See

 "The crowning evidence that Jesus was alive was not a vacant grave, but a spirit filled fellowship. Not a rolled away stone, but a carried away church." Clarence Jordan

A few weeks ago we took Mo Trouble for his first full grooming.

I'm going to confess when I went to pick him up, I did not recognize him. He did not look like our dog.

He immediately jumped on me and his behaviors definitely screamed "Mo."

Visually he did not look like Mo. Mo Trouble has been this scruffy mess since the day we brought him home.

He's never looked like one of those "doodle" dogs until he was groomed.

For the first few weeks, I laughed every single time I saw him. He looked ridiculous to me. Have you seen his eyelashes? Apparently he has movie star eyelashes we've never seen for all the fur on his face.

The realist in me has come to love the hair cut. Brushing him - so much easier. Bathing him - goodness how much less time. The amount of my backyard being dragged into my living room -substantially less.

However, a piece of me misses the scruffy look that made him uniquely ours.

The scruffy look was familiar.

The scruffy look sort of justified his poor behavior .

I still find it hard to recognize him sometimes.

But then, he comes out of his crate every morning and refuses to potty, eat or do anything else until he's exuberantly greeted me with a "good morning mommy" string of jumps/licks/kisses.

Then I remember - he's still Mo.

I just have to work a little harder to "see" him these days.

I was thinking this morning as my big two left for work/school, how I sometimes feel the same way about them.

They look like grown ups these days.

Different than the visual I've always known.

I don't recognize their voices, the facial hair, the dyed hair on their head, the wardrobe selections, the car keys dangling, the revolving door as they come/go so often.

It's not the visual I'm used to.

But then, my Mother's day card will read "momma" or one will say "love you too" at the end of the phone call and I remember.

I know them.

Mama Warriors, parenting young adults is a new ball game.

Maybe you, too, as we hit that "insane May" stretch are feeling like the visual doesn't match what you know.

Remember that somewhere in that changed outer appearance, you do know them.

You may just have to work a little harder to "see" them.

Enough

At nearly the last minute, Xman decided he wanted to go to DOM. He's usually invited by several but has never been sure formals were his thing.

He borrowed a suit. We dragged out his father's "prom" shoes. He just needed a white button up shirt.

We decided a white button up shirt is a useful item and one he'd likely wear again. With the busyness of May, he ran into TJ Maxx on his way to baseball. Grabbed one that fit.

In the busyness of May, I forgot to tell him that he needed to buy a shirt with a BLEND.

He came home with a 100% cotton shirt.

We all know what a 100% cotton dress shirt looks like when you wash and dry it.

The Nana normally fixes these domestic conundrums for us, but she was out of town.

I dragged out our iron.

Our iron has been used MANY times.

For ironing plastic beads.

That's it.

It's not made for ironing clothes, or at least not in this house.

About 22ish years ago, I tried to iron one of SD's shirts for work. He wore a 2XL Tall at the time and let's just say that's a lot of shirt to attempt to wrangle.

I then decided the 99 cent special at the dry cleaners was the way to go. Since then, we've cut the dry cleaning expense by buying him all shirts that are a heavy blend - so they are "wrinkle free."

I was determined on Xman's one (and likely only) formal event - he was not going to be the wrinkled kid.

3 Youtube videos later and I was armed with a plan. I cleaned our iron. I filled it with water (thus youtube says steam is the way to go). I have sprayed this shirt with water, put it in a plastic bag for an hour, and now it's laid out on my dining room table (the ironing board left here in a minimalism kick years ago).

I ran the iron over the towel on the table many times before actually letting it touch the shirt.

After ironing, I hung the shirt up across the room from me.

You know how this goes right?

The more I looked at the shirt, the more I saw new wrinkles.

I decided to give it one more go. Plugged the iron in, and ran it ONE time over the area in question.

At which point my iron betrayed me.

Little brown dots squirted out of the iron ALL over the white dress shirt. Hours before the event.

I hurriedly sent SD to Walmart for a Tide Pen (alas we don't own one of those either). The Princess used the tide pen and a hair dryer. And hours later, as a group effort, the Thrailkills had somehow managed to have one (mostly) ironed dress shirt ready.

As I've been thinking about this domestic snafu this week, I realized that I often have trouble recognizing when "enough" is enough.

Had I left said shirt alone, with the one small wrinkle, it would have been fine.

But I questioned myself.

Had I done "enough?"

Much of my parenting sleepless nights could be attributed to this elusive "enough."

Did I love them enough? Did I teach them enough? Did I enforce boundaries enough? Did I support them enough? Did I hole them accountability enough? Did I offer grace enough?

Mama Warriors, we can always think of the "mores" but are we giving ourselves credit for the plentys?

Are we embracing that (in Jesus) we are ENOUGH.

We don't need to keep ironing over and over.

Our best was enough.

No Price Tag

 "The bittersweet side of appreciating life's most precious moments is the unbearable awareness that those moments are passing." Marc Parent

10 years ago I went to one of those stores where they tell you what shoes to buy. That was the last time I bought a pair of tennis shoes. Those have long since been worn out. In the meantime, various pairs of hand me down shoes have shown up here and I've tried to make them work.

Consistently my feet hurt after I walk.

This weekend I finally decided "enough" and went to a different store but same concept.

I answered questions about where I walk, how much I walk, no I do not run. Ever. I tried shoes on. I said what I liked, what I didn't. New options were brought to me.

For a full hour these kind employees made me feel like me having comfortable shoes to walk in was a priority for them to. I was worthy of having "good" shoes.

I kept coming back to this coral pair of shoes. They aren't the lightest pair I tried on. They are a lot more "shoe" than I've been wearing. But they provide good support all over my foot and have a thick sole that absorbs some of the wear and tear of walking.

I noticed that there were no price tags in this store. No prices on shoes. No prices on shoe displays. No prices on shoe boxes. In a very UNLIKE me move, I got to the register without ever asking how much these shoes were.

I assumed they would be expensive.

I had NO idea how expensive they were until that moment where she said the total and I was handing over my debit card.

There was a moment when I wanted to say "NO" and pick a shoe I liked less that cost less.

I looked at the employee and felt this understood, unsaid conversation.

"Trust me. I know shoes. These shoes are the best ones for your feet. They will be worth the cost."

I signed my receipt.

Yesterday afternoon I put these new shoes on and took them for a spin around my neighborhood.

I'm going to confess they take a bit to get used to but often feel like you are walking on clouds.

As I put one foot in front of the other, I thought of how many times I make decisions based on cost.

It seems responsible right - to know how much something is going to cost you before you say "yes."

I think this is the conundrum I consistently circle back to with God.

He wants me to buy the shoes before I know what they will cost.

He wants me to say yes to the request without knowing how it will turn out.

He wants me to trust that the request will be what's best for me regardless of the cost.

The cost will be worth the investment.

Mama Warriors, it's so easy to get caught up in the cost analysis style of living. Trying to balance some invisible spreadsheet.

Trust that what He asks will be worth it.

Buy the shoes with no price tag.

Just in Case

 "My heart is at ease knowing that what was meant for me will never miss me, and what misses me was never meant for me." Imam Al-Shafi'i

Peanut climbed in my bed at first day light this morning exclaiming "Mommy - it's Mother's Day! Today is all about you. I'm going to do all the things for you."

It seems like one would wake the daddy on Mother's day for help doing "all the things" for the mommy. But that's never how it goes.

I was up late waiting on my wild child who seems to live his best life starting at my bedtime.

SD never waits up for him to get home. "He's fine" he says to me.

It seems he always takes the stance that unless he's informed otherwise, everything is okay.

I seem to always take the stance that we should be alert waiting for car accidents, broken down cars, situations where the kids aren't comfortable, and all the other thoughts moms think at 2 AM.

He comfortably snores while I pray.

Perhaps it's that I have too much background knowledge. I spend a lot of time with our kids and I know all the things that can go wrong.

The glitter can sleep peacefully because the glue will stay up and make sure the kids get home.

She won't sleep until she has said "Good night. I love you." and knows they are back in the nest.

It seems most of motherhood falls into the glue category.

The relentless showing up that no one seems to see or appreciate.

The being available for the "just in case."

As I groggily sip the tea that was "made for me" this morning, and watch Peanut's excited face as helps with all the things, I'm thankful for all the just in case moments.

The mornings I linger in the kitchen before they go to work - just in case they need something.

The texts and memes that circle back and forth - just in case they need something.

The afternoons I stand in the kitchen to welcome them home from all the places - just in case they need something.

The late nights I wait up for them to come in - just in case they need something.

As the kids get older, those just in case moments, are the sweet spot.

The beauty of being the glue is that you are the just in case.

Mama Warriors, as you wake on this mother's day Sunday, know that the just in case moments are not wasted.

Time and time again you send your child the message that you are available.

For those waking this morning without your just in case, I'm truly sorry for your loss. I'm praying for you this morning.

For those waking this morning whose mom was never your just in case, I'm truly sorry for your loss. I'm praying for you this morning.

For those waking this morning struggling with being the sole just in case, I'm sorry that you carry the responsibility solo. I'm praying for you this morning.

For those waking this morning yearning to be someone's just in case, I'm truly sorry for your pain. I'm praying for you this morning.

For those waking this morning groggily drinking caffeine while being the just in case, Happy Mother's Day Mama Warriors. I'm praying for you this morning.