Nothing new about grace

It’s been awhile since I’ve written. Not because of a lack of things to write about, but quite the contrary. I have so much that is always marinating in my brain and in my heart that it’s hard to sort it out and communicate it in a way that makes sense. And sometimes, it’s in the very beginning stages and if I were to write about my thoughts, it would not be wise.

Writing a blog, speaking publicly, or posting a status for that matter is a privilege that can be, and is, abused sometimes. It’s a one-sided “conversation” that allows us (me) to vent, complain, brag, etc. without the courtesy of really hearing another side. And as a reader, it can leave us (me) feeling frustrated or angry, because how rare it is to communicate so succinctly in a written piece, an oral presentation, or a status that the reader has no questions and knows exactly where the person is coming from. That, my friends, requires a serious amount of grace on both sides. Grace for the writer to understand that her story is just one of millions and it will be read through millions of different lenses; and grace for the reader to understand that the writer is human and may not communicate everything exactly as she means. Grace is noble and necessary and often forgotten. Therefore, each time I think about writing something or even saying something, I am learning to ask myself a few things beforehand: what is my motive? Am I trying to stir peoples’ hearts or just stir the pot to create divisiveness?  Am I writing from a standpoint of grace or am I just venting and unloading on unsuspecting readers? Am I open to differing opinions or will anger and defensiveness creep in if someone dare offer an opposing view? And am I being honest?

How can I have grace for another? I think it’s a virtue that develops through discipline. I train my brain to choose to see beyond the immediate circumstance and believe the best about the other person. I train my brain to choose to put myself in the other person’s shoes. I train my brain to choose to think about why someone may be doing or saying certain things. I give them grace each time I choose this way of thinking.

I can certainly assume the worst of my neighbor, friend, family member. I can assume that everything is personal and they were leaving me out on purpose, or they didn’t pay me back for lunch because they are cheap, or they haven’t talked to me in months because they are selfish and don’t care about me. OR, I can choose to brainstorm best case scenarios: maybe they didn’t invite me because they didn’t think I had time in my schedule or because maybe I’m not their only friend and they just wanted to spend time with someone else; maybe they didn’t pay me back because they simply forgot or because money is tight right now; maybe they haven’t called me because their life got busy or they lost my number or they hate talking on the phone or they just got some bad news and their life is turned upside down right now and they really can’t think of anyone else at the moment. In every interaction, I have a choice.

Approximately 100% of the time, I am wrong in my first impressions of people and in my first interpretation of a situation. My worldview is so so so so small. My story is unique to me; everyone has a story. A valuable story. People are complex. Situations are complex. They can be looked at through offensive lenses, or they can be looked at through lenses of grace. I want to wear those glasses—the ones with grace.

We all know people who are easily offended. Where I have to pay a price if I wrong that person. Like the lady at market whose foot I accidentally ran over with my stroller. She howled for several seconds and gave me a look of death. I said sorry over and over but she just kept howling. A grown woman, howling in Central Market. It was an accident. All I could say was sorry. But she needed to let me know just how badly I hurt her. I needed to know so that somehow I could pay for her pain.

That is obviously a minor example of a lack of grace, but it’s in these everyday occurrences that I have the opportunity to extend grace, kindness, self-control, gentleness, love, and peace to my neighbor (i.e. anyone and everyone). A few weeks ago, I asked my friend, who happens to be a monk, if he, or any of his monk friends get angry. Peace is their anthem, so I was just curious. His response was that it’s all about perspective. He can view someone as an annoyance or villain or enemy, or he can view them as his greatest teacher. If someone is annoying him, it’s his chance to practice patience; if someone offends him, it’s his opportunity to practice grace, and so on. I’ve been thinking of this for weeks. It’s usually in the moments when someone is annoying me or doing me wrong that I justify why I can act like a turd. But that’s not healthy, nor is it all like Jesus. He didn’t throw a tantrum on the cross or tell his murderers how wrong they were; he begged for God to pardon them and he extended them grace, in the midst of the worst offense.

Developing grace requires me to recognize how much of it I’ve been given. And I’ve been given much of it. I used to shake my head and utter phrases like “I’m glad I’m not married to someone like that” when I’d witness a spouse being difficult. Then one day, it dawned on me that I am the difficult spouse! That wasn’t super fun. Once I could take an honest look at myself, though, I realized just how much grace I’ve been shown by Alan, and in return, I’m compelled to show it to him.

Grace, kindness, gentleness, love—all of these work together to create peace. In a world that is incredibly broken right now, we all want peace. And yes, we can pray for it to come, but the hard truth is, it’s going to come through you and me. We are the peacemakers. Peace isn’t going to come as long as we (grown adults) are getting into arguments on facebook (or in real life) that are laden with pride. Peace isn’t going to come as long as we are name calling our political leaders. Peace isn’t going to come as long as we are assuming the worst about people and requiring that each person who wrongs us pay some price. Peace will come when we forgive. Peace will come when we listen. Peace will come when look beyond ourselves and realize that everyone is valuable and everyone deserves kindness. Peace will come when we take up our cross and follow Him.

Let’s be a breath of fresh air to those around us. Let our words be salve to those who are hurting. Let’s bring life and light into a room—not harshness and criticism. Let’s pay it forward, the grace we’ve been given by our Savior, to those around us. 

- M

Getting Therapized

Week two has come and gone! This post goes from light to heavy in a few short paragraphs. That’s how I do.

The girls started school on Monday at a lovely bilingual school that is literally behind our apartment. The teachers and administration have been so kind to us. Our girls had a rough start, crying hysterically some days. But someone was always there to take their hand and calm them down. Olive informed me that she likes going with Miss Pam because she gets band-aids or candy. Clementine’s teacher commented on how well Clementine speaks and how she talks much more than Mexican children typically do at this age. This could be similar to saying one’s child is “lively” (translation: hyper) or “curious” (translation: disobedient). I’m picturing Clementine walking around just narrating the whole day and throwing in things like, “Miss Ruth. This is a choking hazard” in her little squeaky, punctuated voice. Miss Ruth did say that she is excited to learn more English from Clementine. :)

On Wednesday we attended our second meeting with the core team of Vereda (the church). BTW, I’m just calling it The Church because no matter how many times I practice saying Vereda, no one understands. Anyway, we prayed at the end and someone was praying for our girls, that they would transition well, etc. I was of course crying because it’s been quite the emotional week, but I was also thinking “I really need to talk to Karen afterwards about coming over soon.” (Karen is here volunteering with The Well for a few months. She is an Art Therapist, which puts me in a unique position—I love therapy but I loathe art. Oh the drama.) Immediately after the prayer Karen looked at me and said “Can I come over today?” Seriously amazing. It was just what I needed. During our informal session at our dining room table, our first “project” was to draw a bridge. No problem. Two lines with some water underneath and BAM!

Masterpiece. (Karen had LOTS of questions about this. I’m not sure why…). On the opposite side of the table, this is what Alan was creating. 

It’s okay. We talked about our bridges for a while and got therapized (this is not necessarily a clinical word, but it’s what happens). Our next task was to draw a door and then draw what is behind the door. Alan and I drew the same door (our old door at 444 N. Water St.) but I left mine blank inside and Alan did not. Through many tears we talked about how moving here has been similar to how life was after Olive was born. Let me explain.

I never once thought I’d struggle with being a mom. I babysat all the time, I’m decently intelligent, and I have a teaching degree. All of that says that I’d make the perfect mom! When Olive was born, my world was rocked for several weeks. And when I’m not sleeping, several weeks seemed like an eternity. I didn’t “fall in love” with her right away, I didn’t look into her eyes in the middle of the night during the third feeding in 6 hours and think of how lucky I was. Many people would say things like “Isn’t this the best stage?” “How sweet that this baby is so dependent on you” and “I bet you’re loving being a mom!” The answer was no, you can’t be serious, and no, respectively. I tried confiding in someone once but they looked at me with a really confused look and that’s when Shame crept in.

It was the first time in my life I ever felt paralyzed by fear. I would sit on the couch all day, not eat, cry because I loved her so much, then cry because I wasn’t sure if I loved her enough. I was so afraid to mess up—mess HER up—that I just couldn’t move. I was longing for someone to understand.

One day, I got an email from a friend of a friend who I had met once or twice. I was sitting in the parking lot of Panera reading her email with tears streaming down my face. How did she know that this was exactly what I needed? Her email said lots of things, but the gist was, “Hey, you could be Superwoman and be doing fine with Olive. But in case you’re not Superwoman, I want you to know that you’re not alone and you’re okay.” This was the beginning of becoming un-paralyzed. That day, when I felt so alone, so much shame, and was wondering where God was, I found out He was right there. In the form of a not-yet-friend, someone who was bold enough to put herself out there, with the possibility of me rejecting her help, He was there. I am so thankful she was brave because now she is one of my dearest friends and truly was an answer to prayer.

Fast forward to now. This new change, new life, new routine has left me feeling a bit paralyzed. So afraid of messing up, I’ve been still. I recognized it this time, though, and knew that it felt familiar. I knew that the longer I sat still (mentally and physically) the worse it would get. So I’ve forced myself to move, which has been good. But, even still, I was longing for someone to understand, and wondering where God was. And in the form of a just-met friend, someone who followed the inclination inside to invite herself over so we could chat, with the possibility of being rejected, He was right here all along. Grateful is an understatement.

The truth is, He is always right here—right there, with you—it’s just a matter of recognizing it. His ways are mysterious, His love is unending, and His grace is overwhelming. He is there. He is here. He has not left you or me. Ever. And sometimes, you are that answer to prayer that reminds someone that God is here.

- M

Bienvenidos a Mexico!

After almost 18 months of planning and preparing, we are here! Alan has been here for just about two weeks; the girls and I have been here for one. We flew down last Friday, and in all, traveled about 14 hours by the time we got to our new home. Olive and Clementine each only slept for 5 minutes that entire time—seriously. They did so well traveling to the airport, on the plane, during our layover, in the immigration line, waiting for baggage, in the customs line, and on the hour drive home.

The girls shared a room for the first few days because we had some extra people staying with us, and bedtime was a nightmare! Every night it took at least an hour for them to finally stay in the room and go to sleep; some nights we had thunderstorms, which kept them awake even longer. Now, they are each in their own room and bedtime is just like it used to be—peaceful.

Clementine keeps asking to “go home” and I’m pretty sure she doesn’t mean our new one. Olive prays that we’ll have a good flight home—she might think we’re on vacation. Mostly, though, they are adjusting really well. They will start school on Monday, which will provide them with a routine and some normalcy. Olive has been asking everyday since we’ve gotten here if it’s time for her to go to school yet. She has been super excited…until she found out about the uniforms. For anyone that knows her, you know not to mess with her fashion sense. Her uniform is a white polo, jeans, and black (close-toed) shoes. Could it be any more opposite of what she loves to wear?! Flip flops, tiny shorts, and tank tops. This may be the most severe culture shock she’ll experience!

Alan found an apartment back in August when he was here with the young adult team, and it is perfect! It’s on a quiet street, it is relatively spacious, and it’s near one of the best taco places around :) We’ve spent most of our week hanging out in our apartment, waiting for things to be delivered or for people to come to repair things. Today should mark the last day of all the waiting—the Internet has been hooked up!

Though many things are still the same, life can be really different at times. There’s the language thing, for starters. We know enough Spanish to communicate, but not enough to sound intelligent. I’ve had several encounters where I understand what is being said, but I just can’t form the words to respond. Super frustrating. However, everyday I learn something new and that’s progress I suppose.

Another difference is feeling accomplished. With the daily schedule, the traffic, and the long (at least 2 hours) lunches, we were told to feel good if we get one thing done each day. THAT has been tough. Normally our calendar had multiple things on one day—appointments, meetings, dinners, small group, etc. So far, our day will have one thing—Washer/Dryer delivered between 12 and 8pm, for example.

Food shopping has also proved to be challenging. We’ve eaten so.many. quesadillas because that is one thing I know for sure that I can make! It takes more time and more travelling to several stores/markets to find foods that I know how to cook. And, our stove didn’t work for the first few days, so whatever could be made in a toaster oven was our meal.

It’s been strange, too, relying on Alan to take us places, since I have not braved driving yet. If I need something, I can’t just hop in the car and get it. Well, I guess I could, but I haven’t gotten there yet. Babysteps. Alan has done SO well driving. I’m completely confident in his abilities to get us to and fro.

What’s ahead, you ask? We will be joining the leadership team of Vereda right away and I’m sure in a week or two Alan will be helping with the music for the weekend service. Our language classes begin in two weeks or so and will take up our mornings. Since we’ve committed to being here at least 2 years, we feel that we can and should take our time in transitioning. We don’t want to overfill our plates, survive on the little language skills we have, or neglect our girls.

If you’re praying for us—thank you. It means so much to us! If you think of it, please pray for the transition to continue to go smoothly, especially for the girls at school.

- M

Unconditional Love

I'm not sure I know the first thing about it. I don't get it. It's so easy for me to miss loving others because I'm so worried about my self. It's easy for me to see the speck in a friend's eye and completely miss the log in my own eye. It is easy for me to love my friends and almost impossible to love my enemies (those who have hurt me, those I don't understand, those I'm jealous of, those who get under my skin, those people I just don' t like). Have you ever tried to sincerely pray for your enemies? Not a prayer of damnation, either, a prayer of blessing and peace. Not easy.

Living a life like Jesus goes against all of my gut reactions. Every single one of them. I read the following sentence in an article a few weeks ago and it has literally changed me. The irony is that it was an article posted by a friend that was meant to point out how wrong an entire group of people were, and instead it pointed out how wrong I am. For once I saw the log in my own eye instead of the speck in another's. Sort of a miracle. "...the central tenet of Christianity as it has come down to us is that we are to reach out when our instinct is to pull inward; to give when we want to take; to love when we are inclined to hate; to include when are tempted to exclude." (Mark Osler) In short, we are to choose love every time, and it will cost us. It will cost us our comfort, maybe our "rights", it will take time, it will make us think.

It doesn't fit within our culture to respond this way. As an American, I have rights. There is justice for when I am wronged. I am encouraged to be happy, and remove any unhappiness from my life, even if it's a family member or spouse. I am told that forgiving someone over and over again is being an enabler. It's recommended that I carry a weapon, or mace at the least, so I can hurt anyone who tries to hurt me. I'm told to be careful when helping people--they'll just want to take advantage of me and could possibly put me in a bad position. Being independent and self-sufficient is seen as smart and successful; living in community and relying on others is seen as socialism. I see the value in a lot of these statements, but I also see how they contradict the teachings of Jesus.

When I read the Bible, specifically the parts when Jesus was here on the earth, I'm dumbfounded by his unconditional love for all people. The example that has been in my head for weeks now is The Last Supper. The symbolism of giving thanks, breaking the bread, and drinking the wine is sacred. It is a holy act of remembrance and reverence for the Savior to All. And at that supper, Jesus graciously invites everyone to partake. EVERYONE. Even Peter, who would deny him three times. That's betrayal, friends. Ever been betrayed? Ever been let down by someone? Jesus knew about this already and yet he broke the bread and drank the wine with him, and most importantly, invited him to do so. 

EVERYONE. Even Judas, who helped murder him. Could you forgive someone who was an accomplice in murdering you or a loved one? Could you invite them into your home, sit at the table with them, and break bread with one another? Could you do all that with love in your heart? I couldn't. I can't even hang out with someone who doesn't recycle let alone with someone who is helping others kill me! (That was a joke about the recycling. Sort of.)But isn't that what the love of Christ is supposed to do to us? Make us go huh?? It should be baffling and overwhelming. It should have us scratching our heads. The love of Christ should make those who don't know it, curious, not angered.

I think of the response of the Amish families to the Nickel Mines shootings--their sincere forgiveness had the world and the media baffled; I think of the response of the man who was mugged in a Subway station by a teenager--when his wallet was taken he offered his coat, too. And then dinner. (more here) This was an unexpected response. In a world where our rights and  freedoms seem to trump many teachings from scripture, it's hard to imagine what unconditional love looks like.

I don't know how to love like this, but I want to. I want to give grace to others; I want to believe the best and not assume the worst; I want to listen more than I speak (THIS is laughable to those who know me!); I want to love, with no strings attached. I have a long way to go on all of these. Everyday I can make a choice to remember the love and grace and forgiveness I have received and to extend it to others. Everyday I can make progress, baby step progress. But only by the grace of God. And that grace truly is amazing.

- M

Donde Esta My Brain???

Every year I buy a planner--this year's was the planner the for Moms Who Do It All--and I have such high hopes of using it. Needing it. January-February are usually filled up; March-May have a smattering of entries. By June--nothing. I so badly want to need a planner--kind of like when I was younger and wanted braces so bad that I regularly unbent a paper clip and delicately laid it across my teeth, spending several minutes contouring it to the shape of my mouth, and then leaving it there while I talked to everyone. I was pretty sure that it looked real. And by "pretty sure" I mean I was 100% convinced it fooled everyone. I don't know if I want to feel important or just feel like a grown-up (in my mind a planner=adult) or just admire my handwriting, but in the incorrect word of a former boss, irregardless, I would just like to depend on a planner. It's just that I don't forget appointments. I remember dates and numbers--kind of in a creepy way. I can rattle off birthdays, addresses, and other-information-I-shouldn't-know-about-you. So I just don't have a need to write it down.

Until this week. I overlooked THREE scheduled things this week. This is unprecedented. This doesn't happen. That makes me wonder: where is my brain?!

It could be that between getting too much sun last week on vacation and trying to decide how to fit our life into 10 pieces of luggage that will fly to Mexico in less than 3 weeks, I just don't have room for anything else! Maybe my wish will come true--I may actually need to start writing things down! A Christmas miracle in July!

Really, though, the task of packing up our house--the house we've spent almost 8 years in; the house we brought our babies home to; the house where ice used to form on the inside of the windows because we had to keep our heat so low; the house where we haven't had a working downstairs bathroom for 2 1/2 years (God bless Alan!); the house that at some point or another contained the following rogue animals: a bat, a bird, several mice, thousands of ants, dozens of oriental roaches, and 2 opossums in the backyard (R.I.P, buddies)--is overwhelming at times. 

At first the excitement of moving outweighed the sadness of leaving. Now, as our moving day approaches (we settle Sept. 7), sadness is creeping in. It's sad to take down all our pictures and pack them away. It's hard sifting through kitchen equipment and deciding what I can live without for now. It's sad knowing someone else will get to enjoy this house and make their own memories here. 

This move isn't a "trip"; it really is a new season of our lives. Even if we only stay in Mexico the two years we've committed to, we won't be moving back to the same house. We won't have the same jobs. Our kids won't play with the same toys they are playing with now. It will all be different--we will hopefully be different. And so much of that is good! 

Though change is good, for me, it has required some "grieving." The same kind of grieving that happened when we had Olive. Not because there was something wrong with her or I didn't like her, but because being a mommy was brand new for me and completely overwhelming. It represented a new season of life, which required saying goodbye to the previous one. I went through a time when I grieved my former life (read: the life where I felt confident and capable and rested) in order to thrive in my new, totally unfamiliar role (read: the role in which I felt the opposite of all the adjectives listed in those other parentheses). Once I accepted that life would be different, I felt like I was finally able to be present. And when I was present, I was able to learn and grow and become confident in being a mom to my firstborn. And most importantly, I was able to find new joys about this season of life and not just focus on all the things I missed. And it turns out, I can't even remember much about life pre-kids, because life is just that good now. Had I never properly said goodbye to my independent, kid-free life, I fear I would be discontent and maybe even a little resentful and miss out on the beauty of life. Kind of like those people who always refer to the "good 'ol days"...

I don't want to be in the good 'ol days--I want to be here, in the present. I want to live today.  I want to savor these last two months of living in farm country, getting together with friends and family, and making memories with my girls. I am remembering to appreciate the fact that I am considered competent here in the U.S., because in a few months I will be utilizing my toddler-sized-Spanish-vocabulary along with lots of hand motions and I'm pretty sure I won't be taken too seriously. I don't want to shove the sadness inside, but I don't want to wallow in it either. When moments of sadness come in this process, I want to acknowledge them and cherish what I have now. Because the life I have now is pretty amazing.

And just like I found my way as a mommy, I'll find my way in this season too. Hopefully with a lot less poop and pee and a lot more delicious tacos.

- M

May 2012 Recap

So much has happened this past month. We wanted to quick give you an update on some of the events that occured.

May 3-7: Alan spent a few days down in Mexico City with Josh and the team, you can read about it and see pics on our here.

May 19: Alan's family, and many of the people of NorthPointe Community Church held a yard sale to benefit our move. First, the fact that several families donated their items to benefit us instead of themselves was truly humbling. Second, the yard sale was held at Alan's parent's house, which is probably a mile or 2 off of any main road--it's literally in the woods. The amount of traffic we had was incredible! And finally, the amount of "man hours" that our dear family and friends put into this was so sacrificial and generous and we are really thankful. In total, we sold more than $1,000 worth of items, and were also given over $500 in donations!

May 19/20: We were officially announced as missionaries at Worship Center. It was an emotional weekend for us--sharing our story, Alan leading worship, and connecting with so many of our church family after the service and hearing their words of encouragement and support. If you didn't get a chance to be there, you can view the service online here.

In that weekend alone, God provided through our church family over $2,500 in one-time gifts, and 25% additional monthly support! It was such an overwhelming and humbling experience for us.

May 30: We had the opportunity to share at Drive 78 (7th & 8th graders) about our journey, and encourage them to be looking even now for the steps God is asking them to take, even at such a young age. We shared with them about The Well, and the girls there. We gave the students an opportunity to stay after the service and write a note to the girls at The Well. It was cool to walk back into the room and see several dozen students giving up their hang-out time to write a word of encouragement to the girls! One young man came up to Alan and said he felt God asking him to do something, but didn't know what to say in a letter. He then handed Alan $20 he had earned at his summer job and said, "I feel very blessed. I hope this will make a difference." It will--God is always just asking for our obedience, and when we obey, it surely makes a difference!

Loving the Unlovable

It all started around 3am. Clementine woke up calling for me, but because Alan doesn't actually ever fully wake up during the night, he is assigned nighttime duty for the girls. If I wake up, I can't get back to sleep, and will just lie awake for hours, and then have a pounding headache in the morning because my body is high maintanance and needs exactly 8 hours of sleep each night. It's better for everyone if Alan tends to the girls since he never really wakes up he can go right back to sleep. Well, maybe it's not the best case scenario for our kids, but they're resilient, remember? Alan went to Clementine's room and she was not satisfied with him. By "not satisfied" I mean she was screaming hysterically for me with no calming down. I went in because I just couldn't see the situation getting any better with a half-asleep husband and a fully hysterical toddler. She calmed down immediately, and I put her back to bed. I however, could not fall asleep. She woke up 2 more times, then Olive woke up once because she was cold. I finally went back to sleep around 5:30, but broken sleep just isn't the same.

I tried to tell myself it was going to be a great day. Well, it's NOT been a great day. Olive has been acting not like herself--quite clingy, demanding, crying. I woke up feeling very overwhelmed, almost discouraged, about all things Mexico. Turns out that when I feel overwhelmed or discouraged, writing is great therapy. It's really hard to write when I don't have time or space to think. That was this morning.

We came home from an exhausting playdate (not because I didn't enjoy the company, but because I was trying to hold myself together the entire time) and thank God my girls went right to bed. I was literally hanging on by a thread emotionally and I just needed some space.

It's really easy to love my kids when they are super loveable and compliant and pleasant. Anyone can do that. I believe somewhere in some book Jesus talks about loving those who are unloveable, and how THAT is real love. Ouch. Somehow I tell myself that it's okay to be short with my kids (and other people) or stressed or angry because of the way they are acting. It seems normal...and it is. But Jesus is asking me to be not-normal. He's asking me to love with His love--the kind that doesn't make any normal sense. But it's so hard (said in my whiny voice). Yeah, it is. It's mostly hard though because I'm trying to love like Christ without Christ's help. I can only pull from the "love reserves" for so long before I crack. I only have so much grace in me until someone has crossed a line. God has grace upon grace, which I can dwell in and pull from continually, if I choose. But there it is: if I choose. How many times do I choose something else to fill the void or to minimize the stress? I'm choosing mere distractions from the real issue: I need to experience God's grace and love fo' real.

And so today, it felt like I was gasping for breath--emotional and spiritual breath. It doesn't happen often where I am literally desperate to talk to God. But today, I was desperate to read His truth and talk to him and share my burdens with him and be silent so he could share with me. Isn't this where he wants to find me always? Isn't it in this place of desperation that I am most in communion with Him? And so I read the passage for today and I'm continually amazed how a text that was published almost 85 years ago seems like it was written for me today.

Alan and I are both reading My Utmost for His Highest and almost everyday I'm floored. In a good way. Today was no exception. O.C. (that's his street name) first distinguished between the burden-bearing that is right and the kind that is wrong. He then goes on to say that if God has put the burden on us, he is not expecting us to carry it alone. He wants to shoulder it with us. We are not to abandon the burden (or dream or vision or calling), but we are to continue to put it on him and ourselves. Trying to carry the burden without intimate fellowship with Christ produces weariness and feels "overwhelmingly crushing". Sounds a lot like motherhood. And like our plans to move to Mexico.

How I needed to hear this today. If God has given me the blessing of children, he wants to shoulder this calling. I don't have to do it alone. And if he has asked our family to pick up everything we know and move it to a faraway land, he wants to shoulder it, too. He's not going to give me a burden and expect me to carry it on my own. How amazingly refreshing to have that reminder.

Then I read a passage in Ephesians that talked about how Jesus sacrificed his life for me while I was still dead in my transgressions. He loved me when I was unloveable and still loves me as I am unloveable on a daily basis. This is the love that I too am called to give to my kids and others. To love the unloveable.

My prayer for today is to dwell in the grace of God and to continue to share the load with him.

- M

The Lone Star State

A few weeks ago we decided we would travel to Texas (all 4 of us) for Alan's Grandpa's 90th birthday celebration. The decision to go was pretty last minute, although we were given plenty of notice about this trip. Originally, it just seemed like too much money and the thought of leisure travel with two kids seemed void of leisure.

Then all of a sudden, we decided to go. Not sure why--maybe because finances changed and we had the money, or because we wanted to wear shorts and say things like "ya'll"--nonetheless, we were headed to the happiest place on earth. Wait. Wrong place.

There was a small part of me that wanted to go to Texas to see what I was made of. I wanted to travel with two kids on an airplane, live in cramped quarters for a few days to see if I could do it. I knew my kids could do it--they're resilient. I just wasn't sure how I would fare. And since we have plans to move our entire lives to another country, I thought taking a test run couldn't hurt. Turns out, I am resilient too!

Because I am trying to write this while the girls are napping and in reality, Olive has more of a "quiet time" in her room, which, in reality is not that quiet, I'll include just some highlights from the trip.

We had a lay-over on the way there, so each flight was no more than 2 1/2 hours. The girls did so well, thanks to a stash of lollipops and the iPad. We flew on regional planes, so they didn't handle turbulence as well. After our first flight, Olive and I were sick. Olive was really pale and saying her tummy hurt and I was quietly saying to myself "do not throw up, do NOT throw up". So at the Cincinnati airport, I found magic Chewable Dramamine and the second flight was quite dreamy.

The first night we stayed with some Dear Friends who live in Dallas. All four of us tried to share a room. Clementine was in a pack and play, Olive on a sofa-bed, and we were in a regular bed. We put the girls to bed first and through the monitor kept hearing this exchange:

Clementine: O-wiv

Olive: What?

Clementine: Chicken butt

After the 4th time of being called in by Olive, we moved Clementine to her own room so we could get some sleep. Olive did awesome sharing a room with us. It's amazing how kids just all of a sudden grow up. 6 months ago, we tried sharing a room and it was a disaster. I added that to the list of things we just don't do. This was a good reminder that everything is just a season.

The rest of the trip was filled with a lot of time spent at the hotel playground, in our hotel room, and getting together with family each night. Saturday night was the actual birthday celebration. Great Grandma (or "Meemaw" as Clementine calls her) bought special dresses for the girls to wear to the party. This is how much the girls liked them:

Seriously. The crying and death screams lasted for 15 minutes. Much bribing was done to get them to go to the party in these dresses. I think they get their diva-ness from Alan. He's high maintenance.

I'm so glad we decided to go, for many reasons. It was great for Alan to spend time with his extended family; it was so encouraging to see how well our girls do with traveling; and spending time with our Dear Friends in Dallas was refreshing.

I feel like we can accomplish anything; all I need is a stash of lollipops, Caillou episodes on the iPad, and some Dramamine.

- M

Ps. Find more pictures and musings from our trip on facebook.

Reading: My Anti-Drug

For some it's sports; for others it's music. Some are into theater, while others are even into cup-stacking. These are all "anti-drugs," according to the campaign that began several years ago to keep kids off drugs. If they have something that brings them meaning; value; brings them life; then they are less likely to try drugs, so the campaign goes. Reading is my anti-drug. If there ever comes a day when I can't read, I will need drugs. Probably just amoxicillin. Nothing too strong to start.

I really do love to read, mainly to learn, but sometimes for relaxation. As long as I can understand the vocabulary, I'll read it. The back of a shampoo bottle, signs posted in the YMCA bathroom, magazines, books, blogs. Anything. I've come to learn (not through reading) that I use reading as my anti-drug, or in reality, my anti-anxiety. At least that's the hope. If I have a problem, I read. If I have free time, I read. If I want to learn something, I read. If I want to feel moved, I read. If I'm bored, I read. If I need an idea for leftovers, I read. If I need to figure out what the rash is on my kid's back, I read.  Alan has, on at least one occasion, stated that reading is tearing our family apart. It seems like actual drugs also tear families apart. Interesting.

Not only do I like to read, but I like to read fast. Not to impress all my friends (which they are impressed), but because I can't handle being in limbo. I need to get to the end. I need closure. I need to know the bottom-line. This is not just the case for my reading-life, but also the case for my real-life. Not getting to the end as in dying, but getting to the end of a stage so I know I made it; having closure in conversations so I'm not left guessing what the other person meant; knowing the bottom line so I don't misunderstand. Some call this a control issue.

Living in limbo is really hard [for me]. When life is in limbo, I struggle with living. Really living. I'm not sure how to "thrive" in the in-betweens of life. Just like reading, I want to skip to the end – the end of the chapter, the end of the book, the end of the series – so that I can feel settled again. This presents a problem, as it is becoming more and more apparent that life with kids and life with an international move on the horizon has lots of in-betweens and limbo-ness. 

So what is one to do? What I have been doing is hunkering down, squeezing my eyes shut, waiting for this nothing-ness to pass. Nothing-ness freaks me out. I can handle being busy and on the go; I have a hard time handling the stillness. It's just.so.quiet. And I can't control what I can't hear. And if I can't control it, I am anxious. And if I'm anxious, I'm not living. I'm existing in a world of thoughts, mostly worries, but I'm not living. I'm missing out on real life. My beautiful life. 

I've been asking the question lately of how to live in the quiet. How does one like me (if you don't know me well, think Tina Fey meets Rachael Ray meets "Claire" from Modern Family) learn how to live in the in-between? In one of my first appointments, I shared my goals with my therapist for what I'd like to get out of our sessions. She looked at me with this smile, that I think means she is practicing silence as a way to meditate on what has been said, but I interpret it as an invitation to keep talking. So I proceeded to ask her for steps in achieving those goals. I explained that I'm a really good student and if she could just give me some exercises to complete, some practical tips, and most importantly, a projected timeframe that she thought I should start to see these goals accomplished, that would be great! She may have laughed out loud at this. She explained that inner healing and growth is a journey and it happens in its own way for everyone, on its own timetable for everyone, and it's not something one can control with a list of steps. Bummer.

Stillness and quiet freak me out because all the distractions and accomplishments are stripped away, and all that's left is me. And when my mind is programmed to think in checklists and accomplishments, if all that is left is me, then I am the checklist. So I start going through the inventory and decide what to work on, how to improve, how to be better, when really, the stillness and the quiet are invitations to just be. To allow God to move and breath and restore and heal. 

I want to stop squeezing my eyes shut and hunkering down through the transitions. I want to live through them and enjoy the journey with my eyes wide open and my heart filled. 

- M

Searching for God Knows What

I want to move from the place where my life in Christ is all about me to a place where it's all about him. A place where I'm more concerned about the way Christ views the world and not how the world views me. I say I want this, but doing something about it is a different story. Sometimes it feels as if I am stuck. Stuck on this side of the river. This side of the glass. Stuck in self.

A couple of weeks ago I ran into this passage in 2 Corinthians (3:18), where Paul talks about living behind the veil, and it got me thinking about fear and about destiny and about me holding myself back. As someone who's believed in God, and been a "Christian" for most of my life, I can honestly say it's only been within the past few years that I've really taken it seriously...or at least I am beginning to understand the importance of taking it seriously.

Go back a little over a year. I found myself very dissatisfied with life. I'd figured out that I could skirt by on my own efforts working at a church, leading worship, and other such things, and these appearances alone were enough to make people believe I was this wonderful Christian man. But inside I felt dead and exhausted from trying. So I started being cynical and bitter at organized religion...not at God...he was still cool. I was just tired of being a part of the institution of modern western church.

So I started searching. Searching for God knows what (*wink* Donald Miller), and having no idea what WHAT was. So I started reading. I read along this seemingly random, hap-hazard journey of literature that went from Donald Miller’s Searching for God Knows What, to Rob Bell’s Sex God, to David Platt’s Radical. Through this journey, God revealed to me that it was ok to be searching; to test the waters of the things I'd always believed in – come what may – and through this, I came to understand a little more the passionate pursuit of me that is God's love. This undying, never-wavering force of love, that is gentle and sweet and fierce and expansive. I came to realize that this same love that is only mine, is only everyone else’s too. Then came this desire from within to spread this love like a disease. And then came the veil.

Think back to Exodus 34, right after Moses got the Ten Commandments from God on Mt. Sinai. Moses' face was so radiant from being in the presence of God that it literally glowed. That freaked the people out, so his brother Aaron said to him, "Dude! your face is FREAKY-white! Go wash that stuff off 'cuz you're scaring people!...You can't? Then put a towel on it or something...fine, a veil will do." (You won’t find that dialogue in any translation in the Bible. I just made it up.) So Moses puts this veil over his face whenever he was around the Israelites, but took his veil off when he was alone with God. He essentially lived two lives.

Now a few years later, here comes Paul, totally tearing the cover off (pun intended)! In his 2nd letter to the church of Corinth, he says, "Since we have such a hope, we are very bold, not like Moses who would put a veil over his face...But when one turns to the Lord, the veil is removed...and where the Spirit of the Lord is there is freedom. And we all, with unveiled face, beholding the glory of the Lord, are being transformed into the same image from one degree of glory to another." (3:12-18ish) This excites me, because Paul is encouraging me to have no separation between my life in Christ, and the life I live out for the rest of the world to see; to be unveiled and transparent for all to see, not in a boastful way, but in a real, life-giving honest way.

So here I am, living and breathing, and capable of being unveiled and transformed for all to see, yet I think at times I intentionally still live behind the veil. This thin piece of fabric that allows me to see and move and live, precludes my existence from actually living. At times I am hesitant to remove the veil God sees, because I am not ready to really deal with my life – its past, present, and future. And I don’t want to remove the veil others see, because I am not ready to be honest, vulnerable, and broken in front of people. I like being behind the veil, because it is comfortable, and the veil is what I know. To take it off would be like going from black & white to color, and I don't know color. Even though the promise of color blows my mind with its endless possibilities and beauty, I'd still rather stick with my old black & white set. (It's a television analogy that depending on your age, you may not get. Also, there was a time when there was no Internet, and not everyone had a cell phone.)

But the uncomfortable, while dissatisfying, seems easier than the unknown, because it’s known. But note what Paul says in verse 18. I am being transformed "from one degree of glory to another." This means it doesn't have to be a snap-of-the-fingers magic reaction. This is fantastic because it means I only have to take one step at a time, allowing God to transform me into His image. So while I sit behind my veil trying to calculate every foreseeable change I will face upon removing the veil, all I need to worry about is just taking off that blasted veil! I don't have to have an answer to what others will think. Or what geographic location this will take me. Or what major changes are needed in my life. I need only to worry about the removing of the veil.

I thank God for only giving me one step at a time. A friend recently told me that if I were to be given the book that is my life’s journey, and I were to skip from Chapter 1 and looked at the end, it would freak the crap out of me, as I frantically searched for "how the heck did I get there?!?!?!?" Sometimes God only reveals the next step for a reason. Understanding this is necessary so I don't over think it, or try to control it. Most importantly, I think God only gives me the next step I am supposed to take, because he knows I only have the faith and courage to take one step. And once I take that step, we'll go from there.

Have the strength to remove the veil, and not worry about anything else.

"Let other things come and go as they may, let other people criticize as they will, but never allow anything to obscure the life that is hid with Christ in God." Oswald Chambers, January 23, My Utmost for His Highest

- A

The Whole Story

About a week ago Olive turned four. It seems like just yesterday I was googling “lasting effects of swaddling” because I was obsessively panicked nervous that we were doing some sort of lasting damage by swaddling our 5 month old baby. She really did seem so old at the time…I landed on an article about an 11 year old boy who wrapped himself in a bed sheet each night to mimic the soothing effects of swaddling. That falls in the category of unhelpful information.

I was really excited when I woke up on Wednesday morning because I just couldn’t wait to celebrate Olive. I had a birthday treat with pink candles, a present, a cute banana snowman made with love, ready for her when she woke up and came down the stairs.

She was so excited about all of it and so was I! After school, Gammy came over and showered her with some new frilly skirts and some long-sleeved shirts (Gammy will win this battle of dressing appropriately for the season) which she adored.

I should stop here—our day sounds perfect. You might be under the impression that our whole day was magical, full of unicorns and rainbows. You could begin to believe that because your day hadn’t gone like that, your day was subpar. And then you could go one step farther and believe that you and your life are subpar.

Photos and stories can be deceiving. They are often an edited version—the version I want others to see—of real life. There is nothing wrong with sharing good news, small victories, and fun outings with others. But when the highlights are all I am willing to share with others, it’s not the whole story, And some might call that a lie. Maybe a white lie. We are portraying a self, a life, that is not whole. I’m not saying to throw up your problems on everyone everytime you are asked “how’s it going?” please don’t mistake this for someone actually caring how you’re doing—it’s just a typical American greeting usually said by a speed walker. I am saying that being honest and sharing the whole story with those around us is liberating and life-giving.

Through personal experience and a slight obsession with psychology, I have learned that I don’t know the whole story. Pretty much ever. That is really important to recognize both when someone’s life looks awesome and when it doesn’t. It helps me have more grace, which I can ALWAYS use; it challenges me to be transparent in my own life; and it lessens the amount of times I compare my life to theirs.

Comparing my life to anyone else’s is a waste of time because I don’t know their story, but I definitely know mine. So I end up comparing all of my “worsts” with all of their “bests.” Instead of feeling inspired or encouraged by others' successes, I can feel discouraged because I believe I don’t measure up. Or, instead of feeling compassion or understanding in others’ failures, I am judgmental and boast of my successes.

The Bible talks about us all being a part of the body of Christ and that it takes each part to function properly. I’ve heard it plenty of times, but I’m not sure when I’m actually ever going to believe it. I just keep thinking that somehow I can morph the body part that I’ve been assigned. Like maybe if I try hard enough, I can change from a hand to an eye, metaphorically speaking of course. Any time I begin to compare my life to another, I will end up believing a lie. In one instance, an eye might look at a hand and say ‘I can see so much better than that hand! I’m amazing!’  Conversely, the eye might think ‘I can’t pick up anything like that hand can! I’m so lame!’ Neither comparison contains truth, because there is nothing to compare—they have completely different skill sets, functions, looks. 

The other day I read several stories of teenagers who had started their own non-profit organizations. I am pretty sure these stories were meant to be inspirational, but I felt less than inspired after reading them. I felt like a failure because I hadn't done anything like that and I am twice their age! But then I was reminded that we all make up the Body. I can try to force myself to be a different body part, but I will never succeed. Ever. I can do the best with the abilities I have, or I can do mediocre or maybe even awful work trying to be someone else. Truth be told, I have no desire to start my own non-profit. My chest is literally tightening just at the thought. However, I do have a desire to serve and support someone else who has started a non-profit. Even if they are half my age.

Accepting this--that we all have different roles--is new for me. For a long time I didn’t accept who I was or the life I was living. I grew up believing certain attributes, abilities, personalities were better than others. I wasted a lot of time trying to be someone I wasn’t. Lately, I have come to actually love some certain qualities about myself that I used to be ashamed of. This can be read as: FREEDOM. I feel compelled to tell the whole story, my whole story, to stop the comparison cycle that results in wasted time. When I know who I am and who I am not, I can be present in my life.

Let’s fast forward to the rest of the birthday evening. Olive had requested sushi for her dinner—we were not going to argue with that. In my mind, it was going to be so much fun. Here is how that was not true:

I had a feeling—motherly intuition if you will—that things were about to get hairy. My first clue was my hunger level. When I am hungry, my whole body triples in weight and I can’t move. My eyes glaze over and all of my conversation contributions become grunt-like sounds. My second clue was Alan’s hunger level. When he gets hungry, he is irrational and likes to pick fights. For example, if the girls were touching something they shouldn’t be, his response would be to swiftly remove them while telling them that they can never eat cheese again. It just makes no sense.

It took about 3 seconds after we were seated for the real fun to start. Olive decided that the best seat for her was under the table. Clementine followed of course and then became frantic because she couldn’t figure out how to crawl out. After performing no less than four under-the-table rescues on Clementine, who was screeching about being stuck, we declared that there would be no more “me, myself time” as the girls call it, under the table. Fine. Clementine’s next idea was to resemble an intoxicated person on the booth benches, and continue to fall and wail at the top of her lungs. Repeatedly. About the 3^rd time this happened, after she had been warned she might get hurt if she kept doing it, she did a flip of sorts and got herself stuck, with just one little arm sticking up, waving around for help. This happened at the same time the waitress was trying to take our order. When she saw the little arm flailing around, she peeked under the table and said in her sweetest, I don’t have any children of my own voice, “Aw, are you okay?” Alan and I just looked up at her with blank faces and muttered through gritted teeth, “she’s fine.” I may have even rolled my eyes. It wasn’t good.

The night may or may not have concluded with a lecture about how there are kids in the world who are thirsty and when they cry to their mommy for water, there isn’t any to give them, so waiting 3 minutes til we get to the car to get your water bottle isn’t really a big deal at all and the foot stomping can stop immediately. Happy 4^th Birthday, Olive.

Did a little piece of you just smile, knowing that someone else has experienced this? It’s okay, smile away. That’s what honesty does—it gets us out of our funks of perfectionism, shame, and apathy and builds unity and trust and hope. It allows us to stop wishing we were someone else and start living.

I hope you can begin to do this in your own life—this telling the whole story, your story, so that you can live fully in the moment, in the life God has given you.


- M

The First Step

A few months ago I decided to start swimming as my form of exercise. Though I had been taking classes at the gym for years, my knees and abs were no longer happy about it. Thank you, child birth aftermath. For months I just stopped going to the gym because I was paralyzed by the anxiety that a new routine might bring to someone who struggles with crazy anxiety at times. I realized that if I never did it a first time, I wouldn't do it a second and third time and couldn't therefore begin a new routine. It's deep. So I worked up the courage, dug out my old going-on-a-mission-trip-must-find-modest-unattractive-one-piece, and watched some YouTube videos to remind myself about swimming. Seriously. That happened. I found a swimming plan and was overly pretty confident that I could at least swim a half mile on the first day.

I survived the locker room, full of naked, super-chatty older ladies. I also didn't get too freaked out by the signs that reminded people to keep their underwear on when in the sauna and not to shave while in the sauna. Really? I finally got in the pool, clearly an amatuer because of the lack of a swimming cap, and started my first lap. Halfway through, I started freaking out because I was already winded and sure I was going to drown. The swimming plan I was following only required I swim 100 yds. before taking a break. I swam maybe 37 yds. before I decided that I was going to die this way. Good news: I didn't die. I survived my first day, bought a cap so I could look legit, and have been going back a couple times a week for the last few months. It's not scary any more--not even the naked ladies...that's not entirely true--and I finally swam 1 mile yesterday. I didn't reach that goal on the first, or the second or the third day. I just continued to work towards the goal, improving my endurance and growing my confidence.
Taking the first step is always the hardest. It requires courage to move toward the unknown, with no guarantee how things will turn out. But once that step is taken, it seems like each consecutive step gets easier and easier.

It was 2 years ago that the nudge to take the first step happened. It was 1 year ago that I finally obeyed. We were at a conference for young leaders, and all throughout the four days I just kept feeling like God was asking me to quit my job to be home with our girls. I had always said "Staying at home full-time with my kids is not for me! I NEED to work at least part-time." And if you've ever said things with finality before, you know what happens next. I just couldn't see how it would work financially or emotionally for me. So I kept putting the thought aside, maybe trying to believe that God didn't really speak to me. About 8 months later, I finally obeyed, and put in my 4-months notice. After taking that HUGE first step, it was easier to take the next step. And the next. And the next.

A scripture that comes to mind is Luke 16:10, "He who is faithful in a very little thing is faithful also in much; and he who is unrighteous in a very little thing is unrighteous also in much." Staying at home full-time wasn't an option in my mind, but I'm so glad that God spoke to me and I eventually listened. It's because of this step, that many other steps have been taken in this journey. For starters, being with my kids all day every day made me face a lot of ugliness inside me, which then sent me to therapy, WHICH has been one of the best things I've ever done for myself. Had I been distracted by the busyness of work, it would have been a lot easier for me to make excuses and not deal with my stuff. Second, quitting my weekday job allowed us to begin working with high school girls who have faced adversity (read: neglect, abuse, poverty, orphaned, etc.) in their life, which is similar to what we will be doing in Mexico. This job has challenged us in numerous ways, including learning that truly loving people--especially the seemingly unlovable ones--is really, really, hard. Finally, taking the first step to obey God gave us the courage to keep on asking him to direct our steps. And that has brought us to going to Mexico. Each time we are faithful in the very little thing, we are given the next step. Doors open, opportunities arise.

Friends, if you're finding yourself dissatisfied with life, unfulfilled, or confused, I pray that you find the courage to ask God what He'd like to do with your life...then listen to the answer. It seems scary, overwhelming, to relinquish that control, and it is! I'm not going to let you believe that all of these steps have been easy becauase they have ALL been hard. Staying home was hard; admitting that I needed therapy was hard; deciding to take our young family to another country was really hard. But the more I say "yes" to God and his plan, the more I am believing that it's the best way to live.

- M