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Family, Forgivness, Grace, Hope, Lessons, Love, Parenting, perfection, Prayer, Renewed

Sanitized Martha and Transforming Grace

Sunday morning started down a rough path…beginning on Saturday.  The oldest darling had sent me a text stating what his weekend plans were (with him now being an adult and all).  I replied that his social calendar was fine with me as long as he was asking and not telling, and that we were planning on going to church the next morning, so to make sure and factor that in. The whining that began was enough to make you want to donate your ears.  The arguments ranged from, “This is my only day this week to sleep in”, to “I don’t have anything clean to wear” to finally, “Are we going to the really EARLY service??”.

Irritated, (as he only goes to church with us twice a month due to our co-parenting schedule) I informed the entitled, overgrown tyke that we were going to the same service we always went to, then followed up with a short text telling him, “Don’t be a butt”.  Only I didn’t say butt.  Jesus fill the gaps.  (Feel free to message or email me for any further mothering tips.)  May God help me recognize earlier when to insert gentle teaching moments, as I clearly have some parental growing to do.  That is a scary realization when you have teenagers and hear the clock ticking down on your job being mostly done.

Mason has always referred to me as the “Blind Side Mom”, and I now see why.  I thought he had always based it on the “Get your feet off my dash.” line in the movie, also the fact that I will take in anyone – whether they have two legs or four.  I want to focus more on the opportunities for grace-filled, building moments and less snap-you-up moments.

Have you ever noticed that your attitude can sometimes determine your circumstances, and always seems to have a say on your outcome?  Obviously I haven’t.  No doubt, my attitude laid the foundation of our Sunday morning (starting on Saturday).  Mason was meeting us at church, since he had stayed the night with a friend.  McCray had decided to drop his brain in the toilet, which short circuited his memory into forgetting what he is allowed to wear to church and walked out to the car looking like we were headed to basketball practice.  “WHAT are you wearing?” is a sentence I learned not to waste my time on with boys, due to it never being answered with a good reason, but I relapsed.  I was stressed because my morning started with getting full out dressed (aka wash, dry, AND fix my hair…angels be near.) and load the car with all the fixings for Sunday lunch with it being my week to cook.

By the time we got to church, I felt as though I had fought my way out of a fierce swarm of bees, with some stingers still tucked inside my skin.  Irritation was written all over my body.  I might as well have been on a 24-hour college bender, because that’s how tired I felt.  Was the fuss even worth it?  It’s so peopley here today, with all these perfect families.  What did I just teach these boys with my attitude about them getting here to worship our God who is into simplicity?   Good grief, what a missed opportunity.

Then, we sang a song with the chorus that sings,

O church, come stand in the light.  The glory of God has defeated the night.”.

All the stings, given and received, and the past eighteen hours melted – like holy calgon, taking it away.  They say that hope begins when you stand in the dark, looking out at the light.  I believe hope is also realizing that our notion of a sanitized, perfect Christianity isn’t really what Jesus taught or intended us to strive for.  Hope is a whisper that says, “Come stand in the light beloved, no matter how dirty you feel.”

I had spent the last two days getting worked up that my boys didn’t have the right attitude about church or dress perfectly for church, that I missed an opportunity to attract them TO the church – the act of worship and the practice of filling your bucket.   Oh Martha, dear Martha, why do you have to show up here again?

When McCray was an infant, I started (note started, didn’t finish) the bible study, “Having a Mary Heart in a Martha World”, based on the story of the sisters in Luke 10.  I not only identified with Martha, but I felt so sorry for her.  Everyone was being so hard on her, wanting her to be more like her sister.  Clearly Mary wasn’t going to cook, clean, and prepare for Jesus, so who did that leave?  Martha!  I want to have a pep rally for Martha, or create a power point explaining her perspective, because every time I read the story, I see myself in her actions and frustrations.

Martha, dear Martha, you’re fussing far too much and getting yourself worked up over nothing.  One thing only is essential, and Mary has chosen it – it’s the main course, and it won’t be taken from her.”  Luke 10:41-42 (The Message Bible)

There is no space for sanitized Christanity in transforming grace. Transformations are messy, yet grace can clean better than a Roomba and bleach.  Grace can easily tackle messy foundations and sanitized surfaces. Poor Martha’s wholehearted service got tangled up in sanitation while Mary did the good thing and sat at the feet of grace Himself.  Grace says to our Martha moments, “You are worried and troubled by many things, but choose the GOOD part.  Calm down and come sit down, right at My feet beloved.”

I think I heard grace also say, “Who in tarnation cares what that boy is wearing, we are aiming for his heart, not his fashion sense”.  I’m pretty positive I heard that whispered.  God is into simplicity.  Let’s join Him.

 

 

 

 

 

 

November 27, 2017 by
Family, Friendship, Gifts, Laughter

The Sanctuary of Twisted Words and Tied Tongues

The other day I got a phone call from the guy doing glass work on our shower remodel, informing me he was headed out to the house.  I wasn’t going to be there, so I began to tell him that we had also decided to re-do the mirrors in the bathroom and asked if he could take a look and give me a quote of cutting them down.  We were chatting about the kind of driftwood frame I was planning to build around the mirrors – the construction and heaviness of it, etc. I told him that I would have to send him a pic of what I had in mind to create, because basically I was just gonna “free ball” it.  There was a pause on the other end of the phone and the sound of an uncomfortable snicker.  It took me a full minute to realize that I had combined two thoughts: eye ball it and free hand it.  Instead, he now probably wonders about my anatomy and is certain of my lack of underwear.

It’s in these moments especially, silence is golden.

The inspiration for our “free-balling” mirror. Found on Pinterest.

I think this could be genetic, as I believe most people have their act more intact than myself or my sisters. We are always calling each other, mentally dying at the foot we just put in our mouth.   A few years ago, the baby sister worked at a bank back home, which entailed sometimes answering phone calls.  One day she picked up the ring and professionally said, “First State Bank, how can I help it?”  Realizing her mistake, she corrected it to, “First State Bank, how can I help YOU help it?”  Still determined to fix this she said, “First State Bank, how can I…..Oh, this is Kelsey.”  On the other end of the line, the President of the bank, calling from the main branch sighed and said, “Let me talk to Shelly.”

Silence is golden, so are phone skills.

She can’t be blamed really. Being the youngest sister, we set her up for failure of speech, as everyone else in the family spoke for her.  I’ve just learned to stop doing this a year ago, and fully plan on having some relapses. Big sister habits are hard to break. When she was in kindergarten, a parent of her little friend called the house to schedule a play date and asked for “Mrs. Mouse, Kelsey’s mom”.  After some confusion, they determined that they did call the right house, but had the wrong name.  We later figured out that Kelsey had told the friends at school her name was Kelsey Mouse.  A clear misunderstanding, as we had only been inserting her name into the Mickey Mouse song for 5 years: “K-E-L…S-E-Y  M-O-U-S-E, Kelsey Mouse….Kelsey Mouse…”

Bless her confused, silent self.

A while back we hosted our beloved friends, Amy and Kyle’s wedding reception on our back patio.  The baby sister was staying with us at the time and was a huge help in assisting the decorators and caterer.  After the reception got started, she did what she was best at and snuck away to her bedroom, hiding from all the people, because sometimes life is just too peopley. It was a beautiful evening, Amy and her party planner did a perfect job at turning the back porch into a gorgeous place to celebrate one of our favorite families blending and growing.

As the night came to a close, the few who were left here all congregated in the kitchen, eating leftovers and recalling the events of the day. Baby sister emerged from her room and one of the guys said, “Hey Kelsey!  Were you back there napping?”  Sweet sister shyly smiled, gave an awkward laugh and said, “Sometime.”  Singular. Neither party knew exactly what to do except awkwardly stare at each other.  The best part of watching the interaction was Kelsey’s full commitment to her reply.  She knew she had given a random, weird answer, but instead of correcting herself with a “silly me”, she just smiled and stared back until he walked away confused.

Michelle, our dear friend was also in the kitchen that night. Her family had recently moved away – a devastating loss to our hearts and neighborhood.  Amy and I both missed her terribly.  Michelle is the life of a back-porch party, always thinking up fun games like our yearly talent show, telling the kids campfire ghost stories, making us laugh as she acts out her most recent hilarious tales.  Michelle has big blue eyes that seem to get bigger when telling a story, she talks with her whole body, and when she tells a story you feel like you were literally there.  It’s a gift that keeps on giving.

Michelle, Amy, and I – Photo by Aurora Henry

Once they got settled into their new home, Michelle set out on some job interviews, one being at a private school.  She felt pretty good about how the interview was going as she sat in a lone chair, across from the entire Board, answering all their questions like a professional champ. Nearing the end of the interview, one of the Board members asked if her family went to church, and if so, where they attended.  Michelle wholeheartedly nodded and replied that they did indeed.  When he repeated the question asking where her family attended, she thought fast and replied, “Lady of the Lord.”  Still nodding, eyes huge, she was fully committed to her answer and church – all in.

Michelle does not fabricate stories, just churches.  In her defense, they had just moved to a new city with new churches with weird names.  In that weird, new city, not one church was named “Lady of the Lord”, however there were two Catholic churches that they planned to visit, one had the word “Lady” and one had “Lord” in it.  Sometimes we have to create our own spaces.

When Amy and I heard this story, we howled. We laughed until we cried at the visual of our precious and hilarious friend sitting in a chair, facing an entire board of a private school, eyes wide, head nodding, stoically telling them with assurance that she attends a church in her head.

Ah, but the Lady of the Lord church does exist, as it is now the name of our back-porch sanctuaries.  Appropriately titled and truly one of the most peaceful churches that I’ve ever attended.  We are ladies of the Lord, He comforts us through the friendship of each other, speaks to us through sounds of nature, and shows us love by the gift of a safe place.

God in us, among us, and for us.

Even when our tongues are tied, our words are tangled, and our lives are sometimes twisted.  He knows our hearts are for Him, and I imagine even has to sometimes shake His head and simply chuckle.

 

*Featured photo by Asher Creek Photography.

November 6, 2017 by
Family, Friendship, Gifts, Grace, Hope, Laughter, Love, Prayer, Renewed

Friendship – The Real Stuff

For the times in life where I have struggled to catch my breath, friendship has served as my inhaler.  Stressed?  Better call the besties, because friendship can literally breathe life back into a weary soul.

Learning how to breathe is in direct response to calming my spirit. Calming my spirit is in direct response to letting things go, and accepting that there are just some things I cannot control. Who wants to live like a fish out of water, not knowing where their next breath is coming from? This is called anxiety – the feeling of standing on unstable ground.  During these shaky moments is when we reach for support.

Recently, our family went through a true crisis. I sent a text out to my friends asking for prayers and advice.  They recognized that I was at my capacity for handling the situation, my spirit was stretched and about to bust. What friendship did in that moment, is show up.  Showing up isn’t always literal, but it is always emotional. Sometimes it’s driving two hours to sit with you at the hospital, a phone call, a simple text checking on you or a funny meme to lighten your mood. Friendship is the scaffolding that supports and holds us up during the rough patches.

A gathering of friends for my 30th birthday…just a few months ago. Or 9 years. Same.

We were made to represent the love of God for our people here on earth, that each person we journey with may have a deeper understanding of God’s love for them.  It has been said that we are all just walking each other home.  I couldn’t love that thought more, healthy relationships remind us of the goodness of God, by bringing more divine into our lives.

Friendship can never be authentic unless you are honest and vulnerable. True friendship is the real stuff – not the artificial sweetener that attempts to taste like the real stuff.  True friendship is the pure cane sugar of life -messy calories and all.  When you find that tribe member, the building of a friendship begins.  Growing up, I never had a clubhouse, but this is how I picture the home of friendship.  When one shares something vulnerable, it’s as if she is handing you a brick to add to the building of the clubhouse.  You, in return, share or confide by handing her a stone to build on.  This goes on, in no specific time frame or rhythm, and one day you look up and realize your clubhouse is built.  It’s not a perfect clubhouse made of one single material or straight lines, but it is beautiful.  It is a place for both parties to be nourished under the shelter of friendship.

When one shows up for another, it’s like having a decorating meeting inside your well-loved clubhouse.  Pitchers in hand, ready to pour into whichever soul needs it at the moment.  If you look for fault in your friends, you will find it. We are all human. But if you continue to only look for the lovely, that’s what you will see.  If one can’t be there today, be thankful for the one who is.  They all have their own purpose in your life.  Your friendships will show up in all different ways, like a gorgeous rainbow.

There are few things better than a can’t-catch-your-breath-laugh with girlfriends.  Recently a group of us drove south to hear a beloved author, Jen Hatmaker, speak at the Austin Bass Concert Hall.   Afterwards, we walked outside to wait on our requested Uber.  We stood out front, waiting on Thor, chatting about where we should eat dinner.  I glanced up and saw Jen Hatmaker herself walking out of the building with her entourage, I really wanted to run and tell her specifically what her writing has meant to me, then I remembered the chapter called “Fangirl” in her latest book. She encourages us to fangirl Jesus and our friends instead of famous people who we don’t know. Inwardly, I rolled by eyes, whispered “fine”, and turned back to fangirl my gals.

Perfect timing, as a minivan pulled up, the driver got out and the automatic minivan doors opened.  What service Thor, you have earned yourself a rating of Uber excellence young man.  As Kristy and Patricia started to get in, the side door jammed while in auto mode, which caused a constant dreadful sound, kind of like a possum was stuck in it.  All four of us looked through the car to the driver, who was standing by his door just staring at us. “Sir, what’s wrong with your door?”  Blank stare.  “SIR, can you come fix your door?  Something is wrong with it.”  At one point, Marlo pushed through the other two and started trying to shove it open while saying through clenched teeth, “Oh. I. got. this!” – a word for each shove. Resolved that we weren’t climbing in on that side, we all went to the drivers side, got in and was buckling up when a random lady came over and said, “What have y’all done to the door?”  Not knowing who she was or what business she had in our night, we stuck to the Stranger-Danger rule and ignored her, continuing about the task of getting into our Uber.  Stranger-Danger-Lady wouldn’t give up with the questions though.  Sweet Patricia just kindly smiled at her as the rest of us ignored her.  She said something like, “This is my car.”,  Ugh, lady…go away.  In really slow talk so she would understand and quit asking questions, we replied, “No ma’am, this is our Uber, Thor is our driver.”  Done with the shenanigans she yelled, “THIS IS MY *&$%ing CAR and you broke my door!”  She was further thrilled when we sat there staring at her, as the situation took some time to soak in.  The situation of mistaking the valet guy for Thor, our Uber driver.  No wonder the Thor (who wasn’t Thor) just stared at us without words when we ask him to please fix his door. Just as we climbed into the poor sailor-mouth-lady’s car, we piled back out.  Back out into the rain to once again, to wait for our Uber – in the Valet line.

To be clear – the next car we got into was the correct one – Cliff’s car.  Which sounds a lot like Thor…

Send kindness out in big, generous waves, send it near and far, send it through texts and e-mails and calls and words and hugs, send it by showing up, send it by proximity, send it in casseroles, send it with a well-timed “me too”, send it with abandon.  Put out exactly what you hope to draw in, and expect it back in kind and in equal measure. Sow seeds of affirmation and goodness and grace into others, and you will reap the devotion of well-loved friends.”  Jen Hatmaker – Of Mess and Moxie

Put simply – it takes being a friend to have a friend. I’ve been on both sides of this spectrum. My first years into adulthood were some of the loneliest.  I was in a growth gap, past who I was and not yet grown into who I was becoming.  I don’t like the thought of growing out of a friendship, I’d rather be grateful for the season that we had it.  Not all relationships will make the duration of your journey, some are just meant for a season.

Pay attention to those who show up in big and little ways. Pay attention to those who support you, who defend you, who encourage you to rise above and be better in this moment. Surround yourself with honest and loyal people, those who know when to push you and when to encourage you to pivot.  Nurture your friendships, show up for your people, love on your tribe, and preserve that beloved clubhouse – it can always use another brick or decoration.  We cannot do life alone, we were made to connect.

Life is brutal and life is beautiful.  The brutal doesn’t break us because the beautiful sustains us.”

 

 

 

 

 

October 30, 2017 by
Character, Courage, Empathy, Family, Friendship, Grace, Hope, Lessons, Love, Uncategorized

Growing Bigger Souled

Life is made up of little moments, pieced together to create our whole journey.  Slots of time filled with joy, sadness, and all the emotions in between.  The hope is at the completion of our pilgrimage, there will be a balance of the light and dark, with more gladness than sorrow.

Years ago, we took a family trip to Cabo San Lucas with the boys, they were around seven and ten years old.  We indulged in all the ridiculously expensive, touristy experiences; massages, swimming with the dolphins, parasailing, shopping, deep sea fishing, beach days, etc.  One night we treated ourselves to a big family dinner at a fun restaurant – right on the beach in Cabo, where the tables are literally set up on the sand.  As we were laughing breezily and stuffing our faces, a few locals on the beach quietly attempted to get our attention and sell us their goods.

One young boy and his sister looked to be about the same age as our boys.  He came up holding a bundle of colorful bracelets, offering to personalize them with names woven into them.  Looking at him, I wondered how it was that my boys ended up as the ones on vacation and he was a local, peddling homemade jewelry.  It made me sad, sometimes I just don’t understand this life.  I performed the cheesy tourist role – acting as if I couldn’t decide which beauty to choose, so I mentally counted the kiddos in our neighborhood and told him that was how many bracelets I needed.  I took him up on his offer to weave Mason and McCray’s names into their bracelets.  While he and his older sister sat in the sand to craft our jewelry, McCray couldn’t keep from watching them.  At one point, he looked up at me with eyes full of sencerity and said, “Mom, even if his jewelry wasn’t as beautiful as it is, would you still buy it?”

I replied yes.  He nodded, looked back at the boy and quietly said, “I would to.”

I will never forget the look on his face that night.  His little mind recognizing that they weren’t that different and his little heart not understanding the unfairness of the situation.  They were the same age, yet a country apart in their life experiences.  McCray has always been my sensitive thinker who seems to feel things deeper than most.  The boy selling jewelry could have been as happy as a clam with his life, but that encounter was used for a gentle teaching moment in my son’s journey. That evening, with our feet in the sand and our bellies full, he learned what compassion and empathy feel like.

When empathy is present, apathy cannot exist.”  Jessica Honegger

We are not all that different.  Don’t we all have the same core needs?  What if we could just lean in to those we don’t understand, our neighbors who are experiencing life different from us?  What if we could stop filling our lives with the perfect moments, situations, etc – and leave some margin to lean in and meet some of the needs that are right in front of us?  Empathy can fill in a lot of gaps.  Sister Joan Chittister tells us that “We are either growing or collapsing at every moment.  We are becoming bigger souled or smaller souled at every moment.”  Every single minute – not one wasted.  She believes that the purpose of a human experience is to grow into God.  To go beyond religion and become a prayer, by becoming a filter that sees our Creator in everything.

B-e-a-utiful.  Oh, to live a kind of life where we see the Divine in everything. To grow bigger souled in each moment.  We will slip occasionally, as we are human.  Yet, we have an opportunity in every moment to grow, to lean in, to work at understanding and loving those who we deem different than us.  We are not as different as it sometimes feels. Jesus was the greatest teacher of this, as he was always expanding his table to accommodate more hearts.  We all have the same underground river running beneath our feet, the water of grace.  Reach down and splash some on your neighbor.

A sweet memory in Cabo with my M&M boys

 

 

 

October 9, 2017 by
Family, Lessons, Love, Parenting, Prayer

The Endless Titles of Parenthood

Actual conversation in my house this morning.  Before caffeine or centering prayer.

Child who lives here, “MOM! Someone took my short, black socks that were tucked inside my shoes.”

Mom-trying-to-wake-up-and-channel-the-patience-of-Jesus, “Like who?  Which shoes?  When?”

Child, “I dunno, but they were there, and someone took them.”

Mom, “Bud, no one else wears those type of socks.  I highly doubt someone broke into our house this morning, while you were brushing your teeth, to steal your coveted socks.  Go look in your drawer or the pile of clean laundry on the couch.”

While throwing clean clothes all around the couch, “Nope, they aren’t here. Someone took them.”

Child finds another pair of short, black socks and heads to school.  Twenty minutes later, mom finds the socks on the kitchen table, where he left them.  Text a photo to the child of irritation, for him reply, “What are those?”  At that moment I was just thankful he was at school, under the protection of his principal, as I wanted to gently wring the bones in his cute little neck.

Bless my soul. Bless your Momma soul, since I’m pretty sure this type of conversation happened all over the globe this glorious morning.  Today, I am completely over my bratty children.  Tonight, I will gush over how precious they are.  This is Motherhood- the real kind, a perfect balance of adorable and frustrating.  A combination of zealous, superhuman love for the darlings and a continuous prayer line of inquires, and the occasionally begging of patience.  Parenting is a love so big that it requires the grounding of both feet just to manage it.

My darlings refer to me by several names; Mom, Momma, Mother Dear, Madre, and Brooke.  I don’t particularly care what they call me, just as long as I get to hear their sweet voices.  And that it is respectful, let’s be clear. Momma’s not raising thugs. I don’t necessarily need one politically correct title, this job is too important to be limited to one name.

I think God feels the same.  Father, Abba, Most High, Highest Power, Yaheweh, Jehovah, the Alpha & Omega, and so many more.  I think God would rather have our hearts reach for Him, than to have us tangled up in the specifics and rules.  God is into simplicity, and is too big to be packaged in just one name.  I don’t believe He cares which name from the list that we use, just as long as we call him.

I use Creator a lot, the thought of the Divine creating me to be exactly Autumn Brooke, is soothing to my heart.  On hard days, it’s also restoring to my soul.  I won’t pretend to understand the adult acne added into the package, but whatever.

A few years ago, my mind was flooded with uncertainty and questions.  This doubt was so unsettling that I drove two hours north to discuss it with the pastor from our “home” church.  I loved belonging to that church, something about entering those doors brought me a wave of peace.

I recently found the list of questions I took to the pastor.  Not that it was missing, as I’ve kept that paper tucked in my bible bag since that meeting. The list resembles questions that perhaps a kindergartener might ask. I got down to the basics and worked my way up.  He patiently answered my queries, never making me feel guilty for my doubt.  One answer he gave calmed my qualms and infused my faith, “I don’t know, but I’m kinda glad I can’t fully explain God and his mysteries.”  He went on to explain if God was a force that could be explained completely, then we would be able to put him in a box.  If we could understand everything about Him then we would know as much or more than He does.  Who wants to learn from someone that knows less than you do? Who wants a Creator who can be bottled like a genie?

Not this girl.  As much as I loved dreaming of Jeannie and her master, I want a larger, most divine Master Designer. With this in mind, I think I’m okay with not having all the answers.  I’m content being a small part of this grand plan.  Even on the days that I collect more questions than answers, I believe that God is okay with my questions, frustrations, and sorrows.  Even my anger.  I’ve even been known to throw up a prayer asking Him to please help me find my lost keys (aka short, black socks).  He is gracious enough answer without an eye roll, and will gently lead me to exactly where I left them.  Usually in the car.

He can handle it.  Because I am conversing with Him.  Talking and listening, giving and receiving.  It’s a relationship.  He can handle our words and labels, as long as He gets to hear our sweet voices and have our hearts.  Call Him what you will, just call Him beloved.

 

 

 

October 2, 2017 by