my eyes to see the bedroom door swing wide and crash into the wall. Huffing and puffing, now,

"Mah-Meee, Mah-Meee, Mah-Meee."

He flings himself on the bed, swiftly and expertly, crawling on hands and knees for the first time in ages, across sheets and pillows and duvet. A smile, a giggle, a hug, a gentle whisper,

"Mommy. Mom..."

We lay there for a moment, so brief and still. We smile and laugh, and he hops off the bed as easily as he hopped on. He's on to the next adventure, all torso and chunky thighs, laughing and calling,

"Da-deee, Da-deee, Da-deee."

I take a deep breath and steady myself, because the baby is gone. He's gone and growing and going only in one direction: up. All I can do is breath and remember this one moment, before it's gone.

Go ahead and give it a go.

Confession...

2011-05-12T13:15:00.000-05:00

I wake up more mornings feeling weary in not-well-doing than I do feeling well-doing in most anything.
My bed is just about the only thing in my house that gets cleaned up on a daily basis.
I have enormous shopper's remorse and guilt, nearly every day, over nearly every purchase.
I take everything too seriously.
I hate money, don't ever want to think about money, and wish I didn't have to constantly talk about money.
My most frequent prayer is, "Help me, Jesus."
I sometimes have very little patience for my sweet kiddos.
It's been 10 years since I've been paid for anything I've written.
I do most of my design work in MS Word.
There are five piles (and growing) of laundry in my little apartment waiting for the time - and the quarters - to be washed.
I don't believe motherhood to be my highest calling.
I passively aggresively pray for other people's attitude changes or improvements, but in all fairness, I also pray the same for myself on an hourly basis.
I always aim for perfection, but am nearly perfect at mediocrity.
I don't have the Jesus-following, unconditional loving, and grace-giving thing all figured out yet.

Just wanted to put some of these things down in writing because I think what moms are really good at is making it look like we've got it all together all the time. Usually, the writing that comes from the breath of my life is made up of months and years of tears and heartache and scribbling and questioning and searching and praying.

It's only after I've figured out a thing or two that I'm able and willing to share it with you. :)

So, thank you for joing me here. And put it in writing: What's your confession?

On not freaking out... maybe

2011-05-09T14:02:00.000-05:00

I'm finding myself in a not-so-unfamiliar place. The passage of time - the flipping of calendar pages towards a question mark date, destination and future - faster than I would like it to be. This is the place where I typically find myself freaking out.

But I'm not.

I'm not sure this is right. Is this peace? Is this trust? I don't know. I've never really been to this place, this not freaking out place, before. I don't recognize the peace part. I recognize all the other bits - the fluid plans, the what ifs, the ambiguity, the underlying tension of uncertainty - but I don't recognize the scenery, the slow-mo walk to the library, the prayers throughout the day that end in smiles instead of tears.

It's slightly unnerving. Shouldn't I be freaking out? Come June 1st our family of five will be without a vehicle. August 1st is the original deadline to move away again, which we prayerfully decided on over a year ago. In the fall our children will be starting school, but on which continent? And there's a substantial amount of financial support we need between now and the question mark then, that may or may not come later rather than sooner. Shouldn't I be a bit freaked wondering how it'll all come together? Shouldn't I be banging down God's door asking for the times and places and know-hows?

In a couple of months, my life will change substantially. Or maybe it won't. I might still sit and write at this dining room table we found on clearance three years ago and couldn't wait to sit at again. Still waiting some more and trusting some more. Or I might sit at someone else's table, in another country, in another rented house with someone else's furniture, having sold this table and that chair and those dishes we picked out for here but might not need for there. Still trusting and thankful and off on the next adventure.

But really, I don't know. I don't know at all. I have no idea where we'll be and when. If I think about it too much the anxiety does again start to raise, the pain in the chest becomes a little more acute. Or I can get up and fold the laundry, hug the kiddos and kiss the booboos. I can write the thank you notes and stamp the envelopes. I can order the prayer cards and meet the people.

I can pray the prayers, the prayers of "Yes, God. I know you, God. I trust that you've got this figured out, even when I don't have a clue. I'll wait on you, God." For the time and the place and the know-hows and the whys and the next thing and the next thing...

I'll wait on Him.

Motherhood attire, in five

2011-05-06T23:10:00.000-05:00

Motherhood should come with a pillow. A mobile one, at that. So when dinner is burned or skinned knees cannot be kissed away, I can lay my head down for a wee respite until my superheromom powers return.

Motherhood should come with a body double. My very own stunt woman who can run alongside the bike without training wheels, drive the school carpool while I'm resting on aforementioned pillow, and get up in the early morning hours to prepare the day.

Motherhood should come with a do-over. Anytime, anyday, when things go haywire, I can press stop and rewind.

Motherhood should come with a partner in crime. A man who not only holds onto your hand while you're holding for dear life during labour, but who spoons you at night when the tears fall from anxiety, who gently pushes you towards the mother he knows you will become, who walks in step with you and the children your love produced and smiles as he knows you as more than just mother.

Your turn now. Join us here at Gypsy Mama and let the world know what your five minutes have to say.

Like the three-toed sloth

2011-05-06T07:24:00.000-05:00

After I write something painfully personal, I always feel a little self-indulgent. Should I really have written that? Did I say too much? Is my life/experience/situation really all that rare/difficult/important? I hem and I haw and I chew down some fingernails, and sometimes, I submit.

Today you can find these mildly indulgent, overly confessional, and hopefully, familiar thoughts that also seem familiar to you, over at (in)courage. Here's a sneak preview:

We had a wedding, then a marriage, then a baby, then a family… all of it spread out over time, but passing me by in a blur, simply because I let it be that way. Living intentionally as a wife and mother was something I assumed would come naturally, like singing harmonies or delivering punch-lines at parties. And when it didn’t come naturally...

Visit me (us) over at (in)courage to read the rest!

Preaching a la social media

2011-05-02T14:02:00.000-05:00

‎"As surely as I live, declares the Sovereign Lord I take no pleasure in the death of the wicked, but rather that they turn from their ways and live." Ezekiel 33:1

"Do not gloat when your enemy falls; when he stumbles, do not let your heart rejoice". Prov 24:17

Just a couple of the scripture bombs falling on Facebook today. I have mixed feelings about the Osama/death thing. Relief, thankfulness, concern, crippling humility...

On the one hand I celebrate God's justice, grateful for our troops who do dangerous and difficult things to protect us, and hopeful that those who suffered loss, injury or devastation on 9/11 can close the door a little more on this chapter of pain. But I'm also wondering about the nature of evil, enemies, and sin, I'm concerned for violence to beget more violence, and I'm wrestling with my own sinful thoughts, actions, or predispositions that initially placed me in the category "enemy of God" before I praised His name, and haunt me still as I struggle to walk a life following Him.

The thing is, I think these are great issues to wrestle with and discuss in a public forum. These are fantastic opportunities to share our fears, struggles, hopes. This is a time where we can admit to rejoicing in a little vengeance, while still questioning the mercy that's so unjustly offered to you and me and him. On the contrary, I don't think it's the time to drop a little biblical napalm on spiritual weaklings who haven't yet reached the righteous highground others claim to have found. It ignores valid emotions, belittling their journey with Christ.

Yes, let's confound people with our love for our enemies. But let us also admit to struggling to do so. A one-liner of contextually removed Truth confuses more than it confesses. Let's confess together the human difficulty we have in fully understanding the perfectly divine nature of both justness and mercy that lies in a most holy God. The same God who says "vengeance is mine." The same God who says, "wishing no man to perish."

I just cannot get it. But I do trust it.

The could'a, would'a, should'a game

2011-04-29T08:49:00.011-05:00

If I knew I could, I would run a marathon.
I would write a book.
I would have more children.
I would adopt a child.

I would write poetry.
I would work.
I would start a business.
I would give all my money away.
I would play guitar.
I would be a kick-a** homemaker.

I play this game a lot. What I would do if I knew, absolutely, 100%, no risk of failure, that I could do it. I actually really hate playing it. I'm too good at looking at the would'ves and could'ves and should'ves, leaving me feeling incomplete or inadequate or unable to really accomplish much of anything. There are one too many things on that list that I know I literally cannot do.

In real life, failure is always a risk. And I'm just never at the place where I'm willing to take that leap without the fear of falling.

Bummer of a Five Minute Friday. I'm pretty sure it was meant to be a positive prompt, but perhaps I need more coffee or more time or more clarity this morning. I'm pretty sure you could do it better than I just did it.

The break-out

2011-04-27T13:05:00.001-05:00

I'm breaking out of this joint!

Saturday noonish I'm boarding a plane for Chicago to meet up with my best girlfriend and enjoy a long weekend reading, sleeping in, and lovin' on her kiddos.

me and the sis in Belfast

To say I'm looking forward to this little break-out is an understatement. The last time I went away - sans husband & kids, whom I love dearly and equally and am unable to live without for any extended period of time - was nearly 6 years ago, with the sister, and across the ocean to Belfast. It was a fabulous time making new friends and exploring a new city, but I missed the boy and the man and haven't been away from all-of-the-above since.

But now there's three to contend with, and life in transition and on the move requires little breaks of rest and small amounts of recouping. It's been a good few weeks and months of intentionality with the fam and the home and the work... actually, it must be very hard work because I'm ready for a couple of days off!

So I'll kiss the wee ones goodbye, give the man a long hug and longer kiss of gratitude, and sit on a crowded plane with an open book. This may seem overdramatic, small, silly or inconsequential to some, but to me... to me, it's a great little gift.