Hope, Lessons, Prayer

Clinging to Hope

“…Just give hope a chance to float up.”

Hope Floats was destined to be my favorite movie, simply because of the name.  The nuggets of humor and quotes found in it just sealed the deal.

The only thing I can fully understand about prayer and meditation, is how hopeless and helpless I would feel without them.  Hopelessness being a deep, dark cavern – with walls that seem to slowly close in around us, inch by inch. I can’t explain why some prayers are answered and some are not.  Most times for me, digging for answers only creates more questions.

I once was given a mind-opening visual on sin that I feel could pertain to prayer as well.  Place yourself on a sidewalk in the city, surrounded by the buildings that represent our needs and prayers.  Some being so urgent and desperate for us, they are skyscrapers reaching tall into the clouds.   Yet God has a different view.  Perhaps as He looks down on His beloveds, He sees our needs and prayers as the same height. He hears our conversational prayers, our desperate prayers, our mono-tone, memorized prayers.  He even knows our unspoken prayers.  Yet, He also has the aerial view of our location and the map of where we are going. He sees the whole picture, whereas we can only see our little corner of the world in current time.  He also knows that time is eternal, whereas we can sometimes be blinded by wanting more moments of togetherness, in our flesh suits.

We have a ritual of saying nightly prayers with our boys.  Before we dive into prayer, we take a minute for them to share what they are thankful for.  This gets a little habitual from time to time.  No matter the whole list, it always begins with, “Friends, family, animals, shelter, sports, parents…”.  (Apparently, parents are a completely different category from family.)  We sometimes give gentle reminders to really open their minds to ALL of our blessings.  Once, we threw out the idea of waking up in the morning with ONLY the things we gave thanks for tonight.   Which added a whole extra hour of air time, with long lists that included shoelaces, cheese graters, and football gloves. Well played kiddos, well played.

The hardest part about our family prayer time is taking out a prayer. Someone who has been on our prayer list and removed because our cries were answered in ways we didn’t choose.  Death leaves a void in so many places, our prayers included.  It is heart wrenching to hear the hitch in my husband’s voice as he gets to the part in the prayers where our loved one’s name was, to be reminded again that we are not in control.  As Shauna Niequist says, “We, in our humanness, cannot help but foolishly desire eternity in this life.”

In the past eighteen months, we have stood by three different friends as they have buried their sons.  I don’t know how they are still breathing through the magnitude of sorrow. It feels incredibly mean that they are still walking on earth without their son in their arms.  With each situation, we begged for God to heal their child.   Pleaded for their healing, claimed miracles in their names.  Only to later categorize these prayers as “unanswered” in my heart and on my list.  I believe there is a bigger plan, but sometimes life is just unbearable.

In May, we gathered to mourn and honor Madden Drew McCormick, his parents chose the beautiful song “Even If” to be sung.  As we sat there, tears streaming, it was the sweetest, most vulnerable feeling to absorb those lyrics.  It was as if the veil of comprehending was as thin as it’s going to be, and our Creator’s comfort was a soft blanket, tucking itself around all the aching hearts.  It was surrender – the sweetest version of Thy will be done.

“I know you’re able and I know you can, save through the fire with your mighty hand. 

But, even if you don’t, my hope is You alone. 

I know the sorrow, I know the hurt – would all go away if you just say the word. 

But even if you don’t, my hope is You alone.”

My hope is You alone…even when mountains remain unmovable.

Madden’s balloon send off. Photo courtesy of Madden’s mom, Jenny McCormick.

The opposite of not getting your hopes up is not harboring any.  A life without hope seems so bleak.  Hope assures us that we will see and hold our beloveds again. Hope keeps us afloat in the bitter times and bubbles at our feet in the sweet ones. Hope reminds us that the sun will rise again tomorrow.  Hope gently encourages us to keep walking and whispers “It is well with my soul” over and over, until we believe it enough to proclaim it.

Hope professes “earth has no sorrow that heaven can’t heal.”

And that, I can cling to.

Questions we can live with…hope we cannot.

 

July 26, 2017 by
Courage, Fear, Hope, Lessons, Renewed

The Root of my Rot

That was the title of my devotional this week.  If more chapters were named this, I might catch a stronger hint.

How we react is a crucial gauge of what’s really going on inside us.

Eww.  Do we have to gauge our insides?  Can’t we just glide by, covering it all with concealer like I do the dark circles under my eyes?

One of my favorite bible verses, “Do not conform any longer to the pattern of this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your mind.”

The renewing of our mind is a refreshing thought for my soul.  I visualize it like the alt-control-delete button combination.  A soft reset.  God knows my heart is for him, yet he also knows that gut rot sets in from time to time.

I don’t need a whole revival, just a soft reset.

Renew my mind, and my spirit will follow.

Most times, the smallest event can create a nasty case of rot for this mind.  A memory resurfacing, seeing or reading something on social media that leads to a series of eye rolls, hearing a tidbit of a situation that I deem as unfair, getting my feelings hurt and reliving it until pain sets in really, really deep.  I seem to be an Olympic gold medalist in this category.  Glory be.

There I am, walking along, life is bright…

And then, I’ll catch it – the dreaded root rot.

When the feeling of ick is recognized, a mental walk backwards is neccesary to figure out where the rot found its way in.  Usually, it is a teeny-tiny trigger that has caused the wave of irritations.  In the past, I would see a photo of a party on social media and feel a little sting of being left out.  Nowadays, I silently give thanks that I didn’t have to add something else to our crazy calendar (or sometimes, that I didn’t have to leave the comfort of my back porch and yoga pants. Priorities. I’ve got strict ones.) and simply appreciate the gift of a gathering with friends.  Even without me.

If you’ll notice, the ego is usually smack dab in the middle of the issue.  That dumb ol’ ego.  It lives right in the middle of the rot, keeping it all swampy and stagnant.

A little rot can spread fast and furiously if not dealt with swiftly and seriously. It’s crucial to pay attention to our reactions.  When people or issues or situations bump into our happy, it’s not wrong to feel annoyed.  But if that annoyance leads to a reaction out of proportion to the issue at hand, we can bank on the fact that this eruption has the root of rot.  – Lysa TerKeurst

Once, we came home to our house being sparkling and clean.  That one day.

We sang and danced in the living room, smiling while we enjoyed our gleaming home.

Then, we discovered that every time we walked through the kitchen, a whiff of the worst smell would fill our noses.  We checked the trash, the disposal, the cabinets, and wondered if a poor varmint had fallen in a wall and died.  After a few days of searching, we finally figured out the culprit was the beautiful plant sitting on the corner bar.

Seriously?  It’s so pretty on the surface; the leaves are green and shiny, it is watered sufficiently, we enjoy it’s beauty everyday…how did it get root rot right in front of our eyes?  Baffled, I threw the entire thing out.   Rot, beauty, and all.  I’m not perfect, or forgiving apparently.  I simply cannot deal with bad smells.  Lucky for me, I have three teenage boys who keep my odor-searches on point.

How many times do we disguise our rotten thoughts with a pretty surface?  Kidding ourselves that a pretty exterior can smother the smell of rot, even to our own noses.  Similar to not showering at the gym and just throwing on an extra layer of deodorant and dry shampoo, you know this trick.  How freeing would it be to rid ourselves of the ick?  We have the opportunity to renew our mind daily.  Hourly if needed.  The chance to clean out the root of our rot.  Don’t let it simmer loved one.  Release it and move on, and on the days that it resurfaces or slimes its way back in….Rinse and repeat.

*Unglued Devotional by Lysa TerKeurst.

* Photo by Tumbling Sparrow

 

July 19, 2017 by
Family, Lessons, Parenting

Parenting pirates with bumpers…

A few weeks ago, we were preparing to host out of town friends for the weekend.   I get giddy in preparing for friends and love all the things that entails; the planning, the visit, hanging on the back porch late into the night, being cheesy and making them sign our guest book before they leave.

I also delight in the clean house that happens before guest arrive.  A lot. Sometimes I wonder if I subconsciously invite friends to stay so I will make myself clean out a closet or two in preparation of their arrival.  Probably not, but I still wonder.

My eldest child also loves to host last minute, summer-night, swim parties.  It’s never an organized, planned party, more of a, “Hey mom, we are headed to the house to swim, that ok?” gathering.  On this night, I reminded him that I had just cleaned the house and wanted it to stay that way due to company arriving the next day.  He assured me they were just hanging outside.  No biggie, just a chill night, swimming with friends and listening to music.

Just a few of the crew members…

I should pause here to add that I love Mason’s friends.  Adore them.  Some of them have been friends since they were in kindergarten, and I loved them as sweet, five year olds.  Now that they are headed into their senior year of high school, there really isn’t a time I say “No” to them being here.  We are soaking in the moments, socking away memories like gold coins.  Gold coins that we can look back on and count when our nest is empty.

The kiddos came and swam, a fun time was had, and several stayed over for the evening, crashed out in odd shapes of blankets in the game room.  The next morning, I walked into the living area and was horrified.  Clearly, a gang of pirates invaded our home in the night and destroyed my clean floors.  The dark wood looked like the mateys had ran a 5K on a caliche road before entering in the back door, and dropped crumbs to find their way back out to the pool.  Rosie the Roomba was no match for this job.

I walked into the kitchen to discover that Jack Sparrow himself had decided to cook chicken and rice for his whole gang.  The rascal was gracious enough to leave the dishes for his mother.  I can’t fully explain how random this meal was, or exactly where the ingredients came from.  Just a few hours before the teenage buccaneers arrived, I had determined there was nothing in our cupboards or freezers to fix for dinner, and ordered in.  In the morning sun, spare grains of rice lay burnt under the stove top grate, pots and pans filled up the sink, wet beach towels hung on the bar stools, three trashcans overflowed with the remnants of their bounty.  All I could see in my mind’s eye was salmonella dripping off of every surface.

Shiver.  Me.  Timbers.

Sometimes luck has a method of paving the way for you, and Mason has a knack for seeking out luck’s paved roads.  While standing there in the aftermath of the raided kitchen, it dawned on me that my son is a lot like his Momma. As much as these teens seek to create their own path, the pendulum swings back.  He too, strives to be a good host.   We both want our guest to feel at home, to leave refreshed, restored, and full.  Neither of us ever wish for our people to be famished, which is why I stock massive snack drawers for the kiddos and a wine cabinet for my girlfriends.  I made a mental note to start stocking more meat in the freezer, since Mason’s culinary skills and appetite had blossomed.

With three teenagers in the house, we are facing more situations where I realize it’s time to lower the bumpers on the parenting lane.  Some things need to be discovered on their own, like cleaning up our own messes.  Some still need guidance and discipline.  As their mom, I walk a tight rope of my boys calling me Leigh Anne Tuohy,  “The Blindside Mom” and the cheesy mom who still applies sunscreen to their teenage-sensitive faces and organizes their sock drawers when they aren’t looking.

Confession – I’ve always secretly rolled my eyes at the mom that makes her healthy, normal sized 12-year-old ride in a booster seat.  And, also the mom who throws keg parties and collects keys.  I’m looking for a happy medium, a half-way point; a place for a reasonable, loving, sometimes dorky mom to hang out.  Maybe not fully wrapping them in bubble wrap, but just from the chest up?

For now, it’s just the bumpers, it’s not time for him to find his own lane just yet, we are still family bowling here buddy.  Go wake up your pirates and find some mops.

July 12, 2017 by
Lessons, Uncategorized

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
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