My Crazy Column

a Christian Question

2012-02-27T10:15:00.002-06:00

My mornings begin, when done right, with a soothing cup of coffee and a longstanding engagement of getting to know God. Sometimes, I walk away from the encounter bolstered and excited about what’s next; and sometimes I walk away questioning my very nature and state of understanding. A few mornings ago, I felt like I was handed a question. I have been chewing on this question since it was asked, so I have decided to share it with you.

Jesus taught that the kingdom of heaven can be compared to a treasure hidden in a field; which when a man finds it, he conceals, and for the joy of finding it, goes and sells everything that he has, and buys the field. (1) Or, like a precious pearl, with again, selling everything to buy it. (2)

The question I was asked, “What did you sell?” ”What was everything to you before you met Me?”

Often in church we camp out on losing our life to Christ or denying ourselves to follow, which is in Scripture; but how often do we nail down what that loss was to us? How often are we vulnerable enough to confess what we sold for that precious pearl? And even more vulnerable – how many of us are pawning off parts of that great field we bought to buy back some of what we’ve sold?

If you have not bought the field, well, this question is not directed at you; but for those of us who had that moment when we sold it all…well, let’s really nail down what we sold to make sure we aren’t trying to buy it back.

Jesus could have said that the kingdom of heaven was like a big ol’ gift of a pearl given to you from your Daddy, but he didn’t. He said, “..what shall a man give in exchange for his life?” (3)

We all know that there is nothing we own that could buy this kind of love and life, but maybe it is time to survey the cost.

(1) Matthew 13:44

(2) Matthew 13:46

(3) Matthew 16:26

Female Warriors

2012-02-23T11:31:00.002-06:00

“The greatest explorer on this earth never takes voyages as long as those of the man who descends to the depth of his heart.” ~Julien Green

We all have stories. We all have scars on our heart from experiences that brought us pain, as well as beautiful, red plump areas from intense joy and happiness. In this respect, we are all on the same page. But some of us are brave enough to go deep into the valley of our heart – the dark, sometimes distorted, areas of the journey of life.

My bravery comes from taking the journey with a group of women who have become sisters. We all share the same Daddy. We all share a passion to be what our Daddy created in His image. And we all share love. God is love. We hold nothing more sacred in our group than that love.

Now, we are becoming warriors.

You might be baffled with my statement and it just might seem silly to you that a group of women could become warriors – after all, aren’t groups of women typically emotional and involve coffee? Sometimes. But sometimes women are brought together to fight in a battle that is much larger than the crowds at the mall in December. Sometimes, women are asked to fight in the epic battle of good vs. evil. Sometimes, women are asked to fight against whispers of hate from the enemy robbing them of peace, robbing them of acceptance…robbing them of God’s best.

My platoon is in training; becoming equipped with truth and honest reflection of what has been and what could be with understanding. My sojourners are gorgeous. Each one of them carries a flame that has been lit and a perseverance that is contagious.

I cannot imagine crossing enemy lines without my sisters.

“Strength and Honor!”

http://thepathlesschosen.com/books/to_be_told/to_be_told_kit.html

the Guitar

2012-01-24T16:35:00.000-06:00

This weekend, I cried.

Tears for my friend who lost her mom. Tears of gratitude for a host of beautiful, talented friends who shine with God’s Spirit; and all of us throwing a big bash in our friend’s honor.

Then, I got the call. A sweet lady that I have never met named Judy on the other end saying, “hey, we are on 1-40 and I’ve got your dad’s guitar, where do you wanna meet?”

This isn’t just any guitar. This is the guitar that laid across my knees as I sat in my daddy’s lap while his fingers gently strummed melodies that I translated as complete adoration for me. I don’t remember my life with my dad without this guitar. Seems ironic that my dad played the piano for a living, but yet his guitar encompasses our closeness.

“How about the Memorial exit?” I said.

Sitting in the car, waiting, I thought about how many years it has been since my dad passed away. I thought about how young he was to be battling cancer and how courageous he fought it.

He wasn’t my hero until it was too late to tell him. Every little girl wants to be the apple of their daddy’s eye. In that respect, I was like every little girl; but unfortunately, I didn’t see that his world had always revolved around me until I moved out of his world. That is one of the ugly truths about divorce; sometimes, the children move away.

Judy steps out of the car, happy and hyper. I loved her instantly. She hands me the guitar in its case. I smile and politely say thank you and get back in my car. I cried the whole way home. Some tears just ran down with no explanation, just a heart overflowing.

After sharing my latest prize-possession with my family, I busted out the ol’ video camcorder and promptly played a video of dad playing the guitar to Eden. She sat curiously in my lap watching her granddad play a tune and reaching for the strings. She was all of nine months old.

So, I have given you where I have been with this guitar and where I was as I got it, but now…let me tell you where I am going. I am going to learn to play this dearly beloved guitar so that I can someday put Eden’s kiddos in my lap and play them a memory.

2012

2012-01-05T15:06:00.001-06:00

This year I am vowing not to sit down and spend countless hours creating spreadsheets charting a year of resolutions pertaining to personal growth, spiritual growth and a play-by-play of how to change the world.

I am learning what is important now.

Laying in bed with my daughter, both snuggled up with books we cannot put down.

Dancing when I hear a great song and engaging whomever is with me to do the same.

Griping finger for finger the hand of the man I love.

You know, I could never put all the car rides with Eden after school listening to her day in a spreadsheet, yet – wouldn’t that fall under at least one of the 12 areas of focus? Sure it would, but why spreadsheet it when I can just live it.

If you’ve had the privilege of changing diapers, building sand castles, swinging a child for hours, holding sticky fingers, dressing a moving target, reading the same bedtime story over a thousand times…or have ever heard, “I love you!” Then you don’t need to be making resolutions, you need to be keeping a gratitude journal.

2012 nights are going to conclude with a thank you prayer. I will be thanking God for all the moments of the day and asking Him to direct the next if He so desires to give it to me.

Everyday Heroes

2011-11-29T15:30:00.002-06:00

“Everyday heroes don’t let life’s challenges bring them down. Instead, they stay positive and find a way to overcome their obstacles. Everyday heroes don’t always succeed, but they consistently act on the belief that they can do something to improve their situations and those of the people around them.”

Noah Blumenthal

My husband sent me this quote many, many months ago. I saved it in my email inbox and find myself opening it – a lot. For one, it is a great source of encouragement. My husband considers me a hero – AMAZING. I don’t feel like a hero. I feel like someone who wears her heart on her sleeve, who can’t always keep her mouth shut and most recently, like someone who puts milk in the pantry because her ADD is out of control.

Now, I am opening it to be reminded of all of those everyday heroes that have changed my life. The heroes that wanted to improve my situation. I have a childhood riddled with people who improved my life – investors.

Marilyn Bowers was one of those investors. She lived across the street and her daughter was my very best friend. She took me in as one of her own, thrown in with three great kids. She introduced me to the concept of a Saturday night date with the family that involved grocery shopping and ice cream after. Her laughter was contagious. Her influence is seen in my home today. My daughter is reaping the benefits of my time as a Bowers family member. Eden had no idea in October when our family danced around the house to the “Monster Mash” it was because Marilyn made it a tradition. What a gift.

I also had the gift of a coach, Harold, that was willing to work with me night after night to be a ballplayer that averaged thirty-two points a game as a fifth grade basketball player. His investment as an everyday hero changed my mindset. I gained confidence in myself and my abilities. I never lost that confidence.

I could blog for a year and still not cover all of the everyday heroes that have crossed my path and changed my life. Everyday heroes are better than superheroes – they are real people doing real things. And I thank God for all of them.

Blind Spot

2011-10-25T18:50:00.000-05:00

"More and more people are buying bigger and bigger,...and the bigger the vehicle, the bigger the blind spot." - Consumer Reports

I think we are living bigger and bigger lives. Relationships are at an all-time high. Facebook, Twitter, cell phones - we can communicate all day long if we want to.

But what are we saying? Are we using our voice to edify or lift up each other or are we using our voice to hurt people? Or, like me, do we speak without realizing we might have a blind spot in our communication?

Think about it. Think about your emails, think about your blogs, think about what your saying and how it might be interpreted by the reader.

I know I have a serious blind spot. I know I speak from a candid, transparent heart. Most of the time I am describing a journey or an event - typically I describe moments, but seldom have I stopped to think of the inference that might go along with my interpretation.

"More and more people are talking bigger and bigger,...and the bigger the voice, the bigger the blind spot." -Monica Epperson

the CHURCH

2011-09-26T11:26:00.000-05:00

“The single greatest cause of atheism in the world today is Christians, who acknowledge Jesus with their lips, then walk out the door, and deny Him by their lifestyle. That is what an unbelieving world simply finds unbelievable.” – Brennan Manning

If the above quote rings true for you, I am so very sorry. I have had the opposite experience. Actually, so opposite that my quote would say, “the most believable evidence of God is found in His earthly hands and feet – His children.”

I have a Christian family. Some call them a LifeGroup, or a CareGroup – whatever, it doesn’t matter. What matters is the connection. Living your life with people who respond and react as your family. In this respect, I come from a huge family.

Part of that family was over on Saturday night, September 24th. Typically that is a rough date for me, my dad’s birthday. He would have been sixty-one years old this year. But it wasn’t rough this year because this year was John’s 40th birthday (our fearless leader these days.)

Many times throughout the night I scanned the room with such love and appreciation. Women who have blessed me with always showing up. Men who have rallied around each other through some tough circumstances. And my favorite, kids who are growing up with each other and surrounded by adults who love them and accept them even as they are jumping off sofas and smearing sticky fingers all over the glass.

We are not a perfect group. We have unruly children at times and might not always glorify God with all of our words, but we understand love. We understand what it means to be patient, kind, long-suffering, and most assuredly – not keeping a record of each other’s wrongs.

So, this morning as I am finding beads, feathers and half-eaten candy wrappers – I am reminded of this incredible gift I have been given, love and family.

Our babies, now self-proclaimed “big kids” will have all these memories of homes filled with love and happiness and hopefully, Lord willing, when they hear a quote about Christians being a cause of atheism, they will give the same disconnected stare I have given such quotes….hugh??

Picture Book Review by Lia Constanda

2011-09-06T18:20:00.000-05:00

A Heart with Two Homes by Monica Epperson

Reviewed by Lia Constanda

The writer of “A Heart with Two Homes”, Monica Epperson is the CEO and co-founder of the organization “The child of divorce, Inc” (formerly known as “Blended Love, Inc.”) along with her husband Dr. Brian Epperson. They are both educators.

Published in 2008, “A Heart with Two Homes” generated a lot of discussion amongst professionals working with children who acknowledged the need for resources for the growing numbers of children of divorce. Responding to this Monica founded “The child of divorce, Inc”, a nonprofit making organization, which she funded from donating the royalties from her book. Helping children of divorce is the mission of the organization. “A Heart with Two Homes” is its first work that later led to forming a committee charged with writing research based curriculum for students and teachers.

The book is about a little girl called Elizabeth, whose parents divorced when she was 8 yrs old. She continued to live with mom and had regular visits with dad. In both environments she assumed a different persona. When with mom, she was a little girl, enjoyed dancing and did girly things, to please mom. When with dad, she was a little tomboy, played sports and did boyish things, to please dad. As time went on she found it difficult to define her true self. She was confused: was she Lizzie, as mom called her, or was she Beth, as dad called her.

Eventually Elizabeth discovers with the help of a school guest speaker the benefit of writing therapy and later the benefit of sharing and talking openly about her feelings to friends and family. These processes help her confront her parents about their lack of communication as far as she was concerned. The book ends on a positive note, as the parents through their actions acknowledge their mistakes thus helping Elizabeth to find her true identity as a whole person and not as the two halves of one.

The book identifies some of the problems created by parents in divorce cases, such as a child’s emotional turmoil, confusion, insecurity, isolation, lack of trust, unresolved conflict, to name but some.

The book also offers options for the children of divorce on addressing their concerns about their feelings. The idea of a private Journal, where they could confide their most inner thoughts and feelings is eminently suited to those situations. It is a well known fact that one of the merits of writing is to help clarify thoughts. As the famous French writer Gustave Flaubert once said:"The art of writing is the art of discovering what you believe." The idea of using a journal helped the little girl in this case to cope positively with change once she identified her true concerns and discovered what she really believed about herself.

The Scar

2011-08-25T16:28:00.001-05:00

For most of my life I have been incredibly protective and discreet about a scar I have on my upper right leg. It marks a childhood cancer scare and a week in our city’s pink palace, a hospital. Most of my friends are not even aware of this scar, even those I have spent time with on the beach or in pools. I have hidden it, cleverly, most of my life – until now.

Last week, my daughter had one of those days that all of us moms dread when we have a girl – the day that other girls hurt them. We all know these days are coming. The minute the doctor says, “It’s a girl.” A flash of the sharpest-tongue, meanest-spirited junior high girl you’ve ever known pops in your head. OH,NO!

So, when Eden told me her sad tale of rejection, I was semi-prepared. What I wasn’t prepared for was her long pause and decision to withhold any more information about her insecurities until she was confident that I had once visited this emotional place myself.

She glared deeply into my eyes and asked, “Mom, have you ever been left out?”

At that moment I could honestly see that all she has ever known is two very outgoing parents that typically plan the party and persuade the wall flowers that the middle of the room is safe.

“Yes,” not even realizing that I was about to reveal to her my most hidden secret.

“When I was in second grade I had to go to a lot of doctor visits. At one of the visits I was told that I would be having a surgery because I had something on my leg that could cause me to get really sick.” I said wondering if she would even care.

“What happened?” she leaned in wanting to know all of the details.

“Well, they scheduled the surgery for the last day of school before the Christmas break so that I wouldn’t miss a lot of school. But, what they didn’t know about that day is that it was the day of the big Christmas musical and that all of the second grade kids would be a part of this musical except for me. So, each and every practice for the three weeks leading up to that day, I sat along the gym wall alone. I would watch my friends laugh and sing and whisper while on stage together and sometimes they would whisper and point at me.” I said shocked I still remembered.

“How did that make you feel, Mom?”

“Truly left out and like I didn’t have any friends for a while.” I concluded. “But it didn’t last forever and now I try to pay attention to the people who feel on the outside because I can relate to how they are feeling. It was a gift.”

And so I immediately recognized that my scar was a tremendous gift. That silly, insignificant scar on the back of my leg that I have hidden for way too long is actually now a prized possession marking an experience that I had that won the trust of my baby girl. Thank you, Lord, for my scar.

How many other scars do I bear that have been masked instead of used? Or maybe I should say how many gifts do I not give away?

Maybe we should quit asking, “Why me?” and just say, “Thank you for choosing me.”

Man Behind the Curtain

2011-08-17T17:28:00.000-05:00

This month I celebrated seventeen years of marriage.

I actually had a complete stranger at a wedding, when told I had just had my anniversary the night before, ask me if I had gotten pregnant. What a weird thing to ask someone, I scowled of course and said no – but he got me to thinkin’.

Why did I get married at 20?

Oh, yeah, because I knew when I first met Brian that he was going to be that guy that no matter who I married – he would always be there, too. You know what I mean. The one that got away. The first cut is the deepest. So many songs written out there about this truth. So, being concerned about the next guy and his feelings I decided to spare him the grief and marry Brian – only fair.

But what I wasn’t privy to back then was that I was actually marrying my God-appointed personal life coach.

The days have slowly passed, but the years have flown. Each one marked with life experiences together. And each year, I grow and make positive changes thanks to his investment.

Brian has not only allowed me to live a good, easy life thanks to his provisions, that he will tell you are straight from the Lord blessing his work, but also to explore my faith, my dreams and my roles in life. Not that he, by any stretch, is easy. He isn’t easy. Brian is incredibly hard to life with if you are a person who wants to do the minimum to get the maximum.

He is a perpetual life coach. He believes in pushing the envelope until you are stone cold dead. His presence alone is convicting if you are coasting.

I fought him for years.

Now, I am incredibly grateful. This week, and it’s only Wednesday, I have worked through a children’s book deadline, a curriculum deadline, and wrote a talk I am giving in October to over 700 people. I am not content to sit back when I am capable of giving my best – especially since I have been reminded that this isn’t a dress rehearsal.

Now, more than ever, I understand what Oprah meant when she said, “For everyone of us that succeeds, it’s because there’s somebody there to show you the way out.”

Blessing Mommy

2011-07-25T20:54:00.000-05:00

Today was one of THOSE days. Since I am the writer and you are the reader, just fill in the blank with a bunch of drama and anxiety of your own flavor and add a times ten to it. Yes, several pats on the chest reassuring myself that this is simply anxiety not a heart attack in my late thirties.

So as I am washing the dishes after dinner relishing in the five seconds standing alone with no deadlines or drama I hear a faint chorus coming from the bedroom, “we’ve got to go bless…Mommy…”

Dancing to the kitchen island with a Macbook in hand appears a working Daddy with a singing Eden.

“We have to bless Mommy with our presence…” the two continue to sing without any shower to blend their tones.

At this point the song goes completely south including all kinds of bodily functions and then plummets into an ensemble of all of my most embarrassing moments and to top it off they added some human smells to the music.

I am rolling – a full snort adds to their noise.

Ironically enough, although the two of them took away my quiet moment, ambushed me with insults and terrible songs – they blessed me.

My heart quit palpitating. I laughed.

All is well in the world again.

Concluding a Chapter

2011-07-22T08:43:00.002-05:00

Change has been such a constant in my life, like most of you I am sure. Just about the time I think I have perfected my schedule, relationships and so on – well, they change. Most of the time with plenty of warning yet still so unexpectedly.

I am a wimp to change. My reaction nine times out of ten is the same one I had as a seven-year old girl. I cry a little at first, then pull some crazy sour grapes rationale out of the air until I end on some Pollyanna, nonsensical mantra that I pour out to everyone in hopes that one day I will believe it.

I think this time I am going to pull up my big girl pants and attempt a new philosophy, “I am concluding a chapter.”

We all have concluded many chapters. Lost loved ones, changed jobs, broke up with the opposite sex – whatever, doesn’t matter what the content is the feeling is usually the same. We can stop and reflect, pull out the memories we want to save, pull out the memories that require forgiveness, and pull up to the bar or pew in conversation.

The chapter I am finishing has been a beautiful chapter about people, programs and a building – a church.

As a newly married couple, my husband and I found ourselves on the back row of a church quietly easing into the body one conversation at a time.

Over the years, each sermon hit closer to home. Some sermons and relationships actually caused our course to change.

People, being woven into our lives, became our friends – brothers and sisters in Christ and in life.

Each year holding memories that are burned in my heart and soul forever. Memories of being the first-ever Kindergarten teacher at the preschool. Memories of studies upstairs, coffee talks downstairs, updates on loved ones in the halls – memories made all over the building.

Watching our friends marry one another.

Two funerals, burying both dads and celebrating each of their lives in the same chapel surrounded by love, service and most importantly – my friends.

I could write a whole, lengthy chapter of all of the shaping, molding and imitating of wonderful people in that building, but I won’t because most blog readers like it quick and swift with a point.

Well, the point is this: Wherever you are in your life, whatever you may be concluding – finish well and read it until the full chapter is finished. Then, and only then, can you look back with gratitude for the characters, and appreciation for the wisdom gained, and hopefully – laughs and lots of ‘em.

Family Traditions

2011-07-18T14:29:00.002-05:00

When I was younger, I was enamored by family traditions.

My Mom’s side of the family always had a wonderful Thanksgiving tradition. The kids (me and my cousins) all played together while the big people put all of the dishes in some kind of order to make walking through with your plate a bit easier for everyone. My goodness, we must have had over fifty people every year. Some years that line was at our house, or my Grandma Shirley’s house and then finally to end up at my Aunt Novella’s house where it remains today.

I wouldn’t trade a single Thanksgiving Day for all of the money in the world. My cousin, Jeanean, was one of those cousins I played with, looked up to and shared that tradition with back then. She is no longer with us, but there hasn’t been a Thanksgiving since that I haven’t shared a memory of her and our times playing in the yard or listening to music.

Traditions, I have decided now, are created by adults who understand this concept of making memories. Adults who know that each day is a gift and that time is flying by so it is important to reserve the time for those you love. Those you want to always say, “remember when…”

Eden’s Nana understands this concept. Since I joined the family as Brian’s girlfriend at eighteen, she has always hosted a Sunday dinner. A spot on all of our calendars to come together and enjoy her infamous cooking.

Brian and I even drove home from college each weekend to keep the tradition of the Sunday dinner. Obviously, no one had to twist our arm, we were broke and happy to get an incredible meal for free. We also found ourselves loving the game of Scrabble with his parents.

Over the years that tradition alone kept our family close. Megan, Brian’s sister, graduated from college herself and began a career. As her schedule has become even more demanding and her life crazier than I can remember, she still tries to keep the ancient tradition of Sunday dinner – thus keeping our Daddy’s girl in our lives.

We have had seasons of busyness for all of us. Yet, the perpetual date of Sunday dinner remains on all of our calendars.

This year, I have decided to quit being enamored with traditions and start creating them. To start thinking about ways to set dates on the calendar to say, “I care about making memories with you.”

Because I do. Money has never lured my affection, but people caring to make memories with me will get me every time.

I Heart Ree Drummond

2011-07-10T23:56:00.000-05:00

I am sure that Ree Drummond has entered most of your homes, blog readers, through your stomaches. She has posted incredible recipes that have real substance for you to feed your families. Or maybe she entered your home through her fabulous photography of the range. Either way, I am sure you’ve had privy to her adorable antics long before I entered the ranch and met the infamous, Pioneer Woman.

She entered my world, through my heart. I just finished reading her book. Her love story, told through the purest voice of transparency, reminded me of the beauty of falling in-love with a man.

As I tucked my daughter in bed and clutched the book as if it were an animal that might get away, I found myself getting lost in her story. Following her journey through self-discovery and flashing lights, I was reminded of the young, naive girl I was when I met my man.

She met Marlboro Man. I met Vanilla Ice.

She dated a man on his ranch. I dated a man in his car most of the time.

She found herself creating a lot of embarrassing moments. I am unfortunately no different on this one.

She fell in-love when she already had other plans. I fell in-love and couldn’t even remember my previous plans.

I had never planned on reading her book. I don’t read books about love and romance. I read practical books with statistics and human behavior as it pertains to death and divorce. (No, I am not a Debbie Downer, just my book club meets at Laureate.)

So, how I ended up glued to her book and forfeiting sleep to get through it, I will never know.

But I do know that I would not take back one page, because each page brought back the memories of nineteen years ago – memories of dating my true love. Memories that made me laugh, turn red, and lust all over again.

I can now only say – thank you, Nana, for forcing me to take the book home and thank you, Russ, for suggesting I follow her blog so many years earlier. Now, of course, I wish I had.

I Heart Ree Drummond. http://thepioneerwoman.com/

Are You My Mother?

2011-07-05T23:28:00.002-05:00

Not too long ago, I found myself visiting with an old friend from an era that felt like forever ago, yet seemed unresolved. As we talked about old times I started to see those old times from an adult perspective. Some of those were really rough old times.

My memory took me back to my first year of college and the misfit feeling of being the only one of my friends from a divorced home. Whispers. ”Bless her heart…” I could only fit into these families at the expense of myself. At the time, I was willing to spend it all.

This wasn’t the only time I found myself being punished for being lost. I could rattle off many, many more stories of searching for my perfect fit. Enough so, that as I was reflecting my heart came to a stand still. I was completely taken back by the drastic difference of the traveling girl I once was to the solid woman I am today. When did I change so dramatically?

“Fix me.” At some point, I requested from God.

His reply came with a visual of a picture book, not surprising considering I love them so very much.

A picture book that illustrates perfectly the relationship I have always had with Him.

A baby chick hatches looking for his mother. As you turn each page, you see the chick asking things and people who don’t resemble him in the least – simply, “are you my mother?”

The things and people tell the chick exactly why they could not possibly be related, leaving the chick as a misfit with each turn of the page.

As the pages turn, the isolation and obvious differences sadden the chick. As the reader, you cannot help but want to rewrite the story and make some of these things and people want to adopt the chick and embrace the similarities, but you can’t cause you are not the author.

But a greater relief is to come – see, at the end of the book the chick is scooped up and loved by a beautiful creature that looks just like him. A mother that went away for food to feed her young one. A mother that always had a plan.

I found my resolve the day my Father revealed Himself to me. That day I realized my real family tree – and the book shut.

Beautiful Ballerina

2011-06-03T00:00:00.000-05:00

I have truly been in the right place at the right time, several times, but lately not as wonderfully right as I sat today at Theatre Arts.
The studio today was filled with spectators for five, little ballerinas having their very first ballet class.
One of those babies, Lauren, had no idea that this class had been created especially for her and her grandma to have an unrepeatable moment.
As she picked out her sweetly, perfect ensemble with her mom and grandma just days before, she did not know it was a "bucket list" line item on her grandma's list.
Lauren's grandma has terminal cancer. Lauren's mommy knows all too well how limited her mom's time really is because Lauren's mommy was the Oncologist PA that took of my dad in his last days.
The moment made memories created on video. I know because I took the video.
I stood in the corner watching the happy tears of a grandma watching her sweetie pie twirl and laugh. The room was filled with love and appreciation for life and new experiences and the profound reminder of the brevity of it.
A theatre school, friends bringing their children and a dance teacher that was fit for the job - all came together to create a memory. A memory for one of the most beautiful ballerinas you will ever meet. A memory this tiny beauty will value as the woman she will one day become - a memory with her cherished grandma enjoying her first dance.

Bigger than Washington

2011-05-14T12:15:00.000-05:00

I had the honor of attending an evening at Oklahoma Weslyan in Bartlesville last night. The dinner included an evening with Gov. Frank Keating titled, "Crisis Leadership." Powerful topic, even more powerful was the prelude by Dr. Everett Piper where he clearly and poetically declared the mission of the University - a quest for absolute truth and the integrity to live out the findings.
So, as I am sitting there intrigued by the paths that led the woman and men around me to their careers, I realize that we've all had to address "crisis leadership." Crisis, bad times, they come to all of us. What a gift. Sure, you are thinking - what???? But seriously, think about it. The gift is the equal playing field and the reminder of the Coach. Humans, no matter what title, all have a time of crisis. Most of us have a time in our life that we have a visual so tattooed in our noggin that we can resurrect it at will and become watery-eyed over it. Moments that are bigger than us. Moments that are bigger than words. Moments that we can only cry.
Last night, Mr. Keating had a moment like that. Despite the honorable introduction, the long list of accomplishments, the name dropping, the rhetoric of political agenda - despite it all - even he had to stop mid-sentence as he was recalling seeing a soldier's dress blues and shiny shoe under the rubble of the Oklahoma City bombing. That moment - was even now, over a decade later, bigger than him. As his eyes teared and his chin quivered, I thought, "praise God." I praise Him because He has created an emotion to remind us all that He is bigger than us and that even the brightest and best of humankind still hold no candle to the steadiness through a crisis that He keeps lit.
We are told that there are no tears in Heaven. I believe that. He does not need them because He is huge. It all makes sense to Him. But thank goodness we have tears here. They are our reminder that even the most polished man still has moments that are bigger than him.
God Bless America.

Intentional

2011-05-09T18:28:00.000-05:00

Women can get lost.
I have found it incredibly challenging to balance my life. I desire to be all things to all people especially those I share a roof with over our heads. I have always seemed to do it at my own expense. So, I get lost.
In my maze of discontent, I rear up and fight the ghost of achievement and lose yet again.
Stacking all the duties and descriptions defined by women writers, I find myself slowly slipping a heavy noose around my neck until I am dangling - feet kicking - then limp. A wet noodle of no value to anyone.
Over the years this cycle of the Proverbs 31 wife battling the Susan B. Anthony has become all too often and all too familiar. Stopping this cycle takes real intention, real understanding of the core that drives it.
So, for me, I have found a simple mantra of balance comes from staying balanced with intention.
My intentions for my husband are voiced and accomplished. He knows why I do what I do for him. He knows the intent of the daily actions. My daughter also sees my plan intentionally to be a part of the routine that encompasses her life. She fully understands that I am a part of her daily life on purpose, not because it is convenient or just worked out that way.
I look into fifth grade faces of children once a week because I have intended to reach, to teach and to provide an adult perspective of making it through this challenging world with a positive view. Intentionally, planning to be a part of an equation of healing and restoration.
Sure, I could go on with my intentions with friends and family and other interest in my life, but you get the point. The point is simple - intention is everything.
If you don't intend on doing anything - you will get lost.
Don't get lost. Plan your intentions today.

Happy Birthday!

2011-04-27T11:33:00.000-05:00

The beauty of living through losing young, vibrant people in your life is that you appreciate birthdays. Each birthday is a gift.
This week I turned thirty-seven. I love being in my thirties. For me, these are the years that I still have somewhat of a youthful appearance, but am loaded with experience and discernment that I didn't have in my twenties. At thirty-seven I can laugh at myself, forget obvious dates and afford the expensive lattes. What a life!
Even more importantly, I value what is truly valuable - my relationships. They are more precious than all the money in the world and more permanent than fleeting fame. I am a wife, mother, daughter, friend - I am a part of families, girl groups, churches, committees...I am loved.
This year I decided to throw my own birthday party, which I strongly recommend. For those PR people - the saying, "perception is reality" really rang true this year. I declared it an important event and would you believe so did everyone else? Crazy how that works.
So, why blog about it?
I want the same for you. Happy Birthday to you. Praise God that you are alive and given the opportunity to live this moment - because you aren't guaranteed another birthday. This may be your last one. Don't let it quietly slip by in the night. Don't go a wallflower - be the life of your own party. People will celebrate with you if you are bold enough to declare your own moment!

Irreplaceable

2011-04-20T21:58:00.001-05:00

This season, for some, is the month of Abib or Nisan - the first month of God's calendar according to Exodus and other testaments in the Bible. It is a time of rebirth, both visually in the world and spiritually in the heart. As buds bloom and the warm air allows us to sit outside and take in all of the beauty that is waking up from such a dead slumber, our minds are also waking up to the idea that someday we will be waking up from a dead slumber to a bloom we cannot even comprehend - our own resurrection.
Lately, I have heard an expression that has caused me to evaluate its meaning. The expression is, "he (Christ) took my place on that cross." I am sure that I have heard this expression a million times and have probably even said it, but this year - I stopped - thought and hurt over ever having said it.
He, Christ, did not take my place. My death on a cross would have simply just been a dead person on a cross. This is not an equal exchange. We are not equal.
Christ, adorned in favor and royalty, power and prestige - did not replace a man. He rescued mankind from never blooming.
Regardless of the songs we sing, our feeble attempt to say thank you, or our horrid cliches throughout the season - know this - He is irreplaceable.

Today

2011-04-13T16:13:00.001-05:00

Today I had a choice – just like you. I decided not to focus on all the sadness. I decided to take a break from my own expectations and just enjoy the day. I chose to live today moment by moment. I could have disappointed myself and chose differently, but I didn’t and I am so grateful for right now – today.

I started by driving my daughter and her friend to school appreciating having a third grader and the sweet concerns of a child with limited adversity and a heart of gold. My mind immediately took me to GRATITUDE. She is blessed and I am thankful for her life, her love and being a mom.

As I laced up my running shoes, I didn’t focus on the guilt of not being able to get out there more often, no – I focused on being able today. Yay, me. Back on the trail. Back out in the beauty. I ran up on a little, red robin – so gorgeous. I stared at her (not that I know for sure) and thought, “I love the color red.” Oh, and I do. I love the enthusiasm seeing red brings to me. Makes me want to live passionately. ENTHUSIASM for today.

Coffee around the corner with friends from who knows when – the kind that knew you before you even knew you had a dream. Laughs, empathy and great stories. Today – CONNECTION. They know me. I know them.

Lunch with my man. For those of you who have married your first love, do I need to say more? His eyes, his humor, his intellect (which I wish I could keep up with more) keeps me enamored and curious…smart, eye candy. ENJOYING today and the one who lives it side by side with me – ALIVE.

The next part of today is what other days would be a real downer – the TO DO LIST. Oh, no, not today. It did not take me down. I stopped and APPRECIATED that I am healthy and energetic and able to do the list. PRAISE GOD.

Today. Life is fun. Today. I am focused on the fun.

If I asked you to focus on all the brown in the room you are currently sitting in – you would see a lot of it, even if it wasn’t the main color in the room.

Today, focus on the “fun” in your life, even if it isn’t the most dominant color in your room. Focus, and love today.

Happy Today! And it isn’t even over….

humility, man's greatest asset

2011-04-04T08:48:00.000-05:00

Lately, I have found myself in circles of conversation that appear to be a verbal display of dominance. It is amazing how many people feel it is necessary to speak their resume or accomplishments, having no idea how transparent their insecurities are to the circle.
I have the privilege of having a walking buddy that has reached many of the world's pedestals, and do you know what she encourages in my life? My motherhood. Her professional experience and resume could compete with any woman in the metroplex, and she knows my ambitious side to create movements and succeed in nonprofit business - yet, in her age and wisdom - humbly, she promotes "motherhood."
Her humility in conversation has led to my growing respect for the person she is at the core, not her resume.
What a model.
You don't have to reach the top rung on the ladder to display humility that leads to respect. It starts with just accepting yourself - exploring your beliefs and staying true to them - it starts with transparency.
Think about it. Think on all the circles of conversation you've been in - who did you enjoy most? The boaster or the party goer who just lived in the moment?
Unfortunately, I have been both. I hate that. I wish I could say that I have always been comfortable in my own skin, but I haven't. Mainly from wounding, lack of validation, I have been the chic in the circle begging for scraps of encouragement after reciting my accomplishments - ouch! The worst part of that is when you hit the pillow at night and you are reflecting the evening and all that stands out is your own insecurity. Bummer, embarrassment - especially when you know better.
How do I combat this? Hearing truth. Hearing what is noble and truthful, which is, simply - man's greatest asset is HUMILITY.

Truth & Peace

2011-03-30T09:05:00.000-05:00

It is incredibly hard to find peace without a life of truth. Have a child, they will show you.
If you are not living your own understanding of truth, you cannot be followed or believed - which leads to an unsettled life of lies.
Today's world calls this concept, "being comfortable in your own skin."
I call it, simply - real.
What do you really believe? What do you really live by? Who are you, really? Why are you here?
These questions aren't always answered at the same time. Sometimes it is a long, winding journey that arrives at some place of understanding and insight. Many Christians struggle with the journey. They hang their hat on a piece of the truth, but don't have a love for the pursuit of truth. You cannot fully comprehend the look of an elephant by only seeing the ear. No, you smooth your hands over the ear, feeling each wrinkle until it leads you to the neck and so on. It is the same with the pursuit of truth.
My experience and study has led me to believe that this journey of pursuing truth is where the peace is stored and available to all. Each time my fingers run over a new area of study and understanding I become aware of another piece of explanation. Not for the purpose of the great "ME" puzzle, but for the purpose of the Great Story of life.
It is a beautiful gift to receive peace through the path of truth. It is free. The closest the world has come to marketing it and packaging it for the mass market is the Chronological Bible.

Live / Laugh / Love

2011-03-27T10:06:00.000-05:00

How many of you have a plaque or a framed piece of art that says, "Live, Laugh, Love?"
I do.
I look at it almost everyday and most days walk away completely forgetting my intentions for the day.
Today was one of those days. I just walked away and forgot to enjoy the live part or to laugh at myself for being so serious or to relish in the love all around me. Shame on me. What a poop.
So, as I am recapping the day with self-deprecation and disappointment I got an email, an update from my friend Cari. She is in Houston at MD Anderson.
Cari has just begun her fight against cancer. She is forty-five years old and has cancer throughout her body. She has no idea how much longer she has to LIVE / LAUGH / LOVE, yet she does it - like right now. She values it. She knows how precious it is to find the funny in the moment even in a hospital. She knows how important it is to tell her husband, Steve, how much she loves him. She knows what she wants - to LIVE.

Cari didn't have a bad attitude today. Praise God for Cari. She reminds us all to live by the plaques hanging on our walls.

My Crazy Aunt Carol

2011-03-19T22:17:00.000-05:00

When I was a little girl my crazy Aunt Carol took me to Six Flags. She is hilarious. She is one of those women that has absolutely no boundaries. The possibilities for fun are endless with her - they always have been from even my first memories of her in my life.
As I was at Six Flags on Friday with Brian and Eden, I found myself revisiting a moment I had as a five- year old - facing an adventure head on, Aunt Carol style!
Looking up at the rickety roller coaster I immediately thought of all of the things that could go wrong, until I looked down at the nine-year old eyes begging for an adventure. So, I put on my big girl pants and thought of the joy I had once had at Six Flags taking on rides that felt too big for me.
I told my little adventurer the story of my dear Aunt Carol bribing me with a pink elephant named Crystal to ride the parachute ride with my cousins. Aunt Carol not only got me to have an adventure, but she gave me an even greater gift of passing it along.
One day - one moment - over thirty something years ago and wha-la - CONTAGIOUS.
I have now been reminded of the moments that can be passed down. Time invested in teaching children to love an adventure is priceless and only takes being in the moment.
Be contagious - oh if I could lone out my crazy Aunt Carol to all school-aged children.

The Race

2011-02-21T14:26:00.002-06:00

I love to run. I love it from the moment you say, "now" and you get your iPod ready and start the stretches. The excitement of looking out and planning your trail and how much effort you are willing to put into it - what you want to think about or plan for in the future. It is an escape.
Life can be like running. You hit it hard and just start running. In the beginning you believe you've mapped out a trail. You may have decided what thematic music you want playing to your life. You might have even marked out a finish line and visualized the crossing through to the other side - all smiles of course with the look of victory on your face.
What happens when you are hitting the pavement at full speed and you've been going awhile and you look around to realize you aren't quite sure where everyone else went and where the finish line is suppose to be?
Do you stop and look around to see if you can hear or see anyone? Or do you keep pounding the pavement with determination to get somewhere, even if it ends up to be nowhere - at least you will get there fully spent and exhausted?
I am not a psychologist, yet, but I think either answer must reveal some real drivers of our hearts.
I personally, am stopped in my tracks by the abrupt halt to my life when someone dies. I have had it happen enough to recognize the need to identify the race and who is running it with me and where on earth am I going?
I first felt this way at age 15 when I lost my 17 year old cousin. My life as a crazy, young teen was a rapid race in a cheerleading uniform practicing lines for the school musical and holding a seat as an officer in student council. Her car accident brought a vicious HALT to a marathon I was running for being "somebody" at my school. As I sat in a hospital waiting room at 3 a.m. on a Saturday night being told my best friend had not made it through the crash - I stopped and looked around.
The race dramatically changed. The people running the race became the actual finish tape for me. I stopped being as concerned with me being somebody and more concerned with expressing my love to the somebodies racing around me. In some ways, I quit running and became a real sideline gal rooting those around me to pursue living and love because I knew it was brief.
I stayed in that state of mind for a long time. Truth be told I probably used it as a cop out of running. I created a new high school and college mantra, "do the minimum to get the maximum."
That mantra rang in my head for years until the next experience - my dad's death.
As he was dying, this talented man in his fifties, he spoke of regret - oh, the pain of regret for having not really raced in his heat. He did a 5K when he was built for a marathon.
So, I emotionally quit filling everyone's water bottles and laced up my shoes.
Engaged in life - wrote a book, wrote a song, started a nonprofit - if it was a dream I had ever secretly desired in my heart - well, then I pursued it. Oh, it felt good. I loved running again. Busy feet, busy fingers, busy - busy - busy. Running, running so hard I could actually hear the wind singing in my ears.
Then, yet again, another death - my light-hearted, living free step dad who ran his own victorious race!
So, Lord, I stand before you on a track, looking around yet again - no runners in sight - no markers to find the finish line. And I think I finally get it. Jesus, you are the pacesetter running just slightly ahead with your balloons or flashing light letting me know that I don't need to know where we are going to end up. I don't even have to know my own pace. I just have to know Your pace and follow those feet pounding the street. My days of standing on an empty track unaware of why or where I am going are over. Jesus, You are the steady. I will follow You until we go through the finish tape together - having run the whole race.

A Daddy's Heart

2011-02-17T13:40:00.000-06:00

Most of you have realized already that my step dad, Tom Hudson, the man who ripped my heart out with his suffering, passed away last week. He did. He suffered at the end more than I have ever witnessed firsthand and unfortunately, I have seen a lot, as I watched my biological daddy turn to skin and bones - screaming out in pain as cancer ate through his bones.
You may think I am being a bit graphic, but I want you to understand the visuals that expose these thoughts. Graphics that will not soon be forgotten - until now.
Why now? Because that is the power of taking thoughts captive. That is the power of our minds. When I begin to camp out on the horror of their suffering, I stop - kick it out - and remember what these men lived for. They did not live to suffer. Their lives should not be highlighted by the end.
Ironically, these two men had a lot in common. I shouldn't be surprised considering the same woman, my mom, choose both of them.
Tom Hudson lived to share the gospel in complete freedom. He announced his position in the family of God to whomever would listen. Sometimes it got embarrassing, not for him, but for us. I am far from embarrassed now. I am thankful. His child-like declarations of grace and love are comforting me now.
My dad, Michael, was more of the serious sorts when it came to his faith. He loved to have philosophical conversations about the way God worked in the world and what parts of life emulated His character. He spent a lot of time being incredibly curious about the details of the inner workings of creation. I understand that. I have that side, too. That side causes me to dive into study verses taking the Christian rhetoric and calling it faith. It isn't by the way. It is just a vocabulary that brings no comfort at all, just a social circle that can talk the same.
These men, have me in common, a daughter with a piece of each of them to carry on a legacy. The legacy of faith, real faith. I am blessed. I am grateful. I have been loved as a daughter by two exceptional men. Men I am pleased to call my dad. I praise God that after three step dads, He allowed me to have an open heart to love a man that was able to give the best gift a man is able to give - a daddy's heart.

Why I journal...

2011-02-08T17:00:00.000-06:00

Dr. Pennebaker, a psychology professor who applies physiological research to the benefits of writing, claims that writing increases your immune system and ups your psychological well-being.

But I write because it is the only way I can make sense of my over-sensitivity to human suffering, sadness and even sometimes abundance of joy. I write because at the end of a complete thought is resolution.

Right now, I am writing out of an enormous amount of pain for another person, my step dad. When my mom called me to let me know that he was being put on a ventilator in ICU, I began to envision what that would be like. So, as we packed the car and planned the details, I created this picture of walking in and hugging him and talking with the other family members in his room.

I was shocked to round the corner and see a once vibrant man with his head taped pointing up to the ceiling with tubes uncomfortably coming out of his mouth and bruising all over his collar bone. Swollen hands strapped to the bed with glassed over eyes still begging for a fight. As he struggles, my heart begins to break.

I don't want to selfishly assume that I am the only girl in the whole, wide world that has been given the witnessing of two dads suffering beyond what I thought was imaginable with today's modern medicine. I don't want to assume that I am the only person that empathizes with fighters. I can walk into a pet store and cry for the dogs batting at their cage begging for someone to get them out. I know I am one of many to feel these trials of human struggle.

How do I make sense of this? How do I complete this thought to get resolution with this tattooed image of anguish? I fear I cannot.

My default is quickly becoming what is real. The Lord is my Shepherd, He leads me.... - and beg for Him to lay those suffering souls by the calm waters.

Good Morning, Frozen Tundra!

2011-02-06T16:03:00.000-06:00

Snowbound Kids Interview

2011-02-04T13:40:00.000-06:00

Tale of a Tree

2011-02-03T00:04:00.000-06:00

Tuesday morning I woke up to the howls of strong, blizzard winds truly sweeping down the plain. As I made my coffee, I simply stared out the window watching the snow in its complete chaos. And then, this furry ball of brown scampered across the golf course looking from side to side as if to say, "Where is my refuge from this storm?"
He found it. The big, more like enormous, tree that has been around at least a hundred years and has clearly housed many animals from the storms - the large holes prove it.
Today, the storm has passed leaving behind a blanket of white. The small squirrel emerged from his hiding place in the tree. As he climbed out of the hole, he looked right to left as he proceeded farther from the tree. He looked back. Almost as if he wanted to say, "thank you." The tree obviously remained unmoved by the experience, as if it was created solely for the purpose of being a refuge.
Watching all this I couldn't help but remember the tree when it was absolutely stunning. When we first met this tree it towered over even the largest of homes. It's foliage was like an eagle sprawled for a landing. It was beautifully memorable.
But since that day, the tree has been through its own storms. An ice storm that caused large branches to fall violently to the ground, one by one. A Spring storm that ripped the leaves and small branches right off of the trunk.
The tree doesn't care. The tree was designed to be a refuge, irrespective of how beautiful it was, the squirrel found a refuge. The squirrel survived the blizzard. The tree will probably do it again for one of the squirrel's children.
Purpose is not always packaged as beautiful, nevertheless, it is always a refuge.

The Discipline of Forgiveness

2011-01-16T12:13:00.001-06:00

I am standing on the side of the basketball court with my notebook writing down each play that our sweet, little 3rd Grade girls team is executing. With each volley of plays up and down the court, I see the girls look to their coach to make sure they know what they are to do and then immediately look to their parents in the stands to get an approving or encouraging look.
One of those plays was my precious, tall, but uncoordinated gal. She has worked out a reward system with her daddy for her rebounds. So, naturally, when she surprises even herself with a fantastic rebound, her eyes instantly focus on dad and the energy between them can be felt even from the sidelines. Her face remains glowing throughout the rest of the game.
As an observer of the human plot, I am flooded with a gratitude for having my own family. As a child of divorce, multiple divorces, the thought of having a family of three, all with the same last name is like holding the winnings of a lottery ticket. It seems so undeserved. Yet, I know when my odds were greatly increased - the day Brian and I made the act of forgiveness a discipline verses a theory.
Lots of couples believe in the theory of forgiveness. It is probably one of the most talked about characteristics of marriage discussed in any type of marriage counseling or church study for couples. But a discussion as a theory falls incredibly short of the actual discipline of doing it frequently with a person who is in your world and in your space more often than not.
I was once told that I could forgive a person not asking for forgiveness by choosing to throw them out of my head and heart and of course after the "Boundaries" course, out of my life. This concept is forgiveness as a theory. The theory clearly being, "out of sight, out of mind."
This theory is not feasible in marriage.
Brian and I both recognize that our face alone at times will bring to remembrance a serious grievance. So, what do you do with that? A walking reminder smack dab in front of your face.
So, how do you combat that?
We believe with your thoughts. When the story of grievance pops into your head you dismiss it immediately. I have always chosen to say, "not helpful" the minute an ill thought of a past story creeps in. Why? Because it isn't helpful. Yesterday is not today and to create drama today instead of enjoying what is available today is just simply - unreasonable and not helpful.
Keeping this strict discipline of thought allows both parties to address what is only present, not diving into past mistakes. It also allows for the moments of unhindered joy. Not a, "this is great, considering..."
Just in the moment - appreciation and joy.
My daughter is far from the best player on the team, but she has a gift that many children today do not have - a family.

God Bless, the Climber

2011-01-09T17:02:00.000-06:00

I find so much joy in observing human behavior and articulating it from my perspective.

Lately, I have been observing beautifully talented people losing heart in their talents, losing heart in their businesses, and unfortunately, some losing heart in their own gifting. At first glance, I felt a heaviness and a sadness watching these situations and the men and women walking out these trials. Talent being criticized, talent being belittled, talent being pushed to the curb and heartless individuals believing they are right in behaving so poorly.

But after a much deeper look, I am realizing that our 26th President, Theodore Roosevelt said it best about such critics, when he said:

"It is not the critic who counts; not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles, or where the doer of deeds could have done them better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood, who strives valiantly; who errs and comes short again and again; because there is not effort without error and shortcomings; but who does actually strive to do the deed; who knows the great enthusiasm, the great devotion, who spends himself in a worthy cause, who at the best knows in the end the triumph of high achievement and who at the worst, if he fails, at least he fails while daring greatly. So that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who know neither victory nor defeat."

So, to the cold, timid souls who are afraid - to these cowards, I would like to say:

You may use your words, you may use your positioning and your credentials, you may even lie, cheat and steal to get your way - but at the end of the day you live a spineless human existence. You will not know the valiancy of seeing dreams become a reality. You will not know what it feels like to have those who believe in you stand by your side as you fail and urge you to get up. You will not know the steady steps that lead to a finale - a victory. You live dead. You live only able to criticize to cover your inept ability to invent. My hope for you is a look in the mirror and a change. My heart breaks for you because you are quickly becoming numb, and your numbness will someday bring you an anguish you cannot imagine.

And to those beautiful souls that are taking a beating, I would like to say:

You are my hero. Aside from having the talent, you have the understanding of the weight of bitterness; therefore, you continue to forgive your critics. You may have stopped listening, but you have forgiven for the sake of your continued soar. Right now, you may be knocked down, but you are only perplexed. You are not defeated. You will climb to the mountaintops. You will climb because you are a climber and that is what you do - who you are. Those of us who love you will hold your cord as you climb. We cannot prevent a fall, but we will break it because you are our friend.

God Bless, the Climber.

New Year, Old You

2011-01-04T18:29:00.000-06:00

I love fresh starts. I love the idea, the talk, the irony of sitting down with a bowl of ice cream planning a year of not eating it. All new, all never been done before - NOT.
There is nothing new under the sun according to Solomon. I bet there is not much new to our new year's resolutions either.
This year, I challenge us to pursue LIFE. Instead of writing up a bunch of do's and don'ts, let's just pursue observing what it means to truly live. Let's look in the mirror and be honest with where we actually are today and what parts of us are not fully alive and ask ourselves - why?
Life is for the living.
Tally ho, let's go!

Peace

2010-12-14T08:50:00.000-06:00

We have now fully entered into the season of beautiful words of peace and well wishes being scribbled on cards, emailed and now mentioned as a facebook status. From a rhetoric perspective, I love this time of the year. Open dialog of love and self-expression is at my core as a person - thrive on it.
But articulating words of wisdom and living them can truly be two very different things. So, I am going to share some incredible advice I received this morning from my dearest and oldest friend...

"Stand at the crossroads and look;

ask for the ancient paths,

ask where the good way is, and walk in it,

and you will find rest for your souls."

I wish for all of the dear, sweet souls who read this blog to receive peace this year. Peace after you have fully evaluated what is the good way and chosen to be authentic in it. Peace - fully alive.

Pay Off

2010-12-10T13:47:00.000-06:00

When I was twenty years old I took the biggest risk of my life. I met this boy, he had this great strut and his presence could be felt over fifty feet away. I couldn't stop my stare. We talked it up for hours. Talked about who we wanted to be someday and who we thought God might be.
I wanted to forget him. I wanted to be able to just walk away like I always did and just forget him.
I didn't. I couldn't. So, I broke all of my unwritten rules and married him as a kid - huge risk, the ultimate risk.
Now, eighteen years after being drawn to the swagger and the holes in his jeans, I still can't forget him.
He seems to keep stealing my heart, my affection - my attention. He has most of me. More honestly, he created the portions I am most proud of about myself. Discipline, taking risks, making me fight for authenticity - he coached and enamored, I listened.
When I was a little girl I thought that love was a wicked fairytale that ended poorly. The story took you to love's bliss and just before the happily ever after came the army of ruin demolished the concept of love.
That isn't true.
Marriage isn't a fairytale. Marriage is knowing you can't forget the person you love. It is that sense of loss that can even bring tears to your eyes if you even dream or imagine something happening to him.
I took a huge risk, but the real risk would have been the horrible life of wondering how he could go on without me.

Thank you, Brian, for not making me find out what life would have been like without you :)

The Gift of Time

2010-12-07T08:16:00.000-06:00

So, by now you have probably stood in a long line or scrolled on-line looking for the perfect gift for someone. It is the craziest month. A month of consumerism and anxiety.
But it doesn't have to be. For most of us, the calm comes as we really listen to what other people want....our time.
This year my daughter put over five board games on her "want" list. I stood baffled by the list. She has a Wii, a DS, an iPod...games and music are at her disposal. My hope was to add to the collections, but no, she put at the very top, most wanted game - LIFE. Yes, the board game LIFE. The one that is celebrating 50 years.
I actually laughed out loud as I ordered the game. I remembered wanting the game myself at her age.
Then it hit me. She wants the exact same thing I wanted when I put that game on my list. Not the game, but the time and people it takes to play it. Like me, she has realized that parents who purchase a game like this are going to be forced to play it - which translates to a lot of time together as a family.
In reality my daughter has asked for what most children are asking for - time with their parents.
Someday she may not desire our time as much. Someday I may be the one dragging the old, tattered LIFE game out of the closet begging her to play one more time before she leaves for college. And maybe, just maybe, she might play with me before she leaves if I give her, this year, the gift of time.

Good Advice

2010-12-04T07:51:00.000-06:00

I am quickly learning the sustaining impact of good advice. It transcends time and after a period it doesn't even matter who the dispenser of the advice is, it just has to be truly good advice.
A piece of advice that has impacted my life and shaped a lot of my personality came from my mom.
I cannot even remember the first time it was stated, but it became a mantra in our home and more importantly a mantra in my own head. Here it is,
"Don't compare your worst with other people's best."
Can you imagine how helpful that was in high school, those years you are using cover up for zits like crazy? Yep, it was most helpful.
But the help lasted much longer than through growing pains, the advice shaped a mindset of personal acceptance. I have been blessed with believing that everyone has a worst and a best and to even attempt to compare those is just foolish. How can you know which you are comparing?
So, I don't and I haven't spent too much time concerned about comparing which has led to a lot of undeserved self-confidence. The funny here is that I walked away with that advice even taking it a step further to assume that I have a best that maybe I haven't even seen yet. Yes, I actually walked away with hope of a better me.

Ode to Allison's Mom

2010-11-24T07:26:00.000-06:00

My dearest Kay, the way you freak on germs I aspire to be someday
A sweater in July, the girls may fry, but you will know you've kept them alive

The underdog, perpetually your friend, your love for them has no end
Heart good or bad, you do not see, you judging them...may it never be!

Your strategic mind, planning dates unseen, all your deeds so gracefully
Grandchildren, cats, the ones who need you most, you appear - the precious host

You decorated my door, a birthday wish, for this dear Kay, I throw a kiss
So special one was meant to be, you serenade hearts with acts of glee

No one nor animal could ever say, "Oh, that Kay did not make my day."
For each time you rise early from your recycled bed, it is the little guy you wish to get fed

Hearts for trees, earth and sky, you take them all in, even escort out the fly
Why? Does anyone know why?

It is not for us to question such a creation, only to appreciate this revelation
Ode to Allison's Mom, for she is the motherly bomb!

(knucks all around)

Happy Thanksgiving to all of our Mommas!

Live Alive

2010-11-17T19:27:00.000-06:00

Life is going on right now. This is truly not a dress rehearsal, it's the real deal.
Sometimes I get that, like really get that. Today was one of those days.
I had the honor of teaching kids at Skelly Elementary the right way to do a book report. As if that was not enough, I actually got to use my own, soon to be published, book. Wow. Vulnerable and engaged, me fully alive. The beauty of this event is that I am not scared to live it. I don't shy away from taking risks because I realize the real risk would be dying having never tried for anything.
But my day even gets better. It gets better because as I drive away from Skelly I am reflecting on how very, very grateful I am for the life I am getting to live. It is a rich and full life.
My cell phone goes off and my buddy just so happens to be in the area and available for coffee. As we are catching up I am sharing another aspiration which thankfully she is on board with and ready to go. Again, engaged - alive. Alive in ambition and alive in friendship.
Next is an incredible meeting with an attorney from Romania, I see such deep compassion in her eyes for children in conflict. She energizes my passion and allows me to feel the global human existence. Alive in my global thoughts, meaning abroad.
We both attend a meeting with our Program Committee at Blended Love where we are creating an on-line class for teachers. Alive, productivity in the realm of my passion.
Starving I grab a bite to eat and go pick up Eden from school. She hops in and immediately goes into the events of her day. To her, I am a mom, all other hats are dropped when I pick her up. My name tag clearly reads, "Eden's Mom." I love that. Alive in heart. The one I wear on her shirt. She centers my dreams and brings with her - the present. This moment, the one that is non-repeatable.
Tonight I will snuggle up with my best friend and he will get the full version of such a beautiful day, again...rich. I am rich with the gift of life. I understand that a moment can change or take away a life. I pray that each day I truly choose life. I pray I do not get hung up on petty details and forget that life is to be lived not wasted on fear, lazy thoughts or giving up.
Life. Today. Thank you.

Lucky

2010-11-09T12:56:00.000-06:00

My uncle sent me a great story that is circulating about a dear, sweet dog named Lucky. Apparently, Lucky loved to acquire a bunch of treasures (aka other people's belongings who came for visits) in a toy box down in his home basement.
The story declares his owner was diagnosed with breast cancer and fully believed she would be passing on until her, Lucky, covered her completely with every treasure he owned as she slept lifelessly.
Oh, we should all be so Lucky.

Children Change Our Lives

2010-11-02T19:12:00.000-05:00

I don't know why I get surprised when Eden changes my life. She has been doing it since the day she was born. In just a matter of minutes I went from only wanting her out of my body to wanting her back in because I knew she was safe in there and I couldn't promise her that on the outside world.
She has given me vision - time and time again.
The day I saw her heart break over Brian and I not being able to communicate made me learn how quickly. She got me thinking about my own wounding and why I found it so difficult to talk out issues. In a way, I can safely say she started a non-profit for children of divorce because she made me look back and heal an open gash which led me to wanting to help others do the same.
Since her creation I have taken many winding roads that would have otherwise been straight. She has given me courage to desire a legacy.
And now, right now, she is turning my world upside down as she struggles with Celiac Disease. Just an 1/8th of a teaspoon causes her to throw up violently. It lasts for days. So, par the course, I am researching like crazy and learning all about how to be the mom I need to be and how help others as I learn.
When I got diagnosed, I just stayed away from any kind of gluten or thought of gluten, but of course - it takes her to make me really master it.
Children change our lives. In a moment, they bring us to places we may have never been to if it weren't for the gift of them.

What does BEAUTIFUL look like?

2010-10-07T09:02:00.000-05:00

I have gorgeous friends. After spending the weekend with them, I am reminded that their beauty is so much deeper than the money they each could earn off of it.
What does beautiful really look like?

Beautiful is the way Christy loves her children. There is nothing she would not do to keep her children safe and feeling loved. As we rode through Dogwood Canyon she took a nasty fall on her bike because her son stopped too quickly and she didn't want to run him down. The beauty lasted all weekend as she never reminded him or the group of the mishap. Her children find comfort in her and in her strength. She is the kind of mom that puts her self behind their needs and feelings. She is beautiful, she is selfless.

Beautiful is Stacey. She keeps her camera so close not wanting to miss a moment of all of our lives. I cannot tell you how many times she has captured a moment that would not have been captured otherwise. Those moments we will all be passing down to our grandchildren as they see firsthand some of the grand adventures we've had as a group. If you spend any time at all with Stacey you walk away feeling completely adored. She has such a gift of making people feel like they are truly "special." She is beautiful, she makes love an action.

Beautiful looks like Allison. She might act all tough and together on the outside, but she carries the weight of the world for her friends and family on the inside. Continually processing what is best for everyone, a constant flow of evaluating the moments for maximum enjoyment and closeness. Her mind is not easily shut down. Her children are blessed to have her keen insight and her willingness to evaluate the quality of their lives and experiences. As friends, we reap the benefit of this aptitude by seeing her take charge over rowdy kiddos - she lassoed them in and made our evening peaceful. She is beautiful, she makes the moments count.

All of my buddies were gorgeous this weekend, as usual. All of them living their lives for husbands and children, but most importantly....for their Father. They are bright, shining beacons in a world of misunderstood women. They are what beautiful really looks like. The kind of beautiful that children recognize and want to emulate.

Beautiful is kind, generous, loving, selfless, caring, endearing, willing - Beautiful is my friends.

Why ask why???

2010-09-29T12:01:00.000-05:00

First of all, thanks friends who have emailed me concerned that I was having my own mid-life crisis. I cannot tell you how much I appreciate the concern and the openness in our relationships. That is valuable and treasured.
My voice of calling out trends or experiences has always come from an awareness of those around me and those I have heard about. I cannot remember a time that I was not aware of the emotional state of the people around me. I attribute that to a childhood riddled with a diversity of adults and children. I was not raised in a box, nor was I sheltered from adult struggles, so naturally I still interpret behavior from a child's view of questioning - not uncommon for me to think, "why?"
Today, I am questioning why I never gave running a fighting chance until now? Seriously, I ran out the backdoor the other morning because I was experiencing a kind of stress I wasn't accustomed to in my thirties - so I just put on my hubby's mp3 player and jetted down the golf course. It was fabulous. I didn't even suck on my inhaler.
Now, I am running every other day and loving it. I have never experienced such a feeling of relief. It feels like when you have someone remove a big to-do on your list - you know - relief.
Oh, and the shoes, buy good shoes if you are going to run. It is the difference between sleeping on someone's couch verses having a luxury mattress. I am not joking.
So, why now? I have no idea. On this one I will probably need to just look forward and not try and examine my apathetic past....
Why ask why?
Because that's what people like me do. We ask, we write, we verbalize and then we clearly move on...

The Female Mid-Life Crisis

2010-09-17T11:58:00.001-05:00

I have always had a heart for women, most likely because I am one and I have been raised primarily around women. Years of studying the heart of a woman has happened naturally. Sisterhood has been one of my most valued treasures.
My sisters and I are struggling. The only term I know to place on this struggle would be a mid-life crisis, but unlike men it does not drive us to purchase cars or value opinions of the opposite sex. This crisis causes us to timidly curl up in our shell and pray for brighter days to come. We are more apt to believe our sadness is our own fault. If we were better at keeping our schedules straight for our families, if we were more prompt with the laundry or creating those "special moments" that we believe are our responsibilities...then - oh, then this dark cloud would go away.
Ladies, it won't. I have been there. It hasn't and doesn't. You will never do everything right. Your story with you as the main character will always be a disappointment. You will never reach a climactic peak where you are the heroine because you folded the towels on time. And for those of you like me with performance issues - you will never hold a position from your performance that is worth more than your position as a child of God.
Do you want the remedy to the female mid-life crisis?
It is simple, yet complicated. You must do exactly as Christ commanded you to do - die to self. You must replace the main character in your life's story to Christ and Him alone. He is the heroine in your story, He is the performer, He is the great lover - He is the main character. You have been invited to be a character in the greatest story ever told, but you must quit writing your own story.

I must do the same.

Would you love me if I had nothing to give?

2010-09-13T11:23:00.000-05:00

The more years I have under my belt, the more I am convinced that our agonizing climb up the ladder to Self-Actualization is really a descent, not a climb at all.
When we fearfully let go finger by finger we fall back to the most basic core of what we really want to know while we are here. For me the painful question that has driven a lot of "work" in my life has been the question, "Would you love me if I had nothing to give?"
I don't remember a clear yes from anyone specifically until I met the Lord during one of the most tragic storms of my own life. A storm that left me rocking on my bedroom floor with a bottle of Sprite in my hand, just hoping to get a drink with my shaky hands. Yes, it was that rough, but remember I am incredibly stubborn.
I had a hold of a rung and refused to let go until my hands got too sweaty to hold on.
I would love to say the fall is a one time event, but it hasn't been for me. I find myself grabbing again trying to climb my way to peace and love and perfection only to find another event reminds me to let go. Each time I get better at letting go sooner, but I still think...just maybe I can grab the top rung.
But this time might just be the last. I see how this painful question going unanswered for so long has left me with drivers that push and shove their way into my relationships, how I spend my days and how I feel about who I am as a person.
So, this time as I let go I am yelling, "Would anyone love me if I had nothing to give?"
And hearing an emphatic, "YES!" from the One who built me cell by cell, personality to emotion...
I've arrived.

Humbled

2010-09-03T13:03:00.000-05:00

Humility is an interesting thing. Some believe that you must experience hardships to have humility. That can be true. I have definitely experienced that type of humility. That kind of humility gets you some great dinner party conversation. A good friend and I were laughing at all the horrid cars we'd had to step out of in our lives. Some that would shout your arrival with squeaky brakes or wretched mufflers. Oh, hardship that has grown funny.
But sometimes humility comes in the form of having so much more than you've ever asked or imagined and having someone acknowledge that.
God has been so good and gracious to me. My hopes and dreams have all come true. Bending the ear of His Majesty was at the very top, down to living out my passion....it is all there...all more than I ever asked or imagined. Gratitude, in the purest form.
I know that I am the girl from the other side of the spiritual tracks. Where I have come from and where I am today has never been a secret, especially since I am a transparent blogger.
So when I received an email from Terry Rush stating that he deemed me one of God's most valuable players and wrote about me in his new book, I sat humbled. Humbled that my life is worth even mentioning and even more humbled at the fact that I have lived a life of "I cannot" which has started almost every prayer I have ever had. Humbled that the other part of that phrase is, "but I have met the One who can." And most humbled that He did.
I have been given a lot of wonderful compliments, and yes, I do appreciate them, but my very favorite compliment is "humble." I truly believe it is man's greatest attribute. http://www.christianchronicle.org/blog/2010/07/terry-rush-aims-to-bring-out-the-mvp-in-readers/

Come Down From the Ledge

2010-08-19T13:43:00.000-05:00

I hope you are nothing like me. I hope that right now as you are reading this - you are comfortably relaxed enjoying a schedule that is manageable and realistic.
But most likely you are not. Most likely you are just like me, climbing up a proverbial skyscraper bombarded by chants to scale the tall cement wall while not sure exactly what is even at the top. What if it is just a ledge?
What if after all that climb, all those skinned knees, and bloody fingers...all you get is just a ledge for which the expectation is just to jump? What if that is how the world works? What if you are part of a grand scheme to wear out human beings and get them to a place that they believe they can conquer the largest feats alone? What if those chants are driven by pride? What if? Who will call you down from the ledge? Will you just jump and be satisfied with a brand name that people will remember? Or will you beg for someone to call you down?
I am a wuss. I want a tender, poetic voice to call me down from the ledge and invite me to relax with a cup of coffee and a gluten free treat of sorts. I also want as I am sitting in the presence of this gentle giant that has pulled me off the ledge to feel this sense of value as if the climbing was not in vain, but truly planned with some purpose much bigger and greater than me.
I believe I am being summoned off the ledge right now. Asked to grab the neck of a Savior who knows exactly why I climbed so fervently in the first place. I am saved. Saved from myself and saved from the world's expectation of me.
My coffee this morning was delicious and the view from the grass is much more precious to me than the view from the ledge. Next time I will just use the elevator.
"For this God is our God for ever and ever; he will be our guide even to the end." Psalms 48:14

Peace - Under the Sun

2010-08-09T17:19:00.000-05:00

This world is tough. I don't know about you, but it seems that every time I cross off enough to-do's that I can finally breathe there comes a flood of new ones. Some days I just want to say, "no thank you" to dealing the difficulties of the land of the living.
But sometimes, just sometimes we find ourselves surprised by a serious guffaw that just negates all of the chaos and brings back a sense of peace. I am assuming this is the kind of peace Solomon spoke of when he talked about our greatest moments on earth not reflecting our pocketbook or our accomplishments, but instead reflecting our satisfaction with living.
I have found that most of those moments take place with children. They speak about the elephant in the room, actually point fingers at it and laugh. They cry when they get hurt - refreshing. They give out random hugs for no reason. And most importantly, they don't take themselves seriously, they just enjoy being.

Children are not new "under the sun" and their attributes have most likely been around since the beginning of human conception, so let's all roll up our sleeves and jump in the sandbox and praise God for little reminders of the peace that can be found on earth.

Empty Eyes

2010-08-04T17:19:00.000-05:00

We throw around the word "hope" all the time, but have you personally ever seen someone who has lost it? Sure you have - you've seen homeless people on corners, or maybe a prostitute trying to make a dollar. You know it, how? You can see they've lost it by looking into their eyes - the eyes tell the story.
A car filled with five of us drove over six hundred miles in a day to get to my little girl's Teepa in Nashville last Friday. Everyone in that car was convinced that we might find a man struggling to stay alive after a bone marrow transplant early this month - his name is Tom Hudson. It took less than five minutes and one look into his war torn face to realize that the drive was worth it. His eyes were deep and dark and can only be described as "empty." As he squeezed my hand I found myself staring into his eyes overcome with such a sense of loss, a tear streamed down the right side of his cheek. Unknowingly, I found myself so empathetic that my heart began to ache and my anxiousness from the night before returned. The experience broke my heart.
How does a vibrant man full of life and a golf game most men envy turn into a man with empty eyes unable to eat? He lost hope. The eyes told the story. Not the hope of Jesus and a resurrection, but the hope of living. The hope of right now. The hope that says, "today is gonna be a good day."
His days had not been good. His days had been filled with hospital trips and tons of medication. His days involved no activity, no stimulating conversations, just making it. His days had been filled with the key theme being "survival." Waves of displeasure - nausea, chills, anxiety - episodes to grit your teeth through to survive.
Most of our time in Nashville he remained this way, surviving. But the night before we left Eden pulled out the Wii and brought back a sense of his past normal, playing games with his grand-daughter. With each game, he became more involved. I watched as the dark, empty eyes regained their vision of living. He laughed.

It was obvious that he remembered all the late nights playing Wii with us and wanted to return to that life of enjoyment. His hope was returning, yes, food was to follow.
As hard as it was to pull away on Monday to make the trip home, the reality that we brought the antidote for empty eyes - visions of time with your grand-daughter - comforted all of us. With hope I am convinced we will have Wii nights once again with Teepa right here at home!

Believe

2010-07-27T12:01:00.000-05:00

When our life becomes winding roads of adventures with no real common theme it is easy for us to lose heart or get lost in the activity. But don't forget - there is always a stream in all of us that runs deep at our core. A steady constant that keeps us afloat. It is that we believe.
Remind yourself today of all of those beliefs that keep you running your race or gathering your berries. You have them, they have created who you are and what you are doing with your life. Remember them today and act on them tomorrow.
I believe love is the central force that holds us all together.
I believe that I am loved and able to love others with all of my mended heart.
If you are reading this, most likely, I dearly love you.

Believe...

This Little Light of Mine

2010-07-16T10:41:00.000-05:00

The day had been crazy. Sasha, Blended Love's Executive Director, and I had been whisked abruptly into Fox 25's interview studio for our 8:20 a.m. interview around 8:17 a.m. or so. Being out-of-towners to the area we had to rely solely on a GPS that spoke French. As he demanded who knows what the arrows were hard to figure out and that resulted in a lot of unnecessary turns on the Oklahoma City expressways. Exiting on Scott Street became a crowd favorite!
After the interview we had an appointment with Bethel Foundation in Oklahoma City. Sasha had set up the meeting because she has been involved with some of their fundraisers and believed that I would enjoy learning more about their mission of providing opportunities and tangibles to single mothers. In theory, great idea - but what I didn't expect....
I walked into this darling house with a gorgeous sign alerting moms that this could be their haven. The beautiful scriptures that were so gracefully drawn on the wall were arrows to the heart of a path that leads to peace, a common emotion we all want, a common denominator to all who enter. That peace was magnified as I turned to meet, Lynda, the humble servant who answered God's request to help His children - single moms. Her inspirational, blue eyes echoed the same peace felt all over this home, except in her eyes this feeling was strongly coupled with determination.
As she spoke of her journey, my empathetic heart began to go down her road of suffering and understanding and yet all overshadowed by HOPE. This hope has been the ingredient to all their programs. The hope is as tangible as the "birthday room," a room designed for moms to come in and pick out toys for their children on their birthday and wrap them and leave with a birthday cake. Hope...providing moms with the ability to make their child's birthday special. Hope that these same children who receive birthday wishes will in return have a better life for their own children, a life where they can provide these special birthday moments. Hope also in understanding that moms need hope not only for their children, but for themselves.
Bethel provides scholarships to driven moms looking for careers that require a degree. Lynda quickly lights up as she speaks about their poster mom who has worked tirelessly to obtain her Masters degree.
Touring this incredible facility that even housed a free store to moms who have need of food, clothing, toys, diapers, etc. strengthened my core belief that we all have a light to shine and some have figured out the One who lights the flame and are allowing their light to shine so brightly that not even the jaded world of experience can blow it out.
Lynda, may your light shine so brightly no one can deny the illuminating beauty! Bethel Foundation

Sisters

2010-07-08T18:10:00.000-05:00

The thunder is crashing and I am in a full sprint to my sister's room. Not because she is the oldest, she is actually seven years younger, no I am in a panic that only the stubborn, strong sister of mine can cure. As I slide under the covers I can feel her smooth legs up against mine and her arm come sliding over my back with a small tap. She never really fully woke up on these nights, but her sleepy, apathetic presence reminded me that it was just thunder, not the end of the world.
I would like to say this illustration was a one time event in my childhood, but it wasn't. Growing up in Oklahoma thunderstorms could be our state song.
As I hear the thunder now I am reminded of how grateful I am for those moments. Moments of security. Being a child of so many divorces, security has always been sacred. Having a sister provided a lot of stability.
She was there. Bad hair, awful outfits, tearful temper tantrums, you name it she saw it firsthand and loved me through it anyway.

Thank you, little sister. You may be hours away today, but you are always in my heart and in my prayers.

Little Patriots

2010-07-05T11:05:00.000-05:00

Patriot: (n.) A person who vigorously supports his country and its way of life

Last night, as the fireworks went off overhead, I realized that I am a grateful patriot living in a land of immense opportunity. With each loud boom, I thought of the parents, probably my age, making the decision to give their children a better life...our life. They were so brave.
Regardless of how you feel about the President or the government, you must stop and evaluate the whole of America. No, we are not a perfect nation, but our imperfections are our choice.
Those who went before us gave us that choice. Thank them, teach your children about them.
Let's stop preaching to our children all the errors of those who lead this great nation and instead teach them of "the way of life" we've been given.
Patriots can only be bred by patriotic parents and do we really want unpatriotic children growing up and leading this country?

God Bless our Little Patriots!

Face Time

2010-06-30T18:32:00.000-05:00

When is the last time you really looked your family in the face?
This past week I realized that seldom do I actually look into my darling daughter's eyes. Most of our true heart to heart conversations take place while she is riding in the backseat and I am driving. Sure, sometimes we catch a glimpse of each other in the mirror, but it is only a reflection and she is changing.
She isn't my baby anymore, she is my girl. Her face is changing, her cheek bones are revealing themselves and her eyes are starting to tell her story and I have been missing it.
So, being the extremist that I am, I have changed my ways almost overnight. Now, when I fix her breakfast I sit down with her at the island face to face and just listen. No more television with her beautiful, brown eyes absorbing other faces. I want her to absorb mine while I memorize hers.
I don't want to miss the expressions behind her voice. I don't want to look back, like I do now, hanging on to a picture as my mode of reference for the details. I want to have her face at eight years old completely burned into my memory bank because I looked deeply with intent at it every day I had her home.
And if she feels like I do, she will want to have memories of mine as well.

We are both changing, both growing older, both hoping to hang on to some of these moments for as long as we are on earth. So, while I am here, I want to remember face time as just that....face time.

Thank you, Lord, for my body

2010-06-21T19:00:00.000-05:00

If you woke up this morning with your health...praise God because not everyone woke up with that gift.

I just enjoyed a trip to Jackson Hole. I enjoyed that trip as a healthy person able to run, hike and move my body, but while I was there my cousin was put in the hospital struggling to survive. He has lived with MD for most of his life and has reached the dreaded age of nineteen.

Following his carebridge site on-line I thought about how much we all take for granted our health and the ability to move freely. We are so selfish in our thoughts. Selfish in that we are always pondering what we don't have until we lose something we took for granted.

Let's not do that anymore. Let's appreciate our bodies no matter the size or color. Let's live assuming that our bodies are a gift for today, not for always.

If you hate exercise or dread being active, but know it is what is best for you...do this...move your body in honor of all of the children who are not able to move theirs. Hike, run, walk, play...just move and don't take for granted the gift of that movement. Many children across the nation and around the world would consider you incredibly rich for having that option.

The Scales of Life

2010-06-09T19:00:00.000-05:00

Why do we live so unbalanced?
What if everything we spoke actually came into being? What if God made it happen? Would you be scared?

I would. I speak of things I know nothing about. At dinner parties I am the girl in the corner professing to be "Eden's mom" or "Brian's wife" or the party goer who only speaks of the road less traveled chosen so many years ago, but I don't have a clue.

Do you want to test yourself? Go to a farewell party for someone leaving to receive a treatment they may not survive. What matters at that party?

No one cares that you wrote a book, heck, even you don't care. No one cares that you just finished sixty-five pages of curriculum for an innovative program bolstering emotional intelligence for children of all ages.

So what!

Do you know what really matters? Being present.

There is no guarantee that you haven't just attended your own farewell party.

My hope for all of us, me included, is that we truly live in the moment. Let's embrace those around us by listening with ears to hear what they are actually saying. Let's live our words instead of professing them and hope that the Lord doesn't make us only wear the titles we profess in life.

Treat each day as a day measured by a scale and pray that it reveals balance.

For me, balance is the beautiful moments that I was completely present wanting nothing but the joy of the moment which usually includes others.

Forget-Me-Not

2010-05-31T09:47:00.000-05:00

Oh, the irony that a few weeks ago Eden and I did what we thought was all the planting, only to find we forgot the Forget-Me-Not package of flowers.
Of course being the highly empathetic person I am, I immediately felt horrible for leaving them out and actually forgetting them. Their worst fear is posted on their package and I forgot them.
This realization hit the same day that I was concluding a pilot journal program with a group of fifth graders that I have gotten to know incredibly well over the last year. As I accepted their heartfelt cards and flowers for spending the time with them, I felt like they each had across their own hearts a sign that read, "Forget-Me-Not."
No one wants to be forgotten. We all desire to be remembered.
My step dad is battling cancer right now and you can watch his words and actions around his loved ones and see that he is keeping memories alive, he does not want to be forgotten.
At no age does our desire to be forgotten change. We want to be remembered.
But the harsh reality is that we will all be forgotten unless we are put in the history books as accomplishing something worth remembering.
There is only One who will not forget us. He is the One that gave us the same intuitive appreciation for our own children. I can assure you that as long as I am breathing air I will never forget my own child. He is the same and He will be alive long after the last Memorial Day.
Take comfort and know that you are not a "Forget-Me-Not."

The Noticer, I noticed!

2010-05-18T17:10:00.000-05:00

I must confess that I am a critical reader. I notoriously start a book and about a chapter or two into the book I stop reading because the author couldn't keep me hooked. So, if I have gotten to the third or fourth chapter of a book the odds of finishing it go up exponentially.
This past week I got hooked by a book, The Noticer, by Andy Andrews. The idea of the book was simple; passing great advice out through a character that could have clearly been an angel. The advice was the hook. You couldn't wait for the character's next human encounter. Would it be a divorcing couple? A person ready to jump? A dishonest business man trying to get more than he deserved?
And more importantly, what on earth would this guy advise???
He claimed his whole purpose in life was to give others perspective.
I laughed at myself for identifying with the angel and his purpose, seemed a bit too bold. But I do love this blog for that very reason. We all need to be reminded of what really matters and I believe I have had enough go really bad that I can clearly embrace and recognize what goes beautiful, right or good. I hope that I am right in my grand assumption. If you enjoy this blog at all, you might want to check out this book. I am sure the experience and the fact that New York is recognizing Andy Andrews probably means it is worth your time.

Big Girl Pants

2010-05-12T11:08:00.000-05:00

I have never once apologized for putting on my big, girl pants. I never regret it either.

Putting on those pants means I had the courage to apologize, the courage to do something I am terrified of, or forgive someone when I didn’t want to go there.

Big, girl pants are a choice, a beautiful choice that is only chosen when I rise above the petty and go for the gold in character and action.

My big, girl pants have been in my closet for a long time. I remember putting them on when confronted about my chameleon behavior. People pleasing, for me, has always been the best defense for keeping the pain of rejection at bay. Frightened of not being considerate of others or a perpetual listening ear led me to a life of putting my own agenda so far back I would be dying having accomplished nothing but meeting everyone else’s needs. My funeral would have been fabulous, but it would have reflected the bending and stretching of a person at the expense of a life. Painful to reflect on now, but celebrated to see the power of the big, girl pants and the strength that allows me to love with my whole, complete heart instead of the timid heart afraid of revealing the lifeblood in it.

My big, girl pants become larger each time I wear them. I find I am more self assured and more comfortable wearing them as I age and learn life’s truth and the Creator of that truth. That doesn’t mean those pants reflect arrogance, they don’t. Actually, it is just the opposite… they reflect a quiet humility that demands respect not attention.

So, as you are doing the spring cleaning and deciding which clothes to throw out; I strongly suggest keeping the big, girl pants!

Mom Moments

2010-05-06T12:15:00.000-05:00

I can't think of any Hallmark appointed day that is more honoring to women than Mother's Day.
Where would we be without the women in our lives that told us hard truths or helped us map out our paths?
I could list so many women who have made a huge impact on my life, "mom moments." There have been so many, that I have made it my mission to be one of them.
Julie's mom always kept a toothbrush for me at their house, now I have boxes of unopened toothbrushes for Eden's friends to feel like they are always welcome to stay.
Leah's mom kept ice cream in her freezer because she knew I loved it and came over after school most days. Now, I buy the groceries and keep a stock of treats for the kiddos.

My own mom gave me the hard truth every time I came down the stairs wearing an outfit that made me look bad or sporting a hairstyle that was less than attractive. Those ouch moments kept me from having some really bad pictures in the album. Thanks, Mom.
We all have them. Women who have made a difference in our lives.
Even as an adult I have beautiful women who have kept my sail straight as I weathered some pretty rough storms. Aunt Novella, Aunt Carol, Aunt Tesley, Linda, Sky, Leslie, my grandmother, my mom, Grandma Shirley, Brook, Allison, Christy, Stacey, Andrea, Candice, Tona, Krissy, Amanda, Leah, Megan, Sarah, Pamela, Holly, Jennie, Jennifer, Keil, Kelley, Teri, Kelly, Lauren, Melissa, Sharla, Stephanie, Aunt Trish, Vanesa, Aunt Ruth....to name just a few.
MAY YOU ALL BE HONORED this Mother's Day and all know that "mom moments" are passed down, and around...and most importantly, never forgotten.

Larry's Niece

2010-05-02T11:32:00.000-05:00

If you go to any "network" dinner parties you can identify with the scene of hearing people declaring their titles.
"I am the ____________________ of __________________, so nice to meet you."
It is part of our culture, the way we place value on each other and determine some level of importance, really pathetic honestly, but a white collar trend that has stuck.
Well, I found a place those titles are shattered and the ones that really matter are pushed to the forefront....an ER waiting room. Yes, you heard me. You want to see real titles emerge, go to Saint Francis on any given evening and I bet you hear much different titles being thrown out. Titles like brother, mother, daughter...relationship titles, the ones that merit getting a pass to go back to the room.
My uncle had a severe stroke on Tuesday night, so severe that he actually had a Code Blue ringing over the intercom because he quit breathing.
In the waiting room, I was surrounded by my family. I wore the proud title of "niece" as I held my cousin that wore the title of "first born daughter." Our history of being raised through the trail of losing her sister, my mom's multiple marriages, and other family members that have gone before us gave me the honor of holding her tightly after she had just been traumatized by the experience of believing she might lose her dad that evening...a non-repeatable moment.
A moment that echoed the importance of our family titles and experiences. A moment that I was comforted by taking my title so seriously over all of the years. Unless you value those titles, they mean nothing when the storm hits. You are just a stranger with a meaningless title.
Our family values those titles...our family puts them before our professions, our volunteer positions, our church roles...our family understands that if you don't take care of the people God has placed in your family tree than your other titles are really not that valuable.
I am so thankful for that modeling. As I looked around the ER at midnight, I was surrounded by my grandparents, my uncles, my cousins, my mom....
People that placed more value in those roles than their professions, which by the way, could hold their own at any given dinner party.

Personal Everest, the Climb

2010-04-16T09:45:00.000-05:00

We all have one. We all have a dream that we are dreaming. We all have a moment that we would love to experience from the mountain top.
A friend of mine, very talented friend of mine, has just moved to Nashville to climb his personal Everest. I actually stole this phrase from him. He is a writer, like me, so he has a lot of meaning in just a few words. I love the fact that we are exactly the same age, born the same day, and are both creative and expressive.
His climb is a personal journey that he has had since he was a kid...music...making it a living, a career.
My climb has been about being the "voice of children of divorce," giving them a say, a real voice to tell their stories. It has been a hard climb at times, but I must confess I spent ten years before the climb just standing at the base of the mountain begging myself to take the first step. I am still not completely sure what held me back from taking the first step, but I can tell you what shoved me over the rail and running up the side...DEATH, regret.
I stood helpless, holding the dying hand of one of the most talented musicians I have ever known telling me about his personal regret. The Everest he didn't climb because he thought he would have more time.
Stop standing at the base of the mountain. Climb.

Laugh

2010-04-15T12:34:00.000-05:00

"Humor is the great thing, the saving thing. The minute it crops up, all our irritations and resentments slip away and a sunny spirit takes their place." -Mark Twain (1835-1910)

My life is entertaining. This morning I drove my daughter to school with small birds swooping down, flying side by side as I drove...major Snow White moment. I laughed, yes, out loud and thought it was one of those moments that I usually miss because I am hyper focused on a to do list the size of Texas.

I have missed a lot of moments. I don't want to do that anymore.

I want to laugh until milk comes out my nose. I want to laugh so hard my stomach muscles hurt and I have laugh lines. Okay, I don't really want the laugh lines, but I do want to start really laughing.

Humor is available...and for free. Okay, not really free, it is usually at someone's expense.

Just take a trip to a public place and start people watching. Us humans, are hilarious! We pick our nose at stoplights, we pull chewies from our cracks while waiting at the crosswalk, we even adjust our bras like brutes. We run down on our trails wearing too tight, too loose, too bright, or too crazy outfits.

So, be one of the crazy ones...listen to rap music, wear yellow, eat sour patch kids, play with a booger, make fun of yourself....and laugh!

Rewind

2010-04-12T15:09:00.000-05:00

Today I am pillaging through papers looking frantically for my husband's car title because he is buying a new car when suddenly the excitement of the purchase is overshadowed by a letter from my dad. The find was like a gold treasure, way more valuable than the car we are about to purchase.
So, there I sat in the attic, black Ann Taylor pants and all...dusty...tears rolling down my face because I miss so much. I miss his beautiful handwriting, I miss his sarcasm, I miss the way he wrote like he was speaking...I miss the way he worked so hard to make it to the post office but sometimes it would take three or four trips back to his house to remember what he was going to mail.
My dad wrote the letter about his excitement of us coming to see him in Florida. He hadn't lived there very long and he was thrilled to show us his new position at Universal Studios. He played keyboards professionally and was thrilled to actually have business cards, not to mention a 401K.
He also was needing to express the deep grief the family was feeling as my cousin had been diagnosed with MD like his older brother. My dad hated sharing bad news....his tender heart needed me to know before I got there.
Brian was entering the master's program at OSU and I was teaching full-time which is why we could finally afford to fly down there. The trip was wonderful.
I am posting the letter in parts for those of you who knew him.

For those of you who did not know him, know this...if you have not experienced the loss of your daddy...take the time to value him more than a BMW or more than a position at work or even more than whatever your filled in blank is right now. And please, savor the moments, and keep the letters, you may find yourself on your own attic floor wishing you had worn waterproof mascara and jeans.

Scattered Hope

2010-03-31T09:51:00.000-05:00

Right now there are groups of people all over the world celebrating the days of unleavened bread. Many of them have absolutely nothing in common except a love of hope and eternal existence. Their belief in who God is and what His plan is can be completely different as interpretation of Scripture can be like the old folktale of three blind men feeling different parts of an elephant only to conclude with three very different features to describe the beast.
But what they all agree on is "hope." These days are about being pulled away from what the world tells us we must have to be happy to the reality that happiness comes from knowing your own family tree and the "hope" found in knowing your real roots.
Hope tells us not to love the world or love materialism, but to love the author of our life and our siblings. Yes, we will crave HAVING and BEING, but those cravings lead us to a false identity. One job loss or adultery takes those titles away.
We are smart, we know that a false hope is not really hope at all.
1 John 3:2, "Dear friends, now we are the children of God, and what we WILL BE has not yet been made known..."

The Road Less Traveled

2010-03-29T10:14:00.000-05:00

Sure, we've all heard the Robert Frost quote, but have we ever really tried to live it?
I believe the road less traveled is a road without pavement. A road that has a traveler listening. Listening to the sounds of their surroundings.
Have you ever heard a small voice within you that says, "I need to call _________."
Or "I've always wanted to ____________."
Fill in the blank...you've heard it.
We know when we are needed, we know when we could do something worth our time. We also know that we have people in our lives that may not be around forever. Truth be told, we may be that person.
So, get off the pavement...the road that goes fast and furious and keeps you distracted from the real journey. Join us on the windy, unpredictable trail. The trail of intense failure and intense triumph. At times it can appear manic, but it has depth, it holds real. You can't zoom along too quickly because you'll get lost, but you'll perceive things you've only imagined and you'll actually enjoy small moments of natural, normal.
Dear friends, the ones I have had lunch with or coffee with and talked about dreams that have gone unexplored....this is for you.
Now is your chance to change your mind and take a risk. I believe in you.
You are absent of the good or bad opinion of others, you are valuable without any identity....just you. Your talent, given at the foundation of time, belongs to you and you alone. LISTEN.

Real Perspective

2010-03-24T14:38:00.000-05:00

Each day is a gift...

I strongly recommend each of you watch the video above. It is amazing to listen to a man facing a terminal illness with such dedication to believing God has a plan for him.

My prayer for each of us is to live fully, completely, without fear, without hesitation, no holding back, full of love, full of grace, full of life while we are still in the land of the living.

Regardless of your faith....believe today is a gift and treat it as such!

The Real Human Experience

2010-03-21T12:19:00.000-05:00

Last week I spoke on having a broken heart and the humanitarian efforts that have come out of a life with a broken heart. I used a quote I love,

"It is strange how often a heart must be broken before the years can make it wise." by Sara Teasdale
Although I appreciate the wisdom and understanding that comes from painful experiences, some days...I beg for mercy...to feel less.
I am not sure if my heart is more open, tattered and scarred and that is why it feels so much or if not being a stranger to pain makes it so familiar? Who knows?
But I do know that hurting people are all around us. We have no idea how many terminal cancer patients we are passing as our cart goes down the grocery isle. We have no idea how many receptionists we are dealing with that may have just lost a mother, brother or even their own child. Who knows if the guy checking us out at our favorite fast food lost his corporate job and is having to manage the drive thru to provide food for his family.
Hurting, scared people...desperate for us, anyone, to try even for a minute to walk in their shoes and understand their pain.
One of those guys going up and down the grocery store is my step dad. Be kind to him. Flash a smile. His spirits are easily lifted with smiles and hugs. He is not too different from a lot of people. It doesn't take much, really.
This week, I challenge you and myself, to go out of our way to try to walk with someone in a crisis. If your schedule only allows an hour, use that hour.
Those of us that have experienced pain should be even more accountable to lift up another human being. We know personally what it feels like to feel an arm under yours lifting you from a low place, it feels doable. At that moment, you know, you might just get through it.
Help someone get through it.

Spring "Far From" Break

2010-03-19T12:40:00.000-05:00

Wow. Seriously, what a crazy week. My theoretical calendar and my reality calendar completely conflicted this week, cognitive dissonance via schedule.
So, Sunday night we are taking a little bit of a too leisure drive to Kansas and don't actually show up until almost one in the morning.
I didn't get too much sleep hearing Eden cough a chunky cough and doctoring a sore throat myself, morning comes quickly. So, I go through my presentation for the Bethel College Convocation and realize I am fading fast, but it is Eden's actual birthday and I dare not disappoint, so I suck it up. By eleven o'clock I am in front of the Bethel College student body and faculty giving a lecture on "What to do with a broken heart?" while hearing sweet Eden in the back row with her rough cough that is hanging on way too long. At this point, I am wearing my professional hat, but lugging a mother's heavy heart.
In hopes of making her day special Brian and I decided to drive a few miles over to the Cosmosphere, great experience! We catch an IMAX, see the stars, learn the history of the rocket...all exhausting, but awesome.
By Tuesday, I am increasingly worried about her cough and have decided that when we get home we are really going to the doctor. Oh, and I have a child-like runny nose myself, so the two of us are going through a box of tissues in less than an hour.
But, staying true to the schedule because it is "Spring Break", we have a lovely dinner with some new friends in Newton. I notice that Eden isn't eating much and seems really uncomfortable, truth be told, I am not so comfortable myself having acquired enough congestion for a full classroom of children.
So, that night, we go to bed having still achieved keeping our tight schedule of activities...until the dreaded, "Mom, I think I'm gonna throw uuuuuuuu..."
If you are a mom, I don't have to finish this, you know what happened next.
Okay, it is two a.m. and I am holding a hot child complaining of a painful neck and throwing up in a town I don't know very well. Scary moment.
Brian goes to a store and buys a thermometer, for us to have another scary moment...104...seriously.
We all pile in the car, trash can by our side and head to the local ER where our fears are realized, Eden is dehydrated and needs an IV because she is fighting pneumonia. Poor girl. Obviously, our schedule dramatically changes. Sleep schedules are all truly out the window, a new TV schedule becomes apparent and the main goal is getting antibiotic to stay down, oh, and fluids.
Do you know how hard it is to get an eight year old to drink water these days?
I had no idea until now, but apparently when they turn eight water is out.
Well, now it is Friday and I am happily blogging about this instead of living it. Spring Break has essentially come and gone and at least four days of it are a complete fog. I have decided not to post a picture with this blog because I personally do not think that showing our sick faces would be helpful...I am sure you can picture us...dark circles, heaving chests, watery eyes...
I am now thankful we didn't try to plan a ski trip, what a waste that would have been this year!

Happy Birthday!

2010-03-13T17:15:00.000-06:00

What a blessing to see the child I was never suppose to have celebrate her 8th Birthday!
After four years of crying every time I found myself at a stop sign or light next to a car with a car seat in the back, I heard the words, "you are pregnant!" I can still get goose bumps to think of that day.
I remember thanking God for every experience. I praised Him for knowing what it felt like to hear those words. I cried in gratitude for saving her as I miscarried her twin. I thanked Him for being allowed to have my own experience on the Maternity Floor at the hospital.
Each experience...a grateful heart because I know that children are all on loan and that He is the provider of life.
As I jumped with Eden at Pump It Up this year I could not help but think of the gift she is and has been to me. When I wanted a child, I did not dare understand the full meaning of the desire. I had no idea that I was asking for my heart to be put out, vulnerable, outside of my body for all to see, criticize and love. I also had no idea that I would birth my own friend and playmate. And lastly, how close to God I would have to stay in order to raise a child responsibly. He has been my guide as I have tried to navigate through the pulls of training up another human being as her largest influence of what family and faith should look like.
God has granted me eight years of hearing the word, "mom" in every pitch, tone, mood and whine...and for that I consider myself incredibly blessed to have ears to hear them.
Happy Birthday, Eden!

Ledge of Bad Leadership

2010-03-07T08:49:00.000-06:00

My daughter is a lot like her mother in that she views events and experiences through incredibly creative lenses. I appreciate that about her and always enjoy her photography. She took this picture.
When I look at it I immediately think of the tricky balance of leading people or movements.
The owl looks confident on his ledge of leadership, but does he really? Because from a different angle you could think he was planning a fatal jump out of despair. Perception...
I believe people who are put in charge of leading people and movements are sometimes a bit manic, which is part of the attraction and energy that brings a following.
Here in America we've seen a lot of manic leaders that take us down a path of hope and inspiration only to drop us off at infidelity and resignation. The ledge, my friend, can be deceiving.
I believe that the great leaders have never mounted themselves on the ledge. The great leaders are in the crowd inspiring movements as one of the many.
"The real leader has no need to lead -- he is content to point the way." Henry Miller

Happy Birthday, Dr. Seuss!

2010-03-02T12:03:00.000-06:00

Everyday is a gift. Not just this moment writing, which I love and find as therapy, but all the moments...listening, loving someone, driving, cooking, returning emails...you know, the day. Your day is not promised, so treasure it as a gift.
I say this because I have lost loved ones to cancer and have one right now fighting this battle for more days. So, the harsh reality of our days being numbered has shaped a lot of my thinking and life. As I plan my time throughout the day, I know it is a gift to be able to implement all that is on my schedule.
Today, I got to read, Hop on Pop, to a group of fabulous third graders at Addams Elementary School because today is Dr. Seuss' Birthday, seriously, it is his birthday. And how beautiful to celebrate the occasion with a group of kids so pumped to eat green eggs and ham for lunch!
I am thankful for the moments of remembering the joy of reading a book of rhyme and silly words...with each little giggle coming from beneath my feet was a memory of happiness with a book that makes you laugh.
Oh, laugh...don't take yourself so seriously...grab a book by Dr. Seuss if you have to...but don't waste today with your worry because tomorrow is not promised and wouldn't you be incredibly disappointed if you kept trying to juggle the world's problems on your bike and never stopped to just take a joy ride!

Importance

2010-02-24T11:37:00.000-06:00

Lately I have realized that we are all demanding to be "important."
I have fallen victim several times to wanting my job, my activities, my life to be deemed incredibly important. Sometimes I get so caught up in it that I become depressed when it doesn't yield results...it's a life, not a math problem.
So, I started an experiment. I have taken several days to completely disregard what I have valued and start listening to what other people value and try to boost up their importance.
Wow. I am surrounded by such important people with lives they are living and growing and helping others. Being a part of that and not a spectator because I am competing for importance has been so rewarding. Depression cannot be fed if you are involved in the lives of others, it is only truly fed by your own desire to stay important.
Being important is not finishing a conversation with, "I've talked enough about me, let's talk about you, what do you think of me?"

Reba's

2010-02-19T16:49:00.000-06:00

It's dark, I am driving down a downtown in the middle of Kansas that has closed down for the night and it is only seven-thirty. Although I have Eden in the backseat and I am promoting this experience as a "get-a-way," I am finding myself incredibly lonely for familiar.
The town is quaint, all of the townspeople are kind and sweet, but it still feels like crashing a family reunion. They speak about generations of families I have never met and laugh at inside jokes I have never heard. Darling, if I were on the inside and not the outside.
I remembered a restaurant from a trip here about four or five months ago, I believed it was called Reba's and was located on Main Street.
I felt a peace and calmness return to me as I walked through the hall of the cherry stained wood paneling and landed at the tile top high bar. This wonderful, smiling woman looks at me and remembers exactly what I had last time I was there and ask about my health issues that made me eat so simply.
The ambiance of a district in my town that I love to dine in coupled with Reba, really Rebecca, who rolls up her sleeves and prepares me a dish all too familiar - oh, connected.
The connection isn't just the familiar, the connection is also in the sincerity of the couple who owns Reba's. They are beautifully comfortable in their own skin and enjoy the moments, not the results of life. Their conversation is like traveling back in time with my dad in an era of free love and housing. Relaxed, far from judging anyone, just in the moment.
There must be scattered throughout this eclectic nation a band of familiar souls that recognize each other as they drift through their journey of life excited to run into one another and share their travels.
To those souls, I believe I owe a huge, "thank you" for your exsistence...

Human Heartbeat

2010-02-15T09:32:00.000-06:00

The human experience for many of us is different. If you were born in a third world country, you are not experiencing life through my lens of wealth and security. Experience is an interpretation of a journey, a journey we all take...called life.
But, we all share a heartbeat - blood flows through our veins sustaining us and we all desire to avoid pain.
Last night, I spent the evening listening to my cousin, Lauren, talk about her medical mission trip to Haiti.
As she clicked through the Macbook slide show...our worlds collided. Eden, my daughter, recognized her friend's dad in one of the pictures and recalled listening to her tell about his experience as a doctor helping in Haiti. Brian recognized the very boxes he had packed at Bethel College in Kansas for the food distribution.

We are the human race. We share a heartbeat. We share compassion. We share our lives.
Each slide had a person's story, a story that ended at the clinic or a story of a miracle. Each member of the medical team had a story. One doctor had just been told his cancer had returned right before boarding the plane. Doctors from the east coast, doctors from the west coast all meeting at the same time in an airport to offer their training to a hurting country. All people, characters in a story that stretches from the middle of the land of the brave to the outermost parts of the world - our story as the human race.
Hearts beating to the very rhythm of the blood that flows through them. The color of the skin, the language spoken, the journey didn't matter - stopping the pain is what mattered - saving a life.
The OR floor contained puddles of blood, the wounds were greater than could be imagined, the children having to be cradled through the pain of their injuries are visuals that will not soon be forgotten.
May God bless our human hearts.

Diamonds

2010-02-10T14:45:00.000-06:00

Make new friends and keep the old ones, one is silver and the other gold...
Words from a song I used to sing to Eden when she was a toddler.
Wonder which ones are silver and which ones are gold? The old ones gold maybe and the new ones silver cause the relationship is all shiny and usually reflects your own image. Who knows?
The important thing is that we need both in our lives. We need those people who knew us when to remind of us of where we've been and those who know us now to enjoy the present. By the way, you can be both, the silver and the gold. Those friends should be "diamonds" because they take a long time to make, but once they've been created it is hard to break them.
I am blessed to have a bunch of diamonds in my life. Those diamonds keep me grounded and centered, but also bring great joy to my life. I am also thankful for the diamonds allowing me into their lives sharing their adventures as they go through life. Some diamonds have coffee with me and share their beautiful children to be a part of the moment and conversation, beautiful random hugs. Other diamonds share their success and allow me to celebrate with them, party diamond - you know who you are. And yet other diamonds share their medical training, prayers and compassion. I have a lot of diamonds. I could go on and on, but the lesson is not in sharing every single diamond. The lesson is in recognizing that we are all surrounded by diamonds. People we should care for and cherish, true treasures. People are more important than things, connections with others is soul food. Just as we don't forget to eat, don't forget to love on those relationships that are part of your world - part of your heart.

Hard Beginnings

2010-02-05T10:58:00.000-06:00

"A hard beginning maketh a good ending"
Any of you who have started something knows the uphill battle of creating something worth hanging your hat on.
This past year has been my personal climb right alongside by best friend, Brian, having his own climb. The two of us have developed curriculum for two different causes, shaken a lot of hands, written a lot of blogs, and dined with some of the finest Oklahoma and Kansas business leaders advocating our passions.
We both know it is very hard to bring a vision from a thought to a reality. We also know that it is very hard to maintain a cheerful heart while doing it. Sacrifice, lack of sleep, sometimes nausea are all part of the journey. It is truly hard.
When do you know you've hit the "good ending?"
I believe when the hard has become a lifestyle and your eye is off the result and completely fixed on the love of the journey, the passion behind the journey - you fully alive.
Having a great idea is just that - a great idea.

Having a passion become a reality is where the good ending to a life well lived becomes a philosophical trophy for which there is no replacement.

Create a Fan Club

2010-02-02T15:13:00.000-06:00

I've often wondered if Eden really pays attention to me. I throw out suggestions, commands, hugs...all just randomly thrown out there for the taking, but is it really taken?
Some days the muck and the mire of raising kids becomes a season of survival. Does her dance bag have all the dance shoes in it? Did I pay for her yearbook? Is her uniform clean? What time is practice?
I drop her somewhere, usually with my hair in a ponytail, praying I did "my part" before she gets out of the car.
But sometimes, ray of sunshine comes beaming, the muck and the mire are so yesterday...because sometimes you have one of those moments that makes it all beautiful - they imitate something you love about yourself and adopt it all their own. So magical - really.
I've always loved my transparency with my love for others. I write it, text it, email it, practically tattoo it on my face...if I love you, you know it.

And to know that I taught that to a seven year old - leaving a note of affection to her mommy....I've created my own fan club!

"I'm with him!"

2010-01-31T17:20:00.000-06:00

What if when the man you love went to check out, you went with him? How bad would that be?
We listen to our girlfriends, and I've done it myself, whine about the man in our life just "checking out." Do we gripe because we are jealous? We are, you know it.
We are jealous of the freedom of dreaming outside the box. We are jealous of the irresponsibility of it all. Thinking like this doesn't fit our schedules, but could it? What do we have to lose? What are we holding so tightly to that is worth more than taking an adventure with the love of our life.
Do we skip the vacation because we aren't in-love anymore? Do we even know what love is or looks like?
I believe that as women we have denied ourselves the right to be "crazy." Our crazy has to fit society norms. That, my friends, is crazy.
Why do we want to fit the norm?
Where is that crazy high school girl in you that used to dare to be different? Nerves of steel to tackle adolescence with a reckless abandonment! That girl needs to be retrieved. That girl could save a marriage...build a life, a real one.
Next time, when you see the glazed over look in his eyes and you think nagging at him will bring him back to your reality, I beg you, don't. Go with him, ask him where he is going and if you can come. Then pull out your rocker shirt from the 80's and dare to be the girl that could turn his head.
Double dog dare you...

Constructing a Memory

2010-01-28T14:17:00.000-06:00

This week while dining at an awesome bistro, cleverly titled, The Bistro, I got a call from my "baby" cousin. Okay, so he is no longer a real baby, but in our family of practically all girls, he once was and always will be "our baby."
He's getting married in July, and like a lot of us, anticipating a change can bring back other changes in your life - pretty common. So, where has his reflection taken him? To a change that affects his future.
Someone will be missing at his wedding, his sister. Unfortunately, he was only three when she was taken instantly from us in her car, she was driving alone and hit a cement drain wall asleep.
I got this call because he is trying to piece together a memory of a beautiful person that he doesn't remember, but feels like he should, after all, she was and is...his sister.
Just at the mention of her name, I have a flood of warm goosebumps, as she was my childhood idol. Partly because I was almost four years younger and our moms were best friends so we spent a lot of time together. The other partly was because she was one of those people that you just felt loved by. I don't ever remember not saying and feeling loved in our relationship.
I have a little, autograph dog that I got for my tenth birthday that has written across an ear in bubble letters, "I love you! Love, Jeanean"
Jeanean is a part of my first memories...pooping together. (embarrassing, but true)
She is also in one of my most lasting, terrifying memories of hearing her car pull away from our house just minutes before her life ended.
But her brother doesn't know what those hours or days were like after her death. He doesn't remember the church that was overflowing with high school kids and grown-ups trying to understand such a tragedy.
All he knows is that there will be someone missing and that he wants to feel like he knows exactly who she is to acknowledge her absence.
If only he could know how sacred that spot should be. Now, it is up to us that knew her radiant spirit and details of her being to fill him in on the sister that would wish him the best and tell him repeatedly, "I love you! Love, Jeanean."

Are Men Optional?

2010-01-26T08:57:00.001-06:00

It is not shocking to find out that I started a nonprofit for children of divorce after spending a childhood witnessing one divorce after another.
I know the statistics, I lived them. I know that children of divorce are twice as likely to be abused, I was. I know that the death of a parent is less devastating to a child than divorce, even more than knowing the statistic, I know why? Rejection. Death means that your mom or dad didn't want to leave...divorce can mean, they chose another life over the one that you were living.
None of these reflections are a bit shocking to me, instead they comprise a huge soap box in which I have been standing for quite a few years - hollering from the roof tops for parents to please consider the effects of divorce and provide life jackets for their children.
What I am surprised by is my core belief that lingers far below...although none of this life of advocating these children would have been possible without my husband...I have believed that men are truly optional.
In 1997 statistics came out that over forty percent of our children are growing up without dads in the home. Will those girls turn into women and believe that men are optional as well? And if so, what does that look like?
I can tell them from experience that it robs a women of security, strength, unconditional love and most importantly...a feeling of being desired.
For over fifteen years I have carried a back up plan in my back pocket for "the day." How was that helpful? It wasn't.
Taking the risk in a relationship and burning the ships, sort of speak, is where the joy and security reside. Living life on the rocking boat hoping that you will never have to set sail is a miserable experience. It is all the parts of dating that we hate with none of the rewards of adrenaline highs.
Men are not optional. As a matter of fact, had it not been for mine, I wouldn't know that.
He believed that I was worth burning the ships. He still believes that because he has no other plan than to be my husband. How beautiful.
Eden doesn't believe he is optional. Her primary desire is to get his attention and keep it, she lives for his approval and he gives it at will.
His presence in the home provides much more than finances and meeting our needs. He is the rock that keeps us steady.
He alone has convinced me that men are not optional. Men are to be treasured as the valuable jewel that they are, different from us, but a true gem.

it takes a village

2010-01-21T09:43:00.000-06:00

When I came up with the theme, "it takes a village," my thoughts were that it takes a village for our kids to grow up with an anticipation of success in life and love. What I didn't realize was that they are part of that village and we need them as much as they need us.
I have had the honor of being a volunteer in a fifth grade class in Tulsa. Mrs. Mills has been this incredible inspiration that has allowed me to tryout a journal pilot program with her class.
Months ago I walked in with a belief that I had some tools that might benefit the class and that sharing my experiences and coping skills through writing would be helpful.
Now, what do I believe?
I believe that this group of fifth graders has changed my mind. Reality is this, yes, I do have some experiences that can be related to and gleaned from, but I have something much more, a listening ear!
Aside from being a beautiful, handsome class, this crew has emotional intelligence. They know what they need, they are smart. They know they need tools that equip them to handle "CHANGE" because they have all experienced it in one way or another. Some through a lot of moves, death, divorce, new family members...all of these students know what change looks like and they know they are not equipped to handle it.
Let's face it, most adults are not equipped to handle it either. And in a climate of recession where we are all watching our 401K dwindle and seeing our housing market not retaining values. We stress, like they do.
The difference is we have vices. Would you suggest our vices for fifth graders?
Probably not.
So, thanks to Mrs. Mill's Fifth Grade Class, I am on the hunt to research healthy ways to handle changes in life and compiling that information with the writing process.
Thank you. Somewhere between fifth grade and adulthood people lose their transparency, my prayer for you all is that you will never lose the beauty of your honesty.
See you soon!

Perspective

2010-01-19T12:17:00.001-06:00

Perspective. This morning I woke up believing, philosophically of course, that I was this little tree. My run down Riverside changed that.
On the trail there is a bench, quite a few actually, but a bench with a tree behind it and a man sitting on it around eighty or so. At first, I thought, "how sweet, nice day, great idea."
But as I kept running I wondered if he knew that he was toward the end of his life and was he happy with all the decisions he made while he was in his prime. Or does he still think he may have another twenty to go and is taking a minute to refuel before going back to work at some company he started when he was twenty? Who knows.
What if I am at the end of my life and don't know it? What if I am the tree behind this little tree now? Have I watered Eden enough that she is now this little tree, budding, dreaming? Lord knows at her age, I was that way.
Does almost thirty-six qualify you to be the bigger tree? Or is it pushing to reveal your passions and not being afraid that makes you the bigger tree?
Only you can answer that.
For me, I woke up the little tree and am going to bed tonight the larger one. When the metamorphosis occurred, I will never know, but I saw the change today.

What do you do with a broken heart?

2010-01-15T07:03:00.000-06:00

As I have been preparing to speak to the students at Bethel College in February, I have been asking myself what topic to approach. Obviously, the invitation is because of nonprofit work with children of divorce, but how can I relate to college students?
What do we have in common? What do we have in common with mankind? What experience do most people have before they die?
A broken heart, at some point.
So, what do you do with a broken heart?
That is my question to you.
History reveals that some of the most amazing humanitarians started their efforts with a broken heart.
History also reveals some of the most tragic events were caused by a broken heart!
So, I ask you, the audience of my meanderings, what have you done with a broken heart?

Feast or Famine

2010-01-14T07:09:00.000-06:00

I don't know how many of you grew up hearing, "It's either feast or famine."
But for me, out of all the maternal sayings I remember, this one has always rang true.
Growing up it was always "feast or famine" with boys, friendships, successes, failures...you name it, there was never balance.
Last week, I begged to get out of the house, but snow and illness prevented it for most of the week. FAMINE.
This week; however, I have been running like a chicken with my head cut off, seriously.
I have had meeting after meeting for Blended Love, which I love, but boy howdy. I have seven writing projects going on, some written on fast food napkins or my phone because I am not home. Dinners, lunches, practices, commitments....oh, so much.FEAST.
The irony here is that like many of you, I preach balance. Yet, my life doesn't reflect it at all. I preach, everything has a season, yet I myself have put all four in the same month.
I guess I must go back to the old adage of "feast or famine" and enjoy both of them whenever they come.
Moments like this morning; how many of you can say you were driving two girls to Chick-fa-la at 5:40 a.m. this morning? Or that you got to drive to the top of a hill and watch the sun come up with little girls oohing and awing the experience?
I did. It was a feast. A feast of opportunity that would have been missed if I listened to the book on my nightstand that demands balance.
Joy can be found in the feast or the famine!

What can bring you to tears the fastest?

2010-01-11T09:44:00.000-06:00

Have you ever asked yourself what brings yourself to tears the fastest?
I used to ask myself this as a little girl because I was convinced that I was going to be a movie star when the agent found me checking out at the Walmart and that I would need to be able to cry in the movies.
Until eighth grade not a lot made me cry, as a matter of fact, I was kinda good at not crying about things that probably merited tears.
But the shock of losing my friend and cousin at seventeen to a car accident changed everything, tears flowed easily. She was my trusted confidant that knew my real life, the painful one. She was actually the only one who really knew some of the tragic experiences I had had as youngster. In an instant, gone. She left our house and never made it to her house. I couldn't say her name for over ten years without crying, the ugly cry.
Her loss changed my life. The last thing I said to her was "I love you." I never regretted that. Because of her loss, I say those words frequently to people I love and care about.
Those were also my last words to my dad before his passing. Just to type that sentence makes me cry, I am still in my decade of tears at the name...only on year three for this unfortunate loss. Like my cousin, at his passing, he was truly my best friend. We talked almost everyday on our cell phones for over a year. With each upgrade on my cell phone, I couldn't bear to take his name and number out. When I look at my phone I remember so many crazy conversations, one while I was in a boat with friends on the lake. It didn't matter where I was, if Dad called, I answered because I always knew it could be our last conversation.
So, why I am blogging about this now? Because this weekend I got a new phone and it was so painful. I went back and forth on taking his number out, but I just couldn't do it. I cried a lot about it, which was shocking to me.
Being aware of the human experience of all mankind, I started to wonder...what kind of things bring other people to tears?

the LLLOOONNGG face...

2010-01-07T14:57:00.000-06:00

She walked into the living room, a bit teary, a bit in shock, stating, "what happened to Icy?"
Little did she know that I had already blogged about the poor fellow and planned a small memorial service with our trash men.
"But I love him...mama...make him better."
Seriously, what do you say to this? You say, "yes, of course I will put on hold my speech for over four hundred people to do surgery on a stuffed animal. I am a mom!"
As empowered as I felt, could ability really follow suit? Not so sure.
Again, this dear, sweet child pulls me from my sheltered box of ability and into an unknown world of insecurity. Can I do this? I ask again for the thousandth time since she has been born.
After stuffing for a very long time, I went in with white thread determined to make Icy come back to us...
Never underestimate the power of a hopeful child!

RED RUM

2010-01-06T13:27:00.000-06:00

"Here's Monica!"
Fully dressed, yes, make-up included I have planned for a day of site seeing around the house. This will be day three at home.
Although Eden has not eaten a meal yet, her optimism of one in her future has allowed me to become focused again on what's missing in my life...people and places.
The laundry room has become the morgue, thanks to Icy.
The mudroom has become a place of "once was" reminders of coats and shoes for actually leaving the compound.
The kitchen is under utilized and Martha has had the week off, food smells would only increase the vomit cycle.
My bedroom, does it still exist? Eden's room has been my place of sleepy dwelling.
Bathrooms...oh, the bathrooms...Lysol smells now reign and fear of touching anything supersedes any amount of pleasure that used to take place in there.
Maybe today I will venture into the game room and try my hand at Wii.
Attic, oh, the attic, we may have an axe...gotta go!

Casualty of War

2010-01-05T16:12:00.000-06:00

The war torn room is finally reflecting that of a child's bedroom after countless hours of clean up.
Just hours ago, vomit and productive gas waste in tornado fashion plunged into the sterile area terrifying all of the residents.
Off the record, it was rumored that the mom possibly slept with a Lysol can in fear of any future attacks.
All three of the human residents survived the surprise attack.
During clean up, at the horror to all involved, it appears that Icy Epperson passed away.
He was discovered in the washer, guts spread all over his camrades and in the fetal position.
As he was pulled from the wreckage lifelessly, he remained wearing the scarf that his fearless leader had placed on him after getting him home from Frontier City, his previous home.
He was a good bear and received a strike of vomit in the face before entering the deadly machine.
His work as a true humanitarian will not be forgotten and his countless hours of hugs and affection will bring all who knew him a bright spot of comfort during this difficult time.
Memorial services still pending.

Be Careful What You Ask For

2010-01-04T13:18:00.000-06:00

Last night, I peacefully went to bed feeling the full embrace of the new year minus the perfected charts and graphs of decided changes. Instead, I resigned to the idea of my new, very new, Cosmo philosophy. I slept like a baby.
Around 5:30 a.m. I received the gentle nudge on the shoulder from my seven year old alerting me that her belly hurt. I pulled her in bed, snuggled a bit and stated the most over used parental statement ever, "you'll be alright."
HUGE PAUSE (narrator having to hold hair back for the little up chucker)
So, back to my story. She wasn't okay. As a matter a fact, none of us are okay. Brian and I are living with pruned hands, a Lysol can and fear of the Hershey squirts with vomit.
All morning and now, what is it noon?, I have been living my Cosmo philosophy as a nightmare...FOLLOWING MY LOVED ONE FROM ROOM TO ROOM. I never said with a trash can!!!
I am murdering my philosophical Polly Anna and returning to my Type A rather sterile excel charts for the year. Carry on.

Philosophy by Cosmo

2010-01-03T09:05:00.000-06:00

As the new year dawned and my hopes and aspirations began to be written down in graphs, charts and other nonsensical pages, I had the privilege of being torn away from rituals this year to gain perspective from Cosmo.
The beautiful, gray hairs on his face reflect his duration on earth, but he doesn't know the end is drawing near. He is only cognizant of this moment and his desires at this moment, which appeared to be a lot of petting and traveling from room to room as we did, very extroverted on his part.
I do not know my expiration date either, yet I plan for the full year, usually off of my previous mistakes from last year and attempt to plan harder and better. This is a very arrogant activity on my part. Arrogant in the fact that I assume I will have the longevity. I assume no variables and I usually have goals that actually rob me of the joy of present moments.
Like Cosmo, I too, am extroverted and would love to travel from room to room with the members of my family, talking less and listening more.
I have spent way too long believing that I must change my world continually through goal setting and more efficient time management. Before I know it I may be on all fours. And what if, like Cosmo, I stumble across a mirror and see gray hairs on my head, would I freak out and say that I didn't do enough? Or would I calmly pass by in peace?
So, this year, I am going to follow the ways of Cosmo by following the ones I love and entering their world, asking for affection on their terms and not focusing on the million tasks I would like to achieve before my expiration date...because the truth is clear...if I expire soon, I would only want what Cosmo has right now, LOVE..AFFECTION..FAMILY..and most importantly..PEACE.

Let it Snow, Let it Snow...Driving Range Slopes

2009-12-28T10:29:00.000-06:00

Snow has fallen and the little one begs to build snowmen and sled. Completely natural, complete expected.
What is not natural is the driving range at the golf course becoming the new slopes and the pub being exchanged for a cooler atop the slopes with beer and sparkly water.
What?
Yes, a crew brought in a big, blue cooler filled with drinks and as they sat in their obvious Vail clothes they drank, huffed and puffed pulling their sleds, and drank some more.
Not me, I didn't get to wear any obvious ski clothes from a previous trip...I procrastinated until the last minute before we left so I was pulling any water resistant clothing I could find from Brian's side of the closet. Yes, this 115 pounder was wearing her husband's large, green insulated pants, a blue XL coat, a cream scarf found on the floor no less and an old, probably free stocking cap. Oh, and I can't forget that I didn't even wear my hiking boots...no, crazy here, wore her running shoes. I truly felt like I could be called, "Cousin Eddie's wife!"
To make matters worse, I didn't even purchase a sled. I grabbed a laundry basket and a trash can lid.
The good news is this...No matter how WT I looked and felt, I watched on as the two loves of my life had a complete blast going down the steepest of slopes you will find here in Oklahoma. Laughter and screams and a sweet family who loaned us sleds and more kids for Eden to play with, barreled down the range and into the thick, ever so lovely...snow.
It was an irreplaceable moment for the archives of a memory of a childhood for dear, sweet Eden and a reminder for mom to plan ahead just a tad more.

Beautiful

2009-12-25T23:55:00.001-06:00

I am not surprised by receiving flowers from a friend when a loved one passes away or one of my random trips to the hospital. Beauty brings comfort. John Eldridge says so.
What I am surprised by is when I am able to soak up the beauty around me as if I am following the scents at the mall to the food court. An aroma that cannot be ignored, a presence of awesomeness and attraction that must be followed to the source.
I took the trail and it led to a blog without pictures. Why? Because I could not possibly put a physical picture to the beauty of spending a few evenings with friends and watching the beauty of relationships around me as I am a part of something much larger than a title or a company or even a family. I am a part of a beautiful world.
Beauty for me came as I found a baby studying my face and laughing at my laugh. Her warmth in her hug as she tickled my neck with her stubby, little fingers.
The beauty of a man who chooses a card that reiterates every single facet of our relationship and loves me helplessly.
The beauty of family, blood or not, that loves at all times through affection, perfect gifts that reveal the closeness of the relationship and quality time together.
A son reunited with a dad willing to change his life to be near and a part of something much bigger than himself.
Nana, a sixty-three year old woman determined that unconditional love is given to all of her grandchildren, even if step may be in her title.
The beautiful, familiar voice of a loved one expressing joy in your call and memories of your life from remember when...
If you think about it long enough, you'll see it, too.
There are no pictures because they may or may not be beautiful to you.
You know the beauty in your life. You are probably some one's beauty.
And if you are, thank you. Thank you for making our world beautiful.

Imperfect Pictures

2009-12-21T19:56:00.000-06:00

After eight years of harassment, Brian and I submitted to the moms asking for a family picture.
As we were freezing and embarrassed at all the snaps of the camera, we realized why we are not "family" portrait material...we actually like the pictures of our candid imperfections.
We may not have ourselves in canvas on our walls, but we've got albums of our life...our real life. Laughter, tears, a few smudge marks across the face from a daughter that mulled you right before the flash...real moments.
So, thankfully, we got a real pro who knows us and gave us a few shots of our real selves and some as peace offerings to brighten the hearts of the moms.

Fast Food Stinks

2009-12-03T11:05:00.000-06:00

Mornings are crazy around here. A game of hide-n-seek with school tights or the taste test approach to breakfast. It is all crazy, really.
But usually when you get loaded up in the car there is a sigh of relief because you are out the door and on your way, even if you don't have brushed teeth.
Well, not this morning. I hop in, too late for coffee yet I've been up since 4:30 a.m., that's another blog about random type A behavior, but really, I get in and my car smells like the biggest, stinkiest man just ripped a good one.
Eden and I are both gagging. I look down and there is a couple of Wendy's drinks and a sack of the horrid remains of a really awful mistake I made yesterday.
The memory of rushing to pick up Eden from school and get her fed before, the irony here, I get her to the nutritionist who is addressing her digestive issues.
What is wrong with this picture?
I feel like I am planning a game of Chutes & Ladders in life.
A real low, stinky moment.

"Watch Me!!!"

2009-12-01T09:24:00.000-06:00

This weekend revealed a new truth about parenting for me. I realized that I have poorly trained my daughter like Pavlov trained his dog to beg for attention without earning it.
When I was a kid you had to really perfect a performance before you yelled out, "watch me!"
We all knew that there was one shot at a good performance and if you didn't really practice and make it worth your parents time there was a chance you may not get another shot for a long time.
I am not sure if it is the whole modern movement of fragile egos or our obsessive fear of raising kids with poor self-esteem, but I do know this....as Dr. Phil would say, "it's not workin' for us!"
When these kids get older the world and the amazing standards out there are going to chew up these mediocre performances and throw them to the curb, to leave these kids wondering what happened.
This realization has caused me to do a one eighty on what I am praising. I know my child, like you, and know the potential she possesses and because of that, I cannot let her sell her self short for unearned affirmation.
We all want to hear we are great, but the truly great ones become great. They don't throw out a rehearsal and get the same praise for their olympic performance.
If I truly want what is best for my daughter, I will engage in challenging her to practice, study, earn...all that she is and can be and not allow her to lick in the bowl of her own crumbs.

A Thanksgiving to Remember

2009-11-28T16:24:00.000-06:00

This was my first year to host Thanksgiving at my house. My first year to make every single dish and be responsible for the memory of the event for my family.
So, of course, I could blog about the fact that I started a small kitchen fire right out of the gate or the pain endured by my two fingers that believed they could pull a pan straight out of the oven.
The planning could be a blog to itself, but that would take away from the ten hours of complete enjoyment and fulfillment of seeing my daughter smile from ear to ear as we enjoyed her famous crust on the pies or the mischievous laugh of my nephew at the dinner table.
Sure, the turkey was an incredible achievement considering I had never even laid eyes on a thermometer, but the biggest achievement was the hours of peace, laughter, and most importantly...thankfulness. It was truly a Thanksgiving worth remembering.

Thankfulness

2009-11-19T12:47:00.000-06:00

I am strong believer in having the spirit of thanksgiving.
None of us are guaranteed more than we have today, so it is important to value what you have in the moment.
I am thrilled to see my daughter adopting this truth in her own life. She says thank you a lot and talks openly about her blessings.
This past week, she lost a tooth.
She put the tooth under her pillow.
She woke up to find some cash.
She immediately goes to the stationary cabinet and grabs a piece of paper and a pen and writes this note..."Thank you, tooth fairy, I love you."
She hands me the note and goes back to her room.
Aside from laughing at her acknowledgment that I was the one who put the money under her pillow, I felt a strong sense of accomplishment.
Brian and I have taught thankfulness and for that I am noticeably, "thankful."

Can I do this?

2009-11-09T14:42:00.000-06:00

I have never asked this question more than when I became a mother.
Labor, ouch this hurts...Can I do this?
Sleepless nights with a newborn...Can I do this?
Breastfeeding, 103 fever with the hardest chest ever...Can I do this?
First ER trip with a toddler and head trauma...Can I do this?
Oh, first day of preschool, tears rolling down my face...Can I do this?
First overnight stay with a friend...Can I do this?
The throw up, the homework, the squeezing a kid into dance tights, the long recitals, the endless amount of time coloring, the dress up, the books before bed, the baths, the veggie pushing campaign, the honesty talk, the boy talk, the skinned knees with no skin (yuck!), the tears over the bully at school, the accidental kicks with apologies, the cooking lessons that leave olive oil in the grout, the other messes...the list goes on and on, but leads to the latest one.
Can I really coach her basketball team?
Of course, I am wondering how I got myself in this mess, but even more perplexing is how I get myself into all the crazy messes I have found myself in since this little one was born.
As I am downloading drills and rules from the web, I am smiling at the little girl who always seems to pull me out of comfortable and give me something worth writing about.