Day 10: Farewell…

I journal with a heavy heart today. 

I found out, via a text message from my husband, that a precious friend of ours passed away this morning from a heart attack last night.

While I don’t know details yet, I know this…

Our friend John, was one of the kindest men I’ve ever met.  He was, without a doubt, one of the most generous, tender-hearted, loving people we have ever had the honor of knowing.

And he’s gone. 

Just like that.

I met John 4 years ago when my husband started working as a Security Officer at Sparrow Hospital.  On one of our many cafeteria dates, John entered the scene.  While I knew and enjoyed many of the wonderful men and women my hubby worked with, John made his mark on my heart like none other.

After a long day at work, my hubby would come home and share his exhausting day with me…and there would, inevitably, be mention of John’s name.  John gave me this awesome pen today, with this little note.  John bought me lunch today.  John sends his love, honey.  John and I really chatted about deep stuff today.  John really encouraged my heart after that frustrating issue today. 

John…John…John.

John was a delight to our hearts.  As a wife, I smiled at the thought of John, knowing he had my husband’s back.  He adored him.  He loved on him.  And because of his respect and appreciation for my hubby…he loved on me, and our kids as well.

With each child’s birth, he was there shortly afterwards…card and chocolates in hand.  

He was rooting for Joe during those long 19 weeks at Police Academy, sending him encouraging text messages every week, apologizing profusely for the one week he forgot.

He supported us and prayed for us while we spent 5 long days in the PICU with our newborn son, checking in frequently to see whether we needed anything…a meal, a parking pass, a ride from the Ronald McDonald house.  He then celebrated with us when Aiden was discharged from the PICU.

John was a coworker, yes…but above that…he had become a dear friend.

Sparrow Hospital will not be the same without him.

I wept when I got that text this morning, unable to fully grasp the idea that he’s gone.

So my heart is choosing to believe that He is dancing with Jesus right now, and at the same time it is heavy knowing he left a wife and two young children behind.

I don’t understand why he’s gone.  Why him?  Why our sweet J.G.G?

But, you know…God doesn’t ever call us to understand. 

He calls us to trust. 

He calls us to keep our eyes on HIM,

He asks us to be still and know that He is God.

So that is all I can do right now while grappling with this tremendous loss.

Good bye, precious friend.  I’m thankful the Lord allowed our lives to intertwine for this short time…you were a joy! 

Give Jesus a hug for me.

Day 9: Choices, Choices

I am so thankful for the blessings in my life.  While there are things that feel painfully out-of-place right now, there is so much more that is right.

John 10 talks about how Christ came to give us life…and life abundantly.  The word “abundantly”, directly translated, means “superfluously”.  Over and above…so much that it’s actually in excess.

But it’s a choice to live in that place of crazy fabulous life.  Like most everything in our lives…it starts with making a choice.  A choice to dwell on the goodness of God.  A choice to focus on the provision we are surrounded with, the vitality in our bones, the precious friends in our lives.  Rather than bemoan the fact that there is little money in my wallet, celebrate the 3 crisp dollar bills JUST chillin’ in there waiting to be lavishly splurged on a cup of spiced cider.  It’s a choice to enjoy what we do have, rather than mourn what we don’t.  A choice to be thankful, even when we’re in a funk.

My life is rich.  So stupendously rich.  Even when I’m a dunce, my life is rich.

I don’t know why I’m “off” today, but my poor husband seems to be in the line of fire.  It’s surprisingly easy to be snippy or abrupt when I’m dwelling on what’s not quite right with me…rather than soaking up all the deliciousness I’m surrounded by.

I can’t quite put my finger on it…is it the lack of sunshine?  Is it my hormones doing their pregnant-to-nursing tumble?  Or is it simply an attitude that’s a little out of control. 

None the less, it hasn’t been pleasant.  And still…my husband loves on me.

Get this…my sweet man got up with Ali this morning…made me a scrumptious hot breakfast an hour and a half later, and then even made me a sandwich for lunch while I was nursing Aiden.  I’m SO loved by this incredible man…and yet, because something seems a miss in my head…I’m not the loving, patient, gracious wife he deserves.  I got snippy on the way to church…I was petty and silly about something on the way home.  I’m embarrassed to admit this, but it needs to be dealt with.  I hate that I can be this pathetic at times…especially in the face of his radical acts of service and love.  God showers me with His unconditional love and mercy through this incredible man, and at times, I can be such an ungrateful recipient.  While I really am thankful, my life doesn’t portray that.  My mouth doesn’t express that.

A heart filled with true gratitude chooses to stifle its bad attitude and react in love.  A loving heart chooses to respond lovingly and graciously, even to what may feel like a silly question.  It loves.  Regardless of what’s going on inside.

An appreciative mindset oozes kindness simply because of the deep realization that life is too rich to waste on the petty things of this world.

My life is beautiful.  Christ died for this kind of beautiful and I want to live in the center of it.  The John 10 kind of abundant…superfluous…excess…life.  Life in the fullest.

While misery loves company, I think enjoyment in the everyday is far more attractive to those around us.  And seeing we’re not on this journey alone, its about time we started being more accountable for our attitudes.

So there you have it.

Today I choose to live in that sweet place of excess.

Day 8: Sisterhood of the Traveling IKEA Fanclub

Give me an “I”

Give me an “K”

Give me an “E”

Give me an “A”

What does it spell…?

“The most deliciously fantastic wonderland of fun, functional Swedish schtuff”.

Or “IKEA”. 

Depending on your level of passion on the subject.

The Saturday after Thanksgiving last year us 4 girls went out and all got our noses pierced.  Its was painful…and fabulous!

So today, my 3 sisters and I ventured out to Canton, sans our little girls, for a fun-filled morning at one of my all time favorite stores {accompanied in that lofty position only by the likes of Hobby Lobby and Trader Joe’s}.

It was splendid.  The only things that could have possibly made it better…Tim Horton’s coffee in hand, more time on watch, more money in wallet and an actual house to furnish.  Nothing earth-shattering, really.  So it was fun!

I’ve heard it said that family are the people we wouldn’t spend much time with if we had a chance…not people we would choose to befriend.  I beg to differ.  I adore my sisters…and love how incredibly unique, fun and talented each of them is.  Each has challenged me, stretched me, and made me laugh to the verge of wetting myself.  My beautiful sisters have greatly enriched my life.  We’ve all been through seasons where we have struggled with each other’s personalities or quirks, we’ve had knock-down, drag-out fights…but every resolution has brought about a sweeter bond. 

Sarah, my big sister, is brilliant.  On the way down to IKEA she was talking about the history of photography…throwing out names, locations, subjects I’d never even heard of.  While walking through the little room set-ups of the store…we’d lose her.  All we had to do was find the nearest bookshelf…and there she was, pouring over the books.  This woman is one of the most intelligent, fun people I know.  I am entranced by the stories she tells…the random facts she knows…the color with which she shares.  She is down-right hilarious.  She loves the color orange, is a crazy good cook, and has blossomed into a wonderful wife and mother.  She is selfless and generous, hard-working and passionate.  She also happens to be an outrageously skilled painter {everything from canvases and walls to terracotta pots and statues}.  She is jaw-droppingly fabulous and I just love her to bits!

Rebecca, my younger sister, is a delight to my heart.  She makes me laugh when I’m down, and challenges me when I’m too flighty.  She co-parents alongside me {seeing she watches our older sister’s daughter} many days of the week and I’ve been astounded at the tender way she has helped mold this little life.  She is bold…she is witty…she is fun…she is generous…she is quirky.  She makes the most ridiculously fabulous things…out of wire and beads and paper and metal and wood {check out her creations at reloveddesigns.blogspot.com}.  She is one of the most resourceful gals I’ve ever met.  Her dress style is bright and eclectic, and she’s a sucker for sparkly things.  She adores the color green, wearing tights and skirts, and eating Pad Thai.  She plays piano, ukulele, guitar and is working on the upright bass, not to mention her gorgeous voice.  She is jaw-droppingly fabulous and I just love her to bits!

Ruthie, my baby sister, is just plain awesome.  She’s the most mature, grounded almost 20 year old I’ve ever come across.  She’s fun and wild, deep and wise, sporty and gorgeous.  There have been numerous times I’ve vented to her…only to have her challenge me on my attitude.  She’s authentic, compassionate, driven and delightfully dorky.  She just so happens to give a mean massage too.  While she never admits it…she’s an awesome artist too.  She too adores the color green, old-lady clothes {despite shoulder-pads} and sushi.  Her drive and passion to change the world is a constant reminder of life beyond our comfortable borders.  She’s off to Ghana in a 5 weeks and I can’t wait to find out what God has in store for her during those 4 months.  We’ve laughed our heads off…and cried our eyes out.  She is jaw-droppingly fabulous and I love her to bits.

I’m so blessed to call these beautiful women sisters.  The fact that I got to go to IKEA with them this morning was simply the icing on my 3-layer cake.

Give me an “S”…“I”…“S”…“T”…“E”…“R” and another “S”! 

What does it spell?

3 of my absolute favorite people in the whole wide world.

Yup, I’m a lucky girl.

Day 7: I’d Rather Have a Purple Monday, Thank You

I’ve always heard about the madness of Black Friday, which is exactly why I had never dared to venture out.  Until today.

My sweet man took our daughter on a “man store & Timmies” date this morning {man store: Home Depot, Lowes, or any other store that features a massive amount of powered “man things” like drills, tractors and the likes.  I’ll have you know, though, I adore those stores too!  Timmies would be none other than our favorite coffee/muffin haven, Tim Hortons}.  And per tradition, she went fully-clad in…jammies. 

I love these dates of theirs for a few reasons; mostly because of the precious daddy-daughter time spent together {I usually get an excited call from Alathea – with the assistance of dad – reporting back exactly what they’re doing and the delight in her voice is undeniable}, but also because it allows me the joy of staying in bed a little longer.  Aaaah, the utter bliss of sleeping past 8am.

I adore my husband.  He just rocks my simple little world.

But back to Black Friday.  If I start talking about how phenomenal and crazy awesome my hubby is, you may find yourself still reading several hours from now…concerned by your newly acquired optical twitches. 

I’ll save that for another day.

I got to experience the full parking lots, blocked aisles and long lines closely acquainted with today’s shopping mania.  I did not care for it much.  Most probably because every single thing I had spotted in the Target ad and had ventured out to nab…was sold out.  Serves me right for sleeping in past 8am.

Oh well.  I’ll take sleep any day over more stuff we don’t need, purchased with money we don’t have.  I’m a smart cookie, eh?

So, it’s day 7 and I’m somewhat disappointed.  Not because I’ve failed…but because I’ve outsmarted the system.  I’ve indulged in chai and sugar-free carrot cake {a friend made it with honey…with me in mind} for the past couple of days…and while I’m not having coffee or sugar, I just feel blah about the whole thing.  Seeing my motive behind doing this is not because of dietary restrictions but to radically transform some areas of my life, I feel as though I’ve just found a way to fill the void…and thus am not as aware of the loss of what I’ve given up.

I’m torn.  Do I now declare no chai or honey either?  Or do I just follow my heart and navigate this 40 day journey, with trial and error, and decide as I go along what is wise and what isn’t, what is a crutch and what is simply a substitute for my sacrifice. 

Will chew on this some more.

We’re processing a few new things regarding our future right now {after discussing something my mom suggested yesterday} and really need to pray for direction and wisdom.

Things are not looking good for the recall of the laid off State Troopers.  While we’re definitely not giving up hope, we just feel we should move on with our lives a little and allow God room to move, instead of just sitting around and waiting.  Don’t get me wrong…my husband has done little sitting around.  He’s brilliant, you see, and can fix anything!  He has managed to fill every day since his June 28th lay-off with work.  He’s a mechanic, a handy man, and an all-round super-hard worker!  The fact that he’s a scrumptious babe is simply a nice bonus.  There I go again…. 

Joy, focus.

While refusing to give up on this dream of my husband’s {with whole-hearted support from me} – we need to make some decisions about our immediate future.

My mom suggested Joe return to school.  My hubby is just a couple of semesters away from finishing his bachelor’s degree in Criminal Justice {through U of M – Flint}.  Being laid-off, the State will cover a few grand of his schooling – and we had actually forgotten until today that his State Police training counts for up to 40 credits.  It almost seems foolish to not go for it!

Besides needing direction about the college thing…we need to decide what to do about housing?  Unemployment doesn’t cover much for a family of 4 {which is why we’re camping out in one room at my parents house}, but he wouldn’t want to drive back and forth to Flint several times a week…so we’re talking about renting a small apartment further East, near the Swartz Creek area.  This will keep us close enough to family and friends in the Lansing area, while placing us a little closer to family and friends in the Imlay City/Attica area.  Obviously this would work out perfectly for classes too. 

We have much to think and pray about.  I’m excited.  I’m nervous.  I’m anxious.  I’m hopeful.  I also seem to have an aversion to change right now…most likely due to my insane drive to just settle down and unpack my life, for Pete’s sake, and if it’s a temporary move…I shudder.  Who is Pete, anyway?

Renting a small apartment would obviously be a temporary fix, which would mean another move would be in store for us.  Soon.  Blech. 

It’s funny…I recall driving past our first apartment a year ago, thinking…”how on earth did we fit our lives into that small little place?!?”.  Now…two kids and a lay-off later, the thought of two bedrooms, a kitchen, and a living room all to ourselves seems…well, stupendous.  Isn’t it amazing how one’s perspective changes based on their situation?

I’m delighted at the thought of having our very own space again, and yet a little bit terrified of having my hubby return to work or school full-time.  I have just LOVED our time together, and as a family ~ it’s as though God has redeemed all the time that was lost while Joe was at academy.  Part of my anxiousness, I know, is due to the fact that we’ve acquired another child since then.  Not to mention the company & assistance living with my parents has provided.  Wow, we’re in for a reality check when life returns to ‘normal’.  But then again…what exactly is normal anyway?

I’m not sure life will ever be the same again.  And I’m not sure that's a bad thing.

If we’re constantly growing and being refined by the tough situations we go through, then change is what we’re striving for, isn’t it?  After all…RADICAL change is what I’m after here.

Then I’m left with no choice, really, but to leap.  With reckless abandon.  Laying down my hopes and dreams, my plans and hidden agendas…knowing the arms into which I leap are the arms of a sovereign God, a gracious Papa, the One who holds our destiny in the palm of His hand.  And while He doesn’t guarantee it’ll be free of heartache and discomfort…He does promise it’ll be out of this world, bigger and better than we could ever dream possible. 

And that is sure to be one radical ride!

Day 6: Gobble Gobble

Slept in.

Pajamas stayed.

Breakfast down.

Games played.

 

Car fixed.

Thanks Joe.

Ruthie home.

Movements slow.

 

Wine chilled.

Socks folded.

Paint splatter.

Daughter scolded.

 

Got dressed.

Made bed.

Car packed.

Baby Fed.

 

Sister’s house.

Turkey fried.

Potatoes mashed.

Cranberry tried.

 

Scrumptious meal.

Wine flowed.

Food coma.

Cheeks glowed.

 

Coffee made.

Me…chai.

Dessert ignored.

No lie.

 

Energy back.

Wii played.

Kicked butt.

Laughter stayed.

 

Sweat dripped.

Muscles ache.

Bowling, boxing.

Wanting cake.

 

Six hours.

Delightful way.

Our style.

Turkey day.

Day 5: For the Love of Clean Underwear {and other Bedtime Stories}

I must say, I am rather missing that warm, glowing ball in the sky.  You know…the one suspended on the ground? 

Or not.

For someone who grew up in Southern Africa, in a country that sees many more glorious sunny days than I see the inside of our shower stall, Michigan has been a hard adjustment. 

Each year I try and talk myself into ignoring it…you know, brain chemistry, schrain chemistry.  But, it doesn’t work. 

There’s just no denying that the lack of sunshine has a direct impact on my lack of motivation and energy.  And sometimes, my mood.

It’s about this time that Arizona starts sounding like a viable option.  They’re hiring State Police, honey.

But the truth remains…I could try and escape this gloomy Michigan weather and could get more sun elsewhere, but I would lose our family connectedness, and that would be a harder blow than a temporary drop in motivation.  I’ll take the seasonal blues if it keeps us near our loved ones {not to mention where God wants us right now.  Minor details, yeah?}.

Back to my lack of motivation.  To do anything.  Sleeping and eating excluded.

That growing pile of dirty laundry taunts me every time I walk past it.  The simple fact that I’ve had to wear tights and skirts for the past week due to the lack of jeanage, leaves me no other option.  It’s laundry day.

Besides, clean underwear is always a good thing.

On a completely random note…wearing tights more often has given me no choice than to break out the fabulous knee-high boots.  Good stuff!  It’s hilarious how easily we slip into the hum-drum momma syndrome, and how wearing knee-high boots for no apparent reason makes you feel absolutely scandalous {in a wholesome, married-woman kinda way}!  Talk about putting a little sass in your step.

Laundry is washed, dried, folded {mostly.  How do you fold some of those things anyway?}. 

Why is it that putting it away seems to be even more of a chore?  I’ve had clean baskets pile up in our room on numerous occasions, having to dump them out onto the bed only upon discovering I’m in need of a basket to transport the next truckload of dirty laundry downstairs.

At times I wallow…laundry is the bane of my existence.  Until I recall hearing someone say…”when I lost my husband I so missed doing his laundry.  I wish I had appreciated what having his dirty clothes meant to me…I had him”.

Wow.  Makes me want to break out the tunes and whistle while I work.

It’s all about perspective, isn’t it?

Tomorrow is thanksgiving and I’m giddy with excitement.  I simply adore family gatherings!  This one holds a particularly magnificent appeal…I don’t have to make anything!  My sweet sister and her hubby offered to take on the entire meal if mom wanted to cover desserts and if we’d take on the drinks.  Hmm, let me think about it…DONE!

I have grown to appreciate and treasure my big sister in a whole new way over the past few years.  Her and I had the usual friendly start {just 21 months apart}, but grew to passionately despise each other during our teenage years.  She was the outwardly-rebellious “goth”, while I was the inwardly-rebellious “yuppie”.  Even as adults we struggled with unspoken anger and unforgiveness.  No matter how much time we spent together, there always seemed to be an invisible wall between us, keeping us from being truly vulnerable with each other. 

This has changed over the past few years as the Lord has broken and remolded our friendship, weaving our mommy-hearts together as we navigate parenting, and it is sweeter than ever.  No, we don’t spend nearly as much time together as we could, but the time that we do have is thoroughly enjoyed and unhindered by baggage.  She’s a delight to my heart.

Adding to my love for my sister has been my growing appreciation for her wonderful hubby.  He is awesome.  While he is openly disinterested in sharing our faith {he is agnostic}, he is also genuinely receptive and quietly respectful of who we are.  He dearly loves our family. 

God is definitely reshaping how he views Christianity.  He grew up with a dad who couldn’t stand Christians {honestly, I share in his frustration…why are we so unlike our Christ at times?} and has a very tainted perspective on what we believe.  But…it’s been exciting to see God soften his heart over the course of their 7 year marriage {my sister recommitted her life to Christ after a 14 year hiatus just under 3 years ago}.

My brother-in-law is a stellar human being.  Him and I have started watching Survivor together every other Sunday night.  He kept bugging me about setting up a date to catch up on the season {I hadn’t watched TV since we moved almost 6 months ago and so hadn’t watched any of it, 5 episodes into the season}, but I didn’t feel it was possible, with two little children, to get away and make it happen. 

I reluctantly agreed, and a delightful tradition was birthed.

Every other Sunday night, I slip away with my 3 month-old and Jeff and I curl up on our respective sides of the couch and chat away through 2 to 3 DVR’d episodes of Survivor.  It is glorious!  What makes it even more special is that he consistently makes a snack for us each time, alternating between something sweet and something savory.  Yup, just to make my TV night out a special one.

As I said, my bro-in-law is a pretty smashing guy…and a perfect fit for my pretty rockin’ sister. 

So as I sit here and ponder clean undies and family ties {not in that order}, I’m overwhelmed at how blessed I am…lack of sun, dirty laundry mounds and all.

Day 4: Sugar Service & House Cravings

I was up early this morning, slicing and beautifying the key lime pie and cheesecake I had made last night for today’s service project.  One doesn’t realize just how many times we pick, lick and nibble while doing this…until we can’t.  It sucked.

Our church planting team {for the Alma Vineyard} volunteered to provide desserts for the alternative school up in Alma, for their family Thanksgiving meal.  We had various pies, brownies, cakes of different flavors and sizes, we had cookies, we had cream puffs, we had rice pudding…we had it all.  If it had exorbitant amounts of sugar in it…it was on that table.  The spread was glorious.  And painfully untouchable.

I knew full-well going into this 40 day stint that it fell during the most sugar-intense season of the year.  And that was okay.  When you feel so charged to do something, the sacrifice pales in comparison to the end result.  Yes…I’m just that strong.

Until I had chocolate silk cake and creamy key lime pie remnant on my fingers {from setting up the table} and couldn’t lick them off.  Suddenly my grandiose plans didn’t seem so smart.  They were down-right retarded.

Hygiene issues aside, it was bad.  I tasted more accidental sugar today {I had frosting and pie crust stuck under my nails} than I have in the past few days and didn’t even enjoy it.  Not because they weren’t outrageously decadent…but because I felt I was cheating myself. 

Oh well.

As the saying goes…”success consists of getting up just one more time than you fall”.  Tomorrow is another day.  Up we get.

It was fabulous watching the faces of the kids and teachers as they walked into the room…their jaws dropped and their eyes bulged as they scanned the dessert spread.  “This looks like something from a magazine…it’s beautiful!”.  They were tickled pink. 

It was a delight spoiling these kids as for many, it’s the only Thanksgiving meal they get to enjoy this year.

The rest of the day seemed somewhat uneventful in the light of yesterday's rollercoaster ride. 

I’m so aware of my heart being molded and my hope being sparked even this early in the ‘game’.  Laughter has abounded in this house…and it’s exhilarating! 

I have such ridiculous anticipation for these next 36 days.

I have been sweetly blessed by simple things people have said over the past two days.  Yes, I’m very definitely a “words of affirmation” person {referring to ‘The 5 Love Languages’}.  Something I was known for as a teenager – my inability to laugh at myself – seems to have come full circle, praise the Lord.  My mom said yesterday…”you know, honey, you have a lovely ability to laugh at yourself”.  What a delight to realize I’ve changed so drastically in this area.  And a darling friend of mine called me today, simply to tell me how thankful she is for me and how much she appreciates our friendship.  I was so blessed beyond belief.

Oh, the power of our words…I was so tanked up by those few exchanges…why don’t I take the opportunity to verbally love on and encourage the people in my life more?  I need to work on this. 

My hubby also happened to say, after reading my journal, how much he enjoyed my writing style…that he was having visions of us moving to a vineyard in California so I could write…and support our family.  HA!  I laughed out loud on that one, for sure.  Gotta love the man for dreaming big.  But this too meant a great deal to me as I was surrounded by incredibly good writers growing up.  I, on the other hand, was not known to be one of them.  In fact I clearly recall one occasion in 9th grade when I read one of my papers out loud to my dad and older sister, in an effort to get it proof-read, and they burst out laughing.  I had written…”the ball was suspended on the ground…”.  No matter how well they argued their point ~ that it was indeed impossible for a ball to be suspended if it was on the ground ~ I loved how it sounded and refused to change it.  I have since heard this phrase a time or two {or thirty} when, over a family dinner, my sisters feel the need to remind me of my unimpressive paper-writing skills.  But according to my proud hubby, my writing has developed a little since then.  Good to know.

On another note…I’ve struggled a little with our living/job situation today.  We saw two State Troopers, which is unusual in the city, and it’s been a painful reminder of the long 10 months my husband spent working to wear that uniform.  And the long 10 months I spent as a mostly-single mother, putting my husband back together on the weekends and then sending him back out the door for another week of hell.  While we’re truly thrilled for the 55 officers who have been recalled, we’re constantly wrestling with discouragement over the remaining unemployed 45. 

The hardest part of the job situation is seeing how it weighs on my precious man.  While I’ll never fully comprehend the burden he bears, as a man, feeling the urgent push to provide for his family, I do see the weariness in his eyes and sense the heaviness of his heart.  That is the heartbreaker for me.  I long to see him doing what he was born to do, what he has dreamed of since the tender age of 4.  I want this so badly for him it hurts…to see him fully alive again.  I realize this is a good season for us to be shaken…to find out what we’re truly made of and where our identity and value lies…but it’s still hard.

Another dimension of our current situation that weighs on my mind and heart, constantly, is my consuming passion to be in a home of our own.  While I was preggy, not being able to nest was incredibly hard {Aiden is now 3 months old}.  We’ve been in limbo for almost a year now and I yearn to grow some roots and make my mark on a house again.  I frequently look at homes online, mentally painting the walls and unpacking our lives from the cold storage unit that has held them hostage over the past 6 months. 

I frequently struggle with envy over the beautiful houses my friends have made into even more stunning homes {I have such stinking talented friends}, and yet at the same time, am so aware of the blessing of having a roof over a heads, food in our mouths, and loving family around us.  It is bitter-sweet, but we truly are blessed! 

So while the “house thing” is a big battle for me…it is also a great sense of delight.  I dream often of the day we will get to unpack…get to rediscover what has been in boxes for almost a year {I was convinced our house would sell once Joe had been posted in Saginaw last December, so I wanted to be ready.  Despite my packing like a mad woman, it didn’t sell}.  I can’t wait to unpack our dishes…our sexy salt & pepper grinders we bought in South Africa.  The chocolate brown pillows, still in their plastic, I bought for our “new” living room.  All the girlie decor I bought for Ali’s big girl room in the new house.  My winter clothes would be nice.  All the things we haven’t seen for months.  But the knowledge that we will, one day soon, unpack our lives excites me to no end! 

While we will actually miss my fantabulous family…we crave more solitude and space.  I experience the full spectrum of emotions whenever I think about Joe’s job {and the resulting change in living situations it will bring}. 

Sadness.  Hope.  Disappointment.  Excitement.  Impatience.  Trust.  Envy.  Peace.

I really do know that our God has awesome things in store for us…I just wish His timing was a little closer to how I envisioned it unfolding.  But, it’s not, and I have to choose to rest in the fact that He knows best…He knows the desires of our hearts…and He loves us more than we could ever begin to fathom.

And I can live with that.

Day 3: A Learning Curve

Well, today was the perfect opportunity to put what I’m learning into practice!  Don’t misunderstand the tone…it’s not an excited one.  I wasn’t necessarily hoping for such an opportunity.  Opportunities would be more accurate. 

Today was uncomfortable.  It was frustrating.  It was downright ugly at times.

It started off well.  My peaches and cream oatmeal tasted crazy good.  So sweet I felt I was cheating.  Was I?  I’m not really sure.  Breakfast cereals these days seem to be so lacking in nutrition and yet so loaded with sugar that its hard to distinguish them from dessert. 

Tomorrow’s menu boasts a guilt-free bowl of branflakes.

My sister and I decided to take the kids on a few errands…Walmart, Oriental Mart, Hobby Lobby.  Side note:  Hobby Lobby rocks my brocade-loving, jewelry-making, craft-crazy, decorating-happy little world. 

I felt as though I was having a great-parenting day.  I was getting down to her level, eye-to-eye, when correcting her, I was being patient, gracious, calm and consistent.  Apparently, a little cocky too.

The morning was going swimmingly…until the tree fell. 

The girls were getting hungry and tired, Ali was having trouble following instruction…after running up and down the aisles at the Oriental Mart, falling against a wire shelf leaving angry red stripes across her belly, she tripped over a wire up on the Christmas tree platform at Hobby Lobby {note: the tree platform that she wasn’t supposed to be on}, taking a sparkly little tree down with her…I started to get mean.

After some whining and crying in the store and a minor performance at the check-out counter, we left…needing to make one final stop on the way home.  The kids stayed in the car with Becks while I ran in. 

Once we were on our way again, all chaos broke loose.  Mind you, it’s 1:00pm.  The great mother mentioned above would have taken this into account before swinging around from the drivers seat and smacking her daughter on the thigh in a last ditch effort to get her attention. 

Yup.  Nice, eh?  That’s quality parenting for you.

After a few minutes of weeping and gnashing of teeth, reality sunk in.  For me, not her.  I had gotten progressively less, um…pleasant…throughout the trip.  I knew this had the potential to be a learning opportunity for both of us.  It just took a little pride-swallowing to make it that.

Something my parents did often when I was younger, that had a profound impact on my influential little life, was apologize to us when they were wrong.  While this wasn’t my first time apologizing to her, each time I do, my pride is freshly stung and my heart newly reminded of the power of this precious encounter.  All was well again.

Until I checked my email.

Nutshell version: misunderstanding between a client and I…she had apparently been waiting for me to complete a job I was told in passing about 3 weeks ago…under the assumption that she had given me the information…only to discover today, upon reading her abrupt email, that she wanted it by tomorrow night and would pay me {less than quoted} upon delivery.  I was immediately offended, my pride wounded at the thought of my reputation being tarnished {they must think I’m a total slacker!}, insulted at the drop in payment…feeling very in need of an apology.  Even after a quick phone call to clarify that I had indeed not received the info, I still felt frustrated, having not received the apology I felt I was owed.  With a busy afternoon ahead, and an even busier day lined up tomorrow, I somehow needed to find a way to complete this {stupid} job.  {insert grunt here}.  I was insulted and mad.

Then a scripture I had read yesterday came to mind…“Fools have short fuses and explode all too quickly; the prudent quietly shrug off insults” {Proverbs 12:16}

I repeated this to myself as a mantra while I bitterly started working on the job.  And then it hit me.  I LOVE what I do, and by being a sour-puss, I was not only going to make less moola on the job, but was robbing myself of the joy in the design process.  I had a choice to make.  I could either let it go and enjoy the process, or continue being a bitter mess.  After all, I was the only one suffering.  My client was oblivious to the ridiculous pity party I was having on my end…after all, she wasn’t invited.

Talk about a heart check.

I loved working on the projects and even got an unexpected phone call, complete with apology, from her in the midst of working on them.  There…much better.  It’s all about attitude isn’t it?  Chuck Swindoll says that the quality of our lives are only 10% what happens to us…and 90% about how we handle it.  So true.  All was well again.

Until the lady at Meijer tried to do her job.

After Ali’s Tiny Tumblers class this evening, we decided to swing by Meijer and pick up some bottles of wine for our family Thanksgiving this Thursday.  Seeing my hubby was with me and this was going to be a quick in-and-out trip, I left my purse in the car.  That thing is heavy.  While checking out I placed the 3 bottles of wine on the scanner.  Usual alcohol dance…please wait…lady approaches wanting to see ID before we can proceed.  Seeing Joe had his wallet and was going to pay, I stepped back so he could show his ID and we could get the show on the road.  Dinner was waiting at home and we wanted to move quickly.  She wanted to see my ID as well.  Why on earth?  He’s buying…not me, besides…do I look like I’m 18 with these 2 kids in the cart?!?  She refused to ring us up until she saw my ID too.  I was so indignant I wanted to speak to a manager.  But for some reason my stern request didn’t change the law. {You would think the wife of a cop would know these things!}…I had touched the bottles and now my age needed to be confirmed. 

I was seething as I stomped out to the car, muttering unpleasant words under my breath.  I’m constantly shocked at how quickly one can plummet from happy to furious when challenged, delayed when in a hurry, or offended.

Upon returning with my wallet, I marched up to the lady, didn’t even make eye contact…stood there with this dejected look on my face, and then walked away.

And then it hit me.  She was just doing her job, it was I who was being unbelievable.  I was being one of “those” customers…the type I would dread having contact with if I was in her position.  I was so embarrassed by my behavior I wanted the ground to swallow me up.  Even my husband was quietly mortified by my performance.

I knew what I needed to do, and felt sick to my stomach. 

It’s amazing.  Every ounce of anger and indignant pride that had been weighing me down melted with one simple action…I gently touched her arm and, for the second time today, had the opportunity to swallow my pride and say “I’m so sorry”.

Talk about a humbling day.

Good.  Hard.  Raw.  Redemptive.

While it hasn’t been a shining success story of a day…it has offered a powerful learning curve, with the sweet flavor of forgiveness.

I have a long way to go, this I know.  But I’m stunningly aware of the grace and the tender touch of the hand that carries, one that won’t give up on me until this journey comes to an end. 

I’m thankful that the joy lies not only in the destination, but it the journey itself.

Day 2: Less Going In, Yes. Less Coming Out…Not Yet.

It is well with my soul!  It’s been a glorious day…the sun was up before me, we went to Riverview this morning {Noel gave a rockin’ sermon}, we ate delicious momma-made stew for lunch, and currently the loves of my life, yes…all 3 of them, are sweetly sleeping while I design and journal with a cup of pomegranate red tea beside me.  This…this is bliss. 

The fact that a handful of raisins managed to satisfy my sweet-tooth after lunch {I always crave something sweet to wrap up a meal} is simply a sweet bonus.

My break-up with coffee and sugar has gone well so far.  They don’t miss me too much.  I, on the other hand, am already finding love in the arms of clementines, raisins and herbal tea.  But, before I get too big for my britches…it is indeed only day two and I realize my time will come.  I did rebound briefly yesterday when, without even thinking, I popped a pecan in my mouth…a pecan that was coated in butter, brown sugar and flour.  It had dropped on the counter while I was topping my scrumptious sweet potato casserole before popping it in the oven {kiss this, Betty Crocker}.  Note: I know it was scrumptious not because I ate any of it {besides the delicious mistake of a pecan} but because I am not allowed to go to the Reside family Thanksgiving without it.  It is my sinfully decadent Thanksgiving staple.

I digress.

Yesterday I sensed God wanted to tackle my tongue.  That sounds odd.  Let me rephrase that.  I feel as though my complete inability to think before I speak needs to be addressed.  While I can, at times, say deep and profound things…there are other times that complete nonsensical, unedifying babble dribbles from my lips.  Its as though silence amidst a conversation – especially with people I don’t feel 100% comfortable around – needs to be broken.  Painfully. 

So…this filter inside my head, that so often seems to malfunction, needs a little repair work.  It started yesterday, it continues today {and no doubt, for many, many, many more days}.

This morning Noel was teaching on judging.  Judging others the right way {not too harshly, not too lightly}, in love.  He hit on the fact that we are not called to judge those outside of our faith – that’s not our job {and yet sadly, Christians are infamous for doing this} – but to rather judge those we consider brothers and sisters in Christ, when it is appropriate, in a loving and tender way.  Of course the whole getting the plank out of the eye before attempting to remove the speck in the other’s eye is a biggie here…why do we forget this one so often?  It amazes me how critical I can be of others when I have so much in my own life that needs attention.  The sermon this morning simply reiterated aspects of what I was pondering yesterday and today. 

The power of life and death are truly in the tongue.  Why is it that I choose to speak “death” when I have the ability to speak “life” over someone?  Is the root of it all my own insecurity and lack of maturity?  If I were truly secure in my identity and was not ‘rattled’ by those around me, I don’t think I would be nearly as quick to speak negatively about them.  Gossip is so pointless…and yet so powerful {in a destructive sense}.  I need to implement the rule our mothers all told us a little more…if you have nothing nice to say…don’t say anything at all.  Now I just have to find a way to balance that with prayerfully confronting issues when there really are issues.

This is one of the areas of my life I want to work on over the next 38 days…choosing to speak life {rather than death} about people, not having a critical/negative spirit, and sweetly learning to identify and confront problems when the need arises. 

Oh, and the whole learning to be quiet thing.  Yeah.  I’m a talker.  This is hard for me.  I talk when I’m excited…I talk when I’m sad…I talk when I’m frustrated…I talk when I’m nervous.  Yup, I just like to talk.  I am not, however, nearly as good of a listener.  This absolutely needs work.  All of my relationships would benefit from more of a balance here.  It is true that we have been given two ears and one mouth for a reason.

I was looking up some scriptures in Proverbs about the power of our mouths and found some real nuggets!  Check em’ out:

“Worry weighs us down; a cheerful word picks us up” Proverbs 12:25

“Prudent people don’t flaunt their knowledge; talkative fools broadcast their silliness” Proverbs 12:23

OUCH!

“Careful words make for a careful life; careless talk may ruin everything” Proverbs 13:3

“Rash language cuts and wounds, but there is healing in the words of the wise” Proverbs 12:18

“Fools have short fuses and explode all too quickly; the prudent quietly shrug off insults” Proverbs 12:16

“Mean-spirited slander is heartless; quiet discretion accompanies good sense” Proverbs 11:12

And of course…

“The more talk, the less truth; the wise measure their words” Proverbs 10:19

Way to hit the nail on the hit, King Solomon.

I love the book of Proverbs.  It has this fabulous way of gently prodding me while slapping me upside the head.  Good stuff.  James 3 is also loaded with great wisdom about our mouths and what comes out of them.

This has ALWAYS been an area of struggle for me.  I remember early on in my marriage trying to be the shy, quiet wife I saw other men had on their arms.  It didn’t last more than 10 minutes.  I was positive I might explode if I kept all that terribly profound information bouncing around in my noodle to myself.  I tried, I really did.  But, none the less, it gushed forth.  I recall being so disappointed in myself, as though there was something horribly wrong with me. 

But, you see, I’m learning that it’s not so much about the fact that I’m a people person and I love to chat…it’s so much more about the quality and quantity of what comes out of my mouth.  Half of it doesn’t need to be said.  It doesn’t add to the quality of anyone’s life…it doesn’t encourage and edify…and it doesn’t vitally inform…so it doesn’t need to be said.  As “they” say…rather be quiet and be thought a fool than open your mouth and remove all doubt.

This problem, I realize, is just fruit of what’s growing in my heart.  Scripture says that out of the overflow of the heart, the mouth speaks. 

But…that is another day entirely. 

Today I’m working on my mouth. 

Yes, less is going in it…namely deliciously sweet, caffeinated things…but ideally, I want less coming out of it too.

Day 1: Taking Care of Business

Today’s “lesson” had the opportunity to start last night.  For almost 20 months now I have not laid eyes on my mother-in-law.  Not by our choice, but because of choices she has made.  At times we didn’t even know what State she was living in.  She left before Ali turned one and has consequently missed some very important events in our lives, namely her son graduating from Michigan State Police Academy and the birth of her grandson.

I’ve wondered at times whether this is the way I prefer it.  Life has had less drama, and yet at the same time, it’s clearly been missing an important component.  No matter the unwise decisions she’s made, the foolish things she’s chosen over her family, even the illegal activities she’s managed to pull off…she remains the mother of my husband and a grandmother to my children.  My husband is a testimony, mainly of the sweet grace of God, but also, of the amazing woman she is.  She, on the other hand, is a fine example of the destructive and devastating effects of un-dealt-with shame and regret.  The effects of misplaced self-worth are startling.

My heart has grown harder toward her over this time while she has been gone.  Where has she been?  Does she not care to meet her grandkids?  Do we matter this little to her?

Quite the opposite. 

I have come to learn that she cares so deeply for us, loves us so entirely, that in the midst of the mud she was drowning in, she didn’t feel worthy to be a part of our lives.  Yes, we did play a part in choosing to distance ourselves when certain ground rules and ultimatums where not met.  Is it not foolish to continue to help someone when they are not willing to help themselves, not to mention exposing your children to dangerous lifestyles?

All this to say…my otha-motha arrived in Michigan this week after her extended absence.  While a cold-shoulder is what I anticipated delivering, along with a mouth-full of festering words, God had other plans.  He broke my heart toward her and enabled us to enjoy a most glorious evening together.

My hubby, also processing his anger and disappointment in her – astounded by the compassion he now feels – prepared a meal she was sure to love, complete with potatoes prepared just how she likes ‘em!  We then whisked her off to Silver Bells in the City – the location we broke the news of our first pregnancy {with Alathea Grace} to my parents just 3 years ago.  It was as though God was taking us back to the beginning – of our children’s lives – and allowing us a fresh start with her.  After fireworks, Christmas trees, cookies & reindeer, we headed to  Tim Hortons to wrap up our night.  Yes, I thoroughly enjoyed my final cup of coffee for 2009, thank you.

And this is just the beginning!

I am sitting in the back of our van typing this while my hubby drives us to Attica for our Thanksgiving/Christmas get-together with his side of the family.  Mom will be there for the first time in 2 years.  I am so excited.  Seeing little Ali was less than a year old when she saw her last, we knew she wouldn’t even remember her (having only seen her twice before that).  While I first viewed this as an opportunity to rub her absence in her face…”I know you don’t know this woman, but she’s actually your grandmother…fancy that…can you spare her a smile?”.  We found ourselves preparing her little heart and mind for our reunion days ahead.  When mom arrived at the house last night, and for the stunning hours that unfolded after that, there were numerous hugs, kisses and giggles exchanged between them.  The name “grandma” rolled effortlessly off her tongue.  Talk about healing a momma’s heart.  Hers and mine.

I am learning in a whole new way that unforgiveness is truly just a poison we drink in an effort to hurt the other person.  My heart not only feels lighter, but is actually delighting in the life we see our forgiveness and compassion bringing about in her. 

I am more excited than ever for the 39 days that lay ahead.  If ever we stop growing and changing and being molded into the likeness of Christ, we miss out on the beauty and hope that the process reveals.  Isn’t it just like the Father to turn our ugliness into something that blesses and transforms us, over and over again, with a stunning ripple effect into the lives of those around us? 

I am being refined.  And while the process hurts and exposes ugly areas of my life I don’t really care to look at, the end result means more to me than the temporary discomfort.

So, with that…and a sip of this delicious non-coffee beverage, I declare…bring it on!

On Your Marks…Get Set…

It’s Friday the 20th of November.  Tomorrow is the first day of my 40 day adventure.  I’m excited.  I’m terrified.  And everything in between.  I’m full of anticipation for what lays ahead, and yet at the same time, guarded because I feel that failure is inevitable.

But, I suppose that’s where God meets us.  I’ve always heard that if what you’re dreaming about isn’t impossible, it’s too small.  If I can accomplish something on my own, there’s no need – or room, even – for God to play His glorious part.  I’m ready for that to change.  I’m tired of small and predictable, safe and comfortable.  I want big, I want exciting, I want risky…I want RADICAL.

So…what’s the deal with all of this?  Why am I “pursuing the radical”, and what on earth does that mean anyway?  Well, I’m so glad you asked.

At 5:00 o’clock in the morning 3 days ago – while usually blurry eyed and half asleep while nursing Aiden – I was wide awake and stunningly aware of something sweet going on inside my heart.  It’s been a wild and crazy year and I’ve been processing a lot of things, some of them sweet and transforming in nature, others…well, not so sweet.  I’m disheartened by how easily, over the past 5 months {while living with my parents while my husband has been laid off}, my attitude has slipped from excited and thankful, to envious and ungrateful.  My heart, initially filled with hope and passion, has hardened and become sour.  No, not all the time.  I realize I’m not a dreadful person, and while it may not seem like it – I really am not feeling “down on myself” - I just don’t want to settle in and live here.  There’s grace for camping out at the ugly heart site for a while, but it’s not where I want to stay.

It’s time to move on!

While nursing quietly in the living room, I sensed it was time for me to really hone in on changing some areas of my life.  Everything from my body and mind to my attitude and spirit are in need of some radical change.  My roles as wife, mother, friend, daughter, sister, designer, not to mention daughter-of-the-King, are all affected when something is amiss in my life.  They all suffer.  But, in order to actually remember to work on certain habits and mindsets rather than just go about my day as usual, I felt I needed to give something up.  A physical expression of the ribbon tied on a finger…a reminder that I should be doing something.  In essence, a fast, although because I felt I needed to journal it {and fasts should be done without broadcasting it to the world}…I’m choosing to not call it that.

The bargaining began.  Sugar came to mind.  I’m a sucker for sweets right now {nursing does me in}.  I, in fact, have no self-control whatsoever.  While inhaling a mini chocolate bar I will be unwrapping the next one in case, God forbid, there be a laps in time where no chocolate is melting on my tongue.  Actually that’s a lie…there’s no time for it to melt.  I chew and swallow it.  I don’t even suck and enjoy it.  I devour it like a rabid animal.  It’s pitiful, really.  The fact that I’ve gained 5 pounds since my initial baby-weight-loss is a dead giveaway of the fact that my sweet teeth {notice, not “’tooth”} are insatiable.  So, I decided to give up sugar for this 40 day period.  And…as though that were not enough…God brought to mind my other vice.  Coffee.  What?  You wouldn’t!  Now…you must know, I’ve been a crazy tea drinker my entire life.  It’s the South African in me.  My parents gave us tea in our baby bottles.  I now drink 2 – 6 cups of it a day.  But my sweet husband and his wicked coffee-brewing skillz have turned me into a wild coffee drinking mama.  I cannot get enough.  And the fact that it’s not even caffeinated makes me laugh.  Why am I so stinking addicted to this stuff.  So I tried begging…please let me keep the coffee…and He said no.  To this I declared {quietly, of course…seeing no other person is up talking to themselves at 5 in the morning}, “but that’s radical!”.  And that’s when it clicked.  Radical change brings about radical change.  And the idea for this journey began brewing inside my heart.  So yes, sugar and coffee it is.  For 40 days. 

There are so many things I want to work on in my life, and so many things I want to see change {on the inside and on the outside, including our job/living situation}, so instead of griping and whining about it all… I’ve decided to commit 40 days to working on them, praying about them, tackling them, and laying some of them down.  I’m ridiculously excited because I truly believe that radical change will bring about radical change in my life.

So, if you’re reading this, welcome to my journey.  I’m not really journaling for anyone other than myself.  I don’t like writing much – after two lines my hand cramps up.  Pitiful, I know.  But I’m just so much more comfortable with typing – and can type faster than I write – so here I go!  Not to mention the unspoken accountability that comes with making something like this public.  I discovered while journaling Aiden’s journey how incredibly therapeutic it was…my heart felt lighter and more at peace as I poured it out on “paper”.  Aiden’s journey deeply touched so many lives – if even one life will benefit from these 40 days of ramblings – be challenged or inspired by my sweet mess of a life, redeemed by grace – then it will be worth it.

My sweet hubby came home today with a gift for us…the Love Dare book from the movie “Fireproof”.  He was delighted {and cutely proud of himself} that it was a 40 day journey for a husband and wife.  Talk about a perfect compliment to this adventure.  I love that my man is not only supporting me in this, but joining me in my pursuit of the radical…a radical marriage.

My 40 day journey begins tomorrow, November 21st, and will end on December 31st, 2009. 

I am, understandably so, deliriously excited for 2010 to begin. 

I adore new beginnings. 

2010 is going to be a rad{ical} year!