Crying all the tears.

Normal, well-regulated people don't cry actual liquid tears every time they are moved. 

Unless they are 30 weeks pregnant and well, me. Today. 

The kids and I had a great morning spent downtown frolicking in the cool sunshine of Riverfront park and playing with friends at Mobius (the Children's museum).

The waterworks didn't get started when we got home--around 2:00pm. 

Kai and Sunny knew that it was well past Gracie's nap time, and I had prepped them as I put the car in park in our drive way to put their shoes and jackets in the closet and wash their hands while I put Gracie to bed. Well, I got sidetracked with something along the way and when I finally made it to the living room I saw that my sweet Kai had made Gracie a cozy little bed on our rug with with her favorite blankies and buddies and had her all tucked in and was snuggled up next to her singing "Peace" (Numbers 24--our family lullaby). It was too sacred to even snap a picture of. I couldn't even move. All I could do was cry at the sweet, sweet sight of it. 

And then a dear friend from Bible study texted me to see if I was home so she could bring us dinner "just because" she knew i'd been fighting off a mean bear of a sinus infection and of course planning and cooking dinner was literally the very last thing on earth that I wanted to do or even think about and, well, SHE JUST KNEW. So, she dropped a Papa Murphy's pizza and activity book and popcorn off for my kiddos and I managed to hold back my tears until she left but then, well, you know. 

And THEN, you guys, it just HAD to be Kindergarten open house at Kai's school. Not like actual registration or anything, just a simple "open house" for prospective parents to come and check out the room and curriculum and schedule and overall vibe of the school (this was at the private Christian school they have both been attending preschool at). 

I didn't enjoy one single minute of it. 

I sat uncomfortably crammed beneath a kindergarten sized desk and awkwardly wedged into a plastic chair built for a 5-year-old and held my tears back as the sweet little teacher spoke about everything I already knew but was not ready to hear. I sat there and focused on the little baby kicking like crazy in my belly, trying not to remember how it had just been yesterday that I was feeling those same flutters and taps from Kai. I didn't make a scene and even managed to keep it together in the car on the drive home. 

I walked into the house and immediately busied myself with the task of outlining all of our "options" for school next fall and resenting how early this all has to be done. I filled up three whole sheets of notebook paper with all of the different scenarios and options that we have available to us for Kai's kindergarten and Sunny's 4-year old preschool. 

And then I cried a little because there are so many darned options. When we lived in a small town I think I cried a little because there was such a lack of options. But now I was crying because there were too many and the pressure of the decision was overwhelming--even on a rainy Thursday in February, months before the new school year will even begin. 

I took a deep breath and went to clean up dinner while G and the kids continued to play "WrestleMania"on the rug. A few minutes passed until Kai came and sat at the table and I stopped washing and just watched him, sitting there, taking big gulps out of his water glass while watching the rain drops slide down the big window in front of us and that is when the floodgates really opened. 

I'm not ready for him to be gone from me all day...all week long. 

How did this even happen? Why does this have to happen? What kind of cruel world do we live in that forces us to sacrifice our children for seven hours a day once they reach Kindergarten age? When did he get so handsome? Why does he have to grow up? 

ALL THE TEARS OF ALL OF THE LOVING MOTHERS streamed down my cheeks until G had to come into the kitchen to make sure I wasn't going into early labor. 

And as he hugged me he chuckled and said, "Oh babe, you're just pregnant." 

I can't argue with that. Not one bit. But I'm also grieving the growth of my first born that seemed to happen in the blink of an eye. And I'm looking around at my daughters running around the house like wild kittens in pink minnie mouse undies and thinking about how all too soon they will leave me too and how just like that we are going to be empty nesters and OH MY GOODNESS the tears. 

It was over-the-top and highly unnecessary, I'm sure. And I may or may not be a bit out-of-sorts in the hormone department, BUT those tears needed to fall. Necessary or not. I needed this night of pregnant, hormonal, Mommy grief. 

I needed to sneak into Kai's room after he had fallen asleep and just stare at him and push his red waves back off of his smooth, freckled kissed cheeks. I needed to hear that gentle, loving voice in the silence in-between his steady sleeping breaths whisper to my anxious Mama heart, 

"surrender."

And as I feel with each year and week and day and second, his little fingers slowly slip out of my grasp I know that out "there,"  in the unknown and dark places, there are arms wide open--waiting, eager and overjoyed at the anticipation of his embrace. 

He may be my son, but he is a child of God.

So tonight, with tears run dry and a peace that surpasses all understanding, I surrender.

Don’t fret or worry. Instead of worrying, pray. 

Let petitions and praises shape your worries into prayers, letting God know your concerns. Before you know it, a sense of God’s wholeness, everything coming together for good, will come and settle you down. 
It’s wonderful what happens 
when Christ displaces worry at the center of your life. 

(Philippians 4:6-7 (MSG)

And now I'm going to enjoy some pickles and a bowl of cereal since, you know, I'm pregnant, and crying all of the tears certainly takes a lot out of you.

Love of the {EXTRAVAGANT} kind

This post isn't about romance.

It's not about Hallmark cards and chocolates and flowers. 

Shoot, it's not even about Valentine's day. 

But, it's about love.

Extravagant love. 

Contrary to fairy tales and romantic comedy, extravagant love is not about riding off into the sunset on a white horse with your royal princess or knight in shining armor. Extravagant love is quite the opposite, really. It is the kind of love that really COSTS you. It is the selfless love that makes sacrifices and does hard things in the wake of a world that screams otherwise. 

It is a love that you have to fight for. A love that forgives and endures and is patient and kind. 

Last night, G and I celebrated our Valentine's eve by attending a fancy benefit ball for an organization called Beautifully Inspired. 

Beautifully Inspired is an organization that provides support to the Tri-Cities area foster care community. G's sister Beth co-organized the benefit and I had the privilege of putting her family's adoption story into words to be displayed at the event and I think their story worth sharing, especially on a day like today, when so many of us are fighting for a deeper, less material and more "beautifully inspired" kind of love:

Our Adoption Story: McCance Family

I carry a heavy burden for the “plight of the orphan” that has pursued my heart into action and wrecked me.  

When we are faced with staggering statistics of story after story of hurt and hopelessness and despair it is easy to turn a blind eye and list the many reasons why we can’t really do anything to help or make a real difference.

I used to dream about all of the orphans I could save if I won the lottery. 

But then, beneath the weight of this burden God had placed on my heart, I discovered that the “lottery” has actually already been won. 

And it’s Jesus.

Jesus is the ultimate lottery and He will go the distance if we will take those first slow steps in His direction—even if that means walking into the unknown.

This “ultimate lottery” Jesus is not about “all or nothing.” 

He is about taking one step of faith towards opening your home, softening your heart, giving your time and sharing what He has so graciously has given to you. It is in those obedient steps toward that aching need, that call that God has placed in your heart, where HE provides much more than you could have ever imagined—finances, peace, patience, grace, wisdom, help, resources, purpose. 

* * *

We currently have 6 kids in our home that are forever ours. We have two “tummy babies” and four from the heart (adopted from foster care). When we first began foster care, we went from two kids to eight kids within the span of six short months (I had always felt that I would have a large family, just be careful for what you ask for because God certainly has a sense of humor!). At that time, we were both working and living pay check to pay check but when we got the call for our kids, I had NEVER felt more sure of anything in my life. I felt beckoned to quit my job and bring our kids HOME.  When those kids walked through my front door for the first time, I knew them. It’s as if they had always been in my heart and a part of what had once been empty was finally filled.  My babies were finally home and safe.

But this journey has not been easy. In fact, there have been times where the thought of turning away from this call that God has placed on my heart sounded so blissfully easy. I wanted to give my kids the world—I gave them my heart and they stomped on it without hesitation. My oldest daughter spent the first year proving that she wasn’t worth being loved. She didn’t care about being trusted, because she had never been able to trust an adult in her life. Then God showed up, the healing began, and I received a glimpse of how Jesus must feel. Through the pain and hardships and triumphs He has taught me about His patience and grace, His true forgiveness, His unconditional, unfailing love, and His perfect peace. He has taught me to seek joy through the pain and to see the true miracle that our children truly are—beautiful potential just waiting, begging, to thrive! THEY are the true heroes and I am humbled to say that we have been blessed beyond measure.

Our family has been thoughtfully woven together and when I reflect on 

God’s marvelous craftsmanship I am able to see how we fit more perfectly than I could have ever imagined. THIS is the family I dreamed of from before I had even laid eyes on them. Each one of us, intricately stitched together—beautifully imperfect and unfinished. A masterpiece of a journey that is just beginning.

. . .

I think a question that we can all reflect upon, especially today, on this day dedicated to giving gifts to those we love, is how we can not just talk or think or plan to love with this kind of extravagant love--but how to put that kind of love into action.  

I'm not beckoning every dear reader into a life of foster care--but rather into a life of identifying a need around you and not just acknowledging that need, but DOING something about it. Maybe it starts in your neighborhood or at your place of employment. Maybe your kids have friends that need some extra love and grace and hope. Perhaps your parents or grandparents? 

I truly believe that God has us right where we can make a lasting, real impact on another. We just need to see with His eyes and love with His love--which is often not the most comfortable or natural thing to do. But when we give away that kind of love--the extravagant kind of love--we are giving away something that is lasting. Something immeasurable and life giving and so much bigger than ourselves. Something that lasts. 

We don't always know how to help those who God puts in our path or on our hearts. 

We don't have the words to take their pain away 

or the resources to give them everything that they need.

But God has given us the greatest gift of all that we get to give away: 

His love. 

And it comes {extravagantly} wrapped 

in our presence, our time, our generosity & our grace.

Love,

Living "less" in 2016

Less.

That is my "word" for this year.

Does that sound depressing?

It certainly seems like it should--especially in our consumer-happy culture.

Many times, our initial internal response to the word "less" is a feeling of disappointment or feeling sorry for oneself. But as I sat down and wrote out my goals for the year and really sat with God to hear what it was that He wanted for me and for our family this year, I just kept hearing and feeling and repeating "less, less, less."

And it wasn't the pitiful, self-deprecating kind of "less."

It was a hopeful, freeing, deep sense of "less."

 {Check out Jennie Allen's Dream Guide for a great goal-setting outline!}

So the following, my friends, is the is the "less" that I am compelled toward for the year ahead:

Less screen time.

I absolutely set limits on my kids'  "screen time" and I pride myself on getting them outside and engaging in creative ventures on the daily but lets face it--we could all spend less time staring into the glossy sheen of the TV, iPad & iPhone.

TV:
At the start of this new year, G and I (along with the nagging voice of Dave Ramsey) made the painful decision to break up with Directv. Instead we have Netflix/Amazon Prime to stream and a working antenna and I no longer feel compelled to click through the DVR or channel surf when I have more pressing tasks in front of me like mopping floors or stripping beds. It's also better for the kiddos because after they get their "wake-up" show--it stops! It's easy to let a 30 minute show turn into 90-minutes of Disney/Nick Jr. when it plays continuously. So, love that--AND the fact that we are saving a TON of money (happy Dave?)

Which also led me to also say "less" to another distraction--a worse one.

iPhone: 
My children wouldn't allow me to sit on my phone all day even if I tried. HOWEVER, I often find that when I do have a lull in the daily grind and a chance to actually be still for a moment I am reaching for my phone. While there ARE times that I may be doing things that are productive and necessary (i.e. paying bills, responding to emails, reading about current events) there are also times I am mindlessly scrolling through social media. Not that that is BAD--it's just a waste of time if it's being done several times a day AND it's not exactly how I want my kids to remember me--staring into the light of the rectangular screen in my hands. What is that teaching them?

SO--the parameters that I have set for myself are to check email/social media twice a day. Once in the morning before kids are up & then again at night after kids are in bed.

I'm not saying "no," I'm just saying "less."

iPad:
30 minutes per kid, per day (not including the 1-year old who just smears her drooly fingers all over the place). We only have educational apps on the iPad, so it's not like they dumping that time down the drain but I just feel that so much is missed when their little eyes are so glued to that screen--they miss the birds in the backyard and the sunset and the big cardboard box in the garage just begging to be transformed into a rocket. There are days that they don't even ask for iPad time, and then there are days they beg for it (usually extreme weather days!). On those "begging" days limits are a good thing to hold both parent and child accountable!

And guess what?

Less screen time = More together time. 

I will admit that with Gracie's hyperactive/annoyingly needy tendencies, I am often guilty of turning a show on for her while I make/serve dinner just so she's not all up in my grill. And then everyone ends up eating in front of the TV which makes for less conversation and more screen time and not the most fulfilling family time. WELL NOT THIS YEAR. I am really good at the whole "family dinner at the table" thing when we have company or when G is home--but when he's gone...different story. Well, this year dinner time is sacred and the only sounds that will be filling it will be slurping and stories about the day.

Less "lazy" spending.

Darn you, Dave Ramsey. G and I read (let me rephrase--I READ TO G) his "Total Money Makeover" book and it pretty much slapped us in the face about careless spending. This summer is when we really started to feel the effects of dropping from two incomes to one--and I was feeling a bit trapped and helpless with student loan debt and just getting by each month. Well, this book was like a beacon of light in the never ending tunnel of bills and budgets and debt that I felt like I was wandering in. The book is challenging yet inspiring and hope-filled. It totally puts the ball in your court and basically says you CAN be debt free but you have to "live like no one else now in order to live like nobody else later."

So for us, that means:

1. Cars
We are downgrading in the vehicle department. We have used, less luxurious but more economical cars waiting for us once we can get rid of the ones we have now and I can already feel so much freedom from simply listing them for sale.

2. Food
We have been super lazy about our grocery budget--and WHERE we choose to buy groceries. I am not a meal planner by nature so I could easily just decide what I "feel like" making for dinner that day and swing by our neighborhood grocery store (that is very overpriced) to get what I need. That is lazy spending. This year, I have decided to sit down on Saturday morning and write out a meal plan and grocery list that will carry us through two weeks and then drive the whole 15-20 minutes to the much more economical Winco to save me literally almost $100 on my grocery bill. WORTH IT. I've already seen the positive benefits of not only having a plan but also going out of my way to stick to a budget.

G can also spend an ungodly amount of money on meals when he's working out of town which is very convenient for him but harmful to our budget. So, I have also set out to "meal prep" for him after church on Sundays so he has healthy, quick options to eat on the job throughout the week. It's not as nice as the Sunday nap or football veg-out sesh, but it's money saving and fun for me to be in the kitchen alone for a change (if only I could have a glass of wine) while G takes a "Daddy Daycare day."

Less sleep. 

Yikes. When is this ever a good thing? Well, studies show that many of the worlds most successful people sleep very little so I need to just stop being a whiny baby, right?! Even when it's dark and cold. Let's face it--this one is really about me getting my butt to bed before midnight.

One of the things I felt God wanting the most from me was alone time with me FIRST THING in the morning. He knows how much I love to stay up late and not even open an eye until I hear Gracie chirping in the monitor. But He also wants me to put Him FIRST. As in meet with him FIRST, before anything else. Before my day gets too cray. There is so much about this that goes against my nature as I am the definition of a "night owl" in every sense of the word. But less sleeping in = more Jesus, more time, more productivity, and ultimately, my next "less":

Less excuses.

There are a couple of things that have been stirring in my heart that I have continued to shove down deeper each time I feel them bubbling to the surface. I find a MILLION excuses not to act on those callings that I KNOW God has placed in my soul for a purpose--not MY purpose, but HIS purpose.

This year, I am going to complete the process to become a licensed foster care provider--something that I have felt that "tugging" on my heart to do for some time now. I often say "how in the world am I going to do that when I have my own family of six to care for?" But how selfish is that thinking? It's not about ME--it's about showing the love of Jesus to a child who has been through the unspeakable and needs a safe place to go. We literally have two unused bedrooms in our home and there are times I walk by them and just stare into their echo-y expanse and actually feel shame that I am not sharing them when a child who needs a bed. A home. A family. I have been through the orientation but the rest of the certification process has felt like an overwhelming burden and so tedious it has just come to a halt. "I just "don't have time." Well, I'm making time. It's happening.

Messages like this that I have heard at my incredible church have done nothing but validate what I know I need to do! (For full sermon click here! I highly recommend watching!!)

The other "call" I have been ignoring for even longer is my writing. Not so much my blogging (even though I often ignore that, too), but my intentional, formal writing. I have at last begun the process of paging through my scribble-filled notebooks and outlining a book proposal. I also joined an online community of writers for accountability and direction which has been SO motivating. This is the year, friends. I am making the choice to say "yes" to less. Even if that means less comfort. Less sleep. Less "me."

...

John 3:29-30 is what I have coined as my "Mission Statement" for 2016 and I LOVE the Message (MSG) version of it's words:

"That's why my cup is running over. 

This is the assigned moment for Him to move into the center, 

while I slip off to the sidelines."

May this be a year where I "slip off to the sidelines" while Jesus comes off the bench to be the star; and may our cups "run over" from more of Him.

Gratitude in the dark.

Gratitude.

As I reflect upon "gratitude," and the times in my life that I have been overwhelmed by gratefulness, what strikes me is how those profound moments--the sacred ones that have really stuck with me, are not these extravagant, mind-blowing moments; but instead, are quiet and simple and often arrive not when I feel that I am in a "comfortable" place in life, but rather when I am in the dark.

One of these moments that I will forever treasure as long as I live is the way that my firstborn looked into my eyes when he was brought up to my chest at his birth. The first words I heard the Doctor say after delivering him was "this baby has a little cleft lip!" Those were shocking, unexpected words to hear, but then there he was--this perfect, beautiful baby boy in my arms, with these piercing big blue eyes with a trusting love that looked straight into my soul. I don't even remember his lip, just those eyes, and the way he stared into me filled my heart to overflowing with gratitude for the privilege to be on the receiving end of something words cannot even give justice to.

I feel that gratitude when my hardworking husband says "I got her," when our baby chirps early in the morning and we are both tired and groggy and not ready to start the day.

I find gratitude when I stop and marvel at the intricate, delicate beauty in the smallest of creatures that Kai drags into the house from the garden--often in my favorite coffee cup or wine glass.

I hear kindness in the voices of my children as they play when I'm still enough to listen. When I look beyond the mess, I can hear the laughter and feel the joy with which they create and imagine and play and it gives me immediate perspective.

I am often filled with gratitude when I watch the sun rise after a long night up with a sick or teething child. When I choose to open my eyes to the vibrant colors that streak across the sky and marvel at the greatness of the God who painted that sky for me, on that morning, I am grateful for another day to see, to rock, to love.

When I get outside for a hike or a run under the warm winter afternoon sunlight and listen to the birdsong singing praises of joy to the author of life and beauty in the midst of any circumstance, I am filled with gratefulness that I really do have everything that I need; and like the birds, have plenty of things to sing about.

Gratitude is often uncovered by a little voice saying "I love you, Mommy" in the middle of a mess or hectic morning.

It is found while singing to a sink full of dishes.

I see it in my weathered, strong, hands that cook, scrub, hold tiny fingers and fold in prayer.

I hear it in the whir of my washer and dryer that does loads and loads and loads of laundry.

And it was embraced by the light of a battery operated bulb, beneath a cave of worn, cozy quilts with warm little bodies reading book after book when many of our everyday luxuries were suddenly stripped away by a violent wind storm. During those cold, dark days I felt warmth in togetherness, I could hear beauty in the quiet, I saw hope in the kindness of others and stumbled upon gratitude in the dark.

On this Thanksgiving eve, I reflect upon that gratitude that comes to us in the dark. On that light that slices through our deep valleys and illuminates the goodness and beauty that are actually right in front of us--just brought into focus by our will, determination and desire to see it.

May your Thanksgiving be filled with reflection for the simple joys that we often rob ourselves of in our own busyness, and may your hope be found in the unseen--like gratitude in the dark.

"It's lonely in timeout. But, it feels better when I come out and get a hug from brother." (Sunny)

I loved this particular quote from Sunny.

She occupies the "calm down" chair more than her siblings, that is for sure; so she knows the feeling of being there well. The "chair" is located out of kid-friendly territory in the corner of our guest bedroom, so it has a remote feel to it--but it has provided adequate "thinking" time to our sweet but fiery and frequently disgruntled preschooler.

What I love most about my strong willed three year old's words is how she says "it feels better" when she gets a "hug from brother." She knows the drill--after having some quality contemplation in the silence of the cold and lonely fourth bedroom, either me or G goes in and gets down on eye level with her to make sure that: 1) she understands why she's there, and 2) she is calm and hopefully, sorry.

Once we have assessed the situation and have determined that she is no longer a physical or emotional hazard to her siblings or cousins or friends, we walk her out of the room and straight to the individual whom she has hurt (usually physical but sometimes emotional). We then encourage her to look the victim in the eyes (that it key) and offer a genuine apology and then a hug. SHE is the one who then hugs her brother or sister--but notice what she said...what makes her feel better is that her brother (or sister) HUGS HER BACK.

Forgiveness is not something that is said, it is something that is felt. 

Sunny may not completely comprehend the idea of "forgiveness" in her young developing brain, but she certainly identifies that she is receiving something kind from the person she just, moments ago, kicked in the head.

When we get love or forgiveness or a second chance that we feel undeserving of, it feels just like that.

Like your arms reaching out, hesitantly at first, to a dear friend or sister or child or husband that you have hurt, and then the warmth of their arms wrapping right back around you.

When was the last time you felt grace with words?

We receive grace when we feel accepted, received, hugged back. 

And we give grace when we lift our arms and just hold on.

Gratitude with Kai & Sunny: In the midst of the mess.

"It's yucky when Gracie poops in the tub; 

but it feels good to get back into the new, warm, water after it's all clean!" 

(Sunny Boo, 3)

Thankfully, those bathtub accidents aren't a regular occurrence around here; but when they DO happen, it's not just one isolated incident. I mean, I put guilty child onto the toilet to "finish" while I fish the "job" they already did out of the draining tub but said child NEVER "finishes;" which leads me to falsely believe they are done. So, after pulling unspeakable material out of the tub with my bare hands and wipes and whatever else I can desperately think to grab with and scrubbing and bleaching and rinsing, I put my shivering kiddos back into the warm soapy water only FOR IT TO HAPPEN AGAIN.  Fun times.

I think it's been a bit traumatic on the older two, because sometimes there will be a dark colored toy lurking under the bubbles around Gracie and I have a quick freak-out moment which sends both Kai and Sunny flailing out of the tub like their life depended on it. 99% of the time it's just Sunny's little toy horse or this creepy looking giraffe head which I should really just throw away, but when it's not, well, it's just yucky.

BUT, I get a clean tub out of the deal, and after I get the kiddos all situated again I see that I've got my cleaning supplies out so I just go ahead and clean the rest of the bathroom and then the other one, while I'm at it. So, I get clean bathrooms out of the deal. Thanks for that, Gracie.

It's not fun to throw up. 

But, after you do it, you feel a LOT better. 

(Kai, 5)

Kai is our puker. He throws up at the first sign of bodily unrest. I'm actually convinced I could talk him into it. I won't ever try, but I know it would work. Last time he had the stomach flu, his first (and the first is ALWAYS the worst) "spit up" as he calls it, was, of course done leaning over our bed--like, right in that place where my feet hit the carpet when I swing my legs out of bed. Oh, and let me add that this happened the actual moment I drifted into deep sleep after already staying up too late.

So, after he "spit up," he "felt a lot better" and went back to bed and I got to do my favorite clean up job (G was gone out of town for work OF COURSE) by the light of my iPhone at 1:30 in the morning. After scooping the seemingly life-sized puke pile with approximately 30 plastic grocery bags, spraying/soaking and vigorously scrubbing the carpet, I was was pretty wired so I figured why not start some laundry and since I had my special spot/stain spray out, why not go spot clean the couch and then, why not empty the dishwasher and shoot, why not start some crockpot oatmeal for the morning?

I find that I behave that way more often when I'm pregnant, but it was erratic and necessary at the same time. And, of course by the time I finally wound down and crawled back into bed, it was "round 2" on the whole "spit-up" game.

If I was going to write the longest blog post of all time, I'd expand on about 80 of the other "clean up" scenarios that range from a giant glass jar of honey shattered all over the living room floor to a sack of flour that "snowed" all over the whole entire literal house to Gracie ditching her diaper to do her "duty" in every one of our bedrooms.

You know the saying "the quickest way to get a clean house is to have company over last minute?" Well, it also works with sick kids, bath time with a baby, and well, that general toddler tendency toward sensory play.

Bottom line: It is after the biggest mess, that we get the best "clean." 

It's one thing to do daily upkeep every day--but it's another thing to get on your hands and knees and scrub sticky honey off of your baseboards and the never-seen hard wood beneath your hutch and couch and chairs. Once you get going, you see all the other crap that needs cleaned down there and since you are there...

Today, I reflect on how grateful I am for the big messes I've lived through--and I'm not talking about the kind caused by my kiddos. I'm talking straight-up LIFE. I'm talking about the kind that leave you crying in the shower or not wanting to get out of bed because you feel so empty kind of messes (although some of the bad kid-caused messes have that effect as well).

I'm talking about the kind of messes that we make ourselves, or the kind of messes that we get into with others. Some of them come from things like death and sickness and others come from selfish living, messed up priorities, an ungrateful greedy spirit and just plain being far, far from God.

None of my messes have been easy "surface clean" type of jobs. They have all required the deep, sweaty, bleach bottle kind of scrubbing.

But it's in the effort of ridding the dirt and grime and grit from those hard to reach crevices in my soul that makes a way for grace; and it's in the surrender and humility to keep dropping to my knees to do the dirty soul-work that is so easy to avoid that I feel like I'm deeply loved and accepted and, well, clean.

"It hurts when you get an owie..."

"...but THEN you get a "Ninja Turtle" or "Frozen" bandaid! 
Or, maybe even a cool ice pack." 

(Kai, 5)

When we are in pain, we just want relief.

We can't see beyond the bandaid or pain reliever or ice pack.

It's amazing what kind of "healing power" lies in an adhesive bandage bearing Elsa or Michelangelo's face. Other "magical" remedies in our household include the Piggy/Penguin/Froggy faced icepacks in the freezer and kisses from Mommy or Daddy. After one or all of the above responses to a bump or bruise or general overreaction, the injured child is calm, cool, collected and no longer screaming or writhing in pain. It's a miracle.

But often times, after we have treated a wound and the initial pain has subsided, we are left as spectators of the healing--and sometimes, the development of a scar.

A scar that serves as a reminder not only of the pain, but also of the healing.

It's when I'm in the bath tub that I really notice mine.

The two prominent scars on each of my legs--one on my left shin from box jumps to literal failure in my college basketball conditioning class. The other, on my right knee, from a jagged boulder on the banks of the Deschutes river, where I had spent the day riding rapids with my Campus Life group as a teen. I had sea legs and was fatigued from the heat and adrenaline of paddling for my life and slipped on the walk back up to the van (I usually omit that last part and just tell inquirors that I acquired it on a "white water rafting trip"). Looking down at my strong legs and contemplating those scars feels quite similar to flipping through old photo albums. I run my fingers over the scars like an old image, frozen in time, and let my soul drink in the view from the bridge that connects the past to the present.

I don't feel quite the same nostalgia about the scars that line my midsection--stomach and hips. The scars that I wear there tell the story of a belly swollen with life. A belly bursting at the seams that gave way to angry streaks that seem to brag about how my tummy used to be flat with cute little belly button ring on tanned, flawless skin. But you know what's funny? Today, despite the extra baby weight, wider hips and larger sizes, I feel lighter than ever.

And then there's the other scar that changed my life right along with the stretch marks from the little boy it came with. And it happens to be right above the left side of my son's sweet, shy, smile. The scar that is a part of him, but doesn't define him. The scar I prayed and cried over when it was swollen, bloody and stitched up after I brought him home from his cleft lip repair at barely 5 months old.  The scar that joins the delicate pale skin that I taped together in prep for the operation from the time he was six weeks old. The scar that he embraces as part of him, his story. A scar that has shaped his smile and my soul.

"Chicks Dig Scars."

Scars have the power to not only show where you were, but what you have become. 

They tell painful stories, but from their imperfection reflect hope and strength and healing.

Our skin is just a canvas. 

When I lean in and look closely at the marks that stretch across my stomach or the way Kai's smile pulls a little higher on the left, I feel the hand of The Artist at work. 

I feel His scars, and rest in His grip.

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I am thankful for scars, and the stories that they tell. 

I am grateful for the way they shape, stretch, and save.