This One's for the Girls

Do you remember that Martina McBride song, "This One's for the Girls"?  It came out around the time I was living on my own and spreading my wings, and it was my anthem for awhile.  The verses are directed to girls of different ages.  To the girls in high school, Martina urges them to "stand their ground when everyone's giving in".  To the girls in their twenties, "living on dreams and Spagettio's", she encourages them to embrace the journey of life.  To the girls in their forties (and older, presumably, since her video features grannies in their seventies and eighties), Martina reminds them that "every laugh line on your face made you who you are today."  I love this song because it recognizes that as we age, we enter a new stage of life.  We shift our priorities and our hopes, we live differently.

First class, baby!

This week, I spent several days in airports and hotels.  It reminded me SO MUCH of my early twenties, the magical two years between college and marriage when I worked as a flight attendant.  I was living on dreams and Spagettio's in those days.  But I was living.  Instead of taking the job that I could do and would pay my bills, I took the job that excited me and enabled me to travel extensively. I went to Europe and saw aurora borealis and explored museums and new cities.

Just moments before I went overboard...

After two years, I came to a very natural shift that made me want to leave the world of airlines and suitcases and settle down to build a home and a family.  For the last ten years, the most important role of my life has been a wife and a mother.  I have lived.  I have danced in my living room and skidded in a mess of vomit and ridden carousels and been the giver and receiver of a million hugs.

We are smiling to hide our fear.

But another shift is coming; I am in the midst of it as I type this.  My children are growing up.  This school year is the first time I've had all of my kids enrolled in school. (The youngest is going to preschool twice a week, so a minor shift for now.)  I feel this pull to embrace a new season of life.  There is so much that excites me, so many passions to sift through.  I want to advocate for children and orphans, for those with special needs and those who have experienced abuse.  I want to be the air that lifts the wings of the women in my life, the way other women have been for me.  I want to do the hard work of healing and unity that brings people together in my city.  I want to keep living.

Windswept at the beach.  Sports Illustrated turned me down.

So that's been the reflection on my mind these past few days.  There is so much risk in life, isn't there?  There's the bad risk, like getting in a car with a drunk driver. (If you want to know why this is bad, ask Princess Diana. Oh wait, you can't.)  There are bad risks, like staying in an abusive relationship, or mismanaging your money so you end up homeless.  But there are good risks too, risks like moving to a new city or taking a job that challenges you.  Risks like saying hello to a stranger or going out to feed the broken and suffering people of the world.

Could not get the boys on board for this one

The thing about these life shifts is that the definition of risk changes with them.  A young woman with no children can travel to far off places and follow her dreams.  A suburban mom can choose to petition her government to adapt the Nordic Model or start ministering to women coming out of addiction.  A woman facing retirement can decide to mentor teen moms and march for racial unity.  Each of these are brave, risky lives.  Each of them follow the advice of Martina McBride, to "love without holding back, to dream with everything they have."

Ladies, I have lived my life.  And I have many, many more years to keep going, to choose life over comfort and safety.  So do you.  I believe that the worst thing we can do with these years is to hide away, to choose easy, to watch the world pass us by.  What kind of life is that?  Courage is not something we are born with, it is something we take hold of and grow the more we use it.  The time for careful planning and deliberation is over.  Get up and live.

In the Middle

I turned 33 this year.  The definitions of age are shifting in my generation, so that "young" is different than it was for my parents or my grandparents, and "old" has moved further back than it was in the past.  People say things like "40 is the new 20!" which I think means that people hitting their forties are still as youthful and exciting as twenty year olds.  Not like my parents, who were packing their children off to college and preparing to be "empty nesters" when they hit forty.

So maybe 33 is still "young" and maybe (given genetics) I'm only a third of the way through my life, but I feel like I have hit the "middle age".  Not just because my knees click when I climb stairs (which they never used to do) or because I started wearing a swim skirt (the better to hide my lumpy mom body!), but because the time to figure out who I am seems to be over.  I can still try new things and experiment and fail and pick myself back up, but I have to do this in the middle of a life being lived.  I can't change course quickly, because I have a family that goes along with me, and I have to factor in everyone's needs, not just my own.

At 20, I could try a new hobby and decide if I liked it or not.  I could spend all day reading or watching tv with no guilt.  I could move to Tennessee and then back to Ohio when I felt like it.  I could eat an entire bag of chips or stay up all night or suddenly decide to bike 10 miles with no consequences.  But now?  Now I'm in the middle.  Now the consequences of disengaging from the world are cranky kids and huge laundry piles and late bills.  Now I feel the effects of what I ate or how I slept or what crazy thing I tried to put my body through for days.  All of this leads me to believe (no matter what the magazine covers say) that I have transitioned into the middle of my life.

So all of this is well and good, except I've heard about this thing called a "mid-life crisis".  Those never go well.  That's the time when people spend crazy amounts of money on sports cars or leave their spouse for someone else or travel to India to prove they can still have adventures.  But I'm wondering what has to happen to go from realizing and accepting that my life has reached the middle to a full-blown, poor decision making crisis.  I mean, I love my minivan.  I love my husband.  I love staying at home and not contracting some flesh-eating virus from, I don't know, dirty ashram water.  Maybe I'll be lucky and miss the "crisis" part of aging.  Wouldn't that be nice?

I was listening to "Coffee with Christine Caine", my new favorite podcast (because, hello, Christine Caine, and also they are about 10 minutes long which is about how much time I have to do anything for myself this summer), and she was talking about embracing new things and being innovative in our thinking.  She said something interesting, which is that being old happens when you get stuck in your ways and close off to new thinking.  According to Chris, there is no numerical age when you get old; a 26 year old can be old if he refuses to accept change and adapt to new circumstances.  Likewise, an 80 year old can still be skirting the young side if she is willing to try new things.  I witnessed that this past year when I signed up for a women's Bible study at a local church.  I joined my group the first day and was a little surprised at the white haired woman who announced herself as our leader.  She said, "My name is Betty and I've never done anything like this before, but I was asked if I would be willing to lead a group and so here I am."  Over the course of 25 weeks, Betty challenged my ideas about age and what people are capable of.  She doesn't drive after dark and she gets nervous when the sidewalk is icy, but she did her research each week and she kept our group on topic as we discussed the Life of Moses together.

Here I am, in the middle.  No longer an untethered young woman with the world at her feet and opportunity hanging like fruit from a tree.  Not yet a grumpy old lady shaking her fist at kids on skateboards and bemoaning "the good old days".  I'm navigating the middle of life, finding time to try new experiences between the demands and responsibilities of all I've been given.  To accept the limitations while continuing to dream.

What I've Learned (About Writing)

I am a writer.  (deep exhale)  That's not something I say out loud, like ever.  But I'm finally starting to believe it enough to think it.  I am always quick to encourage someone else and also quick to discount my own gifts/talents.  I tell myself that anyone can do what I do.  Maybe that's true, but I'm beginning to see that, although others can, not everyone does.

Getting lots of writing done

So, my beautiful writer friends (Amber and Deanna!), here is what I've learned...

1. Writing is a way of life.  As soon as I learned how to form letters, I began to write.  I have kept diaries and journals, written short stories and term papers, love letters and bad poetry.  Writing has always been part of me.  Then, five or six years ago, when I found myself without many friends and with deep, dark thoughts bubbling inside me, I grabbed a pen and a half-blank notebook and I began to write all the things I couldn't say.  So, while blogging may be relatively new, writing has always been there.

2.  Writing is solitary.  This is good news for those of us who are beginning something, learning and honing our craft.  No one else will read what you write.  The only critics are the ones marching around in your own brain.  You get to take years to get better, to get to the point when you want to share your writing.  And all that time, your writing is evolving.  This can also be bad news for those of us who listen too much to our inner critics, who tremble at the blinking cursor and turn off the computer without entering a single word.  There is no one else who will do the work for you, there is no one to point out the obvious (stop listening to the voices that say you suck), there is no one to congratulate you on finishing your latest piece.  Write anyway.

3.  Writing brings community.  That's right...it's lonely work and it will bring you closer to other people.  Other writers who will edit and encourage, who will share their knowledge and commiserate with you.  Readers who will connect with your words and get to know the YOU that is sometimes hidden in everyday life.  And, of course, the external critics who don't like you or what you think or how you see the world.  Yay!

4.  Writing is therapy.  Before I can say it, I can write it.  All those deep, dark thoughts I mentioned in #1?  I wrote them down to get them out and begin to process.  Then I showed them to my husband because I couldn't tell him how I was feeling but I could write about how I was feeling.  Only after I have come to terms with what is happening, once I can stand on the other side and admit the truth do I share it with everyone else.  What if I'd never found writing?  Good Lord, can you even imagine the kind of insanely crazed woman I would be today?  Thank you paper, for being readily available and infinitely cheaper than a psychiatrist.

5.  Writing is an escape.  I spend all day with little people...have I mentioned that in the last five minutes?  Writing during nap time, after dinner, on weekends, in the car line, etc lets me leave this sometimes chaotic life and disappear into a world of my own creation, where there are no messes to clean and no homework to check and everyone does exactly what I want them to do (or else they get deleted!).  Writing is a mini-vacation that happens inside my head and pours out onto paper.

6.  Writing can't be everything.  Even as I bemoan the people who interfere with my writing and slow down my work, I have to point out that I had nothing worth writing until those people came into my life.  If I was some single lady writing at Starbucks after work, I would be staring at a blank screen.  So there has to be life beyond the words.  There has to be some real living going on to provide material and inspiration.  There have to be books in hand and tickles freely given and walks in the quiet spring evenings and endless loads of laundry or there would be no words.  I've also learned that some men don't like falling asleep with their wife and her notebook.  So live first, write second.

7.  Every writer requires her own fuel.  When I sit down to write, my favorite things are a quiet house, Hot Tamales, Suri's Burn Book (surisburnbook.tumblr.com), Pandora Love Songs, and Cinnamon Dolce lattes.

Caffeine and Sugar!!

My Thoughts on Women

I woke up this morning with a question on my heart:  Has there ever been a better time to be a woman?  The answer is an emphatic NO.  One only has to watch season one of Mad Men to realize how much has changed for those of us living today, how much freedom we have to think and act and be who we want to be.  Thanks to the tireless work of the suffragists, the educators, the trailblazers, the leaders, the law changers, I get to live in a time of unprecedented opportunity.  I can choose what job I want to have (homemaker!), what color to dye my hair (I'm thinking purple next...), what books to read (The Trumpet of Conscience, go read it NOW), who to vote for (that one's trickier since politicians suck as a rule).  Don't even get me started on the advancements in menstrual care...from red tents and rags to those bizarre belts and toxic shock syndrome, and today researchers are hard at work finding ways for us to avoid that monthly debasement altogether.

Girl Power! (I'm in the yellow shirt) 2006

I shared last week how I feel about men, both the general men of the world and the men closest to me.  It is because of these men who love me, my husband and father and sons, that I find my femininity.  It is in response and in relation to them that I see who I was created to be, see all my strengths and weaknesses clearly.  We have both, sisters, because we are whole people and we are flawed people.  The weaknesses of our gender aren't too hard to discover.  We wound with our mouths.  We gossip and whisper, we exaggerate and lie, we criticize and we judge.  And for all of the pain we inflict, we are mortally wounded when the tongues of others lash our skin.  Chris Rock says, "Women would rule the world...if they'd stop hating each other."  We allow envy to course through our veins and we forget to cheer each other on.  We forget to embrace the positive side of womanhood.

BFFs 1998

Because we live in a world that says we have to be like men to be worthwhile, we have forgotten why it's so great to be a woman.  We carry and birth new life.  We are created to safeguard the next generation with our bodies, and are capable of so much love, tenderness, and nurture.  If the children are the future like the song says, then ladies, it all begins with us, with our wombs and our breasts and our arms.  Let us never forget to wonder and celebrate at what we bear within us.  And closely related to our child-bearing is our child-birthing and ridiculously high tolerance for pain.  I firmly believe that if men had to experience the process, the human race would die off.  But we don't just stop there, with the necessary aches and groans of labor, we inflict more pain on ourselves in the name of beauty.  Waxing and tweezing and high heels and underwire (not to mention the torture of Jillian Michaels) and we don't even bat our eyes.  That's nothing.  We can endure and we can triumph through it all.  And our greatest strength is really the flip side of our greatest weakness.  All the infighting and verbal assaults we wage against each other can very easily be steered towards good.  Because our most feminine quality is our ability to go deep.  We learn about each other.  We open up about our hurts.  When we let our hearts swell with love, we realize how much we actually care about each other.  We realize that your victory is my victory and your pain is my pain.  We learn how to join arms and hold each other up.

It takes a Village 2013

I went to high school.  We all went to high school.  So we all know how scary other women are.  I chose to inflict pain right back at those who hurt me.  That seemed like the only way to survive.  But it's not.  I've been learning the past few years about another way to go, about real, healthy female friendships.  What it is to accept someone for who she is, to notice her abilities and her beauty and not feel threatened by it.  I've learned how to be vulnerable because I know I'm with safe people.  I know what it's like to be freaking out and scared and realize that my girlfriends (or sisters or roommates or classmates or whatever) are the last people I want to call.  Which is a real shame, because I have a few ladies on speed dial that are better at talking me down than even my husband (that's really saying something, since this is the guy I chose as The One to talk me down for the rest of our lives).  And WOW!  When I can reach out and there's actually another woman there who doesn't make fun of me or criticize me or judge me?  It's an incredible feeling ladies.  It's what I want for us all.  But we have to make it happen.  We have to be the change we want to see.  (Ghandi!!!)

Sisters (at Madame Toussaud's) 2013

For all that we have left to accomplish, the changes of the past several decades give me hope.  We aren't "there" yet, but we can get there because of the advancements women have already made.  We have platforms and microphones and education and spending power ladies!  We have voices and passions and we were made to be part of the solution!

*All the women pictured are dearly, deeply loved by me (even Oprah), and I will always feel tremendous gratitude to each of you for being a friend, a sister, a mentor to me.  You ladies rock!*

My Thoughts on Men

"Consider the target: women in their greater physical

weakness and emotional sensitivity are the target

for cruel and arbitrary assault.  The dishonor of women

runs like a dark polluted stream through history,

and all women have in some way been impacted

by it.  Misogyny is a universal blemish

on the face of woman."   -Andrew Comiskey

When I look around at the world, all the problems we face today seem to boil down to one source: men.  Think about it.  Men are ISIS, men are Al Qaeda, men are Boko Haram, men are warlords.  Men are in seats of power all over the world, arguing with each other over who has the bigger throne. Men are the oppressors of women, children, and minority groups under the guise of religion, law, and brute force.  It's hard to imagine women inventing prostitution, racism, fast food, or sweat shops.  War and all its various horrors are clearly the handiwork of men, since it is men determining when a country invades or attacks another, men who lead troops of other men to the front lines, men who created and deploy bombs, drones, and artillery. (Just in case you think I have pink blinders on, yes, women also fight.  But we like to do our damage in close range, so we can see the hurt we inflict and watch the life drain from the eyes of our enemies.  We're satisfied with sharp spears, even if they only take shape in our words.)

Not to mention, men, how you make your families vulnerable when you abandon them, leaving women to serve as both mom and dad to the children you create but refuse to raise.  Single mothers are working to sustain the family and also totally responsible for the emotional nurture of their kids.  All of that is too much for one person.  So young women grow up never knowing love and affirmation from their fathers and seek out replacements in the form of abusers and takers.  Not to mention that the young men who are drawn to fundamentalist hate groups grow up in homes without fathers.

And so I stand in judgement, blaming men for all these problems and more, but still I hold a candle of hope.  Because what stands between me and my burning hatred for the world's injustices are five guys offering a glimpse of what men are supposed to be.  I am fortunate to be surrounded by men who love me well, who uphold the often forgotten practices of fidelity and service, who embrace the strengths of masculinity without exhibiting the flaws of their gender.

I grew up in a home with both my mom and my dad, and my dad has always told me that I can do anything.  He took me to the library and let me get any books I wanted (I was at the library with my kids recently and overheard a dad tell his daughter to just get one book...I wanted to inform him that they are free and shouldn't be limited, but I held my tongue).  He taught me to play basketball and explained the rules of football as we watched games together.  He told me I was beautiful, even when the mirror seemed to contradict him.

Because of how I was raised and the kind of man my dad was, when I became an adult and looked for a partner in life, I found a man very similar in Chris.  He appreciated and loved me from the start, not perfectly (for there is only One who loves me perfectly, and I'm still trying to wrap my mind around who He is) but well.  I knew that he would be the kind of father I wanted my kids to have, and I believed he would be a husband who would honor and cherish me for the rest of his life.  So far, I haven't been wrong.

Together, we created two lives.  How I desired for those children to be girls, to raise them to be fierce, awesome women who don't take crap from anyone, pursuing truth and justice.  But God in His infinite wisdom gave me sons.  Even when we stepped outside our gene pool, still a boy was the one we got.  So instead of raising warrior daughters and feeding them misandry along with my breastmilk, I am becoming tenderized daily to the beauty of my boys.  I love them, not in spite of the stink of their farts or the messes they make, but because of them.  I am learning to take delight in their feats of strength and enormous appetites, their stubbornness and their desire to lead.  (Even the three year old the other day demanded that I follow him, instead of the other way around.)  I feel so strongly the duty I have to these boys, to show them what a woman is.  She is strong (as I chop down trees and move furniture).  She is soft (as I cuddle their growing bodies and give comfort to their boo boos).  She is smart (as I help with homework and teach them new things).  She is brave (as I kill spiders and engage in plastic sword fights).  She is loving and worthy of love (as we live this life together, taking care of each other).  And oh, I can see the men these boys will grow into.  I can see them taking jobs as teachers and police officers, helpers and public servants.  I can see them falling in love with strong, courageous women and creating families of their own.  I can see them doing the hard work of love (because if they don't, if they try to bail, their father and I will drag them back home no matter what).

And so my candle of hope burns into the night.  What if the tide is turning?  What if men and women together could bring healing to this earth, if we could set things right?  What if our men stood in their rightful places as protectors and providers instead of being pimps and power-hungry?  What if we loved so boldly that we fought back against terror and injustice?  What if all our children grew up in families where fathers were present and active, because they didn't bail, because they didn't die in an unjust war, because they knew what really mattered in life?  If we could do this, then we could all live free, men and women together.

Thanks to my guys, for being the persistent flame on my candle.

Behind Every Strong Woman

My friend wrote a blog for my husband yesterday.  Not because she is lusting after him, but because she sees what he does for me and she wanted to affirm him in the way he likes most, words.  Because this past weekend, he sacrificed at home so that I could serve publicly.  He kept the children (not just ours, but a stranger's child too) and cleaned the house and had dinner waiting for me when I got home.  He sat and listened to my stories and kept the teasing to a minimum about this thing that gets me so excited.  What he did enabled me to do what I did.

I wanted to brag about my husband and tell all the single ladies to marry a man who will stay home with the children so you can lead...but then I realized that's not what I did.  We have been married for almost 10 years, and this life that we are currently in was nowhere near our radar when we first began.  I wasn't looking for a man to support me as I stepped up to the microphone.  I had no intention of gathering women and living out my calling.  I didn't have a goal or a launchpad or a dream.

No, ten years ago I chose to marry a man who loved me for who I was (although neither of us really "knew" each other the way we do now, so many years and life-changing experiences later), a man who made me laugh, a man who was committed to making our marriage work and last, no matter what the cost.  And let me tell you, neither of us knew how much it would cost.  We signed a blank check to make our marriage strong and sometimes it shocks me how steep the price can be. (Forgiveness folks.  It is expensive.)

And that is how we jumped.  Not knowing what was coming ahead.  Not partners in some grand plan, just partners in life.  I told him I wanted to live an adventure, and he said, "You got it.  Adventures in a Single Income Household!"  He wasn't kidding.  I did not know what he would stand by my side through, but I knew he would stand by my side.  My husband is a man who says, "I think you can do it.  I think you should do it."

So ladies...if you are already living your dream, if you have already stepped from scared to courageous, then find a man who will live that dream with you.  Find a man who will handle all the "little" things at home so you can do "big" things in public.  But if you are single and like me, unsure what this life holds for you, then find a man like Chris at 22.  Find someone who thinks you are AMAZING...just the way you are.  Find a man who will love you so passionately that your passion becomes his passion.  Find a man who makes you laugh, because the dark days will come, and looks will fade and money will come and go, but laughter will always be there and it will carry you through.  Find a man who never tires of holding your hand.  Find a man who never tires of cheering you on, no matter how much doubt and fear fill you.

And single guys...my guess is that you're single because you're not that guy.  You're not brave enough to leave selfishness in the dust and leap into the great unknown with a hot lady.  You're not secure enough to praise her without first receiving praise.  You're not silly enough to make jokes when the car is broken down and the kid is sick and the 12th rejection letter arrived.  You aren't humble enough to be at home while she moves mountains.  But here is the good news: You can change.  You can grow up.  You can be the kind of man who helps a strong woman stand.  You can be the only one she wants to come home to.  You can be the strong arms that hold her through the storms and you can be the faithful one when all else seems to disappear.

For Chris, who is my shield and my heart, my supporter and my husband.  Thank you for being my partner through all that has passed and all that is yet to come.

College Memories

"Failure. Anyone working toward meaningful change will taste it often. When that happens, the frustration we feel turns inward, and suffocates. Self-loathing and a toxic sludge of shame can follow.

If frustration is the fuel for the engine of change, then grace is coolant that keeps the thing from exploding. When we fail on the path to New, extending grace to ourselves is vital. It is only with grace that we can stand back up and keep walking, smiling and laughing at how we fell."  -"Science" Mike McHargue

Commencement May 2002

I have an uneasy relationship to my alma mater.  I am a college graduate, which makes me proud, but I don't use my degree, which makes me feel bad.  I am an alumni, but not one who is able to make generous financial contributions.  And because I don't have a "job", I don't really need to network or make connections through mixers and alumni events.  But I still read the magazine that comes in the mail and check the emails.  It's how I got this lovely computer that I am typing on.  With that positive experience in the recent past, I decided to accept an invitation to bring my family up to Kent for the annual "Tray Fest" aka sledding down the hilly Front Campus.  This sounded fun.  And since I didn't do social activities when I was actually a student, it would give me the opportunity to create memories with my kids.

But the yucky feelings began as we loaded up the car with gloves and sleds and extra clothes.  I got on the familiar road that I traveled so many times alone, this time with my whole family.  And I felt a sense of dread.  It has been almost 13 years since I graduated, and at least 10 since I've been on the campus.  College was easily the worst few years of my life.  It was a time when I was the least healthy version of myself, when I was chasing all the wrong things and dissatisfied with what resulted.  I lost myself in the crush of brick buildings and well-dressed girls and heavy books and emptiness inside.

Apple Hall girls

Why was my reticence so linked to this place?  I mean, it's not the location that caused my depression or deprived me of friendship.  It's not like anyone actively sought to destroy my happiness and peace of mind.  It was merely the setting, the backdrop of my misery.  I ran through the usual list of regrets, all the things I should have done differently.

Upon arriving, there was a jarring sense of worlds colliding: thirty-something me with kids in tow revisiting where young adult me used to walk.  My irresponsible and immature past overshadowed by the people who depend on me everyday.  And, inexplicably, a fear that no one would talk to me or even say something mean.

Daredevils January 2015

Then my kids worked their magic.  They eagerly climbed aboard their sleds and shrieked and laughed and hollered as they rocketed down a very slippery and very steep hill.  We took turns riding down with them and helping them mount their plastic chariots.  People talked to us, mostly to comment how much fun was being had and how determined and brave the boys were. (They really are. Wow. So proud of these kids.)  By the time our fingers and toes and noses were red and stiff with cold, I was enjoying myself.  I was filled with a sense of nostalgia, remembering the classes I took in the buildings around us.  I found myself wondering if the boys would come back here someday as young men.  I pointed out the places I used to go as we drove around the campus.  I showed them the library and the parking lot that I was only lucky enough to use about four times, as it filled quickly each morning.  We passed the massive gym, "the Rec", and they begged to go inside.  Chris told them they would have to grow older and become students for that to happen.  It didn't fill me with fear for their tender hearts.  I think these kids are going to be okay.  Sure, they will struggle and fail at times, but their struggles and failures will be their own; they won't be mine.

We drove home with french fries and laughter, and I felt my memories reset.  Yes, I could have done things differently...but I know that now, only because of the pain I experienced to learn about myself. Is it fun to be lonely?  NO.  But it helps point me in the direction of healthy relationships.  Is it exciting to feel your mind sink into despair and lose sight of the future?  NO.  But I am grateful for each day since then that has dawned and the life that continues to grow and evolve out of that desperate place.  Is it pleasant to grasp at the pieces of yourself as they disappear and realize that you are left with nothing?  NO.  But sometimes we need to empty ourselves for better thoughts and ideas to take root and grow.  My years in college were miserable, but my college didn't make me miserable.  I was suffering the pains of growing and becoming something new.  And you guys, I love who I have become.  I am so glad to be the woman sledding down the hill with her wonderful boys and laughing with her husband.  I love the friends who surround me and encourage me and redeem all the hurt from toxic relationships in the past.  I'm glad for the distance from who I used to be, and the promise of who I am becoming.

Future student? January 2015

Let me end with a quote from Mikey, who is very eager to plan his future and experience EVERYTHING:  "When my teeth fall out, I get big, and I grow tall, then I can go to the gym and be student at college."

In My Place

I was making communion bread the other night.  It's something I enjoy doing, something I volunteered to do a while back.  That's where I like to be.  I like baking in my kitchen.  I like playing with my kids.  I like listening to sermons in my pjs while I fold laundry.  That's how I like serving God, serving my church.  I want to be the proper church lady who bakes food for Sunday morning and teaches the three year olds about Moses and listens attentively as her pastor preaches.  That's what I can offer, that's my place.  Or so I thought.

This past year, our church went through a transition and we got a new pastor.  I was excited to meet him, to learn more about him, to hear him speak from the pulpit.  Imagine my surprise when our first conversation involved him asking if I preach.  Um, NO.  Not at all.  So I invited him over to the house for dinner.  So he could see me in my place.  So he could eat the food that I cooked, so he could meet the children I chase around all day.  But he came with other plans, and that night, he gave me a date, told me to get ready.

Well, okay, maybe, I thought.  Maybe I could get up on a Sunday morning and talk about orphans or why it's so important for adults to care about children.  I told my pastor that if he ever wants to address those issues, I'd be happy to help.  A few weeks later, he called with my first topic: giving.  He asked me to talk during the time of offering, something about why we give money at church.  Again, I thought, Um NO.  I don't even have a paying job, I have no income.  What could I possibly say about giving money at church?

Our pastor came over to the house again.  It was after I began talking during the offering; he wanted to make a video about our family.  And once he'd gotten the footage, he turned to me again with a date and told me to get ready.  He wanted me to do a *sermon* (cue fainting and hysterics) on prayer.    All I could think is, Why me?  What do I have to say?  What could I teach?

There are two ways to learn something: school and experience.  I love school.  I love sitting in a  classroom and taking notes and reading books.  I love the smell of libraries and the quiet of study halls.  I went to school for years, excitedly shopping for new folders and notebooks every August.  I went to college and studied political science with an international focus.  I briefly minored in French but dropped it to graduate early.  I never studied the Bible in a classroom.  I was never in a theology class, or even a philosophy class.  When I left college, I started working.  I took a job as a flight attendant and later at a bank, and I received on the job training, since my degree had little to do with either position.  When I became a wife and later a mother, I tried to learn from books.  I studied for these new roles, ones I wanted to badly to succeed at.  But in both situations, experience proved the better teacher.  Our families are ridiculously unique and personal, and we just have to figure it out as we go, what works best for us.

For me, it turns out that life has been a much better teacher about God too.  In the last ten years, He has become real to me in a way that I doubt I could have been taught.  Apparently God has more He wants me to learn, from a new place in His church.  The time has come for me to get up from my seat, and not just receive, but to give, to instruct.  I took the advice of my friend, Mandy, to talk about my experiences.  I don't know the big, theological words for this stuff.  I've never read the Bible in its original languages.  And maybe that's better.  Because no one can argue that my experiences are wrong the way we disagree over ideas.

So I stood before my church, the people who have loved and supported me and become some of my closest friends, and I talked about the changes in my heart.  I talked about who I was before, the events in my life and the reactions I had that put distance between me and God, and how it was hard to pray.  And then I talked about what happened to change my thinking, how Jesus became real to me in my early twenties and over time prayer became an easy and integral part of my life.  This experience is echoed in a book I'm reading called "The Way of the Heart" by Henri Nouwen.  He writes,

 "Real prayer comes from the heart...The prayer of the heart is a prayer that does not allow 

us to limit our relationship with God to interesting words or pious emotions.  By its 

very nature, such prayer transforms our whole being into Christ precisely 

because it opens the eyes of our soul to the truth of ourselves as well as to the 

truth of God.  In our heart, we come to see ourselves as sinners embraced by the 

mercy of God.  It is this vision that makes us cry out, 'Lord Jesus Christ, son

 of the Living God, have mercy on me, a sinner.'  The prayer of the heart challenges 

us to hide absolutely nothing from God and to surrender ourselves unconditionally

 to His mercy.  Thus the prayer of the heart is the prayer of truth."

And in this way my experience has taught me and my studying merely reinforces (and much more eloquently so) what I know to be true.

Ready to leap

On Life-Changing Moments

"Don't think for a moment that because you're in the palace 

you will escape when all other Jews are killed.

If you keep quiet at a time like this, deliverance and relief 

for the Jews will arise from some other place, 

but you and your relatives will die.

Who knows if perhaps you were made queen

for just such a time as this?"    

Esther 4:13-14

Life is full of moments, of decisions that will change our lives.  Movies convince us they are easy to spot, like that magical first kiss when you realize you have found the one who completes your heart.  I wouldn't know about that.  The word that comes to mind when I think of my first kiss with the man who became my husband is awkward.  Two 18 year olds tentatively looking out opposite windows of an old Buick, wanting to move forward and yet terrified of messing it up somehow.  And yet, for all the fear, there is an underlying certainty.  This is it...this is what comes next.  There was fear when I held that pregnancy test in my hand one early Saturday morning, there was fear as I considered turning in my notice and becoming a full-time at home mother.  But there was also a sense of rightness.  And as we became licensed foster parents, fear was never far away, wondering what the future would hold for us all.  But we did it, we kept completing the steps, because we knew, in some inexplicable way, we knew it was the right thing for us, for just such a time as this.

A year ago, I had a conversation that once again marked a life change for me.  I didn't know it at the time, as it was shrouded in that familiar cover of fear.  See, I was talking to my pastor's wife, a pastor in her own right if we're being totally honest.  I was telling her about a women's conference I had heard about, a conference that we could host in our very own town, in our very own church!  For once, I wouldn't have to miss out on something new and exciting, because it would be right down the street.  And she listened and she nodded, and she said yes, we could host this conference.  But only if I did the work.  Her life was entering a big transition, and she wouldn't be able to do any of the preparation.  So if I wanted to have the event, I needed to make it happen.  In about 6 weeks.  With no experience in planning such an event.  With no confidence in myself as a leader, as someone who could put her name on something and accept full responsibility for the outcome.  The fear was bountiful, but so was the belief that I had to try.  If not me, then who?  If not now, then when?

IF: Local February 2014

On the advice of my pastor's wife (again, she is just as much a pastor herself, I should really drop the wife part), I gathered a team, just a few women who also said yes with little information but with a great desire to be part of it.  There wasn't time for advertising, for decorations, for all that I would have liked to do.  I was worried that no one would come; I was worried that many would come.  I had  to admit often that I just didn't know.  I didn't know what to expect, I didn't know how it would turn out, I didn't know if I was getting it all wrong.  But I followed through, and the weekend came, and...women showed up!  Women I'd never met had heard about it online or through word of mouth.  The live stream worked.  The speakers were powerful, the message clear.  We are all like Esther, in our places, in our communities, in the lives of others for just such a time as this.  It's scary to leave that comfortable seat, that well-situated status quo.  After all, no one would blame me for not opening my home to traumatized children.  No one would ever know the burdensome secrets that I carried.  No one, not even myself, would be aware of wasted potential as I sat quietly, week after week, year after year, letting others lead.  When the time has come for me, over and over, I have only been able to see it all clearly in retrospect.  The moments are a jumble of emotions, of deliberation.

This past week, I experienced two clear moments.  The first came on Wednesday, as I was in the midst of getting the children off to school and meeting with my Bible study ladies.  A phone call, in many ways so similar to that one we received three years ago.  Another baby, in need of a home.  It could change our lives again, the way Michael changed everything.  And yet, amidst the deliberations, the hurried texts between my husband and I, one thing was lacking.  That sense of rightness and certainty.  The fear was there, only in a new form.  What if we say no?  Are we the only ones who can help this baby?  What if we say no?  Will we be missing out?  Will another opportunity come, one that better fits our situation, our family schedule?  Is this our last chance?  We decided to decline.  We passed on the opportunity that didn't feel quite right, and prayed that it would be right for someone else.  Then Thursday came.  I met with a group of women, all gathered by that same pastor's wife.  You see, the conference is coming again in just 8 weeks.  I am hosting again this year, with much more confidence and excitement than last time, because I've seen what God can do through me, with all that I lack, that He can more than make up for it.  And these other women, they are hosting too.  Five of them came to my church for that weekend, and when they left, they vowed to be a part of it next time.  Not to just sit in the seats, but to open the doors.  Instead of just one conference in a small church in Northeast Ohio, this February there will be several.  Our whole state is lit up with locations offering the same opportunity to many more women.

Because life is full of moments, ones that will change us forever, creating new paths that we will follow into a great unknown.  We must recall Esther, her fearful crossroads, her life or the lives of her people?  The potential loss of reputation, of position versus the potential extermination of an entire race of innocent people.  The stakes may not be as high in our modern culture...or maybe they are.  These choices we make, they have the power to change us, to touch our souls, to echo through eternity.  Most likely, we will not have books written about us, there won't be festivals celebrating our bravery each year around the world.  But our obedience to do what is right...it matters.  It matters to the child who is no longer an orphan, to the homeless man who is offered shelter, to the person whose hope is renewed by an act of kindness, to the prisoner who is set free.  So do as Esther did.  Use all that you have in the place God has given you.  Remember that He is sufficient for all that you lack.  Remember that deliverance and relief can come from anywhere, but you will miss it if stay silent.

"If God is real, then we want more than anything to live like it."  Jennie Allen, founder of IF

Calling

Lately, our church has been focused on callings.  Our pastor distributed wood blocks and told us to place the blocks in our place of calling, or with the people we are called to, and take a picture.  This is where we are to serve.  This is where we are to behave as Jesus.  This is where we are ministers and mentors and mothers.

What strikes me about callings is that we all have them.  Yes, even YOU...you sitting at the computer late at night, you who identifies as atheist or agnostic or secular humanist, you who wonders if you have any purpose at all.  God is calling YOU.  Because you have worth.  You have a unique perspective.  Your calling is the sum total of your life experiences.

When you see injustice and your heart burns...God is calling you.

When you see people hurting and your heart breaks...God is calling you.

When you see what COULD BE and your heart races...God is calling you.

God is calling you to do what?  Sometimes God calls you to stand.  He says, "GET UP!"  He makes a path and he asks you to walk it with Him.  The church can spend all day talking, but God wants action.  He wants you to be uncomfortable.  He wants you to do something new.  He wants your skills and your passion and your potential.

Sometimes God calls you to sit.  Yes, really.  The human body was not made to stand indefinitely.  At some point we all need to take a rest.  So SIT DOWN.  Let someone take their turn to stand.  Pass the baton.  We mistake sitting as something to be ashamed of.  God wants you to sit with your children and color a picture.  God wants you to sit at a table and feed His people.  God wants you to sit and rest for the next season.

Sometimes God calls you to kneel.  At some point, we all must bow before Him.  Before you can sit, before you can stand, you have to KNEEL.  You have to surrender your right to be right, your selfishness, your comfortable hole in the ground.  You have to give it all up to answer the call.  God doesn't ask us to kneel to humiliate us.  On our knees, we don't find degredation.  No, we find a Father who loves us, who lifts us off the ground and seats us at the place of honor.  Once we kneel, we find celebration, a glimpse of what the world can be when all of us are living our calling. 

Imagine if we all lived our purpose.  Imagine if we all acted on the calling and set the world right.  What would you be doing?

In the Wilderness

A few weeks ago, I sent this message to the women of my Village, inviting them to join me at our IF: Local this weekend....

"Lately, I've been reading the gospels, and for the first time, I've been identifying with John the Baptist.  (Usually I am put off by the eating-locusts-living-in-the-wilderness-crazy-eyes part of his story)  He is described as "a voice shouting in the wilderness, 'Prepare the way for the Lord's coming!'" (Luke 3:4)  And this made me think, we are still living in the wilderness.  There are predators and dangers all around us, and some of us go for such a long time without a proper spiritual meal, existing on whatever we can find along the way.  God has been working on my heart to come out of the wilderness, to eat and drink from his word and to stop walking that fine line between good and evil.  And I want other women to experience this refuge that I've found, which is why IF has become so important to me.  I see the same heart for women in the speakers and planners of this event, and that's why I hope you'll find some time to join me.  If you can only come for one session, please do.  Even three hours of encouragement and community can go a long way in the wilderness of our souls."

Friday night, the conference began.  We were ready.  We came in, not knowing what to expect, hoping for the best.  And the women in Austin DELIVERED.  One after another, they spoke, they shared, they preached.  When Christine Caine came on the stage, I thought surely there is no way she can top what has already come.  I didn't know anything about her.  But she began to speak, and she directed us to Joshua 5, to the story about Joshua circumcising all the men because a generation had DIED in the wilderness, and the new generation had to rise up to take their place.  The previous generation had been delivered from slavery, but never made it to the full life, the freedom promised, the land flowing with milk and honey.  "Why settle for deliverance when we could be free?" Christine asked.  And so the next generation entered the Promised Land when all their parents had died.  Even Moses died in the wilderness; Joshua took over and finished the journey.  I'm not going down like that.  I AM NOT DYING IN THE WILDERNESS.  I am ready for something new, in my life, in my church, in this world.  I'm grabbing freedom, because free people free people.  "Let go of the weights and sin that entangle you," she said.  "Usher in the Second Coming," she proclaimed.

We weren't meant to wander in the wilderness, and we weren't meant to stay up on the mountain.  Those places are glimpses that we are to take with us into real life, into the endless cycle of laundry and dishes and hugs and crying eyes and REAL PEOPLE.  Come out and come down, but not the same.  Bring a changed heart and a new life to the world.  Abide in the truth of God's word, because the Truth sets you free.

If God is real, then what?
Then I believe.  I believe that I have a unique place in his Body, that I'm not redundant or unnecessary, like an appendix or a male nipple.