Tag Archives: Relationships

Why I’m in the Mood for a Fight (and the phrase we’ve got to stop saying…)

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I’m in the mood for a fight.

I have a bone to pick with this crazy, frantic, world and also with myself.

There’s this phrase I’m sick of hearing, sick of saying, sick of living.

It’s an excuse we all accept and no one seems to question and perhaps that’s because it’s sort of, kind of, true. 

But today, I’m saying, “No more!” I’m picking a fight with the words, the excuse, and the lie that ,“I’m too busy.” That we’re all too gosh-darn busy. That there’s no time or place or space in this great wide world, in this one beautiful day, in our hurried schedule for that friend, that family, that child. For that calling, that ministry, that life changing habit…

That there’s just no time for God.

Think about it. How many times just this week, just today, have you thought it? Felt it? Said it? How many times have these words been spoken to you?

When you ask someone how they’re doing? “Oh, I’m just so busy.”

When you finally get around to calling that friend who called you weeks ago? “I’m sorry, things have been so busy.”

When you invite someone in, ask to get together, ask for just a little time? “There’s no way right now, I’m swamped, maybe later?” 

Yeah maybe…

When you look at your Bible and know it hasn’t been cracked for months? You think of your prayer life and the respirator it’s on. You hear the still, small voice whispering an invitation just for you. “I can’t right now, Lord,” you say. “I have to run to the store, wash the car, mow the lawn, paint my nails, watch this show, fix them supper, dry my hair, fetch the mail, clean the toilet, fold the socks, change her diaper, visit the zoo, and, and, and…Can we try again tomorrow?”

It’s acceptable, and easier, and even a little honest to say, “I can’t. I don’t have time. I’m too busy for that right now.”

But is it really? Held up to God’s standard is it really acceptable? Is it really easier? Is it really true? 

Last summer my sweet friend from North Carolina called to see how I was doing. She had news to share. She wanted to talk, to celebrate life with me. It took me two (TWO!) months to call her back. 

And that Bible, that prayer life, I mentioned before? Yeah, it’s mine. 

And I know with the friend, with the Bible, with the prayer…if I really wanted too…if I were willing to make them a priority…if I were willing to say, “You know what? You mean more to me than Survivor, more than the next chapter of that page turner I’m reading, more than an hour of sleep here, or 20 minutes on Facebook there,” I could pick up the phone and make the call. I could open my Bible. I could journal my prayers.

Because the truth is, I have the time. I have a place in my life. I have space for each of these things. I just haven’t been willing. I’ve chosen something else. I’ve chosen other things.

I’ve chosen to put lesser things before people, relationships, God. 

And isn’t it a little bit like building up an idol?

Doesn’t it look a little bit like bowing down to calves?

Haven’t we allowed ourselves to get caught up in a lie?

It happened just the other day. Broken by a friend too busy to make time and space for me, I cried out to God. “All I want is some time…the chance to talk…for her to be willing.”

“I know, I want that too,” came His gentle reply.

“From me?”

“From you, dear one. I just want some time…the chance to talk…for you to be willing.”

“But when? You know my days are packed. I’ve got the kids, the house, the husband, the homeschooling…”

“You sound a bit like her…”

Ouch!

Caught in the act that hurt me so deeply, I saw it, how deeply I hurt Him.

When I don’t have time for His people, His callings, His Word. When I don’t make time to sit and still and be with Him.  How I lie to Him, keep Him waiting. How day after day I put lesser things before Him. How very much it hurts.

No more, I decided. 

It sounds cliche, I know. Like the Sunday school answer we’ve all grown up with, but in that moment I didn’t want to waste another minute of precious time. Time I could be spending with my precious, Lord.

I grabbed my Bible, my journal, and a cup of steaming coffee. In the midst of my morning, in the messy, mangled, middle of kids arguing, baby fussing, of husband getting out the door, I sat at our kitchen table and created time for Him.

A place. A space. An altar just for Him.

The truth is we’re all busy. But who among us is too busy? Who among us doesn’t have the ability to offer the little bit we have and choose the greater thing?

24 hours of fresh grace…

Mercies grand and new every morning…

Resources beyond measure…

I know you’re busy.

So am I.

But what will you do with yours? 

I’m so excited to share a “Blog Hop” with you today and a special post by my sister-of-the-heart and fellow writer, Jessie Heninger. Just like me, Jessie has recently been challenged with the thought of being too busy and is taking two big steps to make some changes. Please follow this link to read her story. You are sure to be inspired! https://jessieheninger.wordpress.com

I am SHERlocked (and here’s the No.1 reason why)

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img_6061I love Sherlock Holmes, but I’m arriving a little late to the party. I never gave the clever consulting detective much thought until a dear friend of mine recommended I check out the BBC television series Sherlock. Minutes into the first episode I knew I was hooked, smitten, irrevocably in love with the characters of Sherlock Holmes and John Watson. (And, if you must know, crushing a bit on Benedict Cumberbatch too.)

While awaiting the return of Sherlock I have fed my undying love by reading a few of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle’s original stories and most recently by trying out another Sherlock TV series, Elementary, this time per my sister’s recommendation. Again I am completely taken with the unfolding story of Sherlock Holmes, and in this case, his crime solving partner Joan Watson.

I wonder, at times, what is it exactly that draws me to these characters, these stories, these shows.

Is it the excellent writing and storytelling? But of course! When I find stuff like this I can’t get enough.

Is it the got-to-find-out-who-killed-who-tension that riddles each Sherlock story? For sure! The curiosity factor alone gets me every time.

Is it the super swoon worthy leading men with their charming accents and turned up collars? Well, I don’t know…maybe… Anyway, moving on.

It’s all of this, to be sure, but more than anything I’ve come to realize it’s the friendship, the relationships, the community portrayed between Sherlock and Watson. More than just a high functioning duo, these guys are friends, allies, brothers.

I love this. So often it seems, this is what pulls me in, what draws me into a story.

 The Lord of the Rings

 Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants

 Harry Potter

These are all a few of my very favorites and they are all stories where friendship…true, pure, real deal friendship…lies at the heart and breath and soul of each tale.

Tonight Mr. Wonderful and I watched an episode of Elementary in which Sherlock faced with the decision of leaving his home in New York City to return to his native London. Leaving New York would potentially mean leaving Joan and the support system he had discovered as he recovered from an addiction to heroin. “I have thrived here,” he says to Joan when she asks him what he wants. “Not because of who I am but because of who I have come to know.”

sherlock-quoteI love this quote. It resonated with me in that, Ahhh, that’s so true!…That’s brilliant!… That’s… I’ve got to write that down, sort of way.

When the episode was over I texted the quote to my friend, Jessie. My own version of Watson, Jessie started as my writer friend but grew into so much more. This summer she and her family left their home in Michigan for the wild frontier of Seattle, WA and a brand new ministry there. I miss her desperately. Sometimes so acutely it feels like my arm, or my leg, or some incredibly vital part of me is gone.

This is what you and our writing group have given me, I typed in after the quote. And it’s also what I hope you find in Seattle.

I can see it now ever so clearly. Here in Michigan. In Charlotte, in Virginia. In all the places I’ve lived, in all the places I’ve thrived, friendship, relationships, and community are what made it so. Not me. Never me, but the friends God has brought into my life.

In high school he gave me Mr. Wonderful. He gave me Matt, Jessica, Karly, Mrs. Spalding, Sharon, Brandon, Nikki, Justin, Danny, Brett, Jeff. He gave me Battle Creek Bible Church.

In Charlotte He gave me Sarah. He gave me Beth, Bethany, Cara, Clint, Heather, Hager, Tom, Blues, the Brazelles, the Maugels, the Homans. He gave me our church group, Banyan.

In Virginia he gave me Dave. He gave me Vanessa, Hannah, Jim, Lee, Stacy, Roger. He gave me Evergreen Community Church.

img_6062And in returning home to Michigan, the friendship, the love, it grows and grows. He’s given me Jessie and my writers group and a whole army of writing buddies…so many I can’t even begin to name them all. He’s given me Amanda, Justin, Jeff, Crystal, Barry, Linda, Mike, Jen, Kim, Ashley, and Juli. He’s given us Radiant. He’s given us family.

And I’m thriving like never before because I call these dear ones allies. I call them brothers and sisters. I call them friends.

Each and every one the Watson to my Sherlock.

What You Have to Know About Today

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IMG_5847For God’s Message of Hope…

So what is it about the summer that makes the kids grow?

Clearly, there’s the sun, the sky, the gobs of fresh air. But there’s also the fact that summer was made for childhood, and inherently a child knows they must rise to the occasion. As they rise they have this way of growing like rows of emerald corn. Bright. Tall. Wholesome. Sweet. They stretch to the sky before our eyes.

This summer My Blessing grew into the pureness and fullness of seven. She grew into books and adventure and a love for testing the laws of nature.

God’s Promise grew into one. Leaving baby days behind a little more each day she embraced the wonders of a toddler’s world. She grew into words, and slides, and big attempts, despite her little size, to do just what her sisters do.

And Hope…oh, my Hope Girl… As the heat of summer fades, Hope’s days of being four are dipping below the horizon like a shining sliver of orange sun.

Skin to SkinI don’t know what it is about the change from four to five but it gets me every time. It catches my breath and startles me, catching me off guard.

I remember this moment when My Blessing was about to turn five. How the hot arrow of realization struck me and singed my heart with knowing that My Blessing, age four, was about to be gone forever. Never to be seen or known again.

And now here I am with Hope savoring her fourness. Savoring her suckin’ fingers, and golden hair. Her faithful friend Froggy and twirling dresses. Her Barbies, and dolls, and princessy, glittery, has to be every-shade-of-PINK-under-the-sun-things.

Her tiny wisp of a voice.

Her heart that beats for Daddy.

Her half-pint size still not quite too heavy to pick up and squeeze and hold.

And I know these things won’t leave completely as she flutters her wings into five. But five brings us ever closer to that dreaded precipice. To that place and time when Barbies and dolls and dresses that twirl will lose the fight to friends, and make-up, and dresses that twirl boys’ heads.

Tenley HandLast night at bedtime I held her. I snuggled her so close she squeaked. I kissed her all over her face and looked long and deep into her sapphire blue eyes.

“Mommy, what are you doing to me?” She said with half a giggle and half a groan.

“I’m memorizing you,” I said. “I know I’m going to fall head over heels in love with Hope, age five, but boy am I going to miss, My Hope Girl, age four.”

To this she simply smiled, grabbed her Froggy, and rolled over, ready for the sweetest of dreams.

And, sure, she can roll her eyes and shake her head over her crazy mama. (Two gestures of appreciation, I am sure, have only just begun…) Of course she doesn’t get it. She doesn’t understand. But someday….

Someday God’s Message of Hope, age 34, will sit on the edge of a bed. She’ll look long and deep into eyes that look just like her own and she’ll know.

Mama wasn’t crazy. These days ARE fleeting and few.

 Each one a masterpiece, a summer sunset.

 Created, given, and meant to be savored.

When You Need to Know that Friendships Last

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Pooh PlaqueIt all started with my Aunt Michelle, this brilliant string of unexpected visits.

Then came our friends from Virginia, the Blum Family. Our visit with the Blums was short but oh, so sweet. For not quite 24 hours we talked, and laughed, and enjoyed a Michigan summer afternoon at a nearby park. We feasted on Oberon brats and strawberry cake with frozen custard. Vanilla coke ran cold and plentiful as we picked up where we left off in that sacred way only old friends do.

These visits would have been enough to make my summer but, wait, there’s more!

Just days before the Blums arrived I received the following text from one of our North Carolina friends:

Rachel Text

Am I okay with that??? Oh my goodness, YES!!! The fact that this brave woman would willingly tack on an extra seven hours driving time with four children in the car (which let’s face it means an extra ten hours at least!) to come and see me makes me feel so, so loved. I haven’t seen this sister-of-the-heart friend in almost four years and to have her here with me, to see our kiddos playing together, to actually feel our words and hugs and laughter exchanged in the flesh fills me with so much joy.

And really, these visits from family and friends aren’t just bright spots in my summer line-up; they are encouragement for my soul.

Throughout my life the end of close relationships has left me wondering, time and again, do friendships ever last? Is there such a thing as a forever friend?

I remember the silver necklace I exchanged with my best friend at the end of sixth grade. A tiny heart with a jagged cut down the middle. She kept one half and I kept the other. One side reading, “Friends,” the other side, “Forever.”

IMG_2036Two months later my family packed a moving van to the brim and rolled away to another state. What turned out to be forever was 800 miles between us. It was the first real lost I ever felt.

Since then friends have walked in and out of my life. They moved, I moved. Hearts, beliefs, and loyalties changed. Some relationships fell to pieces in a burst of hurt and misunderstanding, and some simply faded in natural ways. Always there was this question that lingered in their wake: How could these friendships that I thought would last forever suddenly be gone?

But there’s also this lingering proof, this evidence that friendship can last. There’s these friends that brave miles, and hours, and long distance phone calls, texts, and messages. They use Skype and FaceTime and yearly visits to prove there is such a thing as forever friends.

And I am thankful. I’m thankful to have these friends in my life, and I’m thankful for the chance to be that sort of friend in return.

A few days ago I came across a tiny silver necklace of two birds sitting side by side on the limb of a tree. It made me think of the relationship I share with a friend here in town that has become so dear to me. My husband and I are facing the possibility of a move and our friendship may be forced into the long distance category.

But this friend, she’s of the forever variety. I know this in my heart. No matter what happens to the amount of miles between us, the two of us will remain as close as the birds on that silvery branch.

I bought that necklace and gave it to her over lunch and tears and fears of the future. I guess it was my way of showing her what our recent visits from family and friends have shown me this summer.

“There’s one thing we don’t have to fear,” I told her, “this friendship we share…no matter what…”

Because the message that lies between the hearts of two friends never really changes. Birds of a feather really do flock together…

 Forever and for always.

For When You Lose it With Your Kids

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IMG_2068Let me be honest, this is one blog post I don’t want to write. It’s embarrassing and shameful and full of regret over something I did this week.

If you had been at Michael’s this Wednesday around 11:30 am you might have seen a mom in aisle seven losing it with her kids…and I’m sad to say that mom was me.

I’ve written of this before, the ever-obvious fact that I am not a perfect mom. But this time…Yikes! This time I even surprised myself with how quickly I went from feeling fine and dandy to last-straw-losing it with my six-year-old.

The matter that caused my erupting anger to spew like wild lava wasn’t even her fault. I knew it wasn’t her fault. It was an accident. It was one of those annoying inconveniences that come with motherhood, with six-year-olds, with things that can’t be helped. (I’ll avoid details but I will say it was messy, time consuming, and soooo NOT what I needed at that moment.)

I knew all of this, but what did I do? Did I extend grace to the child? Did I treat the child the way I would want to be treated. No, not even close.

I yelled. I pushed. I shamed.

I spat out punishment. I seethed anger. I piled blame on innocence.

When I replay the situation in my mind and remember what I said, what I did, how I reacted, my heart breaks. It breaks for the broken mom I am, and it breaks for the broken child left standing in my wake.

The anger, I wonder? Why such anger? Because the anger, in the moment, is what feels good, feels right. It’s the release, the instant gratification, for feelings so hard to control.

But the anger, it’s the coward’s way. It’s for the weak, never the strong.

 The strong, the brave know that anger, apart from righteous anger, is never good and never right. And while it may yield instant release, it lingers forever in wounds that ache and rarely heal.

The strong, the brave, they know that though it may be hard, the feelings they can be controlled. They know we have helpers, they know we have allies. A Holy Spirit to help us see. A Savior to offer a different path. A Father always ready with grace for the moment, with mercy for the coward.

And this mama needs her allies. I need to see the miracle that is the child. To choose the path that turns toward love. To accept the grace and fill on mercy so grace and mercy overflow.

And my child? My child knows grace and mercy far better than I, for when my anger cooled and my heart ached to say I was wrong, to say “I’m sorry, dear girl. Can you ever forgive me?” her little arms hugged my neck. Her toothless smile spread wide. And her precious voice whispered, “Yes, mommy. I love you.”

There are no perfect moms. There are no perfect children. But there is perfect grace.

Perfect grace that helps the broken, cowardly mom come to her senses and ask for forgiveness.

Perfect grace that flows freely from the mouth of innocent babes.

Allied grace that performs a crimson stain clean-up on aisle seven.

And somehow lets this losing-it mama gain everything in return.