Monthly Archives

August 2017

Courage, Love

The Heartbreak of Harvey

As the waters continued to rise in Texas, so did its people.

It’s crazy that our hearts can be broken and warmed at the same time. Watching the news coverage of Hurricane Harvey…heartbreaking.  The devastating floods and the wreckage of our coastline is unbelievable and heart wrenching.

Witnessing our neighbors load up life sustaining supplies to take down south to strangers is encouraging. Watching friends gather together, collecting flat bottomed boats to join in the rescue efforts is heartening.  Seeing all the love and support being sent to Texas from the other 49 states…Heartwarming.

Yet, our hearts still ache.  Loved ones passed or missing, homes ruined from the flood, the elderly experiencing confusion and illness from being misplaced, children who are sad and scared, pets lost or left behind.  There is a long road ahead.  For most, life will find a new normal after the waters recede.  Material things can be replaced, yes…but that fact doesn’t make it easier to swallow.  Our things hold memories and meaning.

And while all that is happening there, I can’t help but feel shallow continuing to plan a tailgating party for our season opener here at home.  Life is a constant dose of bittersweet.  We have now become sensitized to the suffering. Once that happens, we can’t look away anymore.  Help is in every thought you have.  As Mr. Rogers reminds us, when things get scary, look for the helpers.

“And Texans, I beg you to remember this day every time you gaze upon your neighbor. If you would go to any lengths to save them today, then let’s go to every length to love them for endless tomorrows. ”  If you haven’t read this beautifully written blog post, click here  -> The Good Thing Harvey Washed Away

How can you respond to Hurricane Harvey in sustainable ways:

1. Red Cross – Call 1-800-red cross or text the word HARVEY to 90999 to make a $10 donation.

2. Salvation Army is accepting donations online or you can call 1-800-SAL-ARMY. Mention your donation is for Harvey victims and 100% goes to them. http://www.salvationarmyusa.org

3. First United Methodist Church of Waco are collecting materials and assembling 250 flood buckets for use in the aftermath of Harvey. The buckets will be deployed through UMCOR during the clean-up phase of recovery.  Cleaning bucket list of materials can be found at www.fumcwaco.org

4. Lorena ISD campuses will be collecting the following items to support the Hurricane Harvey relief efforts: Paper Towels, Paper Plates, Disposable Cups, Diapers, Baby Wipes, Trash Bags, School Supplies (Folders, Notebooks, spirals, crayons, pens, pencils) If you are interested in donating, please send items to the main office of any of our four campuses or bring to the football game this Friday, September 1st.  Students will be collecting items at the entry gates.

5. YouCaring is compassionate crowdfunding.https://www.youcaring.com/victimsofhurricaneharvey-915053

6. Join Jen Hatmaker and Legacy Collective and make a donation that will be used 100% for hurricane relief or join their giving community to make a lasting impact. legacycollective.org/harvey

7. Glennon Doyle Melton and Together Rising will match your donation up to the first $100,000. Every penny goes to Harvey victims, just text TR4TEXAS to 41444 to receive a prompt for your tax deductible donation. ⠀

8. SPCA of Texas and Austin Pets Alive www.austinpetsalive.org/hurricane-harvey-evacuations are asking for donations of cat litter, litter boxes, towels, blankets, treats, toys and newspaper. You can also make a donation at www.spca.org/give

9. AirBnB is allowing people to volunteer their rental home or room for those in need of shelter.
www.airbnb.com

10. Carter Blood Care will send donations to its partners, helping victims affected by Hurricane Harvey.

 

Please let us not allow the fact that we cannot fix everything keep us from fixing something. Give a little with great love. That’s how we heal the world.”  Glennon Doyle Melton

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August 30, 2017 by
Courage, Family, Gifts, Lessons

The Gift Closet

Everyone is gifted.  But most people never open their package.

With three sets of grandparents, I hit the lottery with all of them.  One couple were sweetly named Tootie and Pippi, a gift from our oldest cousin.  We learned not to get tongue tied while calling for them, their names weren’t near as endearing when spoken wrong.

I spent only a few Christmas and family gatherings with my biological dad’s family, for several reasons that are neither here or there.  When I was twelve, he died suddenly from a massive heart attack, taking any and all of our future time along with him.  My poor grandparents were devastated, and grieved until they joined him.  After his funeral, we all converged back to the family home in Claude, Texas.  Because love requires we gather.  When we arrived at the pink brick house, my cousins were persistent in requesting that our grandmother show me “my closet”.

My cousin Monica and I, Christmas 1978

My precious grandmother and cousins lead me to the hall closet.  Inside, on the side wall, were stacks of wrapped presents with my name written on them.  Presents for every birthday and Christmas I didn’t join the family.  The feeling of being remembered still overwhelms me.  While the rest of the family consoled each other, I sat in the living room floor and opened presents.

Socks and underwear for every year of growth, nightgowns with past-favorite cartoon characters on them, stacks of bracelets in every color, stuffed animals, strawberry shortcake dolls, care bears, a cabbage patch doll, and various other gifts.  Presents that I never knew existed.  Presents that would have remained unopened had I not shown up.

The Pritchett side of the family is a large one, filled with lots of cousins, aunts, and uncles.  I never figured that I was missed at the family gatherings, as the house was always maxed out with people. Truthfully, most of those years, I was too young to even realize I was missing out.  My life was full of beloved family members from the other sides as well.  Yet, my grandparents felt the void, and prepared my gifts alongside the other cousins, in hopes that I would be there. Year after year.

I never thought about how my grandmother must have felt after Christmas until now.  I wonder if she waited until the decorations were being put up to add my presents to the others in the closet.  I wonder if our Creator feels the same way about the growing stack of unopened gifts we haven’t tapped into.


I can’t help but imagine that God has a closet of goodness for us, just waiting for us to show up for.  Answered prayers and gifts that require time spent in His presence to open and develop.  Gifts tied with gorgeous bows, waiting for our arms and hearts.  How many unopened and untapped gifts are waiting with your name on it?

Perhaps we purposely or unconsciously avoid the gift closet, due to fear of the responsibility of a gift.  How many times have we been given grace that we continually refuse to accept or believe deep down that we haven’t earned yet?  How frustrating for the Gift Giver.  How sad for the Gift Giver to open the closet, and add yet another, unopened box to the stack.

As a parent myself, I delight in watching my boys open gifts chosen just for them.  Some they have asked for, and some are specifically chosen.  Nothing random. I can only imagine the divine joy our Creator has when sitting back, watching us open and then use our perfectly chosen gifts.

My friend Casey is blessed with long, slender legs. She jokes that when torsos were being handed out, she missed the class, along with future make-up days for all torsos.  I think torsos are overrated when you can have legs.  We don’t choose the vessel we’ve been given, but we choose what we pour out and what we keep inside.  We can replenish and sharpen our talents and gifts on each visit to the gift closet.  We can show up and sit in the presence of the Gift Giver, hands out and hearts open.

Get ready to receive my friend.  There are piles of goodness with your name written on the tag.

 

 

August 24, 2017 by
Authenticity, Courage, Courage, Family, Grace, Lessons, Parenting

Hearing…with our own ears

God always meant for you to hear Him with your personality.

It took me a long time to grasp that thought. I used to think that in order to be spiritually mature, I needed to be more serious.  To be pleasing to my Creator, I was going to have to push down this ridiculous sense of humor, straighten my act up, and have the funny-bone of sarcasm surgically removed from my head.

When I became a mom at the age of 21, no one was more shocked than myself. I was making pennies as a legal assistant in Dallas.  On a lunch break, I went to the doctor to see about the stabbing pain in my low abdomen.  After listening to all my symptoms for about thirty minutes, we went in for an exam.  Then came the ultrasound.  The doctor pointed to a black dot on the screen and said, “Do you see this spot?”  I raised up on my elbows, squinted and gasp, “Is it a tumor?!” He unsuccessfully hid a smile and replied, “No, it’s a baby.”  (Turns out it’s painful for your uterus to stretch…who knew?)

I don’t remember driving home. I just ended up there, completely forgetting about the last half of my work day.  I grabbed a white dress, and we planned a wedding.   A few months later in my pregnancy, I went to change my last name at the doctor’s office. The nurse smiled and said, “Most first pregnancies only take about six months instead of the normal nine.”  Please. I see what you did there, and I’m pretty sure we didn’t fool anyone.

As shocked as I was to arrive early into Motherhood, I adored it.  I jumped in with both feet.  I read the books, followed the rules, and even ironed that baby boy’s onesies, no lie.  I adored my new roles.  When I wasn’t ironing baby clothes, I tried to find my footing on exactly who I was and where I needed to be.  I didn’t fully know, as I went from teenager to a mom in one hot second. This precious baby needed a godly mother that was stoic and treated life serious.  And I was the gal who loved God and found humor in most everything.

The turtleneck phase….through many seasons.

The summer after he was born, I displayed modesty by owning every color of sleeveless, mock-turtleneck shirts.  Seriously.  There is only ONE picture in that time frame that I am not wearing a turtleneck.  How I didn’t get tackled and thrown on a make over show is beyond me.  I’m still disappointed in my friends. Friends don’t let friends wear turtlenecks in the heat of a Texas summer.  The winter came and brought sleeves to my turtlenecks.  I was trying to hide my body, because a big chest didn’t seem like it would be godly.  Right? Even though I had zero input on how my body was naturally shaped.

Mason, with a look of shock….wondering why my neck is showing.

I started attending church again. When a bible study was offered, I signed up.  At one point, I was in three different bible studies at the same time. I was ironing and studying so much that I didn’t leave time to apply.  There wasn’t fruit being produced because I wasn’t watering the tree that I was, instead I was planting faux trees with leaves of wax.  I believed this baby boy deserved for his Momma to be a better tree.

Straight and narrow.  Because I snuck into this role the backway. I didn’t follow the correct steps, so by gosh, I wasn’t going to mess up now that I’m here.  At my core, I believed that I wasn’t enough.  I believed that I needed to push down everything that I was, in order to be what others expected.  Push myself down and perform.

As you can imagine, this only works for so long before the cracks start to show. At one point in Mason’s elementary years, he went through a sassy stage with a really bad attitude.  I was exasperated with this spicy child.  A friend pulled down a message from heaven and gently told me that perhaps I was chosen to be Mason’s mom because I could handle it.  Not the representative that I was performing as, but me.  My authentic self was given the specific skills and tools to navigate and nurture this child. I was only fooling myself, my first born had caught on to me.

There are few things more painful than living a life that is not in alignment with who you are.

What I have found throughout the 17.9 years of raising that baby and his brothers is that our Creator never meant for me to hear him outside of who I am.  He uses our own language to speak to us.  And thankfully, God is into simplicity.  I think it must grieve Him to watch us contort into something different than He constructed.  We were made in an image to fulfill a specific destiny on this earth.  Be you, because you are more than enough my friend.

When the boys were little, we had a birthday tradition of me tucking them in bed and telling them the story of the day they were born.  They loved hearing it, year after year.  McCray liked hearing how alert he was, his big blue eyes wide open, scanning my face.  They liked being reminded of who they are, where it all began.  The song lyrics to “Remind me who I am”, makes me feel like I’ve climbed into the lap of the One who designed me, listening to the story of the day I was pieced together.  Asking Him to tell it, again and again.

“When I lose my way, and I forget my name, Remind me who I am.

In the mirror all I see, is who I don’t wanna be, Remind me who I am.

In the loneliest places, when I can’t remember what grace is.

Tell me, once again, who I am to you, who I am to you.

Tell me, lest I forget, who I am to you, that I belong to you.”

Ah grace.  Grace covers like a salve when we realize we need to course correct and get back to the original.

You are enough.  You were created with a specific purpose.  You were knit together with the most brilliant and beautiful colors. The formula mixed and poured into you was measured with careful precision. You’ve been planted, and watered with love and light.  Who you are is so, so lovable.  Sister, cut off the turtleneck, throw off the chains that are keeping you from being the authentic version.  You are an original, a custom-made one and only.

Climb up in that lap to be reminded how your ears were perfectly and wonderfully made to hear Him, exactly where you are.

 

*The whole thought of this blog post came from Christa Black Gifford, at some point while reading her amazing book, “Heart made Whole”.  I cannot take credit for getting there without her words of encouragement.

 

 

 

August 17, 2017 by
Character, OCD, perfection

Character over Perfection

Character over perfection.  This has been my summer mantra.   For good reason.

I would like to return my form of OCD in exchange for a more useful prescription of it.

Some of my favorite memories were spent laid out on a blanket in my grandparents living room floor.  Them, relaxing in their recliners.  Nannymom, my great-grandmother, curled up on her corner of the couch.  My reserved spot was sprawled out in front of the TV, with my favorite stuffed animals.  The Cabbage Patch dolls were big fans of Dallas and Dynasty like the rest of us.  I completely missed who shot JR, due to obsessively smoothing out the wrinkles in my blanket.  My jester grandfather delighted in my irritation by stepping on my blanket, creating a wrinkle, just as I had gotten it perfect.  The next 7 minutes were spent straightening it back out, pretending my hand was an iron, over and over, until it was creaseless again.

In recent years, I mentioned this while sharing a story with a therapist friend.  Her reply was, “Really? We should process that sometime.”  Huh?  Did you hear my story?  What could there possibly be to process in this scenario?  Who wants to sit on a wrinkled-up blanket?  Clearly this behavior of control and perfection is completely normal.

My husband and I have a joke that I am not high maintenance on anyone but myself.  And by joke, I mean, he is completely serious.  This means I don’t expect others to prepare things how I like it, I’ll do it.  Besides, it would take too long for me to tell you how to do it correctly. This is my confession.

Wouldn’t it be so neat if everyone could sit on their own blanket, and I could just sit on mine.  If you choose to have wrinkles on your magic blanket, then you are bat-flip crazy.  Nevertheless, you do you friend…on your blanket. That would be my perfect scenario, but that isn’t life.   Life is messy, and there are more spots of quicksand than there are smooth, soft blankets.

I was reminded of my quirky ways last week while packing for a four-day meditation retreat in Colorado.  In the email, I was told to pack comfy clothes; yoga pants, shorts, t-shirts, and a sweatshirt.  We were aiming for comfort, headed to the mountains to be one with nature.  It took me no less than 2 hours to pack one small suitcase, a backpack, and a travel purse.

At one point in the packing frenzy, I walked through the living room looking for sympathy, and mentioned I was so tired of packing.  My husband’s reply was, “You should be.”  He is known to be sweetly subtle.  Hubs just doesn’t understand that it takes a WHILE to pick out all my favorite tees, and pair each one with a pullover, jeans AND shorts…just in case Mother Nature couldn’t make up her mind that day.  I needed my sunless tanning system, as you can agree it would be a tragedy to lose my tan while tucked away in the aspen trees.  I shouldn’t have to explain the need for my portable steamer, you know how I feel about wrinkles.

As my suitcase ran out of space, I sent my cousin a quick text to see if she was bringing a blow dryer.  She wasn’t, but said she would pack hers for me.  Awesome.  Wait, what if her blow dryer didn’t have an ion setting?  I should probably just bring my own.  Along with my curling iron.  And straightener.  My hair has to be so confused by now.  Naturally curly hair, but blowed dried straight, flat ironed, then loosely re-curled.  I’m surprised each hair on my head hasn’t jumped ship by now.  Dear hair, thank you for being a friend.

This picky, quirky behavior is not the impression that I like to give off.  I’d rather come off as a laid-back, chill gal.   For the most part I am…regarding you.  I have no expectations projected on you.  But, when it comes to myself, I’m total maintenance.  I work really hard to hide my desire to have everything just so, by doing most of my work under the radar.  Still, the people who have actually traveled WITH me should be added to your prayer list.

I have several friends, who were blessed with a handy form of OCD.  Some leave their houses spotless every morning; not a dish in the sink, every bed in the house is beautifully made, everything glistens like a real-life Disney movie.

As wacky and OCD as I am, I didn’t get this useful portion of it.  My strand looks like;

–  How can I leave for work when my photo album closet is in shambles?

–  How will my children know I love them if I don’t finish their summer chatbooks to document their camps?

–  I simply cannot start on my to-do list today with my jewelry cabinet in the situation it’s in….the gold is touching the silver and it just gives me the creeps.

–  Why is that gray shirt hanging with the white shirts in my color-coded closet??  Clearly we have had a break-in, I’d better go check the locks.  Again.  For the 32nd time.

–  I can’t write this morning with my floors looking like I just shaved our dogs on their way out the back door.

Yet, I can leave my bed looking like a tornado hit it, and I’m okay with this.  My friend, Christine, told me that an unmade bed is actually healthy, it gives your sheets a chance to breath.  I’m gonna go with this theory.

Surely, I have some redeeming qualities as well, but it’s not my job in this space to try to dig those up.   Character over perfection.   Surely, quirky counts for character right?

What if we could let go of the perfection and embrace the character?  Perfection controls while character grows.

*On a side note – while in the mountains, I didn’t once dig out my sunless tanning system.  There is something spiritual about letting go and embracing your authentic, normal colored self.  Big lessons.  This guy didn’t mind at all…

As expected, my steamer was put to good use.  Sleep well friend, not a wrinkle in sight.

August 1, 2017 by