Moments

 “Hope begins in the dark, the stubborn hope that if you just show up and try to do the right thing, the dawn will come. You wait and watch and work: You don’t give up” Anne Lamott

Over the last few days, I've realized in the week after Christmas the go to question is :

Did you have a "good Christmas?"

I think we all expect each other to say politely "Yes, how about you?"

If you know me, then you know that small talk is not my thing. I'm nearly physically unable to answer a question at a surface level.

I've been thinking about these last few days - What is a "good Christmas?"

How do you know if you had a "good Christmas?" If you don't have a good Christmas, is it a bad Christmas?

One year we all 5 had the flu bad enough to end up in the ER. And our dog died. Was that a bad Christmas?

This year I officiated a funeral two days before Christmas. Was that a bad Christmas?

This Christmas brought overwhelming grief.

This Christmas we restructured our traditions. As our kids grow, each year Christmas becomes a little more flexible. It looks a little bit less like years gone by.

This Christmas my village showed up to haul out my Christmas decorations and drag us into the Christmas season.

This Christmas brought great moments of sadness as my mom tries to figure out how to eat, sleep, move forward.

This Christmas brought great moments of joy as friends and family gathered consistently to remind us of the hope each new day brings.

Moments.

I think the most accurate question this time of year is "Did you experience a moment of joy of this Christmas?"

When I think about that first Christmas, I think it was fraught with an assortment of feelings.

Fear. Sadness. Exhaustion. Loneliness. Anger.

And a moment of great joy.

Regardless of how the gatherings and gifts, how the functions and meals went - Christmas was still good.

This idea of a Savior being born as a human. This unexplainable mystery.

It was good.

It IS good.

Mama Warriors, I don't know what it is about Christmas that invokes my Norman Rockwell complex. I suddenly want everything to look like a Christmas card.

I basically want all my people to behave in a way they don't the rest of the year.

And I am disappointed when Christmas looks like the rest of our life.

Messy.

Overwhelmed with all the emotions.

Maybe we gift each other some grace this season and we don't expect each other to have a "good Christmas."

Maybe we ask the real question - Did you experience a moment of joy this season?

Did you see Jesus?

Space

"None of us can mess up so badly that our children somehow extend beyond the measure of God's mercy."

This year, with our Princess, we are working on some self-awareness skills. She's learning to manage her time, set goals and break them into manageable steps, recognize her physical/spiritual/emotional needs, and learning to ask for help in areas she needs support. 

Yesterday, we pulled out her new (to her) planner and she began to set it up for the upcoming New Year.

I realized that our life planners no longer match completely. There was a time when the structure of my day, my choices, defined her day. Now, she has commitments, goals, and activities that are completely separate from her father and I. 

Our paths cross here and there, family dinners, events we attend together, outings we choose. But her path also has things that are distinctly her own - yearbook committee, driver's ed classes, dinner with her mentor, appointments, etc. 

As I thought about this yesterday, I realized her spiritual walk is very much the same. 

Her walk is HER walk. 

That is both freeing and stressful for me, I will confess. 

She's made some choices in the last six months that I would not have made for her. She's reaping the consequences of decisions I wish she had navigated differently. She's struggling with discovering who she is when I wish she would embrace what I know I've planted deep in her soul. 

Our paths cross at times, much like our planners. God is growing and stretching me as he challenges me to realize that He's doing a good work in her and I have to WAIT. 

It's not my work to do. 

Her walk is NOT my walk. 

I can place limits and boundaries. I can discipline poor choices. 

But I can't control how HER walk turns out. 

I can lean in to what He whispers to me. Reminds me to feed her love language. Reminds me to nurture her independent streak. Reminds me to keep reaching for her. Reminds me to push sometimes, and others to step back and let her fall. 

I can continue to build a bridge, even if she's digging tunnels. 

I can NOT walk HER walk for her. 

Mama Warriors, I think sometimes we take too much credit for how our kids turn out, and on the flip side we take too much responsibility for their mistakes. 

We make ourselves too important in THEIR story. 

As we get ready to turn the corner into a New Year, make Him the most important component of THEIR story. Turn the triumphs and the trials over to who they really belong to. 

Give Him space to do good work. 

He will.

What Then

This week I was sitting at co-op people watching. I heard this adult tell this child "You don't need to be scared."

I'm going to confess. I cringed.

I know they were well meaning. Attempting to be reassuring.

But the thing is, we can't tell people how to FEEL. 

If you FEEL afraid, then fear exists for you. 

It's not reassuring to be told "don't feel x." 

I think fear isn't always a bad thing. Don't want we want them to be a little afraid of running into the street without looking both ways? 

When we tell kids "don't be afraid" - we essentially say "Don't listen to your inner voice."

I think that's a dangerous path. 

I want my kids to be super in tune with that inner voice. Because that's where their Jesus lives. 

I've had a long week struggling with anxious thoughts. 

When you, or your kids, have anxious thoughts - play "What then?"

Go ahead and chase the worst case scenario. 

Because at the end of the worst case scenario is where you figure out what your peace is. 

If it all went as badly as I am imagining, what then? 

I know there are many people who think you should walk the best case scenario. 

But the comfort is actually in the worst case scenario. 

It's figuring out where your strength would come from IF the worst case version happened. 

Because honestly, I find, that it is rare the best case scenario happens. And rare the worst case scenario happens. 

But rather, we mostly live in an "okay case" scenario world. 

I can walk the okay case because mentally I've already prepared myself for the worst. 

What then gives our kids strength. It validates their fear and gives their inner monologue a voice. 

Telling them not to be scared doesn't stop the fear - it only stops the voicing of the fear. 

I think there's a misconception that feeling fear makes you a bad Christian. 

I feel like letting FEAR lead you instead of Jesus is where the line is drawn. 

Feeling the fear is human. 

And being ashamed, or even worse, making our kids feel guilt on top of fear is not part of the plan. 

Last week Peanut and I read this book about a Mom who is trying not to eat cookies, but after a long discussion with her little boy Arnie, she eats not just one. But many cookies. 

I feel like Arnie's mom may be my person. 

Closet cookie eaters unite.

It's in my closet, often with a cookie, where I do my best "what then" walking. 

It's where I let myself walk that worst case and find out that I'd have enough faith to survive whatever it is I picture. 

It's where I embrace that He'd give me ENOUGH. 

I'd be ENOUGH. 

Mama Warriors, maybe you have a little one walking fears. I urge you to "what then" with them. 

Peanut was afraid the other night that her night light would go out. 

What then?

Then it would be dark. 

What then?

I'd call for you. 

What then?

You'd come. 

I think you'll find in your "what then" - that you'll often land in that same spot. 

God will show up. 

And maybe you, like me, need to know that in your worst case version.... God will show up.

Door

There are some hurts that you never completely get over. And you think, I don't know, that time will diminish their presence - an-an-and to a degree it does - but, ah... it still hurts. Because, well... hurt hurts. (Kate, Story of Us)

I stared my day with my annual mammogram. 

At the end of the paperwork portion, the employee asks me if I have an advance directive or living will. 

Umm....am I going to need one of those things to get a mammogram? 

Promptly after asking me this question, she then directs me to a closet where I can change into this lovely (opens in the front) robe. 

And tells me change, lock my belongings in the locker and  to wait there for her to come back for me. 

Basically she left me alone in this closet with thoughts. 

Cell phone and book locked in the locker. 

I got to thinking - how many times are we left solely alone to deal with our own thoughts? 

It's been brought to my attention recently that not everyone has this inner dialogue running all day. How do you function if not????

So, me and my thoughts about my lack of advance directive,were left alone in this closet a bit this morning. 

I got to thinking how I was ready. I have never been to a mammogram without being moved to the "wait here" chair while they decide what additional images they want. Not once. 

I prepared myself for the initial one, the more images one, and the ultrasound of this spot one that inevitably seems to be my case. 

I set the bar low. 

After my turn, the technician says to me "You are free to go."

I actually said to her "To the wait here chair?"

Nope she says - you are free to go home. 

She returns me to my closet, where my clothes and distractions were kindly waiting for me. 

I left after my record time mammogram (actually so fast I was done BEFORE my appointment time) and reminded myself that they could still call. For the wait here chair visit. 

The paperwork says they will mail me something in 10 days. 

10 days in the closet with my thoughts. 

I've been thinking today about how I've spent the last few years waiting for the notice that I'll be sitting in the wait here chair. 

Lingering in this space between the health crisis and embracing wellness. 

I got to thinking that if I'm always waiting for the news that I have to sit in the wait here chair, that I'm never FREE . 

I'm designed to be FREE. 

Regardless of what the future holds, wait here chairs or not, I'm designed to embrace joy and be FREE. 

I'm not destined to stay in the closet with my thoughts. 

So, the question then lingers how do we be FREE when the reality of life is closet thoughts and wait here chairs? 

For me, I think the answer is that I have to ground myself in His peace and the idea that the Plan is best. 

Mama Warriors, perhaps you are stuck in this spot of closet thoughts and wait here chairs. 

Lingering in a space between the life you are living and the life He has called you to. 

I challenge you to pray specifically for freedom from waiting. 

Maybe it's a simple as tuning into the small voices. Pushing yourself just a smidge outside your comfort zone toward freedom. 

Maybe it's just small steps away from the wait here chair for now. 

Maybe it's just fixing your eyes on the go home door - remembering that the wait here chair is a possibility, but so is the go home door.

Fill the seats

 “When I stopped trying to block my sadness and let it move me instead, it led me to a bridge with people on the other side.” … I learned that sadness does not sink a person; it is the energy a person spends trying to avoid sadness that does that.”

― Barbara Brown Taylor

"Mama. PaPaw is never going to see me on stage on again. "

At her last show, he arrived FOUR hours early just to place his chair on the front row.

Her biggest fan.

As in most families, the Nana is the gift buyer. But often for Peanut's birthday or Christmas, he picked her gift.

Because he truly saw her. He knew she loved all things science. The more experiments the better. He knew she loved creation and all the creatures. He gifted her nature puzzles, science kits, and books/magazines to encourage her love of learning.

Friday night, I cried at the space next to my mom. Where he would have been.

I cried for my mom. For me. But mostly for Peanut.

SD and I had our grandparents until we were real grown ups. Most of them saw us graduate high school, college, get married, have kids.

Peanut is just beginning to know who she is. And he'll miss it.

As I looked forward Friday night at the missing seat in front of me I was sad.

But.

As I looked left and behind me, we filled 4 rows of the church with people who showed up to see Peanut sing.

Those 4 rows didn't replace the missing seat.

But they did make it to where we were not alone.

I think that's what we do for each other.

We fill the rows so people don't sit in sadness alone.

When Peanut looked out into that audience Friday night, she saw she was loved.

She asked me Friday how we keep doing all the things when we are sad.

I told her that much like one of our favorite Disney movies, Sadness and Joy exist together. They are not two ends of a spectrum.

They are the interwoven thread that moves us through our days.

We honor those we loved who are no longer with us by continuing to be light for others.

Some days we sing on the stage.

Other days we fill the seats.

Mama warriors, I read somewhere this week that grief is a place you stop but you don't stay there.

I've been thinking about that pit stop this week as everything seems to make me cry.

Sadness is as much a part of the Christmas story as Joy.

The world was a scary place. There were mean people.

But Mary kept moving forward.

The promise of hope propelling her.

That night in the barn, she sang on the stage.

And others filled the seat.

Because Hope lives.