Bravery

I see others being brave all around me. Stepping out. Traveling the world, fighting cancer, funding a huge campaign. They are truly brave things. Things to be admired and affirmed and encouraged.

"You're so brave!" we proclaim. All the while, internally, assessing our own lives as if to hide the honest feelings of being sub-par.

I'm in a season of stepping out - being bold, a little more public than before, taking on risks. It's scary, and yes, it takes bravery and guts.

"Wow, your life sure has changed!" a friend commented over lunch. Initially, I felt insecure. Was I being judged? Do others see these changes as good ones? Am I out of balance already? Maybe I shouldn't be here, be doing these things and not doing others, and maybe I have it all wrong.

Yet as I reflect back, I can recall a lifetime of brave moments. Most of them, no one saw. They were brave moments in the silence, alone, full of fear. Shaky, but brave nonetheless.

I have a hunch you have those too. Your bravery is not highlighted or sparkly or acclaimed. Your bravery is quiet, personal, hard.

You're brave to wake up and get up, when you're exhausted, and do the hard things. To scrub poop out of the carpet as you potty train, to stay in budget, to hold your tongue, to affirm someone, to give secretly, to forgive a deep wound, to survive a trauma, to dare to love again, to not give up on hope, to eat something gross you know is good for you, to drive home instead of making a Target run. Brave is happening all over, and every last one of us prays it's not in vain.

Shauna Neiquist describes it perfectly...

"Brave doesn't always involve grand gestures.

Sometimes brave looks more like staying when you want to leave, telling the truth when all you want to do is change the subject.

Sometimes obedience means climbing a mountain, sometimes obedience means staying home. Sometimes brave looks like building something big and shiny. Sometimes it means dismantling a machine that threatened to overshadow much more important things.

We're addicted to big and sweeping, and photo-ready - crossing oceans, to be heard and seen and known and sometimes comes at a cost, and sometimes the most beautiful things we do are invisible, unsexy.

Brave is listening instead of talking. Brave is articulating my feelings, especially when the feelings are sad or scared or fragile instead of confident or happy or light.

Sometimes being brave is being quiet. Being brave is getting off the drug of performance."

That struck me. The drug of performance. Even if you aren't a people pleaser by nature, we all want to perform well. To get the "outstanding accomplishments" plaque hung up in the office of our community (or even Heaven) with our name pressed into the brass.

But it's a drug. A temporary high. Shortly the hype dies down and we search for the next seemingly big or brave break we can make to feel valuable again.

For me, bravery has been a journey. The bravest things I've done lately have actually been things I haven't done.

I'm a responsibility addict, a recovering one, I pray. The bravest things I've done lately involve letting go.

I let go of my fears and sent 3 kids to school. I was afraid I wasn't being all I "should" be (dangerous phrase - watch for it). Come to find out, they have amazing teachers that know them and pour into them and make learning fun again. Their knowledge is skyrocketing, because turns out Williamson County's education standards are some of the highest in the nation. I can skip through the sunflower fields that I don't have to go to another curriculum fair torture chamber of hell again. I can be happy mom with hugs and snacks when they get off that bus in the afternoon, instead of frazzled yelling and crying mom at 11:23am anymore.

I hired a house cleaner once a month. I was afraid it wouldn't be clean the way I would do it. Then I came home and saw my toilet paper made into the shape of rosettes. Nope. Fear obliterated.

I used plated.com and Kroger clicklist to accomplish my family food needs. Did you know the world would keep spinning if someone else pushed a shopping cart through the store for you!? Imagine that bravery.

I let my kids do more chores. Yep. The laundry and dishes and organizing isn't done to my OCD fancy, and a pair of workout leggings may or may not have been shrunk enough to fit my toddler, but ya know what, it's getting done. And society will thank me for raising more responsible adults one day.

I gave my marriage space. I quit trying to rescue, fix, help, and fill all the holes. I decided the Holy Spirit was in fact, capable of all that and more. I could pray for, encourage, and love my husband, but the Lord made it so clear that I needed to step aside and give them some man time. Turns out Jesus and David make a great team.

I didn't run anymore. Run my life, run away, run fast. I was always go-go-go and there was a reason. The stillness was uncomfortable. It forced me to stop, think, feel. And truth is, I didn't want to. There was a lot to unpack and ain't nobody got time for dat. There were needs to meet, people to help, a life to be lived! But turns out when you run on fumes eventually you ka-phut. To a halt. You can't pour out what you don't have. Stillness and self care are lifelines. Jesus and truth and writing and reading are soothing balms to the weary wounds of this life. So I'm making baby steps on that one now days. It's becoming my new drug.

The one thing I actually did do was learn a new language - the language with only one word in it: N-O. Ahhh. The most freeing 2 letter word. For so long I feared it. How it would hurt or let someone down. How maybe I wouldn't help the or rescue them or make them feel good about themselves. How maybe they wouldn't be able to handle that crisis or question or celebration without me. Guess what? I'm not as important as I thought. Nobody died. I cringed at the first few texts or phone calls or conversations I had to send. But it's like working out a muscle, it gets stronger as you go. Now I fling out "no" like I'm throwing candy to the masses in the Macy's Thanksgiving day parade.

What are your brave moves? Or has it been a while since you let yourself be proud of your falling short. We are a culture that is afraid to fail well. To see what isn't working or isn't serving us and walk away. To see the small victories and the silent courage as doing big things that matter.

"The words tough, responsible, and should have never led me to life and wholeness...

It's about rejecting the myth that everyday is a new opportunity to prove our worth, and about the truth that our worth is inherent, given by God, not earned by our hustling." - S. Neiquist

Go be brave. Do the small things with great courage. Get off the crazy bus of earning, striving, should, and tough. Stop looking for your name in lights, and see that it already is - by your everyday acts of bravery and kindness and self-care.

I want to like you, December...

I want to like you, December. Truly I do. And you are definitely upping your game this year to try and win me over, with your surprising warm-weather charms.

I know it's the time for family and friends and reaching out to those less fortunate and taking a little extra time to love and care.

Yet somehow, every year, I get starry-eyed dreams of making this year different and somehow, it all ends up like a piled up jumble of tree lights thrown in a plastic green bin.

I have great plans of weekly advent readings and cozy fireside contemplative journaling and cute seasonal crafts with my kids and giving plates brimming with an array of homemade goodies to every friend and neighbor and service provider I know. I plan to scour TJMaxx and add a few new meaningful pieces to my much-lacking Christmas decor collection. I am going to host a Christmas party! YES this is the year. A bangin’ swingin’ good time party. Maybe a dressed up cocktail party or ugly christmas sweater. I haven’t decided. I will record all the christmas shows and we will cuddle with the kids and watch them nightly while eating freshly baked goods with zero calories. I will buy thoughtful gifts - not just cheesy marketed crap - but locally crafted gifts that give back and wrap them up in brown paper and twine with a fresh sprig of balsam. I will take the kids to several Christmas concerts and plays and outdoor live nativity scenes and bethlehem walks and festivals! David and I will have a couple romantic dinner dates, shopping for stocking stuffers and enjoying holiday cocktails. It will be the culmination of all the joy throughout the year packed into one single month! Hark, the herald angels singggggggggg!

In reality, no.

This year is the flop of all flops. For starters the kids somehow found the bins of green while I was gone one day and “decorated” the house on their own. Which is sweet, but a)I was bummed I missed out on the magic of watching them do that and b)it looks like my house threw up christmas dollar general and c)the tree is only partially decorated from the half down and on one side and only has one pathetically thrown on strand of white lights. It also has not been watered. And is dying a slow and painful dry death. The days were crazy following and I had all the intentions in the world of actually decorating but by the time the month’s days got into the double digits I thought “what the heck, Christmas is almost over” and put the lids on the green bins and hauled them out to the garage and called it “decorated.”

I decided early in the month I would SIMPLIFY. Yes, simplify. Choose commitments wisely. Yet somehow every day in my planner had scribbles on it from dawn till dusk and I just found myself bouncing from one event to another, meanwhile nursing a constant cold due to pure exhaustion. 3 kids class parties, hosting events, church functions, fitness classes… it just never stopped. Which is why suddenly every dinner hour had me going “oh yeah…. dinner” and in a spirit of pure panic I either concocted a black bean quinoa one pot dish or gave up entirely and resorted to leftovers (until those ran out and it became take out).

In my defense, two things totally threw me for a loop this month.

First off, BRACES. No matter that I’m 31, jaw shifting is no respecter of persons and it happened. When I would try and talk sometimes and my jaw would  lock up.  Well, if you know me, you know what a tragedy that is. So they loaded up my mouth with these metal brackets that weigh 5,000 lbs and make speed eating hard and trap 55% of your food intake in the front braces. It also added 20 min to my bedtime routine, which has made going to bed difficult. It was already hard enough, seeing as  nighttime equates parental morsels of sanity and it is not so easily relinquished. But now knowing I have a date with a water flosser, a needle and thread flosser, fluoride, and mechanical toothbrush, I procrastinate as long as possible. New bedtime: between 12pm-1am. So great for my health and sanity, I assure you.

It also makes you feel super sexy. As in, you don’t want anyone close to your mouth and kissing seems like a chore. Also great for marital relations. Which is precisely why I’m using this mouth version of the chastity belt as my tactic of choice for preserving my high schoolers when the time comes. Make no bones about it, Momma has gone before and knows how to keep your wayward puckers tightly sealed and your focus turned to prayers for the day of metal mouth liberation.

Second off, BABY DOG. AKA UN-TRAINED PUPPY.

I am bored. Very bored. So please insert a peeing, chewing, barking, nipping dog into my life. Just to liven it up a bit. I also greatly lack human contact and needs to service, so I would love to add this element into my day. When the big girls are home from school, it’s their job to clean up the poop piles on my carpet and salvage my favorite boots from being chewed up and feed and water and play with and take outside the pup. But Mon-Fri 8:30-4 guess who’s job it is!?? Mine. Bored ole mom’s job MINE. Don’t get me wrong. He is cute and furry. And cuddly when he is bored with his lack of potty training and chewing needs, so I will just in my spare time research how to train a dog and care for him properly. Please, hand me pamphlets of the happy family running in a field with their dog. Nothing would thrill me more.

But other than that, it’s Christmas as usual. So I decide to focus my energies on serving our community. I’m sick sick sick of our privileged and sheltered life and want to get out there and get my hands dirty and be a missionary on my own field in Franklin. So I fill out every application to serve I can find for the holidays: help serve at an holiday mart for needy families, take a meal to an underprivileged family and host an open house for our neighborhood.

It all sounds so noble. And I truly am excited. I will forfeit the energy of shopping for gifts for us and instead pour it into this.

But first, there’s a babysitter that must be found for the younger 2 while we serve. Once that is finally acquired after a bajillion hours of effort, we go, and sit through orientation while I practically pass out in exhaustion because it's the first time I’ve stood still all day. But when we got assigned to our first family, a sweet little Mexican family with 3 kids, and helped them shop and then the mom opens up to me about her only daughter having an inoperable brain tumor and I cry with her as she says “but God love us,” I think, ok. This. This is it. The world stands still and this is Christmas and brokenness and connecting with those hurting and in need and what matters…

It lasts 5 seconds. Then we get assigned our next family of 2 old old old hardened grandmas that “don’t want no help from no high-class christians” and we try to love them but not be obnoxious as they shop for their 13 grandchildren it's just HARD. And strange. We don’t want to be cheesy but we want to connect but they won’t let us in. It’s ok. We still gave our best.

Afterward we decide to take the 2 big girls out on a big kid dinner date and it turns into a major realization that I have failed to train my 2nd born about manners entirely and we leave the restaurant and I end up in full-on mom manners training bootcamp mode in the minivan in the garage at 9pm and wonder where the heck I went wrong in my parenting.

Then we try and try to contact the family we are supposed to take a meal to and don’t hear back so we decide to take it to the sweet mexican family we met at the gift mart. I keep planning to go to the grocery store but it’s like the Mt. Everest I have to climb and just doesn’t happen so I call Cracker Barrel in desperation and order a full Christmas meal to go. We finally hear back from the other family we were supposed to take the meal to in the first place so I call back to make it 2 meals to go, but change the meat to fried chicken, per request. Then Dave informs me he has a house closing at precisely the time we are supposed to be delivering so I call back to re-arrange all the meal pick up and the drop off families to accommodate.

The day comes to take them the meal and lo and behold, the reason Eisley was up all night and crying and wallowing in our bed was nothing other than glorious hand, foot, and mouth disease or a bad case of some time of reaction to something she ate or handled…? Still unsure on that one. Either way, she’s miserable. David is in the midst of renovating our laundry room so the house is torn up and I’m trying to hold Eisley on one hip and instruct the girls on how to help me bake 6 dozen cookies of 4 different types for the open house the next day. After about 20 min of this I finally declare it Mickey Mouse Clubhouse tv time for Eisley and have my big girls babysitting her so I can finish my Mrs Claus efforts.

In between this I dash out the door for a business meeting because in the midst of it all I’m working on a business deal. YUP. Again, it’s the boredom thing. I’m really hopeful/excited about this but it’s just taking up a lot of mental space and research and emotion right now. I’m texting and calling and studying and just having lots of feels about it all. Trying to keep my head in the game and not let my emotions run with me. Just another element.

We head out to deliver the meals and have 2 hours of driving ahead of us and poor Eisley is screaming to death and grabbing her tongue frantically. I tried giving her a vitamin C sucker but she is just sitting there holding the sucker and screaming. A sight never recorded in the history of mankind. I mean, have you ever seen a kid holding a big juicy sucker and screaming? No, the screaming comes when they are holding the white stick and the sucker is gone. Yes, that I have witnessed. But this, never. Bless her. I knew it must be bad. I throw all my holistic ways to the wind and tell David “we just need to pull into McDonald’s and get her a milkshake… anything that feels cool on her tongue and helps numb it a little bit.” So we do that and for 5 glorious minutes it's silent. Bless be.

We pull into the duplex drive way and take food into this sweet family. Flora is there with her 3 kids and they all live in a house the size of our living area. I’m humbled and broken by their sweet smiles and heartfelt Christmas decorations and welcoming arms. We load up their table with food and Flora hugs me and whispers “thank you Jesus.” I just start praying for them while she hugs me and feel my heart flood with all kinds of feelings. I’m so thankful to know them and pray we can be in their lives and thank God they are in ours. Lord knows my kids need a reality check. (Is it bad that is where my brain goes? “Lord bop my kids on the head with how filthy blessed they are, bringing about a spirit of overflowing gratitude and lack of entitlement?” Sigh, mom tactics never cease….)

As soon as we get back in the car the milkshake has ended and the GPS is saying a 40 min drive to the next house.

Screaming. Screaming. Screaming.

We arrive and David gets out with the big girls to take the meal in as I try and console baby girl. The house looks nice, actually, and they seem to be having some sort of get together. Once he gets the meal in, the lady from across the street says “well, where is my box.” When David relays the story to me I cannot tell you un-christian thoughts running through my mind regarding white trash, handout entitlement, moochers, and freeloaders.  So I will keep them to myself.

By now it's 7pm and everyone is past the line of hungry and we are into hangryville and decide to break ALL rules and run through Sonic and let kids eat in the van (a family rule we do not break even on road trips, but this night is special. Reallllllll special).

We get home, lasso kids in baths and pjs and medicine and teeth brushing and get them all settled, then look at each other in exhaustion and David says “I want a burger. I’m ordering one from Chili’s to-go, do you want one.” I was just going to drink wine for dinner, but sure. At this point I will find a way to chew beef, even if I wear half of it in my front brackets and have to add an extra level of flossing. It’s worth it. BRING THE BEEF.

We sit on the couch in front of the tv and eat and mindlessly watch “My Unusual Inheritance.” A super lame show about some ancient chinese art but who even cares at this point? Everything is lame considering our life is a high-speed chase full of adrenaline rush, plot twists, and the least expected.

To add to the glories, David and I have been in a yucky season. His mom died right before Christmas so it’s always hard for him. I try and be understanding and caring and patient, but he really struggles around Christmastime. It’s an extra hard layer to it all. We had a big fight a few weeks ago, something we rarely do, but there’s a lot of elements involved and it’s just not pretty. I’m being totally vulnerable to throw this out there but listen yall, if you’re married you know, IT’S FLIPPIN HARD WORK. It isn’t pretty. It’s rarely how you dream it will be. It’s a bunch of ole sinbags in desperate need of constant Holy Spirit filling! And if you’re not married, allow me to be the friend that wraps my arm around your shoulder and says “psst. Listen here. He’s no prince charming. You’re way more screwed up than you care to believe! It’s gonna suuuuuuck. Reality check! You’re welcome.”

I’m not trying to be all gloom and doom. Marriage is great too. We love each other and are committed and have a good thing going, But YO, you just caught me in December and you’re starting to see how that usually goes for me.

Facebook makes me mad because I just see pictures of everyone all dressed up going to fancy dinner parties and holiday events in a cocktail dress and I don’t even own one because I have no reason to unfortunately. I want to have an entirely first-world-problems pity party for myself that I am spending the entire month in my workout clothes or pjs. Then I remember Flora and her family and feel incredibly lame. UGH. Insert more yucky feels as my black Jesus-needing heart is exposed.

I’m sitting home from church this morning with baby girl and just desperately longing for peace and gratitude. Peace in my soul that Emmanuel is here. He is with us. With me.That when nothing is cracked up like it’s “supposed” to be that it’s ok. He sees our efforts and desires, and it matters to Him. Even when we fail or screw up and are needy, He offers redemption. Every year I do my best to “redeem Christmas” but maybe that’s the problem. I always want to fix things and make it all better. Maybe He just wants me to let it be broken and messy and sit in the midst of that with us.

So I will close the laptop and go finish twisting together red and white dough to make candy cane cookies and start cleaning my house that is entirely bombed out, because in 4.5 hours an estimated 125 neighbors may pass through here. My house will be picked up but not clean, we will not have the outside of the house thoughtfully decorated like I had hoped, and I don’t think I bought enough ingredients for hot chocolate. But somehow, in our humanity, I want God to be the beauty that shines through the desperately broken places in our family. Maybe we can connect, love them, show we at least care. I’m disappointed we aren’t the glowing humans I always thought our family would be, but the truth is we are all lost needing a Shepard. Isn’t that why He came?

This Christmas I’m gonna be broken. It sounds noble, but I’m really just stating a fact. My heart fills with immense gratitude that he was born in the midst of barn animals with the intention of bringing hope to my lost heart. That he came down to connect with a needy people. He is not surprised by our broken places. He is not appalled at our lack. He is fully aware of it, and fully caring. He does not have judgement for us, but arms to embrace.

Gosh, that’s a relief to my soul. I feel I am a disappointment and let Him down at every turn. But He’s a good, good Father and pulls me in with a warm hug.

Free yourself this Christmas from all that you aren’t and fall into all that He is.

Expect Things to Be Great

You’ve heard it a lot: expect great things. Which is great. It’s hopeful. Like win the lottery hopeful. I grew up in a true christian home, so of course we didn’t gamble or play the lottery. BUT. I used to daydream that maybe one day I would find a random abandoned ticket in a parking lot, and just happen to be in the room when my parents turned on the evening news at the precise moment they were picking the power-ball numbers. I envisioned standing in the corner of the living room behind the couch, carefully pulling the crumpled up ticket out of my faded blue jean pocket and unfolding it. Then I slowly tracked with the announcer, number after number, until - to my utter shock, every last number matched!!! We could claim our rightful prize and hightail it out of that mobile home to a mansion in the city,complete with horses, servants, 2 swimming pools, and anything to drive other than a station wagon! All guilt free, of course, because after all, I was just an innocent by-walker to a lotto ticket I didn’t dare purchase because of my religious convictions. Yet I would gladly reap the reward of someone else’s folly. Truly twisted, if you think about it…

I digress.

The point is, we have been told a lot to expect great things. If you think it, dream it, hope it and close your eyes tight enough with a good dose of pixie dust sprinkled upon you, the cosmic blessings will reign down on you!

Then there is reality.

You can hope and wish and dream and even put in the brain and brawn and elbow grease and long hours and hustle and still smack into a wall and break your nose. It doesn’t mean you lost. It means you hit reality.

It’s at this point you either quit and give up and become a narcissistic Nancy Negative or you keep pushing and trying.

Oh the Nancy’s of this life that just eeeeeeeeeeeverything bad happens to them. Always. Their plight is the worst. And it keeps getting worse-est-er. (yes I made that up. It’s the only descriptive accurate enough). They are the only ones that ever have sick kids, back pain, job loss, budgets, frizzy hair, insurance fraud, PMS, brown avocados, flat tires, diaper leaks, frozen pipes, or unexplained skin rashes. It’s just always so flipping bad.

Parents are the worst, it seems. They are the only parents on the planet that have a kid with acid reflux this bad. Or that has a kid with this many food sensitivities. Or that has a child that just won’t sleep train like the entire rest of the planet’s children. Or that is this difficult to train and in need of supernatural intervention. They are the only parents that are giving their all to do their all and it’s all getting thrown in their face in the form of a squishy screaming tyrant throwing sweet potatoes across the table with a plastic miniature spoon.

Bless their hearts.

But non-kid people and singles do it too. The “where is my amazing future calling” and why isn’t it gloriously revealed to me now? Where is my amazing godly yet wild and edgy and adventurous and hot spouse? Weren’t they going to be dropped in my lap after I prayed for an hour by my bed late at night in true Paying Hyde fashion? They are the only ones not married among their friends. Not famous enough. Not doing enough. Not pretty or handsome enough. Not progressive or artsy or edgy or hipster enough.The only ones with a sucky family back story. Or maybe they are married but why isn’t it as cool as everyone made it sound? We miss the honeymoon phase! Or we never had the honeymoon phase. Did I marry the wrong person? Life is bleak. I gained 10lbs on that honeymoon cruise with the 24 hour ice cream and pizza buffet and flowing cocktails. My husband will never have eyes for just me anymore. We should get a dog. Shouldn’t we get a dog? That will make us a real family. But wait, we need to buy a house! Apartment living is for fake adults, we need to do this thing for real! Prove we are owning this new family life! Climbing the ladder. But I hate my job. I really need to look into something else. But we need it for the insurance. We may try to get pregnant. But what if we can't? What if we struggle with fertility issues? Will I feel left behind all my friends popping out babies like they are bouncy ball vending machines! If we wait too long to try, will we be too old? Will I even be able to run around the yard and play ball with my kid? Or will I be hobbling and have to hire a nanny? Can we even afford a nanny? We need to set up a savings account for that now….

And so it goes. Life is ticking on by and so are all your fears and disappointments and letdowns and shattered dreams.

I was at a mom’s group the other morning. Well, I use that term super loosely. Basically we are a bunch of mom’s gathering in whatever we managed to scrounge around and find that was clean, gathering in a circle, sitting in chairs. Just to paint the picture. Real life, folks. Which I dig. As we talked about gospel-centered living in our everyday, one girl spoke up and said something to this effect: “We are trying to be super intentional about what we let in. What we choose to believe people tell us about this season. Everyone is saying now that I’ve had my second baby ‘oh, these are the toughest years. It’ll be a miracle if you remember it. Or ever live to tell about it.’ And ya know, we just don’t want to live that way. Sure, it has it’s challenges, but we are expecting things to be great. And the more we have done that, the more we have enjoyed the journey.”

My heart gasped and I thought yes sweet Jesus!!! That is it. What would it look like if we lived that way? Not expecting great things, but expecting things to be great. Squeezing whatever we could out of whatever we had before us in that moment, and constantly offering it up to Jesus to sift through it, tossing the chaff to the wind and keeping the golden grains of goodness to pour upon our heads in beauty.

You know what though? This requires something. Actually, it means there is no room for this one thing: fear. You cannot live in fear and expect things to be great. Fear causes you to brace - brace for the negative, the perilous “just around the corner” tragedy. It holds you back from being free to enjoy the moment because you’re scared it may be taken from you the next.

As we think in our hearts, so we are. We have to renew our minds with truth. The truth? God has given you the abundance of His riches and longs to see you flourish. Life will not be a bowl of cherries, a bed of roses, or whatever corny idiom you want to come up with. But if you chose to live fearlessly, you will expect things to be great.

This morning the weather was spot on, a beautiful breeze and a hint of fall in the air. We got up and decided we were going to take everyone for a hike! Great idea, the kids will be pumped! After the initial excitement, we were met with one wardrobe meltdown, one whiny child, one with a misplaced blanket (and tears ensued), one turn around to go back home and get something we forgot, one empty tank of gas, two restaurants that could no way within the next year seat a family of 6 for breakfast, ten cars in front of us in the Starbucks line, one kid that totally forgot shoes, one trip to goodwill to try on 8 different pair of shoes until we found one that semi-fit, five people in line ahead of us while one very, very old and meticulous man checked us all out for 30 minutes, four people hitting up Kroger to scramble for food, and a family of six sitting on the ground on the sidewalk by an abandoned hotel eating oranges, dry cereal, and mini muffins out of desperation at 10:00am.

I’m sitting there sipping my coffee and thinking to myself “Wow. Quite the epic family hike in the woods I was dreaming of this morning! Why does everything have to be such a flippin circus act?!”

I wanted to pout. The kids were arguing over who ate the most poppy seed muffins and I just wanted to crawl in a hole and die. My mind drifted off to just how glorious a week of being completely alone and doing whatever the heck I actually wanted to do with no disturbances sounded.

As I sat there I knew the battle was real. So very real. Real for my soul, my joy, and my choice to believe we were going to make things great. I sighed a prayer and sipped my warm coffee and smiled a genuine choice to live fearlessly.

We loaded in the car and headed off to the trail. It was fantastic. The weather was beautiful, the kids love to hike, the air was so fresh. We met an amazing couple that have gone ahead of us 10 years and have our same family grown up a bit and they just so encouraged and inspired us. Well, I was mostly inspired by her amazing physique and perfect skin, but the words she said about raising kids were good too.

We collected rocks and sticks and smushed bugs and created our own relay races. I tried to the teach the kids cool camp songs, but they looked at me funky and started singing Toby Mac in stead. My bad.

To be honest, we did have a poop blowout, leaky water bottle that made all the contents of my backpack swim, one bloody knee, some insect bites and a screaming 2 year old for 1 mile on the way back.

But. I chose to expect things would be great. And they were. We made great memories. We were in nature close to our Creator. We took a minute to breathe in our hectic lives. When we look back through our photo album of the Instagram photos of that day, we will smile. Like we always do when time has passed, with great warmness of heart and nostalgia, only remembering the good.

So can we just go ahead and remember the good now?

That’s what I’m asking God for. To renew my mind in His truth. To live fearlessly. And to expect things to be great.

Drunk on Jesus in the Hammock of Grace

Life lately has been messy.

Hold up. When isn't it!?

Fallen man, decrepit world, broken relationships, wounded hearts. Life is full of it. We are hurt and so we hurt, we feel unheard so we push away further, we are desperate so we take desperate measures, we have longings so we seek to fill the void. We all are playing the same broken record on repeat. Some reggae, some hard rock, some a bleeding violin solo, but same hopeless melody of need.

But Jesus.

If you don't know Him, I know you're feeling beyond hopeless and my heart aches for you. If you know a false version or a cheap imitation of His limitless love, you're drowning in a tragic sea of counterfeit and I know you're just so done. As you should be. 

I've tried to fix, to love, to heal, to sacrifice, to be big, to be strong... but as determined and headstrong as I am, I eventually run into a concrete wall. I collapse in exhaustion and find myself sitting in a puddle of my need and can only look up.

The Rescuer! I always meet Him there.

"In this world, you will have trouble. But take heart... I have overcome." Jn 16:33

This is where we get drunk on Jesus and climb into the hammock of grace. A rest for our souls as He tends to our hearts just like a Shepard does. He has fought all of our battles for us, claimed the trophy and says "Peace out, sugar pie. I did it so you don't have to. Be at rest."

Do we even hear those words?! 

"Return to your rest, my soul, for the Lord has been good to you." Ps 116:7

Where we really begin to see this sweet rest is when someone else's unrest bumps our hammock. Ya know, the person bulldozing right into you with a lawn mower of drama. They come full force, you go flying off, lemonade splashing to the air and your straw hat flying across the yard. All gets turned upside down and suddenly you're on the ground in a tizzy and you either want to sit and cry that your perfect peaceful moment was ruined or you want to chase them down with all the vengeance of every lecture Aunt B ever gave Opie, finger wagging and all, as your floral hips shuffle across the lawn on a mission to give them a piece of your mind!

But "He was moved with compassion." (Matt 14:14) When He saw us in all our broken neediness, He was moved with compassion.

I get that going from hurt and anger to compassion feels impossible sometimes.

David and I have been in a class on connections and understanding how the brain works. The book we are studying was written by a secular author, but it's fascinating how everything points to divine design. How we are wired, how our emotions and brains and chemicals in the body works is fascinating.

It also leads you to compassion. When you see that we all operate out of basic emotions - fear, anger, hurt, loneliness, shame, etc, you begin to look for the why behind why people do what they do. Surprise, surprise, they are broken too. Hurting. Needy. 

In our home we have been aware of our neediness a lot lately. 

It's a beautiful thing to surrender. 

You know what is just so dang cool?! He's got this. If you roll your eyes or you're fighting or screaming in exhaustion (as I have) then looks like we gave up the free ticket to peace. 

Dangit, how I wish it wasn't that simple. Then I wouldn't feel like such an idiot for living otherwise so often.

As Shauna Niequist put it so perfectly: "you were broken down and strange yesterday, and you still are today, and the only one freaked out about it is you."

He's not freaked out. He looks at you and sees Jesus in your stead.

So what does this do? Grace hammock. I end my classes a lot with "choose grace today for yourself and for others." Why? Simply because we can. Because of Jesus, we can.

Live in the leading of love. Whenever I get away from it all and shut the door to all the crazy and get off the loony bus, I find the one single thing that matters: love.

God says it's the greatest commandment. He can say that with full authority because He lived it. Chances are, if you can't love, you don't know you've been loved. Love makes us whole. It fills in the cracks and potholes of pain and loneliness and hurt and shame and creates a smooth surface for a story to be written upon.

Cultivate compassion. Live in the leading of love. Get drunk on Jesus and climb in the hammock of grace.

Pop this tune on and know all is well when we rest our souls in the shade tree of His victory.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EujkpJ6pAmo&list=RDEujkpJ6pAmo

Unnatural Living

I've been so wrecked this week by the fact that I like things to be how I like. 

I like the weather how I like... (oh gosh, that's a whole blog post on it's own, GOD BLESS IT) #humansagainstwinter

I like my kids to be how I want them to be (well behaved, peaceful, gracious, giving, kind, speakers of truth, basically perfect and reflections of everything I'm not). 

I like my marriage to be like a romance comedy full of gushy sweetness and closeness and the hot guy leaning in to say, "let me care for you, little lady."

I like my house to be the Pottery Barn catalog, where even the kid play areas are "polite cute messes" (not real life glitter colliding with play dough and cat food and cracker crumbs and torn out school papers).

I like friendships to be how I like it. No drama, no awkwardness, no hurt feelings, no jealousy, no comparison, no loneliness, no hurt.

I like my body to be how I like it - fit, no stretch marks wounds of war from baby bearing, no problem areas that are as stubborn as heck, and especially noooooooooo injuries that keep me from my workout rotation calendar (ahem, insert foot in a bootie for a week or two).

I like my finances to be how I want: freeeeeee flowing fountain for all of my social engagements, house renovation projects, dream getaways and target.com purchases. Or just to not stress about a van that threatens to have the bottom fall out of it at any second (I get Flinstones visuals of our feet sticking out to run our way to our destinations. Which could be a great workout! If I didn't have an injured foot....)

Oh darn it. So little is how I LIKE IT TO BE.

It can get downright depressing. Which has honestly been where I have sat the majority of this week. I'm grateful for a family meltdown moment that brought me to my knees with my kiddos gathered around as mommy confessed to God that she is broken, needy, selfish, and out of control. Needing a Savior and Rescuer from the demands of my heart.

Phil 2:13 - "For it is God who is at work in you, both to will and to work for His good pleasure."

Eph 2:10 -" For we are His workmanship, created in Christ Jesus for good works, which God prepared beforehand so that we would walk in them."

Ps. 18:32 "It is God who arms me with strength and keeps my way secure."

Is 45:9 "Woe to the one who quarrels with his Maker-- An earthenware vessel among the vessels of earth! Will the clay say to the potter, 'What are you doing?'"

Today I read this post from a friend on fb and it hit home and brought it all together. Maybe you can relate to a lot of things being not how you want them to be in an ideal world (aka, not this world we live in, that's fo' sho.)

"...faith isn't natural for you & me. Doubt is natural. Fear is natural. Living on the basis of your collected experience is natural. Pushing the current catalog of personal "what-ifs" through your mind before you go to sleep at night or when you wake up in the morning is natural....Wishing that you were more sovereign over people, situations & locations than you will ever be is natural. Manipulating your way into personal control so you can guarantee that you will get what you think you need is natural. Looking horizontally for the peace that you will only ever find vertically is natural. Anxiously wishing for change in things that you have no ability to change is natural. Giving way to despondency, discouragement, depression, or despair is natural. Numbing yourself with busyness, material things, media, food, or some other substance is natural....But faith simply isn't natural to us.

So, in grace, God grants us to believe. As Paul says in Ephesians 2:8, faith really is the gift of God. There is no more counter intuitive function to the average, sin-damaged human being than faith in God...God gives us the power to first believe, but he doesn't stop there. By grace he works in the situations, locations, & relationships of our everyday lives to craft, hammer, bend, & mold us into people who build life based on the radical belief that he really does exist & he really does reward those who seek him (Heb. 11:6).

Next time you face the unexpected, a moment of difficulty you really don't want to go through, remember that such a moment doesn't picture a God who has forgotten you, but one who is near to you & doing in you a very good thing. He is rescuing you from thinking that you can live the life you were meant to live while relying on the inadequate resources of your wisdom, experience, righteousness, & strength; & he is transforming you into a person who lives a life shaped by radical God-centered faith. He is the ultimate craftsman, & we are his clay. He will not take us off his wheel until his fingers have molded us into those who really do believe & do not doubt." Paul David Tripp

God  is in the business of cultivating our faith. What is He using to craft you? 

See it as God's nearness and rescue.

50 Shades of Gray Yoga Pants

Ya'll, help me out here.

I'm really concerned. I'm not sure if just yoga pants are sinful.....? Or is it any kind of form revealing pants? What if I did Piyo or Barre or Pilates? Are pilates pants reason for valid concern? Downward facing dog pose is rather provocative. If I was in warrior or warrior 2 pose that would be more appropriate.

I'm asking because I had to drop off my son at preschool - in my multi-directional stretch pants. I had just taught an early morning barre class and it was either wardrobe or get him to school on time. 

The clincher: his preschool is at church. 

Granted, there were mostly moms and women there, but I did see one or two dads from a distance. And granted, I had on an alllllllmost tunic, like it almost came below the crease of my bun cheek smile line, but perhaps not entirely if I didn't stand completely upright. It's debatable. Kinda hard to see the back of you with your head craned around to peer in the mirror. Guess I should have asked my husband or a trusted modesty accountability partner.

In the words of Jack Black, "floozy."

In the words of Gretchen Wilson, "home wrecker."

In the words of Bill Gothard, "defrauding/giving pieces of my heart away."

But don't you worry, I will be at that alter on Sunday. I will confess my 50 Shades of Gray heart before the entire congregation. And will be wearing lots of "long, loose and lots" this next week to make up for it. Don't be surprised if you see me in an ankle length jumper and turtleneck. I'm just doing my time, paying my penance. Maybe give a word of encouragement shout out to the sister under the pleats when you see me walking by.

Relentless Love :: 10 years

Today marks a decade. 10 years of being Mrs. David Banker.

It has flown by... and yet it seems it has been forever.

I liked you for a long time. I was always trying to "accidentally" cross your path. You came up and did a landscaping project for our family for a few days. I knew there was something real there. I knew our hearts would be at home with each other.

You talked to my dad and we began a crazy and redonkulous courtship. Corny and jacked up as it was, we loved each other. And we were all in.

You were building a house. A beautiful southern living cottage. You gave me a key to the front door. I felt like the richest girl in the whole world.. 

The "courtship" quickly got confusing and ugly and crazy. We both almost lost our minds. We broke up and 3 days later got engaged. 

We made it to that altar and although we were scared, we were sure. 

As I reflect back on where we started and where we are today, there are no words. Vast growth, change, expansion. 1 apartment and 5 houses. 4 babies born. 4 years in a law suit with 3 attorneys. 2 career changes. 8 vehicles. 1 robbery. 2 different states. And probably about 40 counseling sessions.

I see through the decade God's goodness gleaming bright. I recall our brokenness... the first year when we both almost gave up. We were both so stubborn. So hurt and broken. But we were trying.

Then we moved out of the apartment into the camper out on our property.

I remember late nights going to sleep in the camper by the sound of the crickets, wondering how many more days until we got our C.O. to move in the house.

Icy cold showers. No hot running water. Cooking pancakes on the grill on the front porch. Late night cookie bakes in the toaster oven. The sound of the obnoxious donkey next door. The little kitten that was possessed and would claw our eyes out in the middle of the night. The Friday night El Nopal dinners... the old standby... a #3 and sweet tea!

I remember the day we moved in.

I remember the first positive pregnancy test. The excitement! The unknown. The sickness, the exhaustion, the difficulty. I remember you there with me. The piece of dry toast shaped like a heart on a plate by my bed before my eyes even opened. I remember the box of crayons you brought home one day that we used to decorate the white walls when I laid flat on my back for 3 months.

I remember the last date night of being kid-free!

I remember a few hours later going into labor (timing FTW!)

I remember you pushing me through and being my rock and getting me through my first natural labor. I remember that moment we shared looking into each others eyes and crying like loonies because we did it. Together.

I remember bringing baby girl home and lots and lots and lots of screaming.

And more screaming.

Surely. Our "Noble Heroine of God" was here. Feisty and full of passion.

I remember the big job you got hired for!

I remember the big job going sour.

I remember the day we sold our house and moved out.

The 4 1/2 long years of fighting a law suit and 3 attorneys and big checks paid out and clipping coupons and battling fear.

I remember hopelessness. Downsizing. Struggling.

I remember us feeling alone.

I remember the second pregnancy. Feeling horrible. Renovating a rental. Exhausted.

I remember the power going out in the July heat and being 3 days overdue and angry as !*$#. I walked the halls of that house and finally went into labor. Speedy rapido babe was born 4 hours later in a moment when I truly thought I was dying and you got in my face and screamed at me to breathe. Second baby girl was here and we were in love.

"Pure Delight." Sweet one was just that.

I remember good friends God brought into our lives.

Doing workouts in the sunroom at 6:00am together. Dying out of breath like a bunch of fat lards.

I remember our move to the little yellow house off Marietta Square.

I remember watching episodes of Lost on hulu.

Bigger than life cockroaches in the kitchen at night.

Walks up to the square park for ice cream. Letting the girls play on the little train. The Australian bakery. Being asked if I was the kid's nanny (bless you, sweet woman).

I remember a lot of frustrations in that house. The lease coming to an end. Mustering up the courage to make a big move. Just because.

A drive up to Tennessee searching for housing. 1 week before our lease was up in Georgia and our housing plans falling through in Tennessee. Anxiety. Prayer.

A little house just around the corner with a sign stuck in the yard just that morning.

"We'll take it."

"Just a stepping stone house," we said. 1 year or so. Turned into 4.

Making amazing friendships. Real people who love Jesus and love us well. A church with a message of truth and grace. Our hearts opening anew to a fresh perspective. Best move of our lives. A risk we are glad we took.

Another pregnancy, a walk at 4am on Berry's Chapel Court in the balmy breezy air of April, stopping for each contraction. Yes, I was the crazy woman squatting in the middle of the street. A long awaited boy born in that living room. So much emotion and joy.

Our "Happy Arm of God" was born. And he did bring so much light and happiness.

Popcicles and little tikes cars and doing the kid life.

Momma going crazy in crammed quarters. Daily grasping for nuggets of gratefulness.

Building our business here. One job leading to the next. God's provision.

Law suit, at last, ending.

Relief.

Only months later, the threat of another.

Gripping fear.

Leaving our Florida vacation the day after we got there.

A miracle.

A breakdown.

Unknown. Hurt. Loss. Undoing.

A desperate phone call.

A God-send of a mentor in our lives.

Months of breaking it all down. Letting God undo us. Letting Him rebuild. Not being sure what would be at the end, but daring to walk the unknown.

Anger.

More Anger.

Honest conversations with God.

Coming apart so we could come together stronger.

God rebuilds.

He's relentless.

Learning what it means to love without strings attached. To let each other be who God created them to be. To get off the co-dependent crazy train. To quit trying to control each other. To grant freedom and to receive it. To learn to love again.

Finding a new normal.

A re-proposal. A signant of God doing a new thing.

A celebration in Nashville for the weekend!

Surprise, baby #4 on the way ;)

Sickness.

Long days.

Hormones on the loose.

A patient man.

3 days late again.

A baby girl born in that same living room in crazy amounts of peace.

"Bright Freedom." God was doing something new. She was proof of it.

Beating our heads against a wall trying to buy a house.... then trying to build... dead end street after dead in street (no pun intended). Frustration to the max!

Remember how we never thought we would get out of that house?? Just like we never thought we would move in the house we were building? Just like we never thought the law suit would end? Or that kid would finally poop in the potty!?

Somehow things end. Perspective. Timing, Patience. Growth.

Valentines day surprise and we closed on a house and were handed real keys. Our keys.

An amazing man that pulled every string in the book to surprise me and love me so well.

The craziest move of our life.

Now living in a renovation with 4 babies. More craziness. Everyday. Always noise. Always crying. Always a party. Dancing and singing.

Learning and growing with the ebbs and flows of life.

You are patient with me. You guide my heart to truth. You let me be who I am. I find immense comfort with you and yet the challenge to open my heart up to Jesus.

I have never known a man more diligent, more giving, more selfless. You dream, you pursue. You keep your priorities straight.

I've seen you grow. Break down. And flourish all the more. Pruning has done well for you. You have opened yourself up to His process.

You never give up on me. On us. When its exhausting or boring or exciting or passionate or lonely or busy... you're faithful.

Thank you.

A decade is a lot of life. And yet I know we are only beginning. Your love is relentless... because His grace is.

Grateful to be your comrade. To do life with you. To be a witness to each other's journey.

God is writing our story! Of this I have no doubt. As I reflect back on these last 10 years and write out this journey I know its just a chapter in the book. I'm in awe of His faithfulness to us. It's a beautiful story.

I love you. Cheers to many more, my friend.

~Mrs. Banker