Category Archives: seeking

Yes to now

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because the oil-rig Oklahoma sunsets aren't forever.

because the oil-rig Oklahoma sunsets aren’t forever.

This evening we gave the grill its annual test run.  As Kel came in to check on the sweet potato fries some leftover grease flamed up and filled the patio with billowy smoke.  This left us with crispy asparagus and hamburgers which were pink on the inside, but charred on the outside.

But we didn’t complain, we were too busy chewing in amazement that this spring day arrived and brought with it so much summer.

Crazy at it sounds for March, the kids spent the afternoon in the sprinkler simply because the lawn was freshly cut, the temps hit 80 and it seemed cruel to say no any longer.

Right now I find myself curled up on the couch with the final chapters of Shauna Niequist’s new book Bread and Wine.   I’ve been savoring like you do a regional food favorite you know you won’t get again for a while, you don’t want to swallow that last bite, even though you can’t stop eating.

That’s how Shauna’s books are to me.

As I lay here, the sun comes through the patio window, over the love seat and onto my face, just enough to be delightful and not so much that it’s blinding me.  I can hear the sounds of my children dancing around the backyard and when I look to check on them all I see are blossoming pear trees and sun haloed children.

Seriously, could right now be any lovelier?

To top it all off my son runs in buck naked and announces that he has put his diaper in the sink, then as I go to take care of it he commandeers my computer and sits on the couch, giggling and naked typing.

In a little while the kids will get a good wipe down and they will snuggle into their beds and Kel and I will pop a bottle of champagne because guess what?  Today we accepted an offer on our house here in Oklahoma.

Today the dream of moving home to Michigan took a great big step into reality.

I’ve spent all day looking up rental houses and estimating moving costs, a day defined by dollar signs and worry.  Will our savings get us by until we’re back on our feet again?

This comes on the heels of a week that was defined by the big house showing, we scrubbed, staged and planted Pansy borders.  I went through more homemade febreeze than any one person should in a lifetime.

But tonight?  It’s a sun warmed and obvious gift, tonight I say
yes to now
yes to burgers
yes to Oklahoma sunsets
yes to sticky naked babies (No to diapers in the sink)
and yes to reading a book on the couch in the midst of dishes and chaos.

Yes to Grace

This next season is bringing with it a thousand unknowns but tonight I can say yes to now.

This season is coming to a close and I want to savor it, like a bottle of good wine or a Shauna Niequist book.

Spoiled, but not rotten?

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© Goranmulic | Dreamstime Stock Photos & Stock Free Images

© Goranmulic | Dreamstime Stock Photos & Stock Free Images

I’ve spent a lot of time in our mini-van lately, last weekend to Dallas, this past weekend a day trip to Oklahoma City.  As my eyes take in the landscape of the southern plains, my mind wanders to all the different regions of this country, reflecting on all I have seen, and how freely we’re able to hop in the car and go.

Lately as my eyes take in the ever changing landscape, from small mountains to trees to scrubby grasslands, I can’t help but think about the freedom we have.  The freedom to be. To go. To live.

I hold our mobility incredibly close to my heart as a freedom, a gift.  A short road trip, something trivial for us, is a huge freedom for many in this world who may never know a world beyond their own 10 mile radius.

Yet, here we are free to strap our children safely in our van as they stare at little screens and eat healthy snacks and sip clean water from character themed sippy cups.

When we get to our destination they play happily in a water park or build custom stuffed animals with both parents by their sides.  Later in the evening we have our food brought to us at restaurants of our choosing.

Oh Lord, we have so much, we have too much, we have everything.

With a little hard work and elbow grease we can improve our already fabulous situation, we can move across the country, change careers, aspire, dream, achieve. Continue reading →

What Mama Did: The Song and The Dance

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I’ve been spending the week reading LisaJo Baker’s series, “What Mama Did.”  Lisa invited some friends to share their stories of what their mothers did that left a mark on them.

What are we doing as mothers that will leave a mark upon our kids? Perhaps it’s not what we think.  Tell me all about what your mama did that made her yours…. 

It’s been bittersweet for my heart to read through these this week, an odd mix of joy and jealousy.  So many of the lovely memories my Mom endeavored to make for us were marred by her mental illness and eventual suicide.

Yet the longer I spend on my own motherhood journey, the deeper I understand my own mother, it this this is a universal experience for all parents.

The more I reflect on our memories together, the more I uncover the truth of who she really was.

As I dig into my past I emerge with pearls, moments where she was exactly the woman God created her to be, nearly free from the depression that gnawed too often on her heart.

I’ve already told you about the warmth of enjoying her muffins on the rug and the way she would curl up and read books with me, both of the memories are precious to me.

Dancing-Feet-300x225 Yet this week I’ve been reflecting on my Mother’s singing and dancing.

I remember vividly the gray plastic CD player that sat on our kitchen counter, and the cassette boom-box that preceded it.  Both of these devices were usually playing Celine Dion or Cynthia Clawson… a bit of Josh Groban in her later years.

They rarely played “kids music” because when mom sang and danced it was because something in the song freed her heavy spirit to do so.

Something in weaving of THOSE words set to THAT music left her no choice but to dance with us across the linoleum flooring.

She never sang without dancing, even if only with her hands.

I remember a childhood vacation that is completely soundtracked with my mother singingly “Earnestly, tenderly Jesus is calling.  Calling to you and to me, come home, come home all you are weary, come home!”

Or a car ride with her in college when she hijacked my Disney Hercules CD soundtrack and belted “Go the distance” over and over again.  ”I will find my way, I can do the distance! I’ll be there someday, if I can be strong.  I know every mile, will be worth my while…” 

When I re-read those lyrics, they tell me more now than they did at the time.  She needed to believe that Christ was calling her, that she could go on another day.

My Mom showed us the vulnerability of her soul through the lyrics of songs and the freedom of soul dancing, she taught us that words set to music can set you free.

She modeled the need to resonate with things, and to allow ourselves to become overwhelmed as our souls connected with something essential, eternal.

The freedom of the soul moving to words set to music, that’s what mama did.

 PS I did not know this was supposed to be a 5 minute friday when I started writing it Monday.  I should have.  Forgive me, I’ve been sussing through it all week.

Well Wanderers (the woman at the well, is me)

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stockfreeimages.com

stockfreeimages.com

The woman at the well, I always imagine her with darting eyes and a determined jaw,  pure anxiety blanketed with a thin veil of composure.

She assumes that they’re watching her, they always are. Yet she wasn’t going to give them any more to talk about, she would get her water and get out of there.

I understand her game, that’s how I play it when I believe I’m in the presence of those who think and expect little of me.

But then Christ found her, and oh did he ever find her, right where she was.  He cut to the core of her and compelled her to do away with all of her needless trips to the well.

We all know that she would have to return to that well, the one dug by Jacob. She would be back time and time again, because humanity is full of ritual needs, like food and water.  They keeps us faithful, reliant, thankful if we allow them to.

No Christ was inviting her to end a different ritual, the one that found her running to different men for approval, obsessing about what the townsfolk thought of her, the one that binding her with insecurities and feelings of utter worthlessness.

Christ wanted to quench her thirst, to satisfy once and for all her questions of “am I good enough?” And “am I wanted?”

And his simple, profound words opened her eyes and cut to the core of her.  As she put it: “Here is a man who told me everything I ever did!

Between the lines I read ”And he likes, probably loves me anyway!”

“Could this be the Messiah?”

Is this the one? Not because he performed miraculous signs or wonders, but because he knew her, yet still accepted and affirmed her. She was forever worthy because he found her, just as she was at that well one hot afternoon.

And today that’s the water I find myself desperate for.

An affirmation of who I am that lasts, a pronouncement of WHOSE I am that I don’t so easily forget.

Because more often than not, I drink at all the wrong wells. Continue reading →

Antique prayers and picture frames

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This is one of my favorite corners of our home, a little bit gold, a little bit aqua, all thrifted, discovered, or salvaged.

This entire corner cost me less than $10, I love that.

The chocolate brown table was hauled out of the trash near our first married apartment.

The gold mirror tray was a garage sale find

The aqua watering can, I must confess, was an Ikea special that I took the spray paint to.

The cranberries were a Hobby Lobby purchase.

The frame, however, is the best story:  Found at a garage sale on the outskirts of town  for $1. When I started working on it I realized it was lined with old German newspapers that, although illegible to me, predate World War 1.

Oh the stories it could tell, I like to imagine that it came across the Atlantic on a steamer, wrapped in brown paper or in a trunk, the cherished possession of a woman with hopes for new life in America.

I could be all wrong, but I’m glad that it’s come to rest with us. Continue reading →

I can’t say it better than Matthew 6 does

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Yesterday I was overwhelmed by a thousand emotions, more than I could express without worrying you’d question my sanity, which I do all the time.

The only thing I knew to do was run to God’s word, which met me there, exhausted in my robe, face down on our kitchen table.

My friend (and girl-crush) Sarah Bessey modeled the practice of writing the word of God by hand.  As I took the red colored pencil to the construction paper the words sunk into my soul far deeper than they would have, had I only ran my eyes over them.

The best thing I have to say today is this, I didn’t write it, but I can’t say anything better.

 So do not worry, saying, ‘What shall we eat?’ or ‘What shall we drink?’ or ‘What shall we wear?’32 For the pagans run after all these things, and your heavenly Father knows that you need them.33 But seek first his kingdom and his righteousness, and all these things will be given to you as well.34 Therefore do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself. Each day has enough trouble of its own. Matthew 6:31-34

(You can substitute pagans for “those who don’t know God” that’s what I do.)

So today I’m just praying this, a belief in a provision beyond myself, one that I see all around me in warm beds, a full fridge and a world full of friends, like you.

Our Children, God’s Eyes

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My three year old beauty

My best friend and I always used to laugh about how when it came to kids, she wanted all girls and I wanted all boys.  Even in my early twenties I  was anxious at the thought of being the mother of a daughter.

But here I am, the Mother of a three year old little girl who looks a lot like my husband Kel, yet acts so much like me.  She is full of more energy than she can manage and her creativity astounds me.  Lately I’ve been devoting hours of my week to worrying about her being bound to repeat all my hurdles, all my pain.

There is a corner of my heart that is still convinced that History is going to repeat itself in her, in me.  I hate this truth but it does no good to deny it.

80% of her day is spent pretending to be a kitty, and I have to remind her over and over again that I don’t speak kitty so she needs to use people words.

I bought her a set of wooden stringing beads this weekend so that she could play with color patterns and learn to work the lacing string through the holes.  She has no interest in stringing them and instead takes her shoe and fills it with the beads, zooming it around, pretending they are puppies in a rocket ship.

Lately I’ve been finding myself asking “is that normal?” over and over again.  I spend countless moments worrying that the way she is playing indicates an internal problem that will hold her back in life.  I scan other children at birthday parties comparing behaviors, wondering: “Is she going to be okay?”

But, what if the only fruit of this worrying is her learning to feel abnormal or “all wrong?”  What if she wonders if she’s loved just as she is?  Or feels like a burden or bother in her own home?

Well that just won’t do.

I can’t make sure that she’s an academic whiz or a soccer all star or the diva of the choir room.  But I can do everything in my power to teach her, show her that she is loved just as she is.  I can help her learn to channel her energy into passion and find systems to make sure she gives attention where it’s needed the most.

I will advocate for her, whatever comes down the road, set her up for success, but most of all I want to make sure that she leaves our home knowing that she is Beloved.

She is a child of God and He is the One who poured into her all the life force I worry about harnessing properly.  He wove the world together to thrill and delight her, and I’m here not to worry, but be the hands and feet of love and direction in her life.

May we all be able to see our children with these eyes, God’s eyes.

May we love them for the people he created them to be and may our prayers be filled  with requests for more wisdom and understanding of how he wants us to nurture them.

May we teach them thankfulness and delight by showing thanks and wonder over his Creation in a way that is so authentic that it’s contagious.

May we all worry a bit less about what exactly normal looks like and spend more time loving our children just as we find them today.

Letters to my Mother (Day 21) rest

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My turn to be someone’s safe place

Dear Mom,

When I was little and afraid I would curl up in the softness of your faded flannel nightgowns. I remember resting my head on your warm lap that smelled like the safety of you.

You would rub my hair, sing “you are my sunshine” and all felt gauzy yellow, softly safe.

I’m exhausted and you’re gone. Life has been emotionally draining lately. So much life and no time to sort thought it all. Continue reading →

Letters to my Mother {Day 10} Hope Collides

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 Dear Mom,

Tonight my spirit feels lighter, after Kel left to go back to work the kids and I sat on our huge new bed and worked the Melissa and Doug puzzles you got us.

The cool fall air drifted in through the window and for a moment all was just… perfect.

In that breath I caught a glimpse of something, something that looked an awful lot like hope.  Something drifted through our window, beautiful and translucent, that reminded what me hope feels like.

Not what it looks like, because I think I get the physical steps down pat, but the feeling of hope has been sorely lacking, elusive.  Yet tonight my soul felt marshmallow light, feather free and I felt as though hope collided with us right there on the bed among the peg puzzle pieces.

It took me back to summer evenings when I was a child, laying with the windows open because we didn’t have air conditioning.  I remember even then marveling through the screen at the way the lawn smelled after Dad mowed it.  Or the way the neighborhood sounded as the houses settled in for sleep.

You know what feeling I’m talking about?  When all just feels, right and you soul takes off.  The hope and future that God promises us suddenly feels around the corner rather than 7,462 miles away.

I know this feeling eluded you on earth but I bet you take baths in glorious hope nowadays, wholeness becomes you.

Yet for me, earthbound and striving, the hope on my tongue melted sweetly.  It was more delicious than the peanut butter cupcake I ate after the kids dozed off… or at least equally as delicious.

As I cling to hope and learn to pray I realize that as I hold hope in my folded hands, it melts and becomes the glue that holds me together.  Hope and prayer fill in the cracks and make me stronger.

I don’t feel like I’m bragging, because this is what we all want for our children isn’t it?  Eyes to behold the wonder created just for them, revelatory moments where they realize that the simple is the profound and eternal.

So I think that this, truly makes you smile.

I love you, I miss you,

LeaRae