Pep Talk

Mommas of littles, listen. You are doing important work! We know it. Yes, it feels like groundhog day a LOT. I know that almost everything you seem to accomplish is systematically UNdone within hours. I know

I also know there is a keen sense of creativity bounding around in your soul and untapped skills just churning inside you, nagging for a vent. I'm certainly not proposing the use of alphabet sponge stamps to make spirit wear for the church softball team. That might be weird. 

But find something that brings you joy, or at least offers your brain and hands a good workout . . . a change of pace or a change of scenery, and then re-engage to keep going! 

Plan, equip, serve and train those little rabble-rousers like the elite chief operations officer that you are! These are the rich years. I promise. You might have more resources in the future; that may be true. 

But these little ones who relentlessly giggle and fight, who serenade you with original songs strummed on tennis rackets with soupspoons drumming on oatmeal containers; these impossibly adorable humans who learn new things every day, who beg to play in the mud, and then smell so delicious during bedtime prayers . . . they will be grown and even married before you can believe it.

I still can't believe it. Soak it in. Sow seeds wisely. Choose presence over perfection. Stay the course. I wholeheartedly believe you have what it takes!

-cdj💗

📷2002

Thankful & Blessed

 

A knock followed by happy hellos announces another round of fellowship. What quickly develops is another unique blend of friends who feel like family and family who have worked hard to become real friends.

Some people find a seat. Most stand in huddles at first. She listens and watches as seemingly from nowhere there is very much to discuss. Stationed in that comfy corridor between the sink and the stove, she finds her joy and purpose. She makes coffee, she wipes the counters, and she reminds the children to have walking feet. 

Often, there is a crock pot simmering, ready to feed a little or a lot at no particular time. Other times she relies on soup and sandwiches which can be made ready with little warning. There have been times when her best offering was toast and eggs. Her favorite times are when she knows there is plenty of food on the premises, but the critical ingredient is creativity. One backwoods not-quite-charcuterie spread coming right up!

She wanders from her post occasionally, but mostly she stays in that space where she feels useful and secure. Plus, the island is a magnet for great conversations and hilarity, so whether she is rinsing dishes or sipping coffee, she likes to keep her front-row seat. 

If she were anywhere else, she might feel responsible to ask questions and keep conversations going. But here, she just hovers with no eye contact, her ears wide open, her heart filling to the brim, and her mind free to dawdle in the depths. Eventually, the prepping, serving, and tidying work themselves out. 

By this time, pockets of people are sprinkled and spread throughout the home. College football, walks down the driveway, a puzzle between the sofas, lingering chats at the table, and the impromptu praise band of pianists and singers with the inclusion of a reluctant cellist, an enthusiastic baritone, and a weak, yet relentless recorder player.

People leave, but then a few more show up. The core gathering lasts for hours as dynamics revolve and refresh. And in the end, the crowd shrinks into a small herd of residential folks who resume their regular rhythms, and return to "normal". But they are better. They are satisfied and full having exchanged their gifts of unconditional love, and everyone feels thankful and blessed.

Formation

 

I have to tell God I am sorry. 

For doubting Him.

For my impatience in the waiting, and for becoming distracted by hypothetical narratives and possible exit strategies. 

I ask for wisdom, but what I really want is to know the future. Now. I give Him credit for calling me to a thing while the thing is pleasant. But should unpleasantness arise, I want out. I want to quit. I want to run.

I second-guess the hearing . . . and the answering . . . His and mine. Though I would never verbalize it, His goodness can feel unstable . . .  at the root of things, belief becomes entangled with distrust, and everything shifts in the darkness.

But I stay. Scant faith mixed with residual, reverent fear of His power and presence keeps me in place.

And I wait. 

And I wait some more.

Not like sitting still in a lobby. More like attending to a crowded table with courses and refills and the bussing of plates.

Busily waiting on Him. 

Endurance seems hard and unhappy.

His ways are higher though, and His desire is for me to be holy. He wants me to live free. He wants me to be transformed. 

I see it now . . . the way challenging circumstances prod me toward humility, and how discomfort drives me to pray like never before. I see it and I am [ultimately] grateful.

I'm thankful for the relief and renewal that I believe will continue to manifest, but I am also grateful for the stretching and the sorrow in the suspense. My capacity for compassion miraculously continues to increase. 

God is indeed good and kind and wise. 

And He is able . . . to forgive me every time I have to say I'm sorry.

*The Hope Cycle from Romans 5 . . .

And we boast in the hope of the glory of God. Not only so, but we also glory in our sufferings, because we know that suffering produces perseverance; perseverance, character; and character, hope.

Wake-Up Call

 

📷 Katy Roberts 2016

✍️cdj 2020

During one of my most desperate days of covid, my blood pressure and heart rate rocketed and richocheted, and I secretly wondered if I would make it through the night. In the darkness of isolation I lay silently blinking away hot tears. My mind was calm and fearless even though my body felt frantic and frail. My soul was oddly at peace. 

I low-key texted my older kids and intentionally made amends for some recent revelations, asked forgiveness, and told them how much I loved them. I made sure to speak to the younger ones before they went to bed and to affirm the wonder I see in each of them.

There wasn't anything I felt like I needed to say to Philip. Considering my dad died in the middle of a sentence during our second year of marriage, we've always done our best to remain up to date, in right standing, and with nothing fruitful left unsaid. (It's a great idea to keep the unfruitful stuff unsaid as often as possible ha!) So our regular hug and prayer good night was sweetly sufficient.

The next morning I realized I was still breathing. Still and breathing while solitude persisted through another dawn. My body had found the calm of my soul, and my mind awakened to clarity. Tears spilled onto my pillow as conviction and gratitude filled my consciousness. 

The night before I had not given one thought toward my place of work, or my house of worship. I hadn't reached out to any friends or worried over regrets. I certainly had no concerns for household duties or pastime pursuits. I had simply offered love to my family. 

If, when faced with the possibility of death, they  proved to be my pure priority, then as long as I live, shouldn't they remain as much?  

Dear God, thank You for today, for breath, for truth, for healing, for love. It's all from and through and in and to You. Help me order my affections so that loving my people stays a close second to loving You.

Foundational

 

My journal pages from January 2020 herald "hope in Jesus!" 

I boldly proclaimed him as my "rock", my "firm foundation", my "all in all!" 

Except that - evidently I was wrong. By mid-March, I had fallen very much apart, and it was not because Jesus shifted his focus or diminished his influence. 

What crumbled beneath me were my predictable plans, my assumptions about control and convenience, and my intentionally established boundaries. All of that imploded, and so did I.

This is the sin that the pandemic exposed. My lip service to a sustaining faith in Christ alone was put to the test and I was left wanting. In all practicality my hope and faith had been firmly planted upon my own schemes and schedules. 

And that's not the worst of it. Had quarantine not ambushed us all in the way that it did, it is possible that I could have lived foolishly blind to my own entrapment for YEARS. I shudder at the thought.

As time passes, the humiliation of oblivion and failure is slowly being replaced with willful humility. 

Jesus sustains me as I sketch my plans lightly, committing to anticipate and receive the unexpected with gratitude.

God provides for me as I relinquish my desire for control and rebuke my idolatry toward convenience. 

Spirit helps me look for healthy boundaries in order to increase my freedom to show love, not decrease my opportunity to do so. 

And I leave the rest to rest. 

Every quarter hour, I might falter in my mind, and have another opportunity to re-engage my heart to trust the Lord more.

"On Christ the solid rock I [try to not try so hard to] stand. All other ground is sinking sand." 

“Hope deferred makes the heart sick, but a longing fulfilled is a tree of life.” Proverbs‬ ‭13:12‬ ‭ 

"Hallelujah! I have found Him

Whom my soul so long has craved!

Jesus satisfies my longings,

Through His blood I now am saved."

Gentle Lighting

Dear God, help us live this moment present and fully aware that You are with us and for us.

When we feel overwhelmed, we'll look to You for peace. When we feel stuck, we'll look to You for hope.  We trust Your plan and the perfect timing with which You allow it to unfold.

Help us keep in step with Your Spirit and find our joy in Your goodness.

For those who feel frustrated and fixated on future things, open our eyes to the good gifts surrounding us today and soothe us with Your peace.

For the ones who feel trapped in the trenches of today, lift our eyes to see light and strengthen us with joy as we hold on to hope.

Thank You for being near no matter our situation. We trust You to work Your plan for our good and Your glory as we wait with patience and expectation. Amen.

Groom to Grow

 

My tallest, blondest child is getting married this weekend!

I remember being SO geared up for his birth. Not like the other time, with that first baby, when I was kuh-loo-less.

I had two years of parenting experience, a precious little compliant child that followed my instructions and proved my sketchy theories perfectly, tons of nap times in which to read dozens of parenting books, and thanks to daily stroller walks, I was ending this second pregnancy lighter than I started the first, I was gonna be ALL kinds of ready for this child!

I seriously had his proposed nursing schedule on a legal pad weeks before he was born. I know. Shaking my head and squinting at myself right now.

And that is all I can write about "how I was gonna be unstoppable" with Luke.

His labor took days. I wanted to give up. But eventually I birthed that melon-head, and I loved everything about him with all my heart.

At three weeks old, he contracted meningitis and we were hospitalized for a week. (It was the week that Monica Lewinsky was plastered all over every channel day after day after obnoxious day.) I wanted to leave for so many reasons.

Philip says I never really trusted that Luke was healed after that. He says I treated him differently.

Perhaps. Spinal taps and tubes in skulls are scary. Memories leave scars ... even after healing.

Ok, cut to Luke's second Christmas. I sat the boys down and explained that the candy canes on the tree were to offer our holiday guests. If they took one, they would get a spanking. I asked if they understood. They each said, "Yes, Ma'am."

We were "hands in, 'Reindeer' on three" and that was a good talk. Until I watched Luke leave my inspirational speech, walk over to the tree, take two candy canes, and bend over the couch cushion to receive his licks.

What I intended for self-discipline, he perceived as negotiations.

And that is all I can write about "how I kept thinking this thing might get easier."

He is the reason we began to home school. He was three years old. He and Landen were riding in the backseat while we ran errands. He asked if we could go to the dollar store. I said I didn't know because I only had a five dollar bill and I needed to buy stamps. I was really just tossing out possible excuses to get him to hush. Fail.

"How much do stamps cost?" he asked. I said, "a couple dollars." Immediately, he spouted off that we could totally go to the dollar store, because "if you pay your five dollars at the post office, the lady will give you three dollars back, and there are three of us, so that would be one for each of us to buy one thing at the dollar store."

He was barely three. What in the big wide world was I supposed to do with him for two years until he was invited to Kindergarten where they would want him to say his numbers and identify the orange triangle??

I remember his first T-ball game. He was precious. He was scanning the infield from his position at shortstop . . . intuitively knowing what strategies needed to be implemented . . . mumbling instructions and reminders under his breath to his teammates.

I sat on the second bleacher, and thought, "Dear Lord, he really is going to be the managerial type."

He was the youngest Johnson to harvest a deer. His passion for the hunt, skillful marksmanship, and impeccable vision (inherited from his father) earned him the nick-name: "Dead-eye Johnson".

When he was a toddler, he would call from his bed in the morning, "Momma! Kin I git up???" If I said yes, he would hurry in to hop in bed with us. One morning when I was pregnant with Ardyn, I had to climb over him to exit our bed. His peppy preschool voice declared, "Wow. You are large. Large like an elephant."

And that is all I can write about "how honesty is/is not the best policy."

I remember the day his Sunday school teacher called to say that he had confessed to the class that if his options were sheep who loved Jesus, or goats who didn't, he wanted to be a goat. (complete with horn-shaped hand motions above his head and the "nyeehhh" sound. Have mercy.) Philip and I were so concerned that we began to pray immediately. I honestly thought we would have to pray diligently for decades to see him come to the Lord.

Two days later, he came into our room while Philip was getting dressed for work. He began to cry, "Mom & Dad, I've been playin' on the devil's team, but I wanna change my heart and play on God's team from now on." Philip picked up the phone and called in late to work. He knelt with Luke in the corner by our bed to talk and pray. Then he showed Luke how he was writing that day's date in the margin of Romans 10 in his Bible.

He is not that little blond-bowled, dimpled guy with bright blue eyes who couldn't whisper in church. He is tall and handsome, smart and sweet, driven and determined. I love his logical outlook on life. I love his sense for humor. I love it when he hugs me like he means it. I love it when he is sweet to his sisters. I love it when he laughs with his brothers. I love it when he [thinks he still can] arm wrestle his dad.

Since before Luke was born, we have prayed for his wife. We figured she would need to exhibit a quiet confidence and quite a bit of style. We knew the importance of her devotion to Jesus. We hoped her gifts and strengths would firmly fit in the gaps of Luke's greatness. We wished for someone fun and easy to like. We never dreamed her parents would live a mere 8 miles from us. Won't the Lord do it.

Father in Heaven, thank you for today. Only You can see all the many choices that have brought us to this point, and only You can see the future blessings that will emerge because of Your presence here with us.

Through the indwelling presence of Your holy spirit, You show Your kindness by supernaturally infusing temporal things with meaning, purpose and memories. 

We thank You. 

We confess our dependence upon You. 

Jesus, be near. 

May every spoken word, every shared seat at the table; every gift of thanks (both hard and happy) that is offered this weekend bring honor to Your name.

Bless Brendan Luke and Macie Jane.

Amen.

Grace & Peace

As a follow-up to my adoption post, I want to be sure to shed light on two things.

First, I know it is frustrating to think of how many children need families, but in our case, birth mom relinquishing her rights was the selfless act that paved a path toward healing for both her and her baby she loved. I affirm with deep and terrible gratitude her decision which I will never fully understand. 

Discussions of dependency and addiction make me think of Paul in Romans: "I do not understand what I do. For what I want to do I do not do, but what I hate I do."

I thank God for loving each of us in our chest-high struggle to re-align our affections.  Life is hard.

Second, I know this isn't the norm, but we enjoy a miraculously gracious relationship with Asa's birth mother.  It was tragic and trying in the early days, but we all stayed the course. It is one area of my life in which equal parts of bravery and boundaries have made the daunting doable. 

Because of the complexities, I wrote out Asa's narrative in book form when he was an infant. He's heard/read those words a hundred times: "Aunt Samantha is my birth mom." Though His understanding continues to develop and expand, the truth of the matter seems wonderfully familiar and normal to him. 

She is my sister-in-law, my son's birth mom, and she is my friend. Jesus has done powerful work in each of us and we give Him all the glory. If you'd like to know more of her/our story, you can read more here.

Photo: The rose Samantha gave me for Mother's Day a few years ago. It dies away and blooms anew . . . speaking grace and peace to my heart.

For Starters

Did you know that once an adoption is finalized, the authorities craft a new birth certificate? Same time and place; new parents.

Rebirth. Adoption literally rewrites the child's story by going back to the beginning and granting a fresh start with a new identity, an amended name, and proof of never not belonging.

This is my favorite part about adoption!

Not only has Asa's story been rewritten, mine has too!! I have a legally binding court document stating that I was somewhere where I was not on that gray winter day in 2013.

This brings me to tears.

God, our true authority (AUTHOR-ity) is simply not limited by time or space. Nothing is unredeemable because His love cannot fail.

I hope this truth infuses today (however hard or heavy it appears to be) with freedom and fresh faith.

He's got this. He's got you!!

09.29.2014 👈🏼

Happy Gotcha Day 🎉

 "Now to Him who is able to do immeasurably more than all we ask or imagine, according to His power that is at work within us,  to Him be glory in the church and in Christ Jesus throughout all generations, for ever and ever! Amen." Ephesians 3:20-21

Silver and Gold

I got a new phone. 

I kangaroo-jumped over all thirteen models that have debuted since my last update. 

It kind of makes me sad to say goodbye to the device that served me so well for so long. Not only had it survived a 12-mile trip up highway 59 on the back of a Nissan Sonata, it helped me organize and facilitate a dozen small groups, a children's camp, and a senior adult retreat. It captured who-knows-how-many baskets, pitches, tackles, and awards. It was with me for baptisms, weddings, funerals, and groceries. The calculator had crunched budgets and checked homework too. I found a house on realtor and sold the other on zillow. Kindle, Audible, Words with Friends. Hilarious and helpful text threads sit beside hoarding stacks of emails. All in a pocket, ready to go.

What a rich farewell.

As I load a brand new small group into the sleek new model, I notice that even with a factory fresh start, there remain a few of my contacts with no last name. Just plain "Rebecca". Plain "Lauren". Plain "Rhonda". Remnants from my first phone with its Friends & Family plan which allowed me to connect with ten people of my choosing for free. Everyone else cost 25 cents per minute.

With only ten primary contacts, there was little need for last names way back when. Especially considering the labor intensity of tapping the 7 button three times to even access an R.

Through the years, the plain names have persevered.

Lauren lives a few hours away now. We saw each other out of the blue a couple summers ago when we happened to choose the same lake community for vacation. We met at the pool like we had planned it. Bobbing in the shallow end with ball caps and sunglasses, we briefly volleyed a few updates on our families then plunged happily into a lengthy discussion of philosophy and education. She is much younger than me, but she has taught me loads about ministry all the while modeling a calm independence that shapes my own courage and contentment. She is goals.

Rebecca lives terribly far away. I dream of the days when we shared Creme Brulee candles, episodes of 90210, and sizzling bean dip in our scratched-up skillet. She married my brother the month before I married Philip. They would drive over for game nights and BlueBell then spend Sunday afternoons lounging until John Madden was the only conscious voice in the room. She beat me to marriage and parenthood, but what a gift it is to walk the path so closely, just a step or two behind her. She leads with humility, grit, and a surprising amount of goofiness. She is simply the greatest.

I see Rhonda every week. I see her three kids whom I nannied and their spouses just as often. We don't have to meet for lunch or talk on the phone as if our friendship were a plant in need of water. We thrive as spring-fed evergreens. Rhonda was there when I birthed my babies. She is the first to cry when one of them starts kindergarten, or trusts Jesus, or gets engaged. For decades we have crafted and worshipped and whispered hard truths. Along with quiet wisdom and quick laughter, she has consistently offered me love, mentorship, and a standing invitation to be exactly me. She is a gift.

I have lots of lovely Laurens in my life now, a few especially fun Rhondas, and some of the sweetest Rebeccas you can find. All their last names keep things neat and tidy in my new phone, while the plain names are still there too. To stay. 

They remain and remind me of how far we've come and how incredibly rewarding the journey together can be. 

Make new friends, but keep the old . . .

A Hundred Percent

Often, people will say to me, "I just don't know how you do it all?!?" 

Well . . .

1. I am not doing it all. I draw the court's attention to the hall bathroom. And the flowerbeds. Clearly I am not.😔

2. I am not doing it all. Regarding the things that ARE getting done, I am surrounded by helpers: my phenomenal husband, a fantastic set of kids, wonderful friends and stellar coworkers. Their collaboration maximizes my efficiency. Sidebar: if we are doing life together, and your efforts hinder progress, you'd better be a toddler or have a note from your doctor.😏

3. I am not doing it all. I mainly do what is important to me. There is a boat load of things you might assume I do, but [not sorry] I don't. For example, I don't: separate or pre-soak laundry, make breakfast (except for Thursday supper), watch TV, decorate for more than 3 hours for Christmas, shop in person, iron more than twice a year, call friends to chat, scrub shower curtains, watch movies, dice or mince any vegetable for any recipe (I will happily chop, but God gave you teeth ... let's work together, K?).👊🏼

4. I am not doing it all. There are so many things I wish I could consistently do better like pray with my kids one-on-one, exercise, take photos and keep them organized,  be sweet after 7pm . . . The list is long. 😶

5. I am not doing it all. Any good you see me doing is evidence of God living in me. God is doing. My part is the being. (I am old and still learning to get my part right.) To behold and become. To stay humble and hungry. To live satisfied and surrendered. To move about with power and purpose . . . worshiping, waiting, and watching as promises are fulfilled. 🙏

And for days when I find myself discontent, disengaged, or discouraged . . . God is faithful to find me, and too loving to leave me there. 🙌🏼

He really does it all.💛

As You Find Me

A click and a thud precede the rumbly bumps by about a mile.

About halfway between the towns where I respectively live and work, a flattened tire brings my Monday morning to a halt.

An instinctively quick call to my husband soothes most of the angst. Even though I am stranded in the August heat (thank you, 7a.m., for blazing in like it's high noon), he is on his way and I only need to wait a little while.

I open the back of the car and begin moving things out of the way so that the spare tire can be easily accessed. *Correction: readily accessed. Easily does not describe the escape room activity we would need to complete in order to locate, remove, and install the dusty donut caked with the roadway adventures of a dozen years.

I think back to the Summer of 1988. I wanted to take my first two-hour solo trip in the 1985 two-toned blue Chevy Citation. The pre-req for receiving Dad's permission was for me to go out to the driveway and completely replace the back left tire with the spare. Without help. Then I had to drive around the block, and return to swap them back. 

Just as I'm juggling gratitude and  aggravation for my dad and his no-joke parenting strategies, I see yellow flashes of light in my rear-view mirror. Philip's work truck boasts flashy lights, lots of tools, bright orange cones and a cable winch should he need it. 

In what seems to be an actual jiffy, he changes the tire, follows me to the tire shop, then drives me to work on his way back to his own day. 

I climb down out of the truck, and walk to my office in a haze of thankfulness, dazed by the deep peace my heart feels even though my pesky brain keeps trying to bring up the potential anxiousness peppering the last hundred minutes of my life. The anxiety seems like mist while peace and gratitude feel real.

I brew a tardy cup of coffee and think some more.

Why is everything good? Because Philip answered my call, and came to help. Not only did he provide an immediate remedy, he stayed with me until I could make it safely to a place where I could secure a long-term solution. Then he filled in the gaps and met my needs while I waited for repair. And he did it all with humility, excellence and kindness.

I sit at my desk, sip my coffee and whisper, "Just like Jesus." His ability to answer, attend, assist, accompany . . .  all with humility, patience and joy.

My pesky brain pipes in, "Think of all the people who DON'T have Philip to come to their rescue . . . "

Think of all the people who don't have Jesus.

We are commissioned to be light and love and life. Just like Jesus.

To answer, attend, assist and accompany. Providing immediate presence and remedy until a long-term solution is secured. To fill in the gaps, meet the needs, and wait for restoration. All with gentleness and joy.

Not only do I want to be ready to put love into action, I want to make connections and pave paths so that people know my number and instinctively think to call. 

Jesus, help me.

**For those who like to extend metaphors, my account at the tire shop has hazard protection, so the labor and cost of perpetual rescue and repair is included in the plan purchased for me and comes for free. Why would I go anywhere else? #Preach

More Blessed

MORE BLESSED

For the years that have patiently and persistently taught us how to live and love.

For these months that have provided a greenhouse of relational growth where love vigorously covered a multitude of mark-missing and where hope led the way so faith could see us through. 

For today, the arrival to this page in your story that stands ready to be turned. A conclusion followed by a beginning. 

For your daddy. Such a worthy first recipient of your full affection, and yet his aim all along was to steward you and your tender heart straight toward Jesus. In sweet and confident surrender, he will walk you, once again, to the altar where sacrifice offers freedom. Every blessing.

For our tribe. Fun/loving helpful folks who provide a firm foundation and a forgiving place to fall.

For friends who need no invitation to begin showering you with love and support. Their enthusiasm and grace are true gifts.

For the one you've been waiting for. "A man among men." He sets the bar of integrity and kindness incredibly high. His devotion to you is a precious gift.

For you, my darling girl. I was nervous that we might not be able to safely navigate these jungles of engagement. But look at us! A lovely celebration reflecting a thousand decisions is here at last. I admire your sensitivity and sentimentality, and I appreciate your honest flexibility. God really did it. You are a gift.

And for your merry insitance on wearing my wedding slippers of old with your brand new gown . . . one more example of the way you notice, affirm, and extend beauty in the world.

For all of this and more, I am thankful. 

And ever more blessed.

The Game Called Life

This is not dodge ball.

This is egg toss. The posture is open, relaxed, gentle and ready. 

When we dart around defensive and scared, the things coming our way bounce away. We've reduced the risk of being smacked in the face, but at the cost of never catching the ball. 

When we stand intentionally, with ready hands open, attentive and brave to receive even the most fragile of gifts, we are also poised to hold things loosely, in safety, until the time comes to let them go.

Opportunities

Conversations

Parenting

Dating

Life

Relax and be ready.

Underscore

The enemy puffs, "That's right! You've got this! No one could juggle all this as well as you do. God must REALLY trust you to put all this on you at once. You are unbelievably strong and self-reliant!"

She gives it all a listen and gives it a thought, but it feels bilious and misaligned.

The prowl pivots with a hiss, "You're right. You canNOT do this. It is all so much. Why would God allow all this at once. You are incredibly weak and very alone."

This soundtrack lands warped and incongruent as well.

She drowns the noise with streams of truth. She silences the roar with whispers of praise. Yet still the subtle, weighty paw of doubt upon her chest . . .

She knows she is not alone. Feelings lie. The Father is closeby. Brought close by the presence of His sons and daughters. 

She musters brave humility to reach out and sure enough . . .

Assurance,

Prayers,

Partnership,

Hope,

Friends interceding with Jesus for her protection and strength,

Common Unity,

Community and peace.

Right here. We have what it takes. God is wise and kind and it will take His strength to accomplish the tremendous good He has designed. Treasure this weakness and trust Him.

He is near and He is able.

It's a promise.

Potty Talk

“YAY!!!”  Cheerful applause echoes from the hall bathroom.  Privacy is overrated.  The toddler had triumphed yet again at the toilet, and we had cause to celebrate!  Asa was the 7th child - and possibly/hopefully the last - to potty train under my watch care.

In response to the many questions I receive: Yes, it does seem to get easier.

I'm not sure if girls are easier than boys. 

Yes, every child is different . . . every potty training experience is different.

I trained Landen by myself.  The onset was effortless in an instant. He was in the bath. Supper had settled, and he had a need. I opted to set him on the potty instead of strapping a diaper on. He delivered. He purposed in his heart that this newfound method was preferable. And so it was: Landen's #2 training.

Resemblance

I see your Father in you.

Your toughness and the way you work.

Your tenderness and the way you laugh.

Your positivity and the way you love to win.

Your blue eyes and the way you are loyal almost to a fault.

Your flexibility and the way you refuse to fake any emotion.

Your quests for adventure and the way you champion the underdog.

Your playful affection toward kids and the way you're allergic to plans.

I see your dad in you!

I love you and how you favor him; and when I look at him, I see his unmistakable fondness for you. 

What a gift this is.

Happy Father's Day.

Keepers

Six million minutes later (which, in some ways feels like three slow blinks) and they're all teens and twenties.🤯

Mommas with your hands full, I know it can seem simultaneously overwhelming and beneath you to do the marvelous and mundane work of motherhood. 😊

But hang in there. God is faithful.👏

In sustained suspense, I have . . .

screamed too often,

not been tender enough,

taken discouraging self-talk to heart,

and dismissed their treasured chatter-talk.

I haven't properly managed distractions.

I haven't prioritized my own health.

I have fallen tragically short countless times, and fallen apart more than once.

But I'm still here, holding on to hope. 

In the holding, while we work and watch and wait, God is not in any hurry. 

He sees it all and moves among us - shaping and refining our souls as we grow together.  And He hasn't given up on any of us. 🙌

Weary winners still in the race . . . we can rest assured. 

For every life God has entrusted to us for proper care and feeding,

for slow blinks filled with millions of minutes and for as long as it takes, 

for you and me and all of them, 

He offers quite enough grace to see this through. 💛

Counting Losses

Destroyed. 

A year ago our community [re]built this playground from the dirtwork up. What required hundreds of hours, hundreds of thousands of dollars, and a shared commitment to work hard and see it through . . . is totally gone. Utterly destroyed. 

I blink at the image and triple check the time stamp. Harsh reality punches my gut while my head insists it can't be real. What now? Who can be held responsible? How can we get our time and money back?

We can't.

My stomach aches at the waste.

My heart hurts at the loss.

Amid the shock and pain, there is a broader truth on display here, and I feel compelled to point it out. Everything we work toward is temporary. Our employment eventually ends, our bodies ultimately die, our possessions will be destroyed or distributed, and every single relationship will be severed in the end. Think about it. It all seems quite hopeless and futile. Unless. Unless we live within the belief that none of it is ours anyway. Unless we die first and THEN live in Christ. Unless we lose the whole world to gain what we can never lose.

Listen to why I have hope and why life is FILLED with meaningful endeavors. Because of Christ. Without Him, I would be trapped in dutiful misery, striving to obtain my own peace, straining to do and make everything right. The insanity of that lifestyle almost did me in. But at the base of the pit I had dug, I found Jesus who had found me first. He offered forgiveness and freedom and a new way of living. And, with nowhere left to turn, and nothing right about me except a broken, needy heart, I accepted His mercy and received His grace.

It's like I've flipped to the last chapter, realized He wins in the end, and then let that quiet confidence filter through each day and the challenges that accompany. 

If there is any good in me, it is Jesus. If there are inconsistencies or glaring shortfalls, His love is covering all that too. I have limited time, but thanks to Jesus, I have rich resources readily available, and I want to make a difference . . . to work and give and help and speak the truth in love. As I live I want you to know I live in and through Christ. When I die, rest assured that I have found my home.

"For the thief comes to kill and destroy, but I have come that you may have life, and have it abundantly." John 10:10

Sufficiency

Grace enough.

There has always been plenty. 

For all my insecurities, my judgemental tendencies, and frequent cold shoulders - there has been abundant grace.

For all her bold moves, her radical choices, and perpetual hot water - there has been marvelous grace.

For our crossed paths winding to and fro, for the tangled web of circumstance and consequence unraveling in a heap, and brave leaps of faith weaving tight and true - so much unmerited grace.

More than enough to see it through. 

To see us through.

To share our story and the hope we know that there is grace enough.

For me and you.

And She Prayed

A face and a name keep "randomly" tip-toeing through her thoughts. 

She prays for protection.

A text arrives with a frightful and unfavorable lab test report. 

She prays for healing.

A lady on the aisle filled with cans of beans and tomatoes shares how difficult this week has been.

She prays for strength. 

A mostly grown child calls with anxiety and frustration pulsating in every word.

She prays for peace.

A brother accepts a weighty responsibility and he's ready except he's nervous.

She prays for courage.

A friend seems discouraged as accounts run hollow and ends refuse to meet.

She prays for provision.

The manager seems misguided, the minister mistaken, the momma fairly miserable. 

She prays for redemption.

I wish I was the "she" in every case. I am grateful to my core for every "she" who prays for me and mine, and I am working hard [read: running hard and resting hard] to be in better shape about this. To rise and step in and kneel and approach and petition and battle and believe for others. Oh, for grace.

And she prayed.

Simply Sharing

What an unexpected treat these journal memories are for me tonight! ❣

Annotations: 

1. That sixth baby was born June EIGHTH before the sibling shirts were even made. 🤯

2. Thirteen years later and Philip is working storms tonight. Bless. 💙

3. What a gift it was to have my brother live with us for his college years. 😎

4. I have made daily mistakes raising these humans . . . I'm still not sure how I feel about this particular day's tactics toward my beloved second-born. Mercy. 🙏

5. We were so rich. Not an extra twenty to spend ... but oh, so rich.💕 

6. I loved me some word-weaving even way back when.😊

FOR TODAY: Monday, April 13, 2009 

Outside my window: surprisingly cool night air stirs the sounds as neighborhood dogs bark, and trucks haul freight up and down the highway. 

I am thinking: about Philip. He has been working the tornado damage in Mena, Ark, since Saturday. He called tonight and said "It's bad." He sounded so tired. I feel badly for him. He is in a motel, and they were able to watch "Baseball Tonight" on ESPN --which is an ironic treat. I asked him if he is eating well. He said, "You bet!" I must admit, we are not. Without Philip here for me to thrill and amaze with my culinary efforts, we consume little more than oatmeal and PB&J. Pitiful, really. I heard JW talk to Philip on the phone tonight. "I really miss you, Phil..." was obviously code for "Please come home quickly, mealtime ain't pretty!" 

I am thankful for: a good report at the doctor this morning. My belly grew a cm, and I lost a pound and a half. Yipee!!! That's the way we like it! He scheduled a c-section for Friday morning, June 19th and said everything looks great. 

From the learning rooms: we streamlined the last week of lessons, due to Philip's trip. I felt like it would be a good idea to keep everyone distracted from their sadness with furniture rearrangement, fresh colors, and paint fumes! (It is apparent that JW resents my efforts toward group-wide distraction.) 

From the kitchen: instant oatmeal wrappers lie on counters smudged with PB&J. I'm kidding. I made quesadillas for supper and cleaned up my mess. Everyone is very excited about the Pepperoni Pizza Paninnis scheduled for tomorrow's token meal. 

I am wearing: black knit paint pants and red D-Now 2000 paint shirt. I love putting this outfit on because it has splotches of paint from past projects: Apple Green from the kitchen, Chocolate Brown and Rain Blue from the bathroom, lots of Alabaster White from lots of trim, and just a few thumb prints of Basket Beige. 

I am creating: a really big mess, actually. Philip always teases me about my "artistic" approach to cooking and craft. When he says I'm "expressing myself", he really means, "You've made a big fat mess." The Lord may have spared Philip a great amount of stress by sending him to Arkansas. He would not enjoy my 3-week decorating blitz. 

I am going: to stick to my guns with Lukey this week. Today he sassed me and didn't follow my instructions, so I "gave him a plot of earth" - as JW coins the phrase. I told him that since he was obviously choosing his own way instead of the Johnson way, he would be in charge of his own plot of earth (a wooden chair in the middle of the backyard) At first, he was great with it, because it meant the other kids and I had to finish emptying out his room without him. But after a couple hours, he began to ask to come in. I told him he could manage his plot until dark, and then - only if he wanted to - he could come in and choose to be a Johnson. It was a long afternoon and evening for everyone. We emptied and cleaned the room, had dinner and painted. He sat. I watched him out the window each time I passed the patio door. Sometimes he appeared tormented and depressed. Sometimes he looked beautifully peaceful, like he was communing with God. As I cleaned up our dinner, I took him a napkin full of crackers and a cup of water. "I missed you at dinner," I sweetly shared. "Can I have dinner when I come in?" he asked. I calmly glanced down at the crackers. "THIS is DINNER???" he whined. "When you're ready to choose our home as your dwelling, you will be welcome to share our meals. But today, you have already made your choice." When he came in, he was calm and kind and helpful. Everyone noticed. He confessed to JW that he had "been a punk", but had spent several hours "thinking about stuff". I'm sure that tomorrow will hold new struggles, but based on his redeemed demeanor (and slight sunburn) I trust he'll make his decisions wisely. 

I am reading: The Horse and His Boy by CS Lewis with the kids (in theory) I'll try to catch up tomorrow. 

I am hoping: Philip is safe and well rested. 

I am hearing: the wonderful lull of solitude. A random praise song skirts through my thoughts every now and again....a memory from the children's laughter today floats through...then a stray phrase from an 80's hit tramples across my mind, but ultimately I'm enjoying the rhythmic click of my keyboard and the sustained hum of my tower fan. 

Around the house: everyone is asleep. Everything in the living area is tidy. The left side of my bed is destined to be empty this week. sniff, sigh. 

One of my favorite things: is whoppers malted candy. JW found some Easter eggs in the clearance bin at the store. Five or twelve of them dudes after a long day of painting...fabuloso! 

A few plans for the rest of the week: more paint, more rearrangement, more laughs, more obedience, more oatmeal, more reading. Oh, and baseball and AWANA and did I say more paint? 

Dear God, I trust You to keep Your promises toward Philip. You are good all the time! Thank You for blessing my life. I wait on You while he's away. Amen.

Worth of Art

This is in the entry way of my best friend's home. It makes me want to cry.😭

First, out of sheer embarrassment. Twenty-something years ago, she earned her masters degree in forestry and I had no money for a gift. This is a $1 plate holder, a $1 glass plate, a $1 sample of fabric, and some Mod Podge left over from a church craft retreat. Oh, and gold paint to "gild" the edges. From the same retreat. 🙄

It is one thing for her to graciously receive this during a celebration where surely hundreds if not thousands of dollars were offered. 😬

But she kept it. 😊

She continues to give it a place of honor. And that level of unmerited favor just makes me wanna bawl. 😔

Last time I was at her house, I snapped a picture because (#1. It made me roll my eyes and giggle) but also, I wanted to remind myself of this beauty. 📷

Not the plate [not at all oh my gracious!] But the placement. Not the love I was trying to communicate, but the love she CONTINUES to pour out by treating my dollar store craft as if it were a valuable work of art worthy of sharing with as many people as possible. 🏆

There's something divine here . . . 💛

In Season and Out

This sweet snap from 2018 is one of my all-time favorite photos.

During Asa's first year to play t-ball, he spent a lot of time watching. He made some great plays, learned a lot, and made a ton of friends. 

But he was [a] little [baby] with focus challenges and some health issues while the setting sun would blaze a sensory overload of bright heat. So most of the time he just watched.

This image speaks grace to me . . .

calm, comforting charis.

Sometimes you just have to sit one out.

An inning, a game, a season.

Sometimes your part is to watch and wait.

You may be geared up and ready.

You may have worked hard to get here.

This may be the thing you feel like you want the most.

But for whatever reason, the sidelines is your position for now.

You are not alone.

You are tenderly held, and your father knows best. 

Is this purposeful punishment or prevention and protection? Who can know for sure? 

Because from this vantage all I see is love.

Out of Nowhere

This image contains words I received in a text message yesterday morning. 

Seemingly out of nowhere. 

Sitting in my car, I read each phrase and just quietly wept as courage and hope made their way through my stiff and stoic heart.

For the rest of the day my eyes were miraculously opened to all that God was doing. It was still a challenging day with bumps and bruises, but it was filled with peace and purpose and generosity. Her prayers were heard and I felt seen. Powerful stuff.

She didn't have to pray.

She didn't have to tell me she did.

I didn't have to share this.

You didn't have to read it.

We can mind our own business and leave well enough alone.

But, WHY, for the love of God and His goodness, would we settle for that?

Ask God who might need a prayer and a text today.

He answers. He is the answer.

On the Way

There is a divine margin of clarity that moves with us as we advance into the unknown. 

In God's presence, beauty emerges from the mysterious shadows as we journey at His pace and in His peace. 

When the road ahead is uncertain, the only way to see more clearly is to keep going.

Little by little you will see more. Clearly.

Compare and Contrast

There are so many people who drink health shakes. I know this because they post about it constantly. They post photos, statistics and earnest proclamations of success and happiness.

Some "friends" have even sent invitations to shake parties, and announcements of shake specials.

Gut honest: (pun intended) I find this mildly annoying. They don't know what's going on in my life. I'm just a name on their contact list. Since they have no idea about my struggles, their enthusiasm is suspect and their invitation seems offensive. I receive it as this: "Hey! You're obviously overweight! You should try meal replacements and see if you can improve yourself."

To the contrary, I have a friend who is a registered dietician. She is the picture of good health. She drinks quarts of water, eats whole foods and enjoys lots of outdoor activities. We've been friends for years. Our kids have played together, we've celebrated birthdays, shared weekends, and chatted through many of life's mysteries. I'll admit (and she knows this) that when I started hanging out with her, I thought some of her habits and beliefs were strange. But she is happy and helpful, and I am drawn to her company and conversation.

She is humble and steadfast. I have never once felt ashamed or condemned by my lack of nutritional education or discipline. She spurs me on toward making good choices, sets a great example, admits she's not perfect, and patiently journeys with me as a friend. It is good for me to be around her. I learn. I grow. I'm equipped and inspired to make good choices. When I have a question about nutrition, she is my go-to girl. She knows me and offers sound advice ... like plant a garden and drink more water:)

NOW...

What If ....

What if we exchanged the food with faith, I wonder if this contrast resembles what some people might think of "Christians".

Perhaps they would say ....

There are so many people who read the Bible and go to church. I know this because they post about it constantly. They post photos, statistics and earnest proclamations of success and happiness.

Some "friends" even send scripture passages and invitations to special church activities.

Honestly, I find this mildly annoying. They don't know what's going on in my life. I'm just a name on their contact list. Since they have no idea about my struggles, their enthusiasm is suspect and their invitation seems offensive. I receive it as this: "Hey! You're obviously not living right! You should try coming to church and see if you can improve yourself."

To the contrary, I have a friend who is a believer in Christ. He is the picture of goodness & health. He prays, reads his Bible, works hard, loves his family and worships with his church. We've been friends for years. Our kids have played together, we've celebrated birthdays, shared weekends, and chatted through many of life's mysteries. I'll admit (and he knows this) that when I started hanging out with him, I thought some of his habits and beliefs were strange. But he is happy and helpful, and I am drawn to his company and conversation.

He is humble and steadfast. I have never once felt ashamed or condemned by my lack of spiritual education or discipline. He spurs me on toward following in the way of Jesus, sets a great example, admits he's not perfect, and patiently journeys with me as a friend. It is good for me to be around him. I learn. I grow. I'm equipped and inspired to make good choices. When I have a question about faith, he is my go-to guy. He knows me and offers sound advice ... like read your Bible and pray:)

"Now that you have purified yourselves by obeying the truth so that you have sincere love for each other, love one another deeply, from the heart. In the same way, let your light shine before others, that they may see your good deeds and glorify your Father in heaven. News about Jesus spread all over . . . and people brought to Him all who were suffering and He healed them." 

1 Peter 1:22

Matthew 5:16

Matthew 4:24

Hat Trick

When I was a homeschooling mom heavily involved in volunteer work and raising babies, it was a challenge to keep everything going. Philip would come home after being gone for 9 or 10 hrs and things looked a whole lot like they did when he left.

My responsibilities were streamlined toward my husband and myself. If we had a super engaging day of learning but I didn't get around to the laundry, inevitably the laundry is what Philip verbally noticed when he came home. Or if I cooked ahead for the week all day long and let the kids play outside and/or help with the laundry, he would innocently ask to see the kids' schoolwork. 

I wore so many hats there was just no way to know.

Eventually, I learned to greet him at the door with a bit of an attendance report. "Hi! The maid worked all morning, the tutor was here all day, the children's choir director popped in during nap time, but the cook never showed up, so we're having frozen pizza." 

That lifestyle was HARD, and I LOVED it. I managed and educated and organized and enjoyed and provided and abided. Some of my favorite verbs.

Now that I work outside our home, and still volunteer while outsourcing most of the formal education, it is hard to keep everything going. I come home after being gone 10 or 11 hours and everything looks about like it did when I left.

I have responsibilities popping in from every direction. Am I on time? Are my kids on time? Do I have good ideas? Do I have my lunch? Do the kids have their homework? Is.it.signed.for.the.love. What about meals? And hygiene? And emotions? Everybody's flipping emotions. Oh, and the dog bless him.

This lifestyle is hard, and there are parts of it that I REALLY love. But I am not great at all the things all the time, and that feels yucky.

So this is me greeting you at the door of my life saying, "Hi. The laundry girl is killing it. The Alumni lady is basically on her game. Meal prep momma is adorable. The girl who walks & drinks water & reads her Bible is showing UP,  y'all. But the housecleaner and homework facilitator are friggin AWOL."

Also, you know what sounds good right now? To pile up all these hats and ask God for grace and a good night's sleep.