Being Still.

"God is either in everything, or He is in nothing." 

- Richard Rohr 

Here I am trying to be still, but feeling incredibly twitchy.  It's pretty automatic - this urge to keep moving.  To start to race down the track in front of me.  To look away from the pain.  To take action in an effort to move forward.  It's the way I have lived for 39 years.

Here is my takeaway ... AWARENESS.  If I am still long enough to listen, to gaze, to feel, then I can emerge with a bit of awareness.

-I am becoming aware of patterns in my life. Patterns of over-responsibility, people-pleasing, and performance. Patterns I loathe.  Patterns I want to break.

-I am becoming aware of feelings that go much deeper than this last hard season.  Feeling unseen and that I only matter when I am doing something valuable.  Like I am only as good as my performance. Feeling afraid of the shoe that is about to drop and bracing for that destruction. Like a skittish puppy.  Breathing shallow, ready for fight or flight. Feeling aware of the erosion that scarcity brings to life ... physical, emotional, financial, spiritual scarcity that is equal parts the cards that were dealt, and part the result of a life being lived stretched far too thin.

In the spirit of being a person who is compelled to take action, the most healthy step forward right now feels like me intentionally inviting God into these places of emerging awareness.

Inviting Him to speak into these patterns.  To shed more light and gently nudge me as I inch towards those automatic responses that feel so deeply ingrained in me.  It is like arriving in your driveway without thinking, unaware of the route you took to get there.  I don't want to slip into auto-pilot with these patterns any longer.  My muscle memory is strong.  I need the Holy Spirit to be stronger, and He is.  But, it is a partnership and my awareness is the key.

It means noticing the clenched hands and opening them with a prayer of surrender. Recognizing that it is not up to me to fix anything in this season.  I don't have to take control/fix/will/muscle/resume right now.

It means saying no more than yes and fighting the urge to change my mind or apologize for disappointing whomever is asking.  I have been a "yes girl" my whole life.  This is a season for pausing and waiting and only saying yes to the things that should be a yes.  Resisting the urge to prove I am valuable and to keep everyone happy by showing up and saying yes.

It means taking each thought captive.  That can be such a cliched line.  But, when I picture those thoughts as literal bombs being dropped on my shalom, then taking them captive is a necessary part of the battle for peace. Grab them, examine them, look them up and down and determine their intent. Make them show I.D. at the door.  Then decide if they are allowed to stay.

It means inviting God into the feelings and hurts and fears and grief.  Maybe even going back to these moments and asking Him to show me where He was when the crap was hitting the fan.  Asking the hard questions and waiting for Him to answer.  Channeling my inner psalmist and pouring it all out ... anger, grief, questions, sorrow, fears, and being brave enough to let hope mingle there.  I am daring myself to dream again, even in the midst of examining the rubble of dreams dashed and broken.  Because, just as Richard Rohr has said, He is either in everything, or He is in nothing.

It means sitting in brokenness with my God, who is the only one that can heal in such a way that we come out on the other side more whole than before.  I believe this.  One of the colors of "shalom" is WHOLENESS.  I don't see wholeness as the starting place like a brand new pair of shoes that haven't gotten scuffed up.  I believe that in God's kingdom an old soul on their deathbed is more whole than a brand new baby in their mama's arms.  This old soul has experienced bumps and bruises and "scuff marks" galore.  It has shaped them.  They are who they are because of the story.  I am inviting Him to heal and restore the broken places in my story so that I am more whole.

When we think of being still with God, no doubt we think of the very well known verse from Psalm 46:10 (heck, we may have grown up with it embroidered on a pillow):

“Be still, and know that I am God; I will be exalted among the nations, I will be exalted in the earth.”


But, here is the thing - this verse is actually a command.  There is no hemming and hawing here.  No "maybe you should consider being more still for a season" kind of language.  It is pretty clear.  Sit your booty down.  

Connect your thoughts to truth and see who you are in the light of who I am (KNOW THAT I AM GOD). This is powerful language of superiority.  

And, I guess this leads me to one of the best places of awareness I am settling into ... humility.  

How do I humble myself and declare not just with my lips but with my life that I am not in control? 

How do I humble myself and declare that I believe I am loved and my identity as His daughter is more important than my identity perceived by anyone else around me?  

How do I humble myself and resist the zings of affirmation that come from performance and doing?  

How do I humble myself and admit that I have failed to keep it all together, even amidst a whole lot of trying? Because the other side of that moment of confession is acceptance and dare I say the sweet gift of serenity.  Because it was never mine to control or try and keep together.

When all you can do is stop.

It was a doozy of a week.  And the different shades of "doozy" all came as a surprise.  It was a week off from school for the kids and work for me.  Expectations and hopes floated like happy brightly colored balloons in my hand. 

We were ready for this week.  It was like the air that rests just above the surface of the water that you can see from deep below.  You are swimming towards it with eager anticipation, feeling the burn in your lungs, kicking harder as the sunlight gets closer. 

One by one, I collected these hopes for my week like balloons and walked along as though I was heading to a happy little party. 

Much of the week was just what it needed to be.  Slow and blissful mornings that were unhurried and full of pajamas and reheating the cup of coffee because there is time to sip slowly.  Wandering around the house from thought to thought, task to task, not feeling the usual pressure to complete the to do list.  Little outings in our fun part of the world - taking in glorious sunshine, yummy eats, and activities like bowling (because why not?).

Then it came.  Life's sharp needle that comes from out of nowhere.  So stealthy under the radar that the sound of the "POP!" of one of those balloons you hold in your hand causes you to jump with fright.

The first pop came as we sat in a doctor's appointment to go over a recent lab test we did for our son.  We have been on a long journey of discovering what was making him sick (mold!), and even longer to discover how to help him get better.  The results stung.  They felt like a mocking voice of defeat.  An unexpected slap in the face.  A door opening to yet another set of worries.  Another set of protocols.  Another series of out of pocket expenses.  More appointments.  More tests. 

More.  More.  More.

I drove away so discouraged.  And yet, feeling that familiar feeling of accountability and pressure to respond with a plan.

"Gear up, Ali." 

"You can do this."

"Put on a brave face for Callen."

"Be grateful."

So many thoughts bubbling up in my inner dialogue.  And, like any good conversation, replies started bubbling up as well.

"I am tired."

"When is enough ENOUGH?"

"How do I pay for this?"

"Is any of this working?"

The tears began to hover right on the edge of my eyelids.  You know that feeling.  You are like a water bottle that is too full and the slightest squeeze will trigger the spilling over the edge.  Each thought, each emotion, each breath was like a band of pressure wrapping itself around me and the tears were falling.  I kept my sunglasses on and tried to answer any questions coming from my kiddos with one word answers, avoiding them hearing my voice tremble.

Keep it together, Ali.

I was able to get the kids home and get myself off to go for a walk at some trails nearby.  Except that by the time I pulled up in the parking lot I was sobbing.  The tears were a torrent and the grief was unleashed.  There was no keeping it together in this moment.  I sat there in my car letting it all out.  Riding the wave of emotion, totally out of my own control and completely at the mercy of it.  I watched as a young couple stood with a photographer in front of lovely tall wildflowers next to the winding trail.  She was adorable with her pregnant belly.  She posed so sweetly, holding her tummy with such love and protection. 

The wave of emotion rises higher because I am her.

I am taken back to that baby in my tummy growing and being cared for so automatically and perfectly.  I have hopes and dreams and longings for what life will look like for this child and it certainly does not look like a contaminated home, so much loss, sickness and a very long and winding road trying to recover.  It is maternal extinct to want to shelter and protect and nurture.  And yet, I feel that even amidst all of the effort, I am failing. 

I suddenly feel like a hamster who has been in one of those cruel mazes.  I am eager to find the path through all the tunnels.  I press on.  I keep moving.  Feeling a bit tired and discouraged, but just keep going.  Try harder. I think I have seen this corner before ... man, it all looks familiar. 

Until, suddenly, I can't go one more step.  I'm done.  I sit under the arch and I stop. 
All I can do is stop.

This, my friends, is where I sit right now.  And, here is what I am learning ... that there is a lot of grief I have not allowed myself to feel.  In an effort to get my little people out of crisis mode when our world was turned upside down by mold and sickness, I stepped into action and have been steadily plodding along.  But, grief is like a shadow, isn't it?  It will stay right there, subtly following you wherever you go.  Sometimes a bit bigger, sometimes a bit smaller.  It all depends on where the sun is shining. 

I sat with a dear friend and shared where I am at right now.  As I wiped away tears and looked up, I saw her face just as wet.  She has known soul cutting grief.  She has walked a dark valley.  She just sat there crying with me.  For a while.

Then, she spoke:

"I am so sorry."

"This is all really hard."

"And here is the thing ... Job sat in his grief for 37 chapters.  I think you need to let yourself sit in this for a while.  Talk about it with God.  Feel it.  Face it.  Wrestle with it.  Give yourself that gift."

This is new for me.  I am a "do-er." I am responsible.  I am a one on the enneagram (I think).

Sitting in a mess is painful for me.  But, it is necessary.

Stop.  Sit.  Feel.

Two Powerful Words: Eliminate & Concentrate

 

Today I am reflecting on words of wisdom that came from a beloved mentor to so many women I know.  Anne Ortlund was passionate about MANY things, but I would say the top of her list was JESUS and DISCIPLESHIP.  She faithfully walked with a small group of women over a year and poured into them with the hope and expectation that they would duplicate what she had done with other women in their own circle.  She was amazing!  I was discipled by one of her gals, Lisa Grable.  I am so thankful for the season that Lisa poured into me, prayed for me, and cheered for me with intentionality and love.  Anne is no longer with us on this earth, but it is incredible to think about her impact while she was alive, and that her impact continues through the people she poured into.

One of our discipleship mornings  around Lisa's table included time with Anne and she shared a lesson with us that was titled, "Eliminate & Concentrate."  Although this was a few years ago, I still mull over these words from time to time.  They have changed the way I approach commitments and help me evaluate how I am investing my time as a mom, wife, friend, and Jesus follower. 

I am sharing on the blog today my reflection on Anne's lesson that I wrote just after she shared with us a few years ago.  I am struck today as I re-read these words how true they are!  I am seeing photos of my children that I posted a few years back when they were just 6 and 8 that have me nearly in tears because they are completely different people as I type this now.  I want to be back THERE today.  I want the opportunity to lift up my kiddos in my arms again and tickle chubby bellies and snuggle them up in a bath towel with skin smelling oh so sweet. 

It makes me want to share this post all the more!  The days are long, my friends, but the years are so, so short.  And, I am reading these words again for my own self.  Because although I am in a different season and my littles have become bigs, this season shall also pass much too quickly and I will wish that I could be back HERE where they are 10 and 13.  All I can do is live in this present moment with a commitment to continue to eliminate those things that do not add value and concentrate on those that do.   

[Eliminate & Concentrate]

I recently got to hear an amazing woman, Anne Ortlund, share her thoughts on navigating life well with a group of women. Anne is definitely in her "golden years", and I don't know about you, but when I have the opportunity to listen to someone share about living life well who has lived a lot of life, I lean forward a little closer and listen just a bit more intently. She had so many morsels of wisdom to give us. But one thing she talked about has really stuck with me.

She was talking about managing time and she said her two favorite words to implement in time management are "eliminate" and "concentrate".

These two words are gnarly. They are weighty. I feel like they belong in a board room. They sound strong and definitive and driven, don't they? They are not wishy washy or touchy feely.

And, I am trying to apply them to my life and love the direction they give me.

I know that there are things in my life that need to be eliminated.

Straight up.

There are a few places that I see this word doing surgery on my life.

In how I spend my time, and how our family spends our time. There is a whole vortex around me sucking me and my time towards it. I am a people-pleaser and a do-er, which means that I want to say yes to everything because number one, I don't want to hurt your feelings or upset you, and number two, I like doing things. But, when I say yes to everything, I end up doing nothing well. And, I end up frazzled, frustrated, bitter and ill. Yes, ill. My body has been pushed to the breaking point far too many times for me not to own that I do damage to my physical body when I take on too much.

I need to eliminate.

I also see this in my kids' lives. They have countless involvement opportunities as well. They are in school and have homework. They are invited to play dates and birthday parties. They can do brownies, cub scouts, be in school plays, play soccer, football, baseball, swim team, water polo, tennis, golf, dance, gymnastics, music lessons, choir... The list could go on and on. And, hear me when I say this - they are 6 and 8.

I want my children to be active.

I want my children to try hobbies and sports and find what they are good at.

But, more importantly, I want them to be peaceful, humble and to live in a family environment that is not frenzied and frazzled and out of control. These are all "good things" - who doesn't want their kids to play the sports that the kids are around them are playing? I have heard the saying "good is the enemy of best" so many times recently and my soul knows this well. When my children and involved in too many "good" things, the BEST for our family is sacrificed over and over and over. It is easy to say that we will be a "one or two sport" family but more difficult to stick to those guns when all the kids around you are playing multiple sports and you feel like your children will be left behind and made fun of for being the only ones who cannot throw a basketball right. But, I have to step back, focus and remember what my long-term values are for these little humans.

I need to eliminate.

I also see the need to eliminate in where I let my heart go. This may sound really, really crazy to a lot of people, but I have learned that Facebook is not for me. I have no judgement for those who love this corner of social networking, but FOR ME, I have learned that Facebook does wacky things to my emotions. Aside from the general "time vacuum" that it always ended up being, I found that Facebook pretty much left me in a very melancholy place.

I would log on to catch up with the happenings in my friends lives and I would log off feeling like I was out of the loop on far too many happenings (excluded from events that I really did not expect to be invited to, but seeing all the people tagged in the photos and the list of comments that praised how epic it was left me feeling lonely), not funny enough (other people have so many likes and comments on their status updates), like my family doesn't have as much fun as everyone else (everyone else is posting photos of their AMAZING moments from their day), and just generally discontent.

[source]

My purpose in going onto Facebook was to feel connected and I would always leave feeling more disconnected and just a bit angsty (totally a word). I had to learn that Facebook is not for me. I still have an account that I can use to message people, but I rarely, rarely go on there. This little life shift has served me well. It was truly the best for me.

Am I completely anti social networking in general? No. I would buy stock in pinterest tomorrow if I could. And, I have even seen that Facebook and other social networking sites have been used for a ton of good in a lot of ways. I do have some pretty big concerns for what all of this means for our kids and our society. I feel like people are losing an important part of human interaction, which is face to face connection. I feel like there is something to looking in a friend's eyes and just knowing that they are having a tough day and digging a little deeper to make sure they are ok. I feel like Facebook and Twitter can make us a little too ego driven sometimes. I mean, should all of our followers really care about where we had lunch? Should we even take the time to post that? Why are we posting that? Would that time be better spent in another way? How are my kids honored by how often I reach for my phone or laptop to update the world? These are all questions I continue to ask myself with regard to technology and how we choose to engage it as a family. At a bare minimum - I have seen the fruit of my decision to eliminate Facebook as part of my daily connection with the world.

I also need to learn to eliminate certain thoughts before they start to spin in my head. A wise counselor I know says this: "The birds will land on your head, just don't let them nest." I cannot stop my brain from thinking, but I have the choice in whether they nest or I shoo them away when they are not life giving or helpful.

[source]

I need to eliminate.

This "elimination" concept has all sorts of practical applications with regard to living in simplicity (getting rid of excess stuff that clutters and could be used elsewhere), and even with regard to a healthy diet. I need to eliminate a few more chocolate covered almonds from my daily eating patterns if you know what I mean.

And, I need to concentrate.

I need to concentrate on what I know to be important so that I can make wise choices in what to eliminate. I need to concentrate so that I prevent needing to eliminate. How wonderful it would be if I just knew my limits and really was thoughtful as I walked life and did not get to the place where I have to make those surgical cuts.

I need to concentrate on my children. This time is so fleeting. They will not always be here, and I know that but I still live as though they will. I live as though there will be tomorrows for the life lessons that need to be taught today. I have these moments with them and I want to "mine" these moments well, as it says in the very definition of the word. To sift these moments and separate the metal from the ore. To purify them and make them stronger.

There are countless reasons why it is important to concentrate in this time that feels like a breeze blowing through my home ...

Because there are these moments that will build their foundation of love for each other as brother and sister for the rest of their lives. We are crafting our family's legacy in the moments of everyday life...

Because he only turns 6 this one time (and soon, he will no longer pronounce "Actually" as "ackshly") ...

Because I am going to wish that she would sit and hug me and want to talk to me about all the details of her world in 7 years ...

Because I am only going to be able to carry him like this for a wee bit longer, and she will only dance and twirl and sing in the background without being self-conscious for a wee bit longer ...

I have this moment that replays in my head that causes me to feel such remorse. A few weeks ago we were getting ready to go on a trip to Lake Arrowhead for a family getaway. My to do list was a mile long and I was frantically trying to get all the games and activities packed up before I had some children arriving at my house for tutoring. My daughter came over and started to hug me as I was sorting card games and packing. I literally brushed her off gently and said, "Honey, I don't have time to cuddle right now. I have got to get this stuff packed up." The look on her face still hurts my heart quite a bit when I recall it. She recoiled and looked as though I had slapped her. "You don't want to hug me?" she said. And, her eyes filled up with tears.

I immediately stopped and apologized and told her mommy made a bad choice and tried to make it right. And, she was gracious and received my hug but I could tell I hurt her and it wasn't all totally perfect. There was still that hurt place where she realized that I made a choice and it was not to love her first. It was my stupid to do list.

Oh man, how I want to concentrate.

 

I need to concentrate on my marriage and my husband.

He so often gets the left overs of me. He gets the wiped out, emotionally shut down, exhausted version of his wife at the end of the day. I need to evaluate what in the world is going on here if I value us staying a connected, vibrant and in love couple well into our golden years. I need to concentrate on showing him that I am present and still listening. I need to concentrate on affirming him and speaking words of love to him, especially in times where he needs that bolstering. I need to concentrate on being his love who is there for better or worse, richer and poorer, in sickness and in health - that pretty much means BEING there our whole life. All of life pretty much fits in those descriptions and I said I would.

I need to concentrate.

So, these are two words that I carry with me in my days. I use them to make decisions and process how we are doing as a family. There will be an ebbing and flowing of activities and time. There are seasons for hibernation and seasons for a flurry of activity.

But, I will endeavor to learn to live these words out well.

How about you - what do these words evoke in you?

Sharing the stories.

Okay, so lets be real.  My last post was, ummm, quite a few years ago.  I took a break from blogging. A long break.  Have you ever just needed a time out?  Well, that is what it was.  Or, that is how it started.  I had reached a place where me blogging was not bringing out the best in me.  Maybe you are a blogger and can relate.  Or, maybe you have experienced something similar with Facebook or other social media space and taken a break there.  It just had become a place for me of comparison.  Me comparing my blog to others' blogs.  I just started to feel motivated by the wrong things and a bit too tethered to the "hit" of comments and likes.  Can anyone relate?

So, the break was initiated as a little breathing room.  I have still been writing ... just in journals.  Audience of one.

A lot of life has happened over the past few years, which also contributed to the break.  Highs and lows and everything in between.  There is much to tell about how God has stepped into each of those places.  I feel compelled to share the stories. A through thread will be how the Lord has set my heart on this pursuit of shalom.  Peace.  Wholeness.  Flourishing.  It's my word.  If I were to get a tattoo it would be that word.

I am still learning so much about leaning in and discovering more.  I will share the stories.

Give thanks to the Lord, for He is good;

His love endures forever.

Let the redeemed of the Lord tell their story - 

those He has redeemed from the hand of the foe, 

those He has gathered from the lands ... 

-Psalm 107

 

stepping back in

[the proud smile of a boy who lost his first tooth]

It has been a while since I have written my heart out here. I have always been a "writer". As a child my days would be spent writing lists, stories, letters, love notes to my mom and dad, apology notes that I would slip under my brother's door when we were in time outs (he would often tear them up and slip them back under mine, prompting tears and lament), and journaling. In my college years, journaling became my peaceful place. The place where I could process life and ponder all of those deep parts of life that I was diving into. I still journal daily. It is a huge part of my daily quiet time.

My latest "quiet time" routine is waking up before my kids, which if you know my daughter, you know that this is EARLY. It is a discipline because I love my cozy bed, but this time has become honey for my soul. And, this is a season where my soul needs every drop of honey it can get.

I sit down with my journal, my Bible, and a copy of the book Jesus Calling. I start by reading a couple Psalms. They settle me in a way that I cannot explain. I often feel like a tortured soul - I feel everything pretty deeply and I process everything (if not out loud, then in my head). And, these fellas who wrote the Psalms make me feel like I am in good company. Any scriptures that stand out get copied into my journal, and then beneath them I begin to list what is truth in that passage. Then, I list how those truths impact me now - in the moment and in this season.

Next, I go to the day's Jesus Calling passage and I look up the scriptures connected to that days passage. I copy those into my journal and do the same thing - write what I know to be truth and what it says about God/Jesus. Then, I write what this means to ME.

At this point, I try to sit for a few minutes and just listen. I recently heard an amazing woman speak on prayer who gave the analogy of sitting down to lunch with a dear friend and having so much to share, but saying, "You go first." I try to say to God, "You go first. I know you have something to say to me and I want to listen." This is a super hard discipline for me. Super. HARD. I am such a do-er. I am twitchy. It is hard for me to sit still. Really, really hard to quiet my mind. It takes a lot of prayer and discipline to sit still and listen. But, I am at a place in my life where I feel a bit like a toddler who has this amazing mother who is going to hold me still until I stop flailing. My soul feels a bit like a flailing toddler sometimes and God comes near and holds me still. It is painful but I am committed to learning to be still.

Lastly, I pray. I write my prayers. I write my thanks and my fears and my questions and my ponderings. Sometimes it feels like I write my guts out. Lately, I have felt like that is the only writing I can do. When it came to sitting down to blog, I was just so uninspired. I treated it as a sabbatical and felt that I would know when I was supposed to sit back down and blog. Today was that day. I was so inspired by another woman's story and willingness to share her journey that it hit me that this journey of mine just may resonate with others. There is courage found when we feel that we are not alone. Isn't it comforting to commiserate with other mamas about sleep deprivation? You walk away feeling normal. Because in the darkness of that room, with the crying baby and the heavy eyes, you do feel so alone, don't you. You feel like you must be the only mom who cannot get her baby to sleep and you wonder what is wrong with you or this baby. But, in the light of day - in that moment where you hear the TRUTH that you are not alone - there is a special kind of freedom. That has always been my favorite thing about blogging. I love the tips and recipes and ideas, but it is this moment of soulful humanity connection that I love more than anything.

So - I am committed to writing a bit more. My hope is that out of this story of mine, other souls will take courage. More importantly, as God's hope shines out of this story of mine, others will take courage in leaning into this same God.

Where I am right now is "stretched". I am stretched to the place that feels like the end of my rope. And, I am learning that the end of my rope is where God lives. We are in a place of transition, and it feels a bit like we are the Israelites wandering through the desert. I read this passage from Psalm 105 the other day:

"...He spread out a cloud as a covering, and a fire to give light at night.

They asked, and he brought them quail and satisfied them with the bread of heaven.

He opened the rock and water gushed out;

like a river it flowed in the desert.

For He remembered His holy promise given to his servant Abraham.

He brought out His people with rejoicing,

His chosen ones with shouts of joy;

He gave them the lands of the nations,

and they fell heir to what others had toiled for -

that they might keep His precepts and observe His laws." - vs 39-45

This passage has God's faithfulness all over it. He led His people through the wilderness with this cloud by day and fire by night. He provided food and water for them. He eventually leads them to the promised land - land that they did not toil over.

But, they were wandering in the desert for a long time. If you know the story of the Israelites you know that they live this sort of schizophrenic posture of gratitude and angst. Hmmm, sounds familiar. For in my own life, I live these moments of gratitude and recognition that God is here and is providing for our daily needs. But, the angst is lurking there too - when I look ahead of the cloud covering today or the fire lighting up this moment - it's darkness ahead. In that darkness fear and uncertainty lurk. I see that faith journey that the Israelites were taken on, and how they were walking behind God's very presence as a guide both day and night. I am sure that they had to fight to keep their eyes in the moment or they would freak out. The view of the wilderness stretching before them was staggering, I am sure. I love how this passage says, "They asked and He brought them quail and satisfied them with the bread of heaven."

Wow. It is my prayer that my heart and mind would have an aching bent towards God's precepts and laws and desires. That I would see when my eyes wander from the cloud and fire. God is leading us in our own "wilderness" and we are seeing His hand in our lives daily in radical ways. He is the same God who leads, protects, and provides for His peoples' needs.

That is the truth. I have to wash my mind daily in that truth.

My sweet son recently lost his first tooth. It was so loose that when he would eat it would wreak all sorts of havoc on him and he was in pain. It was time for that baby to come out. He attempted pulling it out himself, but then in tears announced that he really wanted his Papa to help him pull it out.

They sat on the couch - Callen straddling my husband as he wiggled that tooth and gently worked on getting it out. Man, that tooth was stubborn. It did not want to come out. I could tell my husband was a bit flabbergasted at how long it was taking. My son sat there with tears streaming down his face, breathing through the pain, watching his Papa stare into his mouth with fingers twisting and pulling.

In the midst of it, Callen reaches up and grabs Drew's face and with his two hands cupping his daddy's face, says:

"Papa, thank you for helping me.

I am brave, but I need your help.

And, this is exciting."

All of this is said with tears streaming down his face. We choked back our own tears and affirmed him for his bravery and told him it was our privilege to help him. (This boy is such a gift and precious sweet spot in our days!)

Eventually, the tooth came out and there was a pretty huge celebration because it was quite the labor of love.

The next morning, I was in the kitchen finishing up my quiet time and I had this feeling of frustration at the wilderness journey that we are in. I feel ready to be to the end of it. God very gently nudged my mind back to the moment on the couch and spoke these words to my heart:

"Ali, you are on my lap. Your tooth is loose but it is not an easy one to pull out. I am holding you and I am helping you. You ARE brave, and it will come out. Just rest on my lap and let me help you. Thank me for helping you. And, this is exciting."

Humbly, I look to His face with tears streaming down mine. Thankful for His lap. Thankful for His hands. Thankful for His help. And, thankful for this journey that is exciting and teaching me so much.

Gratitude Revolution, part 2

[gratitude revolution part 1 is here]

It is my firm belief that my attitude, gratitude, and awareness of the blessings that are a part of my history and current life greatly impact my actions and my perspective on life.

My glass is either half full - because I am aware of how, in my life, I have experienced having my glass filled time and again.  

OR

My glass is half empty - because as I look at my life, I see all that I lack, and I am not remembering the past that is full of blessings.

I impact my own gratitude by how (or if) I choose to reflect on my past.

I was reading Psalm 105-106 today. It records over and over how God was faithful to the Israelites in their journey out of Egypt and through the desert. It also points to the fact that we as humans are so forgetful, and that our trust should be based on our history.

Our fathers, when they were in Egypt, did not consider your wondrous works; they did not remember the abundance of your steadfast love, but rebelled by the sea, at the red sea. Yet, He saved them for His name's sake, that He might make known His mighty power.
Psalm 106:7-8

"But they soon forgot His works..."  (Psalm 106:13)

"They forgot God, their Savior, who had done great things..." (Psalm 106:21)

A lack of remembrance is connected to action.  It is really easy for me to look at the record of these people who lived long ago and scoff at their "forgetfulness".  I mean, here are these people living in the midst of miracles.  - God sending the plagues to provoke their freedom from Egypt.  Leading them to the Red Sea and then PARTING the waters so that they could walk through the sea to freedom.  Taking them through the desert and daily providing them with bread to eat that would fall from the sky, hearing them declare their thirst and causing water to flow from a rock...  I can so easily see their constant forgetfulness and how it caused them to complain and to fear for their present circumstances.  In my head, I think, "If I had seen God open the sea, or drop bread into my hands every day,  I would absolutely KNOW that He would continue to care for me."

But, here is what I know about myself.  I forget today how God was faithful to me yesterday.  I forget that He created the two children who are MIRACLES in the midst of my infertility.  I forget that He has absolutely provided for our family in the most amazing ways in the midst of this economic uncertainty.  It may not be water flowing out of a rock, but it is clear to me that God is doing good things in my life daily.

So, if I am going to have this revolution of gratitude in my life, I think where I have to start is by remembering.  There is this section of Deuteronomy that always gives me chills:

I am going to start today with remembering.  

I Love This...

This is one of the best things I have read in a long time.  It hits me square in the chest.  I resonate so much with all of it.

Interval Training

Last week I was talking about trying to take time out to rest, and to build space into my day for peace and reflection. Slowing down.

Well, I have been trying. There have been a few sweet rewards in this. I have had a couple of days where the craziness of my day would typically have engulfed me, but just having a few moments of quiet and focused prayer really did quiet my soul. It was definitely hard for me to retreat. With a long list of "To Do's", it felt counter-intuitive to step out of task mode and just be. But, more than anything, I have this feeling that this is going to be a long process for me. My typical nature is inclined towards being busy, and towards trying to multi-task because I want to accomplish so much. It felt a bit like interval training for me. Anyone ever do intervals while exercising? It is a process where you have a steady pace and then every so often, you kick it up a notch and move more quickly (with more intensity). It is supposed to accelerate how quickly you get into shape and give your workout an extra level of cardio and fat burning.

This is what it felt like for me, only in reverse. It felt like I was running fast, and then occasionally remembering to slow down. Then, I would start running again.

Another picture of how this felt was like a teenager learning to drive a car with a stick shift for the first time. Not smooth. Not fluid. Screech. Lurch. Jerk. Jerk. Lurch. Ow, my knee hit the dashboard. This is awkward. Okay, start the car, try again. Screech.

You get the picture.

Anyone else feel like this is going to be a long process?

One thing that encourages me to continue to cultivate this was watching the Oprah episode this past week about the mom who accidentally left her daughter in the car for her entire day at work. The shortened version of the story was that her husband usually dropped the kids at day care, but she needed to do it on this day. She was a Vice Principal of a middle school and it was the first day of school. A very busy day was looming. She went to drop her 2 year old off, but realized she was too early. Her baby was asleep in the car with her as she drove. She ran an errand (picked up donuts for her staff), and then got back on the road that she drives every day to work. She slipped into automatic mode and drove to work (forgetting that she still needed to drop sleeping baby off). Her mind was already 3 steps forward in her day. She got to work, headed inside and went about her day. She was sharing that even throughout her day she had a few conversations about her kids with co-workers, but never remembered that she had left her baby in the car.

I have absolutely NO JUDGEMENT for this mom! You can tell just from her interview that she is a loving mother, that she is a devoted mother. She was just busy. How tragic to realize at the end of your work day that your child has been baking in the car all day. Her baby was dead when she finally got out there (a co-worker spotted her in the car).

I have had moments of forgetting to snap my kids in their car seats. I know I could make this same mistake under the right pressure points. My heart breaks for this family.

But, I am reminded. There is always a cost to our busy-ness. We may not all experience something this costly, but there is a cost for each of us. We are a culture marked by a frantic, frazzled busy-ness. We move to music, we have gadgets in our hands or at our fingertips non-stop. I think sometimes we do not know what to do with ourselves, or our thoughts, in the absence of movement and motion and work. It will continue to be messy and a challenge, but I am in it for the long haul.

Giving Ourselves Permission

I was chatting with my dear friend, Bonnie, last night.  Bonnie is such a special gal in my life.  The kind of person that comes along in just the right season for many, many purposes.  She entered our life as a babysitter and has become a family member and sometimes a bit of a sage.  

Anyway, we were doing our standard post-babysitting chat session the other night and talking about motherhood and blogging and other random subjects.  Bonnie shared something that totally resonated with me.  She was talking about how she had popped in on a friend to return something (background info = this friend is a mom, and bonnie is in the pre-mom stage).  This friend was lying on the couch when Bonnie arrived, and quickly said, "Don't think I am a bad mom.  I am just tired."

Bonnie recanted the story and then said, "I don't understand why moms feel that way.  Who would ever think that someone is a bad mom for resting?"

I was nodding my head in agreement.  Yeah, who would think that?  How silly.   But, then I stopped to think about it....  I feel this same guilt all the time.   That is totally me!  I really struggle with giving myself time to rest, to be still, to unwind, to enjoy "me" time that is "unproductive".  Most moms I know feel the same way.  And, I am not sure why.  Maybe because we don't want to seem lazy.  Maybe because we know that our to do list is miles long and if we are taking time out to "rest" we are neglecting important things on our list.  

This is the other thing I know... that there are many days where I am so empty and running on mere vapors as I scurry about that I am of very little use to my family.  Sure, I am getting things done.  Sure, I am putting healthy and nutritious food on the table.  Sure, I am wiping bottoms and picking up toys so that no one breaks their neck while scurrying from hither to yon.  Sure, I am negotiating drama and flare ups over toys and "personal space".  But, am I full of joy?  Am I at peace in my soul?  Am I teaching my kids how to live life with fullness and thankfulness and appreciation for all that surrounds us?  

Am I rested?

I am many things, but rested is not one of them.  And, I don't just mean "rested" as in I had a really good night of sleep.  I mean the kind of rested where I have an abundance to give because I am filling my tank.  Like in the airplane crash when you need to first put on your own oxygen mask and then help others.  What good am I to those around me if I am suffocating because I am not taking the time to put on my own oxygen mask?

I want to work towards this.  I want to be more aware of those moments where my soul and mind are crying out for time with God or just some moments of inactivity.  I want to lean into those moments and soak it up like a child would cherish an ice cream cone, lick by messy lick.  

I want to taste those drips of rest and giggle with delight knowing that life is more than accomplishing much.  I want to give MYSELF permission to do this, because I know I am the one holding me back.

Anyone else struggle with this? Can we give ourselves a homework assignment {The Resting Challenge}, and over the next week try to integrate 15 minutes (at least) of our very own quiet time into our day. I would encourage those of us that blog to walk away from the computer in that time. Just go somewhere quiet. Be still. Sit. Daydream. Pray. Just be. Let's check back in with each other. I want to hear how this goes for you (what you did for those precious minutes, how it felt, if you felt guilty, if you felt thankful, etc.) I know it will be hard for me, so I am writing it here for accountability. I think that it would be pretty incredible if a generation of mamas chose to model peace and rest for their children.

(And, if someone asks you what you are doing ... Smile and say, "resting". No apologies needed.)