her closet

and there we were, pocket by pocket, going through her old purses. dumping loose change, mints, pencils and tubes of pale pink lipstick. those little things we leave behind in our handbags. those little items which tell of our occupancy.

my two teen daughters helping. the three of us sorting through my mother-in-law’s things. precious and painful standing elbow to elbow in that closet space. the girls, more than once, saying, "mom, this feels so wrong and so sad."

pulling down sweaters and jackets and shirts. armfuls of her. the outfits in which we could, so clearly, see our grammie. it was when i noticed her blue and black print dress hanging there that i finally acknowledged the sob which had been building in the back of my throat. she had worn this dress just a year ago at emily’s high school graduation. a year ago almost to the very week of that event.

that event where she was so proud of her granddaughter. that event where she was vibrant and so pretty in her dress. that event where none of us could have imagined a cancer diagnosis on the horizon and a funeral following in the new year.

i stood staring at that print dress. remembering. remembering it was the last time we were all together as a family. remembering that none of us can ever know. we snapped this picture with rick’s parents and my parents that night of graduation. none of us thinking of anything past the celebration of that evening’s events.

and a year later mom’s clothes are being brought down from their hangers, boxed and bagged, and carted off to the salvation army.

i know these are only clothes in a closet. only shoes, handbags, scarves and belts. i did my very best to see them as such. insignificant earthly garments which she has since traded for heavenly robes of splendor.

yes, i knew that in my head, but even that knowledge couldn't do much to quiet the ache inside my heart.

removing my mother-in-law's things from her closet, folding up the fabrics which clothed her in her living left me raw, tender, teary. rick came in, “i’ll do it, honey. you don’t have to do this.” but i could and i’m glad i was able to and it reminded me that someday someone will do this for me.

it’s a strange kind of humbling.

as i reached and folded and removed, i kept thinking, “is this what it comes down to?” the entire time i was working in her closet that’s the question which kind of ran through my mind. figuring out what we save, what we give away and what we toss. these categories. categories that, ultimately, someone else gets to choose for us.

i imagine that sounds terribly depressing.

except.

except for those whose hope is not what is hung on hangers, but, instead, is in Him who hung on the cross.

that hope. that hope which makes the removal of our earthly everything ... all possible.

it doesn’t change what happens to the stuff in our closets, but it changes what happens to us -- and that’s the only thing which really matters.

my mother-in-law left behind a closet and house full of her things. precious things …lovely things … things with-price-tags-still-on-them-things. but they are only that:  things. she might have taken great care with them once, but she has no need of them now. they are nothing. only things. and she is in a perfect place that requires no thing more than God’s glory.

“do not lay up for yourselves treasures on earth, where moth and rust destroy and where thieves break in and steal, but lay up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where neither moth nor rust destroys and where thieves do not break in and steal. for where your treasure is, there your heart will be also.” ~ matthew 6:19-21

the girls and i talked a little bit about that back in the closet. my girls, sweet and patient about this process, going through grammie’s sweatshirts and t-shirts. they claimed a couple for themselves. clothing that reminded them of their grandma.

we set aside a "life is good" t-shirt ... because, yes, it is.

emily held up one soft, grey sweatshirt. "this is so grammie!" it was one we'd all seen her in so many times. of course, we saved that sweatshirt.

and from the closet we continued through the rest of the house. this week we’ve all been working together to move rick's dad. though staying in the same beach community, he was moving into a different house.

all week we sorted through boxes and emptied out drawers and cupboards and corners. we did our best to appreciate each item. wondering what dad would use and what he wouldn't need in his new space. considering the things which held special significance, and those things which could be given away. item by item. drawer by drawer. all of us trying to be upbeat and keep things light, but never being able to truly ignore the weight of what we were doing. dad joked a little with us, but, there's no doubt, it was hardest on him.

i found one bag full of brand new, empty photo albums. i knew marilyn had plans this year to get on top of her photos (don’t we all). opening a closet, there were all these empty books and all these bags and boxes of loose pictures. all waiting for her. these albums waiting to be filled. announcing to me that she was in the middle of a project, in the middle of her living.

another reminder, we cannot plan for much more than the moment.


wednesday morning, moving day, i woke early and was able to walk the beach at sunrise. so much to think about on that morning walk.

this moving thing -- it’s hard. it’s big. y'all know rick and i are practically professional when it comes to house hopping. but doing our "move thing" in the home of rick's parents, that felt different. breaking down an entire life and resetting it in another space for someone else, that was new for me. so many times this week i wanted to turn to my mother-in-law and ask, "what about this? what do you want me to do with this?" and in many ways, i wanted to ask this question about more than a silver platter or piece of cookware. i wanted to ask this about everything. how all of this works. how this life and death thing is supposed to ever be figured out.

we left south carolina last night with my father-in-law mostly settled in his new home. the plates and spoons put away, the furniture arranged, the pictures hung. i even managed to get his patio pots planted full with flowers. it all looks good ... looks great, in fact. everything pretty much was in place, but leaving last night, of course we all felt so strongly the absence of rick's mom. this move, more than any other, reminded me it's never the things which hang in our closet or on our walls or in our pantries. it's the people we love.

yesterday, dad and i agreed, marilyn would have really liked this new house. she would have approved. that makes us happy and sad at the same time. we are all tired from this week of hard work, but grateful and humbled to have been a part of this.

the mix of precious and painful, the way life --- whether we are asked to stay or move on -- always is.

found this in one of those bags of photos this week! love it. 

the 2 a.m. mother

you wake up for no reason.

it's 2 a.m.
you ...

play the what-if game.

let your mind wander.

feel your heart worry.

question your ability to make it all work.

you are a mother.

it's the middle of the night and you find yourself in the middle of anxiety.

yeah, i know.

it happens to this woman too.

and i can't figure it out.

with almost two decades of parenting behind me and five kids always a few steps ahead of me -- kids who are doing, basically, pretty good -- why now?
why am i now finding myself under attack and anxious?

it doesn't make sense.

we've had busier, bigger, more burdensome days ...

why now?

why this?

maybe it's our particular parenting cocktail: one in college, two in high school, another in middle school and one more just beginning elementary.
maybe it's this crazy combination which leads me to that place of concern.

i don't know.

i just know that this year has been a battlefield inside me, my thoughts, my way of thinking ...

maybe it's because we've had our share of injury, illness and issues --- things i wasn't planning on.

as a mom, you can plan your dinner menu, but you can't plan these kinds of things. 

they happen.

(well ... let's not take anything for granted here -- sometimes you can plan your dinner menu).

and maybe that's it the most ---- after two decades of parenting and two decades of calling the shots and two decades of making the decisions and two decades of directing and corralling and choreographing our family ...

i am more certain than ever i am not in charge.

i am not as in charge as i have always liked to think i was.

tomorrow will be my 19th mother's day. 

19 years of experience should make me some kind of expert, right?

19 years of experience should suggest some kind of excellence, right?

wrong.

but here's what 19 years of experience does make me --- empathetic.

i may not always feel certain in my parenting, but this lack of certainty is the very thing which allows me empathy for other mamas.

this motherhood thing, it's hard. and where each and every season has it's own type of hard, it also has it's own type of holy. 

there's been nothing -- no thing -- in my life which has taught me more, how hard and holy can go hand in hand, than motherhood.

doesn't matter if you are holding your fussy newborn or holding onto your teetering toddler.

doesn't matter if you are holding the hand of your hurting middle schooler or holding tightly to your rebellious teenager ... 

as a mother --- so much of what we do is about holding: carrying, embracing, lifting ... sometimes lugging along.

i spoke at a women's luncheon last monday. my audience, a lovely group of mothers.
seasoned and experienced women with kids ranging from tiny to tall.

i encouraged them to find their sufficiency in Jesus -- not in themselves. 

and yet, i didn't tell them that the night before i had woken at 2am and wondered and worried and wrestled in my own inadequacies and insufficiencies.

why is it so hard to turn it all over to Jesus? 

i was encouraging these mamas, but i was preaching to myself.

that's usually how it goes in my writing, in my talking, in my teaching --- i am the target.

i am the one in need of the good news.

i am the one in need of the gospel message.
oh my heavens, i am the one in need of grace.

and even though i am not living in a perfect state of peace and wisdom, and even though i sometimes have more anxiety than i do answers, i hope that i can encourage you, too. 

just because we don't have it all together doesn't make us an imposter, it makes us authentic. 

if you're worried that your worry is making you less of a christian ...

if you're anxious that your anxiety is making you less of a mother ...

know this (instead) ---

it makes you real. 

it makes you raw. 

and what's more, it makes you receptive to the pain and problems of others. 

yes, we have to seek our sufficiency in Him

yes, we have to strengthen our faith.

yes, we have to surrender our family.

but, no, we don't have to pretend we have it all together.

and we don't have to beat ourselves up when we feel the doubt or worry or fear rise up.

those 2 am sessions ---

don't look at them as a lack of faith,

see them, instead, as a chance to lean into the Father.

"draw near to God, and He will draw near to you." ~ james 4:8

"cast all your anxiety on Him, 
because He cares for you." ~ 1 peter 5:7

golf balls, gross basements and a great love

i was already kind of mad at him.

it was late afternoon on a sunday and i was headed to the nail salon. i had my book and my latte and my pathetic, garden-battered nails, and gosh darn it, i was ready to go get pretty -- or at least mani/pedi pretty.

with a girls' trip to the beach looming later that week, it was time to get the nails looking a little nicer.

it was my time.

but then his text came ----

my oldest son wrote, "mom, i forgot to tell you, (that phrase which never bodes well) but my whole discipleship group is meeting at our house in a little bit. don't worry, though, it's not a big deal."

not a big deal except that he failed to mention it and the house was gross and the basement where they'd be hanging out, even grosser. like i'm pretty sure my son hadn't cleaned the (HIS) bathroom down there in probably well over a month. and i was sure there were dirty dishes and dirty socks and no-telling-who-knows-what-kind-of-other-dirty breeding in that space where his discipleship group was coming over to be all spiritual and everything in.

and, because i'm a mother or a woman or a just your average person with a smidge of pride left,  that somehow didn't sit right with me.

even when the 17 year old assured me none of that mattered.

it did.
it does.

i'm sorry 17 year old son, i value most every little thing about you --- EXCEPT your opinion on what qualifies as clean.  (i've seen your room, dear one).

so there i was with my nasty, garden-damaged nails ... and though i should have texted him back something like, "what-the-heck-tyler" or "you're-on-your-own-buddy-boy-i'm-heading-to-the-salon!"

i didn't.

i went home to clean a toilet, collect the dirty dishes and create what i deemed a slightly more reverent space for these boys coming together to talk about Jesus.

now before you get all judgey with me, you need to at least consider the following:

#1.  this was the first time tyler's discipleship leader would visit our home. and, ya'll, he's not a high school boy,  he is married. and we all know that means he is at least somewhat past the point of thinking that blackish-green stuff growing in a toilet is kind of cool.

# 2.  i like to make at least a good first impression. after that i'm not quite so worried about what someone thinks. perhaps that's not right and i should seek help, but i really can't control it. i have no power over this deep need to vacuum a rug before your first visit to my home.

# 3. and finally, yes, in a perfect parenting world i would have confidently continued on to the nail salon and told my wayward teen to go clean his own bathroom, bedroom and boy-man-cave basement --- but he was already gone (at church for a meeting -- this, of course, did help his case a tiny bit) and wouldn't be home in time before the boys descended.

okay, with that said, everything (with the exception of my nails) was coming together pretty well.

and just moments before the group's arrival, i ducked into my own bathroom (the one without the greenish black stuff growing in the toilet) for a quick brush of my hair.

still slightly miffed with my last minute boy, i was vigorously brushing my hair, when i heard the explosion.

KABOOOOM!

what the heck? i dropped my brush and covered my head.

a gunshot?
an earthquake?
a hand granade? (i didn't actually think that, but it makes for more interesting reading).

no --- but a stray golf ball rolling around wildly in my garden tub.

a stray golf ball and a whole lot of glass around the tub and at my feet.

guess who had come home a little early from his church meeting and decided to practice his golf swing in the backyard???

FOUR!!!!!!

exactly. you guessed it. the oldest son.

the keeper of the dirty bathroom and the teller of last minute plans.

that one.

now, the swinger of the wild golf club and the breaker of the large glass window.

when i recovered from my near death experience, i climbed onto the ledge of my glass covered garden tub and looked out of my now damaged window.
and there he was below me in our yard: club in hand. mouth open and eyes wide.

oh no.

oh yes.

oh so not this kid's day.

not his day to get on his mom's good side.
not at all.
the boy would have just been better off staying at church.

except that's not how it works, right?

not for us mamas who love our kids.

even on days like this ... days of dirty basements and last minute plans and broken windows.
nothing changes the way we love our kids.
even while enduring our own dirty and neglected nails, we love them.

we love them.

and though their opinion on what constitutes clean might not amount to much, everything else about them does.

even their messes, their mishaps and their mistakes.

i can't help but think that's exactly (except better) the way our own Father in heaven loves us --- his messy and messed up kids.

nothing we fail to mention or wildly throw at Him will shatter the Father's love for us.

He bends down

{april 25}
"He bends down to listen ..."
isn't that beautiful?
a father-child picture. tender.
His ear inclined and our prayers whispered.
God, not only almighty, but available and approachable.
God leaning in.
God listening.
God loving.
maybe, sometimes, it feels like no one else wants to hear.
i understand.
but, dear one, this image ---
your Jesus bending down ...
hearing your heart.
holding your hurt.
healing.
rest there and realize even your softest whispers are heard.

planted by water

{april 20}
it's like an explosion of green in the south right now.
i'm telling you -- this level of lush -- it's astounding.
everything well-watered and growing like gangbusters.
i love it.
i love these vibrant seasons of intense soaking.
i love them in my landscape and ...
guess what -- i love them in my life.
but, like any good southern girl, i know what's coming.
i've experienced enough georgia julys.
i know the scorch of summer.
i've lived the total absence of rain.
the drought.
the dry.
the blaze.
the bake.
the heat.
i have learned {am learning} that the only way to
avoid withering up in hot times is to plant by His waters and
have my roots near His streams.
there. is. no. other. way. to survive.
jeremiah tells us that when we do this we will:
1. not fear when the heat comes
2. not be anxious in the drought
3. continue to bear fruit
so, the question for me is this:
am i planted in the desires of my own dusty ways?
or am i planted in the direction of His deep waters?
let this beautiful april morning be a reminder to root ourselves in the only real source of our salvation -- Him.

He's for me

{april 17}
it's friday.
and it's been a long week.
and maybe that's all you needed to hear right now:
God.Is.For.Me.
and it's enough.
if that's the case, than this message is for you.
and me.
it's friday and ...
God.Is.For.Me.

all of it His

{april 15}
i think sometimes i pretend otherwise.
it's my humanity wanting to take ownership.
it's my sin wanting to take control.
and on a morning like this, i need to be reminded:
it belongs to Him.
all of it.
everything.
He spoke it into being.
He whispered it into this world.
it's His.
you, me, that lovely crabapple across the street.
all of it.
His.
all of it good.
all of it for His glory.

showers of blessing

{april 14}
2 corinthians 9:8 says,
"and God is able to bless you abundantly,
so that in all things at all times,
having all that you need,
you will abound in every good work."
~ abundant blessings ~
~ showers of blessing ~
the spring reminds me of these gifts.
the petals, the colors, the gifts of grace after a season
of winter. (i'll use that word loosely now that we've moved
back to georgia).
without doubt, it's easier to see the showers of blessing
in the spring places of our living, right?
however, paul tells us in 2 corinthians, that God gives blessings
"in all things at all times..."
and also assures us that we will have "all that we need."
what a promise!
and that promise isn't meant only for perfect spring days, but for all seasons.
He knows what we need, when we need it.
it might not always look like a path of pink petals, but God, in His
perfect knowledge always provides.
regardless of your circumstances or season, may you find His blessing abundant today!

like silver

{april 11}
refined: i'll be honest, that word scares me.
i mean i WANT the refinement --- the silver.
but i don't necessarily want the process:
the testing, the trying, the furnace of affliction.
who does?
and yet, this april, as i'm trying to search God's word
for the new things He wants to show me, the new things
He wants to give me, the new things He wants to make in me ...
i know -- I KNOW -- refinement is a part of the deal.
silver and gold come from the high heat of His grace.
maybe you know exactly what i'm writing about.
you have been living awhile in the hot testing places of life.
be encouraged! God will use this.
and even though it feels like plain old sweat, He has this way of making it sweet.
precious. pure. silver.
it might be hard to see now.
in fact, i know it is.
but trust Him.
even in this heat,
trust His heart.

more like Jesus

{april 10}
these three dig in the sand, jump in the waves, hold hands and sing and there is such joy.
a deep, deep joy because they know:
the are called beloved.
they are called His.
like with all of us, we don't know exactly WHAT the future holds,
but we do know WHO holds the future.
these girls, all of our children, all of us ... it hasn't been revealed, but we can trust when it includes Him and He is revealed,
we will be like Him.
more like Jesus. that's my prayer. for my children, my husband and for me.
MORE. LIKE. JESUS. every new day.
more like Jesus ... today.

grains of sand

{april 9}
i love absolutely everything about the beach ---
EXCEPT how the sand gets everywhere.
i mean it: ev-er-y-wh-ere.
because of these 7 days at the beach we will find sand in our hair and in our bags and in our car for the next 7 months.
(but seriously, not complaining).
so, bella has been memorizing psalm 139 (verses 1-18) this year. she just finished learning these final two verses 17 and 18 this week -- right here at the beach.
i was kinda stressed about getting her to wrap up her school memory work. we were a little behind (sigh).
but how cool that we could wiggle our toes in this white sugar sand and work on these final two verses. how awesome to stand on this massive stretch of gulf coast and see how big is our Jesus.
"if i were to count your precious thoughts Jesus, they are more than the sand!"
i love this.
i love that Jesus speaks to us through illustrations we can easily get -- even 1st graders!
grains of sand -- impossible to control or count or consider the number. "how vast is the sum!"
Jesus, we cannot know all your thoughts, YET you allow us to know YOU.

the sea is His

{april 8}
at the ocean this week.
and sometimes standing here,
sitting here,
just being here ...
i don't know how to take it all in.
it is a place in which i always see God.
i can't help it.
yesterday i encouraged us to keep seeking Him in our "raised up lives."
this morning i am telling you, while at the ocean, i can't not seek Him.
i can't escape Him here.
does the ocean do that for you?
like that song "i hope you still feel small when you stand beside the ocean ..."
yeah, i'm small, but what i mostly feel is GOD IS BIG.
"the sea is His, He made it!"
that ocean breeze is a hallelujah running right through me.
glorious creation reminding me of our Most Glorious Creator.

if then ...

{april 7}
so, the week AFTER easter.
sunday's over and now we're back to reality,
back to work, back to whatever ...
IF THEN. "if then we have been raised with Christ ..."
If then … WHAT?
do you see the assignment in this verse?
"seek the things above."
don't hang up the easter bonnet and call it done.
keep seeking Him. 
keep looking UP. 
keep being raised with Christ.
easter day and every day.
so often we are quick to move right on through our holiday.
friend, each day is a holy day when we wholly commit ourselves to Him.
He is risen!

and we, praise God, are risen with Him.