"...but then, I get my sisters to help me pick it all up since it's mostly their mess anyway and it feels so clean and nice in there and I can spot all of my favorite things again!" (Kai Quincy, 5)
It's nice to have your own space.
I think so often we overlook the importance of a "sacred space." Somewhere we have for just us. To sit and be alone. A space to breathe, to read, to imagine, to cry.
When I think back to my childhood, so many memories of my "sacred space" were outdoors. I was always finding some grassy spot outside and making it my "reading nook," or my space to escape my siblings and sometimes, my parents.
It was important to us that the kids had somewhere that was their space--not just their room, but a special play spot--with the sole purpose for their imaginations and creativity to run wild. I think this day in age, imaginary play has somewhat escaped our children--it has slipped through their fingers while they stare at screens; while they "watch" play. It's not the same. They need to construct cities out of blocks and build blanket tents and play "school" with their stuffed animals. Unstructured play is VITAL for growing little minds--and so many of us have just gotten so, well, busy. Everything is "planned" and structured and if it's not then there is the iPad or Mommy's iPhone to keep them "quiet."
I say, let them be loud. But give them a space to do it.
And you know what? Adults need this as well.
Mommy needs a "space" that is hers--that is quiet and comfortable and that calls me to do what makes my heart come to life. I denied myself that space for so long, you guys. I gave my kids a playroom--I let their little minds be beckoned to a safe, creative space, but failed to allow myself the same. I would "set up shop" on the couch or clear off a spot on the sticky kitchen table or sometimes even my bed. But I can't think clearly in that space. I can't let the words that I read sink in when there is clutter all around me and my pile of notebooks and Bible and books and laptop are falling every which way.
I can't write my heart when I'm crowded.
And then one day I found myself rummaging around in our guest bedroom and needed some more light so I threw the curtains open and just stood and admired the view. It was like I was seeing out that window for the first time. And I thought, WHY is my desk not here? And then I thought WHY am I not using this space that is literally only utilized a couple of weekends a month when we have company?
And then, this happened:
And it's my new favorite spot in the whole house. It will have a hard time beating out my "sun room" this spring/summer, but for now, it's just what I need.
It's where I go to read my Bible, to pray, to write, to read, to think. And I need to be there at least once a day--just like my kiddos need to spend time, each day, in their "rocket ship" or "sail boat" or "teepee."
Don't deny yourself "your" space. That special place that is INTENTIONALLY constructed for you and for your "art," whatever it may be--maybe it's crafting or sewing or painting or baking. Don't let life and structure keep you from doing that which makes your soul say, "YES."
Today, Kai and I say "thank you" to the spaces that fill us.
Let's face it. In our family, we are thankful for ice-cream.
If I could only have one dessert for the rest of my life it would hands-down be ice-cream, and I'm happy to see that my love of the good stuff has been passed down to my children.
Here's the thing about ice-cream though: It's certainly not as fulfilling to indulge in my favorite treat when i'm standing over the carton at my kitchen counter trying to scoop quietly so no one else hears me and wants some or makes some comment about how it's only 9:30 in the morning...(G).
It tastes the best when it's enjoyed around a table with people. When the cold, sweet, creamy, drippy waffle cone is complimented with laughter and little voices and pauses to listen to the birds or the way the breeze is whistling through the tall pines (one of my new favorite sounds!).
I think that is the "healing" power that Sunny has experienced.
It's not the sugar. It's not the way those candy bubblegum bites dissolve in your mouth or the beautifully intricate way those ribbons of caramel weave in and out of brownie and sweet cream.
It's the walk, together, to that ice cream parlor. It's the sacred time spent sitting, smiling, staring at the different way we all "wear" our drippy treat. It's admiring the simplicity of a moment spent around a table with each other, pausing from our busy schedule or normal routine to just be together and take a deep breath. To slow down and savor each lick, each bite, each voice, each sticky face.
The best medicine for a hard day is togetherness: a moment carved out of an otherwise ordinary afternoon or evening to look away from our flashing screens, away from our "to do" lists, away from the clock, and at each other.
The ice cream is optional but most definitely recommended.
Sometimes, a hug, a listening ear, a phone call, a letter, an apology, a smile, or just showing up can usher in something the recipient is desperate for.
I haven't been very public with this, but I had a miscarriage between Kai and Sunny.
I lost the baby at around six weeks and I remember getting angry about the fact that I even knew I had been pregnant--that I'd ever had a "hunch" to even take that test. It felt like a cruel joke someone had played on me.
I will never forget sitting in my car in the parking lot of the ER, knowing in my heart that the baby was gone and dreading the impending confirmation. I texted the few family members and friends who had known about the pregnancy while I sat there, asking them to pray.
G was away for work--hours away--and was unreachable by phone at the time and I had dropped Kai off with my parents. I guess I just wanted to go in and get confirmation of the loss and get on with it. Something like that.
But then, just as I took my seat in the waiting room, around the corner peeks the familiar face of a dear friend. I hadn't asked her to be there with me, she was just responding out of love to my blast prayer request text and knew from her own loss what I might be going through.
We didn't say much, but sat together that summer day as the doctor informed me that there was no baby. I just remember hearing the word "empty" and feeling it literally echo off of the walls in that cold room; and how I'd never felt more hollowed out and lifeless as I had at that moment.
I remember her holding my hand, and walking with me out of the hospital into the seemingly reverent sunlight, and how she hugged me extra tight as we stopped in front of our cars.
I remember that right there in that hospital parking lot, in the midst of the sadness and confusion and anger, God showed up beneath that warm sunshine as I stood, desperate, in the arms of my friend.
When we love each other through the pain of a daddy who has to be away for a long time for work or through the mourning of a child who went to heaven before we did with that tight-embrace, show-up-anyway extravagant kind of love, GOD SHOWS UP.
And from our ashes, comes beauty. {Isaiah 61:3}
Today, Kai and I are thankful for those "extra tight" hugs.
Gratitude surfaces in the midst of fear, and often it's in the form of a quick, simple, but genuine hug or a smile.
Like on the first day of school, when you are in a whole new place in a sea of a bunch of new faces and your Mommy gives you a goodbye kiss and you are scared. And shy.
But then your teacher kneels down and looks you in the eyes with a kind smile and gently pulls you in for a tight hug just long enough to whisper in your ear "I'm SO glad YOU are in our class this year!"
At that moment, my timid son's hazel eyes looked up and met mine with a little nod signaling my permission to turn around and walk down the steps, out of sight, to the car.
I'm so thankful for those "teachers" in my life that come in the forms of moms and sisters and mentors and friends. The ones who pull me in for those hugs and kneel down to look me in the eye and ask me the hard questions and love me anyway. They are the cheerleaders who affirm and encourage and speak life with the kind of love that says "I'm SO glad you are YOU."
There are going to be days when you don't feel like gluing tissue paper squares to your stained glass apple and your "apple window" has the bare minimum effort requirement of five small squares. But that's ok. Your teacher proudly hangs it up anyway.
There are days when you feel tired and like you aren't very good at counting or coloring or, um, housework and cooking. But your cheerleaders see you and say it's ok.You are so special and so beautifully unique and are SO super good and many other things!
I don't think we put enough stock in how some of the most simple things we do can have such a giant impact on another. I know we don't tell each other enough how much we appreciate those small gestures--like encouraging notes sent in the mail or flowers on the doorstep or offers for help with yard work or children or french braiding lessons or that one person who came and talked to you when you walked into a new place and didn't know a soul.
Or a teacher, greeting you each morning with a beaming smile and high-five for her special "Super Kai."
WE have the power to be that light--and today, Kai and I are thankful for the people in our lives that illuminate our dark spaces.
"...but it feels good to wiggle out and be free!" ~Sunny (3)
Thankful, we are, to wiggle out.
To become free of that which crowds us, traps us, suffocates us.
I have often felt "stuck" behind the crowding "couch" situations of life.
Stuck in the cycle of life and the never-ending mundane dishes and laundry and bills and messes. Stuck in relationships that seem to no longer flourish. Stuck at a table with family or friends when there is an argument or huge elephant in the room that is begging to be brought into life but that no one is brave enough to address. Stuck in a job that didn't feed my soul. Stuck in a college major with no real vision for life-work. Stuck in a lonely space with people all around me...
Where does gratitude come from in these "stuck" spaces? Does it come at the end of the chapter, when you have cried and sulked and prayed and screamed and clawed your way to be, at last, "unstuck?"
No.
I have learned, from my "stuckness" that we don't have to wait for that "happy ending" to feel gratitude.
It comes most powerfully in the moments when you feel SO jammed against that wall that you feel like you can't breathe...and you utter a desperate prayer and you suddenly feel not so alone behind that couch. You relax a bit, take a deep breath, feel your insides calm and your soul melt into peace as if someone is whispering "I love you, I've got you" into the depths of your stuck, broken, spirit.
It comes in the form of the random but much needed kind words of a stranger, an unexpected hug and "I love you" from a busy toddler, or warm sunlight streaming in illuminating the precious faces of your sleeping babies. It comes to us in the midst of our stuck situation, whatever it may be.
And we learn, one "stuck" day at a time, to take it slow. To not worry about tomorrow, but to turn our eyes and hearts to heaven for today, and open our clenched fists to receive those small gifts and to just. keep. reaching.
It's in the reach, from our stuck places, that we receive.
Don't stop reaching.
One day, you will find yourself free of that which held you captive, and you will reflect on your time spent "stuck" and realize you were never alone behind that cold couch.
And you will marvel, with tears of joy and awe, at how while you were wedged into that tiny space between the couch and the wall, you traveled so very far.
. . .
So today, I am grateful for the many couches in my life that I have been "stuck" behind, and the freedom that comes not just in the release, but in the "wiggling."
The day that many set out to be extra honed-in on thankfulness and blessings and gratitude for a month in honor of the Thanksgiving holiday. Some find this annoying and redundant in it's repetitiveness on social media feeds but I, personally, LOVE IT. I think there is something so very powerful about being intentionally grateful--especially on those days when you really have to dig for it. How uplifting is it to read all the "I'm thankful for" posts every day and realize that, "hey, I'm really thankful for that too!" If November wasn't such a dreary, chilly month (NW style) I would wish for it to be November year round...
In the past, I have done the daily Facebook "gratitude" post but this year, I'm gonna switch it up a bit.
Lately it seems I have been having more and more conversations with my preschool-aged kiddos about how good comes from "bad." About how happy comes from sad and beauty from the ugly. I know it seems like something that has more depth than a three or five year old mind can comprehend, but, you guys, they get it. The don't always get it when it's their own life (I still struggle with finding good in some of the hard days) but they get the concept. I don't give them enough credit.
So, what we have done for this month is come up with a "bad" thing for each day of November up until Thanksgiving. Sounds fun, right?! I can only imagine your anticipation for the daily post.
But wait, there's more.
Together, as a collaborative blogging team, we (me, Kai & Sunny) have brainstormed the "good" that shows up after--and sometimes during, the "bad."
Because throughout the month of November we are so very good at being thankful for all the good and all the beautiful and all the happy. But we often overlook the trials and tears and sometimes raw heartache that transforms us. We forget those hard parts, they are often too painful to revisit.
But we miss something when we shove those moments deep into our archives. We miss the story. We miss the journey. We miss how our Great Author walked with us--or is there walking WITH us through the dark valley and is guiding or has guided us to the light. Back into His light.
Over the next several days you will have not only my stories and words, but also the preschool version of the daily dark that scares and frustrates and hurts--and how it gives way to light.
Even when it's something like a puddle under your favorite swing or your ice-cream cone on the sidewalk.
It doesn't matter how early we wake up or how much night-before planning I do:
Every single Sunday, we barely make it to church.
You guys, our church is literally less than two miles away from us. I'm talking two turns and two stop lights. We literally only need to leave about 10 minutes before it starts--and get this--there are THREE service options. But it's never easy. As a family of five with three members under age five, I count it a small victory when I slam the car door behind me and glance back to see all of their faces--semi-clean, dressed and buckled in (probably with breakfast in hand or in my lap ready to be thrown back at them to gobble down over the long 5 minute commute).
It's really different every week, but let me paint a brief picture of what the process of leaving for church looked like just yesterday:
8:20am
G and I realize that all the kids are up (weird) and we could actually make it to the 9am service. G likes this idea because it interferes with the least amount of football. He says, "you better get going if you want to do this" so I literally drink the rest of my cereal down in a gulp and shuffle-run down the hall to start collecting church clothes (this is not a job that I prefer G to do--he would try, bless his heart, but something about his choices tells me he just opens a drawer and grabs the first item that touches his hand). My theory on getting out the door in a time-crunch with kids is dressing/cleaning them off/doing their hair first and then taking care of myself (which I can do in record time, I assure you--I have it down to a low-maintenence science).
8:30am
Begin the dressing process which includes chasing down three wild things, trying to wrangle them out of their PJs, and convincing them (older two) to slide their church clothes on (they hate jeans and buttons and anything stiff or formal looking. Well, clothes in general. Don't judge.) On any given day, this includes a screaming fit from Sunny about an clothing item with ruffles or lace or a passive-agressive Kai sneaking off to his closet to change into "something cozier." Today we were lucky, and averted the clothes catastrophe. What has turned into our "routine" is me throwing their clothes onto the couch and then G dressing the older two while I literally pin Gracie down to change her diaper and then chase her down and wrestle her into her dress and then shoes. It's a workout and part of the reason I wait to dress myself.
8:45am
As I stare into my closet and simultaneously sniff the shirt I want to wear that I found in a corner of my bedroom I hear G unwrapping granola bars for Kai and Sunny. Love him. He actually acknowledges that they haven't broken fast yet. Have I? Who knows. Oh yeah, I finished Gracie's left over cereal. That should suffice.
8:50am
I'm dressed and have Sunny and Gracie up on the counter and am trying to do something with Sunny's matted, curly mess. I will be honest, I have no clue what I'm doing when it comes to hair. If you know me, you know that the messy top-bun is my thang. Outside of that and the quick post-shower "scrunch" I'm so out of my element it's not even funny. Only a God with a sense of humor would give me two daughters that I literally am responsible for brushing and braiding and curling(?). Scary. Anyway, I get their hair "did" the best I know how and hurry them along to get in the car with Daddy and glance at the messy bun that I woke up with (ha!) and just spray some hair spray to tame my fly-aways. I open my make-up bag and see my like-new cover up and mascara and reach under them for my perfume and spray that because maybe if I smell super good people won't notice how tired I look? Whatever, dude.
8:53am
I throw my Bible and Nalgene bottle in my diaper back-pack and snag a banana as I run out the door to the running car. I shut the door behind me and see all my loves buckled in and fully dressed and if fortune is in my favor (yesterday it was!), smiling.
8:59am
Check kids into nursery/sunday school and go get a full cup of delicious, strong, piping hot coffee in the lobby while G goes and "gets our seats" because heaven forbid he not have an aisle seat not by the a/c.
9:10am
Worship starts and I feel God wrap His arms around me, greeting me--acknowledging the struggle it was to get there, and the tears fall. I'm not much of a dramatic or obvious type of "crier," I just stand and sing and let the tears roll down my face with a nonchalant swipe every so often. Friends, this happens just about every Sunday. Once I finally find myself seated in the sanctuary I'm exhausted and sweaty and usually notice that my clothes aren't clean but I'm there, sitting before my Jesus saying to Him with every word I can manage in song, "here I am, Lord. I'm so tired but I came here to be with you and to hear from you and to tell you that I love you and I so desperately need you and that you are a good, good Father..."
It feels like one big, heavenly exhale and the faithfulness and goodness of the God who meets me there is overwhelming. It is truly one of the most sacred, meaningful, beautiful, rejuvenating and uplifting 90 minutes of my week.
YET every single Sunday, it is that much harder to get everybody up, ready, fed, clean, dressed and out the door. There is almost always that moment, in the process of it all, where I think "is this even worth it?" Like when Gracie has a diaper blowout that I notice on the way out to the car that also leaks onto my shirt or like when Sunny spills juice all over herself and we are already late or that one time where Kai was just trying to be helpful and not slow us down but decided to blow his nose in his shirt as we back out of the driveway.
But when we push through and fight off all of the distractions this amazing thing happens once we sit down to worship--with hundreds of other tired, hurried, messy people. This morning I felt it before the music even started:
It was grace. It was love. It was community.
I may have had to run a steeplechase through my house and out my door to get there, but God met me there and hasn't failed to show up no matter how rushed or tired or late we were.
Church is worth it, you guys.
It may seem daunting or impossible or at the time, like it's not worth the hassle. But once you get yourself there and allow yourself to receive from the reaches of His grace within a community of believers who, like you, struggled to find their way into their seat, you will be filled.
We can't do this life on our own. We need each other. We need community. We need church.
And speaking from someone who is running on "E" upon arrival, it is overwhelming and worth far beyond whatever chaos had to ensue to get us there.
The enemy doesn't want you in that seat at church. He wants you to throw in the towel and to just stay home in your sweats and will put a million different temptations in your way to get you to do so (diapers, time, football, to-do lists, tantrums, nap time, wardrobe, etc.) Ephesians 6:12 reminds us that our struggle is not against flesh and blood, but against the unseen world, the dark forces...which sometimes come in the form of, well, spilled chocolate milk or a leaky diaper.
Power through, dear Mama.
Get yourself in that chair. And bring it every single week. Marvel at the strength and stamina God has given you as you sit there basking in the glow of His love. No matter how crazy my morning has been, I have never regretted showing up. In fact, I have found that forcing myself to make it happen is actually the best thing I can do to get my week started off on the right note.
Upon moving to a new city our church has been my saving grace. The community and fellowship, opportunities to volunteer and pour into others and of course the chance to receive God's love through His word and through His people are invaluable.
Those reasons that keep you home--or that tempt you to stay home will pale in comparison to the way that God wants to pour into you as you sit in a community of believers before him.
That couple of hours may be hard to give on a Sunday morning. But perhaps we should stop seeing it as our time to "put in" or to "give."
Our Father God wants to meet us there so HE can give to us.
Our job is to show up and to be loved.
...
[Our pastor featured this verse below in His sermon last week, and it has stuck with me in such a big way pertaining to God's love and faithfulness and our surrender...and the song was played a few weeks ago at the end of the service during a time of prayer and reflection and YOU GUYS, it's just beautiful. Listen to it loud with your eyes closed and enjoy!]
PSALM 18: 16-21 (MSG)
16But me he caught - reached all the way from sky to sea; he pulled me out of
17that enemy chaos, the void in which I was drowning.
18They hit me when I was down, but God stuck by me.
19He stood me up on a wide-open field; I stood there saved - surprised to be loved!
20God made my life complete when I placed all the pieces before him. When I got my act together, he gave me a fresh start. (emphasis mine)
