tired of this

i spent the better part of this late afternoon curled up on the couch.  i'd like to tell you that i was cozied up to the comfort of a blazing fire.  but alas, not today. for you see, we are out of wood.  winter has, officially, run just a little too long.  the two "ricks" of wood we ordered last fall have dwindled -- six months of winter will do that to the wood pile...to the woman as well.  dwindled.  that's how i feel today curled up near the cold of naked hearth.  no fire, no warmth...just winter.  we are in the midst of some kind of wicked storm on this 14th day of april -- an incredible mix of snow and sleet and rain. at the moment, our entire back wall of windows is being pelted with ice -- like great handfuls of marbles tossed upon the glass.  a-rat-a-tat-tat. it is unbelievable to hear, inconceivable to see.  it is april.  the weather can't seem to make up its mind:  one minute we have flurries and the next we have rain.  in between there is ice.  a-rat-a-tat-tat it taps and taps and taps.  the pounding, the pelting, the pulsating all in perfect staccato seeming to say: winter. winter. winter.  just won't go away.

i'm not going to lie, we're all a little tired of this.

and tomorrow's unappealing agenda isn't helping the ice-storm of today.  tomorrow morning i go back into surgery to remove another mass from my breast.  remember i had to do that last spring?  just one year after a double mastectomy in may of 2011 i had to head back in for another biopsy.  and this spring (i'm using that seasonal word loosely here) the scar tissue has come back.  again. and surgical removal is required. again. rat-a-tat-tat. a woman doesn't plan on annual surgical biopsies after she's had a bilateral mastectomy.  she just doesn't.  but we have to take out the mass and biopsy it one more time. we must. i'm not overly concerned about it.  my oncologist and surgeon are both pretty confident it is nothing but gnarly, miserable scar tissue, but because it's in the same spot as the original tumor, it is prudent to remove, test and be sure.  of course it is.  so back to the hospital.  back under anesthesia.  back on the operating table. back into the biopsy waiting game.

i'm not going to lie, we're all a little tired of this, too.

the weather.  the cancer.  both feel pretty darn yucky on this sunday evening as i stare out the darkening window, listening to the cold smack of weather against glass. fragile.

so, i guess what i want to know on this wild night is this:  what's your thing?  what's got you feeling weary tonight?  what's got you a little worn out this evening?

my guess is we've all got a little something.  something which wears us out...wears us thin...wears us all the way through.  what is tapping belligerently at the glass window of your life? rat-a-tat-tat. what is pelting you with fear and frustration on this april evening? rat-a-tat-tat.  perhaps you've got something you've been dealing with just a little bit longer than ever expected.  you thought you were done.  you thought it was over. but, somehow, in someway, it continues to gnaw or plague or pelt.

we all know it is in these worn out places which the devil wants to dwell.  he wants to climb right into our thoughts through the tired thread-bare holes in our head.  he wants to whisper his lies and make us believe the sky is falling.  rat-a-tat-tat.  he wants to pelt us with pain of hopelessness. rat-a-tat-tat.  he wants to weaken us with the weapon of fear.

don't let him.

don't give in to the weather or the cancer or the anxiety or the betrayal or the bitterness.

i know it seems hard right now.  i know it full well. i feel the terrible tired in my bones tonight, too.  but friend, i want to encourage you to find that sliver of hope.  you won't find it in yourself.  you won't find it in the forecast.  you won't find it in the results. you'll only find it in Him.

and if you're feeling at all like i am tonight, then it's time to go looking.

yesterday i snapped this picture of my boys down at our lake.  a small rim of water had finally melted after this half year of winter.  finally, we could see a thin sliver of open water.  it wasn't much,  but it was enough to send my boys to the basement in search of their kayaks.   and before i knew it, my two crazy sons had launched a kayak into this mere slice of stream -- like they were chasing spring.  like they were chasing hope.  it tickled me to see it.  to see them go looking for spring in the midst of the massive, frozen lake minnetonka with nothing more than a kayak and a good dose of boy-hope.

we're all a little tired of some stuff,  aren't we?  

but that's exactly the time to get into the boat.  find that small sliver in the worn out places of life and go looking for hope.

His Hope.

"but those who HOPE in the LORD 

will renew their strength. they will soar 

on wings like eagles;

they will run and not grow weary, 

they will walk and not be faint."

~ isaiah 40:31

one may go a long way after one is tired. ~ french proverb

* and a big shout out to the husband who in the middle of my writing this piece, braved the dreadful weather and headed out to the store...  for firewood!  we're back in business, my friends.  and it's a good thing.  rat-a-tat-tat!

the SOLD sign

okay, i have to admit, i am feeling a little silly now.  after posting that piece last week about selling the house, the realtor's last minute call and the imagined mad dash for the door...i am feeling a bit sheepish this morning.  the house sold this weekend.  yep, sold.  no realtor, no mad dash, no dirty laundry loaded, no smelly onions cooking, and no sign.

all that worry for nothing, right?  and isn't that so often the case. for heaven's sake, i sat down and pounded out that last post, "living cleanly," certain it would be my life for the next few months.  houses don't sell these days. at least they don't usually sell in a matter of days.  we posted some pictures on facebook and low and behold!  the first two families to come visit both presented offers two days later...with a third offer right behind!  sunday afternoon we accepted one and are now working through the details.  both were incredible offers, both were incredible families.

"but we never got a sign," connor said to me this morning.  you know the one he is talking about -- that big real estate sign someone comes and pounds into the ground of the front yard which makes the neighbors whisper and wonder.  "what is going on with the mcnatts? where are they going?  and why?" that one.  that sign.  somehow i guess to a nine year old boy this whole thing didn't seem completely legit without an official looking piece of wood out front.  and, of course i wonder, where will we plaster our big SOLD announcement? (thus my picture above). 

but sometimes we just don't get signs.  we all like them.  i sure like them.  i like to know i am headed in the right direction.  i like to know i am on the correct path and following the correct plan.  but that's not always the case.  since friends and neighbors have found out about our quick house sale, i am hearing comments like, "it's a sign!" one friend said, "clearly God is showing you this is the right move!"  okay, honestly i'd really like to believe that.  i'd really like to jump up and down and say "yes! see! it's a sign! now we know...now we're sure, without a doubt, we are supposed to move to minnesota!"  except that it is still hard and there are still doubts and i am still feeling awfully fragile about the whole crazy thing.  so was it a sign?  is it a sign? does a sign in my yard or in my life make all that much difference? hmm....it certainly gives me something to ponder.

if you are anything like me, than you probably also, on occasion, wrestle with the will of God.  i really do want to know what God wants from me -- from us -- from the mcnatt family.  i not only want to know it, but i want to be sure.  i want to be able to touch and taste it  -- to feel it deep in my bones and strong in my gut.  there probably isn't one of us who hasn't wished at some point for a direct memo from God on some thing.  but i have found in my forty-odd years, there are a lot of things i've done, decisions i've made, places i've gone, and projects i have attempted which didn't come with a crystal clear course.  they didn't come with a bold blueprint or an audible voice.  there have been times when it felt like i was just putting my toe in the water and watching the ripples.  times when it was just going on a hunch...and more times than not, on a wing and a prayer.  it isn't like we don't pray about it -- oh baby -- we pray.  we pray and we pray.  i know God hears these prayers and i know  sometimes He chooses to give us a clear sign and make it obvious and sometimes He just whispers quietly in our ears, "trust me. i've got this."

though i prefer solid wooden signs and easy to read roadmaps, i know that faith isn't about always knowing or always seeing.  it isn't about the tangible or the touchable.  i mean, God is pretty clear about His purposeful ambiguity, ironically, He tells us plain as day:  "now faith is being sure of what we hope for and certain of what we do not see."  ~ hebrews 11:1.  i'll be the first to admit, i don't always like that.  i don't like that there are some gray areas in my living...in my life.  i'd much prefer it to be all spelled out and laid out, so that i can, accordingly, plan it out.  but somehow i am pretty sure God knows this and even this is a part of His plan and design for me.

so we didn't get that sign.  but we did get the blessing of a house quickly sold.  and we'll take that.  this mother of five will accept that gift with grateful and thankful hands.  and though i am not sure if we can call it a "sign" or not, i do know God was in control of even the details of this past week. even the simple selling of our home is part of His story --  a God story and for His glory -- and on that, i am 100% SOLD.

"so we fix our eyes not on what is seen, but on what is unseen. for what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal." ~ 2 corinithians 4:18

"we live by faith, not by sight."  ~ 2 corinthians 5:7

wide open

it hits atlanta suddenly -- the summer heat gone, just like that.  we wake one september morning and the air is cool and the breathing is deep, and all of us, thankful to be moving into something sweeter.  it happens the same way every year.  we count on it.  i am not a southern born girl, but after 13 years in georgia, i know some of its secrets.  and this is one of them... a favorite, for sure. the weeks of late september and october are filled with perfect weather treasures:  crisp mornings. blue skies. orange pansies. purple cabbage. bermuda grass browning. fescue grass greening. harvest moon hanging. hands in the soil.  feet still in flip flops.  face to the sun.  the cool morning cardigan abandoned in the afternoon warmth.  dinner on the deck.  golden leaves falling and crunching and burning and beautiful. 


i wake this morning and fling everything open, letting the cool come in. windows and doors wide to the outside...i'd remove the roof if i could.  (probably shouldn't joke about that with a house like ours).  flies, and an occasional gecko, will wander in too, but they are worth it for this, for this glory.  it is only a season, and then gone. we can't do this as often as i'd like.  july and august arrive and we must shut things down tight and yell desperate words at our neglectful children,  "shut the door!" we close up or we end up roasting in our non-hermetically sealed homes.  we breath air conditioning and it is our stale escape from the hot cloak of a southern summer.

but then there's that first morning, and windows and doors open wide.  the breeze comes cool and the sunshine streams warm and the house smells clean.  i love living like this.  it feels right as rain.  and all the day i am drawn to those open places in my home. by days end, when the homework is finished and the dishes are done and the children sleep, i sit outside...on the swing...in the grass...on the steps.  and i think to myself, this is how life is meant to be lived.  doors and windows wide.  arms open.  hands open. heart open. what if we truly did live our lives like this?  what if we threw up the sashes and flung wide the front door? what if we unclenched our fists and uncurled our fingers from the stale things we think we need, from the small things to which we cling, from the tiny stuff which holds us hostage.  what kind of breeze might God blow in...what kind of color might come? what kind of gold?

we are born with clenched hands.  fists, tiny and tight.  we arrive in the world knowing already how to hold on to things.  as a new mother i was mesmerized with putting my finger into the soft palm of my first baby and watching her grasp.  over and over we would play this game; she predictable in her newborn reflex and me amazed in my new mother wonder. and doesn't this reflex continue even into our adult life?  when we have something good we call it mine and we hold on hard.  hunch shoulders.  turn our backs. cradle it close. afraid. but just like this fall breeze blowing in through my morning kitchen, i often hear God's whisper, "let go."   fingers spread, palms up, arms open. embrace Him.  embrace what He brings.  embrace what He gives.  all of it. what might happen if we did?  what could we do?  who might we be?


without doubt, i am a windows and doors wide open kind of gal. and my prayer is to live my life like this - not just for a season, but always.  to live unclenched. unfurled. to watch what the breeze blows in ...to see what the cat drags in ... to embrace what my God brings in...brings me.
wide and open and ready.

"delicious autumn!  my very soul is wedded to it, 

and if i were a bird i would fly about the earth 
seeking the successive autumns."
~ george eliot

trust & faith

the words, “trust’ and “faith” were stumbling around the sleepy hallway of my mind this morning as i climbed out of bed.  they were my first thoughts and they remained true throughout the day. i came down to my office, turned on the computer and read an IM transcript between the two women we feel as if we already call sisters: amy and rebecca. amy is the woman from lifeline who originally sent zhang's file to my friend here in atlanta. i can already tell she has an amazing heart for adoption. rebecca is the young woman over in china trying her best to collect information for us.  rebecca's words jumped out from the IM transcript: 
" you must tell the mcnatts to trust us….to trust the doctors…it will be okay…it will be alright…they must have faith...they must trust.” 


okay. so Lord, these are the words you are sending me today. Trust and Faith. do i have enough? can we possibly have enough for a situation this serious? we don’t know. but we will say those words over and over again today...tomorrow...for many tomorrows. maybe it is possible to repeat words even when unsure about how much you believe them…maybe it is then when they actually mean something. maybe.


as i write this tonight, it occurs to me that from the dates in zhang's file we know it was this date, exactly one year ago, when she was found in that corridor. perhaps her chinese mama and papa also had to chant the words Faith and Trust over and over again. maybe they left her with the Faith, the Trust, and even the Hope she might have a chance at medical treatment and life... if they let her go.  i cannot imagine. i write tonight with tears flowing…i am a mother of four and i can’t imagine letting go of any of them with nothing more than a blanket, a note and a birthdate.  did they choose yellow because it possibly suggested a ray of hope or did they choose it because maybe that is all they owned. we will never know.


we do not need to know.  Trust and Faith.