This I Know...Summer 2014

Thanks to Emily Freeman for inviting us to share what we learned this summer at Chatting at the Sky.  Emily is one of the most gentle souls I know, and as I dive back into my backyard travels after a summer off, I am glad to be jumping safely into that sweet space.

This summer has taught me some lessons and true to form, I had to learn them the hard way, with deep growing pains and much prayer.  There are more things I don't know but this I do...

This I know...home should be a safe place.

Me and my circus, we have begun putting down roots in this town, new to them, familar to me.  We are happy to take our time and look for our "long-time" house.  I don't know what it looks like or where it is but this I know...

I know our 'long-time' house will be a safe place.  It will be a place of acceptance and grace.  I love these words from Gary Morland in his post, The Safest Place on Earth:

"Your family is designed to be a place of honest vulnerability without rejection.  Disagreements without anger.  Foolish mistakes without embarrassment.  Failure without shame."

Our "long-time" house will be a place where you can take your drink into the living room and three kids who have moved way more than I meant for them to move can choose whatever color they want to paint their rooms.  (Yes, Nora, even macaw green.)  We already act and sound like a circus, why shouldn't the colors of our home match the way we live?

Our "long-time" house will be a place where it is "all about the heart."  As we make mistakes and fall from the trapeze, we will catch each other.  We will practice life together so that we are ready with our best efforts.  We will applaud each other when the lions and tigers are tamed.  We will live our real lives whether it is showtime or not.

This I know...what I do is not who I am.

People move, jobs change.  In spite of my threats, kids grow up.  My role in this circus is changing.  I have been the planner and orchestrator of all things at home for almost 11 years.  I was mother, teacher, helper, cook and maker of all trivial decisions regarding people shorter than me.  Until this summer.  I have come to the realization that it is time for me to move out of the director's role and into the role of trainer or coach.

Perhaps I yell up to the kid flying on the trapeze, "A little to the left, reach farther, hold tight.  Let go!"

Can I be honest?  This change?  It came much too fast.  I feel grief sometimes, but it is grief for the role I used to have, not the person that I was.  I don't die just because there is a change in what I do.

I need to stop parenting "little" kids who need to be constantly directed and I need to start parenting "big" kids who are ready to begin making their own way.  I need to be the mom who lets those kids fly through the air while falls are still about report cards, fights with friends, stealing pencils and forgetting to brush their teeth.  Let them learn how to fly before falls are about lost jobs, bad relationships, or jail.

I am still the same "who" whether my kids wear diapers or baseball pants.  I am still the same "who" whether I cook their lunch or the buy it at the cafeteria.  I am still the same "who" whether I spend my days at an office or picking up laundry.  The circus may move from town to town, but it still has the same clowns, elephants, and acrobats.

What I do is not who I am.  I am still here.

This I know...people are often most beautiful when they are their most ordinary.

Earlier this summer, I had a bad day.  I trudged along under a cloud, my thoughts going around and around like the strange animals on the carousel, circling incessantly and achieving nothing.  Only not fun.

At the dry cleaners, the same woman works there all the time.  She always says something nice.  Her voice betrays a little age.  We share the same hair color, Preference 9NB.  The fog followed me into the dry cleaners.  We speak, I pickup a tie.  I pay and move toward the door.  The cloud follows over my head.  We are finished with our transaction.

She speaks ordinary words that I don't even remember.  Her words are kind, nice, and spoken for no reason at all except she is nice and we are both people here on this earth at the same time.

This small moment is a gift that reminds me that people are good.  People are better than I think.  Sure, people are sometimes worse than you think but they are also better.  It's all mixed up and beautiful and I can't explain one bit of it because I am not God.

If that woman at the cleaners had stood on a stage wearing a gold suit and making $1,000 and hour to tell me how to be happy, her words would have been worthless that day.  There she was, in her chambray shirt and black leggings, Preference 9NB hair and smiling face saying nice things to every customer, even me, myself and Eeyore, and she spoke a gift of good.

Epilogue

I kept feeling like I needed to tell the woman at the cleaners about that bad day.  I thought she should know that her kindness matters sometimes.  So yesterday I let my crazy show.  I paid for two pair of suit pants and headed toward the door.  I stopped and told her about the bad day and how she said nice things and how I walked out thinking that people really were nice.

She told me that she was real glad to know.  She said that she had her own bad time happenin' and that it was so hard she just had to give it to the Lord.  I told her she mattered.  We both tried to pretend that our eyes weren't misty.

True to form, as my hand hit the door to the sunshine, she offered another parting shot of courage, "Finish well, sister, finish well."

Yes ma'am, it is my intention to do just that, one ordinary day at a time.

Schooled by a Wyld Angel: What I learned in April

Don't know what got into that girl.

Her age and the number on the back of her hot pink jersey are the same.

She blushes when you talk to her and her smile still glows with the sincerity of childhood.

She isn't mine but they have much in common, Shy Girl and my girl.  Two Wyld Angels twirling incessantly around chipped metal poles while I try to be friendlier than I really am.

That Shy Girl, she rides with her grandparents each week.  I've never seen her momma.  Her daddy finds his own way to the park, sometimes he walks and sometimes he takes a cab but the fact is, he's there, coaching two of my kids four days a week.

The ballpark is full of stories.  Parents adoring their kids, babies in strollers, Memaw and Papaw, tattoos, and beer breath, nachos and parents giving up their couches to coach kids.

Congratulations on number five, even though this baby wasn't planned.  "God is laughing at your plans," I say and the daddy agrees, "I guess He is."

Stories in the form of four-foot-tall kids in ball caps run around me.  I wonder about them.  Sometimes the adults turn away when someone loses control of their words and sometimes they speak up.  "Lighten up, they're just kids!" and old man growls at a weary woman with wild hair.

Shy Girl of the Wyld Angels heads up to bat.

I grow tense because I know her a little and I like this girl.  She might hit, or might not but she's new to the game and I want her to do well.  But most of these little girls, well, let's face it, they're so little, just learning, that's the point, right?  Maybe she can make it to first base.  That would be good for her.  Give her some confidence.  I want her to like the game.

The fact is, she probably won't hit it at all.

The pitching machine shoots the balls high tonight.  In my mind, I am already making excuses, stupid machine.  How can these girls hit the balls if that stupid, old machine keeps moving around?  My daughter is even shorter than Shy Girl.

Shy Girl swings and I'LL BE DONTCHA KNOW THAT BALL FLIES!

Shy Girl runs as fast as she can toward first base.  The other team chases the ball and it looks as though they almost have it.  The coaches yell, "Stop at first!  Stop at first!"  Someone has the ball in their glove and she really should stop.

She doesn't stop.  You should see her.  She rounds first base and keeps on cooking like it has been her plan all along.  She isn't listening to anyone.  That girl is on a mission.

The fielder on the other team throws the ball wildly.  No one is ready.  The ball hits the grass and keeps on rolling.  Shy Girl rounds second base and keeps on rolling.

Someone corrals the ball and locates Shy Girl in the melee, she's hard to miss in her hot pink jersey and socks.  They throw toward third base and the ball and Shy get there about the same time.  They might get her out there.

But that girl doesn't even slow down.  She runs between a group of girls and while they try to figure out what to do, she angles out to make the turn and the crowd goes crazy.

I'm out of my seat, yelling, "Run, Girl, Run!"

It doesn't matter what anyone says.  It is as though that little girl saw a chance and she's taking it.  An adult might reason that she has nothing to lose.  The crowd counted her out when she went to the plate with her bat in her hand.

I don't think she's reasoning.

I think she's just running.

 I am certain she doesn't even see the balls flying at her as the other team tries to get her out.

She never even hesitates.  She just runs.  All the way home.

Don't know what came over her but I think that when you are young like that, something as simple as hitting a home run one time, I think it can change your life.  We learn from our experiences and I pray that girl remembers this day when she did something big and beautiful  and brave and the crowd cheered. I pray that she remembers being the hero for a moment and running all the way home, regardless of what everyone else yelled from the sidelines.

This April I was schooled by a Wyld Angel.

I learned that sometimes, you have to make up your mind and run.

Ignore the voices around you.

Don't stay at first base where it's safe.

Simply refuse to see the balls flying at you.

Run with all you have from one base to another, until you get home.

That's what I learned in April.  Thanks for the invite from Chatting at the Sky...Emily, you are an anchor!

What I learned in February...

Emily has a standing invitation to join her over at Chatting at the Sky at the end of each month to share what we learned.  Though I doubt any of these things will rock your world, sometimes it feels good to look over your time and highlight a few notes...

WHAT I LEARNED IN FEBRUARY...

1.  The Gilligan's Island theme song.

My kids have discovered the classics.  By that I mean classic television which in our home means: Andy Griffith, Gilligan's Island and old Scooby Doo.  

These shows require no thought and no real parental monitoring.  Every time I walk through the room and hear that song, I can't help but smile.  Funny thing is, all five members of our family can talk about Gilligan's Island together, simply put, it's one more thing we can laugh about over dinner.

I will offer no apology but I will invite you to "just sit right down and you'll hear a tale, a tale of a fateful trip..."

2.  How to self-publish a book on Smashwords.

Sometimes you do things that you really can't explain.  I used to make all-natural soap and sell it at a farmers' market.  

Using my own hands to produce something so natural and useful was unexpectedly interesting.

Talking with the wonderful people that came to my table was a source of joy.  Mothers with kids, touching and smelling the bars and guessing the "flavors."  Men approaching sideways, sort of sneaking up, as if they don't use soap too.  Older people laughing about their grandmother making soap in a big, black pot.

It was just lovely.  

Here is my little ode to joy...and it cost me nothing but my time.

Making and Selling Soap: A Hacker's Guide

3.  Sometimes changing your mind is good. (Thanks, Emily)

By nature, I am a second-guesser.  I drive myself crazy.  This is hard to share but I recall a time when I agonized in an aisle at Wal-Mart for way too many minutes to admit over the color of a CD player.  "The silver one will go anywhere, but I really want the metallic green.  I should get the silver.  I like the green better."  I left the aisle at least one time only to return and switch my choice.  As a result of this tendency, I often punish myself when I change my mind, even if the reasons are valid.  Please tell me I am not alone.

Sometimes a choice is just a choice, one path among many that all lead forward.  When this is the case and you find yourself leaving one course to pursue another, just as worthy and maybe better suited to your soul, celebrate your position as a higher-thinking mammal and your calling to this new place and simply move on.

4.  Hummus is good, too.

I tried it.  I like it.

5.   So Rejoice is an awesome group.

So Rejoice successfully refocused my attention from their onstage performance to, well, God.  

I forgot to finish contemplating whether their look was more Duck Dynasty or Zac Brown band (neither, they are completely their own), and instead of getting lost in the violin played by the beautiful woman who did NOT look anything like Zac Brown, I got lost in worship.  

I forgot where I was and nearly lifted my hand in the air.  Can you imagine? 

I pray that one day my children feel God the way these people do.


grateful for February and looking forward to March,
m

more?

Love Does, our story

The Truth, and I saw it right there in Sunday School

Stone Soup, a confession