home and her dad's hug

200+ facebook "likes."
that's a lot for me. an awful lot for one picture. okay, two -- i collaged (morphed) two pictures into one. more bang for my buck. or maybe just an indecisive post-er.
whatever. 200+ likes made me wonder.

why?

what facebook logarithm clicked?
what exactly was it about this picture which made people push that elusive "like" button?

the element of surprise?
the event of a birthday?
the enthusiasm of a college girl?

or maybe it's just the plain encouragement we all get from one who returns home.

she's only been one state over.
and it's only been for two full weeks.

but something about emily coming home and surprising her dad out on the deck for his 46th birthday felt ... precious. the rest of us kind of knew no matter what we wrapped up in our boxes or wrote in our cards --- she had trumped us all with the gift of her return.

and that was okay.

all of us. perfectly okay with this particular trumping.

because we were all just as excited about seeing our sister-daughter back where she belonged. home in time for dinner. a birthday dinner which i, by the way, happened to ruin. (adding sherry vinegar to homemade chicken marsala is not the same thing as adding plain, old sherry -- sigh). rick's favorite dish a disaster. i've been making this for years -- could make it in my sleep -- except i guess i was a wee bit distracted watching out the window for her car.

but even the ruined birthday feast was wonderful with oldest girl back at the table. 

sometimes that's all it takes. 

everyone home.

and i kept thinking ... all this rejoicing. it's so much fun. so much fun to watch the middle girl come barreling through the door and hop up into her big sister's arms. so much fun to hear emily say to her 11 year old brother, "connor, give me a real hug." so much fun to hear her talk and tell us about all those things she hasn't had time to fit into phone conversations or text messages.  

so much fun to just see her. sitting there. her. here. home.

even after only two weeks.

and that hug between emily and her dad. out on the deck. crazy cute, right? especially the monogrammed hat. but really --- that's what we are all "liking." isn't it? the little girl back in the big arms of her dad. that's what we all want out of life. to be welcomed home. to be held.

to be rejoiced over.

surprise or birthday or college or whatever. it's about how it feels to be back where we belong; to be home.

and if we felt like this on a friday night in september, just think of God's rejoicing when He welcomes home each of His children. think of that embrace. think of that enthusiasm. think of the hold in that kind of hug.

a girl home for her dad's birthday -- a glimpse of God's embrace when we return home.

and, one picture or two,  that's a lot to "like."

this is her: i did it! i-surprised-my-dad-dance!

folks, we've got us a college girl!

we got home on the late side last night ... and i'm kind of glad. i was, pretty much, able to climb right into bed. i guess that would have been majorly weird had we arrived back at 4pm and i put on pajamas and pulled the covers over my head then. but at 9 o'clock, it was at least somewhat acceptable.

because that's about all i felt like doing last night. 

after a day of moving our oldest into her dorm room ... that's all i had left in me.

sleep.

too physically taxing a day? no, not really.

but that emotional build up in saying good-bye while trying to keep some level of composure for my college girls' sake ... well ... that about did this mama in. it's not easy to let go. no surprise here. and we really wanted to at least try and honor her request ... "please, mom and dad, no tears ... please." (she knows her mother well).

and so after a day of arranging bedding, hanging drapes and organizing desk items ...
we said our quick good-byes on a campus sidewalk.

we headed for our car and she headed for her college.

and that was that. 

and really, tired and spent and emotionally wrecked as i felt making my way back to atlanta last night, i am so happy for her. thrilled, in fact.
and even if she had turned around and chased down me saying, "mom, i've changed my mind about this college thing and i'd rather just come back home with y'all." even if she had said those words ... begged ... pleaded ...  and clung. i would have turned her tall body right back toward her dorm room and given her a little push. "no, emily, this is where you belong. it's time to go."

(and just for the record, there was no way in heck that she would have said that to me ...
she could not have been more excited and ready and wanting to be there). 

and (really, truly) i want her there. and i rejoice this morning. a good night's sleep has restored my mother equilibrium -- at least for the moment. i'm sure the waves of abrupt change are going to hit me again at some point. i'll notice her place empty at the table or see that her room will be too clean ... i'll need her opinion on an outfit ... and that lump in my throat and those tears on my cheeks might very well show up again.

but that doesn't change my wanting her right where she is. right where she should be.

i told a friend this morning, i've yet to look into her room. i didn't dare do it last night. nope. could. not. do. it. but maybe soon, sometime today, i'll work up the courage to go in and change her sheets, straighten the items left abandoned on her desk, windex her mirror and all the while whisper words of praise for God's glory and grace in this going ... and in this gift -- being her mom.

on a slightly lighter note:  yesterday, while sitting in the closing assembly and listening to the college president address the class of 2018 ... sarah (our 14 year old) sat up quickly and whispered, "you know what this really means, mom? emily's going to college really means that i'm left alone to do all the dishes and help out with all the laundry - alone!" a look of total horror crossed the face of my 14 year old. i assured her she had brothers and a younger sister!

no doubt, we will all feel the hole of her going. but more than anything, we are all choosing to cheer her on and give thanks for her chance to go.

yes, it's kind of sad.
but it's really exactly as it should be.

i've already thought of three things which she might need me to run over to her next weekend. three things. THREE THINGS. that's a lot, isn't it? you are probably shaking your head and thinking, "oh yes, jody, you really should run those three things right over to her. as soon as possible, in fact. she needs them. she needs YOU!" 

nah. i know you're not really thinking that. and, truly, neither am i. though i will look forward to the time when we can go visit ... or the times when she'll pop on home ... i know, right now, she doesn't need three things from me or any-thing from me. only my prayers and encouragement. (and maybe an occasional care package with cookies).  three things or not, my girl has what she needs most -- One Thing -- Jesus.

so, i guess it's time to go tidy her room ... take in the emptiness and fill it with prayers for my ready-to-go college girl.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ 

and speaking of rooms, here's a few pictures of "move in day!"

packed and ready to gooooo!

meet em's darling roommate - caroline!

 a running start is needed to jump into their beds!

in case you weren't sure which side of the room belonged to emily

emily's personal design team

sister love! before sarah's increase-in-chores epiphany.

ordering her text books -- oh yeah, it's not just about decorating a dorm room!

emily's dorm - "vail"

from celebration to orientation

last sunday we were celebrating her high school graduation.

this sunday we are on a plane heading to her college orientation.

yep, that about sums up this thing called parenting. this thing called kids. this thing called in-the-blink-of-an-eye.

our theme music: the final countdown.

and, of course, i feel my heels dig in and my back stiffen up. i want to brace myself in this progression of next things. but i know, more than bracing myself, i must embrace her and the moment and the beautiful mystery of watching a child move on ...

we are learning to linger even when time doesn’t allow.
we are learning to pause when everything else pushes ahead.
we are desperate to hold that which hurries away.

all week i’ve wanted to post a few pictures of emily’s party. and so tonight, as the sun sets and the plane flies south, i am taking this suspended sliver of time and sharing last week’s celebration. maybe a final hurrah to the high school things she sheds.
for tomorrow morning will come. and the progression of time will continue. and we will all move on and into the next thing. but tonight, this plane, it allows me to pause.

to breathe ... to dwell ... to linger just a tiny bit longer on last week. 

the next things will come.
tomorrow always does.

   ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ 

the party. it was a lot of work -- no doubt about that -- but worth every crazy minute. pure pleasure for this mama to plan food and photos and decorations and details. 

i’ve thrown a ga-zillion birthday parties for my kids over the years, but this was my first graduation party --- and it felt special. different. we don’t have to do anything to warrant a birthday – they just come. but this graduation thing, it’s different … there’s a long road which leads to this place. a road which has had its share of hard work and hard days and hard bumps. and so to be at this place where we can cut a cake and order balloons and turn up the music --- well, that’s pretty cool. i know you parents of recent grads know. i feel the nod of your heads. you know -- that’s a place worth celebrating well. that's a place well earned.

emily, we are so proud of you!

friends and family ... you're the best! thank you for stopping by and celebrating with us! i want you to know that night as emily was going through cards and replaying moments from her party she was downright overwhelmed with the love. like it about took her breath away. not what she got, but what she's been given. the people who love her, support her, celebrate her. she felt the immense humbling of that --- a beautiful thing. thank you for that gift, dear ones. thank you.

on her last day of childhood: a letter

to my oldest girl ~

tomorrow you turn 18.
nothing really changes, except everything.

you won't 100% begin paying your bills or buying your groceries or balancing a budget -at least not yet. (though i would really like you to take care of that library fine sometime soon).

no, you'll wake up in our home and be the same girl you were at at 7 and 13 and 17.

except tomorrow you'll be 18.
tomorrow you'll be called an adult.

it's a line or a mark. it's a specific moment in time where we can say things like:
she's arrived.
she's become.
she's crossed over.

but i've been watching you cross into to this thing called adulthood for quite some time.
it didn't come on a birthday.

it came when we weren't looking.
it came when we were in the middle of other things.
it came when you faced challenges, hard days, disappointments.


it came on the day when you jumped into the pool without us.
it came on the day when you graduated kindergarten.
it came on the day you baked your daddy a  birthday cake.
it came on the day when you learned to ride your bike.
it came on the day when you left for a week of summer camp.
it came on the day when you sauntered bravely into your high school
it came on the day when you passed your driver's license exam.

it came in bits and pieces in the highlights and in the heartbreaks.

it came on the day when you were told your mom had cancer and in the year when our family moved cross country and when you walked out on the volleyball court and when you had to prepare that presentation or lead that group of students on a mission's project in a rough part of town.

it came on those days.

it came when you had to take that crazy-hard test or have that difficult talk or confront a dear friend.

it came when you were asked to bathe your little sister or babysit your brother or make the family dinner.

we grow up in the in between moments of our days ... not on our birthdays.

birthdays mark and measure time ... but it is the in between which makes us who we are.



and on this night before you turn 18 ...
on this night before you become a "real"adult i just want you to know  -- in my book, you already are.

you have proven yourself to be a girl who desires to grow closer to God.
you have shown yourself to be a young lady who is learning to lean on Jesus.
you have taught yourself to be a woman who is waiting on the Lord.

of course, a part of me feels a last ditch effort to push that impotent pause button. i felt it when you turned 5 and 13 ... and most days in between. but tonight, i know with everything in me, there's no pausing, there's no stopping, there's no going back.

you are ready and this is God's timing.

and, as your mom, instead of trying to hold on to what was, i am going to embrace what is and what will be.

i can't wait to watch what God is going to do with you, for you, through you.

when you entered our arms 18 years ago, i remember looking into your big brown eyes and wondering what God might have in store. and daughter, it is better and more beautiful than i could have imagined as that young mama way back then.

be patient with me. you are my first adult child. just like in these 18 years we've already had, i'll make mistakes, continue to mess up ... somedays get it all wrong. but i am so thankful that God has blessed us with a relationship of love and grace. my prayer is that you'll continue to grow in both -- love and grace. love and grace.

my prayer is that you'll continue to grow closer to Jesus and walk all of your days in His light.

i love you and i welcome you into this next chapter of YOU with God's blessing:

"the Lord bless you

and keep you; 

 the Lord make his face shine on you

    and be gracious to you;

 the Lord turn his face toward you

    and give you peace.”  ~ numbers 6:24-26

happy 18th birthday!
i love you ~ mom

she can't forget

i handed her the pill and some water. watching her swallow, i swallowed right along with her. hard to believe just last week she was in the dominican republic serving on a senior class mission's trip.

now with thanksgiving behind us and christmas around the corner, our home is taking on a festive glow. a glow which isn't easily reconciled with where she's just come home from.

i can see the tree lights behind her as she sets down her water glass.

the malaria pills must be continued for a few weeks after returning to the states. we've set alerts on our phone and reminders on the fridge door. we can't forget.


no, we simply can't forget.

and that's it -- she can't forget either.

she's not so worried about her malaria pill, but what she can't forget is her time spent in the dominican republic.

i can see it in her eyes. she arrived home from her week in a foreign land, speaking a foreign language, living a foreign life. she arrived home and jumped feet first into the holiday hustle. home just in time to plop herself down at the bountiful thanksgiving table. just in time to count blessings and friends and the incredible number of side dishes.

thanksgiving morning she sat at our kitchen counter as i worked on a couple of casseroles and she talked on and on and on about her week in the "DR." when i had completed the strawberry jello salad, i sat with her and we scrolled through her 1500+ pictures. one image of need and brokenness after another spilling out from her computer screen. i'll be honest, it was hard to see. i was so glad she was home and wanted to hear all about her trip, but thanksgiving morning or any morning, it can be hard to take it all in.

she told how on the first day her group went to a big supermarket warehouse and purchased many bags of groceries. they filled their carts with staples and basics and then loaded these bags into their bus heading for a small village on the outskirts of town. a village literally in the middle of the jungle.

as i began to chop vegetables for our wild rice casserole, she went on to explain how shocking it had been when they arrived in the village with their groceries. it was only day one of their trip and she hadn't quite prepared for the enormity of need she would encounter. there was no training. no preparing. no getting ready for a village like this. the bus stopped and they climbed out with their bags and their high school innocence. they walked from house to house in the midst of small children running everywhere in excitement. some of these children only partially clothed. the students followed these children to the houses stepping around dirt and rubbish and random pieces of building material along the way. the homes were devastating to see. emily has been to guatemala and thailand on mission's trips, but these homes were some of the worst she'd ever experienced. the need was overwhelming. the heat incredible. the situation devastating. after offering groceries, they spent time inside some of the houses praying with a few of the people. one lady even insisted on praying for them.

emily gave her testimony in this home here to the right. "this structure was smaller than my bedroom, mom," she explained, "and seven people live here! they all live in this one room!"

and then just a week later, thanksgiving morning, and she was home, sitting in my kitchen telling stories of her first day in this impoverished community. i mixed the wild rice and sauted onion and listened as she talked on and on. one story of impact leading to another. there weren't enough minutes in our thanksgiving morning to hear everything.

how did my daughter leave that scene and then come home to sit at a beautifully appointed thanksgiving table a couple of days later watching us all eat until we could eat no more. how does this happen? how does a 17 year old girl transition between these two worlds? how can any of us easily reconcile the bounty and the burden?

these issues involve a deep wrestling in the spirit. until we go and see and experience life in villages like this, it is easy to forget about our need wrestle.

this week, the kids are back to school and we've stepped from our november holiday right into december. the house is in the process of getting decorated. we are debating big issues like white lights or colored. we are wondering why the garland seems dry and fussing over where to put our nativity scene. i found myself grumbling earlier today over  that stubborn string of lights on the tree which has gone out for the second time. we are making our lists and checking them twice not wanting to forget anything. i've been to the craft store and the floral store and the home goods store 32 times since saturday trying to pull everything together. not wanting to forget an item or a necessary thing.

and then i watch her this afternoon swallow her malaria pill and think about how she must be processing all of this. she was only just last week passing out food to unclothed children and burdened mamas and tired men. just last week she walked the halls of a leprosy center, fed lunch to disabled children at an orphanage, and bartered in the streets of santo domingo.

emily's good friend, kevin, awesome smile, awesome shirt, awesome kid!

i know my girl is full swing back into her suburban minnesota life. she is excited about the holiday season and she is excited about choosing her college and she is excited about things like coffee dates, christmas decorating and snowboarding. life resumes in all of its beauty and wonder, but i also know my daughter has come home changed.

she won't easily forget what she left behind in the dominican republic.

she doesn't need a malaria pill every tuesday to remind her of what she experienced, what she saw. she doesn't need these photos to help her remember. she came home with a heart impacted and eyes opened wider. she came home with a better understanding of need and brokenness and struggle.

in a time when we want to lose ourselves in the glow of the beautiful season, we must remember our blessings. not take any of it for granted. not spend too much time worrying over the casserole or the color of our lights or the gift items on our list.

i know it's just easier to look away from the struggle. it's just easier to focus on the beautiful. i know for my girl, it would be easier to just forget what she saw.

but just like that malaria pill  -- she knows she can't forget. her experience is seared deeply in her heart and it will go with her. it will change her. it will prepare her for another opportunity to go or serve or bless again.

it is probably harder this week for emily to make her list of christmas wants when she has only just come back from a place of such great need. but i would challenge us all to consider that christmas does need to be about the want of others. not just what is on our list ... but what we can do to bless others: how we can come alongside them? where can we meet a need? how can we bless? where shall we serve? what can we do?

maybe the next few weeks don't allow you the opportunity to walk through an impoverished village in a foreign country. but friend, i'd encourage you to look around. chances are you'll find someone pretty impoverished right here where you are.

don't just look, but ask yourself, "what can i do?"

emily went to the dominican to serve. if you think about it, she really wasn't able to "do" a whole lot. she was a 17 year old girl in a group of 60 some students. they were only there for a quick seven days. yes, they built a swing set, played with children, put on skits, shared their testimonies, prayed over people. yes! but considering the great need, someone might argue they didn't make a huge dent in the needs of this third world country. but here's the deal: they did what they could. they did what we are called to do. and maybe the dent they were supposed to make wasn't just in that country, but in their own hearts. maybe we serve and we go and we bless, so that we experience the impact and dent in our own lives. and when we're dented we are also softened and made more aware of what God wants us to do with our time here on earth.

yes, we go on mission's trips to serve others, but we also go to get dented. changed. maybe even wrecked a little bit for the normal things of our comfortable lives.

and then we go again. we serve again. we bless others again. maybe it's not about just doing this one thing  ... maybe it's about how doing one thing changes us in multiple things. in multiple ways. for multiple purposes.

and if it seems these students weren't able to accomplish much, you didn't see the smile on the face of the disabled little girl who had never before experienced a swing. these students built a swing set while they visited and her smile alone was worth the entire trip.

this morning i attended a chapel at the school where the seniors shared their experience with parents and the other students. it was amazing to hear student after student tell stories of their week.  this morning one of emily's friends, luke, was sharing about the time they spent with people at the leprosy center. luke said this, "it was so incredible to see the joy of these people. even though they had suffered so much, even lost limbs and been rejected by people ... even though they didn't have the

another "new swing" smile!

privileges we have, they had so much joy."

another senior girl, elisa, shared her experience when she was feeding a frail woman at the leprosy center. the woman barely had enough strength to swallow her food, but elisa started singing "open the eyes of my heart Lord" and in this morning's chapel,  she told us, "the more i sung, the more it was like i was praying a prayer over her and i couldn't help but think of that verse where Jesus said, 'whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers and sisters of mine, you did for me.'"

luke and elisa and emily and the rest of this senior class won't forget these experiences. these teens have come home with more than stories and pictures and incredible moments, these kids have come home with a few dents in them. beautiful, beautiful, beautiful dents.

they have a couple more weeks of malaria pills ... but they have a life time to remember the impact from their week in the dominican republic.

this is a home which was built in that jungle village.
this family once lived in one of those ramshackle structures pictured above. such hope!

emily said as they left the village these children chased their bus waving good-bye.

"truly I tell you, whatever you did for one of the least 

of these brothers and sisters of mine, you did for me." 

~ matthew 25

emily's good friend, lauren, loving on one of the kids.

emily told me this girl is 17 like her...

the students got to play baseball with a group of kids and talk with them

emily with friends, braedy and kevin

the seniors did a drama for students at a public school - love the drama!

emily had a chance to share her testimony with the school kids

cow wandering the roadside eating a little garbage -- oh my!

finding some time to eno in the DR with friends jack and jacob!

peace out!

* for more, check out the slide show emily and her friends put together:  you tube video of DR trip