An Open Letter to My Daughter

Dear Bridget,
     Today the Holy Spirit revealed something wonderful to me:  I hate my life.  I know that sounds strange.  Please bear with me.
     I have been struggling for a long time now with frustration, anxiety, and bouts of depression.  I was frustrated when I spent days alone in the house;  I was frustrated when I had to take care of company.  I was frustrated if your Dad was home too much; I was frustrated when he was gone a lot.  I was frustrated almost all of the time.  I had anxiety attacks.  I got down and couldn't find any energy or joy.  Yet, through all of this, I loved my life.  I was grateful to God to have such wonderful children and a wonderful husband, a beautiful house and plenty of money.  Most of the time, I was happy with the decisions I had made in life.  So why was I struggling?
     Lately, I have been sinking into another spell of the blues.  I came up with so many excuses:  the recent move, the mysterious stomach pains, your growing up, my need to find a close friend in LaGrange, the chilly spring.  So many, many more.  Still, the confusing thing is that when I actually think about it, I have the things I've really sought:  children, marriage, old house, great church, etc. .  Today, I had one of those fits where I decide all I ever do is clean, and yet the house is never clean.  I began filling the donation boxes, as I usually do during these times.  I think the idea is solid:  if I didn't own so much stuff, I wouldn't have to spend so much time cleaning my stuff.

Love hurts.

     As I was working, I was talking to God.  One of the nice things about being home alone is that I am completely free to talk out loud to God.  I was telling God that I am so SICK of spending all of my time on meaningless labor.  I do dishes, laundry, floors, beds...meaningless, cyclical work.  Please don't try to explain how satisfied I should be.  I finally got so frustrated that I shouted to the Lord, "I HATE MY LIFE!  THERE!  I SAID IT!  I HATE MY LIFE!"
     As soon as the words were out, I felt a bit of peace come to my spirit.  That Still Small Voice said, "Good.  That is the first step.  Now, what did I tell you?"  My mind was immediately filled with scriptures:  Luke 14:26-28, and the story of Mary and Martha.
     In Luke 14, Jesus finds Himself followed by a large crowd.  As usual, Jesus reacts by separating the men from the boys, so to speak.  He says, "If anyone comes to Me, and does not hate his own father and mother and wife and children and brothers and sisters, yes, and even his own life, he cannot be My disciple.  Whoever does not carry his own cross and come after Me cannot be My disciple.  For which one of you, when he wants to build a tower, does not first sit down and calculate the cost to see if he has enough to complete it?"  Our culture teaches us that to love one's life is a virtue.  If I don't love my life, something is terribly wrong.  Today, the Holy Spirit said to me, "Finally.  You are finally ready to become My disciple."

     The hardest part of coming to this point of realization was coming to terms with my role as a woman.  Ever since I got saved at 18, the loving folks I did church with began teaching me to love being a homemaker, and to find fulfillment there.  I did.  I still love being a homemaker.  Nonetheless, I am not fulfilled by housework; nor do I feel that housework and childcare fulfill my calling as a disciple.  As a youth worker, I have heard countless speakers assure crowds of youth (of both genders) that God has a plan for their lives and a calling on them.  Somehow, I do not believe that that calling is to a sink full of dishes.  Nor even to childrearing.  I believe that, as we fulfill our Christian calling, we set the example for our children.  We also bring them along with us, so they can begin their own good work.  That is how a woman raises the next generation of Christians, not by pampering and protecting them behind the middle-class walls of American suburbs.  Walls which I have sometimes protected and pampered my children behind.
     I think a woman is just as called to discipleship as a man.  Like it or not, Jesus had female disciples who travelled with Him and supported Him financially (typically the job of a rabbi's disciples, see Luke 8:1-3).  Consider, also, the familiar story of Mary and Martha.  In Luke 10:  38-42, we see Martha keeping busy with household work.  Mary, on the other hand, was completely focused on Christ.  Martha complained that Mary wasn't helping with the work.  What did Jesus say?  "There is only one thing worth being concerned about.  Mary has discovered it, and it will not be taken away from her."  Boom.
   
The point of this letter is two-fold:

1.  Don't ever fall for the teaching that women are not as called as men.  Stay in the scriptures and in prayer.  You are an anointed woman,  as were many women in both the Old and New Testaments.  Act 2:18:  "Even on My bondslaves, both men and women, I will in those days pour forth of My Spirit, and they shall prophesy."
2.  Don't be sad that I hate my life.  Be happy for me!  I believe the wind is picking up.  Do you know the wind I am talking about?  I think you do.  And if you ever find yourself thinking, "I hate my life," don't despair.  Brace yourself.

     With all my heart, I love you, Bridget.  --Moma

************

THIS EPISODE'S DIY

What To Do With Grits

     My in-laws ain't from around here.  They live in Iowa.  Every time he has breakfast with us, my father-in-law asks, "What's a grit?"  Well, grits are ground corn.  They began as a cheap way to fill hungry bellies.  Lately, I see them on snooty foodie shows.  The grit has arrived.  Up for your consideration:  2 easy ways to use grits.  Note:  I only use regular grits.  No quick grits.  NO instant grits.

     I frequently serve grits as a quick-and-easy weekday breakfast.  Mix 1/2 cup grits and 2 cups water in a large microwaveable bowl.  The bowl should seem a bit ridiculously large because the water will bubble up while the grits cook.  Throw in some salt, depending on how salty you like your food.  I add pepper, too.  Cook it 10 minutes on power level 6.  You may need to adjust these settings for your microwave and your taste in grits.  I like mine thick, not watery.  While the grits cook, get out an egg, grated cheese, butter, and milk.  Remove the bowl from the microwave when it finishes, and immediately stir in one raw egg, while the grits are still burning hot.  They will cook the egg, but you can micro it a little longer if you are the nervous sort.  Next, add 1-2 tbsp butter, 1/4-1/2 cup grated cheese, and some milk if it gets too thick.  The purpose of these additions is to enrich the grits with nutrition, calories, and flavor.  My boys don't eat much in the morning, so I pump up the calories.  And they are skinny.  When I make grits for myself, I usually leave out the butter, and just add cheese or an egg.  This recipe serves 3 if they aren't big eaters.  2 if they are.

     While grits are wonderful in the morning, they are becoming increasingly popular as a dinner dish.  Shrimp and grits is a classic, and I have my own quick-as-a-flash version to share with you.  First off, I try to put a bag of dried red beans, a chopped onion, and 8 cups water in the crock pot in the morning.  Let it cook all day on low.  Or the first few hours on high if you will be around to change it to low, and you don't get them in till noon.  Otherwise, canned red beans are fine.  You will need:

Red beans, one bag or 3 cans

1 c grits

4 c water

3 tbsp butter.  Accept no substitutes (like margarine) but olive oil is fine.

bag of pre-cooked shrimp.  I used large, tail-on.  You don't need pre-cooked, really.  I used what I had. Thaw if frozen.

3 tbsp paprika, to taste

Jane's crazy mixed-up pepper.  Or any pepper blend you like.

     Combine the grits and water in that big bowl.  Microwave 13-15 min, power level 6.  Meanwhile, melt the butter in a medium frying pan on high heat.  Drain any water from the shrimp and add them to the pan.  Sprinkle on paprika, salt to taste, and pepper to taste.  Heat the beans if they are canned.  Cook the shrimp until the paprika thickens around them.  Remove from heat.

     Put a serving of grits in a shallow bowl, top with a scoop of beans, and top again with shrimp and sauce.  Enjoy.   Makes about 4 servings.

Bridget loves grits.

Only Human

     Occasionally, I am a fantastic success as a mother.  Occasionally, I am a miserable failure as a mother.  Usually, I am somewhere in between those two extremes.  An old friend and I used to phone each other when we screwed up and say, "Well, I guess I'm not up for Mother of the Year this year."  That's ok.  I want my children to know that I am imperfect, and that I still struggle toward the image of Christ.  I want them to know my imperfection because they are also imperfect.  Children need to know that their humanity, and their failures, are ok.  That they are still amazingly loved.
     Bridget, my oldest, had a bit of the perfectionist in her as a child.  My heart broke when I would see her dissatisfaction with her artwork.  I made up a little game we would play to relax her.  I would say, "Who is perfect?" And she would reply, "God."  Then I would say, "And who makes art?"  To which she would reply, "Humans."  I would say, "So, should art be perfect?"  And she would say, "No, ma'am."  Generally, Bridget would be able to enjoy her artistic experience after that reminder.  
     As parents, we need to evaluate modern trends for ourselves.  When I look at the drive to convince every child that he is perfect, a hero, and an extra-special winner, I believe we are failing to be honest with them.  Most people are blissfully average.  How can a society function if everyone believes he was born to be a leader?  When children fail to live up to our lofty and unrealistic expectations, what can they tell themselves?  In real life, not everyone gets a trophy.  Leadership generally falls to those who stand out as hard workers, not to those who believe that being special is their birthright.  A child can always come to her mother for love and admiration.  However, I want my children to leave my home aware of the fact that normalcy is perfectly acceptable, and even enjoyable.  If they want me to be proud, they can be Godly men and women, and unselfish spouses if they marry.   Anything more is gravy.
     All that said, I still struggle with my seemingly incessant failings as a mother.  As Jerry and I go through our foster parenting classes, I find myself occasionally dwelling on how insufficient I am sure I will be.  Today, God gave me a gentle reminder of how little He has demanded of me in the formation of my three astonishing children.  We have been reading a portion of The Book of Three each morning before school, but today we had rushed out of the house slightly late.  As we piled into the car, with Kevin driving, I said, "Since we didn't have time to read before we left the house, we will subject Michael to our reading time this morning."  Michael is a neighbor boy who rides to school with us.  
     Henry, a bit embarrassed, said, "My mom reads to us in the mornings."  There was a moment of silence.  I wondered if I had made a mistake.  Then I heard Michael's quiet voice in the back.
     "Lucky."
     Perhaps, just perhaps, I am just good enough.  And that is ok.
  
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THIS EPISODE'S DIY

How to do Lent (When Your Church Doesn't)

     Although we have never been part of  a church that recognizes the Lenten season, we feel that it is incredibly important for Christians to at least recognize Holy Week.  Why do we devote a month to Christmas, yet only a day to Easter, the holiest day of the year?  In case you would like to make much of this holy time of year, here are some of our practices. 

• We begin on Ash Wednesday.  Some years, Jerry will anoint our foreheads with oil or ashes, and we will pray together.  Other years, we simply read about Christ's temptation (eg. Luke 4: 1-13) and discuss our lenten sacrifices.  
• On Sundays, we have special scripture readings.  We choose scriptures which highlight Christ's life and ministry, such as Luke 5:29-32.  This year, we also made a crown of thorns of sorts, using a twig wreath set in the middle of the table with a jar of toothpicks in the middle.  Whenever the Spirit shows us a sin we've committed, we quietly go to the crown and add a thorn.  
• We make an Easter garden.  I got this idea from Pinterest.  I found two wonderful websites for information:

our garden, pre-sprouts

http://www.aholyexperience.com/2009/03/make-easter-garden-visual-parable/

http://www.colleenhammond.com/family-life/craft-easter-garden/

Ours looks more like the second but is carried out like the first.  We finish with a butterfly and scriptures on the empty (now open) tomb on Easter morn.  

• Put palm branches on your walkway on Palm Sunday, or just each carry one to church.  Bring some for friends if you'd like!  People love to join a celebration.

• We have done a family Maundy Thursday celebration for several years now.  Jerry serves us the Lord's Supper (communion), and reads the last supper scriptures to us, where Jesus washes the feet of the disciples.  The Lord's Supper is shared as it goes along with the scripture.  We use pita bread and real wine, but you can use Wonder bread and juice if you want!  We share a large glass, and the whole thing is done by candle light.  It all feels so holy...the kids are mesmerized, even as teenagers.  Last year, some dear friends joined us, making the whole thing that much holier.  What a gift!
• This year, I will be trying some ideas from Get A Sense of the Resurrection, on this website:  http://impressyourkids.org/a-sense-of-the-resurrection/ .  I am especially excited about the diffusers to illustrate the story of the woman anointing Christ's feet with perfume.

• On Easter, we go to church in the morning, enjoy a meal with the extended family, and settle in for the day.  That evening, we do Resurrection Eggs.  We use a set I made myself, using ideas I collected online from researching several sets.  I suggest you make a personalized set, too.  However, any set is better than none!  

Why do you search for the Living among the dead?  He is not here, He has risen! (Luke 24:5-6)

HE HAS RISEN INDEED!

Christian Bipolarity

     Please don't ridicule me or call me names for what I am about to share.  I feel certain that I cannot be alone in these feelings, yet I am struggling to find the words to express them.  You see, I am caught between two polar positions in my walk with Christ.
     On the one hand, I am yearning to give more.  I want Christ to make me His hands on this earth.  I want to extend myself to change the lives of others, for the better.  I long to sacrifice my own comfort in order to take the good news of Christ to the hurting and needy people of this world.  I am sometimes disgusted by the luxury in which I live.  I am occasionally disappointed in my children's addiction to the comforts of this American life.  Comforts which I have taught them to crave.

     On the other hand, I am terrified to lose my iron grip on those comforts.  I don't want to give up my stuff.  I love my iPhone.  Yes, I said, "love," and I meant it.  I am happy here in my middle-class suburb, confident that the drinking water will not leave parasites in my children's bellies.  Can't I just be grateful that God has chosen to give these good gifts to me?
     So, my dilemma boils down to the following:                 

                   1.  I long to sacrifice my comfort in service to Christ.

        2.  I am terrified of being asked to give up my creature comforts.
   

     What can I do?  How can I relieve the tension between these desires warring within me?  I have decided on my New Year's resolution.  I am going to keep a journal of all of the services and sacrifices Christ asks of me.  You see, my husband and I try to always be alert and open to opportunities to work for the Lord.  We pick up hitchhikers, replace flat tires, pay overdue bills, support children in other countries, support missionaries, etc.  We do whatever work Jesus puts before us, as much as seems possible.  I'll admit, sometimes we fail to notice opportunities, and sometimes we just get lazy.  I figure, though, that a journal will help me to see more clearly where Jesus is leading me.  And to run fast enough to dog His glorious heels.  

     Oh, Lord, lead me on.

THIS EPISODE'S DIY

     I have noticed that buying sweet tea is now considered the norm.  Why?  This quick-and-easy-to-make Southern beverage is SO much better homemade.  You can customize it to your tastes and needs.  And, trust me, there is nothing like freshly-brewed sweet tea.  I can give you the basics.  I suggest you make it, see how you like it, and tweak it a bit each time you make it until it is perfect.

Sweet Tea

4 or 5 family size (large) tea bags

small pot (saucepan)

1-2 cups sugar, or equivalent sweetener

1-gallon jar or pitcher

Fill your small saucepan/pot with water.  Bring it to a boil on high heat.  Turn off the burner and add your tea bags.   Leave to steep 5 minutes.  Meanwhile, put the pitcher down in your sink.  Fill about 3" with water and stir in the sugar until it dissolves. 







 Keeping the tea bags in the pot, pour the steeped tea into the pitcher.  Refill the pot with cold water.  More flavor will seep from the tea bags into this fresh water, so keep the tea bags in the pot throughout this process.  Pour the water into the tea.  





Keep refilling the pot and adding the water to the tea until you have a gallon.  Enjoy over ice while it is still warm.  Must be refrigerated after a while.  If you leave it on the counter overnight, it gets sour.  

Tweaks:  How sweet the tea should be is very subjective.  2 cups is very sweet, like a traditional Southern restaurant.  I use two regular and two decaf tea bags, plus 4 green tea bags.  I always use Lipton.  Some people take the water off the burner and wait for all boiling to stop before adding the tea bags.  Some people actually boil the bags.  I take a middle road.  I leave the pot on the hot burner, turn off the burner, and add the bags.  Boiling increases the strength of the flavor but adds a bit of bitterness.  Sugar counteracts bitterness though.  This is a matter of taste.  I suggest you try the middle road and move in whichever direction your tastebuds require.  You can also alter the length of steeping time.  I personally prefer a glass pitcher or jar for storage.  I like drinks in glass.  You may prefer the durability of plastic.  I use stevia to sweeten my tea.  Many people don't like the taste of stevia.  At any rate, I hope you will try and enjoy this traditional beverage, which is filled with antioxidants.  And so much more elegant than soda.  Happy sipping!

Pocket Change

     What does it mean to be rich?  After all, even chocolate milk can be rich.  Christmas season always seems to bring me to these introspective questions.  Am I rich?  When Jesus speaks to the rich, am I included?  Do labels such as, "rich in love" truly have meaning?

Paula pours the wine and we remember Christ's sacrifice

     Surely, I think, a rich person would be someone I would envy; therefore, I have cast about in my mind for someone I envy.  The truth is, I am not certain what it means to envy someone.  I do know that where jealousy denotes ill will, envy denotes a longing.  Yes, there is someone whose life details fill me with longing:  my mother's pastor, Paula.   I find myself intrigued by and drawn to her life.  The details and requirements of her life would keep me from living it, but the longing I feel could be equated to a benign envy, I think.
      You see, Pastor Paula lives a life of intentional poverty, singleness, and devotion to God and His people.  She lives in an impoverished neighborhood close to the church.  She remains single and gives her full attention to her flock of churchgoers and the people God sends her way.  One Sunday, Paula shared that many people come to her during the week, asking for some very small help.  Paula took to keeping five dollar bills on her person to hand to the people for their small needs.  One bill here, two or three there.  Paula lives on a tight budget, and she shared that she always ran out of money before the week was out.

My daughter changes the world $7 at a time.  Her club volunteered to man the
Operation Christmas Child distribution center for a weekend.

     This is how you change the world, five dollars at a time:  my mother was moved deeply by Paula's story.  She took to handing Paula a five dollar bill at the end of each Sunday service.  Soon enough, moved by the Holy Spirit, Mom was restless and wanted to do more.  She asked me what I thought she should do.  I simply suggested that she hand Paula two five dollar bills and see where the Holy Spirit led her from there.  She did so.
     As of this writing, and as far as I know, Mom has significantly increased her regular giving to the church; she has continued to increase her five dollar bill giving; she buys a goodly amount of food for needy children fed by a program through her church; and she is leading a ladies' group in a study of Crazy Love, by Frances Chan.   I see Mom's growing sensitivity to the movement of the Spirit, her desire to make the world more like the Kingdom of God, and I feel envy.  Mom has grown rich.  I want to be rich like that.  The Holy Spirit stirs within me.  I must act.

     Perhaps you will see me grow rich, and you will feel envy.  You may be intrigued by the details of my life.  The Holy Spirit may stir within you, and you may act.  The world will change a little bit.  You will become rich.  Perhaps you will move someone else to feel envy.  They will want to be rich, like you.  That is how we change the world, five dollars at a time.

This Episode's DIY

     I know that making hot cocoa with a mix is incredibly easy and fairly tasty, but have you ever read the ingredients in that stuff?  The small effort and amount of time you will invest in homemade cocoa is definitely worthwhile.  I think you will be as surprised as I was at how easy it is to make.  Here are two recipes I use.

Perfectly Chocolate Hot Cocoa (from Hershey's)

2 tbsp sugar*

2-3 tsp cocoa

dash salt

1 cup milk

1/4 tsp vanilla extract

Mix sugar, cocoa, and salt in a large mug.  Heat milk in microwave at HIGH 1 1/2 minutes or until hot.  Gradually add hot milk to cocoa mixture in mug, stirring until well blended.  Stir in vanilla.  Serves 1.                                                                                                             *I use sweetener, usually stevia.

Hot Cocoa for a Crowd

1 1/2 cups sugar

1 1/4 cups cocoa

1/2 tsp salt

3/4 cup hot water

1 gallon milk

1 tbsp vanilla extract

Combine sugar, cocoa and salt in 6-quart saucepan; gradually add water.  Cook over medium heat, stirring constantly, until mixture boils.  Boil and stir 2 minutes.  Add milk.  Heat to serving temperature, stirring frequently.  Do not boil.  Remove from heat; stir in vanilla.  Serve hot.  Makes about 22 (6-oz) servings.  

      You could easily find advice online for mixing up the dry ingredients and keeping them on hand that way, I am certain.  We like to play with these recipes, adding coffee or liqueur or some such things.  The cocoa is incredibly delicious, and with the real milk in it, you are being nourished body and soul.  Enjoy!

Waxing and Waning

My Henry, back in 2003.  He wasn't so sure he wanted any part of the night back then!  Now, all 3 of my children are night-owls like their mother.

     My natural tendencies are those of the night-owl.  Left to my own devices, I will stay up later and later, sleeping in later and later the next morning.  Eventually, I will settle at a 2 or 3am bedtime, awakening between 9 and 10am.  The problem, you see, is that the rest of the world refuses to adjust to my schedule.  By the time I have staggered around and gotten some coffee into my system, I am left with the distinct feeling that I have wasted my whole day.  Yes, "I have been one acquainted with the night."  (Click here to read this gorgeous poem by Robert Frost.)  I continue to struggle with my conflicting feelings.  On the one hand, I adore the quiet beauty of the night, the way its blanket of dark air embraces me, the selfish indulgence of the solitude.  On the other hand, I love being with my family and friends, and I prefer the efficiency of the early-to-bed-early-to-rise schedule.  The manager in me loves the day; the poet in me loves the night.

     Why are we humans so given to struggle?  Our entire history is a story of struggle.  God even named His people after struggle.  The Hebrew word Israel is said to mean "He struggles with God."  We struggle between selfishness and our desire to sacrifice for the good of others.  We struggle between our cravings and our desire for good health.  We struggle between our love of sunshine and our need for rain.  We even struggle with our envy of people who seem to have given up struggling.  In the spirit of poetry and struggle, I share with you a poem I have written about my recent struggle.  

THE CHANGE

by Donna Craig.  August, 2012

She packed up her life

To take it away

Her heart beats with joy

As she waits for the day

And I cry cry cry

I am dying inside.

We load up the car

With parts of my life

My last glimpse of my Bridget as we drove away from her dorm.
I miss her so much!

My heart in my throat

Her glee like a knife

And I dread, dread, dread

The road which lies ahead.

We leave her behind

She waves at the door

My eyes ache with strain

But I see her no more

They are dry, dry, dry

And I can't explain why.

We talk on the phone

The light in her face

My heart is at peace

She has found her own place

And I smile, smile, smile

They're just ours for a while.

     Since we are on the topic of struggle, I would also like to share with you that I have struggled between keeping this blog literary, and offering something practical to you.  I have decided to stop struggling, and to offer you a bit of each.  On the practical side, I would like to say that I have struggled a bit with the fact that we as a culture pay for professional services in an incredible number of areas of life.  Growing up, no one I knew ever paid someone to perform simple tasks such as washing a car (except for fundraisers), bathing a dog, painting your toenails, or making sweet tea.  In the brief time that it took me to reach the age of 44, I suddenly know hardly anyone who does these things for themselves.  Not only do all of my friends have perpetually perfect eyebrows, but also, they pay someone to create them! Then they tell me their budgets are tight.  Well, no wonder.  We have forgotten how to use a boxed cake mix.  

     My contribution to your sense of competence this week:  How to turn 15 minutes (including cleanup) into a pan of  Rice Krispie Treats.  A whole pan of them for less than $3.00.  And you have a better idea of what is in them.  Also, get your children involved, if you have them.  The kitchen is a wonderful place to bond, and they can easily take over this task once they learn and are old enough.  If you are thinking I am foolish for including such a simple and ubiquitous recipe in my blog, I hope you have never paid Keebler to make these treats for you!

Rice Krispie Treats

1/4 cup butter or margarine (I always use butter at home, never margarine)

1 normal bag of marshmallows

6 cups of crisped rice cereal (off-brand is great)

     Prepare a 9X11 pan by spraying pam on the bottom and sides.  Set aside.

     Place the marshmallows and butter (cut up a bit and scattered onto marshmallows) in a large microwave-safe bowl.  Microwave on high in 1-minute bursts.  Stir between bursts.  I usually only go 2 minutes in my powerful microwave, but three is normal.  The marshmallows will puff up, then melt when you stir them.  When they are a thick melty liquid, stir the cereal in quickly.  

My husband, brother, and sister-in-law try to look gangsta while eating
Rice Krispie Treats, with mixed results.  It's no easy feat.

     Dump mixture into pan.  Moisten your hands with cold water and press the cereal lightly into the pan to fill it up and be fairly smooth on top.  Cool and cut into smallish squares.  Wash the pans immediately (it's better to just have it over with).  Try not to eat them all in one sitting.  I put them in  cheap baggies so they are ready to go into lunch boxes.  What?  You don't make lunches?  Well, that is another blog altogether.

     This recipe is incredibly flexible.  You can experiment with different cereals, add frosting to the top, stir in chips (they'll get melty), etc.    Have fun!

     

The Wayfarer

     Our town is filled with beautiful old architecture.  The houses in the downtown are all different, and rife with old Southern charm.  As I ate lunch yesterday, I gazed out of my window at the windows next door.  My eyes lingered on the antique glass, the peeling paint on the wood frames.  I adored the bricks, the angle of the roof, and the depth of the sills.  Eventually, my eyes caught sight of the vines growing up and around the windows.  The green plants contrasted with the red bricks.  The sight was captivating, but what occurred to me was the juxtaposition of the deliberate, well-planned and measured angles against the casual, ambling curve of the vines.
     There is something in  the eye that loves an angle, especially a well-built right angle (and, unfortunately, something in my knees and elbows that is attracted to them, too).  I will not suggest that we abandon angle-making; however, I do simply suggest that we intentionally practice the art of the free-form curve here and there.  No planning, no pattern, just flow.  Perhaps even allowing yourself to (gasp!) follow the Path of Least Resistance.

     Admit it:  there is something in a creek which feels so incredibly right.  I submit to you that the rightness is due to  an utter lack of stress.  A creek doesn't plow, persist, or assert itself.  A creek meanders, bubbles, and takes its time.  If something gets in its way, the creek goes around.  A creek adopts the temperature that the sun, air, and earth around it suggest.  No worries; no regrets.  Why not occasionally allow the creek to suggest the course of your day?  Make certain you have days when you wake up, meander outside for the paper, and say hi to the neighbors.  When they ask you what you are up to that day, say, "Oh, I don't know.  We'll see what the day brings."  

Niagara Falls, Ontario

     We pride ourselves on being busy.  How foolish!   Look at some pictures of yourself last time you took a real vacation, one where you were at a resort, or at least in a hotel.  One where you had no responsibilities.  Preferably, no kids along.  Look at your face.  I always look younger, happier, and incredibly at ease in those pictures.  I mentioned that fact to a friend, and she said, "Of course:  you were relaxed."  Even more, I was wayfaring.  I was moving in wanton curves, and I was beautiful, green, alive.  Like the vine growing up those deliberately perfect bricks.
     Most days I am the brick.  Some days, I am the vine.  LORD, please help me to be the vine more often.

"There was a man all alone; he had neither son nor brother.
There was no end to his toil,    yet his eyes were not content with his wealth.“For whom am I toiling,” he asked,    “and why am I depriving myself of enjoyment?”This too is meaningless—a miserable business!"  Ecclesiastes 4:8

Me vs Reality

     Ok, so I am 3 days behind on my blog this week.  Forgive me; moving in is hard work, and if I don't have quiet time, I have a hard time listening to the movement of the Spirit.  And I don't write.  Anyhow, I found this poem in my bedside table stuff while I was unpacking boxes.  I wrote it a couple of years ago, when I was feeling Bridget grow away from me, and when I was losing another young person from my life, even if he wasn't (technically) my own child.  It was hard to see him grow and go.  Now, with my daughter, Bridget, teetering on the edge of the nest, this poem feels especially apropos.  Fly, my baby B--fly!

These Ties Don't Bind

The hardest things to let go of

Are the ones I never held

The ones I grasped at

But never really caught.

The ones that I only thought

Truly belonged in my life

They were just shadows behind

The true life I lived.

And now the time has come.

I know you're free.

The hand releases, and

The heart must follow suit.

by Donna Craig

Restless Leg Syndrome

     "It kinda disturbs me that you've been feeling restless about who you are," he said.  I suppose it would be confusing.  He is 17, and I am 43.  I was his teacher in youth small group.  Surely I should know exactly who Christ wants me to be?
     I used to be so certain of who I was.  I am an academic.  I am a wife and mother.  I am a youth minister.  I am a missionary.  I am...not sure.
     I miss that clarity of vision.  I miss that clarity deep down in a part of my soul which is plagued by a gnawing hunger.  I hunger for the Holy Spirit to speak clearly to me of straight paths and brightly-lit places.  I am 43, and bubbling up inside of me are new longings, new dreams.  These visions are vague, slippery.  I  awaken with them on the tip of my tongue, but they slip away before I can find my glasses and write them down.
     I get up in the mornings, get the kids to school, begin tidying up.  My stomach churns a bit.  I am dissatisfied.  I call an older woman for advice.  She assures me that Christ has called me to be a wife and mother, that its a high calling and pleasing to God.  Trust me, I am not a bored homemaker looking for a career.  I am a voyager seeking the best route.  Although I have no idea where that route may meander, I know its name:  The Footsteps of Christ.
     I want to dog Christ's heels so closely that I risk giving Him a flat tire.  I want to sell everything, take up my cross, and follow Him.  Instead, I fold my children's clean clothes, sigh, and get to making supper.  I indulge myself in small steps, perhaps not right on Jesus' heels, but still within a stone's throw.  I give money to those who ask.  I volunteer at charities.  I love people.  A lot.  I try to treat everyone as if they were more important than I am.  I watch to see where God is working, then I try to join in His work (thank you, Henry Blackaby, for that advice).  Step by step, we can leave our old selves behind.  Step by step, we are building a kingdom.  A kingdom that exists among us.  A beautiful city.
     I look him in the eyes and I say, "Well, restlessness is part of the Christian condition, since we are not of this world.  We should long for home.  If we get too comfortable here, we risk loving this world too much."  He agrees with me.  It's ok if I don't find the perfect place for myself here.  I know where my perfect place is, and I will follow my Leader all the way home.
   

Outside the Box

Jer retires from the USAF.  Aug. 2011

downtown Prattville.  Christmas 2006

     I am surrounded by boxes and the sound of packing tape.  "One last time, Lord.  One last time."  I am very tired.  I am not tired so much in my body, but in my spirit.  I am tired of leaving friends that I love, church families with whom I have bonded, neighbors I have befriended, schools which know and accept my children.  I am tired of learning my way around and wondering where to shop.  I am tired of leaving people and places which are a part of my life.
     "It's not very far; you can always come back and visit," they say with a sad smile.  Don't get me wrong; I can't resist that hopeful thought.  On the other hand, I am a seasoned mover.  I know that the day-to-day sharing of life with these people is over.  It cannot be recovered.  A visit will not make me feel better.  I know, with a sad sinking in my heart, that I am surrendering something which I will suffer without.  I am surrendering my happy life.  I will have to find another one.
     Once, in another place where I had found happiness, Jerry and I pulled up some old holly bushes.  We learned about taproots.  You see, the bushes had a large root from their centers which went straight down into the earth.  I believe they went to China.  Try as we might, we could neither dig up these roots nor pull them out.  I have no idea how far down they went because, eventually, we were forced to give up and just break them off.  It was the only way to remove them.  It is the only way I will leave Prattville.  Break me, Lord.  I cannot let go.

Christmas 2011, Autauga Creek and its
bridge in the background

     Oh, Prattville--how amazed I am at the happiness I have found here.  Once upon a time, I thought I could not surrender my life in Athens and learn to love Prattville.  Six years later, I cannot surrender Prattville.  Six years is a long time in a military life.  Until now, neither Jerry nor I had ever even lived in one place for five years.  When I moved here, my youngest child was starting kindergarden.  As I leave, my oldest child has graduated  high school and is leaving for college.  So much water under that bridge over Autauga Creek.  So much living.  Such a thick root.  We will have to break it, Lord.

Here we grew our own food,
Bridget, 2009

     The tape guns keep firing, straight into my soul.  So far, there are no exit wounds.  The pain keeps bouncing around inside of me, and I cry easily.  Bridget's friends keep stopping by to say good-bye, and the phone rings off the hook.  I remember that taproot, and the way the earth packed in around it.  The ground held to that root just as tightly as the root held to the ground.  Prattville will not let us go quietly.  Sometimes I think it would be easier for me if no one cared, if no one held onto me.  Just release me, and I will float away.  The truth is, I need to be clung to.  I need to know that somehow, for some people, Prattville just won't be the same without us.  There will be a big cavernous hole, with loose dirt falling and settling.  For a while, that empty hole will maintain its place, stubbornly clinging to its emptiness.  Perhaps, by the time the dirt settles and the earth fills in that hole, I will have found another happy life.  One last time, Lord.  One last time.




Some happy life moments from our 6 years in Prattville.

Henry and Jer check out our new house, May 2006

Henry eats dots at the Montgomery Biscuits game, July 06

Henry starts kindergarden.  Aug 06

my brother becomes a father Sept 2007

Henry ain't nothin' but a hound dog, Oct 2007

Henry rides his bike Jan 08

Bridget becomes a young woman.
Homecoming, 2008

we become part of a community-minded church,
and a new way of following Christ begins for us, 2008.
Below, the original members of our small group:  Groupski.
We bound our lives up in these people, and then they moved
away, breaking our hearts.  A bit of a turning of the tables for
military types!

                           

Jer and I have lunch dates on Tues., since all of our kids
are in school.  2008

My mom marries Eddie 2009

We LOVE the parades in downtown Prattville!

Henry gets his bird, Sherbert 2009

We lead a youth small group in our home2009-2011

We fall in love with and "adopt" Willis, even though he has a
perfectly wonderful home!  Everyone loves the extra big
brother.  He's the 4th child we never had.

Snow after church, 2010.  Snow causes great excitement in AL!

Watching our children grow.  Here is Henry in a church Christmas
program, 2010

The Pride of Prattville Marching Band.  About 260 kids,
tons and tons of great fun.

We've been hosting and loving 4th of July celebrations here,
since Prattville really puts on a great show.

We host the Thanksgiving gathering of the clan,
which includes the annual football game

we enjoy simple family moments in our super-cool kitchen

           

                   Bridget gets accepted to Liberty University, her dream
              Sept 2011

Kevin rocks the percussion section 2012

Jer baptizes Henry.  Now all 3 of my children profess
Christ.  God is good.  2012

 

Bridget and Kevin are both in high school and ride to
school together.  2011-2012

Having two children in the band is twice the fun!
Kevin plays cymbals, 2011

Bridget and her Seekers run the Operation Christmas Child
distribution center for a whole weekend, after impressing the
lady in charge the year before.  2011

Seekers, B's Bible Study, is a screaming success (as many as 50 students
in attendance!)