Driver

 “But honey, some of y'all have let folks drive your car who shouldn't have even been allowed to ride in it. But there you are, handing over the keys to your mind, heart, and soul. Some people you let drive your car too long. They aren't doing any maintenance on it. Haven't contributed a gallon of gas, but they are still driving your life instead of you. Honey, time's up. It's time to take your keys to your car and your life back." Tabitha Brown

Every year I make peanut a "birthday book." In it are the highlights for the last year. Her previous birthday, all the holidays.

But also all the ordinary. The school days. The park outings. The library hold up pick ups. The lunch with friends.

On the last page of her book, I write her a letter.

I remind her of all the good in the previous year. I remind her of the hard we overcame. I remind her who she is. Each book ends with the same statement .........."You are....." followed by a list of attributes (kind, empathetic, creative, etc.).

We haven't celebrated Peanut's birthday as a family yet, but she always gets to open her birthday book with her birthday pancakes on her birthday morning.

I love that this her favorite gift. The one she asks me about every year.

Every few months, I find all her previous birthday books spread out on her floor.

She is walking down memory lane.

I started making her these books as way of staying ahead of the digital clutter. Making the book forces me to go through a years worth of photos- delete, organize, upload them.

Over time though, making these books is a tangible way for me to remind her of where she has been. And where she can go.

The pictures of the season of tennis remind her she can try new things. The pictures of her grandfather's funeral remind her she can weather hard loss. The pictures of her on stage remind her she can be brave. The picture of her with friends reminds her that relationships are tricky but worth it.

The pictures also tell other stories though.

The pictures tell stories of churches we've attended and left.

Of friends she's had who are no longer in our lives.

Of activities she's tried that weren't a good fit for her.

It tells the stories of rooms we've left.

I think those are just as important as the stories of rooms we've stayed in.

In the last audiobook I finished the author shared something like this "People are in your life for a reason, a season, or a lifetime. The challenge is figuring out which category someone is."

Knowing when to stay and when to leave an activity, a space, a relationship is a hard skill. One I honestly still struggle with.

I want Peanut to know that it's okay to stay. But it's also okay to go.

I want Peanut to drive her own car. (Figuratively because Jesus knows I absolutely may not survive a 3rd teenage driving experience in this house)

I don't want her to hand the keys to anyone else.

And when it's time to kick out a passenger - I want her to have the courage to do it. No matter who it is.

Mama Warriors, let's be people who model for our kids how to stay and how to leave.

Let's be people who put words to a reason, a season, a lifetime.

Let's be the drivers of our own cars.

Stand in the Gap

"God is present whenever people suffer."

Yesterday this package showed up in my garage. A mix of words for me and birthday prizes for the Peanut. 

On those cards, the words illuminate all the things I can't seem to say right now. 

She has her palms up, holding me and my people up to Him. 

For me. 

When my health struggles began, people were so kind to always offer to pray for me. They would ask "how can I specifically pray for you?"

It's hard to answer that question honestly. 

You give the easy answers - pray for my next doctor's appointment, pray for wisdom, pray for healing, pray for my family that we survive this. 

What you really need are the hard questions. 

Pray that I believe healing can happen. Pray that I remember how to hold out hope. Pray that I recognize joy again. 

Those are the things you never say. 

Because it makes you sound un-Christian. 

As if struggling to believe is something new to just you. 

Even on the cross, Jesus cries out "why have you forsaken me?"

Even Jesus, on the cross, says "Where are you God?"

I still ask others how I can pray for them. 

But more often, I share that I will stand in your gap. 

That gap that exists between you and faith, I'll stand there for you. 

I'll pray for hope for you. I'll pray for big things. 

I'll hold you up when you can not hold yourself. 

Because I intimately know what it's like to be falling in the gap. 

Mama Warriors, I think the best thing we can do for each other is to be vessels. Tune in to His voice. 

Send the words when we feel tugged. 

Offer the meal, the laundry washing, the kid taxi driving. 

But most importantly, we can stand in the gap for those we love. 

We can say to them "It's okay to be questioning." While you question, I'll pray those things you can't pray. 

I'll put into words what you can not just yet. 

I'll stand in the gap. 

We tend to ask folks "have you prayed about it?" Which let's be real, comes across as judgemental and condescending. As if folks who love God didn't think to pray about big things. 

Sometimes the right response is "I'll pray about this for you. Let me stand in your gap." 

Let's be people who lift each other up in real in tangible ways. Let's be people who say "thinking of you" and mean it.

Faith Team Sport

"We can't change what we have experienced, but we can choose how the experience changes us."

I started my day at one of my least favorite places. 

The dentist. 

If you are following, I need extensive dental work. I went today for visit number 5 of 10 visits. Anyone want to sing "Woah, we're halfway there?"

I have made all 5 of these visits post COVID. 

I start each visit the same way. Sitting in my car waiting for someone to come out and take my temperature. 

On my last visit, I sat 20 minutes before someone came out. By then I had already had a full blown panic attack and called them to say if they didn't take me INSIDE the building, I was going to Aldi. I like it WAY better there. I mean I was already so close to there? 

Someone must have made a note on my chart because today I waited about 5 minutes and a very cheery employee came out to take my temperature and make sure I stayed on the grounds. 

Once I'm IN the building, these people put on their kid gloves and are nothing but super kind to me. They don't make me feel bad that I need this much dental work (today she even said "The only thing that matters is you are taking care of it!"). They never make me feel guilty that I require nitrous oxide to sit in the chair, regardless of what they are doing ("I'll give you a few minutes to relax"). They are compassionate to me. 

I'm distracted from the anxiety of the waiting. 

They wait with me. 

I realized today that while I don't necessarily love the procedure portion of the dental visit, the part that is the hardest for me is all the waiting. 

Waiting in my car (or in pre-Covid times in the waiting room), being ushered back to a room, waiting on my turn, and then during procedures there are times you wait (while you wait for numbing meds to kick in, or the next step to be ready, or xrays). 

These dental employees float in and out and frequently I'm alone in this chair with my over reacting brain. 

During all those times of waiting, I manage to work myself into an anxious frenzy. Anticipating the worst. Dreading the procedure. 

I'm not good at waiting. 

In some other universe I may find this funny about myself because I am CONSTANTLY waiting. 

I waited 9 years for Peanut. 

I waited 6 years for gastro relief. 

I am still waiting on some of my prayers. 

Many of my people are waiting this week. And my heart hurts for them. 

All waiters should get nitrous oxide. I'm just saying. 

It doesn't hurry up the waiting. It doesn't even decrease the pain of the wait. It sort of forces you to slow down your over processing and just process the next moment. 

Waiting is hard. 

We are not meant to wait alone. 

Mama Warriors, we are often stuck in our car waiting by ourselves because we don't ask others to wait with us. 

We don't ask people to sit with us in the wait. 

People can't show up for us if they don't know. 

There's no prize for carrying it all by yourself. 

We can't change the fact that there is waiting in life. 

We can change HOW we wait. 

I challenge you this week to ask a trusted friend to sit with you in the wait on your hard. 

As we journey to the cross this Lenten week, let someone else help you with your burden. 

Faith is a team sport.

Easter Crap

 “If I could pick one thing, it would be that everyone simmers down on the explanations for other people’s suffering, and just steps in with love.” Kate Bowler

I have a stack of audiobooks that I am working my way through as part of my Lenten journey.

This morning I finished Kate Bowler's book where she chronicles her journey with stage 4 colon cancer. It's worthy of a listen. She's both heartbreakingly authentic and adorably funny.

At one point in the book she says

"Everyone is trying to Easter the crap out of my Lent."

I've been thinking about that quote today.

The idea of trying to "Easter" something up.

It reminds me of the Anne Lamott quote, “We're Easter people, living in a Good Friday world.”

We are a people that avoids the hard.

Goes around instead of through.

We are a people who really struggle with sitting with others in the hard. In the anger. In the grief. In the loss. In the frustration.

Yet we live in a Good Friday world.

For some reason, our instinct is to "Easter it up."

We give out terrible bumper sticker answers. Everything happens for a reason. Or that Jeremiah 29:11 verse. Or God works all things for good. Or, goodness, It could be worse.

Searching for the silver lining always. Or some platitude of one.

I've been wondering today why it's so hard for us to sit in Lent.

To sit in the desert. In the wandering. In the hard.

And even more so, why we struggle with sitting in it with others.

Maybe do we think we are being helpful? Encouraging?

Over the last few months, I've sat in rooms with people who are deeply grieving.

I've noticed that they all apologize. "I'm sorry."

I'm always puzzled by this response. Sorry for being sad? Sorry for being incredibly human? Sorry for having feelings? Sorry for taking up space?

Perhaps we can't sit in our own grief because we feel we aren't worthy of feeling it.

No one has modeled this well for us. No one has shown us how it is to be done.

Mama Warriors, my prayer app for this Lent season has forced me (and I do mean I am being dragged unwillingly) into these sessions of silence.

I'm learning that I talk more than I listen.

I feel the need to fill empty space.

I feel the need to Easter the crap out of a Lenten space.

I'm working on sitting in awkward silence.

Not telling my own story, but just saying "That must be hard."

A hand to hold is better than an empty bumper sticker phrase.

We are all terminal. That's a hard fact to absorb.

We are all desperately human with challenges. That's also a hard fact to absorb.

Let's gift each other grace........to be just that desperately human.

Let's don't Easter the crap up the hard. Let's let the hard be hard, and the Easter be Easter.

Improv Seasons

 "Whatever you are meant to do, do it now. The conditions are always impossible." Doris Lessing

Peanut and I are in charge of organizing our church's Easter egg hunt as well as a scavenger hunt for the youth. It is therefore our job to procure the stuffed eggs. I mentioned to her yesterday that in addition to the announcement in the bulletin, I was going to make an announcement during the service.

"I can do that. It's just improv theater in action."

She was brave and beautiful as she stood before the church yesterday and asked for donations for Easter Sunday. She was creative ("Mom we should give them a number so they know what our goals is").

She did the hard thing.

One of my favorite things about our sweet church is that we participate in family worship. The most adorable 4 year old sits a few rows ahead of me each week and gives the best post Eucharist fist bump known to man. Around me sit elderly men and women who need walkers and canes to get to the altar. And then all the people between 4 years old and walker dependent.

This is how life is right?

We are all out here doing life together, the young and the old.

I know this can be wildly chaotic but it can also be incredibly beautiful.

Because sometimes on a random Sunday in March, an 11 (almost 12) year old stands up at the podium in front of the congregation and we are all, young and old, reminded that we can be brave.

We are reminded that we can learn from each other.

I spent a lot of time over the years trying to find the "right" friend group. My search often focused on finding people in the same season of life that I was in.

I've learned that what I actually need is a friend group with people in various seasons.

I need ones in seasons I've already walked to remind me of where I've been. I've survived potty training, teaching two teenagers to drive, the loss of two parents. I've done hard things.

I need ones in seasons I haven't reached yet to show me where I'm going. There will be new hard things to come.

The best teachers are ones who realize that they are often the student.

I need spaces where I can listen. And spaces where I can share.

Homeschoolers have long known this as we don't group our kids by chronological ages, but rather wide spans. Because kids benefit from being the leader, but also from being the learner.

Mama Warriors, I encourage you to surround yourself with friends of all ages, in all seasons.

Ones for whom you can say "You will not miss this arching the back in the car seat while screaming nonsense. It will pass. You do not have to cherish every moment. Some moments stink."

And ones for whom you can say "What is next? How do I walk this?"

Let's remember that our kids have things to teach us.

Like how to use your improv theater skills to ask the church to donate stuffed eggs on a random Sunday in March.

Broken

 "Our response to Him should be the same, no matter the circumstances. Nothing about His nature changes whether it's storming or bright."

I've been avoiding writing this post for a few days now. He gave it to me, and I've been sitting on it. Avoiding it. Hoping it would go away. That He'd give me something new.

And then there was the busted pot.

Reminding me I'm broken.

And it's my brokenness that I'm called to share.

It's in our burdens, in our brokenness that He shines through.

Our burdens, our brokenness looks different for each of us.

God gave me poop. Crap.

Literally.

I wish He'd given me something else. Do you know how many people above the age of 4 (other than tween boys) like to discuss poop?

Yet, it's impossible to share my walk without sharing my health struggles and at the root of that is poop. Crap.

The health of your body lies in your gut. So, yeah, in your toilet.

70% of your immune system is in your gut.

People carry stress in one of two places - their head and their gut. So, you either struggle with headaches and tension, or tummy troubles.

The statistics and the research on gut health is wide and deep. And contradictory. And confusing. And endless.

I've spent years now wishing it was different. In the last few months I've adopted a new philosophy.

It is what it is - nothing more, nothing less.

This is what He has given me to walk.

I can whine about how some people get sunshine and rainbows and I get waste.

Or, I can find the joy in the crap.

We are made to PRAISE Him.

My devotion read encouraged me to break a pot. Then glue it back together while thinking over what it's like to be broken.

That seemed silly to me. Wasteful.

So, mother nature broke the pot for me.

Yes, I'm listening now.

We are all broken vessels, mended by grace.

Those cracks are where He seeps through.

That pot will never look the same again. There will always be evidence of the brokenness. The cracks will always be there.

My first instinct would have been to throw that pot out. We live in such a disposable society.

I'm now saving that pot (sorry 40 bags in 40 days) to remind me forever of the beauty in being broken by Him.

Forever changed.

Mended by grace.

Letting Him seep out the cracks He created.

Letting Him shine through.

Embracing the beauty of brokenness.

Finding the sunshine and rainbows in the midst of the crap.

Mama Warriors, we are surrounded by a society that focuses on "why me." A society of great comparison.

He chose you to walk that brokenness. He chose you. He's the author of a grand story - TRUST that He's enough to mend you.

2 Carry each other’s burdens, and in this way you will fulfill the law of Christ. Galations 6:2

If I'm not already praying for YOU, for your burden - please ask. You are not made to carry it alone.

His Family

 "In spite of my imperfect, broken places, gradually I faced the reality that God did not evaluate my mothering by how perfectly or imperfectly my children developed. Rather, he expected me to address how I influenced my children by how I yielded to his love for me and then acted it out in life. Period. He did not ask me to control their responses, their choices, or their consequences. I could throw my body over potholes in their path, and they might or might not heed my warnings. I could not fix my family anymore than I could fix myself. I was broken. They were broken. ............By His wounds we are healed." (The Beauty of the Broken by Morgan)

I think the biggest challenge in parenting today is we take too much credit AND too much blame for the choices our children make.

And we falsely assume that when someone else's child has made choices we don't approve of, that they weren't parented well.

Mama Warriors, I challenge you to love others and assume they are doing their best.

Prodigal children walk away.

Decide to believe that their parent prayed for them, taught them right from wrong, provided boundaries and grace.

Their parent did the best they could at the time with the knowledge they had.

And love them well.

No one needs more prayers than the parent whose child has wandered into the wilderness and hasn't come back.

They don't need judgement or criticism, advice or wisdom from someone who has not walked in their shoes.

What they need is a listening ear and a lot of prayer.

I believe we can be the people who love like Jesus.

I believe we can be the village that lifts each other up.

There is NO such thing as a perfect family. An allusion perhaps on social media, but not in reality.

We are all broken in some way.

Instead of judging each other's brokenness, let's be His family.

Bake the Bread

 "People are hungry to open up their pain to the sunlight of someone else’s listening heart. And, somehow, in the telling and in the listening, we may glimpse a bit of healing. So, here’s the thing: your story matters." Kate Bowler

Peanut and I decided to make bread to take to church yesterday.

We love to bake bread. What a great time to practice your fractions in action? Your patience? Your ability to follow directions but yet also improvise ("add flour into dough doesn't stick to the sides")?

I've tried countless bread recipes. Most of them taste good. Some of them taste really good.

None of mine ever look like the picture on the recipe.

This recipe came with a picture of a French baguette , all brown and crusty on the outside, with pretty scored marks in it.

This thing came out of the oven definitely done, definitely not brown or cute, and I don't know where my scored marks went.

It was delicious hot out of the oven. We *may* have sampled it. But it was not pretty.

Baking bread seemed fitting for Lent.

Out here in the wilderness, with sticky hands in the mess.

Peanut and I talked yesterday about how we eat with our eyes. We judge how something might taste by how it looks.

We are often the say way with people. We judge how someone might think, feel, or believe based on surface encounters.

If we are brave, we try the bread.

If we are brave, we linger with the stranger.

The older I get, I'm finding it easier to embrace the mess.

Kneed the dough.

It's uncomfortable at first to try new recipes, to put your hands deep in the mess.

I'm finding the world to be a messy place right now. I kind of want to stay home and read a book and ignore it all.

Mama Warriors, I think many of us are in a season of life where our hands are in the dough and it's messy.

We aren't sure how it's all going to turn out.

I think we are called to make the bread anyway.

And it might not be pretty.

But it will be good.

And that could be enough?