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.