Dream Chasers

It's been a while.
But, while my blog has been bare for the past few months, my life has overflowed. I finished writing my tenth novel--one that took every piece of my heart to write. The journey of writing that story was a healing one...which, if it is ever published, and you read it, you might understand why.

In my non-writing life, I've been the mother hen ushering kids this way and that, giving pep talks, volunteering, working, wondering, considering, and everything that goes with being a human in this day and age of social media onslaught, biased news filtering, and noisy opinion-makers crowding my ears.

But, there has been a steadiness, and I find it in these things:

My mediation on what God is up to in all of it
The dreams brewing beneath the roof of my home
The hearts needing fostering during those dream chases

And today, I am inspired to declare that because I have been a dream chaser with each and every newly written book for publication, I have suddenly discovered my dual purpose in mentoring my own son--a dream chaser like his mama.

His dream is different than mine, but his heart, his passion, his motivation is probably more than I have ever felt--and if you know me and my tendency to be overly passionate about my dreams, then you know that it's a great feat for my son to outshine my dream pursuit with his own.

When I think of dream chasing on an optimistic day, I see speed gained, the tunnel light growing like the newborn sun. But when I think of dream chasing on a pessimistic swing (these happen way more than I care to admit), I think of the leap and the face flat crash, the light is snuffed like a flame extinguished between the grubby fingers of reality.

For me, even the latter is bearable. I can swallow my disappointment and focus on the present. Push aside the dream, chasing for the very real joys and triumphs of life as a mom, a friend, a wife. Yet, when it is my own son whose dream plays hard to get, whose effort is outstanding but not enough by his own measure, I am willing to bargain with God and trade my dream-coming-true for my son's.

Perhaps this is the very crux of the gospel. Christ gave up his life so that we might live outside the darkness. And in this lenten walk of mine, I know that to be true...that a parent's journey is never triumphant if their child's left in despair.

I would give up my dream so my son could fulfill his. There really is no doubt it. And in this realization, I am grateful for my own dream chasing because while I once gave it credit as growing me and teaching me perseverance in God's calling, perhaps another more selfless purpose is to align me with my son, to give me understanding of his deep passion for something bigger than himself, and to keep me his steady encourager during those optimistic days, and his gospel whisperer during his disappointments.
For the gospel is sweet, it's true, it's the ultimate dream come true, and every dream chase can find hope in what lies ahead because of the gospel. The first dream-come-true.

Confession of A Mom of Teens

 I will forever treasure this moment. Thank God I captured it. My boys, laughing together, enjoying the time with our family, no rushing to friends or practice, just sharing the same air and scenery with the rest of us.

While I would love to say that our family life is often filled with laughter, smiles, and happy teens, I am too transparent to leave you in a sugar-coated impression of my life. In total reality, this captured moment is an exception—an exception that I will desperately grieve because it expresses the norm I had hoped for, yet only experience in tiny, fragmented doses.

This year of growing into a house half-filled with teens has been a journey of wrestling with my expectations and facing the fear of it all slipping away.

I do too much out of expectation and fear. I try too hard to be that mom who says, “I love the teenage years,” when I have never felt anything harder on my heart and my insecurity than I have felt while raising teens. I am afraid that every missed moment of joy because of a battle of wills only piles failure on me and resentment on them. I am afraid of stepping into the empty nest that looms ahead with regret and heartache.
Fear and expectation. My two constant companions.

Yet, I am ever thankful for my friends who affirm the very real hardship of parenting a teen. And I am also thankful for my friends who remind me that my teens are pretty great people. Their risks are flaunting their independence and opinions, not partaking in dangerous dares (for the most part 🤪). They don’t seek attention by reckless behavior (for the most part 🙃), but they resist any advice or opinion with an eye roll, and agitate their siblings every.single.moment. Typical? I know. But because I have grounded my stubborn self in the expectation of perfectly parenting of teens, I am constantly mortified by each failed encounter, each relational disaster with their siblings, with me.
And above all else, I am devastated that we only have a short time left for these exceptional moments that really are just an exception.

I have to choose to enjoy these “Kodak” moments (showing my age here) in the very present. I need to realize that the journey isn’t an easy stroll down a sweet winding river, but a turbulent course with precious breathers along the way. Hopefully, I will capture each and every joy that’s left. And at the end of the course, I pray all the dread of bad memories haunting the chance of keeping any good ones will fall away, forgotten and settled with some calm.

If I am truly honest, I can ay least declare I am confident in one thing that lies ahead—I know I will become the mom of some amazing young men. And hopefully, they’ll return home every once in a while to make more regular joyful moments.

For the Back to School Mamas

"Courage is contagious. When a brave man takes a stand, the spines of others are often stiffened." 

Same with mamas.

I see you mamas out there, sending your babies off to school...to classrooms...to playgrounds... with tears, with hesitation, or even leaps of joy at the re-established routine. I see you letting go of their hands and sending them off to a place without you. 

You are just a week ahead of me. I will walk in your shoes in less than seven days.

Besides the excitement of new schedules after a long summer of sleeping in and chaos, my breath hitches on remembering the hovering fear of school days while I go about my child-free hours. So many fearful thoughts: Who will influence them? What person will stand up for them? Who might walk into their school at any moment...???

You might read my blog posts of a heart tormented by some possible answers to these questions. You, as a mama, might have the very same thoughts swirling about your conflicted heart. Conflicted. That's how it feels, isn't it? You know what supple ground awaits them, yet you also know the risk of letting go.

But, in my core, I know the truth.

And there is nothing in my spirit, in my heart--from my God--telling me that fear is bigger than the truth.

The truth is, I am willing to let go of the reigns of my children's daily encounters and pressures and opportunities, knowing that life lessons are to be learned, that I am to trust something bigger--not the system, or the administration, or the security officers, but I am to trust God with my children when they are apart from me.

It's something I've struggled with all my motherhood life--Trusting God with my babies whom I love more than any other living thing. Perhaps my nurture instinct is overdriven more than others...but I doubt it. I see the love on the faces of other mamas. Just as I see the courage. Just as I am infected by their courageous contagion. And while not every mom I know or see is trusting their kids to my God, I realize that, for me, their actions are challenging me to step away from my over-nurturing tendency, and to look to the One who is molding me and shaping me...and caring for my children even more than me.

The truth is, that I am bolstered by the courage of those mamas around me, the ones who trust their kids to others, who still believe in a system grounded in good, who make my spine stiffen with bravery that just as they are, I am willing to let go even amidst fear and anxiety.

So, when you see a mama slipping their fingers from their babe at the door of a school, know that they are walking a fine trust tightrope. Their spines are stiffened, their courage abounds. And I am a keen observer, watching and praying and hoping. Their courage abounds and I gather it up, pocket it, and pray that I'll find my confident stride next week when I let my own children go.

One Step up, Two Looks Back

One step up, two Looks Back. That's my mantra right now as I struggle along this climb.

You can’t really tell how steep this part of my walk is. It’s pretty deceiving on the way down. Doesn’t feel like much of a workout. Seems like a lazy stroll. It’s the way back that proves its steepness. I walk this evening with my heart in a tizzy. Cardio is certainly at work in my chest, even if I am only on the strolling part of this journey. So many beats of low melancholy, with tumultuous thrums filling the in-between. I crave the exertion of that uphill stride, only to distract from it all. To feel my muscle, hear my labored breathing would relieve my racing thoughts. 

After sixteen years of motherhood, I didn’t realize that the stroll would be somewhere in the past days of diapers and breastfeeding babes. I stood at the very top of the incline, worrying about the steep, and the tumble that could come if my sleep deprived self messed up the nap schedule, or fed solids too soon. But, it was all a pleasant stroll...an instinctual drive to meet the needs of my children. But now? Somewhere at that twelve year bend, i have been struggling with the climb. I’ve faced those baby years in pictures and nicknacks and I pass them by with a worrisome step. Are the unsavored moments taunting, “you miss us now, don’t you”?

I know there are those who scoot their children up and out with joy. But is that joy interlaced with doubt and sorrow at all? I will admit that I sweat the stuff. My brow is covered with swirling beads of warring emotions like the oily marbles I played with as a child. It’s joy, regret, sorrow, pride, and so much love I could burst. I huff and wonder if my pace will ever be steady again—when car keys are handed over, and curfews are challenged—when broad shoulders fill the door, and I wrestle with swollen pride and choking tears. 

Too much—this parenting climb. Too difficult for a mama’s heart to bear when she once took for granted the pudgy fingers and cheeky smiles. 

The curve of the crest is ahead, and I try to slow down, breathing in and out to find some calm amidst the mama-storm. I try wiping away sad to marvel at the joy. 

One step up, and two looks back. 

A Mom in America

Look through my window and see me, I'm a mom in America. And this is what it's like:

I kiss my kids goodbye and watch the school bus pass my house.

And then I hold my breath, try to remain distracted for seven hours, until I rush across the school parking lot at dismissal, a sigh of relief escaping me when I securely grasp my child's hand.

Am I the only mama in this country who's been dancing this ritual each day lately? 

I cannot escape the fabrications in my mind that this could be my last goodbye, that the next phone call could be notice that the epidemic of school shootings has come home to us...that, if I go too far in my imagination, I am sobbing and shaking and hating, and realizing the worst is only a headline away.

I am trying to get a grip, I really am. I am writing this to aid in that effort. My heartbeat is uneven, my breath is sporadic, and the ticking clock is knifing at my peace. If only I could talk myself out of my irrationalities...if only I could believe that my irrationalities were irrational.

I am beginning to wonder...and I am beginning to have a very difficult time coming to grips with my notions these days...

First notion: Prayer is all I have. I know the power of prayer, I know the peace that comes with it. But, I still don't buy it completely. Not now, not in these moments of crisis when kids are being sheltered by desks, and teachers, and school lockdowns. Of all the hundreds of children who've been shot at school, there had to have been a prayer, or ten, said by a mama just like me, asking for protection of her baby. The baby she mourns now.

I hear the arguing, the media, the excuses, the brokenness, and I just feel...prayerless, hopeless, helpless.

The question rattling around in my mind in situations like these is: When do we trust that prayer is all God wants, and, when do we realize He is giving us a nudge (or an all out shove) begging us to do something? Seems to me, a school shooting per week is a pretty clear sign that it's time for action. And I am glad that half of the country sees action as a means to an end, how a solution could be met.
But, at the end of the day, action is not happening, and beyond prayer, I am devastated that it all comes down to depending on lawmakers, squawking journalists, and the ginormous gun industry to change their hearts. Changing those hearts through prayer? I believe that. In theory. But I also think there's a season for doing something.

We aren't suppose to just sit still. 

Second notion: I am in the greatest country, after all, the pros outweigh the cons.

I seriously had the thought today that maybe hubs could put in for an overseas transfer? Maybe then we can escape the ludicrous garbage of gun lobbying and second amendment battle. Wipe my hands clean of the fatality of clinging to tradition and losing sight of common sense. (I truly don't mean to offend, I mean to express my heart on this page...the thoughts that I am wrestling with, the view from which I am looking through the window.)

I love this country. I love what we've stood for at our shining moments in history. I adore our Constitution, and its protection, and what it represents. But I hate the one-sidedness, I hate the extremism, I hate the pride of each side in each issue, and I hate that we are killing each other instead of listening to each other.

I hate that the unity our forefathers represented, has been obliterated because of our bickering.

The pros have slipped, the cons are growing great, and I just don't see how we can toot our own horn much longer. Fleeing this country is not going to help any greater good, I know this. I know that I can be a minute inch toward change, so, I must convince myself that it's worth the fear.

Third notion: Pull them out. Just do it, Angie. Pull them out of school, out of their classrooms, out of the hardship of socialization, out of the care of acquaintances, out of the government-run school system...just pull them out, and decrease their risk.

I don't have faith in that, either. I don't have faith in myself to give them the amazing education that they now receive. I don't have faith that in doing so, they won't miss something I can't give them. I don't have strength for the battle with my youngest who LOVES school so much, and gains SO much out of it...I don't have the self-control to not imagine life ahead, and all the regret and resentment she might have because I kept her home when she was flourishing at school.

And, I have always touted, "Not going to give into fear." I said that when we hopped on a plane to Europe, days after September 11, 2001. I said that when I pulled my kids from Christian school and enrolled them in public school. I said that when I debated walking away from my marriage for fear of the consequences of an unbelieving husband, an atheist father for my children.

Nope. I believe it still. Not going to cave in to fear.

So, I sit here, shaking in my skin, trying to catch my breath, seated in a very palpable pool of fear, wondering what it might look like to stand up and walk out of it?

There's a mustard seed of faith left in my soul. I might hold my breath for the next eleven years of schooling in America, but I am going to have faith that change will happen, I am going to be sure to not just sit idly by but take action, and I am going to love my kids fiercely, and fight for them and their future.

And pray.

I will never stop praying. Never stop praying on days of faithlessness...never stop praying when I am filled up with trust. Just gonna pray because in the end, my soul goes there involuntarily...the Spirit moves regardless of my fear. But prayer is not all I'm going to do.

If you want to join me in doing something about this crisis in America, check out Moms Demand Action. It's not about taking away rights, it's about being responsible with the rights we are given. Let's take action together. Let's protect our country, and our kids.

Everyday Stories

We tend to seek out the extraordinary, the glamorous, the miraculous to discover a greater meaning to this life we're living. Personally, I find myself slipping into the blues when I think about how my life in the present is leaning toward the mundane-twenty-first century-task oriented-daily ritual of running kids around, cleaning floors, washing another load, and trying to consider exercising when my body is just too tired from my late night Netflix binge.

Yeah, everyday life is nothing to post about on social media. Hmph. And yet, I do...and everyone cheers me on, and I think we've all relented to the fact that this is it, and we may as well celebrate the likeness we all share--even if it's about hacks for getting that dirt stain out of our kid's baseball pants. 

This morning, I sat and read Philip Yancey unpack the facades history and people have piled upon the first century Savior in his book, The Jesus I Never Knew, and I came across this:

"...I doubt I would have left any encounter with Jesus feeling smug or self-satisfied. I would have marveled at Jesus' parables, a form that became his trademark. Writers ever since have admired his skill in communicating profound truth through such everyday stories. A scolding woman wears down the patience of a judge. A king plunges into an ill-planned war. A group of children quarrel in the street...There are no fanciful creatures and sinuous plots in Jesus' parables; he simply describes the life around him."

I wonder what parables Jesus would use if He chose this century to share the love of God to the world? How great it would be to have Him come into each encounter and mold it into a truth-bearing lesson. What if I took my everyday and made it extraordinary--not by forcing extravagance or manipulating success--but by simply living it with a keen eye for deeper truth? Maybe deeper truth as simple as this--I am living and breathing by the grace of God.

As a fiction author, I often brainstorm how to hook the reader, and how to create the next unique plot twist. But, as my writing friends and I often lament, there really is nothing new under the sun (pardon the cliche). While it's all been done before, as authors we can only share the same stories with a fresh perspective, thus imprinting our story as unique in the eye of the reader. One Great Storyteller, far greater than anyone before or after Him, told stories that have lasted through wars, cultures, eras, and billions, and they were just ordinary stories with an extraordinary perspective.

Yancey goes on to say, "The parables served Jesus' purposes perfectly. Everyone likes a good story, and Jesus' knack for storytelling held the interest of a mostly illiterate society of farmers and fishermen...years later, as people reflected on what Jesus had taught, his parables came to mind in vivid detail."

Vivid detail.

To have a reader remember a story told with vivid detail is a great feat. It's what any author strives for. But to have a story of everyday life be so impressive and heart-changing that centuries later we can apply them to our modern lives, is something only an annointed Savior could possibly do.

But in Yancey's point about the tool of parables, I also find a lesson for me as a person sitting here, blogging for satisfaction of getting my words out, for hope that I am not just writing for myself, but for a like audience who understands me. The lesson isn't just for my faith or my own storytelling. But it's for my living too.

What details will I remember of this everyday life? Will I look back and see a striving, thrill-seeking, bored, wishy washy gal who grumbled about housework because she just wanted to be entertained?

I want to remember this time of my life with vivid detail--even in the daily routine. I am glad we celebrate the mundane together in Facebook statuses and happy tweets. I want to go one step further and discover what God could be telling me in those moments. What would Jesus say to elevate the simple to profound? 

 If I keep my eye focus on seeking out the extraordinary and successes, I'll miss the life that I've been given...the whole life, not just the shiny moments. But, if I allow my presence to be the gift, the simple place where deeper truth might be found, life might be a little more extraordinary with each step, and I might find God among the everyday stories.

Borrowed Heartbits: Oliver Wendell Holmes

Oliver Wendell Holmes was part of the literary elite during the 19th century, a group of poets and writers who shaped American literature as we know it. Think Emerson, Thoreau, Poe... writers whose work and abolitionist sentiments grabbed at the heart of my most recent heroine, Elsie Boswell.

My yiayia passed away almost four years ago. But the memories that keep dancing in my mind are from decades before. If I close my eyes and think long enough, I can smell the simmering butter from her kitchen door, mixing with the scent of saturated leaves and overgrown grass surrounding the red bricked house as I hunted fireflies. 

My memories are only a stilled moment away.

I breathe in deep the perfume of my yaiyia's cold cream and her laundry detergent and the settled scent of a well-cooked meal hours past, while I sit in 2018 with moisturizer, unscented detergent, and an unpleasant lingering of last night's take out. Yet, something triggers, coaxes my brain to trip and fall into the nostalgia of a warmer instance.

The memories enticed by smell, have been a catalyst for nostalgia beyond my own walls. These past days have brought word that a respectable first lady has passed, and that WWII vets are quickly leaving us behind for a heavenly existence, I have been overwhelmed with a longing for things of old. Maybe it's my mid-life blip of a crisis slinging my own mortality around to mourn the precious moments gone by, the loss of story-telling, and remembering, and the never forgetting. Not only did my yiayia conjure up warmth for us in her tiny home, but she was a prevailer, a hero who escaped Nazis and started life anew in my homeland. So many stories of those who were brave, so many testimonies silenced with the last breath. I fear that remembering is losing its traction against the terrifying future, as witnesses to all the history are leaving us. 

Even so, I will not forget. I think of my own heroes that printed upon my heart as a child, rendering my tiny part of this breathtaking whole that is humanity. What thread my life is in this great tapestry! How much I wish that I didn't focus on the knots and frays, but the secure stitchings of all my grandparents offered. I shall hold all close now. I shall treasure it all the more. And as I sit and breathe in deep, welcoming the memory, the scent of times gone, I am delighted to stumble upon this affirmation:

"Memories, imagination, old sentiments...are more readily reached through the sense of smell than through any other channel." 

Mr. Holmes has blessed me today with this borrowed heartbit. He has offered truth to what I've pondered so very much in these steps tracing back to a time long gone, now stirring aromas in my heart. I pray that we never forget those who've gone before us, and fought the good fight, raced and won, and grew us up and out to a world that needs our pasts to build thoughtful, secure futures--without forgetting.

Borrowed Heartbits: Roald Dahl

I may not have written a novel that quotes Mr. Dahl for today's borrowed heartbit, but I have a heart filled with his stories since I was a child. The BFG was a beloved book in my childhood, and I've revisited it time and again through the years.

Perhaps my own abundant bookshelves growing up have shaped my mama heart to fill our kids' lives with books...and this sentiment by Roald Dahl is an obvious one to me:

"If you are going to get anywhere in life you have to read a lot of books."

Around here, I struggle with screen time with my kids...um, if you follow me on social media, I am sure that is just as obvious as this quote. It seems, my children's time is divided between what they need to get done--school, schoolwork, and meals, and then screen time.

No slender pieces of the pie showing a slew of hobbies, pastimes. Just obligation and screen time.

The practical me knows that it is not entirely true. Thank you, Youth Sports, for squeezing as many minutes out of my overcrowded schedule as you can. But, THANK YOU, Youth Sports, for giving my kids time away from their screens.

Seriously, my heart shudders at the thought of what life will look like from these blue-faced sessions of cyber-living a decade from now.

And that is why, my children will tell you,

"My mom is all crazy 'bout reading. Like, real paper books. Like, away from my screen. Wha'???"

When I get fed up with their mental drainage into the world of Minecraft and Fortnite and whatever

else...they get two suggestions when the dreaded question, "What else can I do?" comes out of their whine.

"Here's a chore..."
or
"Get a book..."

And while they will declare their chores are done, there is always a book unread around here.

Lots of books.

Everywhere.

The picture above shows a glimpse at the shelves in my daughter's room, only because it is the neatest display at the moment...we have books coming out our ears. And, fortunately, my children READ.

A long time ago, when chapter book assignments came home, my kids were allowed to independent read at bedtime. And now, it's a deeply rooted habit--an AMAZING excuse to prolong sleep for them...but to soothe my anxiety away that they are going nowhere with a screen attached to their palm.

And, they are my children--forever night owls...forever bucking the idea that sleep is a good thing. And while I will reprimand them at 10 pm...11 pm...for staying up with a book glued to their face, my mama heart leaps.

Books. The doorways to great ideas, imagination, and knowledge. There might be fabricated digital lands that maneuver them to someone else's imagination by day, but at night, they get to plunge into a story and come up with their own thoughts and ideas.

I rest in those moments when I know, my children are going somewhere.

Borrowed Heartbits: Doctor Marigold

Doctor Marigold had lost his young daughter, and renewed his joy in adopting
another daughter. The story is short, but the emotions are big if you get a chance
to read it! This quote appears in my newest manuscript.

I sit and watch my son light up with stories of fondness and joy, and my  heart nearly bursts. Even more so than if he were always caught up in happy things. His journey before gives these happy moments so much more shine, so much more understanding of the borrowed heartbit from Dickens' for today. 

It was not too long ago that my son and I had sat in the very same spot while loneliness consumed his little body. Heartache is the most hurtful of things, and while I wish it away when it creeps upon my children in those treacherous moments, when the present becomes the past and the future opens onto a new season against the backdrop of heartache, newfound joy appears that much sweeter.

My written stories have shown me the depth of Doctor Marigold's proclamation above, and my life stories have felt this deeply. No fictional character can truly appreciate conclusion, joy, love, without journeying through a place bankrupt of it all. And, while I want to protect my babies and keep them free from any harm, it is in the endurance of messy life that the greatest heart-training takes place.

I think upon solid wisdom, when I think on this:

He has sent me to bind up the brokenhearted,
To proclaim liberty to captives
And freedom to prisoners;
2 To proclaim the favorable year of the Lord
And the day of vengeance of our God;
To comfort all who mourn,
3 To grant those who mourn in Zion,
Giving them a garland instead of ashes,
The oil of gladness instead of mourning,
The mantle of praise instead of a spirit of fainting.
So they will be called oaks of righteousness,
The planting of the Lord, that He may be glorified.

Isaiah 61:1-3

I pray that my children's journeys will prove fruitful and solid like oaks planted for God's splendor, no matter the muck and mire they wade through--how much more their joy will abound.

A Love Letter to My Children

Dear Children,

It's winter. A time when we pull out over a decade worth of tiny handprints on Christmas ornaments. A season when we focus on a baby, and a mama, and a family. A chance to reflect and remember all the Christmases before, holding tight to the good, and forgetting any bad...or trying to.

I have always said, "I hope my babies remember the best, and forget the worst."

And now, I wonder, will you?

I love you so much that my heart can hardly take the pride attack when you all achieve your goals, give us a glimpse at the people you are becoming, take the initiatives to step toward greatness.

My smile can’t be contained when I watch you all triumph in the face of adversity, even after we argue, even after words have stabbed like daggers, even after temper tantrums, and insecure parenting judgement calls.

Even though you roll your eyes, say heartbreaking things, choose everything else over me—I can’t help but love you.

I love you so much that I sit and watch each of you from a distance, allowing the worries to slip away, and admiring the differences I see between your childhoods and my own, and the similarities. 

You are the babies in my arms even when some of you don’t welcome hugs anymore. You are the little buddies who joined me at every grocery trip, every gas station stop, every morning breakfast table, and every evening snuggle time. One of you takes most of those trips to the gas station on his own now, and a couple of you just eat on the go. Snuggle time? Only half of you need that now...and sometimes, we are all too exhausted to even say goodnight.

My mama heart squeezes tight, and I want to forget for just a moment the fact that one of you is spreading his wings to take flight in a few short years. But, then, I struggle with a longing to speed through these days where every word seems to be a battle, and the angry looks are searing, and so many decisions shatter like glass.

I love you so much that even still, I wake up each morning to see what the day holds for each of you. You are my babies. And no matter what you think about me, I will be here for you until my last breath. You are my children. 

I pray only good things for you. Can you remember only the good things around here? Forget the bad? I can't help but wonder if you will. I can't help but worry. And most of all, I can't help but love you. 

Mom

When Your Kid is On the Outside Looking In

Tonight on the drive home, I had a conversation with my son. While I was expecting excitement for the end of school, I got a peek into his heart.

He said in a contemplative tone, "Mom, I always feel like I am left out. I'm the one who gets pushed aside."

My insides twisted at this. The words are so heavy, so unwanted for my mama ears. It's not just emoting, it's a thought that is grounded in evidence from long ago. Evidence that I've spied from a short distance.

Knowing the kid, knowing his environments, knowing his growing up--I knew exactly what he meant.

I'll never forget when he was two years old, sitting with a group of kids on a day out. Everyone squeezed into one side of the table because nobody wanted to sit with him. I must admit that he was an instigator--a pincher. So there's that. But, he didn't do it to be mean. It was an affectionate squeeze that often didn't feel so great. We were diligent at correcting him, but still, that day at the table, the look on his face was heartbreaking. He didn't understand the sudden isolation.

I also understand his particular observation tonight because of the stories that he's told me throughout the school year. And I get it because I see him in his peer groups, and in various activities, and at his school events. I've seen the backs turn as he somehow falls behind. Not intentionally by either party, I am sure. But, I have heard him try and speak and at times, nobody seems to acknowledge him.

Probably the same for many kids...maybe all kids at one point or another. But this kid, he's mine. And I'll just focus on him for the moment. He's a kid that thinks about it deeply...more than he should. More than I want to think about it.

Believe me, this kid is SOCIAL. He's not quiet, not un-liked, not even a loner. He always has friends, and good ones. But, his good friends aren't always around--and for some reason, he finds himself  socially displaced, or passed up, seemingly more often than any of my other children.

Why?

Why do I see it more with him? He's a smiley kid...a jokester...a fun guy to be around. Maybe that's it. He is willing to put himself out there more than any of my other kids...so his chance at being left out is far greater.

Maybe.

Whatever the reason, my biggest question to myself tonight, is, what do I do with this--as a mother with an overactive sensitivity to her children's well-being? Oh, goodness, I need a chill pill. I need to not feel so deeply. If only that could happen on this side of graduation. My youngest's that is... a whole twelve years away!

I need to know now: When my kid is on the outside looking in, what can I do for him?

How can I impress upon his wounded heart that he is so very special? I played several different cards on the drive home, trying to speak beyond the lump in my throat:

"You are so easy going that people just know you'll be okay..."

"These trials are just a way to build your strength as you grow..."

"Remember the Wemmicks..."

"I love you so much...God loves you so much..."

And then, during his silent pout, I yelled in my head...

 "...I THINK YOU ARE THE COOLEST KID AND I WILL MAKE IT ALL BETTER AND I AM GOING TO CREATE YOUR SOCIAL CALENDAR SO YOU ARE SURROUNDED BY APPRECIATIVE KIDS WHO VALUE YOU MORE THAN THE COOL KID OVER THERE..."

UGH!

Yeah, nothing works. Words don't always work. Sometimes, I need to realize that his BIG feelings, and awkward situations, and perception that he's on the fringe of social circles are just going to be.

It's his own thorn that he can overcome and triumph. Just like my other kid with anxiety, my one kid with esteem issues, and myself--with overactive emotional-attachments (hehe).We've all got our thorns, don't we?

As a mama, all I can do is love him and remind him that he's part of a circle where his value busts the seams of the fringe.

These days, family means a whole lot more than just co-existing. It's gotta be more. It's gotta be a place where all the doubt is piled on with love and broken up and scattered away.

This home, this foundation has got to be safe and up-lifting.

Our family's job is to make his outside looking in nothing compared to 

the inside he's looking out from. 

With everything on my to do list this summer, I'm placing this one at the top.

A Word on Summer

I am sitting on my couch, still in my p.j.s at 10:30 am. I can hear the clock tick and the dog whine and the morning dove cooing. Peace is pulsing.

But, my stomach churns and my head aches.

Peace is about me, but I am not a vessel of the stuff. I am a tangled mess.

WHAT THE HECK WAS I THINKING WHEN I SAID 'I JUST WISH IT WERE SUMMER'?????

The last day of school is creeping toward me like a great destroyer of my fragile balance beam that holds me up as a decent mother. And it's not going to snap because of my inability to maintain a household full of children. No, it's not about that. That's not the threat. I can do it. I tell myself I can, anyway. I mean, four kids over fourteen years? I've had practice.

If it's about ability to be home with my children, I am sure any homeschool mom would shoo me away as unworthy.

No, it has nothing to do with my ability to live each second with the little gems.

I love 'em. Honestly, I do. I love 'em more than myself...which might be a problem...perhaps.

But, they've peeled back the cute, joy-filled layers and handsome smiles, and shown me their uglies. And the uglies bring out my uglies. And that's just between the few hours after school.

WHAT THE HECK AM I GOING TO DO DAY IN AND DAY OUT?

I want control. I want kindness. I want order. I want a maid.

 I want perfectly content, self-entertaining, cordial, happy, non-complaining children. I'll get a maid before that'll ever happen. And you know what? The only way I can come to grips with it is by reminding myself...

IT'S NORMAL.

Please tell me it's so! Please remind me that this is all part of the growing, refining, messiness of motherhood and children-becoming-decent-human-beings process. This long, drawn out science experiment of ripping away routine and school for a hot season of suntan lotion and sticky popsicle sticks is necessary, right?

Thing is, as we go about our summerly business, sometimes with teeth clenched and hair in fists, my kids just always appear to be extraordinary "somethin'" when I play the comparison game. Luckily, I haven't met the woman who has the number and ages of kids that I do, and tells me her children are perfectly content, self-entertaining, cordial, happy, and non-complaining...

Have you?

Well, good for her. While she sips her tea and eats her bonbons, smiling and daunting over her joyful pets, I'll schedule my next girls' night and leave my own rascals to fend for themselves for an hour or two. And when I get home, I'll love them just as big as I can, even though, there are times, they just don't seem to deserve it.

That's what'll keep me sane.

Loving them in the chaos...even if they don't deserve it.

Yeah, "I want" has never satisfied. So I just need to lean back, play an oldie but goodie, reminding myself, "I will survive".

Happy Summer! There will be sweet moments, but let's face it, the days are going to be long.

The Shame Game: 3 Temptations to Play

I am coming off my promise to only look at FB when I have a notification. I put a "no scroll" rule on myself for my own sanity...and discernment.

I'll be the first to admit, I have A LOT of opinions. I make snap judgements, I raise an eyebrow at THAT, I roll my eyes at THAT, I shake my head at THAT. And if you don't, I truly want to affirm you for being a free-er, more stable person than me. But according to my thousand plus friends out there, I'd say there are a number of people who are just as opinionated as me. I think it's called being human?

As I've been on a scrolling frenzy over the past couple of weeks, and I've seen a pretty significant decline in my attitude and self-talk, I realized that I've bought into The Shame Game of Twenty-First-Century Culture. I'm munching on the Lotus and unable to get myself out of the pool of self-doubt and self-criticism. Ever been there?

Three things are threatened when I am playing in the shame game, and I need to self-protect and change my approach when I get on social media...

1. Motherhood. I am going to start off by giving all of us mamas a pat on the back for caring enough for our kids. When it comes to our kids, most of us are just trying to do the best we can.

That goes for:

sleep schedules
schooling
activities
meals
care providers
wellness
life...

You name it, I've found myself questioning my sense as a mother in all aspects due to the strongly weighted posts out there. The temptation to feel judged or scrutinized or lesser of a mom is one of the BIGGEST threats to me on social media.

 I know I've posted things that are probably stumbling blocks for other moms. Who hasn't? If we think our way is best for our family, and someone else is doing it differently, then of course we are going to question ourselves. If we think a certain way is WRONG, then we have this strange urge to announce it and feed shame to our people. Meh.

God put each of us in charge of these little people we raise, and I have to remember that the criticism, pride, and my-way-is-better attitude is just not worth playing with. We're doing the best we can. Whether it be different thoughts on schooling, eating, wellness, or what technology we buy, MY HEART IS FOR MY CHILDREN over the latest method or school of thought. And I know, YOUR HEART IS FOR YOUR CHILDREN, and we cannot play the shame game when we are all on equal ground.

2. Successes. If you follow me on social media, you'll know that I am an author. And I often post stuff about my writing journey and my highs, lows, and in-betweens. I have other friends who are:

authors
artists
coaches
health specialists
exercise professionals
chefs
business owners
And a whole bunch of crazy talented you-name-its.

I often find myself editing and rewriting a post--or deleting one--because:
A. I am not as good as that next person in my shamed mind's eye,  OR
B. I know what it feels like to journey three steps behind someone else on my "dream" walk and I don't want to appear like a braggart or insensitive.

Often, I wonder if I should just get off of social media altogether because it's so easy to retaliate to the inferiority brought on by scrolling with my own puffed-up post. ACK. Yeah, I just admitted that. Be tempted to judge me? Hmmm, please say I'm not the only one.

What I have to remind myself is, first, just because I sense a certain tone in a post as something unnerving, doesn't mean that was the intent of the poster. Let's think about that for a moment.

A post's tone can be read differently than it was meant to be received. 

Maybe I shouldn't take things so seriously? Hmmm...

I've begun to look at how beautiful humanity is in our different passions and talents and journeys regardless of a silly social media post. I've found so much joy on my path to publication, and I KNOW I am not the only one who has found it, or been inspired to use a talent.

I must look through the lens of understanding, finding excitement at the unique ways God directs the talents of others. When I stop striving to show off my own successes and cheer on those who are also using their gifts and interests and talents in this life, then my temptation dies and the game is over.

3. My Relationships. There are opinions on just about everything. And even more. Yeah,

it's gotten ridiculous, hasn't it? EVERY.SINGLE.ISSUE has a pro or con post by someone. And I've written plenty of my own, believe me... (didn't we just have a virtual civil war last November? Just sayin').

The risk I run during a scroll session, is falling for the bait and forming an opinion on the spot--without research or reason, (or prayer...hmm), and then shaming others in my comment...bleh!

My favorite way to have a friendly exchange of opinions, besides face to face, has been in Messenger. That way, it's one-on-one, with respect and knowledge of previous and present relationship with that person. The shame game is over when you are two individuals sharing (usually...depending on the relationship, I guess).

HOWEVER, some things just need to be said on our walls, in our circles, whenever we can have a voice--especially when injustice is gaining momentum and the general opinion is in an uproar. We need to speak up for TRUTH when the world is clambering around in LIES and darkness. It's our job as the Salt and Light of the world...if that's our intention. A lot of times, I just want to get my opinion heard in the masses...and that's when I get wet with shame and regret, and most of all, broken relationship.

So now, I need to ask myself this...

What's my motive? 

And I MUST NOT assume the motives of others as they post.

The criticism is destructive, the temptation is thick, and if there is one thing in Twenty-First Century Culture that I could do away with, it's the Shame Game. 

How about you?

Not so Crazy about Change: Faith-filled Friday

I think one of my greatest instincts is to resist change.  Change is a scary frontier.

It's that flip-flop in my stomach the day before school starts and my child is entering a whole new building, when it was just yesterday that we slept in and had whole semesters of holding hands, singing songs, and scheduling playdates.

 It's that twist in my throat and the burn in my eyes when I look back through a baby book and then across the room at my now thirteen year old baby.

It's that hollow surprise when a coveted memory-filled place no longer exists and I struggle with how to capture my memories made there, not realizing until that moment of loss that I didn't hold them precious at the time of making them.

But those memories become threatened treasures now.


It's an unwelcomed venture when my marriage snags, my child hurts, my life is disrupted from a steady, comfortable pace.

Nope. I am not so crazy about change.

Something triggered my emotions on this pesky word, change, lately. Perhaps it's because the school year is dangerously close to an end, and change is rising on the horizon. Or perhaps, it's realizing that I've neglected the moments that are slowly slipping into memories--because we are making sooo many memories, and are reckless with preserving them. Some are fading to a distant thought, a possible dream, a wonder of time.

Not to say that I don't try and live in the moment. Actually, sometimes the moment is a safe haven for another scary word out there, the Future. And we're at the beginning again, where the future is a scary frontier. Yet, I plan for it, I fret over it, and I focus so much on the "around the corner" that the change happens with my back turned on the here and now.

Perhaps, that's why I am not so crazy about change. It happens when I am distracted.

Christ's words dig deeper into my heart and they plant themselves in a whole new way.

Do not worry about tomorrow; tomorrow will take care of itself. - Matthew 6:34

Maybe this is not just for the faithful to grow trust in the Creator and Provider of the universe, but maybe Christ is cultivating our hearts to live in the moment. Because the moments will flee soon enough. And this life is meant to be abundant, and full, and bursting with love. How can I appreciate that, if I am just dipping my toe in the only day I've got?

Mama Reinforcements

Is there any other job besides parenting where you feel like a complete failure over and over again, but never think about (or at least, seriously consider) calling it quits and looking for another place of employment?

It's just been one of those days...um, weeks...um...let's just say, school year 2015-2016 has been rough.

I am exhausted.

Thank God for good friends who are always ready to get away for a girls' night.

If you never give yourself time away from your kids, and if your kids aren't picture perfect little 1950's darlings, then I am telling you now...book a night out. It is certainly great medicine...or a vitamin to get you through til the next night out!

And the old saying, Distance makes the heart grow fonder?? Yeah, it's true even if it's just a few blocks away for a few hours. Mama Drama is spilling from Monday to Tuesday to today. Lord have mercy!

(Pre)Mean Girls: Cliques in Pre-K

The cutest thing I've ever seen...well, one of the cutest things, anyway... is the social extravaganza when I drop my daughter off at preschool. All the little girls run up and give big hugs to the latest student arriving...some of them, anyway.

How would you like to be the girl that is greeted by four or five others with arms opened wide and hearing your name squealed by tiny voices all around?

And how would you like to be the little girl, standing beside her daddy who nobody even gave a second glance to?

This is the seed of drama being planted by preschoolers, before the mean-girl scenarios truly bloom.

And my daughter is in the middle of it.

I didn't notice it really, until today. I mean they have been in school for two months now...and this has been the common greeting method, for SOME of the girls in the over-abundant, girl-dominating class. Maybe it's obvious to me now because I am dealing with middle school drama with my oldest, or maybe it's because I am constantly feeling torn between being an extrovert and chatting away, and reverting to my introvert tendencies to be an "observer".

Regardless, today it struck me as almost disturbing. My little girl was part of the "haves", and the others were the "have nots". Haves being those who "have" the "in" with the girls in the class, and those who "have not" so impressed themselves as acceptable friends.

Hate to be a gossip, but I even saw one girl go up to a "have not" and declare she could not play with them...RIGHT IN FRONT OF THE CHILD'S MOM. UGH.

So, I summoned my daughter over as we waited for her teacher to arrive, and whispered, "You should greet all the girls in your class. Be kind to everyone."

And when I pointed to one who missed the welcoming party, my little girl suddenly became shy and whiney and then ran up to the "haves".

Double ugh!

All I can do is keep reminding her. Keep telling her that kindness is one of the most important things. And explain exactly what kindness is...and that it isn't on special reserve for certain people.

Cliques start early don't they? They are part of human nature, I suppose. But that's no excuse for ignoring the chances to cross those invisible lines. And like I wrote about adult cliques in a post geared toward adulthood it still remains true:  

"Even if it’s unintentional, even if it’s “normal”, clique-ing is an inevitable force to be reckoned with…or to stand against and try and strengthen your heart for the blast."

Gotta start early in making those hearts good and strong.