coming back to brown

so the truth is, i was able to survive the minnesota winter just fine, but the minnesota spring is what might finally do me in.  everyone has focused on the cold, the snow and the frozen, but what they failed to mention was what happens when it all melts:  the brown.  the gray.  the incredible, incredible mush.

after a full day of travel from florida on friday, we didn't pull into our house until almost midnight.  i could tell the snow had pretty much melted except for the massive plow piles on the cul-de-sac.  i could see that the white was gone, but that's all i could see -- at first.  the next morning, when the sun came up, i sauntered sleepily over to the window and my casual glance outside turned fast into a dramatic gasp of horror.  my yard, the color and consistency of oatmeal, had been transformed from a winter wonderland into a war zone.  brown. gray. dead.  lost mittens and hats strewn about like hapless victims.  (oh, that's where that leather glove went?) odd toys and candy wrappers and tennis balls -- everywhere. but the worst was the dog mess.  apparently we've had horses living in our yard these past 5 months.  i really cannot explain to you the sight of what two gigantic dogs have left behind after many, many months of frozen winter. (and, i assure you, i did not take a single photograph). keep in mind when the weather is negative 5 degrees, one just does not go out after their pooch to clean up his business.  another layer of snow would fall and the foul little leavings would disappear under a clean blanket of white. but that blanket of white had lifted while we were on the beaches of florida last week, and there it all was, waiting and wild for me on this april morning:  one incredible collection of waste right before my freshly vacationed eyes.

i was not ready for this.

i was completely unprepared.

after a week of aquamarine water, cobalt blue skies and white sugar sand beaches, our yard was a terrible sight to behold.

and standing at my back window, gazing dismally out at this dull wasteland, i felt the immediate slump -- everything kind of caved for a minute.  "this isn't spring, this is disgusting," i thought to myself.  all that beachy-rest and relaxation began to ooze right on out of me, like sand through my fingers. oh the white, clean, beautiful sand of the gulf of mexico beaches! (sigh). i gave the yard one more nasty glare and then felt myself slip into project mode.  the general in me would go wake the entire family and send the troops out with shovels.  it was time to forget the brightly colored sand shovels and plastic pails of last week...those were simple vacation things.  it was time now to exchange the toys for tools.  real war time stuff.  no more play and frolic and fluff.  this was battle. this was war. this was our yaaaaard!

and it isn't just in our yard.  it's everywhere.  everywhere i drive and everywhere i look there is some shade of brownish-gray or grayish-brown.  not one single pop of color anywhere.  i walked into the market yesterday morning and they had a few small pots of pansies at the front entrance (indoors, of course). i almost began to cry over the pathetic display of these few blooms.  even the cut tulips in the floral department were closed up tight.  arms crossed and heads bowed, they seemed to shout at me, "no spring for you!"

it is one thing to look at the yuck.   it is another thing to have to deal with it.  because i have boys, the mud has taken on a great, monsterous life.  last night, both boys returned from a bike ride covered slick in a brownish goo.  connor's yellow rain boots caked thick with the slime.  he actually attempted to walk right into the kitchen with his heavy layer of smear. but, i assure you, wild woman was waiting for him and she made it crystal clear there would be no walking into any doorway looking like that.  it was only 30-some degrees out, but i seriously considered hosing both boys down in the driveway before they could enter -- like we used to do in georgia, when they were little.  when it was at least sixty degrees outside.

the mud room takes on a whole different meaning in minnesota.

so where am i going with this post?  i bet you're wondering if i really am going to whine and whimper through an entire piece of writing.  i know you're thinking: she's finally lost it.  given in.  given up.  burned up.  burned out.  look-on-the-bright-side-bessy is finally ready to throw in the towel.  okay, maybe not throw in the towel --we desperately need the towel. but, nonetheless, the silver lining sister has finally lost her shine.

dull. dismal. depressed.

i'll be honest, i felt like that for a few days.

after those aquamarine waters and white sugar sand beaches, you bet i did.

driving to school monday morning, the car was quiet.  drizzling rain and cold added uncalled for emphasis to the brown blah of landscape.  i tried my best to chatter brightly, but it was heavy inside my car.  no one very happy.  no one very excited to be heading back to reality.  i knew we had to pray together before the kids got out of the car. we just had to.  we do that most mornings on the way to school, but this morning it was really, really necessary.  "Lord change our attitudes.  Lord would you help us to embrace where we are and what we have.  Lord, help us to see even this ugly day as a beautiful gift from you."   the kids sighed and climbed out of the car.  my words seemed lost in the rush of wind when the car door opened.  did i really believe we could see something beautiful in this?  really?  in all of this brown? 

have you ever felt that way?  questioning what God can do.  have you ever thought to yourself: i know God can do great things, but surely not with this.  surely not with this thing, this issue, this sin. this problem. this pain. surely not with something this ugly.

but God always has something up His sleeve, doesn't He?

on the way back home i turned on some music.  and driving through the depressing drizzle, the song "beautiful things" came on.  it's been one of our favorites in these past few months,  but it took on a whole different meaning as i drove through this messy minnesota day.

these words drowned out the sound of pounding rain and instead pounded back into my heart the message God had intended me to hear. even now. even in the midst of the mud.

beautiful things  (please click to listen)

 i added some of my minnesota pictures to the song.  

before watching the video, let me suggest 

scrolling down to the bottom of the blog and 

pausing my playlist music below.

All this earth
Could all that is lost ever be found
Could a garden come up from this ground at all

You make beautiful things
You make beautiful things out of the dust
You make beautiful things
You make beautiful things out of us

All around
Hope is springing up from this old ground
Out of chaos life is being found in You    ~ gungor

and that's it, isn't it?  He does make beautiful things out of dust, out of us, even out of mud.  i know this.  i believe this.  i have seen this.  sometimes we are absolutely stuck in the mud of life.  we are caught in the horrible gray monotony of pain or loss or breathtaking disappointment.  it is an ugly place to be.  it is a horrible place to belong.  but what Jesus wants us to know is that we don't really belong there.  it is a temporary thing.  it is a time of transition.  transitioning can sometimes seem hard, even hopeless.  we cannot imagine the beauty of spring or the warmth of sun or the healing of the barren land...the barren woman....the barren life.  but His Word is filled with promises of hope and redemption.  words which promise deliverance from this time of life-stealing gray.

could i possibly look at the landscape with new eyes?  could i, on this muted dull day, see the seeds of bright color just below the surface, preparing their entrance.  perhaps, but not with my own eyes.  maybe with His eyes and His hope,  i could. i can. i did.

and oh dear one, you can too...whatever your landscape.  whatever the problem.  whatever the pain.

because our God does make beautiful things out of dust...out of mud...
                      ...and mostly, mostly He makes beautiful things out of us.

"and He who sits on the throne said, 

"behold, I am making all things new." and He said, "write, for these words are faithful and true."  ~  revelation 21:5

"therefore if any man be in Christ, he is a new creature: old things are passed away; 
behold, all things are become new." ~  2 corinthians 5:17

"He has made everything beautiful in its time.

 He has also set eternity in the human heart; 

yet no one can fathom 

what God has done from beginning to end." ~ ecclesiastes 3:11

"for behold, the winter is past, the rain is over and gone. 'the flowers have already appeared in the land..." 

~ song of solomon 2:11

P.S.   everything really is temporary.  i started this piece in the midst of the tremendous brown, but when i woke this morning to finish it and post, i woke to snow.  the brown is gone, the white has returned...not sure how i feel about this.  perhaps that was just a lull in the winter...a chance to allow us to clean up the yard and find the lost mittens.  but it seems on this april 10th morning, winter has re-entered. gotta love minnesota!

at least it's pretty!

march madness

A little madness in the Spring
Is wholesome even for the King.~ Emily Dickinson

i was serenely reading to bella on the couch when i heard the bloodcurdling scream.  yes, i can only describe it as a scream to curdle the blood and it was coming from emily in her room.  bella and i leaped off the couch, just as emily ran into the room clutching her phone. and before i could ask her what was wrong, she dramatically wailed, "mom, it's 74 degrees in atlanta today! that's more than a 50 degrees difference from minnesota!"  we both turned and stared out the large picture window at the back of our house.  bloodcurdling screams and the wailing words of teenage daughter -- our march madness was in full swing.

tyler brushing off his sister's car this morning.  

and this morning i woke up to several inches of snow.  it is monday and it is supposed to snow all day long. karen carpenter had no idea what she was singing about, "rainy days and mondays always get me down." give me a break! karen carpenter, clearly, never wintered in minnesota. this wednesday, the first day of spring, it is forecasted to be 7 degrees here in my new homeland.  bloodcurdling, you betcha!

but guess what?  i'm leaving.  yep, speaking of songs..."i'm leaving on a jet plane..."  wednesday, to celebrate that first day of spring, i'm heading to atlanta.  okay, here's what that really feels like:  I'M HEADING TO ATLANTA!!!  it is my first trip home since we moved to minnesota last summer...and i really don't even know how to process it all.  if you happen to be on delta flight 2013 wednesday afternoon, i'll be the slightly translucent woman potentially weeping in seat 7A.  i mean, i'll try not to be quite so demonstrative in my madness, but i am pretty sure it will be a little uncontrollable at that point.

i am heading back south, not really as a spring celebration, but to attend the perimeter women's retreat.   there are so many things about that which just seem to add fuel to the fire of my emotions.  i'll be there with a large group of some of my very dearest friends.  keep in mind i haven't seen them since our good-bye party last july.  that alone is ridiculously emotional for me. plus, we'll all be away together -- no children or husbands or household chores to distract us. no carpools to pick up or laundry to sort or meals to prepare.  i'm telling you, this just may be too much for one woman--this woman-- to handle all at once.

in addition, the retreat will have over 650 women in attendance.  many, many of these gals are friends.  i was emcee of the last retreat, so, because i was up front so much,  i have a connection with a lot of these women.  serving in that position allowed me to meet so many new, great ladies.  and because i am a relational person who likes to connect and communicate, you can just imagine what i'll be walking into -- a nonstop girl talk fest.

and then to add to all the madness, there's my job. i am going back to attend the retreat, but i've also been assigned a little role while i am there.  that's what happens when your best friends chair the event.  i get to "take care of" our main speaker.  and would you like to know who that just happens to be:  ann voskamp.  yep, best selling author, amazing writer, homeschooling-mother to six, wife to a farmer... THAT ann voskamp.  many of you have heard of her or have read her book, one thousand gifts.   i have mentioned it a time or two in my own blog because it truly had an incredible impact on my life at a critical time.  you see, it was her book i was reading the month before my cancer diagnosis in 2011.  i was reading her words and making my daily list of blessings when the doctor called and whispered the word cancer across the phone line.  what does a cancer diagnosis do to the counting of blessings?  when you feel like you can't count clearly or see easily or even breath...how can you go on carefully listing the blessings in life?  well, that was a big part of my story two springs ago.  i wrote a blog post called  breathing. seeing. counting.  it tells a little bit about how i was able to begin listing again.  you can click on the link or read this small excerpt from that post:

i started my list on march 22.  i have to say, it was going quite well for me.  i was kind of proud of my ambitious hunting.  even kind of proud of myself.  i took great delight in the way it was coming along, all the while enjoying the challenge and encouraging others.  i was writing easily.  deliberately.  vehemently.   and then on april 19th i heard the word cancer.  cancer brought quite a bit in my household to a halt.  i mean we all kind of Just Stopped.  we couldn't progress any further in anything, it seemed.  not in our laundry or lunch dates or laughter or even in our lists.   we were stuck.  i was stuck.  stuck right there under the frightening and forceful thumb of cancer and no wiggling or will was allowing us breath or escape.  at least not for while.  that is how it felt.  i had stacks of things on my desk...piles of things in my life to address.  a long list of items carefully written under the title To Do.  but there was nothing To Do and nothing got done.  and when i looked at my pretty blue journal sitting neglected on my counter, it made me want to weep.  i finally placed it in a drawer.  i could stand it not one minute more.  i had fallen under the crush of cancer and there seemed to be no possibility for the recording of blessing.

but then something happened.  it wasn't all of a sudden.   just small things....  glimpse of baby girl's brown eyes.  unexpected hug from teenage son.  bird song.  lavender. friend at back door with a meal.  perfect blue of hydrangea.  pink morning light framed in window above dish-dirty sink.  medication.   praying doctor.  gentle husband.  teen girl clearing dinner plates.  fingers deep in spring soil.  rain.  bandaid's calm on angry stubbed toe.  notes and cards arriving daily. my sister's long distance voice. thunder at three am....and there was the old breathing again.  i began to breath and then i began to look.   and when i began to look, i began to see.  and the listing came next.  i felt the cloud lifting.  slowly.  like morning fog which hangs around until well past noon.  little by little the gray was traded for blue.               ~ "breathing. seeing. counting."  june 2011

and two years later, cancer under control and now living in minnesota, i can say that the daily listing of blessings is still a powerful practice.  i don't want to compare minnesota to cancer (lol), but i am still in constant need of finding the treasures God gives each day --the simple things to say thanks over.  this is graceful living.  this is living in gratitude. and is there any other kind of living?

even today, even in the midst of this snowy monday, there is so much for which to give thanks.  yes, it is true i did have to walk out of the nail salon and through deep snow this morning in flip flops, but even in that there is rejoicing: my winterized feet have a spring pedicure...and I AM HEADING TO ATLANTA in two days.  come on! you know what i'm talking about. i could go on and on (and sometimes i do) about the fact that in this first week of spring we are buried in snow, but if i look, if i really look,  if i really train my heart and my eyes to truly see, i can find the blessings.  the snow may be unwelcome on march 18th, but it is still beautiful to see.  and i know underneath it all there will be a gorgeous summer up here in minnesota.  i can look at the picture of emily's car in the snow this morning, and i can choose to see a march snowstorm, or i can choose to see her brother kindly brushing off his sister's buried vehicle. it's a choice, after all.  it's always a choice. yes, i had a brutal, snowy flip flop walk earlier today, but, i had a warm car to climb into, i had a home to go back to, i have children who need me and a husband who loves me.  i have a starbucks drive-thru not too far away.  i have journeyed through some cancer, yet can still claim good health.  i have a loving God who forgives me my grumbling and loves me through the ungraceful moments of my living.

if you don't have a blue or brown or yellow journal,  go get one.  whether you live in the madness of snowy minnesota or the sometimes sunny-ness of the south, start listing.  start counting.  begin breathing the blessings.

“The practice of giving thanks...eucharisteo...this is the way we practice the presence of God, stay present to His presence, and it is always a practice of the eyes. We don't have to change what we see. Only the way we see.” 

― Ann Voskamp