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Character, Courage, Faith, Forgivness, Lessons, Love, Patience, Prayer, Renewed

Known for our Fruit…

“…by their fruit you will recognize them.”

If you spent more than a little time in Sunday school as a child you probably recited the fruits of the spirit.

You might have even made a craft, or your kids have, hung on the fridge as proof they are hopefully learning a lesson or two.  Lord knows I’ve failed at teaching mine as much as I should have.

This morning I sat down for some quiet time that usually seems to elude my schedule. I’m not in a current bible study and didn’t want to read any of the three books on my nightstand, so I just sat.  I sat and watched the rain come down outside.  In our back yard sits an apple tree that is on the struggle bus.  I got it for Hubs on our first anniversary to symbolize paper, the traditional one year anniversary gift.  Only we have been so busy watering and caring for our actual relationship and family that we’ve forgotten to care for the poor little apple tree.

I sat looking at the sticks that are hoping to grow apples and the question popped into my head,

“What fruit will you produce today?”.

Yikes.

“What fruit will you be recognized by?”

Ouch.   Stop it already.

Today I would be caught with rotten bananas, like the brown ones in my freezer waiting to be used for banana bread.  Why couldn’t you have caught me on a good day?  I have a couple of those on leap years.

Spiritual fruit cannot grow with an ego in the middle of it.

Someone wiser than I came up with the acronym for Ego = Edging God Out

Which is exactly what it does, it convinces us that we are most important, we deserve this, we earned it, our feelings matter most.  Our egos come in, edge the Divine out, and get our order of priorities all jacked up.

Self?  Let me check the list….Yes!  You go up here at the top, naturally.  Like the star on the Christmas tree.  Look at you shine sister.

Others?  What have you done for me lately?   Hmmmm… Go ahead and head down, third from the bottom rung.

Children?  Y’all are still here?  Good grief, haven’t we raised you already?  Get close to the top, I’ll put you on my shoulders and let you hold my star.

God?  Stick close in case I have a prayer will ya?  Thanks so much.  Also, could you stand where I bask in your glow?  It’s all about the lighting you know.  Did you hear me quote your bible verse from memory earlier?  How about that huh?

Bless.

Here’s the thing about our Ego.  It edges God out, but it also edges GROWTH out.  A fruit cannot grow with an ego in the middle of it.  Want to grow some fruit?  Dump the ego.

Don’t know where to start?  Throw out the “should haves” when it pertains to others, no one owes you anything.  A fact I continue to learn daily.  We were not promised a life without bad times.  We weren’t promised a Leave it to Beaver family, or a support system that looks like the traditional one in our mind.  No one comes to earth and escapes alive, or lives a life without sorrow.  Find your joy.  Even the worst of days has some joy tucked in the seams, even if it’s just a perfectly timed cup of caffeine.  Recognize and identify what makes your heart lighter.

Want to know some of what we ARE promised?

One who will fight for you…. Exodus 14:14.  Renewed strength …Isaiah 40.  A companion in fearful moments…Isaiah 41.  Unfailing love….Isaiah 54. Freedom….Isaiah 58. Wisdom.  Forgiveness.  Eternal life. Comfort. Refuge. Deliverance. Peace that transcends all understanding…and so much more.

Peace comes from remembering that only love is real.  Look past the surface and see the underlying truth…everyone is a child of God and filled with love.  It may be hidden behind our egos, but it was put there.  Love is there.  Look for the light within you and others.  Guess what water and light do?  They grow things…like fruit!

If you feel like our apple tree, take hope that God is in the business of growing.  He delights in gardening, ask for help in developing your orchard.  May we be recognized by our sweet fruit.

 

March 20, 2018 by
Courage, Faith, Fear

When you bite off more than you can chew…Chew it.

I seem to work in a pattern of taking on task bigger than myself.  This comes from a good place, usually my heart says, “Let’s do this!” when my head is taking realistic measurements and reminding me of my limitations. Yet, I trust my heart more times than my head for the basic reason of it operating from faith over fear.

This week was supposed to be a normal one, however by 10 a.m. on Monday I saw a post from a friend that her mom was being sent home on hospice, and three texts from other friends asking for prayers for they were all climbing a different mountain.  My heart hurt for all of them, and I yearned to take their pain away.  I kept uttering the same prayer for each one, over and over, “May we come to You from a place of FAITH and not false fear.”  I couldn’t shake the feeling of sadness, so I finally stopped my day and sat down with my Gratitude Journal.  This is something I normally do at night, right before bed –  but I needed an attitude shift, and they say it’s impossible to be grateful and anxious at the same time.  Usually, this is a really simple task – today I got to #4 before I just sat and stared.

That’s what fear does, it reminds us the size of our mountains and blocks the view of our blessings.  When faith is handing us our climbing gear and slapping us on the rear in encouragement that all things are possible.  Even this mountain.

A few months ago, I was headed to Fort Worth to see some friends for the weekend.  I was meeting them downtown, so I left the house dressed cute for the evening.  Meaning I had heels on – high ones.  As I left our neighborhood to head north, I had to hit the breaks to avoid hitting a huge bull in the middle of the road.  He was at the top of the hill, a blind hill if you are traveling from the other direction, so I was fearful for those people.  I knew who Mr. Bull most likely belonged to, so I quickly turned into their driveway and drove down to their house.  This isn’t a neighbor we know outside of the polite, drive by wave.  It’s an elderly couple who we have admired, simply based on how hard they work to keep their farm pristine.

So, down the driveway I went, parking just short of running over the sweet little man, sitting in his lawn chair.

“Hi Sir, I think you have a bull that got out!”

“Huh?”

“Your bull?  He is out in the road!”

“Huh?”

After a few more repeats of this, he got out of his chair and walked to meet me.  I pointed to the red bull in the road, he said, “Oh goodness!  My wife must have left the gate open when she got the mail.”  As he jumped into his golf cart, I hollered, “Do you need me to help get him back in?” He waved at me to follow him.  Once we got back to the road, I pulled to the top of the hill, put my hazards on, and got out to coral the bull back in the gate.  In my heels.  The owner of Mr. Bull told me to stand at the gate, he was going to run him directly towards me, and if I could just usher him to turn left, into the gate, that would be great.

Not a single thought went into me saying yes, my mission was clear.  Save all the travelers on Robin Road and direct Mr. Bull in turning left.  Nothing else – like death –  crossed my mind until all 1500 lbs of irritated Mr. Bull was trotting towards me, standing in my high heels and my red shirt.  I knew I should have worn the green one.  I threw up a prayer to my Grandpa Mason – who was most likely shaking his head and chuckling at me from heaven, but he handled his fair share of livestock when he was on earth, so I was counting on some direction from him.   I planted my heels, and started swinging my hands together, ending the move in the direction of where Mr. Bull needed to end his jog.  Clearly, being a cheerleader prepared me for this moment.  As he got closer, he also got bigger…and bigger, snot was slinging out of his nose as he ran.  He was making a bee line straight for my red blouse, so I quickly added a “Yaw-yaw” noise to my arm movements.

When I was young, I loved trying on my mom’s high heels and seeing how fast I could run in them.  That memory came to mind as I was watching Mr. Bull run at me, did I still have that talent?  Just as I was about to test my speed, Ol’ Red turned left, into the gate.  Thank goodness, he understood what “YAW” meant.  As the old man drove by in his golf cart, he paused and said, “Little Missy, thank you for stopping and helping me get him back in.  We just bought him, and I’d hate for someone to have hit a $2,500 investment.  Thanks for your help, glad you knew how to handle cattle.” And sped off to close the gate.

Yep me too.  Glad I could put my cowgirl talent to use for you sir.

Basically what I saw running towards me.

My friend Amy’s favorite saying is. “When you bite off more than you can chew, Chew it.”

Sometimes you have to do just that, chomp away.  When our faith is bigger than our feet, we simply need to widen our stance to hold our balance. When our mountains (or snotty bulls) seem to take up our entire vision, and fear is knocking on the door – that is precisely the moment to lean into the faith that caused us to take such a big bite in the first place.

Bob Goff says that most of our decisions are driven by either love or fear.  Figure out who’s doing the talking, then decide what you’ll do.

Lean into love beloved.

Stare the Bull in the eye, smile a little, and chomp on that faith.

For any cowgirl gigs you need help with, feel free to contact me anytime.  I just hope I’m not busy washing my hair that day.

No bull.

 

 

February 20, 2018 by
Lessons, Overflow

Fill ‘er Up

I’ve never really bought into having a word of the year.  I enjoy too many words to reduce it all down to just one.  Also, it takes me the full month of January to decide what my year goals will be, how could I decide on a word to encompass goals that haven’t been completely set?!  So naturally, when the new year rolled around I wasn’t looking for the perfect word to express my focus for 2018, until I heard it.  Scrolling through Instastories, I paused on Tiffany Hendra’s video (beautiful inside and out, exuding positive energy, AND a Texan?  Yes please!).  She was sharing that her word for the year was Overflow, focusing on operating from a place of overflow and not depletion. A southern baptist revival went off in my heart.  YES!

That said, I’d love to introduce you to my FIRST, borrowed word of the year, Overflow.  Purely judging on my past behavior, when I practice healthy self-care, nourish my heart, control my thoughts, and focus on the positive, I operate from a place overflow.  Overflow = Kindness and love.  When life gets crazy, and I am running on empty, I operate from a place of depletion.  Depletion = Nasty and judgemental.  Simply put – when I am depleted, I am not full of love. When I’m not filled with love, I operate like a hybrid of Judge Judy and Miss Hannigan – I think everyone needs to abide within my justice system, I treat children like orphans, and am looking for a drink.

Last fall, Teenager #1 decided he was vegan.  He politely asked for my debit card to go grocery shopping for his new dietary needs, and came back with food I had a hard time pronouncing or understanding.  When he got in from work each night, he would create beautiful vegan meals that Bobby Flay would be proud of.  This mom was impressed, who was this semi-child prodigy in the kitchen?  As his vegan journey progressed, my husband was worried Mason wasn’t getting enough protein.  As always, being the supporter he is, he researched the vegan lifestyle and figured out which supplements should be added into Mase’s daily diet.  Vitamins were ordered.

They came in on a Friday, which was also Homecoming in our small town.  Friday Night Lights are no joke in Texas, as we spend the week before planning the food and decor for our tailgate, set up right outside of the entrance gate of our stadium.  I’m not even gonna apologize for this ridiculousness, we love it.  Being Mason’s senior year, the year of “last”, I had my camera ready for every move he made.  At halftime, I made my way to the track to take pictures of the pretty people.  All of the beautiful Homecoming Queen nominees had been friends of his since grade school.  It was bittersweet seeing these precious babies, who had traipsed through our home for 12 years, now grown and dressed up in gorgeous dresses, glittering under the stadium lights.

Precious moments.  Only Mason did not get the memo to enjoy it, he was HANGRY with the attitude to match.  After watching him snap a couple of heads off, including mine, I finally told him to chill out.  The quick version of mom speech ending with, “This is the last Homecoming you will be on this track, quit acting like a brat and enjoy it!”.  He replied with a sigh, “Mom, I don’t think I can be vegan anymore.”  Oh good grief, get a snickers Betty White.  Mase was running on empty, depleted of nutrients his body needed to have a good attitude apparently.  I pointed to the concession stand and told him to go straight there and get a dang burger.  The vegan vitamins were returned.  His friends still make jokes about the two weeks that Mason was vegan, it was hell on us all.

Grace and her cheesy fans.
Not pictured – Betty White, he was at the concession stand.

Depletion is so dangerous, physically and mentally.  Running on empty is not a good look for me;  snappy, sassy, and short.  I’ve learned and accepted that I am an introvert.  This is surprising to some, myself included, as I love people and social events, as long as it follows some alone time for me.  This is when I fill up.  You can’t pour into people when your cup is empty.  Simply put, overflow isn’t possible when you are drained.  I’ve lived too many days running on empty, deplete of the emotional nutrients required for the life I strive to live.

Wonder where your cup level currently sits?  Just wait.  Your happy will be bumped soon enough, because that is life.  It is sweet and it is brutal, sometimes at the same time.  My great grandmother was the greatest example of overflow.  She didn’t overflow from having an easy life, quite the opposite.  She got married to a man who ran around on her, experienced divorce back when it was unheard of, buried three of her five babies, remarried a loving, widowed man and took on his children as her own.  Her husband, mother, and father all died within one year, and she lived for 55 more years without them.  And the ultimate depletion, she outlived all seven of her children.  Nannymom was loved by her many grands and great-grands, for we all sing her praises.  Through all the bumps of her life, we would have accepted and understood had she been grumpy or sad, but that wasn’t how she lived.  She lived in overflow, ready to pour into you when you came in the door.  She made us feel like we sparkled.

Our sweet Nannymom, we loved her a bushel and a peck, and a hug around the neck.

Some of Nannymom’s last days were spent in our home.  She came to live with us when the boys were four and seven.  We got to celebrate her 100th birthday – passing her the phone when the White House called to wish her a happy birthday, watching her open a birthday card from President George Bush and Laura, and another from past president, Jimmy Carter.  We later made fried chicken and chocolate pie, and by “we”, I mean her.  I was simply the student.  Later that year, Nannymom had a stroke and was moved to a nursing home.  The hardest decision for me to accept.  Her first weekend there, I was there when she woke up and stayed until she was tucked in bed.  We had lots of directions for the nurses and staff, as she had never lived anywhere there wasn’t family in the next room.  On the third day, the doctor came in to see her and found both of us asleep in her bed.  He kindly, but sternly told me that I needed to go home and rest, that I was not going to be a good caregiver running on empty like I obviously was.  He irritated me with this, yet I knew it was true.

Our vehicles don’t work when they are on empty, we fill up with gas.  Our kitchens can’t produce a meal when the shelves are bare, which is why we grocery shop.  Nothing runs on empty, so why would we expect to?  I encourage you friend, invest in your cup filling, whatever that looks like for you.  Rest, read, coffee and some quiet solitude, go for a run or walk, yoga, weights, vegging out with a Real Housewives marathon (this is a no judgement zone), go craft something, write, sew, snuggle with a puppy or baby lamb, whatever it is…..filler up my friend.

May we operate from a place of overflow.  That when our life gets bumped, what spills out of the top is love, and not Judge Judy

* While Mason hasn’t committed to being a vegan again, he is now a vegetarian.  Lord, help us all.

January 22, 2018 by
Family, Forgivness, Grace, Lessons, Love, Patience

Pippi, the Indian, and the Lessons throughout

I love you sugar, come see us when you can.”

I can still hear him saying that.  Even though our grandmother had passed on years before, he always ended our calls with “Come see us when you can”, perhaps it made him feel less lonely.  My weekend visits to see Pippi began when I was in high school.  I would take a friend, as I believed the pink brick house in Claude was haunted in ways I can’t fully explain.  It just was.  Later, I would plan my visits around when cousin Monica could meet me there for a visit with our beloved grandpa.  When Pippi passed away, it was Monica that called to tell me, which was fitting, as he was the tie that brought us together in our adulthood.

Monica and I with our sweet Pip

I was older by the time I really got close to Pippi.  He had lost an adult child (my dad) and his beloved wife of 44 years. He mourned for them deeply, but kept living.  He didn’t have another choice.  On every visit, we would have some reason to go into Amarillo – usually to shop, see more family, or for church followed by lunch at Furr’s Cafeteria.  A certainty on these visits, was that on the way home, he would exit I-40, turn left and enter into the graveyard that held our loved ones.  In my younger teenage years, this was weird, but comforting in an odd way.  It was the only time I had to pay my respects to the dad I barely knew and our sweet grandmother, both who left too soon.

Monica and I were very protective of Pippi.  His favorite thing to do when we came into town was take us to the café for breakfast, to show off his granddaughters.  In his later years, the locals weren’t as kind to Pip as we thought they should be.  A few years before he stopped driving, he was put on a new medicine that made him sleepy.  One morning, on his drive to the café, he fell asleep at the wheel, crossed over into the two oncoming lanes of traffic and landed his car into the building that faced the courthouse.

Claude is a small town in the panhandle of Texas, about 30 minutes east of Amarillo.  One of the town’s monuments was a cement Indian that stood out in front of the antique store.  Unfortunately, when Pippi’s truck finally rolled to a stop, it had mowed the sacred Native American statue down.  Thankfully, the non-breathing, cement man was the only casualty of the accident.

The folks of Claude handled this news hard.  The grief-stricken people had a funeral for the Indian and buried him.  Let me be clear for those in the back – they buried a CEMENT STATUE. When travelers driving down highway 287 started asking the locals where the antique statue went, they dug the cement Indian back up, pieced him back together as best they could, and stuck him in a wheel chair for all to see and enjoy again.  I kid you not.  Creepiest looking thing ever.

Visiting the Claude Indian. Poor McCray wouldn’t even stand by it. They even laid his cement fingers in his lap. Grief makes you do funny things.

It was after that incident that the locals weren’t as kind or patient with Pippi, and his granddaughters didn’t like it one bit.  Breakfast wasn’t as sweet when we were dodging the looks of disappointment and judgement.  Sometimes I think they thought that our Pip might have talked too much, which is exactly when Monica and I would really ramp up our interest in the story that we had already heard seven times before.

Pippi was a patient man who loved at all times. We chose to take his teachings and reciprocate the love back to him.  They say grace is like working a muscle, the more you work it, the stronger it gets.  The love muscle works the same.  I never saw Pip lift a weight or run a block, but boy did he exercise the right muscles.

Once, we had a family reunion in Irving, three of us cousins took our grandparents car to the store to get bread. Our grandmother, Tootie, didn’t want to lose their good parking spot at the hotel we were staying at.  It was right in front of their room, so you can see why this spot was coveted. So, she had sweet, obedient Pip stand in the parking spot while we drove off to get some white bread. (Pippi may not have had a t-shirt stating, “Happy wife, Happy life”, but he lived by the mantra. Smart man.)  On our quick trip to the store, we made several detours, including dropping by to see a friend of Monica’s. You should never trust a new driver to make a quick trip, two hours later, we pulled into the hotel parking lot to find Pippi still standing in the good parking spot.

Now that I’m an adult and a parent to a driver, I can’t fully put into clean words the irritation I would have with my kiddos had it been me standing in the good parking spot during a Texas summer, for several hours. But Pippi didn’t show any anger, he wiped the sweat off his brow and simply asked if we got the bread.

Two things warm my heart about that memory. He stood there in the Texas heat to keep Tootie’s good parking spot, because…happy wife, happy life.  Secondly, the three teenage granddaughters who needed to be reprimanded, were instead gifted with patience and grace.

Pippi loved at all times. He loved when it wasn’t convenient or easy. He loved at times when others weren’t loving or lovable. He extended love and grace. He provided a safe haven for so many of us.  In a complicated world, he was not.

Nowadays, we speak of love languages. And I’m fairly confident that Pippi covered all of them. Quality time – he was always happy to offer to all of us. Words of affirmation – he was never shy about sharing how much he loved us. Physical Touch – there was never a shortage of hugs.  Acts of service – he spent years protecting his country & providing for a family.  And the final one, Gifts – I think all of us cousins would agree this was covered by consistently providing sugar cereal to the grandkids, and in later years, breakfast at the cafe in Claude.

Love is patient, Love is kind, Pippi not only understood this, but created a life around it.

And his granddaughter is still gleaming from his example.

 

*My apologies for those offended by my use of the word “Indian”.  Since I am one, I deemed it okay to use it in my blog post.  I normally use the term Native American, but that is not the name of the statue in Claude. It’s name is “Indian”.

 

January 7, 2018 by
Authenticity, Brave, Clothing, Family, Lessons, Parenting, perfection

The Depth Finder

Deep calls to deep in the roar of Your waterfalls…” Psalms 42:7

As the kiddos have entered into the teen years, we started to feel them slip away from spending as much time with us, the parentals.  I’m sure you are as shocked at this news as we were. They didn’t get the memo that we are totes cool.  We were sad about this fact since we really kinda like those kids.  So, in a desperate attempt to attract teenagers back to the fold – we bought a boat.  Worked like a charm – yolo.

My favorite feature on the boat is the depth finder, it seriously amazes me.  However, the infatuation I have with that little tool of information is distracting to everyone else on board.  Especially since I usually end up sitting wherever there isn’t a kid, tucked in a corner where it’s hard for the Hubs to hear me yell, “Chad!  How deep is it here?”

He will mouth back, “Huh?”  Then point to his ear and shake his head – the universal code for “I can’t hear you.”

I’ll repeat my question until he slows the boat down enough to hear me and then give me the answer.  The answer is always followed with one of my children rolling their adorable eyes and telling their friend on board, “She is obsessed with the depth finder.”  Imagine this scenario on repeat x 101.  It only took us a whole summer to come up with a code for my same ol’ question, because we are quick problem solvers.

Look at those teens, WITH their parents. #winning

It’s fascinating and terrifying that there can be 86 feet of water under us one minute then, without a sign or warning bell, it goes to 23 feet deep.  I just need to know where we figuratively stand with this water thing.  My friend Christine would feel better if the lake could be drained, just for a day or so, then we could see exactly what is under the boat.  I think this plan is brilliant, no matter how crazy the Corp of Engineers think we are.

I wish people came with a depth finder gauge.  Think of all the small talk we could cut down on – we could fit so much more in our day if we simply checked their depth gauge to determine if it is worth the energy of a chat or not.  I have a friend who is honest enough to admit she has a disdain for small talk, and claims to be horrible at it.  She is best suited in the deep waters of conversation, this has found to be true.  She can give you several embarrassing examples of her attempt of the task.  Word to those who want to converse with her – throw on a lifejacket and doggie paddle out to the deep.  I love this about her and, for the majority of the time, I am dog paddling out there alongside my friend.

In my own life, there are areas I can go as deep as the ocean, and then others I’m about a shallow as a kiddie pool.  My most shallow moments show up while organizing family photos – the highlight of every mother’s year.

Since a young age, I always wanted three boys. What I did not account for was planning boys outfits for family photos. Especially now that they are all basically the same sizes, and throw fits when I try to dress one in burgundy colored jeans to pull in the color from the other kiddo’s plaid shirt (Sorry son, sometimes you have to take one for the team, just think of it as a character building moment).  It isn’t trendy or cool to completely match, we have to simply coordinate. Coordinating is supposed to look seamless, almost as an afterthought.  Kind of like we all showed up, looked down at our clothes and airily laughed that we all wore the same color scheme, how precious.

It is freaking hard. Gone are the “Everyone throw on a black shirt with your jeans, and let’s go take a picture.” days. I miss the Aussie hair product family’s advertisements, where they proved how simple and fun matchy-matchy family photos could be.  Gone are the simple times with robes.

Nothing says “Happy Family” like matching robes. Nothing.

For our 2017 family photos, I text the oldest darling at work and said, “What are you wearing tomorrow for family pictures?”  We went back and forth discussing what he had and what we might need to shop for that night. T-minus 22 hours before execution.  I informed him we were going with grays, warm neutrals, with a pop of red. He replied that we had already done red. I reminded him that was maroon, and his little brother had asked to do red for years and we had ignored him. Mason said, “Fine. But what kind of red are we talking about – Blood red, Lorena red, or like a muted red?”  You see how I’m used to the deep waters of topics and conversations.

By the time we actually show up for family photos, I’ve given up on caring about the perfect-nice-normal-family photos.  The pop of red was thrown out (sorry bud, maybe next year) and we just smiled.  No matter my level of stress, the photos always turn out amazing, because any photo with my babies captured in it usually is.  They are just handsome little suckers that will always have my heart, no matter the depth of our current water.  Also, I might have had a wine spritzer inside of my yeti to help me chill out – this is just an assumption, not an admission.

See? Perfection.

To be authentically you, one has to be the same at 1 ft. of depth than you are at 80 ft.  Authentic – who doesn’t love people who are described by that adjective?  To show your real self, to live in your own skin and stand in the truth of who and whose you are is the best gift to give the world. And yourself.  To put it eloquently, you do you boo.  I’ve frequented both levels on my journey -swimming in the deep or wadding in the kiddie pool, and I’ll take deep waters over shallowness any day.  Each come with their own scary stuff (Jaws and alligators – both equally as terrifying), but life is less peopley in the deep end, there is much less chatter.  For that fact alone, swim out sister. After family photos of course.

* 2017 Photos by Taylor Nicole Photography

**Not the Aussie Hair family photo…that was produced by google.

 

 

 

 

 

December 11, 2017 by