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

Striking Gold

I know this boy.  He's Ten.  He makes decisions with internal Scales of Justice and it seems as though he is immovable.  He cannot yet comprehend his wise Daddy's words, "what's fair is not always equal."  He's ours to raise and sometimes, for this "live and let live" woman, the work of teaching grace and love gets real hard.

How do you teach the value of social norms, traffic signals, and schedules while simultaneously teaching that people are more important than rules, that grace is when you don't get what you deserve, and that the greatest thing is love?

His temperament is a gift, it really is, this natural affinity for routines and ability to stick to what he believes in the face of pressure from other people.  I will be grateful for this one day.

For now though, we need a little softness, a little understanding and so, like a miner, I chip away at the rock that surrounds the treasure.  I search for the gold in the bedrock.  I test my own principles against his logic and his attempts to make sense of this life.

He's only Ten!  How will I have the words to make it through the next however many years?

The internet authority on everything, Wikipedia, estimates that to even bother mining gold, your location should yield one Troy ounce for every SIX TONS of rock.  You have to mine your way through six tons of rock to get an ounce.  Sigh.  That's a lot of work.

But I've got gold fever.

I've seen gold in them there hills and it only takes one glimpse.  I'm hooked.

You chip away and chip away and just when you begin to doubt...

A girl twirls and twirls, inspired by Olympic figure skaters in all their icy glitter and she holds her arms out gracefully as she spins on the carpet.  Four people are present but there isn't really an audience.  No one pays attention until she falls hard, tripping on her momma's outstretched legs.  Mom gasps, too loud and everyone sees.  The girl cries in her momma's lap.  It's just her pride but it still hurts.

He can't stand it.

That insensitive big brother who would normally throw her under the bus if she even bent a rule,
that boy who makes his decisions by weighing everyone on those scales of justice,
that boy who puts life in neatly defined boxes,
that boy who  is wildly creative and lives to play outside with stories in his mind,
that boy who chips away until we play some new game of his own invention,
that boy who draws imaginary creatures on reams and reams of paper.

He can't stand her tears.  Not today.

For no reason that I understand he brings her a book on Amelia Earhart and points out some reason she should read it, while she hides her tears in my shirt.  She takes the book and slowly opens back up to the room.  Minutes later, she slides off my lap and bounces to the front of our attention proclaiming that she was born on the same day as Amelia Earhart and isn't that something?

Life goes back to normal except for that little glow coming from that boy's eyes as it sinks in.

He knows he did right.  He knows that he, the boy who seems to be made of rock, he soothed a little girl's heart with kindness.  Maybe he adjusts his scales to measure a new kinds of treasures.

m

More like this?
King Robert of the Wild Hair
Confessions of a Reformed Helicopter Parent
Yesterday (the post about the time we were taken over by aliens)

Just Resting My Eyes

Kids tumble into the room then turn quiet, running into each other.  Shhh.  She's asleep.

It isn't true.

Just resting my eyes. 

You don't always need to sleep in order to rest.  Sometimes you just need to close your eyes.

Still there, still hearing, still aware.

Just at rest.

For me, this is a time to rest.  A time to step right off that hamster wheel of "should" and "ought" even though I thought during this last month of silence, surely something would break.  I expected to drop some ball.  I expected it to shatter.

But nothing broke, Friend, nothing broke.  The important things still got done.

Put that frazzled feeling, the one brought into being by "should" and "ought" up onto a high shelf and let it get dusty with all the stuff you can't seem to throw away.

May your frazzle get dusty, Friend.  Frazzle is good-for-nothing anyway.

Entire days can pass without the weight of a TO DO LIST crushing you, taking your breath away.

"But I have to..." you fuss.  And maybe you do.  Then again, maybe you don't.

Write down all the things you think have to be done and let a friend, spouse, or kid take a look.  Men are great at cutting your list to shreds given that their priorities are totally different than a woman's, alien even.  Get a different perspective from someone who cares.

Argue that you must do all of those things.  Argue that you must do them even at the expense of your piece, or PEACE, of mind.  Listen to the hollow sound of your arguments.

Rewrite the list with fresh eyes, with a new perspective.

Those things that fell right off your list?  They don't have to be gone forever.  Just while you rest.  Then, when you feel sane again, when you breathe easy, decide whether to let some of those "shoulds" and "oughts" back into your life.

As for me, getting on my list is pretty tough these days.  If you are a "should" or "ought" that is.  My family has no problem getting on my list.  Monopoly, popcorn, giving my entire attention to Ten when he tells one of his stories.  These things have been added to my list.  Added because I didn't have time for them before.

I like my list better now.

You don't always need sleep.  Sometimes you just need to rest.

Unwrapped and Blooming

My desire to nest has been hibernating these last few years.  Living in a house that wasn't mine, knowing we wouldn't be there for holidays, my decorating style came down to this: what difference does it make anyway?

I was so wrong.  It makes a difference.

This year, we are still leasing but something is different.  Maybe it's our commitment to "bloom where we're planted" or maybe it's because we are in a location that is home for me personally, either way the weekend after giving thanks for an entire day with my family...WE UNWRAPPED CHRISTMAS!

As a family, we cleaned the house, agreed on a tree, and dragged out every Christmas thing we could find.  Some of that stuff hadn't seen daylight in years.

It felt good.  It felt right.  We were blooming like a Wal-Mart full of poinsettias, like we were home.

Ten sank down in the backseat in embarrassment as we drove through town with a tree strapped to the top of the car.  We were the Griswold's in Christmas Vacation.  I nearly burst out in song.

The ax flew to ready the tree.  Opinions and tinsel flew as we unwrapped things we loved.

Eight and Seven played wild games with Santa Bears that look like they came from a Coca-Cola commercial.

Today I am surrounded by an explosion of Christmas decor.  Baby Jesus rides a camel as I ponder the less than Biblical nature of our traditional nativity.  I decide I don't care because the kids know the facts and even if there were no wise men at His birth, I want my kids' worldview to be framed by their faith.

I want Jesus to be part of our Christmas.

Christmas isn't about days out of school or shopping and sometimes I feel like I could run away from all the spending and gifts and "X-ing" the Christ out of Christmas.

Other days, days like today, I know that our family is hungry for tradition and I know how valuable these coming days will be as we push back against the world and sow deep, fertile seeds of faith.

This month is a chance, an opportunity, to plant our faith firmly in the center of our lives and let it bloom.  This time is a chance to celebrate our faith loudly as the world around us is a little more open to hearing our beliefs.  It is a chance to say "Merry Christmas" and share a verse on a card instead of going with the Happy flow of the Holidays.  It's an opportunity to put a baby Jesus on our mantle instead of a Santa Claus.  This is the time to share Luke 2 when people are, perhaps, a little more ready to hear.

This is a chance to put our candles in the window at a time when some people are looking for a little light.

So Merry Christmas ya'll and let your light shine,
m

The Day I Learned to Love Nasty Weather

Sleet: small balls of ice that fall from the sky.  Typically occurring along with temperatures that numb fingers and chill bones.

I am sick today.  When I finally stumbled into the living room this morning, wearing long underwear and a sweatshirt, still freezing, my son informed me that it has been raining ice from the sky since 7:00 AM.

I believe I went back to bed.  The details are hazy.

There are so many things on my "Should Do" list.

In the movie "Bull Durham" an exhausted team of baseball players complained to Crash Davis wishing for a rain out.

Sleet works even better.

A bed covered in, well, covers beckons.  I accept.  What else is there to do?  The Brady Bunch is playing quietly on TV.

A big pot of chicken and noodles waits in the fridge, prepared when I was in better health.  That was yesterday.

Driving roads glazed with little balls of ice would be foolish.  Why bother?

As I sit in my rocking chair, having added a pair of flannel pajama pants, socks and a knit toboggan, I reflect on the fire.  I try to decide what to do next.  Keep reflecting on the fire or crawl back under the chenille bedspread and two quilts.  Maybe The Brady Bunch is still playing, I think it was a marathon.

If I feel better later, I might make a pecan pie.  Nothin' else to do today.  No "shoulds" today, just a day of rest.

Sleet never felt so good.

m

34 Days of Blooming, and what I learned by falling short

Wrapping up the Bloom Where You are Planted series, I am a few days late and a few posts short of the 31.  Here is what I learned when I committed to writing on one topic for 31 days straight, and what I learned when I just didn't keep that commitment.

AS A BLOGGER, I DON'T LIKE TO POST EVERY DAY.
I turned my "want to" into a "have to" it became a chore.  Now I know why some artists aren't that interested in selling their creations.  They just let it pour out when and where it comes.  That's better for me, too.

I may have to let go of some possible futures, but that's okay.  Life is simplified when you let go of unrealistic expectations that don't make sense for you anyway.

AS A BLOGGER, I DON'T LIKE TO POST EVERY DAY.
I never did like worthless words.  Posting every day requires that I have something to say every day, something of worth.

At this time of life, I don't.

Sometimes, I just got nothin'.

BUT WRITING EVERY DAY IS GOOD FOR ME.
Everyone's process is different.

My thoughts benefit from fermentation.

Wallowing in the feelings of the moment, putting them down by whatever means I can as soon as possible, then walking away.  Letting the words ferment, and His Word redeem the moments.

Coming back.

Stirring the pot and finding the blessing.

Adding some hindsight.

Sharing when I am coherent and not before.  

WHEN YOU LOOK FOR SOMETHING, YOU TEND TO SEE IT.
Watching for bloomin' moments to share created a synergy between my plans, my actions, actual life, and my interpretation of that life.

Because I was posting about making the most of life right where you are, I was watching for signs that my family and I were doing just that.  I made plans to facilitate living life fully and acted on those plans.

When life spontaneously happened, my interpretation was already happily prejudiced toward seeing "blooms."

YOU CAN SEE FROM THERE TO HERE.
About a month ago, I was struggling with the feelings and realities of starting over with my family in yet another place.  I wrote desperately about it every day, for two weeks.  Then the writing slowed, the issue became less prominent and the posts wandered.  The need was lessening as the goal was accomplished.

We were blooming.

Only a month ago, I was happy but lost.  Thirty-one (or 34) days later, I am calm and confident in this new life we are building.  Though we still have many decisions to make and adventures to explore, we are so different...in just 34 days.

Thanks for sharing the journey, it means the world.

m

My favorite posts from this series:
Bloom Where You're Planted
My Neighbor is a Super Hero
Love Does, our story
Pecans Come from Pecan Trees

Double, double, toil and trouble...

Double, double, toil and trouble
Fire burn and cauldron bubble.
Fillet of a fenny snake,
In the cauldron boil and bake,
Eye of newt, and toe of frog,
Wool of bat, and tongue of dog,
Adder's fork, and blind-worm's sting,
Lizard's leg, and owlet's wing,--
For a charm of powerful trouble,
Like a hell-broth, boil and bubble.
--from Macbeth

Hell-broth.  
Yeah, that's me sometimes.
I also do quite a bit of bubbling, toiling and troubling.
I don't know what a fenny snake is but sometimes I have an adder's fork for a tongue.

With three kids, I find myself talking most of the time.  Instructing, answering questions, reminding, answering questions, acting as referee, calling them to dinner, and answering questions.  Sometimes I even find myself...I also fuss every day.

I am starting to get on my own nerves.

There is a kid in my life, yeah, he's one of mine and sometimes you would think he doesn't have feelings.  Talking to that boy is like talking to a brick wall.  So, to get through, sometimes you need to use a hammer. I don't mean literally, I mean strong words, not foul language, just big, deep words.

Twice this week I cut that boy to the quick.

Both times I was wrong to do it.  Both times I used my big words to make a point that was irrelevant, unnecessary and careless.  If a friend spoke to me like that we'd have to have a long talk on the porch.

I cut my boy with my words and I saw it on his face.

Hell-broth, that's what my words were made from this week.  I fell again.

I apologized and pray that he forgets over time.  Literally, I pray that he forgets my ugliness, but who's to say if he can?

I tell my kids to listen more than they speak.  You know, the whole "God gave you two ears and one mouth for a reason" thing.  

Practice what you preach, girl.  Practice what you preach.

If I listened to that boy, maybe I would know how to get through that brick wall, how to put velvet on the hammer.

Too many words are like a hell-broth, all full of junk, but certainly a charm of powerful trouble.

Powerful trouble.

So maybe I keep my dog tongues and frog toes to myself a little more.  

Maybe I make my powerful charms out of love and verses and acts of kindness instead of too many words.

If you see a big, black kettle laying by the street, I don't want it back.
m

How do you balance correcting behaviors with staying positive?  Consider sharing your advice here or on Facebook before you share so we can all chat...

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