a friend to fish with

living long distance from loved ones--friends and family--can be hard. more and more, i find myself missing those people for whom i care deeply.

with college kids out of state, parents 12 hours away, siblings scattered coast to coast, and friends dotted across the country, it sometimes makes my heart hurt.

then on a nothing-special rainy wednesday morning, my dear friend, diana, sends me this sweet picture out of the blue. and it makes me miss her and seeing our dynamic duo together---but it also makes me so thankful for how God has woven into my life so many wonderful people.

if you have people to miss, God's given you the most beautiful gift of relationship. He created us to be relational and rooted deeply with others. in the very beginning, He determined, "it is not good for man to be alone." - genesis 2:18

independent and autonomous as we might like to be at times, we aren't islands and were never intended for isolation. we were made in His image to bear His image and to be intricately involved with others---just like He is so intricately entangled wth us. yes, even in the messy parts. especially there. our earthly kinships can remind us of the relationship possible with our heavenly King.

dear ones, don't fail to invest in your relationships---near and far ... earthly and heavenly---we all need a friend to fish with.

BLOOM even when you're [not] feeling planted

i know it's only february, but this past week has felt a lot like spring in georgia. makes me a little anxious for all these trees and plants beginning to bloom. i know a frost isn't quite outside the realm of possibility. so a little concerned, yes, but mostly i'm in a state of unbridled bliss. 

curse be the cold. i love spring. 

i love noticing the tiny buds on everything. i love how every day something new unfolds: the haze of lime and the hint of pink working their way into the drab fabric of winter brown and gray. honestly, sometimes i think something wrong with me: a middle-aged woman probably shouldn't be quite this smitten with a season. but, admittedly, i am. 

driving is downright dangerous during this time of year. last week, while chauffeuring connor to some teenage destination i scared the pants off my poor boy when i, unexpectedly, hit the breaks hard and shouted wildly for him to "LOOK AT THAT BRADFORD PEAR TREE BEGINNING TO BLOOM!"

after regaining his regular heartbeat, he was like, "MAAAHHM ... you CAN'T do THAT when you're driving."

but i was like, "son, i can't NOT do that when i see a bradford pear tree beginning to bloom."

geesh.

anyway, today is sunday. and not having to drive anywhere this afternoon, i headed out to my backyard with the plan to address our vegetable garden i'd completely neglected since fall. i figured it was time to remove the leaves and other dead stuff i'd ignored in these past couple months of winter.

as i approached my forlorn, little garden, i noticed a few hyacinths already in bloom. last fall i had planted some bulbs with the purpose of cutting them. because, come spring, who doesn't go ga-ga over the smell of a fresh hyacinth. [if you haven't smelled one yet, you haven't lived. just saying].

standing before these few blooms springing from the rich garden soil i found buried on the outside of the garden was the bag full of more bulbs which i had failed to plant. i remembered thinking--last fall--wanting to save them for bella so she'd have the chance to participate in the fun of bulbs blooming. (i have these very grand ideas often). so i guess it was sometime last november when i abandoned the bag and then, of course, (grand idea or not) forgot all about it in my normal forgetful way. 

the leaves fell and the days grew cold and i never once again thought about that bag of hyacinth bulbs. 

until this rainy sunday afternoon at the end of february. 

and there, covered in leaves and pine straw, was the bag full of abandoned bulbs. not planted, but, nonetheless, blooming! BLOOMING!

these bulbs ...

they didn't get planted. 

they didn't get placed.

they were never gently situated in soil.

they were kind of forgotten.

kind of lost.

pretty much abandoned.

left out.

ignored.

and, yet, they were doing their very darndest to bloom---right there on the outside of everything. 

and they were beautiful. 

and they made me think about how sometimes we, too, can bloom even when conditions aren't ideal. 

we've all heard the phrase, "bloom where you're planted." and i like that phrase. i'm sure i've even used it before in my writing and speaking. it offers a pleasant modicum of truth and, i suppose, some much needed encouragement. but i think in some ways it is a tad simplistic. 

maybe the bigger thing is to bloom even when you're NOT planted. 

because, let's face it, sometimes we don't feel like we are existing in ideal conditions. sometimes we don't feel like we're very rooted or even in the right place. 

sometimes we feel outside of something: left out or lost.

sometimes we feel not tethered or attached or anchored or very authentic ... 

maybe you're the high schooler who still doesn't feel connected to any group or any one thing. maybe you're the young professional uncertain in his first job. maybe you're the new mother who isn't sure how she went from deadlines to diapers. maybe you're the empty nester who isn't sure what to do next with everyone gone. maybe you're the older man questioning his day when he wakes to his very quiet house.

i don't know.

but i do know that even when we look like we are deeply rooted and perfectly planted, sometimes, we feel like we aren't. 

i have struggled with that feeling for years. i don't think anyone would necessarily know that about me. i look rooted; well-connected and well-established. i certainly am busy. 

but, truth is, sometimes it's easy to feel a little bit on the outside of life.

you're not alone.

maybe we all feel that way at times.

with moving away from family years ago and moving around a little in these past two decades there are moments when i'm not sure to which group or place exactly i belong. i am in this season of watching my kids grow up quickly and there are definitely days where i wonder what it is i am supposed to be doing. 

again, my guess is most of us struggle with these feelings.

and if you do, i'd like to encourage you to remember my bag of hyacinth bulbs. 

bloom.  wherever you are planted ... even if you aren't feeling completely planted. bloom.

oh friends, it's not about our FEELINGS, but about His FAITHFULNESS.

God has a plan and a purpose for our life. He knows exactly where we are and cares deeply for how we feel. so--teenager, young professional, new mother, empty nester, and well seasoned friend--go ahead and bloom!

"thanks be to God who  ... through us diffuses the fragrance of His knowledge in every place." ~ 2 corinthians 2:14

"be rooted and built up in Him, strengthened in the faith as you were taught, and overflowing with thankfulness." ~ colossians 2:7

the only one home today

he's the only one home.

today. officially. [finally]. the christmas-winter break is over. 

no more vacationing. no more snowday-ing. 

no more sleeping in and staying up late.

EV-ER-Y-ONE is back at school this morning: college kids, high schoolers and the 4th grader too!

the morning is quiet. 

the house is still. 

the woman is grateful.

it's not that i don't love having them around -- gosh, no -- i do! and i'll be the first to miss it something fierce when they truly are all gone.

but there is a need for us to have our children well occupied. i don't mean crazy-busy and always-on-the-go ... but consistent employment. something fruitful.

our kids--actually, all of us--require structure and responsibility--a job or school or both.

how lovely it is to have time off and time away, but how life-giving it is to have purpose and a plan and something in production.

we rest and reset during these measured vacations, but we grow and gain character in our meaningful occupations. 

both seasons, necessary.

kiddos--it's been an amazing month with all of you home--absolutely wonderful, in fact--but, dear ones, it's time! i love you.

"whatever you do, work heartily, as for the Lord and not for men..." ~ colossians 3:23

 (unless you're the dog--only then are you allowed to stay home and lay about in the kitchen).

and the kitchen is clean!

snowed in

i was snowed in with all five of my kiddos today. 

there was a time--when they were all little--that might have been hard, or at least challenging. 

but now, with so many of them grown and always on the go, i just feel like a super lucky mom. 

the days of all five home are fading fast. emily begins her last semester of college this month. it's exciting, but we all know that means in a  few months she'll graduate and begin her career and, very possibly, be out of the house for good. 

so, yes, trapped at home today was most definitely a gift! 

sledding on the 14th hole!

adoption and christmas

7 years ago and her first christmas home.

i can't perfectly explain it, but somehow experiencing adoption that year made the christmas story even clearer---at least for me it did.

God sending His son so that we might be brought into His family.
brought as if we always belonged.

welcomed and wrapped up in unimaginable love. 

baby Jesus gifted to this undeserving, undignified and unbecoming world ... that we might become sons and daughters of the King.

adopted and redeemed because God loves us that much. 

in no way is it a perfect analogy, but this earthly adoption of our daughter allowed me a deeper understanding of how much we were wanted in heaven.

"this is how God showed His love among us: He sent His one and only Son

 into the world that we might live through Him." ~ 1 john 4:9

i made this video 7 years ago ... bella's first christmas home.

merry first christmas bella

o christmas tree, o christmas tree, how lovely are thy branches?

Be honest, are you an ornament re-arranger, like me? I’ve denied it for years, but the truth is, when the little ones leave the room I practically trip over myself making a beeline for the tree. My eager decorator-fingers itch to break up that bundle of 22 ornaments which the children have so carefully arranged on one single evergreen bough. 

I tell myself I do it for the tree. I mean, Jesus cared for the sparrows, right? I am caring for the Christmas trees of this world—One tree at a time. Seems almost spiritual. Seems like something Jesus would do … or so I tell myself.

We’ve been doing Christmas trees with kids for over 20 years in our house. Multiply the years and the five kids and that’s a lot of tree decorating. It’s also a lot of ornaments. Let me be more specific: A lot of handmade ornaments: A lot of droopy tinfoil-halos and glitter-crumbling stars and paper-plate angels and faded red stockings. 

And each Christmas our tree grows heavier and heavier with all of this stuff. Years ago, we even started adding a second tree. But even with two trees, our branches were easily becoming more laden than lovely. 

It’s easy to fill it up. It’s easy to always add more. It’s what we do.

Because in life, like in tree-decorating, we typically don’t see it as too much until we begin to bend and break. 

And sometimes, even when we are telling ourselves that it all looks well-balanced and perfectly shiny, we find out that it isn’t.

A few years ago, we purchased the biggest tree in the history of our family. On the way home from the lot, the kids enthusiastically dubbed him “Fat Sam.” He was 14 feet of glorious greenery and, that evening, we decorated him to the very hilt. I’m pretty sure there was no ornament in our attic left behind. By the time we deemed him complete, there was hardly a trace of green to be seen behind all of those ornaments. He was covered. Consumed. The children were ecstatic. Rick and I were exhausted. Our work here was done.  

But that night, about 3 am, I woke to my young, almost-teenage son shaking me. “Mom, Mom, MOM. Wake up. The Christmas tree has fallen over. And it’s bad.”

In my middle-of-the-night stupor, we raced down the stairs and found that, yes, indeed, our beast of a tree, our beloved Fat Sam, had collapsed across the entire family room. The coffee table and part of one sofa had all but disappeared, and it was, indeed, very bad. Shattered glass and water everywhere. Did I mention it was 3 am? It was a Christmas tree catastrophe. A holiday gone wrong. An evergreen armageddon.

No one likes to have their Christmas tree come crashing down in the middle of the night … (or ever, for that matter). But, what did we expect? We could have decorated an entire Noble Fir forest with the amount of ornaments we had piled on good old Fat Sam. As capable and stalwart as he seemed, it was simply too much. 

That year, we learned our lesson with Christmas trees. But have we learned this same lesson with our lives?

It makes me consider how we fill our time, our days, and our families. We are blessed with so many special, sparkly and shiny fun things—but even all of that goodness can cause us to lose sight of the life behind it all. Our fine intentions in making something wonderful come crashing down under the weight of all we are doing.

In the past few years, as the kids have gotten older, we have learned to put less on our trees. We are making choices and leaving more things in the boxes. Partly because of our experience with our friend, Fat Sam, and partly because we realize it was just too much anyway. 

Dear friends, this Christmas season, the opportunities to fill your days might be many and merry. But—from a woman who has lived to tell the story of Fat Sam (Christmas and otherwise)—let me encourage you to treasure the beauty of less and enjoy the gift of keeping things simple.

"It is the sweet, simple things of life which are the real ones after all.”  ~ Laura Ingalls Wilder

every, every minute of it

20 years ago today, one of my former students lost her mother to colon cancer. this morning she posted these words about her mom, pixie:

Today, December 5th, marks 20 years since my mom, Pixie, was called to her heavenly home. I refer to it as her “heavenday” on my calendar as her birthday is December 15th. She was 49 when she died, 10 days before her 50th birthday. She told my dad that if she made it to 50 to please still put 49 in the obituary (LOL)!

This year, today weighs on me more than it has in recent memory, as she’s now been gone longer than I had her in my life. I was 19 when she lost her courageous battle with colon cancer. So today, in honor of her life well-lived, I thought I’d share a little about my mom and some of her crafty projects with you!  

read julie's entire post and check out her beautiful blog and business named in memory of her mom: A TRIBUTE TO PIXIE

julie's sweet words this morning reminded me of the impact her mom had on my life.

twenty(ish) years ago, i was an english teacher at a high school in chagrin falls, ohio. i was also in my twenties, a few years into marriage and, eventually, in the very first months of motherhood.

as the english teacher, i was given the opportunity to "run the theater department." for many years, in addition to teaching english, i taught all the theater classes and directed a fall play and a spring musical. (i was also the varsity volleyball coach--good-golly, i was busy)! i loved being a teacher and a director (and a coach), but the truth is, i really didn't know what i was doing all that much. as a young 20-something-year-old teaching 17 and 18 year olds, it was a little touch-and-go at times. to say the least. i was barely older than them, and, i probably looked even younger than some of them. i did my best, but, i'm sure i had to make a few things up, fake it just a bit, and pray an awful lot. (if you've ever taught high schoolers you know just what i mean). i remember days where i doubted my ability. heck, days where i felt a little bit like an actress myself.

one of my favorite stories from these early years of teaching is the time i got stopped in the hall by an older teacher and he asked me where my hall pass was. yep, that happened.

but, even in my lack of confidence, it was a life-changing season for me. the experience grew me up and stretched me in tremendous ways. i worked with some pretty awesome kids in the classroom and on the stage. many of which i am still in touch with today---thanks to facebook!

running from one responsibility to another---from the classroom to the volleyball court to the stage to my home life---those years were an absolute blur. i had to learn quickly how to keep a lot of balls in the air at one time---i also learned how to drop a few as gracefully as possible! two decades later, i can still close my eyes and easily recall the feel of that old auditorium---the sounds and smells and small (and some grand) moments. i remember rehearsing lines and painting sets and fretting over the--almost always--unpredictable sound and lighting system. i definitely remember the kids. i loved working with them, but some days i didn't know which way to turn first: there was always so much to do, so much to be done. i felt like i had so much to prove.

there were a few "stage moms" who impacted me deeply during this time. pixie ferlito was one of them. her two children, julie and greg, were students in my english class and also cast members in several of the shows. their mom, pixie, was exceptional. she was a ball of energy--an incredible "get-things-done" kind of lady, yes! -- but always in the most gentle and sweet way. she had a sparkle about her and a beautiful smile on her face. always.

as a young teacher-director-coach-mother-wife ... i was so often overwhelmed in my various roles. and i think pixie knew that. so many times she had just the right words for me. she would swing by the stage or stop in my classroom and, though our conversations were brief, i always left her feeling so encouraged and capable. she had this special kind of peace about her.

the albums pixie made me

she was also super crafty -- as is her daughter today! (make sure you look at the link above to see julie's work). in the midst of pixie's busy life, she loved to create things for others. she gave me a family photo album at my baby shower for our first born, emily. it is filled with family memories from those early years and i treasure it still.

in december of 1994, i directed thorton wilder's play, our town.  pixie's daughter, julie, was a townsperson in that show and pixie was instrumental, helping me in a multitude of ways. as is sometimes natural with a small cast, the kids and parents who came together were all super close during this time. pixie created another beautiful album for me for this show. the cast filled it with photos and keepsakes and gifted it to me on the final night of their performance. her handiwork in these homemade albums she designed was incredible. i cannot imagine the amount of time it took. but it is such a reflection of the woman she was---sacrificial with her time, beautiful in her work and loving through her spirit.

the play, our town, isn't always a crowd pleaser. it's heavy stuff. when i selected it, i remember one of my administrators questioning me on my choice. "gosh, jody," he said, "this isn't exactly a feel-good, upbeat kind of show, is it? well, he was right about that. it surely isn't. but it's a wonderful and true depiction of real life ... and death. and it has a powerful message---one, in which we all probably need a reminder.

the third act of the play opens with the funeral of emily gibbs. she is a young woman who is granted the chance to go back and relive one day in her life. she chooses her 12th birthday, and from that experience emily delivers this final, heart-wrenching, monologue:

"Let's really look at one another! It goes so fast. We don't have time to look at one another. I didn't realize. So all that was going on and we never noticed...Wait! One more look. Good-bye. Good-bye world. Good-bye, Grover's Corners ... mama and papa. Good-bye to clocks ticking...and mama's sunflowers. And food and coffee. And new-ironed dresses and hot baths...and sleeping and waking up. Oh, earth, you're too wonderful for anybody to realize you."

three years --almost to the very day--after that december performance of our town, pixie ferlito lost her battle with cancer and went to be with Jesus -- 20 years ago today. i was home on maternity leave with our second born when i heard news of her passing. i remember weeping and weeping over the ferlito family's loss of their mother and wife.  there i was a new mama, and i couldn't help but think of the words from thorton wilder's play which impacted all of us so deeply three years earlier. that december, i watched a family experience this kind of pain, not on stage, but in real life.

at the end of emily's monologue in our town, she asks the stage manager, "does anyone ever realize life while they live it ... every, every minute?"  and the stage manager replies, "no. saints and poets maybe ... they do some."

all i can say is that pixie ferlito must have had a lot of saint and poet in her! people just don't walk around with that kind of joy in their heart and that kind of smile on their face unless they do "realize life while they live it."

julie's post, reminded me that pixie died at age 49, 10 days before her 50th birthday. and maybe, that's a part of it for me today. but, early this morning, as i read julie's words, i wept again for all of it: for this precious family and for their loss. for the fact that this girl who said good-bye to her mom at 19 is now, herself, a young mom. i wept for the beauty of a life like pixie's and for the beauty of her daughter's tribute this morning.

and i wept for this life ... that we are all given, but don't always appreciate.

this year i am also a 49 year old mother. and, if i'm being honest, i don't feel like i always do a bang up job "realizing life while i live it." when i went through my own bout with cancer, years ago, i thought of pixie often during that time. when i worried that the cancer could actually be something which might take my life and take away my chance to mother my children, i had many moments where i became completely undone by that fear. i begged God. i even made promises. i was sure that if given the chance to make it through cancer, i'd do a much better job living every moment fully --- taking time to realize and appreciate every little thing life gave me. but 7 years later, even though cancer left me changed, i can't tell you that i do that really well.  like our town's emily, i, too want to ask: "does anyone ever realize life while they live it ...every, every minute?"

it's hard to do. i know. but from my perspective, it sure seemed like i knew a lady 20 years ago who came pretty darn close.

dear ones, we don't know what diagnosis is in our future. none of us can possibly know the number of days we have left ... but, gosh, we do--each one of us--all have the chance to live our life a little bit more like my friend, pixie. 

our town cast 1994

this morning, when i was thumbing through the our town album, i came across the show's program in which i had printed this message for my cast and crew back in 1994:  "it is my wish that you "realize life ... every, every minute of it." 

20 some years ago when i was teaching and directing these kids, i didn't know a lot of things. but i knew even then -- practically a kid myself--we were all in need of that message, that wish, that prayer.

and, we still are.

"teach us to number our days, that we may gain a heart of wisdom." 
~ psalm 90:12

back entrances

it was an i-didn’t-hear-my-alarm kind of morning. my daughter (and driver) woke up late and wouldn’t be able to get herself and her freshman brother to high school on time. so a quick plan b was decided: i would take connor first and then do my normal Bella drop off at her school--a little late.

not ideal. but it’s the way it goes some days, right?

we all have those mornings. we all have those days. 

i'll be honest, i am never one to be exactly ecstatic about a last minute re-routing of my morning. mornings are challenging enough getting everyone fed and packed up and out the door, who needs an additional hiccup or an extra drop off (especially in atlanta traffic)! 

because of this change, i approached bella’s school from a different direction and had to take the back entrance in. we live on the opposite side of the school, so i almost never come this way. but today i did. 

and this beautiful sight was my unexpected golden gift in the midst of our messed up morning. 

bella and i decided, between the mist and the leaves, it was like driving through a shiny canopy of gold. breathtaking. 

“back entrances” are like plan bs or unwanted hiccups: we never ask for them. but sometimes in life, are forced to take a different way and we find something good waiting for us even there. 

so i stopped. 

and, yes, in my pajamas, got out of the car and took this picture. (to the landscapers working nearby: thanks for keeping your laughter somewhat subdued). i'm posting this today, because i know we probably all need to [more often] acknowledge the beauty of life's back entrances.

p.s.  on the way home from this golden moment, the [golden] dog decided throwing up in the backseat would be a nice additional touch. 

good news: i happened to have a stray target bag nearby and i was able to catch the throw up. 

bad news: the bag had a hole in it. 

though i was kind of impressed with my vomit-catching-while-sorta-driving-bag-skills, so far, no obvious treasure found in this morning's throw up incident. 

but, be assured, i’ll keep searching for that silver (or gold) ... (or, er, um ... slightly greenish-yellowish) lining! 

still recovering ...

i've got this

our fourth born started high school this fall. i won’t call him “my baby,” but until bella came along, he certainly was. i guess we could say he’s my biological baby. and though we don’t speak of it often (because that would just be weird) he was the last one i spent any serious time with in labor and delivery. but, alas, even youngest children tend to grow up and this one is now in 9th grade and (much) taller than me.

though a mother never really knows with a 14 year old son, things do seem to be going well in this new educational season. i don’t get a lot of details or elaborate stories from his day, but, for the most part, it appears as if he is off to a good start. considering his academic career thus far was spent at a small, christian school where everyone knew his name—and, more importantly, his mother’s name—this big, public school experience could have proved a little dicey. but he seems to be doing well. and, like i said, i’m proud of how he’s handling it. so far.

“so far.” as a parent, i’ve learned to use that phrase regularly. i’ve learned that things can change in a heartbeat or a test grade or a lunchroom incident or a poor choice: fine today, not so fine tomorrow. that’s life. that’s certainly high school. and because connor is our 4th child to enter it, i am careful with my words and my phraseology. i am careful with what i declare definitively. you won’t ever hear “my child would never …” come out of this mama’s mouth. she knows to never say never. things can change. things do change. let’s be honest, things will change.

in all these years of raising (i.e., managing) high schoolers, i have also learned to ask a lot of questions. i’m sure i often teeter on (okay, more like, trounce upon) the line of annoying. no doubt, i can pester and poke around and press them sometimes a little more (waaay more) than they’d prefer. but, it doesn’t matter. i tell them, “it’s my job and i want to know." i really do. and so i ask:

how was your day, honey?

anything interesting happen today, honey?

was that test easy or hard, honey?

who did you sit with at lunch, honey?

what did you talk about in English class, honey?

do you have any homework tonight, honey?

you know the usual mom stuff. i ask. i will always ask. sometimes he mumbles one word answers while standing in the pantry scouring the shelves for items to include in his after school snack---er ... um ... feast. (i’ve also learned that there is nothing quite like the hunger of a boy after a day of high school). but sometimes, he’ll lean across the counter and carefully offer up a few more verbal crumbs. he’ll pause in between shoveling mouthfuls of cookies or chips or cheese and he will come close to making eye contact and, even, on occasion, use adjectives and (mostly) full sentences. sometimes.

regardless of what i get, i continue to ask.

in these past couple of months there’s been a new phrase connor has used with me and all my questions. if you've ever had a 9th grade boy living under your roof, maybe you’ve heard it too. this fall, more times than i can count, when i've started down the well-worn path of mom-interrogation, connor's reply has been, “mom, i’ve got this.”

"mom, i've got this."

those four words. over and over again. he says this to me often. and, let’s face it parents, we all know the phrase is both beautiful and terrible all at once. beautiful, because i am watching my boy take on so many new things and (so far) he is doing a great job and growing into such a great young man … and that’s lovely and it’s certainly what i want and wish for. but terrible too. you know what i mean? he’s growing up and he doesn’t need a whole lot from this woman who corners him in the kitchen and peppers him with slightly annoying queries every day after school. i don’t pack his lunch or make his snack or help him with his homework or organize his social life anymore and it seems every week he does more on his own. i’ve even—big gasp—watched him throw his clothes in the washing machine and turn it on! and, whereas that is good and necessary and a big part of parenting, it's also a little bit sad for us mamas who like to be needed. i mean i'm never going to grow weepy about my kid doing his own laundry or making his own lunch, but there is a tiny flutter in this woman's heart when she really stops and thinks about how far she's traveled with her children---from utterly dependent on us for every single need to the attitude of, "mom, i've got this."

nowhere was this phrased more used than last month when he was making plans for the school homecoming dance. though it might surprise you a little, i had a few questions about that as well:

when are you going to ask her, honey? 

how are you going to ask her, honey?

who is in your group, honey?

do you need reservations, honey?

did you buy the tickets, honey?

what do you want to wear, honey?

what kind of corsage should we order, honey?

what time are pictures, honey?

you can imagine.

and that’s just a sampling, trust me, i had a lot more swirling around inside of me.

and connor’s answer? yep, you've guessed it ... “mom, i’ve got this.”

and he did.

he asked the girl. he organized the group. he made the dinner reservation. he figured out the plan. he even tried to convince me that he and his friends could uber and wouldn’t be in need of parent drivers. (he tried, we drove anyway). but, he showed us how in so many ways that he really did "have this." 

it was a sweet group of kids who had all known each other from grade school. and they did a great job making plans and making their first high school homecoming fun. fun, even for us parents. we had a blast taking pictures and seeing the kids together and figuring out how much we needed to interject ourselves and how much we needed to step out of the way. we had this parent group text and email going where we were trying to all get an understanding of "their plan," without stepping on their new found autonomy. trust me, it was a fine line.  like i said, terrible and wonderful all at once. it wasn't just the homecoming dance, but it is an ongoing dance with parents and kids this age. and we don't always get it right. not even with our 4th borns. 

because it’s not only the kids who grow in high school---it’s the parents too. we grow and we stretch ourselves in ways we didn’t know were possible. in ways we didn’t know were needed. we aren’t always quite prepared, nor do we do it all perfectly. just like them---we are figuring it out. and, just like them, whether we really do "got this," or not ... we can rest assured our heavenly father definitely does.  

He really does. He's got this, got us, got them!

"and He is before all things, and in Him all things hold together."

 ~ colossians 1:17

(yes, even our high schoolers)