All Good Things Must Come to an End...Or Not

Confession: Whenever something good happens or things are going really well, I enjoy it for about two seconds and then move right on to convincing myself not to get too attached because it will come to an end. In the wise words of one of the great philosophers of our time, Garrison Keillor, "We come from people who brought us up to believe that life is a struggle, and if you should feel really happy, be patient: this will pass.'"

 I know as a woman of God this is completely insane and antithetical to God's promises for me.  Rather, my heart knows this but my brain gets in the way and tries to convince my heart that indeed, all good things must come to an end. In fact, you know the saying, "hope for the best, prepare for the worst?" It's like the fax that delivered that message to my brain cut off the first part and so my brain operates solely on "prepare for the worst." (If you were born after 1995, you may need to go ask your parents what this 'fax machine' is to which I just referred.) 

I do it with the big stuff for sure, like my children's health or our great house. But, I also go crazy doing it with the little stuff. Like, ok, here's a she's off her rocker confession moment: When I see shows or movies I like pop up on our streaming Netflix, I am confident they are teasers and will be removed as soon as I watch them. For instance, as you may know if you've read previous blogs, I'm a huge Doc Martin fan. I have stopped watching them for awhile because I am convinced Netflix monitors my viewing habits and removes shows I watch frequently in an effort to force me to sign up and pay for their mail order service. So, in an effort not to lose the good stuff, I miss out on the good stuff. 

To be said in the voice of Gru from Despicable Me, "Light bulb."

Is this applicable to other areas of my life? Am I missing out on really enjoying the good stuff because I don't want to miss the good stuff too much later when it will inevitably come to an end? (Trackin'?) Shameful answer pause, followed by head down and whispered response: yes. 

Fall is my favorite season and for the first time ever I live in a place where the leaves actually change and I have already experienced freezing temperatures. I have longed to live in a location where this was the case. Today, however, the temperature will reach about 90 degrees. So, of course, my first thought was, "See. Told ya. I knew the good weather wouldn't last." Really? Really? Ugh, that's so ugly. How about, thank you Jesus for nice weather that allowed my husband to get the yard work done and my kiddos to play outside with their friends. Thank you that it's not 105 degrees. Thank you for moving us to a place with incredible friends. Thank you for letting little ol' me live this life. Um yeah, okay, that feels better than complaining and worrying. Shocker, I know.

Speaking of loving fall and appreciating all of God's blessings, here are some things I am thankful for and glad I didn't miss:

                                   

                                             Picking apples at the apple butter festival at the apple orchards.

How do I love thee? Let me count the ways...

Two of my favorite people to hang out with. Love, love, love them.

                                                                                                                                             

       The don't look posed at all, right?

My heart, my love. Thankful everyday I get to do life with this man.

Every year my birthday gift to myself is decorating for fall. Thus, the Halloween decorations come out in September.

A view from a bridge over the corn maze we did at At'l Do Farms.

In the maze. Although we've done these in Arizona, this was the first time we ever had to bundle up. And, we were still cold. It was perfect!

Erik, indulging my Tom Selleck crush. I love my cowboy.

Our new home school friends from Grace Lubbock  Home School Group at the corn maze.

We went on a hayride and then were allowed to pick pumpkins off the vine. Erik said they could each pick a small one. These are 2 of the 4 pumpkins we came home with that day. Softie.

So, do all good things come to an end? Maybe. Did you the know the original saying can be traced back to Chaucer and he actually said "all things must come to an end." The good part was probably added later by some worrier like myself. So, perhaps all things do come to an end, but I'm pretty sure we're meant to enjoy them along the way. So, I'm off to experience a little more fall and watch another Doc Martin. Life is good, go live it. 

Dreams Are Nothing More Than Wishes And A Wish Is Just A Dream

When I was a little girl I wanted to be a marine biologist / newspaper reporter / detective. Maybe, I thought, I would uncover conspiracies at Sea World and blow the lid off such stories as why an ice cream shaped like a whale costs six stinking dollars when I can get a whole tub for a third of the price anywhere else. Anyway, as I grew older pieces of that dream fell away so that by the time I was in high school I was left wanting to be a reporter. So, of course, when I got to college I majored in....philosophy and religious studies. Whuh? I let other people hijack my dreams and I became convinced that I should go to law school. Totally not their fault, I own this one. Thankfully I only racked up undergrad student loans and realized, before I sank further in debt, that I had no interest in going to law school. But once you make one decision NOT to do something, it begs the next question: what WILL I do? My answer came in the form of a 6 pound 9 ounce delicious, sweet little thing we like to call, Emma. Two years later, hungry for more deliciousness, we gave her a sister, Jilly. I became wrapped up in a dream I never expected to have, but one from which I never wanted to wake up: motherhood.

But, as with all dreams, I am slowly coming out of my slumber. Please don't misunderstand me, the magic of motherhood has not worn off. I am still absolutely, madly in love with these two little people with whom I get to spend nearly all of my time. The thing is, they're not so little anymore. My sweet little 6 pounder turned 12 last week and by December we will be an official double digit household as Jilly will be 10. There is still plenty of mothering left to do - a lifetime's worth. But I had to be completely hands on when they were teeny tinies, and now I am releasing my grasp and enjoying the beauty of watching them become independent individuals with ideas and dreams all of their own. *tear, sigh, tear, sigh*

My big girls riding bikes on Emma's birthday.

What a beauty - inside and out.

This new stage of motherhood has also provided the blessing and the curse of having more time for myself. I am somewhat embarrassed to admit that very often I have NO idea what to do with my free time as I have NO idea of what is, in essence, my next stage of dreaming. I will be 35 next month (seriously?) While I have indeed spent the last few months lamenting that fact and feeling dreadfully sad that my babies are getting older, all of sudden I am excited and exhilarated by the fact that I, just like my girls, have gained some new independence to have and create brand new ideas all of my own.

So, now that I realized what I am NOT anymore, namely the mother of very small children, it begs the question: What next? What do I want to be when I grow up? I have been trying on some different hats and roles and I think I have made one very large mistake. All the credit goes to Erik on this one. He has said to me in the past, and again more recently, "Don't make your role your identity, bring your identity to the role." I am a home schooling minister's wife. Let's all be honest here for a minute. That notion brings up a certain mental image and idea of what that woman should be, right? A little Caroline Ingalls, a little Laura Petry, maybe a dash of Beth Moore and a side of Martha Stewart? I have been gardening, baking bread, sewing, and, yes, even trying to learn to knit. I have had less than stellar results with all of the above. (Except the bread, my bread is pretty yummy if I do say so myself.) These are all noble, admirable hobbies. But, are any of them really, well, me? Maybe, maybe not. I have tried to be and do all these things recently, convincing myself that's what I should be, what I should do. I realize, as I write this, I have once again let someone hijack my dreams: me. Maybe my results have been disappointing because my enthusiasm, my interest has been elsewhere. I realize my hobbies should extend beyond listening to people with British accents and watching Doc Martin reruns (is that really the same hobby???), but I think I need to think a bit outside the box when it comes to interests and meaningful pursuits.

Two things I know I am passionate about: my (not so little) babies.

If you're waiting for the big ah-ha moment wherein I tell you I have discovered my passion and my dreams, you are in for a let down. At least in this blog entry. I'm still not sure what my dreams are, but I do know I have a renewed passion for finding out. I like this writing gig. Who knows? Maybe I'll slip on the old Sherlock hat and head out to Sea World to see if I can finally uncover why none of the shows EVER start on time and why the metal bleachers aren't in the shade...

PS Sorry for the long title, but a discussion of dreams deserves a shout out to Harry.

The Cultivated Life

cul·ti·vate   [kuhl-tuh-veyt] 

verb (used with object), cul·ti·vat·ed, cul·ti·vat·ing.

to promote or improve the growth of  by labor and attention.

to develop or improve by education or training; train; refine. 

 I was sitting outside the other morning, drinking my coffee and reading my bible when I cam across a passage in 1 Thessalonians that I've previously read many times, but on this day, occurred to me in a fresh way. 


1 Thessalonians 4:11
and to aspire to live quietly, and to mind your own affairs, and to work with your hands, as we instructed you,


I've always liked this verse. It's one of those verses that's underlined or highlighted in nearly every bible I own and written in many of my journals. I think I've had this dream, a romantic notion of a what a quiet life is and had assured myself that one day I would finally achieve said dream. When God called us to Lubbock I was sure this is where my "quiet idea" would finally come to realize itself. It felt like a small town, a certain requirement for a quiet life. I had a beautiful, big new backyard that actually had greenery, roses and cool temperatures to boot; all external factors seemed conducive to achieving a quiet life. I'll admit  it: I wanted the Mayberry lifestyle. I wanted to bake pies, sit on my porch with the neighbors, and even make pickles. (That last reference was thrown in for all you bona fide Andy Griffith fans, may he rest in peace.) I was invited to an ice cream social after being here only a few weeks. When we arrived we were seated by a lake, with homemade ice cream and we sang hymns and folk songs to a banjo. "This is it!" I thought, God had finally given me a perfectly quiet life.

Then it happened. My quiet life got loud, really loud. All of a sudden our calendar was full, our house was still unpacked, I had company coming in from out of town, I tried to start teaching school again,  and I began serving at church. Sshhhhh, I wanted to yell.  This isn't what I planned, this isn't a quiet life. Or . . . is it?


As I read the verse from 1 Thessalonians that morning, I realized all these years it wasn't the whole verse I liked, but just the first half.  I really liked the part about being quiet and minding my own business, but God's word doesn't stop there. This verse is not an invitation to be lazy, uninvolved or sedentary. In fact, it plainly goes on to instruct us to work with our hands. As I meditated on this verse and working with my hands, the idea of cultivating popped into my mind. Cultivate? Why am I thinking of cultivating as I try to plan my quiet life? I did a word search in the bible and came across Hebrews 6:7. 

Hebrews 6:7
For land that has drunk the rain that often falls on it, and produces a crop useful to those for whose sake it is cultivated, receives a blessing from God.

Was I cultivating a crop that was useful for those around me? That is, was I at all working at or trying to grow in Christ that I might develop and live a life full to the measure of joy, contentment and love? Or was I sitting back, dreaming of the life I wanted, reading about the life I wanted to live, and watching movies about an ideal life that I failed to do the work God had placed before me. The work that would, in fact, bring me the quiet peace I so desperately sought. Obviously the answer is the latter or I wouldn't be writing this blog.  

You see I came to realize living a quiet life isn't about being not busy, having free time or having an idolized routine. When I work with my hands, when I joyfully embrace what the day brings, when I seek to build a life centered on Christ and take action to create a crop, an environment, that is a blessing to those around me, the noise in my mind stops. When I am focused on others instead of my negative self-talk, when I am serving rather than waiting to be served, when I am creating a life that brings me joy rather than coveting someone elses' joy, all the chatter and the world's temptations get quiet. Shhh. Can you hear it? It's the sound of silence; it's the sound of a quiet life. 


  

Members Only

When we moved to Lubbock we agreed we were going to join a gym. I had been working out fairly regularly in Arizona whether hiking, yoga, running or even just an exercise video off Netflix. I would, of course, lament the fact that I didn't have a "regular" schedule and always feel like I should be doing more. In fact for a few crazy weeks I was working out twice a day. An unhealthy practice for me on many different levels.

Anyway, we heard about a gym in Lubbock that had two pools for the kiddos, a rock wall, kids' gym, etc. It sounded perfect and we made the appointment to sign on the dotted line and become members. It was going to cost us $110 per month. That may not seem like a huge amount, but in our financial world it is 25% of our grocery budget. Ouch. I wasn't even at the gym yet and I was already in pain. Although we didn't say anything to each other initially, in the week leading up to our signing appointment Erik and I each had reservations about the time and financial commitment we were preparing to make. He was already working long days, sometimes not getting home until 8:30. I was balancing school for the girls, unpacking a home, adjusting to a new city and trying to squeeze in a few meetings and lunches with my new church family. We knew this was what it was going to be like in the first few weeks, maybe months, of our life in Lubbock. We were not only prepared for the demands on our schedule, we were excited and looking forward to the same. What a joy to see my husband wake excited for work each day and loving the work he was doing. It was fun to discover a new city and new routines with my girls as we navigated this interstate move together. However, I feared adding another time commitment to our life right now could cost us more than the membership fee each month. 

Ultimately we discussed joining a gym and realized that, for us, in doing so we would be poor stewards of our resources, namely our time and money.  Although I knew we were making the right decision, I was disappointed. An hour all to myself to workout uninterrupted has it's appeal, you know? But, my bigger disappointment, if I am brutally honest, was that I would not have the facilities necessary to finally achieve the flat abs and thin thighs I so desired to take on our vacation this summer. I would like to tell you that my desire to join a gym stemmed from my lofty goals of caring for the body that God gave me and to set a healthy example for my daughters. If I told you that though, I would not only be prideful, I'd be a liar too. No, it was not caring for the temple that houses the Holy Spirit that drove me to want to me a member of a gym, it was the temptation to be a member of the world wherein you are not valuable if you are not a perfect physical specimen. In His great mercy and infinite wisdom, God taught me a lesson and provided a way for me to resist temptation with an answer I rarely like to receive to prayer: No. 

So, now what? Do I start an extreme exercise regimen at home? Cut out all my carbs to offset my lack of treadmill availability?  Or do I simply give up, eat junk and resign to the fact that health will come later when I have more money? Um yeah, pretty sweet example for my girls, I know. Or, is this a prime opportunity to show them that health happens in their everyday life? Could it be that caring for our bodies is a daily act of worship that comes through our normal food and activity choices? On the day we were supposed to join a gym we actually spent three hours doing some pretty grueling yard work. We vacuumed and mopped the floors and folded a few buckets of laundry. We even found time to share a meal at the table of fresh sandwiches and awesome conversation. The girls and I walk Bella up to a pond near our home and play at the park. Erik is going to start playing basketball with men from our church each week and hopefully find time to golf. Today we had sandwiches and salads for lunch. And guess what? We aren't panicking about trying to find time to go to a gym to workout. We aren't even counting calories or cutting carbs (yay!!). We are simply making better choices, each day, each moment, in an act of worship and gratitude for this life we are privileged to live. 

I'm not saying that gym memberships are evil and that I will never join one. I may even still do an exercise video now and then. I guess what I am saying is that for me, for now, my "workouts" are happening in my daily routine. "Health" is happening when my daughters pick a new fruit to try or offer to make me a gourmet lunch of salad and fresh baked bread (yes, they really did this.) I want them to know that just as church isn't something that happens once a week on Sundays, health isn't something that happens once a day in a gym. I want physical activity to be their norm, and not some manufactured routine they couldn't fit into their day.  

So, alas, we are not members of a gym. But, I have discovered simply being a  member of God's family and taking care of my own family provides infinite opportunity for strength, growth and a steady diet of daily bread.

In His Service,

Back Home

We are finally getting settled in our new home in Lubbock, Texas. We are quickly getting acquainted with all things Lubbock and have received definitive answers to the following questions:

Are people in West Texas really as nice as everyone claims?
No. They are nicer, by a long shot. (See how I'm already using some western lingo - nice, right?)

Can it really be that windy?
No. It is windier. (Is windier a word or should I say more windy? Somehow when I right 'windier' I feel like I'm describing a country road that curves a lot.)

How will the kiddos adjust?
Considering we've already had a sleepover and are making dinner plans with their new friends, I'd say they're transitioning well. Perhaps I can shave a couple years off the therapy sessions for which we save...

All in all, the move has gone well and it is starting to feel like home rather than an extended vacation. Not to the dog, though. I'm pretty sure she's waiting for us to go back home. I'm trying to resist using the phrase "back home."  When I say that it makes Texas sound temporary and somehow not worthy of being called home. So, while Arizona was home (and a great one), this is home.

It's home because we're here. Wherever we are, when the four of us (five, sorry Bella) are all together, we're home. So when we arrived at our new house on that first day in Lubbock, we were "back home." Okay, I'm tired of the word home. Let's move on.

Random Thought Time (RTT):

We don't have cable here. I used to say we didn't have cable in Arizona but that wasn't exactly true. We had 23 channels, mostly so I would have access to Fox, CBS, and NBC during football season and PBS for my Doc Martin addiction.    But here, when I say we don't have cable, I am being truthful. We did by an antenna (I'll wait until you get back in your chair from laughing so hard) for sixty bucks and we got...drum roll please: one channel. At least it is NBC so we get some news in the morning. I was missing Matt Lauer.
Matt + coffee = tolerable mornings.

We do have Netflix and through this happy medium I have discovered two new favorite shows. My first is Take Home Chef with Curtis Stone. Have you seen this? You must. Curtis, an Aussie chef, approaches people in the supermarket and offers to buy their groceries and help them cook dinner to surprise a special someone in their life. I like it because I like listening to him talk. I like it because the episodes are only 20 minutes - easy to squeeze one in while I fold laundry. I like it because he makes stuff I will never in a million years cook for my family.  But, during one brief episode I imagine that I will in fact start buying fresh groceries everyday and make seared swordfish over sauteed fennel with layered chocolate mousse and creme brulee for dessert. Because, how hard could it be? Then the episode ends and I remember to put my hotdish into the oven.

My other favorite show is The Last American Cowboy. If you think you have a really hard job or your day with the kiddos has been extremely exhausting, watch this show. If, at the end, you don't feel like you have it pretty darn easy,  you must have the worst job ever. Because unless you are birthing 20 calves and shoveling poop in a blizzard, you, like me, live close to luxury my friend. This show chronicles three ranchers in Montana and brilliantly displays both the brutality and attractiveness of a simple life lived off the land. Note I said simple - not easy. While this show makes me appreciate my life, it also inspires me to work harder and do more with my day. I feel silly when I say I ran out of time to do yard work or squeeze in a workout when there are families who work sunup to sundown to put food on the table. 

Well, that's all for now. My new couches will arrive on Friday at which time I will finally post pictures of our new Texas digs. BTW - I am writing today in my new studio. Okay, from 10-3 it's a school house, but after they leave I am happy to call it a studio where I can write, sew, scrapbook, etc. OMGosh, I kind of feel like a real crafter/artist. HeeHee

Until next time y'all! (I did it again, did you catch it?)

In His Service,  

Hello Goodbye

This is the current state of my living room. More importantly, and I am slightly embarrassed to admit as much: this is the cleanest and most organized my home has been in a long time.
























Ok, I digress. Anyway, I have redecorated in cardboard not in a misguided attempt at minimalist, modern home decor, but because we are moving. To Texas.  In a week. Cue hyperventilation. End scene.

We are actually quite excited to move to Lubbock, Texas so my husband can begin his new hob as an associate pastor at Raintree Christian Church.  Even the girlies are counting down the days. Their excitement was of course subsequent to the required crying and requisite guilt trip for ruining their entire life by ripping them away from all of their friends. Five minutes later they were asking how big their rooms would be and could we go any sooner.  But, it's often that way for kids, isn't it?  The pain of goodbye gets so quickly and easily eclipsed by the excitement of hello.  The girls have completely embraced the idea of moving. It's a joy to see  all of the fears which normally accompany a huge change like this have not overshadowed their exuberance and gleeful anticipation.

I had a glimpse of my nine-year-old's outlook and wisdom the other night at dinner when we had the following conversation:

Erik: So they (friends of ours) wanted to know if we were going to put you in school to help you make friends.

Jilly: Why?

Erik: I guess because it's a new place and you won't know anybody right away.

Jilly: Ok, but school can't make friends for you. You have to do that yourself.

The proper response in our house to such a wise beyond her years remark is as follows: Place right hand on right side of your head. Make the blowing up sound and accompanying hand jester. Because, yeah, she blows our minds.

But, Jilly is spot on the mark. Fear is not trusting God to provide wonderful opportunities and not trusting yourself to have the courage to seize those opportunities. Jilly knows God will bring friends into her life. She also knows, she's going to have to put forth some effort to make friends.

Erik's grandfather, who became a very dear and precious man in my life, told me the first night I met him to never say goodbye. Goodbye was too final, he said. Instead, it was, "See you later."  In fact,  the last time I saw him, just before he passed away, the last thing I said to him was, "See you later." So it is with the goodbyes I must say in a week. They are not forever goodbyes. They are simply a see you later in which the later is just a little further off.

And the hellos? Well, often those can be even scarier can't they? But for me, it is hello to a whole new set of friends, opportunities and possibilities. And maybe, just maybe, hello more regular blogs posts. Well, let's not get ahead of ourselves.

So, Hello, Lubbock. And to all of our friends and family we leave behind...

See you later.

 

Oh, Hey, I Didn't Even See You There

The thief comes only to steal and kill and destroy; I have come that they may have life, and have it to the full. John 10:10

You know what we had to do today? We had to have a picnic, by our pool, sipping on freshly brewed sun tea and chowing on homemade egg salad sandwiches. We had to do our daily lessons outside, by the water. We had to do this. Why? Because when God provides you with an 80 degree day on January 2, you don't tell Him no. You don't say, "Nicely done, God. Good on ya! But, unfortunately I must sit inside and stare at my computer, tv, walls (if that's your thing) and I will have to catch up on your abundant blessings another day." That's ludicrous, right? The correct answer is yes. It is ludicrous because our only have to, ever, should be saying yes to God.  But, how do we say yes to someone we don't recognize and can't hear?

Jilly -- working hard by the pool

Our classroom

Emma--doing her "home" work

There's a line from one of my favorite movies, Sleepless in Seattle, where the father, having just said something inappropriate notices his son standing at the door, listening. He asks his son, "How long have you been standing there?"  His son replies, "Forever."  I do this with Jesus.Whether it's a glorious feeling that washes over me and I finally take notice of the presence of God and dare to ask, "How long have you been there?"  Forever. Or perhaps it's in my darkest moments of shame when, through tears, I whisper, "How long have you been there?" Forever. In the business of my everyday life, as I choose me over Him, my ability to recognize Him diminishes and ultimately fails. I don't see that He is in the sunshine that beckons us to come outside. I don't hear Him in the laughter of my children as they beg me to read one more chapter or play one more game. I don't feel Him in the gentleness of my husband's kiss as he tries desperately to distract me from making dinner. Each moment I choose important instead of more important is a moment when I haven't noticed that it is Jesus calling, madly in love with me, trying to get me to notice Him. I've missed out on the fullness of life He promised and, indeed, on the very fullness of Christ himself.

This year, my only resolution is to look and listen for Jesus, everywhere, that I might say yes to His promptings, yes to Him. Life is full, to the measure, with rich and abundant blessings that I miss all too often. As I recently looked at pictures of our Christmas festivities, guess what I found? He was there in every picture, and to think I almost didn't notice. Just take a look where I found Him.

He was . . .

under the mistletoe.

in her smile.

in her courage.

in their love for one another.

in the warmth of a hug from your sister on a chilly Zoolights trip.

in our blessings.

in my home.

May you have a blessed new year and may you recognize and enjoy the fullness of Christ in the simple pleasures of everyday that He provides.

In His Service,