Monthly Archives

June 2017

Good things and Light bringers…on Repeat.

Too much of a good thing is simply wonderful.

That quote is stitched on a decoration at my husband’s aunt and uncles home. I make sure to read it every Sunday when we are there for lunch. It’s become a mantra of mine.

In a house full of teenagers, I’m running out of time to be their faithful taxi. This fact makes me sad. One recent morning, I was thrilled to get the chance to drive the two youngest to their activity. I jumped in the driver’s seat, ready to have a deep, meaningful chat – only to be surprised with sleepy, gloomy passengers. Especially the one in the front seat who looks like me. The boy in the back seat was in full support of shutting down my happy as well. Which led me to ramp up the cheese-factor, attempting to crack into the crabby moods.

I realized the only thing left to do was to play Rock Out –Freeze Out, or the Texas summer version Rock Out-Sweat Out. Naturally, I choose the song “Cake”, cranked up and played on repeat, to sweeten the sour boys up a little. I have a tender spot for that song, it’s like Flo Rida sings the lyrics with my sweet tooth in mind, “I didn’t come here to party, I only came for the cake.” Dance moves followed. After a few eye rolls, the smiles emerged behind the looks of annoyance. When we arrived at their destination, my blonde boy gently said, “You take good songs that we like and ruin them.”

Anyone who has ridden in a car with me long enough, would agree. My current, favorite song is usually blasted on repeat. Over and over the lyrics flow into my ears. A few years ago, some of us girlfriends took a trip to Cape Cod. I can’t hear Blurred Lines without smiling and thinking of that trip, or my friend Vanessa yelling, “IF I HEAR THAT SONG ONE MORE TIME, I’M GOING TO JUMP OUT OF THIS CAR.” She still gets a little cranky when hearing it. I just like to soak up the goodness with my ear biscuit. Every last drop.

I’ve heard that good things come in small doses, but why? If I could gather up my favorite people and move them into our neighborhood, I would be happier than a bird with a French fry. I’d expand our HOA deed restrictions to include a Joe T Garcia’s, Casey’s favorite sushi restaurant, Pizza Hut with only thin crust pizza, Anthropologie, an animal sanctuary, trampoline park, and a lazy river. Every house would have a dock to the lazy river and in the evening, we would just float around from friend to friend. I’d have a rockin’ community club house and send an invite to Bo and Luke Duke anytime we had a party. (Circa 80’s version)

Too much of a good thing is simply wonderful. Because we know how life works right? Not to get all doomsday on you, but we can’t really expect for things to always be perfect. So, in the peaks and valleys of our journey, why wouldn’t we want to savor the good while it’s here?

We have enough hardship in our lives, even the happiest and luckiest of folks. Sometimes the bottom just falls out and no one is exempt. On those days, I’m drawn to people who lighten the dark enough that it’s livable. And sometimes those who lighten the dark enough that it can even sometimes be laughable. God has been gracious in placing people in our lives who act out His love in tangible ways. Make a habit to look for His light bringers.

Shine the light on others too. Help lighten their load, love on them through the hard days. Remind them that sunshine is right around the corner. If they have truly experienced something so tragic that you can’t comprehend, don’t search for empty words…just be with them and love their hurting hearts.

Find the light, and bathe in it often. Especially if it’s in your fantasy neighborhood’s lazy river.

June 28, 2017 by texturedsoul

Courage, Family, Fear, Lessons

Heights, Fear, and Altitude Tourettes

Heights terrify me.

Just the vision of someone standing on the balcony of a high rise will make my knees go numb.

One of our family’s favorite vacations to take is our annual ski trip. I am a skier that adores the gentleness of a green, can endure the challenge of a blue, but typically aim to stay away from double black diamonds. Like always.

When we had just barely been a blended family for a few months, we headed to the mountains together with some friends. After a few days of teaching two of our boys to ski and reminding the third, we were feeling good about ourselves. “Look at us, what an athletic family.” Pride always before the fall.

(The photo my friend texted to me on our drive to the ski resort, she was in the car behind us as we were exiting the Eisenhower Tunnel. She knows me well.)

My husband who is a natural at everything, had made several runs from the extreme tip of the mountain on his own. He kept commenting on how beautiful it was up there, and suggested our entire group of eleven head up the lift, to the highest point of the mountain range. Never mind the fact we had five kids with us who had only been skiing for two days. In their life. When I mentioned this, it was answered with, “There is a green all the way down, it doubles as the road in the summer months.”

Upward our optimistic gang went. Not fully understanding that there were zero signs pointing out the easiest way down from this height. People who ski in the clouds don’t look for the path of least resistance.

It started on the ski lift headed up the mountain, I could feel the wave of fear headed for me. I shared this with my husband, however, I don’t think he fully understood the monster that was about to take over his wife’s body. A common newlywed mistake. Upon exiting the ski lift, I’m fairly certain we could see Mexico from that height. Terror took over my entire body, common sense completely left my brain, and everything I had ever learned about anything went fuzzy. I knew with certainty that one of us was going to fall off this mountain, it was up to me to keep that from happening. Panicked, I started shouting instructions, “Amy, you help the older kids! Mason, watch out for your brothers! Kyle, take care of the Littles! Chad, do NOT leave my side! No one fall off the mountain!” I’ve been accused of sometimes being a little spicy, but there was zero sass in my instructions. It was pure survival mode.

Back home, when the kids were in kindergarten, there is a rule for walking down the hallway in a line. The cuties are to keep their hands behind their back, holding their “leopard tail”. That’s what my friend Amy says we looked like skiing down the “green”, dodging the moguls and double blacks. A kindergarten class getting off the ski lift with their psychotic teacher screaming, “Do not fall off the mountain!” Every time Amy looked back to check on me with her saucer-sized, blue eyes, she was expressing genuine concern for my fear. Only behind that, I could see the laughter that was building, waiting to happen once I was in a place to join her.

My husband is an extremely patient man, but somewhere on our slow descent, the well of patience went temporarily dry. Poor fella, he kept wondering where his cool wife went and I was like, “Look dude, she’s gone, but Crazy-Eyed McPhearson is here to make sure no one plummets to the ground, got it? Now, hold my leopard tail and SLOW DOWN. Everyone put your skis in a pizza wedge!”

He claims it took us three hours to get the mountain, which is a total exaggeration. It took us two and a half. When we got to the point that the trees were blocking the view of Texas, my knees thawed and I skied normally. My fear was gone because the view was different. Sometimes we need to change our scenery to dilute our fear.

When we shift our surroundings a bit we can then realize that fear is such a liar.

Or as the Hubs would say, “Get out of your own way and POINT YOUR SKIES DOWNHILL!”

By the time we got to the bottom, our group had mostly separated, Hubs and I were mad at each other, Amy and I were crying with uncontrollable laughter, and we all suffered from PTSD. I faced the fear and skied through it. Frozen. Slow. But still moving.

Our group that almost didn’t make it in 2015

Our trips to the mountains have since been gloriously perfect, even with the sore muscles. The boys race each other down, with their Sherpa app on. I ski behind them, aiming to keep them in sight. I push past my fear of heights and speed simply because I want to be with them. I want to have fun experiences with them. Most of the time this means I must ski faster than I wish but, it is worth it. These memories are some of my favorites.

One of the greatest inventions is the ski mask. Not to just keep heat in, but to keep others from hearing the language coming out of my mouth as I “self talk” my way down the slope. Without the ski mask on, my fellow skiers would suspect that I had Tourettes syndrome. And they would be right. Altitude touretts. It’s a real thing for me. Only oxygen at the base of the mountain will cure it. As my friend Bambi says, “Sometimes cussing is effective”. I have to agree. I ski better when I can safely express my fear and frustrations in a self-environment.

Those little darlings of mine are always waiting for me at the bottom, a sight that always makes me smile beneath my ski mask. They never need to know what has been said underneath it, they only need to know their Momma will do whatever it takes to spend time with them.

Even through moments of panic, altitude tourettes, exhaustion, and sore muscles.

2016

2017

June 12, 2017 by texturedsoul

Lessons

Careless words and Pot holes

I was in a situation almost 2 decades ago with my careless words that STILL grieves me today. I can barely stand to share it. I was visiting with a mom who had a mentally challenged child. In that conversation, I was telling a story and called myself a “ratard”. Twice. I didn’t even catch it until a friend later pointed it out. Shame flooded me. I immediately called the mom to apologize, and she was extremely merciful. However, I knew I had thrown a sadness on her that only grace could remove. I know this because years later, I’ve sat on the other side of that conversation – only with a different word spoken with such gusto.

Sometimes careless words can be a glimpse into the heart of a person. Most of the time it’s just a lack of knowledge, understanding or simply ignorance. In Mandarin, the word “careless” is translated into “crude heart”, but I think it mostly falls into the “self absorption” or “lack of awareness” category.

“The mouth speaks what the heart is full of.” (Matt 12:34) What a scary thought. I’m only one sentence away from showing someone the contents of my heart. That makes me want to call Merry Maids to inquire about their inward, soul-cleaning services.

Intentional words are used to communicate our perspective, point, and voice. We think through them, sometimes pray over them, and choose them more carefully.

Careless words are so dang slippery. They fall out of our mouths without our brain giving it the thumbs-up sign. The swinging door to our heart allows others to see what home those words came out of. Sometimes that home is filthy; filled with bitterness, jealousy, sadness, pain, misunderstandings, un-forgiveness, lack of empathy or understanding, or again, simply ignorance. Ick. The list goes on.

I believe my Creator gave me the gift of written word, because he knew my mouth would be stuffed with my foot on most days. I know how quick our mouths are to run – carelessly and intentionally. I’ve had to reap the downfall of that syndrome many a time. Mercy. My hope and intention, is to not hurt anyone with my words – in person or in this written space.

A friend recently encouraged me to not become bitter upon hearing careless words. I was sharing with her my hurt feelings towards something that was said in my presence. Her reaction was not exactly the soft spot I had expected, but exactly what I needed to hear. There might have been some wine involved in our conversation, so I can’t quote exactly, but here is what I came home with… “Don’t let your sensitivity about this allow you to become bitter.”

Oh, hello God. Thank you for being here with us on this therapy porch. Thank you for turning water into wine. Thank you for blessing me with friends who speak the truth, even when I just want to pout it out.

Bitterness is nothing new, it didn’t show up with global warming. I Samuel speaks about Hannah “in the bitterness of soul…” weeping and praying. She took her weak spot, her insecurities, her sadness, her touchy spot to God in prayer.

We all have delicate places. Although bitterness doesn’t have to grow in them. We have a choice. Let’s not let our sensitivity create pot holes in our hearts where bitterness can pool in. Bitterness is like an acid, it will literally rot our insides. We can’t allow our touchy, soft spot define us. Let’s not allow it to overshadow our blessings, or stunt our growth friends.

Bitterness and love can’t live together in the same heart. Choose well beloved.

June 1, 2017 by texturedsoul