all i really need to know i learned in kindergarten

somehow, yesterday morning, i found myself in a group of parents sitting in small chairs at small tables with a whole bunch of really small kids scattered around us.  it was kindergarten round up time.  and bella and i were there.  somehow.

as we prepared to leave the house friday morning, the thought running through my head was, "surely not."  surely it can't be time to think about kindergarten for this little gal.  but it is.  it is time.  and she is ready.  i am not sure chapel hill academy is ready for our little girl with her giant pink bow and her sparkly silver shoes...but she is ready.  on our way there she told me, "mom, you don't have to carry me.  i will walk into kindergarten roundup like a big girl. i don't want the roundup kids ("round up kids," how cute is that?) to think i'm a baby."  and though i agreed to the "no carrying" thing... i didn't agree with the baby part.  she is my baby.  she will always be so.  shhh...don't argue.

we arrived on time and she pulled my hand all the way through the parking lot right up to the front doors.

so our time spent at kindergarten round up achieved a few things.  it clearly showed me this is where bella needs to be next fall.  i was sort of holding on to the thought of delaying kindergarten and giving her (okay, giving ME) and extra year home.  but the couple of hours spent at "roundup" helped cement our decision to send her.  that means she'll get out of the car next fall with her older sister and brother and i'll watch all three of them walk into the same building.  you can start praying for me now, please.

another thing i learned at kindergarten roundup was that i am fairly certain i am going to be the oldest parent in the group.  yep.  after meeting with all the parents yesterday, that was pretty clear.  they had us all go around and tell a little bit about ourselves and our families. though we didn't exactly have to give our ages, i am pretty sure there wasn't another parent there with a child anywhere close to entering her senior year of high school.  so unless there's an octogenarian hiding back at home, i think rick and i just might lay claim to being the old ones in the group.  sigh.

but it was sitting in the parent meeting and listening to the school administrator talk that i learned my final, and most important, kindergarten lesson of the morning.  somewhere between discussing pencil grip and playground time, she began to speak about the importance of first time obedience.  now, i have to tell you, we are BIG believers in first time obedience.  it is a BIG deal in our home.  we have raised our kids to understand that phrase and exactly what it means. not that any of them of them are perfect at it, but i am pretty sure they could all give you a fairly accurate definition of the term.

first time obedience is doing (1). what is said...(2). right away...(3). with a good attitude.  seems simple enough, right?  like i said, we've talked that phrase blue in the face.  it is part of our everyday lingo in the mcnatt home.  but somehow...when mrs. hansen continued on to say, "if any one of those three parts is missing, it is not true obedience, is it?"  i found myself swallowing hard.  "if any one of those three parts is missing, it is not true obedience."  and somehow i wasn't thinking of my kids, i was thinking of myself.

you see, there's  been a lot about this year that has looked like obedience on my part.  i have been obedient to God in making this move and picking up my family and starting over 1000 miles away from home.  i did what He asked.  i did it when He asked.  but that third part, with a good attitude,  is the thing that gets me.  i've had a lot of people compliment me on being obedient to God and supportive of my husband in this move.  i've had at least a hundred women say to me, "i am not sure i could do that if i was asked."  and somehow i've kinda stuck a feather in my cap and patted myself on the back a bit.  i was obedient. i am supportive. right?  

and it might, very well,  look that way to the outsider.  but i know what my attitude has been on the inside...and if true obedience is having a good attitude while following God's commands then i really can't be labeled as a truly obedient woman.  and mostly it is not what has come out...mostly it has been what has stayed in.  does that make sense?

"they grumbled in their tents and did not obey the Lord."  ~ psalm 106:25

so though we aren't exactly living in tents, i needed to be reminded that any kind of grumbling is disobedience.  and as we begin to pack up the house this weekend and prepare to move in a few days, i probably needed to hear that simple kindergarten lesson yesterday more than anyone (young or old) in the group.  i needed to be reminded that my attitude is just as important as my actions.  we have a really big week ahead of us as we leave this lake home and set up another.  this is going to take some deep digging on my part.  if you've ever moved before, you know what i'm talking about. and, by the way, didn't we just do this???  moving with 5 kids and 2 gigantic dogs also creates just a bit of chaos.  i am sure somewhere about wednesday afternoon i'll be wishing for my magic-moving-wand.  you know the one where you just wave it and say something clever like abbra-ca-dabbra-cala-ma-cace-please-put-everything-into-it's-place!  then point it at the messy house and the multitude of boxes and after a quick poof of smoke everything is in the right spot and it all looks perfect.  yeah, that wand.  if you have one, let me know.

because it's easier to have a good attitude when everything is perfect and in place, right?

what i really need to chant though is God's word.  i need to chant His promises and His prayers.  because the absolute truth is, i cannot do it on my own. no matter how how hard i try and how good i want to be, one thing will go wrong and i'll be right back in the middle of my bad attitude.  moving is hard.  life is hard.  keeping a good attitude only comes when we keep ourselves close to Him. i am not sure i learned that in kindergarten, but i have certainly learned that lesson in life.

"for our heart is glad in him, because we trust in his holy name." ~  psalm 33:21

"above all else, guard your heart, for everything you do flows from it."  proverbs 4:23

so we learned a lot in our first time to kindergarten.  i, clearly, learned more than bella. she had fun: went on a scavenger hunt, made an art project, ate a snack and listened to a story.  i had to come face to face with not only my age, but my disobedient heart. in 1988, roger fulghum published the book, all i ever need to know i learned in kindergarten.   as a high school english teacher, i never really bought into that theory.  i used to tell my students, that though fulghum was clever in his writing, they still had an awful lot to learn in my senior english class.

but perhaps i should have given him more credit.  perhaps he was right.   kindergarten does have a lot to teach...regardless of your age.

morning light

"i believe in Christianity as i believe that the sun has risen: not only because i see it,

 but because by it i see everything else." ~ c.s. lewis

no real words on this quiet thursday night. but i wanted to share a gift i snapped earlier in the week. a quick photo.  a lazy morning. a still moment. a tiny treasure.

it might have been monday morning.  i sat at my window as day broke, reading, praying, wondering... and, as always, watching.  watching the sun rise and reveal.  revealing the snow -- still here -- a heavy blanket tucked in tight across the landscape.  across the silent sleep of winter lake. from my window i watched the slow shimmer of sunlight's skate across ice. bright. so breathtaking.  

beautiful. 

and as light crept closer, more was seen.

a gentle wash along the old hydrangea below my window.  faded brown against all that white -- all luminescent as light's long fingers began to brush across the brittle brown of petal, twig and stem.  dead become light.  soon to be life. 

beautiful.

and as i watched the sun rise, i felt, also, the thought rise again in me --perhaps for the thousandth time --how can anyone deny God? what is this if not the work of a Glorious Creator?  a Creator of Glory?  over and over and over again He provides these poetic moments of beauty and reminds me of who He is and who i am in Him. 

the light keeps coming.

and i just can't imagine seeing this and not knowing that.  

i just cannot fathom watching the brushstrokes of beauty without knowing the Beautiful Brush-Stroker.  

where did you see God today?  

where will you see God tomorrow?  

oh, that we may truly see more because of the rising sun.  
seeing clearly...because of the Risen Son.  

“blessed are the pure in heart,  for they shall see God."

matthew 5:8 

ice-out

apparently the mcnatts moved to minnesota just in time to take part in weather history.  DNR officials are declaring this winter one of the longest ever. up in these parts, winter is kind of measured by the thawing of water -- i suppose that's fitting for the state of 10,000 lakes. each year when spring hits and lake minnetonka begins to thaw there's one specific date chosen which declares "ice-out!"  ice-out is determined when the first boat can navigate the thawing lake waters without encountering ice.   in past years, ice-out has occurred somewhere in middle to late march.  well, we passed that date up a month ago, and we are now closing on the end of april, there is little evidence that we are still anywhere near the great ice-out.  truth be told, we are still very much "ice-in." only a couple of times in all of history has lake minnetonka been ice covered in the merry month of may.  but this year, it is looking very likely.  1965 was the last year to have an ice-out in may. i wasn't even born in 1965...

what a foot of snow looks like in april!

and here we are in the final week of april, still looking at an enormous amount of snow and a frozen lake behind our house. just last week we had a winter storm hit which dumped 14 inches of snow in one night.  school was delayed the next morning.  minnesota never delays or cancels anything due to weather, that alone tells you how incredible the storm.  this is  far from normal -- even for minnesota.  how do i know this?  because everyone (and i do mean everyone) makes a point to tell us.  anyone who hears this is our first winter is quick to explain how abnormal this is...like they are certain we've already started packing to return south.  it's actually kind of funny, except that it's not.  no one is laughing very much about the weather in minnesota.  even our pastor started his sermon this past sunday saying, "it's no longer funny."  so here we are in our strange month of spring where temperatures continue to plummet low and snow piles continue to loom high. and the lake out back...well, that's a toss up between antarctica and alaska. as i mentioned in my last post, there is a small slice of open water running along the shoreline now, but that's it.  when my friend, leslie, first sent me a link to the "ice-out" stuff on lake minnetonka, i found it incredibly interesting.  people place bets on the date, they throw parties and celebrate the end of winter when ice-out is finally and officially declared.  because we live in a lake community, it's a big deal out here, especially for those who make their livelihood on the lake.   everyone is just itching to go.  boats are being primed and cleaned and ready to hit water. no one wants to think about how last year at this time, docks and boats were well into the water and spring was in full swing. this year...not a chance. tomorrow's forecast:  6 to 10 inches of snow!  actually as i sit here typing...guess what it's doing outside...yep.

cbs reporter, colin smith, contributed the following article last week: 
Lake Minnetonka Could Face Historically Late Ice-Out   
"The ice is 20 inches thick in some spots, and with more cold weather in the forecast, some wonder if we could be on our way to a not-so-desirable record.

“I don’t think we’re within days of the ice-out. We may be more within weeks of it,” said Pat Sweeney with the Freshwater Society, the Excelsior group that has tracked dates back to 1855. “It is conceivable that we could still have ice on the lake in May.”     

of course i love the expression "ice-out."  it makes me think not only about the ice-out on the lake, but also the ice that settles sometimes in my heart.  i don't know about you, but i've definitely had that frozen feeling deep inside of me at times.  i've experienced the hardening of my heart when i've been angry, disappointed, betrayed.  it's not a fun place to be.  it creates a cold, numbing callous which seems almost impossible to break through,  impossible to navigate around.   when i am in the middle of an ice-in, it affects all parts of my life.  when the ice is thick, the winter is long.  the woman is bitter.

and just like the many factors which contribute to the thawing of lake minnetonka each spring, there are many things which help in the thawing of our hearts.  we can stand there with arms crossed and head bowed low, telling ourselves we're safer frozen.  we don't want to melt.  melting, as we know, brings vulnerability. melting means we have to do something, feel something, be something. but Jesus never created us to be frozen, He wants nothing more than to navigate through the ice of our souls.  and only He can accomplish this.  all of the little attempts we make on our own, really don't amount to much, do they?  not when we're contending with something so big, so solid, so set. did you read what that piece above said?  even in april, the ice is still 20 inches thick! and that's nothing compared to the hardness of our hearts.  only Jesus can come in and begin the cracking which needs to take place. the cracking of numb to bring in the living of new.  and just like this silly old lake still frozen out back, the timing is His alone.

i watched the boys standing down at the lake last week throwing big stones and rocks out onto the ice.  is that a boy thing or what?  i know they were trying to assist with the breaking up of the massive ice.  two young boys on the shoreline tossing rocks, hardly making a dent...that's kind of like us, isn't it?  we sometimes try to chisel away at the frozen pieces inside of us.  and really we are no more than young boys with a handful of pebbles in our pockets.  but if you're at all like me, we still feel the need to help God out.  because He needs us, right?  the King, the Creator of the universe, the Maker of all ice, He needs us. (not).

even minne wonders... when?

but still we wonder.  the kids and rick and me, we look out at this 14,500 acre lake, and we can't fathom how it will all one day be open water again. we can't imagine how that just happens all of a sudden.  lake minnetonka boasts 125 miles of shoreline alone...it is enormous and  it seems too thick, too massive, too frozen.  from my perch up here at the house, a great thaw seems beyond the realm of possibility.  kind of how we sometimes see our own sin: too awful, too much, too massive...but that's exactly the kind of heart God wants to begin breaking.

and, oh, that breaking...oh, that cracking...it isn't always very pretty.  it doesn't always feel particularly good, in fact, it can actually be somewhat painful.  God uses lots of things in our lives to make us melt.  but what He is doing is melting us right back into Him and into His Spirit.  He tells us to put down our tiny chisels and our small rocks and lean into His warmth.  only His arms of love carry the heat needed to crack our hard hearts. we just can't do it ourselves.

and flowing, wild lives is what He wants for those He loves wildly and deep:

"and I will give you a new heart, and a new spirit I will put within you. and I will remove the heart of stone from your flesh and give you a heart of flesh." ~  ezekiel 26:36

when God removes that heart of stone, that heart full of heavy ice, it is nothing short of amazing.  only He can take out what seems so stubbornly set.  maybe you've never lived on a lake like this, but perhaps you've had the chance to experience God's massaging thaw of your own heart.  when He navigates right through us, the results are remarkable and freeing. they are life-bringing.

when things thaw, life thrives.  and it's a beautiful thing.

“Praise the Lord, O Jerusalem! Praise your God, O Zion!… He gives snow like wool; He scatters the frost like ashes. He casts forth His ice as fragments, Who can stand before His cold? He sends forth His word and melts them He causes His wind to blow and the waters to flow.” ~Psalm 147:12-18

* postscript....
one part that makes this slow thawing lake especially sad is that we aren't here much longer.  i'm afraid with our move date fast approaching, we won't get to witness the great ice-breaking in our backyard.  next week, the mcnatts will be moving from minnetrista to eden prairie.  it's about 25 minutes closer in to our schools and work and church.  this lake living was only temporary--we knew that from the beginning.  this awesome, old house on the lake was already rented for this coming summer and so it's time for the mcnatt family to move on to something different.  a new chapter.  of course we're sad to be leaving the water behind. we've treasured up some great memories in our short time here.  living on water has been an incredible treat for all of us.  and who knows, we might do it again someday!  

scars

"turn your scars into stars."  i remember reading that many years ago and rolling my eyes.  really?  to me that phrase was nothing but an empty, foolish play with rhyme, thought up by a guy who was pretty good with his words. sort of like a turn your frown upside down kind of hocus pocus.  i didn't think dealing with scars was quite so easy back then, and i still don't think it's especially easy today.

i'm not sure i like that quote any better now, but i do understand a little bit more about scars these days.  in fact, this week i have been thinking a lot about scars and scar tissue.  sounds kind of disgusting, doesn't it?  but honestly, it's a beautiful idea when given the choice between that and the alternative. this week i am all about those two little words: scar tissue.  i am not sure that my scars still have anything to do with stars, but they are mine and they are good and i am about to tell you why.

just this morning i received word from the pathologist, "mrs. mcnatt, everything removed and biopsied on monday shows only scar tissue...no malignancy...no abnormality."  i didn't know i had been holding my breath until it all came tumbling out when hearing the pathologist's words across the phone line.  we expected good results, the surgeon felt confident when she removed the mass on monday, but still, it is good to hear it definitively. it is good to be sure. it is good to speak out loud the good news of those words.

two years ago tomorrow (april 19th) was a different kind of news.  two years ago i was on the phone with another pathologist back in georgia and that one didn't have such a good report for me.  that was the beginning of my cancer diagnosis and the beginning of this journey.  two years ago tomorrow.  odd that we have been in the same april week waiting for that kind of phone call.

but we are praising God for the good news of today.  we are so thankful to know that this new lump was only something benign.  apparently i produce extra scar tissue. my oncologist has referred to it as "exaggerated scar tissue." i suppose that exaggeration part is a bit of the writer in me.  =)  and i'm okay with that. as much as i didn't want to go through a 3rd breast surgery, i am thankful we chose that path in order to be sure.  the doctors can't quite figure out why i am producing so much scar tissue in the area of the original tumor.  my husband told them, "she's a classic overachiever." regardless, it seems kind of crazy and it certainly gives us all something to think about.  it just is what it is, and we are beyond thankful that the report this time around is good.

scar tissue is made when the body wants to heal, wants to become whole again.  so, i guess, this is very fitting.  like anyone who has walked through cancer, i want healing and wholeness more than anything. and when i want something, i kind of go after it all engines fired.  if that's my body's way of fighting and fitting itself back together again, than so be it. scar tissue.  i'll take it, even in all its ugliness,  it is a beautiful, wonderful thing.

scar tissue looks different than normal tissue, and that's no surprise either.  again, how appropriate for it to be different.  going through hard places, like cancer, can make a gal a little different.  and as big and dramatic as a bilateral mastectomy sounds, it is only one part of that difference.  the real difference is on the inside.  scars do that to you.  scars change you.  and, really, i'm okay with that,  too -- maybe i needed to be changed a little. not that i would have ever wished for cancer, but i can see how God has softened some things inside of me which needed to be softer...some things which needed to be different.

i have to tell you that medicine has come a long way.  it amazes me to see how the doctors were able to put me back together again after a double mastectomy 2 years ago.   but even with their incredible work, i sometimes catch sight of the ugly scars slashed across my body and it can be a little depressing for this woman. i'm a real mess.  i suppose if my body was my temple i'd be quite disappointed by now.  but the truth is, my body is His temple. and the scars on the outside have only helped draw me closer to my Jesus on the inside.  scars do that, too.  and that's really the very best part of their story.

because scars do tell a story.

often it is story which goes hand in hand with pain.  but these same scars tell of survival, they tell of salvation, they tell of the hope-filled touch of our Savior.  really what a scar represents is healing.  and yes, maybe it looks a little different, but that's when we have to remember God uses even (especially) the hard, ugly, sharp parts of living to smooth off our rough edges.

"there is something beautiful about all scars of whatever nature. a scar means the hurt is over, the wound is closed and healed, done with."  ~ harry crews

we all have our scars.  bella likes to show me her scar down the middle of her tiny chest.  she is incredibly proud of it. i am pretty sure at 15 she might not feel exactly the same as she does at age 5.  but, nonetheless, i tell her all the time, her scar reminds us of how God miraculously healed her heart.  what was the alternative?  keep her skin perfect and let her heart grow sicker, weaker? let it waste away? no. she had to be opened up and worked on.  sometimes we, too, have to be broken down and banged up a bit. it's just the way it works.  it's not pretty, it's downright painful.  but it is all a part of His perfect work in us.  and real healing comes when we learn to claim His real ways.

connor probably takes the cake for the  most fantastic scar in our family.  a year ago, last february, he fell out of a tree and sliced his leg six inches something fierce.  after an ambulance ride to the hospital and some crazy number of internal and external stitches, the boy has quite a mark on his leg.  we've broken the news to him: he has no future as a leg model, but he does have quite a story.  the doctor who stitched him up tried to convince him that he could really make this wound work for him.  he could get an awful lot of attention-mileage from it.  the doctor suggested a tale along the lines of alligator wrestling or shark encounter surviving.  connor thought the doctor was funny, and every now and then we laugh about that version of the truth.  but connor knows he didn't encounter a shark or wrestle down an alligator, he met up with a tree and he lost.  but who knows how that scar has changed even my 10 year old boy.  i know i look at it and am reminded how much more serious it could have been and that leads me to pray, even more, for the protection of my kiddos.

these bodies are only ours to use for a little while.  unfortunately, they do become our temples, our gods, our idols, even our obsessions.  we put a lot of stock into how far they might carry us and what they can do.  we don't really want to think about how they are actually fading away and failing us more and more -- at least i don't want to spend time thinking about that.  but still, i know, the scars and the bumps and the bruises are only reminders of how temporary our time here on earth is.   i don't know about you, but i want to live with my eyes on the eternal.

i don't want to live hoping to perfect the earthly vision...i want to live in the perfect hope of eternal victory.

"when this body that decays is changed into a body that cannot decay, and this mortal body is changed into a body that will live forever, then the teaching of scripture will come true: "death is turned into victory!" ~ 1 corinthians 15:54

as i am healing up this week, i have to be careful.  i can feel the pull and the tug of my not so pleasant incision.  i keep asking Jesus to keep me centered on Him and the work He is doing in me.  even as i kind of cringe and protect my left side, i know that He has slowed me down some this week and reminded me, once again, He. Has. This.   this was maybe one more surgery than i wanted, but it is one more reminder that i might have needed.

i imagine y'all have your own scars.  some on the outside and some on the inside. how are you viewing them today? can you look at them and see the evidence of God working on you?  in you? with you?  don't waste the place where He has pressed and pierced into you with His incredible love.  it may be a tender, tender spot, but it has been touched by Jesus.

i guess the best news i have to share with you tonight is this: God understands.  He gets what we've gone through.  in fact, He has been there, too -- sending His only Son to bear the marks on His perfect body.  Jesus came, bruised and beaten, His innocent blood shed for our guilty sins.

the slashes on His back where the whip cut in...

the scar on His side where the sword pierced through...

the holes on His hands where the nails pounded in...

yes, Jesus knows quite a bit about scars.  

"but he was wounded for our transgressions, 
he was bruised for our iniquities: 
the chastisement of our peace was upon him; 
and with his stripes we are healed." ~  isaiah 53:5

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 saturday gift of parenting

she climbed from the car and i watched my girl walk away.  my tall girl, on her way into the ACT test for the first time.  everything about her serious.  "bye mom, see you later," she waved and joined the stream of other high school juniors heading into the testing site.

i pulled my car from the curb already praying.  praying for my big girl and this big test she had ahead of her today.  this big test which she had done her very best to prepare for.  this test which feels perhaps even bigger than a test should be.  across the street from the school was a neighborhood, and as i prayed and drove, i found myself stopping in front of the tiny neighborhood playground.  a swing. a  slide.  some monkey bars.  why does it feel like just last week she was hanging on the monkey bars of her childhood.  this tall girl,  this strong, young woman,  i swear just yesterday i was watching her walk up a school pathway toward kindergarten and now we are into the throes of college preparation -- the beginning of when she walks away.

a blink.  that's all it is.  from baby to her life beyond our home -- that's all it is. a blink.

and yet, she's not fully there.  yet.  she may be 17 and a pretty independent gal at that, but she's not fully there.  just last week she said, "mom, will you drive me?"  she wanted me to drive her to the testing site -- less than 4 miles away.  this girl who has had her license well over a year.  this girl who has her own car.  this girl who drives herself absolutely everywhere -- even all over our new city of minneapolis.  this girl wanted her mom to drive her to her test.  "of course i will."  i didn't even have to think about it.  i'd be happy to drive her and drop her at the curb and pray for her as she walked into something so big.  i'd be honored.  i'm her mom.

and i won't be driving her to places for too much longer.

somedays, in fact, she drives me.

i have always found the balance of caring for my kids and creating kids who can care for themselves to be a breathtaking challenge.  there have been so many pivotal points in our  days where i've had to say, "no, you don't need me to do that for you...you are fully capable."  with five children at five different ages, i've said those words thousands of times.  but i've also said, "here, let me do that.  here, let me show you. here, let me help."  and that's one of the greatest joys of motherhood: doing something for a small one who needs me.  even doing something for a tall one who needs me.  but it's a constantly changing kind of thing.  how much can they do...how much do they need...how much must i push them?  i don't know about you, but that keeps me on my toes and, of course, on my knees.   "yes, you can make your own bed and your own peanut butter and jelly sandwich..."  but then there's the, "no, you can't cross the street by yourself or drive alone to the mall of america."  and let's face it, i'm dealing with everything from one getting ready for kindergarten to one getting ready for college.  it's confusing. it's even exhausting.

and i mess up a lot.  there really is no manual in my hands or clear message in my ear about how to do it.  sometimes i let them push the boundaries too far. and we suffer some consequences. sometimes i make things too safe and small.  and i remove what could have been a good lesson to learn.

parenting is hard.  
parenting can hurt.
parenting will humble.

but parenting is here and it's mine to hold...at least for this moment in time. 

and i want, desperately, to squeeze every life-bit from the journey of child rearing and raising and loving.  not hold onto them tighter than they need to be held -- because that's no good either.  but hold them with a mother's arms which will hug them close to her heart and then show them the way out into the world. out into the world, but never, never far from her heart.  that's what i want.  i strive for it.  i fail and fall and start again each new day.  i apologize and agonize and, eventually, i realize it's never going to look perfect. i won't raise perfect kids and we won't ever be anything close to a perfect family.  their mama, as they know well, is so far from perfect. oh, so far.  but because of God's grace, we can know His perfect love and that will cover the countless, countless imperfections of parenting.

if you haven't read katrina kenison's, the gift of an ordinary day, i would encourage you to do so. it has been quite inspiring to me. here's a quick piece from her lovely writing:

“I know I can't make time slow down, can't hold our life as it is in a freeze frame or slow my children's inexorable journeys into adulthood and lives of their own. But I can celebrate those journeys by bearing witness to them, by paying attention, and, perhaps most of all, by carrying on with my own growth and becoming. Now it dawns on me that the only way I can figure out what I'm meant to be doing is to try to understand who I'm meant to be...I will not waste this life, not one hour, not one minute. I will not take for granted the blessing of our being here...I will give thanks...” 
― Katrina Kenison, The Gift of an Ordinary Day: A Mother's Memoir

so tall girl is now a couple of hours into her test. if you feel led this morning, would you pray for her?  because we know, more than anything, it's our prayers not our problem solving which make the difference.

and come 1 o'clock, i'll be at the curb waiting for her to walk out and climb back into my car.  at least for today.

it's a gift.

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!

trust in the take-off

photo credit:  sarah elizabeth

that moment on the runway.  that moment when the plane begins to pick up speed and the passengers begin to hold on tight.  when the flight attendants buckle in and the engine cranks up. when the cabin lights dim and the babies grow quiet.  that moment when hearts flutter and stomachs drop. that moment.

you can't tell me you don't feel it too.  we all do.  even the seasoned flyers feel a little bit of something as the plane moves from the solid comfort of ground to the mystery of unknown air.

i don't know about you, but i pray.

my guess is that you probably pray a bit too.  even people not prone to praying, probably pray--at least a little.

in the past month i've flown with emily to texas for college visits, i've flown alone to georgia for a women's retreat and i just flew with the five kids to birmingham for a week at the beach.  (no beaches in birmingham. we flew in, visited another college and then drove 5 hours to florida).  that's six airplane trips.  if you count the two extra connecting flights, i've experienced that "take-off" moment 8 times this past month.

and i've prayed each time.

granted, this past trip to the beach i had bella sitting next to me singing the little einstein's theme song.  "we're going on a trip in our favorite rocket ship..."  but still, i prayed. she sang.  i prayed.

and friday night when we were taking off one more time and i was praying one more time, i thought about how good it is for us to have those "take-off" moments every once in awhile.  it is good to be at that point where we are a little unsure, a little out of control, a little on the edge of our seats.   it might not be fun, but it is good to teeter a bit between the solid and the mystery.

there's a humility which comes when we cannot control.

there's a hush which occurs when we have to be still.

there's a holding-on which happens when we feel the shake and rattle and thrust.

and it's good for us.

my mother does not fly.  end of story.  well, sort of end of story.  she doesn't like the take-off moment.  she doesn't like a loss of control.  i can't say that i blame her.  in fact, i'm pretty sure there's no person who would stand up and claim that as a favorite feeling.  it's probably a universal most unpopular moment. but still...it is a necessary inconvenience when we want to go places, get somewhere.   i've pushed my mom on the subject a few times.  my siblings and i all live spread across the country.  flying would be an easier, quicker way to travel we tell her.  it makes sense to me, so i've badgered her about it.  we even got her on a flight several years ago.  my dad would tell you, it wasn't worth it.  it might have been quicker, but it certainly wasn't easier.  not for him and definitely not for the stranger sitting on the other side of my mother.

but this take-off moment doesn't just happen on airplanes, does it?  we have them in life. times when we are leaving behind something solid and heading out into something unknown.  we don't know how it is going to work.  we don't know how it is going to happen.  flight seems improbable. impossible. inconceivable.  a part of us wants to put on the breaks and turn right around.  i get it.  i have felt that way a lot in life -- especially in these past few years.

you see, i might fly on airplanes, but really, i am a lot like my mother.  i, too, don't like the loss of control.  i want to be in charge of my own vessel.  i want to hold the wheel.  i want to have my foot on the break. i want to set my course and navigate my skies. i want to be in charge -- of everything.  call it evidence of my birth order. call it my teacher training mentality. call it my type A personality.  call it whatever you want, but i'll call it what it is:  my sinful nature.  i want control.  i like to be in charge. remember eve in the garden?  yep, her too.  she didn't want the apple.  she wasn't hungry for food, she was hungry for control.  i get eve. i have no doubt if that slimy serpent had been whispering words of pride into my willing ear, i would have eaten them up too.

this need for control might make me a good executor of details, a good party planner or trip coordinator,  but it doesn't make me a good follower of Jesus.  it is the thing i have to work on -- a lot.  in fact, i am certain it is why He set us into the middle of an arduous adoption journey. it is why He took us through a medical crisis.  it is why He moved us 1000 miles away from home.  it is probably why He gave me 5 children.  these things have created take-off moments for me -- for my family.  they have kept us not only on the edge of our seats, they have kept us on our knees.

and that's the place i need to be.  on my knees.

not just when the airplane lifts off, but each day.  every day.  always.  unfortunately for some of us, we need to be a little unsure and a little unsteady in order to be a little more aware of our desperate need for Him.  what happens when the airplane dips? what happens when it shutters and shakes?  what happens when the captain announces an emergency landing?  the prayers pick up.  the "our Father who art in heavens" become loud and clear and compelling.  i am astounded at how quickly i can move into an attitude of self-reliance when things are going smoothly.   time after time, God whispers in my ear, "get ready, jody...here we go."  and i have to hold on.

and maybe this loss of control is a hard thing at first,  but i have to admit, when i'm up in the sky and looking at the plane having to land on a narrow runway below, i am really, really glad someone else is in charge.  because the truth is, i couldn't do it.  i couldn't safely land the couple hundred passengers and i couldn't safely land myself.  i'd fearfully end up wandering around in a cloud somewhere until i ran out of gas.

 we always run out of gas when we try to take control.

i'm not sure what has you on the edge of your seat right now. most of us have something.   but i want you to know this place of teetering can bring you to the point of trusting. let it.  true flight takes place when we move from the edge of our seats to the center of His will.

oh friend, don't be afraid to fall.

on our knees.
and into his arms.

He has you.  He has me.  He has us.

     **************************

here's a few fun photos of where our airplane took us last week when we reconnected with our atlanta friends in watersound, florida for spring break:

 

we had a chance to celebrate sarah's 13th birthday at the beach!