nothing but dirt and cheerios

I have cheerios stuck in the small knots of my pine floors. Most of them I can vacuum out, but some stay lodged there with the fine gritty dirt. When I mop, I glide over those stubborn cheerios and curse my scratched, worn floors.

I also have cracking, horse-hair plaster walls that look a bit grungy, and a mixture of new and old moldings around my door frames. Some of the paint is peeling.

Nothing is too nice in my home, but as soon as the Christmas decorations go up, I love my little house nevertheless. I love the mantel with the sparkling Santa's and personalized stockings. I love the antique manger and Nativity figurines that we carefully arrange each year. I love the pine cone wreath with the red bow and antique gold cross hanging from it's center that adorns my front door. I love the little spruce trees with white lights that sit on my front porch. And I love the Christmas tree that will go up next week with all the ornaments I've collected over the past eight years.

These decorations seem to transform my house. Yet it's more than just glitter and glow. It's the Spirit they invoke. These decorations are a form of devotion. They inspire me to stay home and enjoy the wait. I don't long to be shopping or wrapping or cooking or doing. I'm glad to be right here because Advent has begun, and the coming of Christ shines a light on everything.  And while the decorations are outward symbols of Christmas, the real beauty of the season is knowing that I could sit on my floor with nothing but dirt and cheerios, and I would still have the greatest gift of all.

simple wonder

One stormy winter morning two years ago, I was on the phone getting the news that church would be cancelled for the day due to the snow. At the same time, I was peering out the window watching the snow fall down. With the phone pressed to my ear, a deer suddenly appeared--walking gingerly through the icy cold stream that runs through our backyard.

I quickly finished my conversation and then shouted for Nelson and the girls to come see. For a few minutes, we watched the doe tip toe through the water as snow twirled and fell to the ground. Finally she moved out of sight, but we were all left in marvel at the simple beauty of a deer in the snow.

This is what I am most thankful for this year--simple moments of wonder and beauty that clarify our view of life and make us see God's hand. Though there are so many things I could list--everything from the health of my children to many more months to spend with our dog--I'm most thankful for the moments that jolt me out of my selfish daze and force me to pay attention to this "one precious life." I'm thankful for these moments that make me appreciate all the other less glamorous ones. I'm thankful for God's wisdom and how He speaks to us in soft and gentle ways. I'm thankful I'm still seeing and hearing what He has to say.

Happy Thanksgiving to all my wonderful family and friends.

What about myself do I struggle to accept?

I'm reading The Purpose Driven Life by Rick Warren again. I love this book. It holds so much truth and inspiration for me. Even the dedication page is beautiful. Warren quotes Ephesians 1:11 from The Message.

It's in Christ that we find out who we are and what we are living for. Long before we first heard of Christ...He had his eyes on us, had designs on us for glorious living, part of the overall purpose he is working out in everything and everyone. 

Last night I couldn't sleep because I wasn't feeling well so I turned the light on and read the second chapter, which Warren concludes with the following question: What areas of your personality, background and physical appearance are you struggling to accept?

I clicked off the light and considered the question. And here's one thing I came up with. The mother I want to be differs from the mother I really am. I'm not the nurturer I thought I would be. And I get easily swallowed up by the stress of the never-ending list of tasks that need to be completed each day. I don't laugh, or dance, or sing, or even smile as much as I should around my children. They fill me with joy, and yet, I can get consumed with how difficult it is to be a parent.

I really have to figure out what my strengths are as a mother and how to build on those traits while working to change my weaknesses. I want to feel like a good mother, rather than try to convince myself of this fact.

I do believe that motherhood is my test for becoming more Christ-like. So I have to reconcile what areas of myself as a mother I struggle to accept and why. It's in Christ we find out who we are and what we are living for. I know this is true. And perhaps that's what makes mothering so hard. It's a lot to live up to. But when we discover our true self through motherhood (the good and the bad) we realize the hardest path is the most fulfilling path to walk.

you were my best friend

I was running the other day and listening to Katharine McPhee's beautiful new song Say Goodbye. It's really a song about romantic love but all of a sudden the words of one verse made me think of my father.

"It's hard to lose love. You were my best friend." You were my best friend. Those words swept over me, and I just started to cry as I ran along with the cool fall wind gusting in my face. I felt like I could be swept away with the leaves that were swirling around me. I realized I hadn't thought about my Dad in a while. How could I go for days without thinking about him? He was my best friend. And it's crushing, STILL, that he's gone. It's crushing too, that there are days when I forget to remember.

Of course, I know, he's always right where I need him, but that's not always enough. Because...

It's hard to lose love
You were my best friend

have I seen the hand of God in my life today?

A while back, a friend of mine shared this YouTube video with me. It's a short message given by a leader in the Mormon church. In the video, he recounts how when his children were young, he would take the time to write in his journal each day, asking, "Have I seen the hand of God in my life today?"

He says, "As I would cast my mind over the day, I would see evidence of what God had done for one of us that I had not recognized in the busy moments of the day. As that happened, and it happened often, I realized that trying to remember had allowed God to show me what he had done."

My days are a blur lately. I run the same routines over and over, and with Nelson away the chaos around here is crazy. Yesterday the girls started fighting the moment Julia got off the school bus. I rushed through dinner and bedtime with great eagerness--hoping for the day just to end. Then I had a cocktail and ate a pile of Halloween candy until I achieved a level of self-loathing I couldn't undo.

I decided a good night's rest was the best remedy, so I snuggled into my very cozy bed and took out a few books that I find inspiring, including the Bible. I really needed advice and counsel, but before I got to read a word, the baby woke up crying. He's recovering from a virus, so I brought him into bed with me. I shut off the lights, with my books still stacked on the other side of the bed.

As I listened to his breathing, I closed my eyes and thought about this video. Could I look back through the day and recognize a moment where I felt God touching my life with purpose. "Did God send a message that was just for me?"

I sat for a while, but I couldn't think of anything beautiful or meaningful. And then it hit me. The girls and their fighting holds a message just for me that I believe God wants me to understand. I have a job to do as their mother. I haven't been doing the best job guiding them at home. Their fighting escalates when I'm distracted and lazy. I have to pray about this, and figure out how to bring more peace and harmony to our home. It starts with me.

Did I see His hand in my life? Yes, every day I do. Sometimes the message is beautiful. Sometimes it is joyful. And sometimes it is sobering and introspective. But it is a question worth pondering each and every day, don't you think?

raise up your palm in praise

My favorite moment of this week was on Thursday night. We were at a music rehearsal for a concert to commemorate the retirement of our pastor after 28 years of ministry at my church. Two musicians--a husband and wife--that used to play at our church came back to be a part of the concert. I didn't know these people at all, but at one point during the run-through of gospel song we we're performing, I looked out to see, Sue, the wife, with her eyes closed and palm raised up in praise-ful worship of the music.

As I watched her, I couldn't help but connect with the music more deeply. Her soulful appreciation of the song, sparked such a feeling of joy inside me. Also, watching her spontaneous reaction was inspiring. She didn't care what she looked like. She was being so authentic. It struck me--the honesty of her character. I don't always feel that comfortable in my own skin, but it's something to strive for.