Category Archives: thankfulness

To Noelle on her fourth birthday

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Oh my sweetness, we woke up this morning and you were four. Technically it all happened yesterday but I was so busy party prep that reflection time was non existent until bedtime.  Poor planning on my party.

But as evening fell we laid in bed together, readying Busytown books and reflecting on the day that you were born.  And all the beauty and spirit of your life washed over me like sweet music, pure and perfect.

I can’t believe it’s been four years since you burst onto the scene and we started this mother, daughter journey together.

When I watch you navigate your days I’m brought to tears by your gorgeous soul.  There’s a lot of talk about creativity these days, but you don’t even know what that words means even though you embody it in it’s purest form.

When you play outside with your imaginary bunnies, Piner, Buzz and Heinz, I wonder if perhaps you shouldn’t teach a segment on creativity at a conference somewhere.  The way in which you engage our world is astounding and watching you discover and explore life is truly one of my life’s greatest gifts.

These days I’m committing myself to tuning into what God poured into you and doing my best not to get in the way of it.  No, my job is to teach you discipline, patience and perseverance among a thousand other things.

I think you were born with the gifts of kindness, selflessness and hospitality.  We learned this deeper still yesterday as you greeted your party guests with hugs and served them each a blue, plastic cup of lemonade whether they wanted it or not.  You manned your station long after everyone had been served, pouring a dozen spare cups “just in case.”

We decided that it was your party, you could pour if you wanted to.

And pour you did, until the counter was full of cups and the floor was sugary sticky.

We had to peel you away from the lemonade station, there was too much lemonade poured.

Too much baby.

This reminds me of something I want to tell you, now and for the rest of your life:  The world is going to do a damn good job of telling you that you’re too much.  It does this to all of us but I worry that you’ll encounter it more than most as a creative, busy, beautiful girl and someday woman.

They may tell you that you’re too loud
Too wiggly
Too busy
Too curious
That you talk to much
That you weigh too much
Or that you’re too tall
Too ambitious ( I hope )
Too emotional

Too much.

And the worst part is that I know for a fact I have joined in the chorus and will continue to do so.  And that I’ll be the first one for whom you try to change, to please.

But try not to concern yourself with pleasing us.  Please God.  He’s the only one that matters when it comes to the art of pleasing, I know it won’t seem like that but it’s true beyond words.

My prayer for you today, on the occasion of your fourth birthday, is that you are already forming a resolve of inner contentment.  That you fall in love with the person God created you to be.  That your creative, lovely, compassionate core is protected from all who tell you that you’re not enough.

I pray that our home continues to grow into a place where you are loved “as is” and that we, your parents and family, are most interested in doing God’s work in your life.  That we are listening to his plan for your days and disregarding our unimaginative notions of who you should be.

I pray that God blares his will for you into our ears until it drowns our our human preferences.  

That he protects your from those who aren’t interested in loving you “as is” and try to conform you into something for their own selfish sake.

Most of all I’m thankful for the gift of Noelle.  You have undone and rebuilt me baby girl, in four short years with more to come. You have been a balm to my own relationship with my lost mother.  You are more than I could have hoped for, asked for, prayed for.

You are everything I was afraid of and exactly what I needed.

And God?  He is all knowing, so good, so worthy to be praised.

Grace, Selah, Amen and a Thousand thank yous to our Father.

 

 

My Short Stint as a Preschool Teacher (or small faithful = big lovely)

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Thursday the “Mother’s Day Out” preschool where I was working shut it’s doors permanently.  I hadn’t been there long, only 5 short weeks. I only started working there to make some extra money for our impending move.

So when they gathered the teachers this past Tuesday and told us they were shutting the program down,  I’m not sure if I felt relieved or sad. I suppose it was a mix of the two.  It had been a hard month of work, of learning the ropes, the politics and the kids.  And just when I thought I had a knack for it? It was over with a few quick words from the director.

I couldn’t help wondering what the point of my short stint as a preschool teacher had been.  Was I supposed to work there in the first place? Did I misread the plan?

Yet, this past week: God, with his wit and wisdom has been show me that longevity and notoriety has nothing at all with his ability to change lives.  He needs faithful hands for both the short and long term.

In my mind my time at the preschool was nothing extraordinary.  I’d simply gone to work, poured goldfish, changed diapers, read books and played blocks upon blocks.

But to God, I opened up a channel with which he could show love and grant grace.  A usable connection to affirm his worth and establish his kingdom in a simple preschool playroom.  And on our last day, several of my Mothers told me that I was a regular topic of dinner conversation, and a big part of why their kids wanted to come to school.

They’d noticed the change in their kids since I’d started and they were thankful to God that I showed up.

And now it was over, I said goodbye to those three year olds forever and watched their mothers walk them to the car.  Their age and the brevity of our time together assured me that my work and presence in their lives would soon be forgotten.  

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Yet, as I always do, I was completely underestimating God’s ability to use the scraps of my faithfulness in the big picture of his overarching plan.   I’m beginning to see that he can use the smallest acts of love and faithfulness to adjust the trajectory of a life forever.

And moreover I was believing in the lie that God is only working through the works of those who are receiving the highest accolades and notoriety, and since that wasn’t me I thought that my small faithfulness was unusable to him.  I worried that the work of my hands was nothing more than adequate effort, forever passed over in favor of lovelier choices.

So often we believe that only the big dogs make a difference, but it’s utter BS.  So what if you’re a small church, a little movement, an introverted youth worker or whatever your case may be?  The enemy is thrilled when we believe that small is insufficient, because it leads to doubt and so often surrender.

But we have to remember that everything in the world, even the big things, are comprised of small faithfulness and discouraging turn outs.  God uses the small works, the simple acts of showing up to bring about his purpose in the lives of his children.  And when his kids feel his love and affirmation the ripple effect is unpredictable and revolutionary.

So if your numbers are done
Your job is gone
The time seemed too short
The outcome wasn’t what you hoped for
You wonder if this is your calling or if it’s time to give up…

Don’t think it was for naught, God uses the work of your hands for his beautiful glory, and what more can we hope for when it comes to the fruit of our time?  God wants your faithfulness and sees it as every bit as lovely as that of the people your comparing yourself to.  

Your small faithful is big lovely, lets stop forgetting the God into whose hands we commit the works of our days.

Quilting my womanhood

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One of my favorite modern theologians is Rich Mullins, I get this from my Dad, who I believe has coffee with Rich on a regular basis.  In my heaven they’re buds, don’t challenge my doctrine please and thank you.

One of my favorite quotes from Rich Mullins is this:  “I think, writing-wise, I am probably more of a quilter than a weaver because I just get a little scrap here and a little scrap there and sew them together.”

I adore the idea of quilting l and I’ve found that this quote rings true, not only for writing but  parenting, cooking, reading, self-image and marriage as well.

We truly are quilters, gathering scraps from each other and sewing them into the fabric of our lives, piecing together something entirely new.

I made my first quilt of sorts this past weekend, an easter skirt for Noelle. I cut and gathered scraps of fabric and pieced them together to make up the swirly bottom of the skirt.  I used some new patterns from the local quilt store and some leftovers from my rainbow suitcase of fabric, a huge old trunk full of scraps all lined up and waiting to be repurposed.

There is something magical about taking a little stack of squares and creating something harmonious, all the fabrics singing together like a choir.  Suddenly you take it off the machine and you’ve created something entirely new and original and completely whole.

It’s not “less than lovely” because it’s comprised of found materials, rather it’s more beautiful for the patchwork, more interesting for the hodgepodge.

Lately I’ve spent a lot of time thinking of my sense of womanhood as a quilt and reflecting on all the different pieces I’ve collected over the years.  Every session I spend in reflection leaves me a touch more thankful and inspired.

Growing up with an overwhelmed and depressed mom left me confused about it means to be a woman and to be honest, I didn’t want to be one.  I hid my body and balked at the though of someone referring to me as a woman rather than a girl.

I thought that womanhood may undo me, that any bumps and bruises would mar my heart for life.  I saw myself as weak and unworthy.

I remember the first time I consciously added a scrap to my quilt of womanhood. I was working at Asbury Seminary for two woman, both named Tammy. They were strong and lovely, brave and hilarious, gracious and intelligent.  They were both single and raising three kids after difficult divorces.  To my surprise they didn’t live their lives in despair, there wasn’t an ounce of bitterness, only a vibrant zest for life and God.

Since then I have been gathering scraps here and there, so many friends and bloggers have become unwitting mentors and spiritual mothers to me.

I’ve quilted the way my friend Sandy thoughtfully loves her people
The way my Aunts weave God into every conversation
The way my Grandma prays for her grandkids and gathers us as a close-knit family
Sarah Bessey’s gentle mothering
Rachel Held Evan’s brave quest to bring truth
Anne Bogel’s intentional take on life

The list doesn’t stop here, so many women have given me valuable lessons that I’ve sewed into my quilt, God has used so many of you to teach me what it means to be a fully alive daughter.

For too long I thought I was just a little sister copy-cat of better mothers, writers and women.  Always running behind them, doing what they’re doing, hoping to be notices and deemed acceptable.

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This weekend as I gathered and stitched together the squares I realized that all fabric is woven from existing threads.  Nothing starts out whole, it’s woven from something else.  We are all quilters. This doesn’t makes us boring copy cats, this practice of scrap gathering is a beautiful practice indeed.

As we gather and stitch, the pieces becomes so many and the pattern so wild that each quilt is something entirely new and breathtaking.

A daughter living out her God-woven gifts is one of the most lovely experiences on earth.

Through our mothering, singing, painting, doctoring, writing, cooking, teaching, quilting we bring God to life through our hands and he is truly worshipped.

Suddenly money, square feet, job titles, marital statuses and dress sizes don’t define us but rather the very act of glorifying God through the fabric of our souls.

You are not a copy cat, we’re all quilts friends and we were made to give and take scraps from each other, to mentor each other by simple proxy.

You are a part of my quilt and I am flattered beyond words for the gift of your scraps.

Tell me about your quilt, who do you love to gather scraps from?  

Five Minute Friday: Remember

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(Today I’m joining a group of beautiful writers who writer for five short minutes every friday on the same topic, sharing stories and life on topics created by the unflappable, amazing Lisa Jo Baker)

I’d spent the entire day working at the bank, with little to do, always staring at the clock, wishing it was time to go to my Doctor’s appointment.

And then your Dad and I met up at home and dashed off the the doctor for yet another non-stress test, sitting in a little closet of a room hooked up to monitors and watching the numbers on the screen go up and down, up and down.

They were high this time, so high, we asked the doctor to check on things and sure enough, you were ready to greet us. She was worried about your umbilical cord, so I was rushed to the hospital, no bag, no camera, all nerves and a few tears.

Everyone was in such a hurry and I was putting on my bravest face for them all.

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The nurse who put in my IV missed, 5 times, stabbing me over and over in different spots. I tried my best to be gracious, but a repeated stabbing wasn’t exactly what I needed at that moment.

Then more needles, sedation and a rush into the delivery room. They cut an incision and tugged for a while until, even in my groggy drugged-up state I knew you were free of me.

But there was no cry, Your Dad and I looked at each other with worried, wondering eyes.  Why couldn’t we hear you?

He stood up to check and was yelled at by a nurse to sit down, they were trying to get you to breathe.  And then in one glorious moment, after what seemed like hours you cried for us and the rushed you away, apart from me for the first time.

I laid in the recovery room alone for an hour, thirsty for both water and my new family. 30324_507507430017_5851086_n

When I got back to the OB Floor I could see you in the window, naked and wiggly.  So many friends were there, excited for your Dad and I, but mostly about you.

They kept you behind that glass for a long time, far too long.  I got pissed, my mama bear coming out for the first time.

Then finally, hours later, we were reunited and I stared at you for weeks as we tried to learn each other, nursing, sleeping, snuggling and just gazing at those eyes we’d been waiting to see.

302118_524300840887_66769267_n And now in a flash, you’re a tall three year old, in size 6 clothes.  A tall, brown eyed beauty who’s never met a stranger.

And I love you, and we’re still learning each other.

And that Noelle is the story of the day we met, the day you were born.

 

 

 

 

 

Asking for a win (peas over pie)

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I’ve found myself saying it more and more lately:

“I think if we could just get a win we would be okay, we need a win.”

What I mean when I say this is that we need something to go our way, we need a bit of life changing news, not another challenge but rather something that removes a hurdle or two.

I found myself inserting this concept not only into conversations but into my prayers:  ”Dear God we need a win, a landslide, something life changing.  I’m tired of the day to day struggle.”

One day as I was saying this to a friend I stopped myself short; suddenly I realized how ridiculous I sounded.  Not to my friend on the phone, but to God, the giver of all good things.

The sustainer of our breath, the founder of our simple feasts, the payer of our mortgage.

I wonder if, upon hearing those words, he felt as I do when I make my hungry children a plate of delicious food and they respond in whining.  When I give nourishment and they complain  because it’s not the precise thing they were hoping for.

No chicken Mom, that’s not what I wanted, I wanted spaghetti, or ice cream or pie!  Or Mom, I want apples but not THOSE apples, I want the ones that come crunchy in the mickey mouse packet.  Please put THESE apples in the trash. Continue reading →

Red yarn, purity and my misplaced worth

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7782343794_4a8c280005_cI was 21 years old, just, when I found myself sitting in a tiny counseling office trying to recover from a painful breakup. The woman in the chair across from me was praying passionately as she called upon the Holy Spirit to free my heart from my ex-boyfriend.

From the aching of being dumped… over email.

The focus of our session was all about freeing my heart, which was intrinsically linked to his, because we’d had sex.

She opened an old, metal drawer and took out some pre-cut, crimson yarn. She held the ends between pinched fingers and held the taut strands between us.

She handed me a pair of scissors and told me to cut the yarn as a representation of my cutting my heart free from my ex.

Through snipping this yarn, the Holy Spirit would set me free and disconnect us. Although I was told my heart was forever damaged and would be messy and incomplete because of my transgressions.

I remember getting into my raggedy blue Saturn and wondering… “Would cutting the yarn really do it? Should I feel different now? 

And for that matter, would this painful breakup be easier if we hadn’t… “gone there?”

I turned it all over in my head for months, like you do when you’ve been dumped. I took to rollerblading around my parents neighborhood while I listened to Dashboard Confessional on my disc-man.

Was it true that I had superglued my heart to his, never to be whole again?  Had I robbed my future husband of something special? Was I forever demoted because I proved true the age old cliché of “looking for love in all the wrong places?”

The more I rolled around the neighborhood, the more I realized that I hadn’t had sex with this guy out of love, or even for physical pleasure.

I’d done it because I needed to believe that someone had wanted me completely, just as I was.

you see, my problems went far deeper than my lost virginity. I had an incredibly screwed up sense of who I was… and whose I was… and what I was doing with my life.

I thought that I needed to belong to a man to feel complete and that belief was far more damaging than my sexual mistakes would ever be.

I’ve spent a lot of time this week thinking through all the clumsy, awkward steps that led me to ultimately “losing it.” All those concessions I made, one by one that ended with me tucking my purity ring in my jewelry box and hoping my Dad wouldn’t notice its absence on my ring finger.

If all the girls I’ve ever mentored as a youth worker were sitting across from me and I could tell them one thing about their sexuality, what would I say?

They’ve heard thousands of words from hundreds of sources, what would I add?

It’s this: Your worth cannot be found or taken from you through sex.

You were created for a big, bold beautiful purpose. If you go have sex to feel better about who you are, you will only be taking steps backward.

I would tell them that I regret having sex before marriage, but that I regret all the years that I lost believing that I was worthless even more.

I regret looking for my worth in sex, because it only ever left me emptier.

I would tell them that if they’ve already had sex, God loves them and values them just as highly as he would if they had their “v-cards” in tact. I would let them know that they can still have a healthy, joy-filled, passionate, sexy and intimate marriage someday.

I would remind them that even though the church world seems to see sexual sin as weightier or dirtier than the rest, that God sees it all the same. And that he loves the virgins and the non virgins equally.

That he’s close to the broken hearted, even the ones who didn’t wait.

Then I would tell their parents that when it comes to “the sex talk” that they should spend most of their time teaching their children who they are and who they belong to. Because kids who value themselves and have a solid send of self worth are less likely to go looking for it in all the wrong places, Like in the backseat of their cars.

And then I would go home and kiss my husband and cry a little. Because there is nothing easy about this jumbled mess of human sexuality. I would lay my head on the pillow and thank God for infusing my journey with so much grace… for leading me to this place, this day, these words.

Water, Wash, Sanitize, Repeat. The motto of the sick house mama.

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317955_522932647757_1296263072_n You Guys, what a week already!  And it’s only Wednesday for crying out loud…

Yesterday our 2 year old Caedmon landed in the hospital with the flu and febrile seizures.  I can say with absolute certainty that driving my seizing son to the hospital was one of the scariest and most intense moments of my life.

I felt so helpless and strong all at the same time, which makes no sense except for the fact that it does…

He’s doing a lot better now, no more seizures and the high fevers are thankfully just a memory.  In case you’re counting, thats three hospital visits in the last month, two in the ER and one surgery.

To say I have a new appreciation for my son would be a profound understatement.  If I get the flu it’s because I compulsively kiss those cheeks, all. the. time.

So now we have the flu and we’re passing it around, one by one.  Kel went down today and I’m not feeling 100% but as the mama, I must stay strong.  If you’ve never been the mom of a sick house, I’ll fill you in on the job description,

It’s basically: Water, Wash, Sanitize… repeat. Continue reading →

Overcome (to the point of the Happy, Ugly Cry)

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Sunday morning I woke up in an awful state.  My chest was tight with anxiety, my mind swimming with unanswered questions.  I could hardly think beyond our budget and calendar.

The weight of it threatened to crush our prospects of having a peaceful or enjoyable Sunday.

Thankfully, God led Kel and I to pray about it all, which isn’t always our usual.  Sometimes I rant and rave with worry until I get put in time out.  And through this, God worked a small miracle and redeemed our Sunday.

We made it to church with only one song left in the worship set, and it was then that these lyrics hit my ears.

775882_28643193 There’s nothing worth more, that will ever come close
nothing can compare, You’re our living hope
Your Presence Lord

I’ve tasted and seen, of the sweetest of Loves
Where my heart becomes free, and my shame is undone
In Your Presence Lord

Holy Spirit You are welcome here
Come flood this place and fill the atmosphere
Your Glory God is what our hearts long for
To be overcome by Your Presence Lord

Holy Spirit, Jesus Culture, check it out here and then go to iTunes and download it.

Somehow these words hit me with such strength that teared up and grabbed my notebook, sat down and scribbled away.

When I stood back up, I had a new prayer on my lips, so much bigger and better than just: “God make sense of our budget” or “God give us direction for the future.”  I’ll still be saying those prayers, but I’ll be praying this one louder:

I want to be overcome this week, seriously and totally overcome by God’s gifts and fingerprints on my life.  I want to be moved to tears, I want to ugly cry my mascara off for the joy of what I’ve been given. Continue reading →

Kuyper Coffee Dates- Tuesday

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KuyperCoffeeDates_zpse49f9fa2 Today I’m continuing a week long series called Kuyper Coffee Dates, for more information read up on Day 1.  The short version is as follows:

A beloved college professor of mine gave her students an assignment to select a blog which spoke to spiritual formation, mine was one of the choices.  They had to write a short paper about their reading experiences which included an answer to this question:

“If you could go out for coffee with this writer, what questions would you ask her?”

A few weeks back I got a stack of about 20 college papers, all reflections and questions about my blog.  I was beyond flattered and humbled and I want to answer these  questions as best I can.

So Kuyper Students, readers let’s have coffee, shall we?

Is it hard to do something so public, like sharing your story on a blog, and still give all the glory to God without wanting to keep it for yourself?

Yes and no all at the same time, while it’s easy to puff up with pride when the page views are high and the comments are many, my pit fall seems to be completely losing focus of who gives me the words in the first place.

I do catch myself thinking I’m the shiz every once in a while and when that happens I remind myself that I am just another one of God’s kids who has clumsily managed to be be faithful with gifts I’ve been given.

The best lesson I’ve learned on this subject is that God is the one who is to be glorified in my writing, if I start taking it for myself or start putting my writing above my Creator he swiftly takes away the words.

He won’t fuel me to do something that is taking precedence over our relationship and communion.

Your husband Kel seems like an amazing Father and Husband, how has his spiritual leadership been a part of your journey?

No disputing this one, Kel is an amazing guy, so glad you picked up on that!  Kel and I have already weathered some crazy storms together.  Some moments the pain brought us together, sometimes we allowed it to come between us.

Yet during every painful season Kel rarely left my side.  His quiet prayers and support were the strongest spiritual leadership that he could have possibly shown me.  There were no words that were going to take away the pain I was feeling, so his quiet support was the simple, yet strong leadership I needed.

He loved me in simple ways by putting me to bed early, watching our 1 year old during my two hour baths and putting up with my ever changing moods.  His love was healing and I felt God’s love through his actions.

If someone asked me how to best support a spouse through grief, I would tell them it’s to dole out mountains of grace.

The odds are that your spouse isn’t going to be their usual self for a while so give grace and drop as many expectations as possible. This when they don’t meet your expectations or can’t engage your typical routines you’re not as upset or surprised.

I would ask Leanne how she has been able to go through all this grief and pain and still have such a strong and unwavering faith in God?

Okay, I am so glad that you got unwavering from my writing but to be honest with you, it’s felt very… waivery.

I’ve been angry, cynical and I’ve as good as given God the silent treatment.  There have been seasons where my most prominent prayers have been little more than: “What the hell are you doing here?” and “Please just sustain us.”

Yet I will tell you that not even once did I consider walking away from my faith. I screamed, threw selfish tantrums and bought into a hundred useless lies but I knew I wasn’t going anywhere.  God was my Father, even though I was one of his most pissed off and petulant kids.

I don’t know how I did that, I was real with my community of faith, they knew I was angry and in no mood for trite platitudes.  I don’t have any tips or tricks on this one, just keep talking to God, keep taking steps out of your anger and cynicism and he will be faithful to lead you into healing.

Grandma Verkaik’s Sugar Cookies (a Christmas Cookie Exchange Link-up)

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Today I am going to teach you how to make the Christmas cookies that our family has been making for about 50 years.  And I’m thrilled to share it, and even more thrilled to read all of your heirloom recipes and the stories that go with them.

My Aunts and Uncles have memories of these cookies that extend back into their childhood.  They remember eating them as children and then returning thousands of miles from college to help roll them out and decorate them together.

As for me, I can’t remember a time when these cookies weren’t a huge part of my Christmas.  My dad always made them at home along with 6 other traditional cookie recipes.  He had an affinity for christmas tree shaped cookies, frosted green with green sugar sprinkles. He didn’t like to get crazy with the decorating and I must confess I’m still partial to a good ol’ green tree.

Not only that, but every year growing up my Grandparents would rent a cottage for our family so that we could spend a weekend together over the holidays.  My Dad was 1 of 5 and I have 13 first cousins, so this was no small gathering.

We would play Euchre on card tables, spend hours in the snow and stay up late telling stories and plotting practical jokes.

At some point over the weekend we would roll out these Christmas cookies by the dozens and then spend the next 24 hour devouring them with hot chocolate from a huge thermos.

I love that because of my Grandparent’s intentional living, my cousins and I have these recipes and memories in common. Continue reading →