Well that just happened.

Sometimes all the beautiful celebrations of life come in packaged clusters.  

In these moments, you have no choice but to ride out the crazy schedule, throwing sanity to the wind and sleep for another day.  For it's time to celebrate! 

My latest overabundant cluster lasted all of three weeks.  It began with the joyous celebration of a sister's wedding.  Then the fun of hosting my little sister and showing her life in China (i.e. the mundane beauty of motherhood).  Next came a party that celebrated the fact that Dave and I have a thriving one year old (i.e. we survived as parents for 365+ days!).  Soon after, we were welcoming a brand new baby cousin into the Evans family!

  

As each event morphed into the next and was sometimes fogged by jet lag, I didn't have the time or linear thought to reflect.  And if I tried, it just came out like this:

"Well that just happened."

And then move along I went.     

But now I sit here back in my house with no visitors, no itinerary, and no parties to plan and I take in this quiet.  I take in the quiet realizing that this is my chance to build routine again and revisit the stacks that have been piled, moldy food left in the fridge, or unpacked suitcases sprawled in my bedroom.

 "An overwhelmed schedule means an underwhelmed soul".  

-Lysa Terkeurst 

I read this recently and was reminded that in all the busyness, our hearts are vulnerable to the most sacrifice.  That is...if we refuse to acknowledge Him in the crazy.  I can say I'm tired, but not burnt out.  Craving routine, but not hopelessly lost on where to start again.  I think the only difference to other times of busyness is gratitude.  While I really only had the mental ability to muster "Well that just happened", those few seconds were enough for me to feel overwhelmed with His blessings of family, new birth, proud completion, and community.  I wonder if living a life fully acknowledging Him could change that quote to: An overwhelmed soul has joy in an overwhelmed schedule.

Try as we may to seek out simplicity, there are seasons of life that we just can't help but be busy.  Let Him be there...glorified in your crazy schedule.

Mei ban fa.

"Mei ban fa" (May bahn fa)

There is nothing to be done.

One can't do anything about it.

By far one of the most frustrating yet freeing phrases I'm still trying to learn how to breathe through.  The phrase that can make the most sensible person come emotionally undone.  No one wants to hear there is nothing...you...can...do.  

We don't like to hear it because most of us were raised with the inner dignity of taking things into our own hands and letting hard earned perseverance work it's magic.  We pride ourselves in figuring things out and going against the odds.  Yay!  We did something that we were told could not be done!  Living in a culture where customer service is not their publicized forte, I have experienced many a moments where I received a "mei ban fa" only to figure it out myself and prove them wrong.  Where there's a will, there's a way, right?  

But what about the other times in life when you're not trying to convince a new taxi driver that a particular road does in fact lead to your house?  What about the times when you're not persuading the store owner that all of your groceries will fit into your shopping bag?  

The "mei ban fa" moments of life when...

-flights are canceled

-babies refuse to sleep

-luggage gets lost

-children get sick

-countries hold tight to new policies 

-you're at the mercy of corruption

-babies still refuse to sleep

-pollution surrounds you

-important paperwork processes slowly

What about THESE things?  Will our perseverance and savvy ideas make a child sleep?  Maybe.  But it definitely won't bring a flight back, or clean the air, or make luggage magically reappear.

I just recently saw a handwritten doodle from a friend that said "And if not, he is still good".  My seeing that could not have come at a better time since I was so consumed with all of these nothing to be done  moments.  This couldn't have been a sweeter tail end for me.

The next time I feel hopeless as I hold my feverish child for the 5th day...He is still good.

When my dear friend has luggage lost in airline abyss...He is still good.

In the moments where hope for reconciliation seems lost...He is still good.

Not sure really how to close this out.  Cause how do you follow the words "He is still good"?  It kind of trumps everything I could ever want to say.

... 

His Poeima

If right at this moment someone asked me my greatest wish, it would be to get inside of her little mind and see what she's been pondering about.  

At 11 months, she takes in the world with wonder, silence, stares, and caution.  She's not the type to fling herself at new people or new experiences with wild abandon, but instead prefers to watch and tiptoe her way into the world.  When she is crawling and meets a new surface, she taps on it for a little while before proceeding.  As she takes bites from an unrecognizable food, she holds it in her fingers and nibbles it before letting the whole piece in.  When she picks up something and hears a "No", she practically flings it across the room and then wants a hug.  Gentle, dainty, and quiet.  

   

 Every day feels like an opportunity to uncover who she is.  The more I know her, the better I feel I can love her well.  I want to grasp now that Nora will never be a duplicate me, or a duplicate of one of her future siblings.  Even with her life only 11 months long, I must daily awaken myself to the truth that she is His handiwork. Sure...my body carried her those long 9 months, but I had nothing to do with knitting together her personality, inner desires or quirks.  I'm not nearly as creative.

 Lately I've been reading this book  called "A Million Little Ways: Uncover the Art you were made to Live" by Emily Freeman.  She talks about how the words workmanship or masterpiece used in the Ephesians passage "For we are His workmanship..." are translations from the Greek word poiema (poem).  

"God calls you his workmanship, his poiema.  What happens when God write poetry?

We do.  We happen.

We are walking poetry, the kind that moves, the kind who has hands and feet, 

the kind with mind and will and emotion.  

We are what happens when God expresses himself."

My precious almost one year old was created first as a poem to display the glory of God.  And He does it through everyone else by their diverse personalities in a million little ways.  I feel blessed to see His glory through her personality so untainted and pure.  Full of wonder, slow speed and observation. She is His perfect poem when she is completely herself.  So be shy Nora, stay cautious, and continue letting people know when you've "had enough" of being held.  Cause that's you.  

The Amazing Race to the States

Two thirds into our trip back to America, Dave and I lay wide awake at 3:00 am.  We were camped out in an unplanned stay at a Travelodge already having traveled across the ocean and longing to officially ARRIVE at our final destination. As both of us were half laughing/sighing as we processed our trip thus far, I couldn't help but find some semblance of an analogy:

"I feel like we are running the Amazing Race...with a baby."

The moment I made the connection, everything we had gone through over the course of the previous day and a half started transforming into "Roadblocks", "U-turns", "Speed bumps", "Detours", "Pit stops"...all the lingo they use on the show!  I just couldn't help myself.  Only God can use this humorous connection to begin healing my frazzled, exhausted, overemotional heart.  

If you're not familiar with the show Amazing Race, I apologize if my connections are confusing.  Just ignore the references, and laugh about the misfortunes all on their own!  The host of the show, Phil Keoghan, will be helping to share this story, so just imagine his New Zealand accent with everything in italics. 

On this leg of the race, teams will depart from Shenyang, China and make their way to the United States via stops in Beijing, China and Newark, NJ.  The first group to depart is Team Evans at 6:30 am.  Team Wheeler, Betts and Evans were all on the first flight out, ahead of the other teams.  

At this point, if we were on the show we would have looked like those perky backpacker types all jumping up and down just ready for the adventure.  We felt fresh, were showered, and had huge smiles. 

   .

Once teams landed in Beijing, the Evans were sent through a U-turn and were required to go BACK to baggage claim, recheck their luggage and get ready for their international flight.   Little did they know they would be U-turned again and recheck their luggage upon arriving in the States.

On this detour, at the half way mark of the 12 hour flight, teams will be required to take turns soothing a screaming baby.  In order to perform this detour successfully, teams must try out at least 3 of the given props (finger puppets, Ergo baby carrier, baby books, finger foods, airplane barf bags and your own singing voice) to help calm the child.  When the head stewardess sees that you have attempted your best efforts at not waking the entire cabin, she will hand you your next clue. 

 Syracuse, New York is the Pit stop for this leg of the race.  However, in this roadblock, teams will be required to brainstorm how to get to the pit stop most efficiently after discovering that their 9:00 pm flight out of Newark, NJ has been canceled.  Teams may choose to stay in a hotel, rent a car, or take the next flight out at 4:30 pm the next day.  None of this will be covered or reimbursed by the airlines, so teams will need to be creative in how to fund their decision.    

Double Road Block (I just made that up).  All luggage that was intended to be on the canceled flight is locked up and may not be retrieved until the next day.  If the desk clerk thinks teams have spoken to her without excessive emotion, she will hand them their next clue and send their luggage to their final destination within the next two days.

For this speed bump, all teams that chose  the rental car option will find that only 1 of the 5 rental car options will have cars left.   This may or may not add an extra hour to their journey.  The only cars that will be in their affordable price range will be slightly bigger than a mini cooper.  All teams needing anything like a car seat will be extra squished ;). 




After having already traveled 24 hours with a fussy baby, I wish had an EXPRESS PASS so I could just skip all of this and get there already!  But alas...there is more left to this "leg of the race".  If I had a camera in my face at this point like the true reality show, I would be that girl sobbing and crying looking like the world is over.  Just picture it: I'm in the back seat of this tiny rental car at 11:00 pm sitting on my legs because of no space, crying: "I'm...just...so...tired!"  "Now my legs are all squished, and we have to sit in a car for four hours, and you're going to fall asleep...we're going to die!"
I have discovered something: Exhaustion makes me look like a child.  So glad there was no camera in my face.  I'm glad the world doesn't define my identity by my one fleeting moment of weariness.  But back to the story...




As all the other teams wanted to save their money, they chose to risk waiting for the free flight at 4:30 the next day.  Team Evans decided to take the rental car + hotel option and rest for the night at a Travelodge  to drive fresh and awake the next morning.  They enjoyed a complimentary breakfast and were on their way the next morning at 8:00.

Picture our little family at this pit stop.  And the cool thing was that Dave's mom was waiting for us there to help take us to our final destination (2 more hours in the car).  I can just hear Phil say "As the winners of this leg of the race, you have each won a free vacation to the Adirondacks.  There you will stay directly on the lake with boats to use, trails to hike, and screened in porches to nap in!"

As I type this, I realize that it really wasn't THAT big of a deal.  But everything with a baby feels 10X more intense (at least I think so), so it felt like our journey lasted a lifetime.  We were able to rest in the Adirondacks for 2-3 days but then we are back in the car for a 10 hour journey to Michigan for my cousin's wedding!  Crazy to be traveling again, but looking forward to seeing family!

Richardson/Spoelma/Chase family, you are our next "leg of the race"!

Attached

I've really been searching for a redeemed perspective to this whole "Mom attached" phase.  I understand it is a developmental mark and therefore should be something that reassures me.  Yet hearing my child scream for the entire 2 minutes of my bathroom escape, or for the 5 minutes to prepare her lunch, or the 10 minutes to grab a shower, makes it...difficult.  

"Ummm...where do you think you're going?"  

Being the verbal processor that I am, most of my convictions come when I'm sharing my heart with someone.  Just the other day I happened to be explaining this whole "phase" to my mom and I had said something along the lines of:

"It's like she constantly needs to be reassured that I love her or something!  Even though I just got done tickling her, smooching her, and cuddling with her..."

The very moment those words left my mouth, I felt a pang of guilt.  Wow, Lauren...what a terrible thing...to reassure your daughter of your love, over and over and over.  Why is that such a burden to you?    

Babies have this innate way to make fools of adults, shame the wise, and humble the proud.  They just don't know their secret power.  The very moment we get aggravated by something they are doing, we are most likely guilty of the SAME exact thing!

"I'm going to play and keep one eye on you at the same time..."

We as adults (at least myself), are constantly seeking approval...all...the...time.  Whether we verbalize it or just long for it deep inside, there is this forever "attachment" to being loved, feeling appreciated or being accepted.  We either incessantly ask other people "Do you think this is okay?" or we let the thoughts of "I hope she isn't mad at me" consume us.  

"Don't you go making any fast moves, Mom!"

At how intense I thought my daughter's attachment was to feeling reassured, mine is that much stronger.  And I know better than to think I'm not already IMMEASURABLY accepted, loved, and appreciated.  Whenever I allow myself to be attached to the approval of others, may I remember the truth that I AM approved, loved, and accepted.  And that's coming from someone who has perfection as His standard!   

The prize winning look as I go into the kitchen, or the bathroom, 
or any other room for that matter.

I don't have to freak out when I don't sense His presence.  Cause I know better.  He loves me the same that he did 5 minutes ago, accepts me the same as he did 10 minutes ago, and longs for me to embrace that every waking moment.  So bring on the shrill screams, Nora.   For with each one, you are allowing our Heavenly Father to reveal to me how ridiculous I look when I forget His love for me.  Like your precious Jesus Storybook Bible says: "God loves His children - with a Never Stopping, Never Giving Up, Unbreaking, Always and Forever Love."

But this look is my absolute favorite...aka "Daddy's home!"

I feel like an astronaut.

There is nothing more nauseating to me than feeling like I am spinning wildly out of control. It could be as literal as being flung around by an amusement park ride and as emotional as desperately searching for joy. 

The deep breaths.  Inhale...exhale...finding a clear train of thought in the midst of tantrums.  Surrendering to the fact that my new neighbors probably think I'm neglectful from how much my child screams a day.

The delirium of singing lullabies to my husband, thinking it's my daughter that I'm soothing for the 5th time that night.

The reality that I have talked more about bowel movements (not mine) in the last month than I ever care to in a lifetime.  

The out of body experience when I allow bitterness to rule and my city walls of self control have seemed to crumble.

Unraveling.  Spinning.  Wildly clinging for something to hold me still, for I'm getting sick. For right when I feel like I can stand again, something else comes and spins me around.  If you've ever seen the movie Gravity, I feel like I'm Sandra Bullock (an astronaut) frantically clinging to something that will keep me from aimlessly floating and drifting off.  

You see, they only had about 90 minutes before that same flying projectile would take it's orbit and hit them again.  For them it was destroyed space craft that flung them into the abyss.  For the past 2 months, our flying projectiles have been ALL the emotions that come with teething, constipation, transition to a new house, and extreme mommy attachment.  Oh yeah, and all at the same time.  

  Spinning, grasping, longing.

The beautiful thing about experiencing something like this as a family is that always one of us is stronger than the other.  And it's in those moments we cling to.  In the moments when Nora is the strong one, Dave and I lay comatose at an early 5:00 while Nora sits up between us beating her hands on our bellies.  Stay happy, sweet child...as you let us rest, we are regaining our strength.  Or maybe Dave is the one a little less frazzled and comes home to stand in the middle of her moodiness and my impatience.  

But see that's just it.  I don't want to live life just spinning wildly in between the time frames of flying projectiles.    The phases that baby's journey through can surely feel like you're in a constant orbit of no sleep, tantrums and nursing strikes.  When you finally recover from one round, there is more coming your way.  It's either more teeth, another new environment, bigger personalities, or stronger more persevering lungs.  

In the middle of all this, I can't help but think of this quote from dear Ann (seriously I feel like she's my friend, so she gets a first name reference):

The spirit to spirit combat I endlessly wage with Satan is this ferocious thrash for joy. He sneers at all the things that seem to have gone hideously mad in this sin-drunk world, and I gasp to say God is good.  The liar defiantly scrawls his graffiti across God's glory, and I heave to enjoy God...and Satan strangles, and I whiten knuckles to grasp real Truth and fix that beast to the floor.

-Ann Voskamp One Thousand Gifts

So...even though my knuckles feel white today.  I will rest knowing that when I draw near to God, He draws near to me.  When I allow it, He is the gravity that pulls me toward himself saying "Look, just look at my glory!"  

So while every now and then I will also spin, flail, gasp, scream...and then get hit again with the same thing as I did yesterday, I will gaze at His glory.  For it is bright, overwhelming, and draws me in.

    

Drip, drip, drip.

Drip.  Drip. Drip.

Oh how I'm resisting the urge to be an Israelite right now. Resisting the urge to completely forget where I used to be.

But right now all of this dripping in my kitchen is making it far to easy to forget. If I am a so called Israelite and my last apartment was my Egypt, then this dripping in my kitchen is my hunger in the desert.    An "affliction" only caused by one thing...forgetting.  Forgetting that this side of heaven life isn't supposed to be perfect.  Forgetting that He is always with me and it's me that needs a corrective lens.  He may not be a cloud by day or fire by night, but He is beauty in ALL things.  The ordinary, the simple, the slow.  Even the droplets of water currently collecting in my mixing bowl.  

So in this new oasis from mold, I haven't found perfection.  Praise the Lord.  I'm up for the redeeming challenge of searching for His beauty before I let out another complaining sigh.  For He is working in the loud things like quick apartment moves and in the quiet moments where my daughter pinches her little fingers to grab.  I just need to open...my...eyes - and give thanks.

Gilgal

Just FIVE days ago I wrote my last blog asking for prayer that God would show up fast to show off His glory.  Just FIVE days ago Dave and I were in search of apartments, hoping to find refuge from our mold infested home.  

I've heard this phrase once before:

"Instead of telling God how big your mountains are, tell your mountains how big your God is."

It's funny on the flip side of things, but now I can actually say that I was able to do that.  Call it delusion or actual faith but I found myself in tears talking to the mold...and the pollution...and maybe even the wafting cigarette smoke in our hallway.  Talking with absolute certainty that they would not defeat me and that I will in fact be rescued.  

God not only showed up fast but He showed off His glory immeasurably MORE than we ever asked or imagined. 

Day 1: Saw the number in the window.

Day 2: Visited the apartment, took pictures and fell in love with it.

Day 3: Signed the lease.

Day 4: Landlord moved ALL of her stuff that we didn't want/need out of the apartment (almost unheard of)...and by noon that day!  We moved enough over to spend the night there :).

Day 5: Moving company moved the rest of our things into our new mold-free house.

 In China it is almost unheard of that you can find what you're looking for in a fast way, but then for the lease to be signed within days is just crazy. It is common for a landlord to want to keep all of their furniture in the apartment, no matter how gaudy/tacky it is.  It is not rare for the landlords to be picky about hammering nail holes, painting with different colors, and other things that completely alter the look of the place.  This landlord didn't care about any of that!

There is so much more that He blessed us with that go down to the small details of our apartment that just blow us away.  Dave and I have this scrap piece of paper that we keep running over to and jotting down "one more awesome thing".  

So on that note, I declare that a new decoration in my house should be a pile of rocks.  And I shall name that pile of rocks "Gilgal".  I need a visual reminder to help me recount the ways God has provided.  When I even begin to worry and stress I will glance over at my little pile.  No seriously.  After I press "Publish", I'm heading outside for a rock.  

Can't...breathe.

If this week could have a theme word it would be OPPRESSED.  

Toxic air.  It's surrounding me... I'm caged by it...drowning in it.  When I'm inside, I battle pounding migraines from the mold that has spiraled out of control.  Something we tried to fix before, but has now come to a status that demands our eviction asap.  When I'm outside, I battle the unknown harm from wading through hazardous levels of pollution that masks as innocent fog.  

Nowhere to go and as a stay at home mom, I feel trapped.    

Our little family of three was out last night for two hours walking through the maze of apartment complexes in search of phone numbers in the windows.  A number meant a place for rent...a place to breathe...a place of rest for my weary mom heart.  In my "seeking for refuge" delusion, each number made my heart skip a beat like an airplane to someone alone on an island. 

 Right now we wait.  And in this waiting for an affordable price, realistic location and mediocre standard of cleanliness, I sit.  For there really is nowhere to go.    

So when I feel like my mental state sinks from the limited options of either moldy spores or hazardous pollution, I will recall that I AM IN FACT SINKING.  As David Crowder would say:

If grace is an ocean, we're all sinking.

His love is just as overwhelming as my inability to breathe.

His grace saturates me more than the unseen spores.

For when there really is no where to go, you are forced to sit.  And a warrior who sits is able to take advantage of his shield.  Thou Oh Lord are a shield about me, you're my glory and the lifter of my head.

So my head is lifted.  I long for His glory.  He is my shield, and is above all, in all, through all.  May my fears fall at His feet for he sees me as a "better mom" when I surrender what I cannot control than justify my worry and anxiety with a phrase of "looking out for my daughter".  

I am stomping on the enemy's puny little head today when I say:

I AM looking out for my family when I let go of my justified anxiety and trust God with what I cannot see.  

God is glorified when he leads us through the toxic air of this sinful world.  For he makes all things beautiful in His time.

So if you're reading this and all you're thinking is "Man, they need to get out of there" or "Do they realize what this could do to their bodies?", just know that we're already consumed with those realities.  Instead of alerting us to the technical issues that only bring more fear and less dependency on God, please just pray.  

Pray that God shows up soon to show off His glory.

Apologizing can crush hearts

It's amusing to me how one of my initial language desires when learning Chinese was one of my "filler words" for awkwardness.  

"I'm sorry"

I guess I felt that if I couldn't learn anything else, I wanted to learn how to be polite.  The phrase that brings comfort after accidentally brushing up against someone, forgetting a person's name, changing my mind when ordering food or requesting a small favor. 

When hearing what I actually wanted to use the phrase for, my Chinese teacher gave me a blank look and just said "We don't really apologize for things like that.  With those things you didn't do anything wrong." Hmmm...

Why am I so insistent on clinging to the proverbial cushion to my conversations?  How many times do I actually say I'm sorry for things that do not warrant an apology?  

When I first came to China and was getting used to having a guard open our gate for us, I remember my conversations to that man looking something like this:

"Duibuchi...mafan ni....duibuchi...feichang xie xie.....zaijian" with a BIG smile.  

(I'm sorry...don't mean to bother you...so sorry...thank you SO MUCH.....bye :) :) :)!)

This man sat all day to open that door for people.  Why do I need to apologize for asking him to do exactly that?  Was it a nervous rambling that was responding to his grumpy exterior?  Was it my personal fear that he might not actually open the gate for me?  Was it my subconscious chatter from 21 years of being raised to be "courteous?"  Or was I just proud that I new some Chinese, so gave him an earful of practice?  

No matter what the truth behind the motive, this mindless babble needs some serious revisiting.  Cause I'm a wife and a mom...and nervous babbling can hurt hearts.

Now having a baby, I find myself already unearthing the subconscious apologies.  Saying "I'm sorry" because my daughter gives strangers a poker face no matter how hard they try to make her smile.  Apologizing when the only sound she knows to make is an ear piercing deafening scream.  Or when she's grumpy in public.  Or is the only one crying in the baby photo shoot.  The list goes on.  But why oh WHY am I apologizing?  

When Nora is old enough and makes willful sinful actions that warrant an apology, then sure, I will encourage her to say she is sorry.  Even if she accidentally does something that may have hurt someone, I will hopefully model and train her to apologize.  But may I never apologize for her because she is "embarrassing me."

I can get away with it now because she's a baby and doesn't fully understand my words.  But I want this to resonate with me before my words can cut into her sensitive little heart.  I don't want to apologize for my daughter's awkward fashion choices when she's a teen, her driving skills, or sloppy way she eats food at the table.  I don't want to apologize if she has fears of Chinese people touching her, wants to wear all of her clothes backwards for a year, or enjoys picking her nose and eating what's inside.  Yes, some of these things may need a bit of redirection.  But that can be in private...where no one needs to notice that I "disapprove."  For I would be humiliated if I saw someone look at their friends and apologize for me.

So for those things that don't really warrant an "I'm sorry", may I respond to them instead with a smile, a grace-filled exhaled breath, or no acknowledgement at all.  For that's who she is.  And for right now...it's normal.  

While this post is getting long, I didn't want to leave out the beautiful blessings that are helping to mold me into the mom I want to be.  While in China I get to live in a foreign community of women who have kids.  I get to watch how they shine Jesus through their love that endures all, bears all, and believes all...and quietly...with no apologies needed.  And it's beautiful.

The mother who breathes calmly without a hint of agitation as her toddler screams at the top of her lungs.

The beauty in gentle whispers spoken to toddler ears, reluctant to share toys.

The eye level re-direction toward a young son's inner rage.

The subtle shake of the head that is acknowledged across the room.

Even the nose kisses given after a ferocious chin bite.

It's the beauty in these moments that remind me we don't need to apologize when our kids are strange, moody, or unpredictably disobedient.  For we are all unashamedly enduring it together.

Fattened ox OR love

I flipped open my bible, unsure of where to exactly start reading.  My eyes immediately jolted to what was already underlined and highlighted on the page. 

Better is a dinner of herbs where love is than a fattened ox and hatred with it.

I didn’t even need a complete minute for those words to sting and resonate with me.  This is Solomon’s version of the Mary and Martha story.  The one who invests in hearts versus the one invested in the perfected tasks.  We've all heard it and grasp how we should be like Mary.  But for people who like lists, tasks, perfection, and presentation, we find so much joy in imitating Martha…preparing the fattened ox, NEVER accepting a dinner of herbs to stand in the way of our reputation.  I struggle right at this moment.  While I’d like to say that I can bring a proverbial “fattened ox” to the table with love at the same time, it's in the unmet expectations for that to be thrown out the window really fast. 

Moments when the darn oven will never pre-heat, my dear husband forgot the main ingredients at the market, my daughter’s crying the entire time I cook, or all of my measuring spoons are at the bottom of the sink piled high with dishes.  At these moments I have to choose……fattened ox or love? 

Fattened ox or love.  I hear it chanting in my head on too many occasions now, and I can’t seem to ignore it. 

Sometimes we all just need to cuddle in the chaos, eat corn flakes (cardboard) for dinner, or walk to bed on a carpet of clothes.  Maybe even turn off the kitchen light knowing there is a counter and sink full of dishes, or refuse to fix all the slanted picture frames on the wall.  

For all you stay at home moms out there, 4:30 is my mass crazy run around time of the day.  It’s the time to do a “quick sweep” of all the craft supplies and fabric, actually look in the mirror and see what I look like, and get dinner started before my man walks in the door.  If time escapes me and he walks in to the disaster strewn everywhere (much like my hair), I find myself incessantly apologizing even before “I love you” is off my lips.

“Who cares?  Just come and lay on the bed while I change my clothes so we can catch up about the day.  We can get started on dinner together after that.”

That man sometimes…I tell ya…he doesn't even know how much his words are sent from Jesus.

So yeah, if you ever come over my house and the place is a wreck and we're eating cereal for dinner you can say to yourself "she chose love today."   Perfecting Christ’s love in my heart last a whole lot longer than that fancy recipe.

Set free to live free

Ugh.  I just finished the most intriguing, heartbreaking, confusing, aggravating, and exhausting memoir I've every laid my eyes on.  It's right up there with Frank McCourt's Angela's Ashes as Jeannette Walls takes you on the journey through her intriguingly dysfunctional childhood.  

As a new mother, I was warned when borrowing this book that at some points I would want to throw it across the room.  And yes...this dear friend was right.  Oddly enough, what made my heart burst the most was not the moments of neglect, the father's drunken rages, or even how many times their family just picked up and moved for the heck of it.  Out of all the deep sadness, what I couldn't seem to fathom was how many times something that could rescue them out of poverty, starvation, or eviction was simply wasted....over, and over and over again.

A 2 carat diamond ring that could have put food on the table was hoarded away so that the mother could just sit and marvel at it's beauty.

An entire paycheck spent on beer and cigarettes while the children were left home eating butter, the only thing left in the fridge.

A million dollar property just sitting there unused or sold while the owners wasted away in a shack with no indoor plumbing.

Even at the end of the book when the children grew up and had flourishing lives of their own, the parents chose to remain in the same neighborhood but homeless.

It was in these moments that I wanted to throw the book and scream out "LOOK WHAT YOU COULD HAVE, AND YOU'RE WASTING IT!"  

(Deep breath)...Lauren...take the plank out of your eye.  

Right.  These were not fictional characters that I was judging.  This was a memoir for crying out loud.  A real story.  These were real people.  When desiring to seek holiness, condescending thoughts like this will get you nowhere.  

If God were in a sense reading my life story would he want to throw the book down and yell out "LOOK AT WHAT I HAVE GIVEN YOU, AND YOU'RE WASTING IT!"?  Well, of course I can't picture him yelling at me like that, but it's worth a mental picture to wake me up.  Over and over and over again I forget that I was set free to live free.  How many times am I just like Jeannette's parents choosing to live in poverty while they have a million dollar property to sell? 

I am EXACTLY like them when I refuse Christ's grace and instead choose to struggle with the same sin issues over and over and over again.

I am EXACTLY like them when I even entertain the thought that my life before Christ's saving power was better than striving for holiness.

I am EXACTLY like them when I am offered a life free from guilt, shame or fear, and willingly choose to carry the baggage of anxiety instead.

I am EXACTLY like them when Christ offers me supernatural peace and I hoard it away for another day instead of resting in it right then.

Even though these parents seemed so dysfunctional, selfish, and crazy as I was reading, I am now so humbled that Christ looks at me the same.  I am just as dysfunctional, selfish and crazy when I don't live in the FULLNESS of Christ.  Thank goodness that he doesn't just "throw the book down" as he watches me squander away the goodness He offers me daily, and instead showers me with MORE grace...over, and over, and over again.  

For freedom Christ has set us free; stand firm therefore, and do not submit again to a yoke of slavery.

-Galatians 5:1

Choose to be inspired.

Being inspired by someone can be a mental discipline.  

I knew my brain needed some strong rearing when I began seeing awesome things in the life of others and instead of being intrigued and in awe, the only scrap of reflection I could seem to muster was INTIMIDATED.  

There it was.  Strangling the only motivation I had left, which was already reserved for the menial tasks of the day let alone the extravagant.  We've all been there.  Succumbed to the projects of Pinterest, the reflections of blogs, the recipes of a friend.  We let them drag us on like a carrot in front of a horse without any promise of making us happier or satisfied.

When I first got married and began teaching, I let this carrot drag me on tirelessly.  I would shrivel up with inadequacy every time I looked at another teacher's blog.  "I will NEVER be able to do that" I would sulk to myself and occasionally speak out loud.  My dear husband would sometimes lovingly "ban" me from sites like Pinterest and blogs for a time since he grasped the backlash on my weak heart.  In my weary efforts of becoming all I could be as a teacher, there was no time in the day or energy left in my body to acquire much culinary skill beyond a simple pasta or chicken dish.  

The four years until now are quite fuzzy.  Sure I have many beautiful memories and a huge pile of cherished moments that I still cling to.  Yet through pregnancy and what I have journeyed thus far as a mother have revolutionized me...and my mental health. 

I still chase that carrot stick, yes.  It's just in me to keeping going and wanting to be better.  But now there is joy in the striving.  A child-like glee in acquiring new skills that I "should have" known how to do years ago.  

This all kind of reminds me of a project I did for my grad work.  I was studying the difference between two types of people - people from a fixed mindset and those from a growth mindset.  People (or students in particular) from a fixed mindset are the ones who don't think intelligence is something you can change.  If you're smart you're smart, and if you're not you're not...so there's really no point in trying.  Yet people from the growth mindset feel that your brain can continue to keep on developing and growing if you keep pushing it.  In life I see this division in people and it digs deeper and stretches further than intelligence.

Well I never learned to cook before I got married, so I guess this is it.

All through college my complete bedroom set was hot pink with fuzzy pillows, so I clearly don't know how to decorate a house in a mature way.  

For years I was a Facebook mooch and just looked at what other people were doing, so why start posting pictures now?

I have never been "known" for being the reflective type so I probably shouldn't share my feelings online.

Note: All of the above are examples from my life.  

I think the enemy has a hay day when people see their life through a fixed mindset.  I mean, when other people are merely intimidating, we stand still.  We stop moving and sulk in our "fixed fate".  Yet when people are inspiring, we see the possibility that we can be that way too.  Just because we weren't that way before, who says we can't now?  

Over the last couple of months, I have begun altering my perspective.  Through the discipline of being inspired by people, I have found such joy in new recipes, crafty projects, home renovations, and parenting tricks.  So much has been gained from freely releasing my self-acquired chains of intimidation.

The people that inspire me the most are the ones who find a way to create something out of nothing.  Sometimes in the crafty sense, but more so in the learned skill or rekindled lifestyle way. 

-Friends who realize that as an adult they don't know how to swim so they look at tutorials on youtube and teach themselves!

-Sisters who desire to learn how to cut hair like at a salon so she buys the materials and figures it out herself.  From this she went to cut hair for her whole entire dorm!

-Leaders who see the need to return a gas-powered moped back to its home 2 hours away but don't know how to drive one. She then takes 30 minutes to be taught how to and then courageously rides the steep, mountainous, and busy Philippine roads all the way back!

-Parents who become "empty nesters", but then open their hearts up to overseas ministry!

-Couples who watch as their own marriage is crumbling but then choose to try and redeem that which was broken through Christ.

-People like Paul, who are first opposed to the Gospel but then choose to abandon the labels of their past to pursue Christ fully and freely!

What an inspiration they are to me!  Each of these people (whether they know it or not) have encouraged me to press on, learn new things, not be stuck with who I "thought" I was, and keep trying.  

Let's dangle that carrot stick of inspiration in front of each other as to say:

"Keep pressing on!"