the barn dance and grace

before i had even climbed out of my car, i could hear the music of their young voices.

as i came closer to the barn, there was no doubt a party was just inside.

light spilled from a couple of small windows up high.

laughter spilled from every weathered, white board.

life.

this old barn held a hundred or so teens for a school dance. a little bit of country. a little bit of crazy. plaid shirts and cowboy boots and kids with a whole lot of foot stompin joy -- square dancing inside on the second floor.

i stopped to photograph the barn before going in ...before realizing i also had tears spilling unexpectedly. 

all this life contained. this wonderful, beautiful life ... just inside.

i was only a mama sneaking in to snatch a few pictures of my teens. they gave me permission. "sure mom, you can stop by and take some pictures." they didn't mind me showing up for a few minutes ... as long as i didn't overstay my welcome. i know the boundaries.

but i could hardly walk through those doors with dripping nose and weepy eyes. that would be a whole different story, right?

so, why the tears?

i could have blamed it on the cold, october wind -- this is minnesota after all. but if i'm honest, it was just that kind of day. a day full of unexpected emotion. so much had crossed my path in the past 12 hours -- from the very beautiful to the very hard.

so much to rejoice in. these kids inside this barn dancing --- whooping and hollering in the unfettered delight of good fun.

and my 16 year old son, tyler, who had passed his driver's test only a few hours earlier. a milestone. another opportunity to rejoice. something basic, but big. this boy who is so careful to do everything correctly in the car right now. i sat next to him and we drove home with that piece of paper tucked away in his wallet. the pride spilling and untucked. my son, who, as a toddler, always wanted me to hold him ... now driving me home. checking his mirrors. signaling his turns.

it wasn't just his milestone -- but felt a bit like mine, as well.

you know the joy of watching a child achieve -- a first step. a small trophy. a big fish. a home run. a driver's license.

this stuff. these barn dances and these milestones. homework at the kitchen table and pizza delivered for dinner and a tiny girl in her pink ballet leotard spinning and the dog barking and the washing machine swishing and orange leaves falling ... all of it good. ordinary. beautiful. gifts.

if i let myself stand outside and take it in from a distance, it does cause my heart to skip, to swell, to beat -- to gasp in gratitude. to give thanks. and sometimes, yes, to weep.

especially on a day like this where i had the opportunity to hear about harder lives. hard living.

earlier -- before the barn dance and the license appointment and the ballet class and the pizza delivery -- i attended a women's luncheon and heard stories of other teens. teens who have different kinds of lives. teens who don't have a whole lot of foot stompin joy. kids who might not have a mom or dad to encourage them on a test. kids who maybe haven't ever had the pride of a milestone met.

this luncheon was in support of the ministry, treehouse, which is dedicated to caring for at risk kids. kids who don't have much of a home or even much hope. treehouse cares for kids who have nowhere to turn.

the kids at treehouse come from abuse or neglect or all types of bad stuff. kids who turn to drugs, sex, violence. kids who never had a chance to be kids.

and i'm outside this barn on a cold, minnesota night overwhelmed with the mixing of country music and easy laughter. because standing there listening i am still hearing the video that played at today's luncheon. i'm thinking about the faces and the stories of kids who don't know what it feels like to dance with their friends in a warm, white barn on a thursday night in october.

and my heart breaks.

my heart breaks for the kids we pass every day of our lives. dozens. hundreds. kids who are broken and hurting. lonely and lost. kids who are cutting. drinking. running. kids who believe they have nothing to give. kids who are one step away from giving up altogether.

kids who are hurting themselves or hurting others.

kids who are just hurting.

this morning, tyler woke up with the anticipation of his driver's license.
this morning, one of tyler's classmates lost her mom to cancer.

tonight there was a barn dance.

and what played in my mind standing outside that barn was this:
      ---------- not everyone dances.

 not everyone in our world dances. and that's where those tears came from.

this sweet, 10th grade girl whose mama is now gone. she's not dancing tonight.

these desperate kids who have suffered all types of hurt. they aren't dancing tonight.

sometimes in our whooping and hollering we forget that not everyone's attending the dance.

tomorrow, the entire high school will go out and work in different service projects across the city of minneapolis. they will rub shoulders and shake hands with broken people. people who don't dance.

it will be amazing. the students will come back with stories. they will come back zealous and on fire to help others ... to reach out ... to do good ... to make a difference.

but first they (we) (i) must remember: not everyone dances.

there's so much pain in this world. i don't get it. i don't understand why my two teens get to be inside that barn dancing tonight and why other teens are on the outside hurting. i don't get that. i don't know how to make sense of it all.

but i do want to remember that when i get a glimpse of this goodness ... it can never be taken for granted. it's nothing i deserve. nothing i've earned. nothing i was owed.

it's grace.

the fact that my kids can dance or drive or anything ... is grace.  all grace. only grace.

this sweet girl who lost her mom to cancer today. that could have been us. when i got my cancer diagnosis a couple of years ago ... we didn't know. why was i given the chance to sneak into a barn and photograph my kids dancing tonight?  why was this woman taken from her family today?

why are some teens dancing and other teens desperate?

these aren't questions i can answer quickly ... but i still think they need to be asked. even when the answers aren't easy.

even if the tears are awkward and untimely ... we need them.

we need to remember not everyone's in the barn. not everyone's laughing along with us. it's easy to forget that sometimes, isn't it? in fact, we don't always want to think about it. it's much nicer to pretend we're all having a good time. i get it. i'm like that too.

and then God breaks my heart and reminds me.

standing outside a white barn in minnesota,  He makes me remember.

all is grace.

only grace.

grace.

“and from his fullness we have all received, grace upon grace.  ~ john 1:16

because i love them

 i'm not sure there's any other possible explanation, but love.

i love him.

i must. otherwise i wouldn't have spent my entire morning in the middle of nowhere minnesota on a chilly, gray day with a group of mean looking men and a few even meaner looking women.

but i love my 16 year old son and yesterday was his firearm safety "field day." and so we got up early and drove kind of far and circled up with this interesting cast of gun savvy characters. and we learned more about firearms and amunition then i had ever thought possible.

go ahead, shoot me a question!

i know the GUN word is rather controversial in today's world, and let me just say, this post is not about THAT. i'm not making any kind of argument one way or another. no, the gun thing isn't important in this post, it just happens to be the setting for my story. we'll have to save that debate for another post friends. =)

but my outdoorsy-kind-of-kid wants to wade out a bit into the waters of hunting, and this field day was part of the process. and so there we were.

love her sweatshirt

hunting isn't really my cup of tea. i mean, we hunt all the time for missing socks or keys or receipts. i even hunt, on occasion, for a good bargain while i'm out shopping. but the kind of hunting my son is interested in exploring isn't really in my blood. i was definitely more the type to bring home stray animals as a kid ... my mother swears, one time i even dragged home road kill wanting to help it.

anyway, there we were: listening to this rather.. er, um...rough man talk: following his directions, signing the paperwork, taking the test, writing the check, sticking foam in our ears, shooting rifles (go ahead and imagine) and trekking through the muck of the minnesota horse and gun club ... or maybe it was the minnesota hunt and horse club. something gun, horse and hunt. let's just say when i went inside to find a restroom there were lots of stuffed things up on the walls -- even in the ladies room. (see my friend to the left).

remind me, again, how did i get here? oh yeah, i love my boy.

we do strange and uncomfortable things for our kids sometimes because we love them, don't we?

i bet you have a few stories of your own. things you'd never really have ever agreed to except that you had this child and she or he had this dream or desire or destination. you went along because you were the mom or dad, and then ended up looking around and wondering how in the world you got there. but knowing, regardless of how you felt about THERE, you were doing your part just being THERE for your child.

because sometimes we do things for our kids that really don't speak all that much to our own souls --- like chuck e cheese.

as a little girl, my middle daughter, sarah, adored the idea of chuck e cheese, mostly because it was a lot like forbidden fruit. mostly because i was never the kind of mom to really be all that passionate (or willing) about taking her there. so it became this really big thing in her mind. every time we would pass the establishment she would go on and on about how "all she has ever wanted to do in he life is go to chuck e cheese." well, we went there. once. and i remember feeling pretty close to how i felt at this morning's hunting lesson. how in the heck did i get here? if you've ever darkened the doorway of this little kids' mosh pit, you understand.

i had the same thing happen this past spring with my oldest daughter when we went shopping for her prom dress. i found myself at the world famous mall of america on the busiest prom dress shopping saturday of the year. my daughter and i were in the company of every other 17 or 18 year old girl (and all of their mothers) in minnesota. we waited almost an hour at one store to get into a dressing room. i was flabbergasted. i mean it, mad as a hornet and completely aghast at the idea of waiting 55 minutes to try on a dress, prom or otherwise. it seemed ludicrous. it was ludicrous. but it was also my daughter and it was the only weekend free for shopping and we were stuck. and, the bottom line is, i love her. and so we took turns waiting in this God-forsaken line to try on a dress which would cost too much money and that she'd wear only once. {trust me, it's better not to think too deeply on that}.

i'd like to think that because of love for my children i've also done more noble things than gun field day, chuck e cheeses and prom dress shopping. i know there were countless after hour trips to the 24 hour medical care facilities and late night runs to the drug store. there have been many early mornings when i've driven kids to 6:30 am practices ... or picked them up at midnight from a friend's house. one time we drove at 2am to pick up the middle daughter (miss chuck e cheese herself) from a sleepover party when she couldn't "make it through the night."

we've quizzed thousands of spanish words and bible verses and read the same, favorite, bedtime story books until the pages fell out. we've stayed up late frosting cupcakes or washing uniforms or consoling broken hearts. one time, when tyler was a little guy, his pet lizard wasn't doing so well, and we had a middle of the night conference call with a lizard expert. we ended up camping out on the basement floor cradling little "spikey" on our laps while attempting to share our body heat and feed him from a medicine dropper. i'm sorry, but prior to children, i just never imagined sitting on a basement floor, cradling a lizard and feeding him with a medicine dropper. these are the parenting things they don't tell you about before you sign up.

but it's in these very moments when our children connect deeply with us, isn't it? it's in these moments when our kids learn that they've got someone on their side ... no matter what. when we stay in a place despite our preference. when we camp out in the backyard or in the basement. when we stand in long lines for the prom dress or the concert tickets or the ferris wheel. when we throw the baseball to the boy who can't catch or play cards with the little girl who doesn't yet know her numbers. when we allow our kids to do science experiments in our kitchens or slide down the staircases in sleeping bags. when we choose mcdonald's over the salad bar place or an animated movie over a classic. when we put aside our own wishes or wants and meet our kids in the middle of their kid-kind-of-mystery ... we connect.

i'm not saying that the answer should always be yes! oh no, no, no ... if you've read anything on this blog in the past, you know, i'm not a mama who believes in always giving her kids their way. not at all. we use the word "no" rather often, in fact. and, by the way, the word "no" can also show love -- regardless of what our kids think! but in our parent-discernment we know there are times when we stretch ourselves for our kids.

maybe the word is sacrifice. because that's clearly part of this parent thing. but i think it has a lot more to do with just plain love. we love them.

and so, on occasion, we do some things which aren't quite in our wheelhouse, but we pull up our boot straps and we walk alongside our kids in their kid kind of worlds. and even if we leave with muddy feet or ringing ears or shaky hands, we know, more times than not, it was worth it.

i'd love to hear from you! tell me about a time when "it was worth it."

 on the way home we stopped off to check out the blaze orange and camo! 

again, not really my kind of fashion ... but, hey, never say never.

back at home, ty printed off his license/certification. i made him pose for this picture. 

told him he "owed" me. might use that one for awhile. =)

sweet sixteen

i was informed recently that boys don't have sweet sixteens.

i beg to differ.

i mean i know all that stuff about girls being "sugar and spice and everything nice ..."  and boys being made of "frogs and snails and puppy-dogs' tails." i get that. i, too, am familiar with the old, 19th century nursery rhyme, and perhaps there's an argument here -- depends, i'm sure, on the day you ask me. because let's be clear, though i love my girls, the "sugar and spice and everything nice," thing doesn't always perfectly fit the females in our house either.

but this past weekend, our boy had a birthday. he turned 16. and i have to tell you, it was sweet.

his dad and i couldn't be more proud of him. i don't care if he's rough and tumble and even sometimes smells like fish, this boy is sweet. sinful, for sure, but he really does have a tender heart.

of course he has some ugly moments -- we all do. but on this weekend, we are celebrating one of God's richest gifts -- a child who is growing into a young man pursuing the things of Christ.

nothing, and i mean nothing --- not even a pair of super cute shoes -- brings me greater joy.

not when he gets an A on a test or scores a goal in his soccer game.

not even when he says "yes mam" or takes out the trash without being asked.

i love this kid's heart. it's something pretty special.

when Jesus lives there, the sweet fragrance of His love covers even the stinkiest kid ... even the boy with fish guts under his fingernails. that's what He's doing for tyler ... that's what He does for all of us when we invite Him in.

"walk in love, even as Christ also loved you, and gave himself up for us,

 an offering and a sacrifice to God for a sweet-smelling fragrance." ephesians 5:2

i have captured his quick 16 years of childhood in a a short (one song, i promise) video. honestly, though, i am just as excited to see what God's going to do with him, in him, and through him in these next 16 years.

happy sweet 16 ty! you are a blessing and we love you!

the bigger win

friday night's game began with a yellow card.

a yellow card violation over a player's tape color. it seemed ridiculous. it seemed a terrible way to start a soccer game. and, it seemed to be that kind of evening. within 15 minutes of the first whistle, 3 goals were scored against our team.

it wasn't looking like a promising night for the southwest christian stars. and i suppose by the final whistle's blow, most people in attendance would tell you that it wasn't. after eighty minutes of play, the final score was 6 to 0.

it was a david and goliath match up. small southwest christian high school was competing against, chaska, the area's big public high school. clearly, however, our boys had forgotten their slingshots back at home.

the stars never scored a goal.

the loss was definitive.

photo credits: abby dumoulin

fans and parents were wrangling in their families and packing up their belongings ready to put this frustrating athletic competition behind them, when out on the field the two teams came together. it was a muddled circle of maroon and white. wiped out boys. varsity athletes. sweat covered teens, tired and eager to head home.

from up in the bleachers i watched as the circle of players and coaches dropped to their knees. the group grew quiet and heads bowed low. our varsity coach, travis, began to pray. from my place in the stands, there was no way i could hear what he was saying.

but i didn't need to.

clearly, the two teams were praying together.

"for where two or three are gathered in my name, there am I among them.” ~ matthew 18:20

take a close look at the picture.

lean in with them for a minute...

do you see the couple of boys in white (chaska players, left side) who don't have their heads bowed? it's terrible iphone picture, but can't you almost see their confusion? can't you see them looking around the circle wondering what was going on? now, maybe i'm reading a little into it ... BUT, i can't help but think that this moment could be a first for a few of them. maybe. perhaps. possibly. i realize that lots of christian kids attend public schools, but so do kids who very likely have never been part of a prayer circle on an athletic field or anywhere for that matter.

can't you also see the boys from opposing teams with their arms slung around each other's shoulders? there are no blog words necessary for that glimpse -- color of uniform, color of skin, color of heart ... none of it matters when prayer happens.

at 6 to 0, the loss might have looked definitive, but leaving the stadium friday night with this final image in my mind, i couldn't help but think of victory. the scoreboard becomes powerless when people pray together. there are no losers.

victory is high and lifted up when knees and heads bow low.

because Jesus is lifted up ... and in Him there is always victory.

earlier in the week, the same thing had taken place at the soccer team's first game. i was hustling indoors to watch emily's volleyball match, so i didn't see it, but through a shared email from the opposing team's coach, i heard about it. apparently travis also asked that team to pray with our players.

the next day the coach sent this email:

Hello coach Armstrong, my name is Eric. My team (Rockford) and I played against your team last night. Let me start off with congratulating you and your players on the win last night, you guys beat us in every aspect, yet it was one of the most fun games this season. You are doing something amazing with those guys and I know you will go far. Now the main reason I'm contacting you is because I want to thank you so much for inviting us to pray with all of you. For me, a strong Christian, that brought so much joy to me. Especially seeing how moved my team was after that. God is doing and will continue to do great things through you and your team, who are not just a bunch of soccer players, but truly the Lord's army. Lastly, just thank you for implementing the bigger picture beyond just another soccer game. God bless all of you individually, and as a team for the rest the season. Thanks coach Armstrong. 


i know the stars record for the week technically reads 1 and 1, but i have to tell you, even with that loss on friday night, it was a week of sure victory. these are big moments in the lives of high schoolers. they are even big moments in the lives of the parents of high schoolers.

perhaps i find this especially powerful because i was a varsity coach at a public high school. i can't even imagine the trouble i would have landed myself in had i asked another team to pray after a volleyball match. i was already constantly being "talked to" about how often i referenced my faith as an english teacher. my principal and vice-principal weren't quite sure what to do with a teacher who didn't hide her beliefs  very well. i have to wonder if these two public high school coaches will receive any flack for allowing their players to pray.

i know the power of praying with teens -- everyone wins. the southwest christian team wins ... the public school team wins ... the coaches win ... the parents watching from the bleachers win.

prayer impacts. prayer is powerful. prayer changes people.

prayer doesn't change the scoreboard, but prayer changes the bigger score.

later friday night, i was sitting out on the porch with emily while she told me about the school retreat the southwest christian kids had just come back from. she was especially enthused about the main speaker and his message. with great energy and charisma, this youth pastor challenged students to "be bold for Christ." he challenged them to not make excuses, but to "read, pray and obey." emily, like our soccer players, was completely wiped out friday night. she could barely keep her eyes open and i had to laugh as even her words slurred together. but she wanted to tell me all about it before we went to bed. she said, "mom, this was such a powerful retreat for the kids at southwest ... God was really moving... everyone broke into small groups to pray together and talk about how to hold each other accountable in our faith and in sharing our faith."

emily believes the retreat's message will change her christian school. we discussed a little bit about how if you can't be bold for Christ in the context of your christian school, how are you going to be bold outside of it?

like on the soccer field.

the boys from our soccer team were also all on that retreat thursday and friday. in fact, they had gotten back, just a couple of hours before their game. i know these boys were exhausted. i'm sure the retreat-sleep-deprivation didn't help their performance on the field friday, but i do know, regardless, many of these kids came back fired up and ready to be bold.

and how awesome to have a coach who is willing to boldly lead his team not just in an athletic competition, but in a life competition ... in an eternal life competition.

think of the impact not only on the kids who have never before prayed. but think of the impact even on the kids who pray all the time, but maybe don't know exactly how to live out their faith or how to be bold. think about what their coach showed them this week. it's huge.

and it is moments like these which do leave strong impressions and influence futures. it is moments like these that we hear about 10 or 20 years later when some guy gets up in church and says something like, "my faith journey began when this coach from another team randomly asked my team to pray ..."

friday night the scoreboard might have read 6 to 0 ... but this mom of a soccer player, is putting it down as a "W" in her book.

 "with all prayer and petition pray at all times in the Spirit, and with this in view, be on the alert with all perseverance and petition for all the saints,and pray on my behalf, that utterance may be given to me in the opening of my mouth, TO MAKE KNOWN WITH BOLDNESS the mystery of the gospel, for which i am an ambassador in chains; that in proclaiming it I MAY SPEAK BOLDLY, as i ought to speak." 

                                                                                         ~ ephesians 6:18-20 

thick and thin ice

there was a time when i worried about leaving him alone in his high chair.  a time when i had to buckle him into his car seat.  a time when i had to help him with his math facts and tuck in his covers. there was a time when i worried about him climbing too high in the oak tree or swimming too far in the deep end or staying up too late at a friend's house.

there was a time.

when we become mothers we are given not only children, but we're also given this extra dose of worry.  it kind of goes with the territory.  and though i would never consider myself to be an extreme worrier, i am not immune. no mother is.  it's just part of the deal.  we worry.  whether it is wondering if he is getting enough green vegetables in his diet or stressing over if he's studying enough for his final exams...as his mom, i am kind of along for the ride.

but there's this fine line...this delicate balance.  sometimes as parents, we are sort of skating on thin ice with our kids.  we know they need a little wiggle room...a dose of adventure and a good taste of independence...but we also know too much can send them crashing right through the thin ice of life.  we have to know our kids and know what they can handle and that, my friends, takes a lot of work and even more energy.  i want my boys (and my girls, for that matter) to have my support and encouragement along the way.  i want them to know i am there to cheer them on from the sidelines or even run with them in the game, but i am also still the one who has to sometimes put on the breaks or tighten the reins.

this mothering thing isn't always easy.  (can i get an a-men?)

since moving to minnesota last summer, we have had a 14,528 acre lake right in our backyard.  it is breathtaking to see...amazing to look at...inspiring to consider...but it is also a bit of a pain in the backside of this mother.  it, at the very least, provides some potentially dangerous issues we need to deal with.

tyler's a smart boy, but he has this incredible zest for the outdoors and big adventure.  his favorite show: man vs. wild.  what can i say, my boy is wired for this stuff.  i can remember him as a small kid whittling sticks in our woods...making forts and weapons and shelter.  i've watched him dig up grubs and catch crawfish in the creek.  the boy loves to fish and explore and i'm sure, at some level (though he'd never admit it) he loves to pretend.  he's a lot like his mama. (except i'm not all that much into digging up grubs).

and living on this lake has been no different.  we traded in our wooded acres and trails back in georgia for this massive lake minnetonka.  ("minne" means water and "tonka" means big).  i'm pretty sure there hasn't been a day since moving, that i haven't watched him meander down to the "big water" out back.  sometimes i find him standing before the great window at the rear of the house just watching the lake.  standing and staring.  i understand that, i stand and stare quite a bit, too.

the summer was filled with kayaking and jet skiing and late night fishing.  i, of course, worried about him being out on the water.  i didn't want him down there alone.  i wanted his kayak to stay within sight. i insisted on life jackets and certain obvious (at least to me) precautions.  when he balked or argued i calmly explained, "sorry, it's part of my job."

oh, no...this mothering thing isn't always easy.   (another a-men, please.)

i waited for winter to come and kind of breathed a sigh of relief when everything turned cold and frozen.  surely now he was safe.    the open water was gone and in it's place a gigantic, 2 feet thick glacier had arrived.  except that ice has it's own issues as well.  what was i thinking?  he wasn't safe.  not safe at all.  if that basic knowledge isn't enough there's this huge flashing sign just outside of our neighborhood which says, "sheriff's advisory -- ice is never safe." i drive by it at least 5 times a day.  i have to be honest, i'm getting a bit annoyed with it.  "stop reminding me!" i want to yell. "i know the ice isn't safe...i know my kids aren't really safe. ever. anywhere. i get it already!"

this might not surprise you, but my 15 year old son isn't thinking about safe.

the gas powered auger from the carlins
which shaves a hole through the ice.
i think, if he's not careful,
he could end up shaving all the
 way to china with it!

no, tyler isn't thinking about safety, but he is thinking about all the ice has to offer.  he had two items at the top of his christmas list this year:  an ice auger and an ice fishing rod.  some friends offered to let him borrow their ice house/tent and some of their gear, as well. (a shout out to the carlin family -- thank you!)  all he's missing is the 6 pack of beer and an unshaven face. NO! NO! NO!  ice house, ice fishing rod, auger, space heater ... and all of a sudden my southern raised boy has transformed into a minnesota man.  (he would really hate that i just wrote that -- we'll see if he reads my blog).

today the temperatures were as low as negative 14 degrees with a windchill at minus 35.  but after a half day of school, guess where i found tyler this afternoon.  yep, you guessed it, out on the ice.  and he literally spent the rest of the day out there. after a couple of hours, i decided it was time to check on him (and take a few pictures).  so with a thermos of hot chocolate (my excuse) in one hand and my camera in the other, i headed down to the 14, 583 acre glacier.  in case you were wondering what a camera toting, hot chocolate bringing mother wears in negative 14 degree weather when visiting her son in his ice house, i made sure to have sarah snap a picture.  nice, huh?
can you say e s -  k i -  m o !

so, here's what i found when i got down there...

that would be his breath, he may be ice fishing, 

but he hasn't taken up smoking cigarettes. =) 

there's even a seat in the pop up tent!

his spear! what every boy needs.

kind of freaky to see the ice...but if you look, you can see it is about 2 feet thick.

the hole continues to freeze over (because it's THAT cold) so he uses this ladle to remove the icy layer.

things like space heaters really do help!

before seeing "the hole" i was worried that he could fall in. i assure you, not possible.

"see ya later, mom." and back in he goes.

these characters are right next door...we've decided they don't have jobs.  they (and their truck) are ALWAYS out on the ice. we think they sleep there.

i got to the top of the hill,  looked back out...and thought to myself, 

"there once was day when i wouldn't leave him alone in his high chair..."

so that's it folks.  just another tiny slice of our minnesota life.  and maybe a reminder or two, that we, moms and dads, are often walking a little bit on thin ice ourselves.  it is not always easy to get good footing or to find that perfect balance while watching our kids grow up.  it's a grand adventure for sure -- one i wouldn't trade for anything.  this parenting thing keeps us humbled and, if we're following the lead of Jesus, it keeps us on our knees.   whether strapped into their high chairs or let loose on the ice, these precious kiddos belong first to God...and we have to trust Him, both, in their safety and in their adventures.

solid ground or solid ice...this parenting thing isn't ever easy.
and all together now, the people say...  A-MEN!

* p.s.    tyler sent this picture to his sister...he caught 9 fish that day.

and like any good fisherman, he'd want to make sure i included that fact in this story! 

asking. speaking. listening. trusting.

this has been one of those weeks which would be pretty hard to sum up.  a week rather difficult to wrap up.    it is friday night and i'm in bed early.  the hamster wheel has finally stopped spinning and no one seems to need me.  no one is calling. nothing is pressing.  sure there are piles of life in some state of disrepair...dishes in the sink...baskets of laundry...random stuff out of order...children to tuck into their beds.  but for the most part i'm done.  the week is winding down.  slowly. softly. quietly. finally.

but as i sit here typing, i'm pretty sure, as much as i'd like some rest, i don't want it to all be over. i don't want it really to end.  this was the final week of school for my kids.  yesterday my children walked through the doors of perimeter for their last time as pcs students and last night tyler walked across a stage and received his 8th grade diploma -- officially graduating from a place we've all called home for many years.  this week brought with it the end of a chapter.  the end of our time in a world which has impacted our family in a way i can't possibly put to words.


last week i underwent an unexpected surgery removing a mass from my breast.  this week another type of cutting.  another type of removal.  another type of pain.  saying good bye to a school, to a people, to an extraordinary place in time.  we aren't leaving officially until mid july, but for us, the school bell in georgia won't ring again....and this is unbelievably hard.  harder than i thought it could be.  certainly much harder than i want it to be.


i think i did a pretty good job this week keeping myself numb and together and slightly aloof. i  did my very best to keep the emotions in check and the tears at bay.  it wasn't easy.  but it was one of those weeks where i felt like i had no other choice but to be tough.  it was one of those weeks where i was certain if i started to cry, i wouldn't be able to stop. have you ever felt that way?  it isn't all bad.  i mean so much of what brings me to this sharp pinnacle of emotion is the pure joy and blessing of it all.  watching my 14 year old son, arm in arm with his childhood friends, young boys turning the corner into young men.  it was watching my sarah up on stage with her best girlfriends in her final talent show act at perimeter school singing and dancing to "we go together."  it was connor running to meet me yesterday afternoon with flushed cheeks, his last time wearing a pcs uniform, slightly rumpled and kind of dirty, of course.  those uniforms have been hanging in our closets and folded in our laundry room and discarded dirty on our bedroom floors for a decade now.  there were so many sweet moments this week as we wrapped up our school year and our time at perimeter.  too many to count.  words and hugs and hands held tightly.  the searing beautiful slice to my soul --  we love and we are loved.  is there anything greater?

ty introducing his mom at graduation 

in the midst of watching my oldest son graduate i also had the distinct privilege of being the commencement speaker last night.  i got the call a couple of weeks ago from the committee,  "jody, the class voted and they'd like you to speak at graduation." i was stunned with that news. as i shared last night with the audience, my first reaction was to get all weepy...but that quickly turned into feeling like i just might throw up.  i wasn't sure i could do this. i mean i knew this class well and loved them deeply, but speaking seemed an impossibility on a night like this, in a week like this, at a time like this.  i wasn't sure i would be able to get through the evening as just the proud mother of tyler, let alone take on the task of addressing these 79 teenagers and an auditorium full of their families.  i was overwhelmed. i mean it,  completely overwhelmed with the thought.  but, because i am a strange woman, i said yes.   "i'll do it. i'd be honored."


24 hours after saying "yes", i found out that i'd need not only to prepare that week for a speech, but also for a surgery.  i saw my breast surgeon tuesday and he delivered the untimely punch that he'd like to remove a troublesome mass (potentially scar tissue - but had to be sure) from my breast and he wanted to do it right away.  i would need to fit that into these final two weeks of school's ending, graduation planning and speech writing.  so as i sat there in his office digesting this news, my thoughts kind of went like this: "okay, so now i truly have an "out"...everyone will surely understand if i pass this opportunity by and hand off the speaking responsibility to someone else.  surely there is someone else not juggling a quick surgery and biopsy results a week prior to graduation. just call them back and tell them, sorry, i can't do it."  i talked to myself like this from the doctor's office all the way to my car.  and as i began to pull out of the parking garage i wasted no time in going directly to God.  i had barely paid my ticket when i started in with my words,  "tell me what to do, Lord...be clear...tell me what you're up to...  give me an answer fast Jesus, because i'm kind of confused here...floundering, in fact...hello God, it's me, jody, again...i thought i was supposed to be spending these next couple of weeks writing and working on a speech...does surgery change all that? help me out here. God? are you there?  are you listening? God? God? God?"


the monologue in my head hardly slowed, never stopped.  i just kept talking all the way home -- and not only in my head.  i mean audibly. if you happened to be driving on I-85 that tuesday afternoon, you may have noticed an odd woman in her black yukon talking loudly to herself behind the wheel -- hands motioning and head bobbing and shaking. all the way home i just talked and talked and talked.  i just told and told and told stuff to God.  i seriously was almost to my street before i realized i hadn't stopped for a breath.  and what's even more important, i hadn't stopped for one moment to listen. i kept asking God for the answer, but that entire 40 minute car ride home,  i never got quiet enough to hear what He had to say.  isn't that crazy? what's crazier, is that this is how i operate so often. i'm pretty good at opening my mouth, but forget to open my ears...my eyes...my heart.  oh for heaven's sake jody lynn, when will you learn?  be quiet. be still. just listen.


i pulled into my driveway and sat for a few minutes.  finally quiet.  finally still.  the impact of a second surgery set in...the craziness of the entire situation began to sink in...but in that stillness, in that sweet solitude inside my stopped car on my empty driveway i felt very strongly God saying, "just do the speech jody.  stop your ranting and raving and wild questioning of me, and just be quiet and do the speech."  and i had my answer.  sometimes it's like that.  clear as day. clear as writing on a wall.  but i first had to stop.  i had to be still.  it just took a few minutes...but i had to be quiet and listen.


and over the last couple of weeks as i have prepared for last night's speech...as i have worked on the words and the message and the timing ....i cannot even explain how God has used this time to work on me.  the surgery took place smack dab in the middle of it all.  more stitches and more sore ...a little more battered and a little more bruised...but reminded, once again,  God isn't finished with me yet.  God is always at work.  He isn't trying to wear me out, but He is wanting to reel me in.  He is wanting to pull me closer. through these crazy twists and turns of life, He is drawing me to Him.  and sometimes it hurts.  hard good byes, unpleasant surgeries, emotional speeches...come closer to me jody.  come closer. eyes on me, daughter.  it was the message He put on my heart  for those graduates.  "fix your eyes on Jesus -- the author and perfecter of your faith."  all last week i typed up those words and practiced them in front of the mirror.  i must have said that 100 times as i prepared to face graduation night.  fix your eyes on Jesus.  oh, isn't it amazing how God works?  those graduates may have voted for me to be their speaker, but God knew i, too, would need this message getting through this emotional time as well.  He wastes nothing friends.  nothing.  that unexpected surgery and the wait for biopsy results kept me raw...kept me close...kept me focused on Him.


i have to tell you, i was probably as scared of delivering that 20 minute speech as i was of that one hour surgery removing what could be more cancer -- maybe even more so.  it is crazy to think, but on the top ten list of greatest fears, public speaking is actually two steps higher than cancer.  (i just googled that).  can you believe that? actually, i kind of can after this past week. i mean i can do the public speaking thing, but something about this night and this audience and this moment in time felt HUGE to me.  it felt serious and grave and completely out of my reach.  i was so nervous.  i wanted to focus only on sharing with those graduates something good from God, but i had to first take my message to heart and listen to my own words -- fix your eyes on Jesus.


that night is over.  the speech went well.  i have sighed many sighs of relief today.  i am so glad i did it and so thankful the kids asked.  but mostly humbled to have a part in an evening like that.  we are so thankful and humbled to have had a part and a place in a school like this ...all these years.  i am not sure i'll ever be able to look back at these last two weeks and completely understand how God poured all that He did into these 14 final days.  it doesn't make sense to my small brain. and though i don't always understand the hand of my God, i am always learning, more and more, to trust His heart.   i know with complete confidence,  no thing happened this week which He didn't ordain, order and direct.  


all things hard and all things good for His glory alone. sometimes we are required to speak...and sometimes we just need to be quiet and listen.  i'm learning. 


"fix your eyes on Jesus --- the author and perfecter of your faith." ~ hebrews 12:2

mudding

i had every intention of doing something grand with it -- at the very least something pleasant or pretty.  we have this side section of yard which has been left unattended since we moved in almost 5 years ago.  it is on the far side of the house, so it wasn't hard to ignore.  not to mention there have been plenty of other things to keep us busy in our home needing everything. but all along i've had plans. i've thought about a shade garden or stepping stones or an ivy planted path.  i've, at the very least, considered fresh pinestraw and a few shrubs.  something better than the unkept portion of yard that it is hidden from our view.  every so often i would walk over to it and kind of stand and stare.  wondering when there'd be time and money to address its pitiful state. wondering if the neighbors minded our neglect.


but my boys got to it first.  last night, while out watering, i turned the corner and found remnants of ramps and mud and a whole lot of mess.  i didn't have to wonder who had done this.  my boys abandon pieces and parts of themselves wherever they happen to wander. they leave evidence. they had clearly been in this side yard and they had built themselves a "mudding place."  surprisingly, i don't happen to know a whole lot about mudding places, but i guess this is where you (if you are 8 or 13 or male) clear the ground of debris, soak it with the hose, and then ride your bike or ATV through it a thousand times until the spot looks like chocolate pudding.  it did. the secondary goal is kicking up as much mud as is humanly possible. but the main goal, the primary goal, the ultimate goal is covering your boy body with this mud. much mud. so much mud.


i am proud to tell you my boys were tremendously successful in their mudding.  i saw evidence of it on their bikes and shoes and laundry the day before and had wondered about the tire tracks in the garage. i wondered about the pile of clothes dropped before the washing machine.  now i knew.  my side yard was a mud pit with a couple of ramps and not sprig of ivy anywhere to be found. no ivy, nothing green. just brown.


as parents we give up some things, don't we? i learned years ago i'd be required to give up pristine and picturesque.  i mean i could kill myself trying, but it wouldn't be worth it.  i want my kids to value where we live and how we live.  i want them to have a sense of pride, a sense of doing things well - doing them right.  i want them to be civil and clean cut and tidy enough -- picking up after themselves and leaving things better than they found them.  i want that. i'm even fairly certain this kind of training is in my job description. but i know it's a process.  and in the process we have to live and breathe and be muddy. sometimes really muddy.


and we might have to give up continuously clean floors or uninterrupted sleep or showcase garages.  but we get a whole lot more than we give up. since entering into motherhood 15 years ago, i have had to let a few things go.  i've had to uncurl my fingers from some stuff.  stuff i was holding too tightly anyway.  it is good for us to let go every now and then.  i have found, it can lighten the load. 


someday i will have a delightful side yard full with stepping stones and ivy and maybe even a stone bench.  it is not time, however, for that stone bench.  if i was to place it in the yard today it would only become part of a ramping system.  my boys and their friends would be jumping their various vehicles off of it's quaint stone seat in a heartbeat -- because that's what they do. they do this with bunk beds and bean bags and couches.  we, just this summer, replaced tyler's futon because of jumping teenage boys. i stood in the line of ikea and wondered, "why in the world are we replacing this?"  it could very well be broken again by next summer.  next week. mother sigh. 


we bought a trampoline years ago (best purchase ever, by the way) thinking that would help.  it does -- a little.  but it is not nearly enough.  jumping is who they are and how they relate. they jump and they get muddy. and with this comes breaking things and tracking in things. and i love it.  not all of it.   not everyday.  but, for the most part, i love being the mother of two boys, jumping and muddy and all.


and this neat-freak mother will stand at her kitchen window or walk down to her side yard and she will watch.  she may not necessarily want to join in, but she will watch her boys.  she will watch them in their glory and in their guts and even in their gross.  and she will think this is now.  and it is good.  because someday they will be clean and gone and there will be ivy and a stone bench in their place. but this is now. beautiful and muddy and now.

lesser things

we were crossing out to the ocean, my little one and me.  it was our first day to the beach, and the sea would be wild and wonderful and completely brand new for him. this young mother couldn’t wait to carry small son to a place filled with her favorites. she couldn’t wait to show him the width of water and the expanse of shore. she couldn’t wait for him to put toes in sand and squeal in air and joy in heart.
it was all just ahead of us, up the stairs and across the boardwalk. and we were almost there, when toddler boy in blue fish bathing suit stopped at a small puddle. stopped and stood and plopped. right there in puddle, pleased and asking, “water, mama? beach?” i laughed out loud at my funny son sitting on the edge of last night’s leftover rain. little boy ready to pull out his truck and his shovel, ready to play big in something so small. “no, silly boy, that is not the beach, only a puddle.” and i took hold of his chubby hand, wanting to press on to grand ocean. but my son resisted. he was not ready to leave this place behind in search of something better. he felt it might be enough. he imagined it could be the answer to our packed bags and our morning preparations. he was happy to make much of this nothing. this puddle. this lesser thing.

that little boy is well on his way to grown now. he hasn’t worn a blue fish bathing suit in quite some time, and, thankfully, he no longer sits in puddles. but, oh how i relate to this small son in his small puddle years ago. i am struck with how often i, too, accept puddles in place of oceans. how often i take the lesser things of life thinking they are enough - even everything. my memory is strewn with settling moments. times when i grasped at the earthly stuff of now, forgetting to look bigger, to look beyond the boardwalk. “set your minds on things above, not on earthly things.” (colossians 3:2). i desire the above-things and yet, so often find myself pausing at puddles and plopping down in their smallness. i accept the tiny tidbits and leftovers of life instead of the grand treasure God has in store, already waiting. 

many days i feel just like an israelite. i understand their wringing hands and wandering feet as they waited for moses to come down off the mountain. i kind of get their panic and impatience. if i was walking in their dusty sandals, would i have remembered God’s goodness and grandeur in the pressing heat of present desert, of the right now? i am sure i could easily have been a woman willing to throw in her gold bangles and silver hoops to the creation of calf. golden, golden worthless calf. i’m afraid i’d probably be right there with them dancing and wishing and hoping in something low. something less. trying to make much from something small, something base. moses was up on the mountain meeting with the very glory of God. He was in the presence of pure holiness, and yet those short-sighted israelites, who couldn’t look up, threw their trinkets into a black pot and called it good, and hoped it great. but it wasn’t. it couldn’t be. they stirred and whirled and crossed their fingers in desperate wishing because they had forgotten how big their God truly was. instead, they traded Him for nothing more than a puddle of melted bracelets turned calf. “they had forgot what He had done, the wonders He had shown them.” (psalm 78:11). we settle for puddles and baby cows because we are forgetters. israelites or not. 

this past summer, i walked our fifth toddler down to the ocean’s edge. bella took her first steps on the beach. i was just as eager to show her, as i was her older brother years ago.  this wee girl, abandoned at birth because of a sick heart, is evidence of God’s miraculous ways, His big plan -- rescued. healed. restored. now home. she is just as tiny as that boy in the blue fish bathing suit and she, too, is prone to stop at puddles. but this mother is older, seasoned, even slightly scarred. she has seen God’s glory and grandeur.  she has seen His goodness in the blessing and in the hard. she has glimpsed God beyond the boardwalk. and she doesn’t want to forget it is everything.

and i take hold of small hand and whisper in small ear a message for us both, “let’s keep going, bella. there is a grand ocean waiting.”

a bicycle gone missing

the suitcases were latched and the car almost loaded when we realized - one of the bikes from our rental house had gone missing.  

it was nowhere to be found. we were in the midst of our leaving. vacation was ending and a six hour drive home was about to begin. 

and there was nothing to do but go searching.  

yep, parental frustration at its very best, i tell you. you'll require little effort to imagine our tone: "how did this happen? who is at fault? why aren't we more careful?" 
surely some child was to blame. 
we eyeballed all five. 
not one came clean.  
they stood there in their shrugging and shifting selves. careful looks of cluelessness creeping across their tan faces. there was no time to draw out a confession and no desire to demand guilt in these final minutes of precious vacation. hopping on the golf cart, my teenage son and i offered to take on the task and begin the search.

high and low and nothing.  
the mist heavy and the rain on its way. but we searched the quiet resort in all of its morning hush.  he felt responsible. because he is eldest boy and he always does. it is his nature.  

responsible, but also my child of optimism - all the while assuring me, "mom, we'll find it.  it's gotta show up somewhere." 

i love this about him.  and as we scurried around the sleepy streets, i could not help but be thankful for this stolen time alone with my growing-up-son. he is tender with me when he doesn't have to pretend, telling me things he'd never tell before others. i knew it was a gift for us to have these few minutes -- just a boy and his mom. even if it is for a task such as this --- a bicycle gone missing.

we stop at the boardwalk and silently agreed, it wouldn't hurt to walk down to the ocean. one last time.
both of us knew the bike wouldn't be there.  but it gave us an excuse ... a chance ... a one last look. and, oh how we both wanted that one last look. 

and in our unspoken agreement we walked the weathered wood toward the ocean's soft hum. 

a gray morning.  silver with last night's whisper of rain. a fairytale setting this ramble back to the sea. we talked of small things --- nothing much. he and i can be quiet together and it never feels strange. we are cut from a similar cloth, this boy and me.  

this boy with his mother's green-blue eyes.

of course, i carried my camera. yes, even on a bicycle hunt. 

we reached the boardwalk's end and there was no bike to be seen, but plenty of seeing.  

i have never experienced the ocean not beautiful. every glance different. each color new. and always, always breathtaking. i wanted nothing more than to plop down on the sugar sand and breath deeply in these final ticks of vacation. 
linger a little.  
but i knew back at the beach house stood a man with four antsy children, closed suitcases and a six hour drive ahead. 
not to mention we did have a search to continue.  

the grown up responsible part of me knew that my desire to sit awhile in the ocean mist might not sit too well with that suitcase loading, child juggling, husband of mine.

and so we turn back.

heading back up the boardwalk we could not help but notice in the lifting mist, other treasures appearing.

still no bike.  
but other things.  
more beauty.
silver web after web crocheted across the dune grass. 
pure and delicate.  beach foliage, names unknown, but shimmering in droplets.  everywhere.  
both sides of the walkway covered in the sparkly gems of our Creator.

i could hardly move myself along.  

camera in hand, we stopped. my lens captured these bits of fairy-spun beauty.
  
my son is patient. 
he doesn't rush me.  

both soundless in our exclamations. hearts beating hard. eyes holding the fantastical images spread at our feet. 

passing through one of nature's treasure troves all because of a bike forgotten. 

and, the mother's pleasure to know, we felt the same way. how blessed to have a boy who can stop and see. a boy who wasn't pulling me down the boardwalk and whining for his breakfast or begging me to put away my camera. but a boy who was seeing what his mama was seeing. it doesn't happen all that often.

he may not even have known it in words and thoughts...but i was sure he knew it in his heart. i could tell by his looking. he has always been a boy who can see beauty. of course, as he continues to grow into his teenage skin, that is beginning to change some. trust me, i have heard him tsk-tsk at my stoppings and i have watched his eyes roll at my pausings.   

but i am this boy's mother and i know he sees beauty. at least he did in this moment.


and then it was time. we knew we must go. there was a hunt to continue.
i snapped picture after picture. delighted. he pointed out a few items of interest and we stood side by side in our amazement at God's genius. 
everything draped in iridescent swagger. 

a pause of quiet before we remembered our mission. 
hurrying back to the golf cart we climbed in without looking back --- there was a mislaid bicycle to be found.

and we found it.
just moments later, at a friend's beach house nearby. resting, neglected and  unsuspecting. covered also in raindrops. tyler hopped on and we both traveled back victorious. 

he, with found bicycle. me, with found moment. both, full with beauty. and i couldn't help but be thankful for things gone missing.


* from our spring break - april 2011 - watersound, fl

2012 -- we are trying to do better... masking tape and names on each bike this year -- so far so good -- guess who's bicycle went missing? =)