My Lent Project: Day 7

Instead of giving UP something for Lent, I’m giving THANKS for the many blessings of life.  Here’s what I’m feeling incredibly thankful for today . . .


Late arrival Wednesdays.


The calm of home in the early morning.


The pitter pat of rain on the roof.


Vitamins.


The smell of muffins baking in the oven.


Kindness.


Happiness in the voice of a friend.


The Bible.


Discussing God's word with a group of women.


Tony Horton's Plyocide workout.


Blue nail polish.


Baking cupcakes to help send high school students on mission trips for spring break.


My helpful husband.


The freckles scattered across my son's nose.


Our orthodontist.


Making plans.


Anticipation.


A great deal.


Coming in from the cold.


Finishing a project.


Starting something new.


Jesus, who makes all things new.

My Lent Project: Day 6

Instead of giving UP something for Lent, I’m giving THANKS for the many blessings of life.  Here’s what I’m feeling incredibly thankful for today . . .



A lost little girl, found.


Knowing my children are safely asleep in their beds.


A sweet get well gift from a wonderful friend.


Hairbrushes.


Toothpaste.


Workout clothes and running shoes.


Tony Horton's Total Body workout.


An awesome teacher for my daughter.


A capable 8 year-old who is thriving in second grade.


The incredible moms I've met at my children's school.


Kelly Doran's beautiful paintings in my kitchen.


Listening to my daughter laughing with her friend.


Swings.


Good news.


Finding the perfect dining room chairs on Craigslist.


Running into one of my favorite people at the ball field.


Watching my son play first base.


Babies.


Hearing someone talk about God working in her life.


Jesus, who showed us how to love our neighbors. 

My Lent Project: Day 4 (and 5 after a stomach bug hiatus!)

Y'all, the dreaded stomach virus woke me up at 1:30 Sunday morning and I was in bed all day yesterday with terrible aches, fever, chills, and the like.  I'm afraid I had a tough time finding life's blessings in my pitiful state, and even if I could have found them, I was too incoherent to write about them.  I'm up and around a bit today, though still not feeling great, but looking back on a terrible Sunday, I can see there are ALWAYS blessings, even in the midst of the mess.  So without any further delay, here’s what I’m feeling incredibly thankful for today . .



My wonderful, amazing, helpful, loving, caring husband.


Ipads that can video my daughter's routines at the gymnastics meet I had to miss.


Advil.


My bed.


My pillow.


Warm blankets.


Sleep.


Toast.


The body's incredible ability to fight off germs.


Lysol.


Clean sheets.


Socks.


Home.


Healing.


Jesus, who showed us what it means to give.

My Lent Project: Day 3

Instead of giving UP something for Lent, I’m giving THANKS for the many blessings of life.  Here’s what I’m feeling incredibly thankful for today . . .


Weekends.


Sleeping in.


The warm sun on my back.


A win on the lacrosse field for the Wolves.


Watching my daughter practice her mothering skills with a 2 year- old.


Cherry trees in bloom.


Hundreds of tiny buds on our dogwood tree.


Bright yellow daffodils smiling at me from our backyard.


A long walk.


70 degrees in early March.


The start of spring baseball season on a perfect afternoon.


Charlie on the pitcher's mound throwing strikes.


A great catch in center field.


A great hit to center field.


Watching Libby make a new friend on the playground.


Salmon cooked just right.


Crumbled bleu cheese on a salad.


Feeling completely understood by a good friend.


Tony Horton's chest, shoulders, and triceps workout.


A glass of red wine with my husband on Saturday night.


The sound of my children giggling together.


Jesus, who taught us what it means to give.

My Lent Project: Day 2

Instead of giving UP something for Lent, I’m giving THANKS for the many blessings of life.  Here’s what I’m feeling incredibly thankful for today . . .


Alarm clocks that work when you need them to.


Clean water at the twist of a knob.


Conditioner.


Peanut butter.


Green lights.


A kind, encouraging email.


A close parking space when it's raining.


Umbrellas.


My son in his dress uniform.


The school my children attend and the incredible people who work there.


Hundreds of children reciting Psalm 24 together in chapel every Friday morning.


School plays.


Little voices singing about God.


Computers.


Hugs.


Help from a friend.


Helping a friend.


Text messaging.


Having lunch with my daughter and her eight year-old classmates.


Blue skies in the afternoon after a gray morning.


My husband's car sitting in the garage when I pull in, especially after he's been out of town.


Tony Horton's core workout.


Fresh avocado.


Family dinners.


Decaf coffee after dinner.


A cozy robe.


Jesus, who taught us what it means to serve.

My Lent Project: Day 1

Instead of giving UP something for Lent, I’m giving THANKS for the many blessings of life.  Here’s what I’m feeling incredibly thankful for today . . .

The snooze button.

Snuggling with my husband under warm covers.

Heat on a chilly morning.

Toilets.

Toilet paper.

Coffee. With caffeine.  And cream.

A puppy that comes running out to greet me every morning, slipping and sliding on the hardwoods like Bambi on ice.

A working dishwasher filled with clean dishes when I wake up.

My 11 year-old son coming downstairs every school day dressed and ready to go as though he’s been up for hours.

My 8 year-old daughter stumbling downstairs every school day, still half asleep, with her hair all over the place and crinkles on her face from the sheets.

Freshly painted kitchen cabinets with new round hardware that always looks exactly right, as opposed to the rectangular drawer pulls I used to have that made my brain break because people with OCD can’t have knobs that don’t stay straight!

Electricity.

My washing machine and dryer.


Tony Horton's balance and power workout.

A shower.

Hot water.

Freshly mopped floors.

A car that starts on the first try.

The motherland Super Target.

Broccoli cheese quiche from the Patio.


A debit card that isn't declined.


Windshield wipers.


Watching my kids devour the same Girl Scout cookies I loved when I was a kid.


Jesus, who taught us what it means to love. 

The Only Thing On My Forehead Is Wrinkle Cream

Today is Ash Wednesday, which means the Lenten season has officially begun.  In many churches, pastors actually apply ashes to the foreheads of believers on Ash Wednesday to signify the inner repentance that is supposed to take place during Lent.  Ashes on my forehead would not encourage me to repent.  They would encourage me to shower.


I don’t know much about Ash Wednesday.  I don’t know much about Lent and the 40 days minus Sundays and the tradition of what am I going to give up this year and how will it increase my faith because I can’t have chocolate until Easter morning.  I don’t know much about anything. 


But I know this number that everyone talks about during Lent . . . this number 40?  It must mean something to God. 


It rained for 40 days and nights when Noah was in the boat escaping the flood (Genesis 7:12). 


Moses was on the mountain for 40 days and nights (Exodus 24:18). 


The Israelites spent 40 years in the wilderness (Exodus 16:35). 


Goliath strutted his stuff for 40 days before David killed him (1 Samuel 17:16). 


Jesus spent 40 days and nights fasting and being tempted by the devil (Matthew 4:1-2). 


I’m going to be 40 next year and how can that possibly be and I’ve heard women have to do ninety minutes of cardio to maintain their weight once they turn 40 oh dear Lord for the love of all things youthful can someone please tell me that isn’t true (no book, no chapter, no verse, but something that I think about way too much).


I completely subscribe to that whole “His ways are not my ways” verse in Isaiah.  In fact, it’s one of my very favorite verses in the entire Bible because when I don’t get something, I have a perfectly good explanation for why that is.  Of course my confusion has nothing to do with my lack of intelligence – His ways are not my ways people.  That’s just the truth.


So I will never understand why God does the things He does and I certainly don’t understand why the number 40 might be important to Him, and therefore, to me.  But I kinda think it is. 


There are LOTS of things I should give up for the 40 days of Lent.  There are LOTS of things I should try not to do or say or think or eat or drink until Easter morning arrives on April 20th.  I should give up worrying.  I should give up envying.  I should give up judging.  I should give up being impatient and prideful and greedy and selfish and unforgiving and I should totally give up my daily caffeinated coffee loaded with a ridiculous amount of vanilla cream. 


Would it strengthen my faith to give up something for Lent? 


Maybe.


I absolutely see the value in trying to stop doing something that is hard to stop doing.  Changing is difficult work at any age, and making a tough change in my life has the potential to help me fully grasp my desperate need for God.  I admire people who give up something for Lent to honor the One who gave everything.  40 days is a long time.  I would miss my coffee in 40 minutes.


I’m not going to give up anything for Lent this year.  Seriously, I couldn’t possibly pick just one and besides, my family needs me to drink my coffee – trust me on this.  Still, I want to respect and observe the Lenten season that begins today.  I want to prepare for Easter and reflect on what it . . . on what He means to me.  So rather than giving up something for Lent, I’m going to give thanks instead.  I’m going to spend time each day, every day, for 40 days, thanking God for the blessings of Easter.  And there are many, my friends.  There are SO. MANY. BLESSINGS.  I can hardly wait to start counting them. 


40 days. 


Endless blessings. 


Won’t you count them with me?

B = B

Busy gets a bad rap.  There are articles and blogs all over the place suggesting many of us are cramming our calendars with too many activities, too much volunteering, and too little free time.  We are called human BEings for a reason, experts say.  We are supposed to just BE every once in a while.  Our bodies need stillness, our minds need rest, our souls need an afternoon by a large body of water without an Iphone alert interrupting the peace every forty-three seconds.

Truthfully, I’m in.  I totally agree.  We are too busy.  I am too busy.  I have a hard time saying ‘no,’ like the majority of the other women in my life, and my weeks often sail by as a stream of commitments I scurry to fulfill, leaving me exhausted and used up by the time the weekends roll around.  I’m an introvert, after all.  Many people don’t fully understand what that term means.  I didn’t understand it myself until adulthood, but the cliff notes version goes like this:  Extroverts gain energy by being with other people.  Introverts gain energy by being alone. 


This doesn’t mean introverts do not fully enjoy being with others.  It doesn't mean introverts are shy or awkward or quiet or unfriendly or not outgoing.  I love being with others.  I am not shy. I am not quiet.  I am very outgoing.  I was voted “Friendliest” in high school. I can talk anyone’s ear off for a very long period of time (days even), but when the conversation is finished, I need to go home and be by myself for a bit.  If not, I get tired, because I’m an introvert.  Simple as that.

Sadly, I didn’t learn this very important fact about myself until I was in my thirties.  Thinking it might have been helpful if I’d realized I was an introvert before I went off to college and signed up to live in a sorority house with seventy-five other girls who thought they were women.  But it took mothering an introverted child for me to finally figure it out.  Also thinking it might be helpful if my second child was introverted too.  She's not.  She's so not.  She talks all day and all night and every second of every minute of every hour we spend together AND HOW IN THE NAME OF ALL THINGS QUIET WILL I EVER SURVIVE MOTHERING THIS CHILD?!?!

I fully agree that too much busyness in my life is not healthy for me or my family, and not only because I’m an introvert who requires down time to function as my best self.  I don’t think being busy all the time is healthy for anyone.  We all need to maintain some unscheduled hours in our lives on a regular basis. 

Still, busy gets a bad rap, because the fact that we are very, very, very busy can only mean one thing . . . we are very, very, very blessed.

Busy means blessed, my friends!  Our lives are full because they are full of blessings. 

We have work commitments because we are employed.  We have household commitments because we have food, warmth, and shelter.  We have volunteer commitments because we have the ability to help others.  We have family commitments because people care to spend time in our presence.  We have tennis matches and book clubs and date nights and family vacations because we are healthy and happy and free to make our own decisions about how we spend our time.

I’ve complained about being too busy.  I’m pretty sure I’ve even bragged about being too busy.  Busy must mean productive, right?  Busy must mean helpful?  Busy must mean . . . the list could go on for days. 


I suppose busy might mean you are productive.  It might mean you are helpful.  It might even mean you are selfless or an overachiever or a workaholic or the greatest parent, wife, friend, daughter, employee on the planet. 

But here’s what I know for sure.  If you are busy . . .

You.  Are.  BLESSED. 

And whatever you do, in word or deed, do everything in the name of the Lord Jesus, giving thanks to

God the Father through him.

Colossians 3:17

HAPPY VALENTINE'S DAY!

Don’t you just love the way those conversation hearts have kept up with the times?  Each year, the candy companies who make them are sure to add new phrases, announcing with just one or two simple words that things have changed. 


‘Fax me’ was the new phrase in the 80’s.  Not sure how many people actually chose to use a fax machine to declare their love, but faxing was pretty cool stuff back then, and the concept was destined to appear on a candy heart.  In the 90’s, ‘Email me’ showed up on the hearts, and now, of course, we have “Text me.”  I’m guessing the candy companies would love to figure out a way to include “Change your Facebook status to in a relationship for me” and “Let’s Instragram that awesome picture of the two of us frolicking on the beach together,” but, you know, the hearts are only half an inch wide. 


It’s Valentine’s Day and my children have already enjoyed their share of conversation hearts this week.  Unfortunately, after Atlanta’s snowmaggedon take two, I’m not feeling a whole lot of love today.  In fact, snowmaggedon just about snowmakilledme.  It also confirmed the fact that I will never NOT ON YOUR LIFE homeschool my children.   Funny how too much of a good thing can alter your perspective. 


After our first set of snow days a couple weeks ago, I was relishing in the joy of an unexpected holiday.  I had enjoyed the down time with my family so much that I actually found myself lamenting about how little time I get to spend with my children, what with all the fun we’d had playing together in our city’s rare and wonderful winter wonderland. 


Two weeks and another two snow days later, there is no lamenting.  There is no more joy in the rare and wonderful, and as I said, even love seems to be in short supply today.


Still, it is Valentine’s Day, and love must be in the air somewhere.  If you ask me, it’s probably wherever the air is a balmy eighty-five degrees and there are no school closings scrolling across the bottom of a television screen.  Either way, there is something I want to say to all of you on this Valentine’s Day, my friends . . .


Wherever you are, find yourself a bag of those conversation hearts today.  Pop a few in your mouth if you’d like – it’s okay, calories never count on holidays, remember – but read them first.  Smile at the ones that say “For sure” and “Yes” and “Why not.”  Ponder the past and how times have changed when you see the ones that say “Text me.”   And when you get to the one that’s in every bag of candy hearts, the one with that quintessential phrase you can find on cards and cakes and balloons all over the country today, I want you to stop and think about the One who taught us how to love, because He is love.  And on this Valentine’s Day, and on every other day, I hope you remember that this is really all He’s trying to say . . .

BE MINE.

      

Heat

Jesus saves. 


That’s what we say.  And I believe it. 


Jesus saves all who choose to let him do it, and there are countless stories of those who have.  The alcoholic, the addict, the adulterer – thousands claim the only way they found rescue from the chains of slavery that bound them is because they let Jesus break those chains.  They let him destroy those chains and replace them with heartstrings, attached only to Him and his promises of hope and redemption and freedom.


There are others who save in this world.  Lawyers save reputations.  Counselors save marriages.  Bankers save businesses.


A lovely woman in my Bible study recently brought up her son. He used to be a firefighter.


Firefighters certainly understand what it means to save.  A firefighter doesn’t think about the risk, doesn’t worry about the possibilities, doesn’t consider the consequences.  A firefighter rushes into a burning building with a single purpose - to save.  It doesn’t matter to him who is in the building, or why.  Doesn’t matter what they look like or who they love or how messy their past might be.  A firefighter runs straight into fire . . . straight through fire . . . intent on rescue no matter the cost.


What if we rushed to save like that? 


What if we didn’t think about the risks?  I mean, really . . . what are a few hurt feelings anyway?  A little embarrassment?  Wounded pride?  We are lucky to live in America, my friends - it's not as if we're going to lose our lives because we share Jesus.  We aren’t running into buildings engulfed in flames here, and yet . . . we are, aren’t we?


People are burning.  They are on fire with their sin, gasping for breath from the scalding weight of it.  They are in danger . . . dying from the heat of their pain and their doubt and their hopelessness . . . and we should be running towards them without fear because we have the good news that can set them free. 


We have Jesus.  The Living Water.  The One who can put out every fire.


There are many who save things – important things - in this world.  There are even many who save lives.  But only Jesus can save souls.  And if we claim to serve this saver of souls . . . this Savior of ours . . . shouldn’t we be running into the fire with him every chance we get?

“Like cold water to a thirsty soul, so is good news from a far country.”

Proverbs 25:25

White As Snow

The snow is melting quickly today, and I’m glad. Our family didn’t suffer like so many Atlanta citizens did during what has already been coined as Snowjam 2014.  There were no eighteen hour commutes from school or work, no long, cold nights spent in cars or in stores or in the homes of strangers.  We enjoyed the snow – loved it, in fact.  There was sledding with neighbors and hot chocolate with friends and the joy of an unexpected holiday in the middle of the week.  We watched movies and threw snowballs and made memories.


The kids went back to school at 10:00 am this morning, as they happen to attend one of the few schools that opened their doors to students today, and I’m glad.  Our family has had enough of the unusual this month, with my recovery from surgery and all that has come with it.  We need some normalcy in our lives, and three inches of snow in Georgia will never be normal.  We need a return to routine, and school on a Friday is part of that.


But that snow . . . it came at just the right time.  Not for most, perhaps, but for me.  And while I feel terrible for all those people who couldn’t get home to their families, and all those families who couldn’t get in touch with their loved ones, and all those loved ones who were hungry and tired and scared and cold . . .


That snow . . . it made me glad.  I watched it fall, softly and silently covering the ground in white, and I was so glad.


I have had a lot of time to think this month.  A lot of time spent on chairs and couches, while the world circled around me and I waited to heal.  All that thinking has been eye opening.  When you’re busy – driving carpool and cleaning toilets and preparing meals and shopping for groceries – you don’t think much about your heart.  You think about getting things done.  You think about what time you have to be where and which items you need to buy at Publix and when you’re going to squeeze in a workout.  Your mind is so occupied by the motions your body is going through that you don’t have time to examine what’s going on in your heart.


But my body couldn't be busy this January.  It had to be still.  And because I have amazing people in my life who loved me enough to help me, my mind didn’t have to think about carpool or cleaning or groceries.  My mind has been focused on my heart, and in turn, my eyes have been opened.


My heart is filthy.


My heart is greedy and jealous and prideful and angry.  It’s mean and selfish and impatient and judgmental.  I want too many things from too many people.  I’m mad when things don’t go my way.  I expect too much, complain too much, fear too much, hate too much.


My heart is covered in sin and dirt and stains.  I’m bleeding out. 


No one can possibly fix the mess that is my heart right now. 


No loyal husband or loving children or wise friend can do a thing to clean up this heart of mine.  It’s dirty and damaged and disgusting.


You see, that’s what I’ve been thinking.  That's all I've been thinking.


Then, the snow began to fall.  It fell all over the deck and all over the backyard and all over the neighborhood.  There was white everywhere, covering everything.  And as I sat there watching the snow come down, thinking about my heart, I remembered . . .


There is one who washes away the dirt.  There is one who cleans the filth.  There is one who knows the depths of my heart and wants to inhabit in anyway, so he can chisel away the gross and the grime and someday . . . get down to the goodness that lives there because he does.


The snow?  It can make anything beautiful.  It can take a bunch of bare trees and change them into an enchanting forest of ice.  It can conceal the blackest asphalt, making it an exquisite path.  Snow can take an ordinary day, and turn it into a picture of peace.


And the one who made the snow?  The one who can make ALL things beautiful?  He can take the worst heart . . . he can take my heart . . . and transform it. 

That makes me glad. 

“Come now, says the Lord: though your sins are like scarlet, they shall be as white as snow . . ."

Isaiah 1:18

What Shines After Surgery

Recovery is a blast, y’all, lemme tell ya.  Not sure what made me think I was going to be some grand exception to the six week recovery rule for major colon surgery, but my growing frustration as life passes me by has made it very clear that I thought I would be and . . .


I’m not.

When the doctor says it takes six weeks to recover from colon surgery, he means every day of the entire six weeks.  As in, over forty days.  As in, you will feel uncomfortable and swollen and tired and completely unlike yourself for a whole month and a half no matter how many times you pray to feel better.

Today, I’m almost four weeks into my six weeks of recovery, and so far, I HATE my new semicolon.

Three hours of surgery is a lot.  I guess I get that.  Six incisions is a lot.  I totally get that.  Trust me, every time I try to move even an inch in any direction, I get that. 

I’ve gotten used to the dull ache in my lower abdomen and not wearing anything but pajama and workout pants because my jeans still won’t fit.  I now know the nausea comes and goes, and when I stand up, I should always brace myself for a wave of lightheadedness.  I’ve even given up on staying awake past my children or sleeping in past 4:30 am, because when you can’t keep your eyes open for one second longer and have to go to bed before eight o’clock every night, your body tells you to wake up hours before the sun every morning.  You know, so you don’t get bedsores.  At least the night sweats have stopped . . . most of the time.

I feel quite certain God wants me to use this period of recovery for some purpose I won’t understand for a very long time, if ever.  I can hear him calling me to be still, and friends, it isn’t hard to obey when my body is saying it can’t budge from the chair to do anything.  Besides, 'Property Brothers' is on and this body needs to see the finished renovations Drew and Jonathan made to that horrible house with that couple's generous budget.

The problem with being still is . . . I HATE being still.  Inactivity and me have never gotten along.  I’m not a napper, not even a rester.  I never used to watch TV during the day.  Ever.  Usually, I stand up to eat meals and read emails because, hey, I might need to rush off to do something in between bites and replies and you can’t rush when you’re sitting down.  Stillness feels stifling to me.  I’m not made to be sedentary.  I miss my workouts.  I miss bounding up the stairs and running around in the backyard with the puppy and driving my kids all over town for their activities. 

I miss my productivity. 

And while I am making progress, and my almost healed incisions have allowed for increased mobility that has done wonders for my mental state this week, I have had many moments of dark in this time of recovery.  I have felt depression lurking, its blackness silently creeping up behind me, threatening to settle in all around.

Thankfully, I know the One who drives away all the dark with His light.  And I know those who love Him, and who have loved me because of it.

I have not caught up on my reading during my recovery, as I hoped.  I have not watched every episode of 'Downton Abbey,' as suggested.  I haven’t learned to appreciate an entire afternoon spent relaxing in front of the television, even if a 'Love It or List It' marathon is on.  

No, I have not discovered the joys of rest and stillness.  But I have witnessed a community of people serving Christ through serving me, and I WILL NEVER FORGET IT.

I will never forget the calls and texts and cards and emails they sent.  I will never forget the flowers and gifts and games and goodies they brought.  I will never forget their visits – the way they uplifted me with hugs and smiles and kind words when the pain was constant and the dark was closing in.  I will never forget the support they provided – hosting my children for play dates and driving them where they needed to go.  I will never forget the meals they prepared.  They have fed my family . . . for weeks they have fed my family when I could not . . . and in turn, they have fed my soul.

My semicolon totally stinks, but my people . . .

My people are AMAZING!!!  They are Jesus at work and faith in action and love in the world.  And for me, they are light.  They are the brightest lights of hope and comfort and friendship, and their choice to be the hands and feet of Christ for me and my family have kept the dark away.  I will be forever grateful.