Someone was missing, and then she was there

It was about a month after our second son was born.  We now had two boys under 2 and my husband looked at me and said, "Let's have a third.  They're just so cute.  We should have another one."  I looked at him with a dirty look, and I might have said something along the lines of, "You have got to be kidding me.  Absolutely not." and then walked away.

The scene changed, but the conversation remained the same for the next 18 months.  I was in over my head.  I was a new stay at home mom.  My first winter home I went into a big weird depression hoping that the swiss cake rolls I was eating would cure me and I would find the purpose of my life in my pajamas while I changed the 15th diaper of that day and didn't interact with another grown up for the third day in a row.  

And he wanted another one.

When it comes to pregnancy, physically there are no problems what so ever.  However, I become completely and utterly emotionally disconnected.  I'm serious.  It's bad.  It's really hard being married to me when I am pregnant and then for about a year after the baby has arrived as my hormones adjust back to normal.  We just spent three years in this emotional hell and I couldn't believe he wanted to go back there.  Then one day he said,  

"When you look around our table five years down the road, is someone missing?"

And in my gut I knew, yes, our family was not complete. UGH! Him and his wisdom.  I was so ticked.  We would be looking at another hard two years.  Again.  Two more years of not caring and knowing I should.

It took a few months, but then we were on the same page and for the first time in our marriage, we tried to have a baby.  We got pregnant that first month, and then five weeks later, we miscarried.

This was our second miscarriage.  The first was before our oldest.  Two miscarriages and yet the experiences were so different.  The first required a DNC and was one of the most painful experiences of my life, (both physically and emotionally) and I have had three natural childbirths.

The second one was not a cut to the heart like the first, but a strong dull ache, and no procedure was necessary.

Two months later we were pregnant again.  It's funny, we actually knew before we took a test.  I was sitting on Paul's lap and he was sharing a really tough moment that happen to him.  He was hurting and frustrated and sharing his heart with me.  My response, after I forced myself to listen, was something like "How long are you going to carry this?  When are you going to get over it?"  And then I realized I said it out loud and it didn't stay in my head.

His hand slipped my from hip and he looked at me with sad eyes as he said, "You're pregnant.  See you in two years."  And I realized he was right.  I really could care less about his problem, (I meant it when I said pregnancy makes me emotionally non existent.)  It makes marriage and all other relationships really hard, let me tell you.

We knew we were pregnant right from the get go.

A couple months later we went to Manhattan to celebrate our anniversary.  One afternoon we ate greasy NY pizza and loved it.  Later that afternoon we were headed to the art museum and I went straight to the bathroom.  I stayed there in total and absolute agony for almost an hour.  At first I thought it was the pizza, but the pain was so severe and I found myself laying down and putting my cheek to the cold public bathroom floor.  After awhile, Paul came and got me after visiting the museum medical team, Paul and I took a cab to the emergency room.  The pain was so bad my eyes were rolling to the back of my head and I couldn't sit still.

I don't know how many hours we were at the hospital, but I was laying there on a bed in the hallway with my husband crying on my stomach, holding my hand and everything in me was breaking.  After the coldest and most distant Russian nurse technician did an ultrasound and we waited another hour, assuming at this point we were loosing the baby at 15 weeks, the doctor surprised us by telling us the baby was fine.  I can't believe I am actually saying this publicly since I promised Paul never to tell anyone, but it turns out, it was gas.

Yup, you read that right.  Worse than childbirth, gas.  Worse than my physical pain of our first miscarriage, gas.  Paul looked at me and said, "Its a girl.  I know it.  She is already a picky eater and fickle and breaking my heart."  

A few weeks later it was confirmed.  We were having a girl. (And to this day she is still an incredibly picky eater.)

A few weeks after the appointment I was scheduled to lead a team to Haiti.  After I dropped my boys off with my parents, I was in Chicago with the team and co-leader and fellow board member of the Haiti Mission Project.  We were all packed and were going to have an easy night since we flew out at 6am the next morning.  That night at 5pm, the Earthquake hit Haiti and everything changed.  In a matter of a week, the board of the HMP threw together our largest fundraiser to date.  It was incredible seeing what God did through our little team of people and the amount of money raised.  People were craving to give funds to an organization that is on the ground doing the work.  It broke my heart not to be with our friends and family in Haiti.  Being seven months pregnant, there was no way I was going, even after she was born.  It is incredibly hard not being with the people you love in their time of need.  And so I stayed back doing what I could.  This pregnancy was the only one that didn't make it to Haiti.

Back in our first appointment was when found out that we were due a month earlier than I anticipated.  Technically we were due the weekend I was speaking at large youth conference that Paul's band was playing at. 

So on the same weekend, both parents were booked at a gig and the baby is due.

What to do?

Up until this point, I had been having multiple conversations with a friend and fellow speaker of mine, Henry Graf.  We had been throwing around the idea of not co-presenting, but delivering a conversation style presentation from stage.  So I called him up, and he was in.   We were going to able to test run our new ministry because of my little math mishap and poor scheduling of when to have a baby.  So I called the promoter and organization that hired me.  I believe the conversation went something like this. 

"So... It turns out I am due the day the conference is ending.  Few people actually give birth on their due date, so I have a few options to make sure you have a quality program.  One is Henry and I get to launch our new ministry and you get to be the first to see it.  If I go into labor, he can take over, if I don't, then we finish out the weekend.  If I have the baby early, I bring baby along, if not, you have one very pregnant lady speaking from stage.  Either way, I am coming to WI because Paul will be there and he requires to be there for the birth.  This time."

And this is the story of how Henry and I launched our career.  Because as my husband put it, I am really terrible at math and planning.

We had a plan.  We knew where the hospital was.  My parents were there to help.  My husband started a poll and lost I think $10 because I didn't have the baby that weekend.  I disappointed 800 people that weekend.  They were all watching and waiting to see when it would happen.  It's a lot a pressure to pay attention to every little detail of your body when everyone is weighing in and hoping that it would be that day.  Trust me, no one wanted that baby out more than me.

With no baby though, my mothers work gifted her the time off to come home with me and help till baby came.

She was days late, and we were already walking miles upon miles a day to get this baby out.  It felt like the longest pregnancy ever. (Especially have a very short pregnancy with our middle)  Then on the afternoon of April 27, "things started happening" and I knew it was time.  We called Paul and got dinner, had my friend come over to watch the boys so my mother could come with us.  We checked in just before 8.  Everything was progressing normally.

Then around 1130pm, I ready to push.  The doctor looked at me and said, "I am going to sit right down here at the end of the bed, and when you want to have the baby, scoot down here and push.  I'll be here if you need anything."

"What?  Are you supposed to get her out?!"  I think I shouted.

"Nah.  Cabbies can do what I do.  I'm just here in case anything goes wrong.  Your body can do this. I'll be here to help if you need it."

I don't know if you have had babies, but in that moment where there are no coherent thoughts, you want, no you need, more support than that.  

Seriously.

So I scooted down and got down to having a baby.  Then right on the money, 00:00:000 our daughter was born.  The doctor looked at me and said, "Well look at that.  Born right when the clock started over.  Do you want her birthday to be on the 27th or the 28th?  You get to pick."  That was the crazy thing and really the cool thing.  

We picked the 28th so there would be one more extra day separating her birthday from her brothers which is three years and five days earlier.  I also think its really cool to be able to toast her at the stroke of midnight on her birthday.  

And so our midnight baby was born.

She came out with a pout on her face and its still there to this day.  She is a helper and all around amazing little kid, but she could win a prize with that pout face, future spouse be warned. We didn't set out to have a girl, we actually wanted a boy since we had all the stuff, but our little family wouldn't be the same without her.  She balances us out.  She takes care of me which is kind of awesome.  She has the BEST giggle, but she also changes her mind every day about what she likes to eat and what she doesn't.  She loves animals and not dolls.  She considers herself one of the boys while she loves being a girl.  Her brothers take care of her and she takes care of them.  She is a hard worker and LOVES music.

For days we didn't know what to name her.  Baby girl is just who she was.

Then we knew.

Eleanor Anna Louise Tietjen

A seriously big name for a big heart and big spirited girl.

She has a lot of names and a lot of ideas and a lot of emotions.

She is my daughter.

We call her Lu (from Ellie Lu to Lu Lu to Lu)

It was a long two years for Paul and I, but she was worth it.  God has something incredible he is going to do in her and I am so honored to have a front row seat.

My girl.  I love you.  Happy Birthday.  We are complete with you.  We needed you.  We celebrate you. 

Tales from the Hood

If you have never been to this blog before, something you might not know about this family of mine is that we live in North Minneapolis.

This basically means, according to all Twin Cities crime reports, we hold the worst crime record in these great cities of ours.  There is often something creepy or disturbing happening in these fine parts.

We call it the hood.

Another thing you might not know, but will quickly learn about me is that I love to host parties and get together's and gatherings and any other fancy word that means people come over, drink wine, eat food and share life.  We love community here.

A couple summers ago we were hosting a little backyard soiree.  It was a grown ups only party, the kids were in bed, the twinkle lights were hung, candles lit and scattered around, we were gathered at the fire pit sharing laughs and drinks when all of a sudden we noticed police officers casing the house behind us.  They had their flashlights out, combing the area, looking for someone.

Talk about a mood killer. (Or mood enhancer since we now had front row seats to the drama)

Suddenly the police started yelling then grabbed a person at the same time a squad car pulled in the alley.  With the big coat, nylon head wrap covering all their hair and dark skin masking all facial features, we were at this point unsure if it was a man or a woman that was being held.

We were quiet around the fire, completely staring but trying hard not to be obvious about it as we watched this person get escorted off the property 20 feet from our little party.  We weere exchanging glances that said, "Should we say something?  Do something?  Get up and leave?"  But we figured it was all under control at this point when the police drove away following the person to make sure they left.

We have an empty lot next to our home since a tornado took it three years ago.  We are now the corner house and have a great view of all the action on our cross streets.  We sipped wine and watched this person walk around the corner, down the street and finally out of view.

Whew, close call there.  We started speculating.  The police didn't arrest the person, I wonder why there were escorted off the property?  If they are just walking, I wonder where they are now?

Five minutes later, we had our answer.

Someone noticed a figure lurking in the alley hiding behind our garage.  We gave each other big eye stares and gaping mouths.  No way they were back!  We were completely enthralled by the intrigue.

What in the world?!

So we quieted down.  We moved to where we could get a better view, without being obvious of course.  I mean if the police were going to come back, because of course we would call them, we would need to be able to give details as witnesses.  I would say the responsible people at the party wanted to be able to give an accurate account.  Truthfully, I just wanted to see live action, cause its fun, till someone gets hurt.

So for the next few moments we watched this person lurk (that really is the best word to use) in the alley.  They were creeping and tip toeing around the property right behind us that they had JUST been escorted from mere moments before.

This person would peek their head around the corner of the garage checking to see if anyone was in the backyard.  The pit bull wasn't barking at the intruder, so clearly they knew each other.

The mystery kept getting more interesting.

Once, a few guys came from the front of the house to the back and the mystery figure lurking in the shadows hid so as not to be seen.  They listened until they guys were done talking and went back to the front of the house.

At this point our mystery person ducked inside the fence, and crept up to the back door.  They made one quick glance in the window and then went in.

We were so fascinated at this point.  We were all watching and speculating.  Do we call the police?  Obviously this person is not supposed to be on the property.  But the dogs know them, so do they live there?  Are they stealing?  Do we wait to find out and then make a call?

Right at this moment a van pulls up across the street.

Here is where I need to pause this story and let you in on an experience we had just had days earlier.

It was in the middle of the afternoon, I was outside playing with the kids.  The boys were riding their bikes and I was holding Little standing on the sidewalk.  All of a sudden, out of nowhere, a team of 10 S.W.A.T. members came march/running down the street, right on top of us.  I mean I was standing there watching my boys, and then I was surrounded.  

They were like stealth secret agents,  I never heard them coming.  They were just there. 

Silent, but jogging, holding large automatic weapons across their chests, face visors on.

They ran around us like we weren't even there.  

They moved around us as if there weren't small children biking and drawing on the sidewalk with chalk.

And they were running straight towards my children on their bikes.  

As soon as I was out of their pack, I yelled to the boys to come close and we needed to get in the house.

Before we made it inside, we watched as the S.W.A.T. team started shouting and kicked down the door of our neighborhood friend who lives two houses down from us.  A little four year old boy lives in that house and my heart broke as I realized he was inside as the window and door crashed around him.

We waited patiently inside until all the drama was over, choosing to stay away from windows and play with Legos.  I had to calm my crying children as they were scared for their friend.  We talked about it, prayed and tried to move past it.  Later that afternoon, we saw the S.W.A.T. casually walk down the street and get back in their big black van.  The next day as we were playing outside again, we watched as our neighbor boarded up his home.  The word on the street was they were looking for illegal weapons.

Keep that van in mind as we get back to our little soiree.   

We left off with a unknown suspect (I like using terms like this as if I somehow have some legal interpretation of what happened) who had been escorted from the property by police now has crept back in.  We are all watching the drama unfold as we poured more wine and stoked the fire.  Clearly we weren't afraid for our safety yet, but too fascinated by the intrigue to leave.

Then the van pulled up, and out piled 10 men in dark suits.  I immediately looked at my friends and yelled in a whisper, "The S.W.A.T. team is here.  We need to get inside NOW!"

No one moved.

I said it again, hoping to be a bit more convincing.

"THE S.W.A.T. TEAM IS HERE.  WE NEED TO GET INSIDE!"

Then my husband looked at me and said, "That is not the S.W.A.T. team.  That is a band.  I actually think its a Mariachi band."

As I looked closer, he was right.  They piled out the back and the sides of the van.  They ducked in and pulled out instruments, all wearing their matching black suits.

I looked around, sheepishly hoping no one had noticed. and then we all burst out laughing at my complete and utter ridiculousness.

I don't know if it was the wine or the stress around an intruder and police intervention and then my huge mistake, but we couldn't stop laughing.

That was the night we discovered our neighbors are in a Mariachi band.

A whole big van load of them.

For the next hour, we watched and waited the house across the alley.  We poured more wine, I remained the center and butt of the jokes for the evening, and our mystery guest never came back out.

The next week, (we found out it was a woman) was in her back yard and we were exchanging gardening tips.  She wanted to start growing tomatoes and didn't know what kind to start with.

Needless to say, I was completely confused but thought it wasn't very neighborly to ask, "So why did the police kick you out of the house last week?  We were all watching and wanted the inside scoop."

So it remains a mystery.

They later crashed our fence with their car and then got evicted.

But the Mariachi band still lives next door, so its all good.

He makes himself known

It was seven and half years ago, our only child had just turned one.  We were this little family living in the city in a little mother-in-law apartment of a house we owned with a friend.  Our small apartment had one door, to the bathroom.  We had one tiny tiny tiny room, which we shared with our son.  We had my one income, which was minimal at best, while my husband was a stay home dad and went to art school.

After traveling for years with my job, I had saved up all my miles and decided it was time Paul and I took our first trip overseas that did not involve leading a team of people to build a school and hold babies in impoverished hospitals.  And so we set off for a 12 day trip to Italy.

I had visions of myself enjoying endless glasses of wine while we talked and held hands.  By the end of our trip, I think I had a total of six sips of wine.  Something just wasn't sitting right with me. Then sitting in the Amsterdam airport on our way home it dawned on me...I was late! (not for the plane)  And then panic set it, like somehow it was my fault, or I got knocked up on purpose, and I was terrified to tell Paul.

We were barely making it.  We were scrapping by.  We already didn't fit in the one room we lived in.  The thing is, I was never the girl who had visions of being a mother.  I thought my future was on the stage in a dazzling career.  When Paul and I first started talking about having kids, I was nervous about being a mother.  Then we got pregnant right away.  I mean, I think it happen just by Paul looking at me it was that fast.  And now our first was still a baby and we were going to have another one?!?!?

So I ignored it.

Completely mature I know, but I was sure hoping it worked.  I just hoped that maybe I was wrong or that the international travel messed with my cycle and it would come.  I was just late.  No biggie.  I had never been late before, but there is a first time for everything right?

A month later we decided to take a pregnancy test.  We were freaked out, scared and completely unsure of how we were going to handle this.

And the test came back positive.

Paul and I laid in bed at 8pm and cried.  We held hands, we cried some more and then we prayed.  After that we just fell asleep feeling totally out of control.

A few weeks later we went to the doctor and surprise surprise, we were 14 weeks along!  We apparently had been ignoring the signs for quite some time.  When they did the ultrasound, there was this little face looking directly at us.  Staring at us as if too say, "YOU CAN'T IGNORE ME ANY LONGER!"  Paul looked at the lady and said, "Um...Where is the peanut picture?  You know the first picture we get when the baby is really small? That's almost a full size kid in there."  She just kind of shook her head at the ridiculous couple who clearly couldn't get a grip on their new reality.

Later that month our friend moved out of the house and we moved onto the main floor.  We had now upgraded to being a two bedroom family.

We slowly grew accustom to our growing family but our not yet growing bank account.  Now that we were going to have multiple children, my desire to be a stay at home mom started. Nervous to share this with Paul, I wasn't surprised when he was angry and hurt and sad with my news.  He was living his dream.  He loved being home with our son and doing art as a side job, and here I was asking him to give up his dream so I could live mine.  I was essentially telling him my dreams meant more than his.  I wanted to take away the thing he loved doing so I could do it.

Those were a rough couple months for us.  Probably two of our hardest in our marriage.  Disagreeing on some of the biggest issues we were facing didn't leave us with a lot to talk about.  We were at odds, communicating was difficult because we were just hurting each other.  When marriage is hard, everything is hard.  Near the last month of my pregnancy, I found out my job was going to be eliminated.  So now we were facing no steady income in an old home that was falling apart and needing repairs in the darkest part of our marriage so far with one small child and another on the way.  

When I was 35 weeks along and I took my son to Florida to visit my grandparents.  It was the last hurah before who knew what was going to happen.  My oldest was still a lap child, so my grandparents flew me down there to see them with my son sitting on the floor since I had no lap left for him to sit on.  They wanted to see us and since I am clearly really good at the ignoring issues thing, I figured I run away for a bit to Florida and enjoy family and sunshine.

Before you say anything, yes I realize you shouldn't travel when you are so far along.  My doctor however confirmed for me that there is no medical reason you cannot fly.  The airlines request you don't fly since a medial emergency is incredibly expensive and avoidable.  Due to the fact that I had up to that point a very normal  pregnancy, there was no need to worry.  I was flying home on the exact date I hit 36 weeks.  We were supposed to be fine.

The last thing Paul said to me before we left was, "Do not have the baby in Florida."  

Like that was going to happen.

Turns out,  Paul's band had a gig in Florida that same weekend on the other side of the state.   Go figure, all of us flying to Florida for different reasons and we wouldn't even be seeing each other.

So for almost a week, my son and I enjoyed the beach, the sun, time with grandparents.  It was an amazing trip.  We were scheduled to leave Florida at 7am on Monday morning with enough time for me to get back to work.  We had to leave for the airport at 4am since it was so far away.  The night before we were to leave, I was packing and getting things ready and then strange things started to happen with my body.

Strange things like, normal pregnancy things, but not the "This is incredible and beautiful" kind of stuff.  Gross stuff that is the reality of giving birth that have terrible disgusting names.  Names like "Mucus Plug".  All you need to know is that things started to happen with my body to signal it was getting close to birth day.  I called Paul first.  He was sitting and waiting to board his airplane.  I called the doctor next.  We chatted and I told him my symptoms.  He told me I was fine.  All my signs were things that can happen for up to a month before actually giving birth.  I had nothing to worry about.

Famous last words.

So I called Paul back.  He was sitting on the plane.  He asked me, "Should I get off the plane and drive to you?"  It was past nine at night and I told him the doctor said I was fine.  He repeated, "Do I need to get off the plane right now? Last chance."  

No.  I told him I would see him tomorrow morning when I flew in.

And then I couldn't sleep.  My stomach was cramping.  I felt weird.  It was dark and in the middle of the night and this couldn't really be happening right?  I was a month early and there was no reason I should be having a baby.

Then from somewhere in my mind I thought I remembered hearing about a drug they give to people to stop labor and thought, I should wake my grandparents, even at 2am so that we can go to the hospital, they can give me drugs and then I can fly home.

It sounded like a great plan.

So I quietly woke everyone up.  

"Um...Grandma, I think I might be having a baby.  Can you take me to the hospital?"

You wake up a 70 year old lady with those words and everything went at lightening speed after that.  We were all piled into the car, luggage, sleeping child and all so we could continue to the airport after I got those drugs that I was sure existed.

When we arrived at the hospital, I walked in through the emergency door and looked at the security guard, "I think I might be having a baby.  Where should I go?"

"Fourth floor."

Thanks!

Once on the Fourth floor, I walked up to the lady at the counter and repeated my crazy phrase that I still didn't believe as it was coming out of my mouth for the third time that evening.

"I think I might be having a baby, but I am supposed to fly out and go home in a couple hours.  Is there a drug you can give me to stop this because I am only 36 weeks."

That lady laughed and shook her head at me at the very same time.

She got me hooked up to dozens of machines, my grandmother finally joined me after she got my grandpa situated with my other son.  After about 15 minutes, it was now almost 3am and the nurse looked at me and told me I was having my baby that day.

I looked utterly confused and asked again about this magic drug that I was confident existed and really really wanted.  She put her hand on my leg and told me I was too far along, the only option was to have the baby.

After setting me in, my grandmother left to go get everything ready for my grandfather who would be babysitting for the first time of his life.  In his 60's he was a champ the way he rose to the occasion!  She needed to get meals ready, show him how to change a diaper and she was planning on coming back at 7am when she could drive again because it was light outside. (poor eyesight restricted her from returning any sooner.)

Alone now for the fist time, I knew I had to call Paul.  Any call in the middle of the night is never a good call.  He had been asleep for only an hour. The first words out of my mouth were, "So...it turns out I am having the baby today."  The first words out of his mouth were, "I gave you one instruction.  One. The only thing I told you not to do is have a baby.  One thing.  That's all you had to do is NOT have the baby."

Yeah, because getting yelled at while you are sitting in a strange hospital all by yourself in labor is totally what every emotional woman needs.

Then came the nice words, and the frustrated sighs as he got up to figure out just how in the world he was going to get to me in time.

After that, I called my mom and cried.  I felt so alone and I realized how much I leaned on her and Paul in my first labor and now I was alone.  I just sobbed and sobbed on the phone probably breaking her heart because she couldn't come and make it better.

Once I was all out of tears, I laid down in my darkened room, by myself while my labor intensified.

By 6am I was ready to push.  Paul had just called right in the middle of a contraction and I believed I yelled into the phone, "Contraction!!!!!!  Call back!!!"  Then I hung up.  The nurses came in, told me I was ready and put Paul on speaker phone.

Our middle son was born 20 minutes later.  I heard Paul crying on the phone.  I was surrounded by strangers who ended up being some of the nicest people I had ever met.  They put my son in my arms, who still didn't have a name because we had a whole month still to figure it out.  My middle son looked at me more intensely than I thought could have been possible.  He wasn't crying or smiling, just looking at me with his Daddy's eyes.  These beautiful brown thoughtful, mindful eyes.  I like to tell him that in that moment I knew he was telling me he loved me.  I am pretty sure the real story is he was so pissed at me for ignoring him for so long he needed to let me know he was real.  He was 5lbs of bone and skin with no muscle or fat on him.  He was skinny and tiny and sweet and had olive skin and deep thoughtful eyes.  

He was our peanut with no name.

My grandmother called at 645am to let me know she would be leaving soon and wanted to know if I needed anything.  I responded with, "We don't need anything.  We are doing great."  Then I heard,

"WHAT DO YOU MEAN... WE?"

And for the second time that morning I was yelled at for having a baby.  I think I need to seriously reconsider who I let in my life.  So much yelling at me like it was my fault.

She was so sad to have missed the birth of her great grandson, but was so happy when it was confirmed that he was just fine.  No health issues, he just wanted to come out early.

After a couple hours of check ups and what nots, I didn't really have anything to do. I called work and told them I wasn't coming in, because I had a baby that morning.  Strange way to call in sick.

Then a dear friend of mine called to tell me all about  her brothers ordination.  She knew I had been in Florida and wanted to tell me all about her weekend.  After 20 minutes she asked, "How was Florida?" 

How to answer that?

"It was really good.  I told her about the beach, silly stories with my oldest and then, Well, I had a baby this morning."

"YOU WHAT?  YOU WAITED THIS LONG TO TELL ME?  I TOLD YOU YOU SHOULDN'T BE FLYING!"

Getting yelled at again.  It was becoming a theme.  But seriously, how do you tell people that news?  I was bored, I had nothing to do, I wanted conversation.  So we talked and laughed and it was great.  Many of my other conversations went the same way.

I had a lot of time with our new son.  Paul couldn't get in until around 9 that night.  My grandparents were leaving to head out of town, so it was just me and my son.  I had been worried about how I could possibly love another child as much as my first.  I think every parent who is having their second feels this way at some point.  Then I was gifted with all this time with second child.  Paul could only be there for a day.  He left the next afternoon with our oldest to fly home, (you can apparently only have one lap baby at a time).

I got to hold and gaze and learn the rhythms of our child.  I saw depth in his eyes and was rewarded with his snuggly nature.

Two days later I got to fly home.  Our child had a name.

Caleb.  We call him middle.

He was 5lbs wet and so small.  Holding him in the airport I looked like a grown woman holding a doll.  When we were waiting to board our flight, he started to cry.  If you don't know much about new borns, they have a very unique raw cry.  One that is reserved for only the newest of babies, that after a couple weeks goes away.

This of course drew the attention of many strangers standing near by.  The woman next to me, looked over with questioning eyes and asked, "How old is your baby?"

"Two days" I replied.

Then it came.  The look of judgement.  Her words said, "Wow that is brave of you."  While her eyes said, "Hey stupid lady, why are you taking a new born on a plane?  Are you crazy?"

Having enough of being yelled at and judged apparently, and still be slightly sleep deprived, I decided to answer her eyes and not her mouth.

"I know you think I am stupid by being here, but I don't live here.  My baby was born early and we want to go home.  I figured a three hour flight was better than a 24 hour drive.  Please don't judge me, I have no other choice."  Then I walked away.

Still to this day, Caleb has thoughtful eyes, always exploring and examining.  He is incredibly smart and too witty for his own good.  From the beginning when things were dark, he has and still brings joy.  He is filled with joy that is evident by his laugh that you hear all the time.  And just like since his conception and birth, he makes himself known.  You can always hear him at least two blocks down.  His joy is contagious and his laugh and stories are loud.  Like CRAZY loud!

Our middle.  Man we love this kid.  We wouldn't be the family we are without his intellect, his kindness, his joy, his creativeness, and his songs.  This kid and his songs.  His life is a musical of this I am sure.

Happy Birthday Joy Boy!  We love you.

Why Pen to Paper is important

It's been really difficult to write these last few months.  Once the book was completed in Nov, I threw myself into sewing projects and crafting projects to create a homemade Christmas for my kids.  I also needed another way to use my brain and express my emotions and thoughts.  So I stopped writing, and started creating.

I foolishly thought that one month off would be enough.  That a quick month reprieve, even though lets be honest, using all your spare moments to sew and illicit creativity is not taking a break, its just channeling what you do in a different way.

It wasn't enough.  One month wasn't nearly enough.

Not fully understanding this yet, come winter, I would sit at my computer and stare blankly at it.  I would start to write, forcing it, trying to put into practice that even when you don't want to write, you need to show up.  Always just keep showing up.  It is a creative discipline that will hone your skill and give you the wisdom and practice you need to be a talented writer.

So I would show up, stare at my computer, write a few terrible sentences, edit them, stare at them, and then delete everything I wrote.  This process would take me an hour, with half of that wasting time on FB or Twitter or Huffpost (all in the name of research of course) and then feeling exhausted by lack of product and limited creativity, I would walk away completely frustrated.  

I was emotionally empty but full of thought, yet I couldn't find the words.  I didn't know how to articulate what I was thinking or feeling.  I was plagued with doubt in who I was and how I communicated.  Why was this so hard?  Was one book all I had in me?  What do I do now?

I was struggling to find my way.  The book was an intense eight month project.  A VERY intense eight month project.  And in the end, it was closed out with multiple 16 hour days of editing on google hangout with Henry, my writing partner.  I never realized that most of writing a book is actually editing it.  Over and over and over.  You don't really write a book, you rewrite one.

So here I was, the last taste on my creative tongue was editing on the computer. I was forgetting that the process always starts for me by writing and dreaming in my journal.  Pen to paper.  The thoughts come out slower, more fluid.  There is a certain creativity and openness when you have pen to paper.  Fingers on the computer appear so final, so professional.  On paper I have space to dream and write all over the page when there is a blank canvas in front of me.

I was trying to work and create something new from the end, not the beginning.

And so for the last few months I have first off just been reading for myself.  I am reading everything I can get my hands on.  I read while I am cooking, I read before bed, I read during nap time and on the Sabbath.  I am currently a consumer and not a producer.  It has felt nice.  Except for this one small annoying problem, my brain won't shut off!  The more I read and rest, the more ideas I cultivate.  I have half a dozen fiction stories that now exist in my head, I have three new book projects that I am working on.  I have building projects, store shop ideas, family project ideas, cook books, oh man the dreaming and scheming is out of control.

I have filled four journals in the last two months.

I have found my beginning again.  The place where the creativity starts.  I still get hung up again on editing while I write, momentarily forgetting that the best part of the process is allowing the words to flow freely, trimming them and sharpening them after they have lived on the page.

Writing is a new project for me.  I am slowly discovering how this creative process works for me, not necessarily as an artist, but as a person who desires to explore their life through artistic means.

If you are a writer or a painter or a photographer or singer/song writer, I want to encourage you in your craft.  Continue to show up, unpacking how you do life through your creative means.  Journal your process and never stop ask questions.  Remember to consume art and the written word and music for enjoyment sake only.  And always be gentle with yourself as you discover your process of retreating and creating.  

Thanks for joining me on the journey.

Visual Stress

I was talking to my friend the other day and we were discussing simple living.  The idea of striving for simplicity in all areas of our lives and scaling back on the stresses of our life.  

Then she started talking about, "Visual Stress".

I had never thought of our "stuff" that way before.

As much as our family tries to live on a simple schedule and eat simple food, we have a tendency to live like a big house in a small space.

There are a few reasons for that.

1. This wasn't the house we were planning on staying in, so we will sometimes accept gifts or make purchases for "our next house", capitalizing on a great deal.  What that really means though, is that we are just hording more stuff.  We have lived in our home for 12  years now, 10 longer than we intended.  So how long should we keep making purchases for our "Next home".

2. We love art and books and so have become collectors and encouragers of painting, drawing, coloring, creating.  We have purchased and collected lots of art tools and our whole house has been turned into an art gallery.

3. I love being surrounded by family heirlooms and things we love.  That's all good and fine, until you don't have a clean surface to put a cup down.

I came home from talking with my friend and saw my house through a new pair of eyes.  I was sad and overwhelmed.  We weren't a home of peace, we were a house of chaos.  It looked like a kindergarten classroom.

Now, don't get me wrong, it is a creative house, full of life and art and literature and music, but there can be too much.

You can find art and creativity in a peaceful space, but its really hard to find peace in chaos.  

It's called visual stress.

I am not talking about a mess.  What I talking about is when everything is put away and your house is clean, is there still an abundance of stuff out and littering tables and shelves and counters?

This week is our spring break and we are taking on the challenge of decreasing our visual stress.  We are striving for minimalism in the family space and bedrooms. (Still including photos on the walls and our art dresser totally stocked.)  With a family who has a child who leans towards ADD/ADHD and sensory issues, I am sad to admit I didn't make this move sooner. This is not to say we will not encourage and still participate in art and music activities, or make a big fun mess out of our batman toys.  This is all to decrease the unnecessary American idea of stuff we have on display all the time that adds to the chaos of our home.  

So here is our goal:

1. Rearrange our things to keep the stuff we want and need in a more organized manner, getting rid of clutter.

2. Challenge ourselves to see if we really need certain items, or if we have even used them in the last year, and if the answer is no, then we get rid of it.

3. End up with a house that feels and breads a sense of peace and joy, while maintaining our flair for creativity and love of art and music.

I am hoping this project helps us all on multiple levels.  For me personally, I hope my stress level is reduced and I am a mom who plays more because I don't have to use all my time managing our stuff.  It is also my hope that the messes we make in our play isn't as stressful because we eliminated the base of the stress with all the the extra stuff.

Simplify.

Sometimes we can't do a whole lot with the stress of work or family or friends.  

But what would it look like if we decreased our stress and lived a bit more simply with the stuff around us?  We wouldn't have as much to manage, I know that for sure, and our hearts would be more open to life and joy and love and others.

Less stress to manage means more life to be lived.

When Counseling enters your story

I am writing this post yes for myself to journal about this experience, but also for you.  The mom or friend or brother or child in the family where things get hard sometimes.  Or maybe lots of the time.

I am writing to tell you that even though, yes, we as a family have lots of funny stories to share, yes we get to travel the country together, and we live as a family grounded in faith and our house is covered in art projects with music blaring, we struggle with anger.

A lot it seems.

We live big.  I don't mean financially, I mean intense and passionate big.  We are big and passionate when we love each other and when we are angry with one other.  We talk loud, we dance every day, we run and don't walk, we eat a lot.  It seems everything we do and all that we are is just heightened a bit.  A little extra if you will.  I often call my children full.  This is not to imply that other children or families are lacking.  Not at all.  Somehow though my children have tapped into all their thoughts, emotions, creativity, and life's purpose all ready, at a very young age.  So they often feel like grown up people, just crammed in little bodies and they are screaming and clawing their way out.

This is all good and wonderful and you get really funny stories, until they get upset and even those thoughts and feelings are extra large.  That's when people start to get hurt.

I will often say we know how to do 80% of life well.  But we really struggle with that other 20%.   

Those times when the kids are not doing their homework and I remind them again for the seventh time and they get angry. The day you wake up on the wrong side of the bed and the next door neighbor hears about it. Or when you are still trying to teach your kid to tie his shoes two years later because he gets frustrated with himself and gives up and starts huffing and puffing and throwing a tantrum.

At 8 years old.

Our oldest has been gifted with direct access to all of my red hot issue buttons.  I mean seriously, buttons I didn't even know were triggers for me, he found them.  And he LOVES to push them.  He must, because he does it ALL.THE. TIME. 

So, we don't do the hard stuff well.

We don't argue well.  We can sometimes get hurtful.

We don't always do discipline well.  Sometimes it isn't patient and thoughtful, its just down right yelling to get you to go to your room, of which I am never proud of.

And for our oldest, it seems there are lots of things that make  him frustrated.  No matter how we have tried to work with him to find systems where he can find success in doing his homework and chores and helping his siblings, he really struggles anger and frustration.  He is incredibly vocal about it and so the negative energy permeates the entire house.

It's really hard to have frustration in the home.  I am weary of fighting it.  Tired of counteracting it. Researching ways to avoid it.  

I believe that some of the reason for this frustration is directed at his restricted diet to keep him off of meds for ADD/ADHD and sensory issues.  I know part of the reason for his fear (which fuels anger) is the weather after a tornado hit our home three years ago.  And the brutal truth is that living in the most crime dense neighborhood of Minneapolis posses an ever constant dull awareness that we are not safe.

I could go on and on about why I think he might be angry, or why I am angry with him, or why we yell more than we are proud of.

But the truth is that we are maxed out in our understanding of how to help each other.

So we are starting counseling.

We need counseling to learn how to do the hard stuff better.  To find tools in how to communicate with each other so that we aren't doing irreparable damage to our relationships.  I can't send my son into adolescence with all this fear and anger, only to add more life and insecurity that comes from school to the mix.  I don't want our relationship to continue being built on a mine field where we never know when he is going to explode. The prayer is that a counselor can give us ways to respect each other in our hard time and know how to handle it better.

I am not foolish enough to believe that we won't ever fight again.  That will most likely happen within the next 24 hours.  But what do I want?  

I want my son to know that I will do anything for him.  That I will find a way or a person that will help him love himself and life.

I want my son to know that talking to a counselor is not for crazy people, but for people who are ready to admit that the knowledge you hold alone sometimes isn't enough.

I want my son to know that asking for help is OK. 

I want my son to know that he is OK.  That he is funny, and compassionate, and thoughtful, and silly, and smart.  That he is all of those things, and he is frustrated.  So let's see how we can deal with the frustrated.

I want my son to know that we are a safe place where he can come and he knows we see all of him and love all of him.

I want to give my son the gift of self awareness.  This is a gift that helps you navigate faith, judgement, relationships and life.  The more self aware we are, the more compassionate we can be.

And I want my son to learn healthy communication in order to understand faith, God and others.

So.... we are going to counseling.  I want to encourage you, if there are some really hard things going on in your life, please give yourself the gift of counseling.  To have another pair of eyes and ears in your life that will encourage you in what you do well, and give you tools to handle the hard stuff.

The tricky business of Reentry

It's hard to come home.

When I go away for work (I travel the country sharing from stage as an inspirational speaker), I get to travel by myself, becoming completely inconspicuous in every airport and train station across the country.  No one knows me, and I am responsible for no one. There is a beautiful freedom that feels lighter than holding your favorite balloon.  I transcend all identities, all obligations, all responsibilities.  I can be no one and anyone all at the same time.

After this precious moment out of time, I get to transcend back into a new reality for a few short days.  The reality where I have been hired to come and share inspiration in faith and identity.  I make relationships with new friends, sleep in hotels or camps and have all my meals made for me.  I get to be a breath of fresh air to people.  Someone different from their regular life.  I also have no real responsibility and no stress, so I get to be energized, full of life, free.  I get to be me, but like the best of the best version of me.

It's awesome, and truly the best job EVER.

When I have those days apart from regular life, I have the opportunity to tap into creative juices more intensely than I do at home, because I don't get interrupted.  I don't have children or phone calls needing my attention every 10min.  I have the time to allow my ideas and thoughts to come full circle and develop into something tangible.  I love this time away to dream and scheme and create.

But then it always happens.

After I just start to scratch the surface, writing, discussing, and planning, then the weekend is over and it's time to come home.

Don't get me wrong... I LOVE coming home.  I really do.  This past weekend I got a message from my husband that said, "Our daughter is sitting on the floor in an evening gown playing the electric guitar singing 'Everything is Awesome' from the lego movie, while our oldest is hip hop dancing to her music.  Our middle is working on his 14th masterpiece artwork project of the day.  We can't wait to have you home."

Now even though this scene is true, here are the other truths.

For every one of those moments stated above, there are 12 more of my children bickering, not talking nice, air punching, not listening, or complaining about their chores (of which they have very few!).  I am a manager of five people's emotions and it is draining.  Yes we have dance parties and cook together, but we also argue and get on each other's nerves.

So coming home for me is like shifting from 5th gear to 2nd gear in a matter of a moment.

It's jarring.

My mind is set.  I am ready to work.

My heart is inspired.  I am ready to write.

My family misses me.  They are ready to snuggle.

My husband is tired.  He is ready for me to step in.

My children are complaining.  I am needed for an intervention.

My laundry pile is crazy high.  I have to dedicate at least some hours to that chore.

The seven meals I made before I left are gone.  I put the pen down and cook.

My heart and time are now divided.  I can't jump feet first to the dozens of amazing projects going on in my mind.  I can't use the momentum I had from my time away.  I need to reconnect.  Reinvest.  I also know that I want and my children need me to spend time with them.  Being with them is truly one of my greatest joys on earth (When they aren't being totally stupid for no good reason.  Then its a little tough because no one is having fun at that point).  I love being with them, planning projects for them, investing in them and just doing life together.  They are my greatest purpose in life.

The hard part for me isn't "Will the house be clean or messy?"  

or

"Will the kids have done their homework and be ready for school?"

My standard for my husband is that they are alive.  Everything else I can deal with.

Sometimes I come home and the house is beautifully clean with kids tucked into bed.

Sometimes I come home to Paul standing in the middle of a disaster as he looks at me with completely tired eyes that say, "I tried".  And man I know how that goes.

The struggle for me is how much my heart comes alive in my job but also with my family.

It is tricky to have two great loves in your life, each craving and demanding time and attention. Each love wanting to be in the center of your mind taking up space.

So, this week, after having an AMAZING trip in Chicago and Ohio, I was jarred back to life.  I didn't reenter as smoothly as I wanted.  I spent a day reading silly books and hating the amount of hours I used on laundry and dishes, things that will need to get done, once again tomorrow which truthfully make them seem incredibly pointless.

But I took my day sulking and managing my kids arguments, and decided I didn't have to respond that way.  I can still take my two great passions and live them day at a time.  

One step at a time.

Sometimes, one hour at a time.

Did I love someone today?

Did I honor God today?

Did I make one small step towards seeing my dream come true?

If the answer is yes, then it was a good day.

If the answer is yes, than there was richness to my day.

That is all I can ask for.

And hopefully reentry will get easier.

Maybe.

Manager of the mess

I get it.  I really think I do.  

The grandmas and mothers of older children look back fondly when their children were smaller and big life issues weren't an issue.  They say stuff like,

"Make the most of this time.  It goes so fast.  Don't sweat the small stuff.  Pick your battles.  The days are long and the years are short.  It won't last forever."  

Most of this advice I try to listen to.   I mean they should know right?  They've done this and I want their wisdom to try to make it through this highly emotional living at warp speed season of life.

However, if I hear one more time how I shouldn't worry about a messy house because we are making memories, I might have to turn on my heels and walk straight away before I scream at you.

What do you mean, don't worry about the mess?  

I have to worry about the mess!

I have to care when I get out of bed and step on scissors because my daughter decided she wanted to be close to me when she woke up early and wanted to make me a card.  However, when she was done cutting, coloring and gluing, decided to go and play legos with her brothers, leaving her mess and forgetting for the hundredth time to clean up after she is done leaving me with scissors glued to my foot.

Or when my kids want to build a city out of their Imaginex toys and Legos and forts with sheets. Leaving absolutely NO space to walk around since their room is 10x12ft small.

Or when my children, Lord bless them, want to help me in the kitchen.  Little hears I need milk, goes and gets it and drops it on the floor, while my middle grabs the knife to cut the cucumbers because he can't, and I mean he just can't wait one teeny tiny minute for this mother to clean up the first mess before he slides the knife, misses the cutting board and then knocks the jelly to the floor.  All of this happens while Big yells to me that the water is bubbling over on the stove.

So I gently  usher them out of the kitchen to get a handle on the mess and my emotions.  I mend the kitchen issues for 10 minutes, only to go out to the living room to see all the cushions on the floor for a big romping mess, water spilled on the table, the toenail clippers on the floor, paper clips scattered EVERYWHERE because of course the kids are making a spider man chain.  It is at this moment that my dear husband asks me where the measuring tape is, the phone rings and the timer goes off.

I take a second, one little second to survey my current out of control life.

The kitchen table has bills piled on it, remnants of breakfast and lunch still hanging around because I did choose that morning to play with my kids instead of cleaning every last dirty dish.  There are scrambled eggs, ketchup, rice cake crumbs, broken chips, squashed blueberries, shriveled apple slices and other food that can't be identified under the table even though I just swept yesterday.  YESTERDAY PEOPLE!

Our kitchen table is also apparently the ONLY place for craft projects of which my children like to have at least five projects going EACH AND EVERY DAY.  They need a piece of paper for every thought, and every idea.  They make books, and cards, planes and crowns, magic tricks and costumes out of paper.  They are unstoppable, and it is unreal how much they love to CUT paper.  Seriously, cutting bits of paper that scatter and fall and stick to your foot and end up ALL OVER THE HOUSE is going to be the death of me.

Unless stepping on all those darn Legos don't kill me first.

Food.

Paper.

Projects.

Clothes.

Legos.

Homework.

You want to know what is incredibly sad to me?

I only described my kitchen table to you. 

One small space in our life.

I'm not taking you into the rest of the house.

See, I have to care about the mess because you know what happens when we don't care about the mess?

Moms go crazy.

That's what happens.

A mom's brain is on overload.  She is already managing ten thousand things all at the same time.  She doesn't need a house that looks on the outside like what it does on in the inside.  I don't want anyone to see what is going on in there.  I wish I could escape it sometimes.  So then to see that not only is my brain a big hot mess, but the house is too?

It's too much.

It makes me crazy.  It makes me incredibly cranky and irritable, because everywhere I step I land on food.  I head to the kitchen to cook, and it turns out I have to wash dishes first so we have something to eat on.  I go to get a pen to write a message and can't find one.  I search under cushions, in the bathroom, and finally find one under the bed.  Everything takes 10 times longer when the house is a mess and frustrations are higher because you can't ever find what you need.

Then according to everyone in the house, mom is the only one who knows where everything is.  But then little people like to play the game, "move things around the house but don't remember where I put it, but mom should know anyway."

I hate that game.  I mean really hate 

A messy house just means there is more mess in life.

Yes, I want to spend my time loving and being with my kids.  I don't want to spend hours dusting and washing floors that will just need to be done again next week.

But all of this also assumes that I am in charge of cleaning.

We don't do any service to our kids by not teaching them to clean up after themselves.  They need to know how to take care of their things.  To show respect for their belongings and know that if you make a mess, you should clean it up.

So, you know what that does to my life?

It makes me a manager and teacher of how to be clean. Not ignoring the mess, but now focusing on it because I am training others in how to handle it.  It becomes my job to help train my kids to put their clothes away when they change into pajama's.  Otherwise, there room is a total  mess within just a coupe days.  

They should be responsible with helping set and clean up after meals because they are partaking in the meal. 

They should clean up after their arts and crafts.  It's called responsibility.

So yes, I understand that there are times, you run out your door after a meal to enjoy a family bike ride, not cleaning up the dishes and waiting till later.

Yes, its OK to let the clean up rules slide for special time together.

But really?

The truth is, we have to care about the mess.  If we don't, then where is my dish fairy to come and take care of the load of dishes in my sink that I am still ignoring from lunch?  

We need clean clothes.

We need clean dishes.

We need toys to be put away so we can find them later to play with.

We need to teach our kids to be responsible.

That means however that I need to care about the mess.

If you really want me to enjoy time with my kids and enjoy the moment, then instead of telling me I shouldn't care about the mess, offer me a glass of wine while I play my 15th game of "Sorry" and you can do my dishes for me.

The invitation

There is something powerful in an invitation.  It speaks an affirmation to the very essence of who you are.

I remember the first time I spent time with Paul.  We were sitting in a green room suite for the bands, speakers, and staff of a large conference we were both working.  We had only exchanged glances and small pleasantries up until this moment.  When he came and went from a room, I followed him discreetly with my eyes.  Then, as he was surrounded by people, Paul walked over to me and asked me to join the conversation he was in over at the other end of the room.

My response was filled with my usual awkwardness.  I think I just stared at him, confused by what he asked.  He smiled his patience with me (which oddly still continues 15 years later in our marriage as I try to keep up) and repeated his question.  

"I would love to have your input in this conversation we are having over there.  Would you join us?"

After my awkward silence, he was met with my awkward and insecure response.

"Me?  You're talking to me?"  See up this point, my best friend and I would joke at the reality that we were always the girls in the corner of the room with no one to talk to.  It was funny because it was always true.

He held out his hand to help me off my seat  on the floor and reaffirmed that I was the one he wanted to join him.

Let's put aside the fact that my husband is super hot and any girl would be honored to receive his attention, I was still figuring out who I was and hadn't found my confidence yet.  Let's be real, I wasn't even near the right track to take the train all the way to the other sphere where my confidence apparently lived.  Getting down that road took years.

I sat in that conversation utterly stunned and a deep feeling I wasn't sure how to describe settled in my spirit.

I was wanted.

Someone sought me out and choose me.

The power in the invitation.

Invitation is confirmation that who I am is valuable and needed.  And even more than needed, it is wanted and desired.

We each offer something unique to the human race.  Our very existence changes the course of history.

Invitation validates that uniqueness in each of us. 

That moment of being invited usually means that something is going to change.  

You can't accept an invitation and not be faced with the core issue of addressing the identity of who you are and what you offer.  Someone has seen something in you.  They are acknowledging who and what you are and expanding your territory.  When you are invited it is often within a territory that you have not chosen nor one that you often inhabit.  Otherwise, you wouldn't need to be invited.

So what happens when your territory is expanded?

Often you are asked to leave the comfort of what feels normal to you.  You are embarking on new experiences, new business, new dreams, new understanding, new religion, new books, new music.  

New space.

New culture.

New relationships.

Someone sees a value in who you are and that it contributes to this world outside of where you normally exist.  

That is powerfully beautiful, especially in a world where we are often seen and not known.  Where we are constantly surrounded by people and yet, more and more feel incredibly lonely.  Where everyone else seems to be doing something amazing with their life, why doesn't anyone see me?  

Know me?  

Want me?  

Value me? 

Saying yes to invitation requires vulnerability.  It as an awareness of who I am and an appreciation of what I offer to the world.  It takes courage to humbly accept your powerful existence in the world.  Accepting the invitation is an opportunity to absorb the gift.  To be in the moment and let go of the lie that you don't belong in this new space you have never before explored.  Big and powerful things happen when we say yes to the invitation.  Most of them are personal and internal digging out the deep rooted lies that you don't belong.  Saying yes frees you to enjoy expanding your territory.

When we say yes to the invitation our lives change.  

We grow.  

We learn.

We explore.

We learn to enjoy the moments, value ourselves, and contribute more and more of who we are to the world.

We should invite people in more.

We should say yes to more invitations of relationships and opportunities.

And when I think of the greatest invitation I ever received, I think of Christ.  I remember all the ways in which he continues to invite me into new territory, asking me to trust him and let him expand my territory.  

An invitation to enjoy rich relationships.

Invitations to meaningful ministry.

Invitations to mercy and grace and humility.

And every day he invites me to love more than I thought possible.

And that my friends has been my greatest journey and an adventure that hasn't stopped.

Crafty when it's cold outside

Today was the kids fourth day this month alone being closed due to crazy, crazy, crazy cold weather.

Cold weather like -25 which doesn't sound as cold as the -45 it was earlier this month.  Numbers I can't even really comprehend.

On days like today, days where we don't leave the house and hunker down, I like to pull out all the stops.

We stay in our PJ's all day.

We drink Dandelion coffee and hot tea.

We snuggle in under warm blankets and read stories.

Our favorite thing to do together on unexpected days off is cook all of our meals together and work on a project.

This morning we feasted on Sweet potato hash and fried eggs with smoked salt.  Using sweet potatoes as hash browns is a really great way to include this wonderful food in an unexpected way at a meal time where you don't usually use it.  I like to add curry to it, or cumin, but I always saute with olive oil, minced garlic, and diced onion.  I let the kids peel and grate the sweet potatoes, smell the different seasonings and  pick which flavor to use for the morning.  A nice and hot breakfast to start the day!

We then had our dear friend over for a long morning play date.  The kids had a dance party, put together a Lego scene (which my kids have continued working on all afternoon) and do some magic tricks and hide and go seek.

My beautiful friend Inga stayed over where we swapped some recipes, drank coffee and brought out our sewing machines.  Perfect day for sewing!  She pulled out napkins to work on that had been on her to do list for quite some time.  I pulled out a tea set table cloth and napkins that I promised my daughter after I gave her a tea set for Christmas last year.

That's right people, her Christmas gift LAST YEAR!  Clearly, you can imagine the pile of back up projects in my craft room.  I am really happy with the result and wanted to share.  While I worked on the table cloth, I had homemade chicken and potato soup stewing on the stove which just made the house smell wonderful and warmed us up when we ate.

This is a picture of Little last Christmas opening her tea set.  I found it online after I was disappointed at only finding pink and purple sets in the stores.  I was so thrilled she liked it so much!

I love this photo because yes my little is dressed up as Thor and the crown she is wearing was her homemade Christmas present from her brother.  I love my little girl Thor playing with her new tea set.  Hilarious Perfection.

Here Little is learning all about her Germany silverware that goes with her set.  I found this silverware at an Antique road show over a year ago and just waited till I found the tea set to go with it. So after she fell in love with her tea set, I had it in mind to use some scrap fabric to make little napkins that go along with it and a little table cloth.  I figured it was an easy project using two old large quilt squares and some scrap fabric.  Little napkins can't be that hard right?  

And yet it took me over a year.

Today after lunch I pulled out the fabric and got the table cloth done along with the napkins.

Here is one side of the table cloth.  The middle piece was already done when I purchased this fabric over two years ago.  I added the border to make it larger for a table cloth.

Here is the other side, a beautiful array of vintage fabric sewn together in scraps.  It is far from straight and perfect, but perfect for a little girl and her tea set.  Little was excited that she had a colorful side and a quiet side.

Little wanted to celebrate by having a tea party.  She filled her pot with water, laid out the table for two and even cut up our banana's.  She exclaimed, "Mom it's like a real little party!"

Here is one of the little napkins I made for the set.  I made six napkins of varying fabrics.  Since most of the little things I make or do for the kids I want as family keepsakes, I decided to embroider her initials in them.  When she saw ET, she threw her little arms around me and said they were the best.  Best. Response. Ever.

After we enjoyed our tea party, we headed to the kitchen to make Sweet Potato burgers for dinner.  With sliced onion, avocado and sliced pickles, they were to die for.  We are off to put laundry away, read some more and make sure we are ready for school tomorrow.

Back to a  normal day I guess.

To be Gentle

I think its time we learn to be gentle.

Gentle with ourselves.

Gentle with others.

And by us....I mean me.

I don't do things gently.

I live intensely.  I love extremes.  

I love passionately, powerfully, loud and over the top.  I can be exhausting to be around. 

That can be good, but it can also be difficult.  I don't want to stop being those things, but I do desire to deal with people and emotions and myself outside of an extreme.

When I experience guilt, I hold onto it for years.  I treat it like its my favorite blanket that I can't live without and wrap it around myself, never being able to part with it.

I grip fear like a lifeline, trying to kill it so that I can be free from it.  However, the tighter I hold it, the bigger it gets.

Anger is birthed from fear, and so instead of actually trying to hold onto it, I just hate it.  It won't go away, almost like a shadow, though I would I love to be rid of it.  I don't want to learn about it, study it, discover it, I just want it to disappear.

I hide loneliness hoping that no one will see.  I cover it up so I can ignore the feeling and hopefully just move on without it.

When there is pain, and at some point there will always be pain, I run from it.  I pretend that I am stronger than I am and ignore the open wound in my heart.  

Ignoring and fighting are my tactics for dealing with unwanted emotion.

Not knowing how to be gentle I believe stems from being a bit of a control freak.  You wouldn't believe how much of this tendency I have been able to surrender to the Lord.  But it's still there.  It often feels like a slow and steady current under my "Let's take it easy" attitude.  As much as I have surrendered, I continue to hold my actions against this attitude and see where I have missed the mark.

This is my goal now.  Call it my "word" for the year.  Call it my New Year's resolution.  I am sure I will need more time with this word than just a year, so maybe it will become my life achievement.

Hold things gently.

Hold people more gently.

Hold myself the most gentle of all.

I want to open my hands and hold each and every one of these feelings out in the open.  I want to know how to understand them.  

I want to respect them.

Feelings... people... myself.

Holding them gently means that I don't hide or shy away from them.  I don't let them rule my heart, but I understand that by ignoring them, they grow bigger and dig deeper.  Holding them gently simply means I can experience that feeling, then when it's over, I slowly move on.

Holding feelings gently means I don't live in extremes.  I won't ignore what I think or feel, but I also won't feel bad about it.

I want to hold people gently.  I desire for my relationships with my friends, my family, my partners in life to live vivaciously.  I want them to be thriving and full of grace and love and passion.  If I hold my relationships gently then there is respect.  I can show grace because I don't have time to judge.  I can love because hate isn't gentle.  I can be compassionate, because understanding is at the center of what it means to be gentle.

I want to hold my mistakes gently.  

This is difficult.

I desire with both my hands wide open, to cradle the things I have done wrong that have hurt myself and others.  The disastrous way I can treat people.  The selfishness I exude to my children.  The way I lied to my husband.  The 100th time I lost my cool and took out on the innocents around me.  I want those mistakes to be laid bare in my hands and watch grace and mercy cover them.  I want those moments to teach me about God, not keep me from him.  I want them to be great lessons in life, and not the lock and key to my freedom.

I want to hold myself gently.

To appreciate the entirety of myself.  The ways in which I am strong, but not conceited.

The ways in which I am weak, but not self-loathing.

To love and respect my loud and crazy days, and accept my quiet ones.

To know I can be apart of changing the world, but it's OK to go to bed at 8pm when needed.

To hold myself gently means to be free from comparison, judgement, and fear of others.

It is a way to accept myself and you for who we are.

I desire to live gently.

I desire to teach my children to be gentle with each other and themselves.

I desire to hold my marriage gently.  To let it live in love and respect and give it the attention it is due.

I desire to hold faith gently, not letting legalism drive me but love.

I desire to hold strangers gently, allowing them to be who they are before I decide who I want them to be.

I desire to hold the earth gently, respecting it for the beauty and creation it is.  It deserves my respect as any other living thing.

These are my desires.

I am going to pray that we as a community can each learn what it means to live gently.

Imagine what could happen if we did.

There is blood in our streets

Two days ago a man was shot and killed for his wallet two blocks from our home.  

He was shot once standing, and then once he fell to the ground, was shot two more times in the head.

The blood remains in the snow and the city seems confused in how to remove it.  Usually the Fire department comes and washes it away, but that would cause an ice slick.  A bobcat came out and shoveled it into a pile but now doesn't know where to dispose of it.

And so a heap of bloody snow remains in the street as a vivid reminder of the fear we live in on the Northside.

Not one news media covered the murder.

Not. One.

That seems to be the piece of information that those of us who live here are holding onto.

I am apart of a social media group called North Vent.  It is a way for all of us who live in NoMi (North Minneapolis) can communicate and share information.  You can hop on North Vent as soon as you hear gun shots, sirens, or see smoke, and everyone starts sharing what they know.  It's almost a modern day community watch program.

Social media has dramatically changed how much information I now have regarding the in's and out's of crime in NoMi.

I am thankful for information because having information gives you understanding of where it is safe and not safe to go.  For instance, I have come to discover that the leader of one the strongest Mpls gangs just moved two blocks away from us.  I learned about the illegal after hours club that got shut down just over a month ago three blocks from our house.  We know when they are doing drug sweeps on the street and whose responsible for the latest shooting.  People here keep watch and share information so we all can stay informed and safe.

What has struck me more than any of this however is getting an inside look into how people feel about living here.

For all the good and hard stuff that happens here, I am not quite sure what to do with the feelings of helplessness that the general community has.

Comments such as, "If anyone approaches you, give them whatever they want and run the other way.  It's your only hope of not getting shot at, and even then it's possible."

or, "People don't understand that when you live here, you are afraid to get out of your car and just walk up to your house.  You wonder if today is the day that your house was broken into.  You fear that at any time, you could get jumped or killed just for being on a bike." (There was a young man shot and killed this summer riding his bike to a neighbor's house to deliver a meal.  It unsettled the community greatly to say the least.)

I know those thoughts.  I have those thoughts.

But now I know that I am not alone.  I am in a community of people who all live afraid and have surrendered to living in fear.

There is an undercurrent of anger towards the government and police officials because the crime continues to get worse, and so often, the outside communities don't hear about it.  

We feel left and forgotten.  When men are shot and killed and in our streets and no one knows about, it sends a pretty loud and clear message.

You are alone in fighting this.

When a community of people who have been hurt feel that they aren't seen or cared for, they get angry.  Anger never makes things easier.

Anger makes things violent and creates communities of fear.

And then here we sit.

Crime running high.  People who are afraid then turn frustrated and angry.  Justice becomes the platform.  Taking things into our own hands become their job, because people have to pay for what they've done.

Or...

You tuck inside and hide.  You protect yourself and those close to you.  You keep your head down, you stay smart and plan when you leave your house.

Fight or Flight.

Those are our options.

16 armed robberies last week alone.  One ending in murder, and no one knew because the news never covered the story.

17 now.  We watched a man got robbed at gun point in front our home this morning.

We live in a culture of fear.

The comments of desperation are getting louder.

It makes me nervous.  Not knowing what is coming.

And so we pray.

We pray for guidance, for answers, for peace, for safety.

We aren't sure what else to do.

Is changing a whole community and culture based on fear possible?

I don't know.

I really just don't know.

Absorb the moments

I haven't done this very well lately.  

If you follow me at all, you would know this to be true with my lack of paying attention to my website and blog.   Life has slipped away as I pour myself into my kids, my husband, and the book.  There has been time for little else these days.

When life is lived at full speed, we are incapable of having the moments of our days absorb into the fabric of our life.   As quickly as the moments come, they slide off our skin the same way. 

I have produced a ridiculous amount of work, food, activity, sleepless nights, projects, frustration and disagreements with my kids and weekends away lately.  Over the last few months I literally have not stopped.  There hasn't been time.   And every time I hear people talk about slowing down and simplifying, it is another avenue for guilt to seep in and overshadow all other emotion, crowding reality.

I know the way things should be.  I know the way they can be.  Sometimes we are able to make choices to help us slow down, to enjoy, to invest, to participate.  If I was being truthful however, most days I don't feel that way.  That even the possibility of slowing down is a futuristic ideal that can't really ever be achieved.

So how do I intentionally live my life and not let it slip by?  

When slowing down is literally not an option for this short or long season in your life, we all have the capability of absorbing the moments around us, willing them not to leave us so soon.  If I won't stop to see the people and the memories directly in front of me, then I am destined to miss my life.

I live in a strong constant motion of doing.  Cooking, cleaning, baking, ironing, washing, picking up...well everything, creating, crafting, shopping, mending, gardening, driving, helping with homework, helping with getting dressed, helping take baths, helping find this particular day's specific super hero outfit.  The work is never done.  The moving never slows.

So how do I slow down?  

I am not sure I can.  However, I can take a moment to pause.

To absorb.

To stop.

To measure my life and hold on, even just for that fleeting moment. 

The fleeting moments of my life, my marriage and with my children.

My oldest son is hard for me.  I see his kind heart and his empathy, and servant attitude.  I see his creativity and love for music and sports.  However, in him I also see all my struggles and shortcomings.  He carries all the things of my life I wish I could easily fix.  It's really hard not to control him, and in someway try to control myself.  

One thing about Big, is that doesn't just wear his heart on his sleeve, He lives with all of his emotions draped over his body like overalls.  You know how he feels about everything, ALL THE TIME.  He shares passionately his opinions and attitudes.  It's wonderful, unless it's annoying.

We have had a string of hard days.  Him consistently and successfully pushing my buttons.  Me, unable to let any little thing slide, pushing him and coming down hard on him.  For the last two weeks, neither one of us have been each others biggest fan.

I went to pick him up from a birthday party, and it was just the two of us in the car at night time.  We talked for a few minutes and then we quietly listened to music together. My mind wandered as I thought, "Is this it?  The extent of our relationship?  This is how it's going to be?"  

I didn't like it.

I wanted more.

Before I could think, I pulled over and parked the car.  I turned and looked at big and said, "Want to go explore with me?"

He looked completely and utterly confused.  He looked around, nervous, and said, "It's nighttime and I have to go to bed."

I simply looked at him and said, "I know, but this will be special for us.  Let's just go for a few moments and see what adventure we can have."

I was rewarded with a bright smile and giddy laugh, and knew this was what we needed. We needed a break from reality, from our routine.  We needed to stop and pause and enjoy our life.

We live roughly a mile from the Mississippi and last year they erected a beautiful bridge that lights up the night sky when its dark.  We were almost home, but felt like we were in another world as we crawled down the river bank under the bright blue lights of the bridge.  Big held my hand and talked about the things we were seeing.  He laughed as  he said how much fun he was having and he thought it was weird that we were doing this, but kind of cool.

When we reached the river's edge, we sat on a rock and I pulled him to my lap.  I wrapped my arms around and we sat in silence looking at the river move before us.  We just sat there and listened to the cars driving overhead.  We heard the crickets.  We listened to the water move over rocks.

"I love you mom.  Can this be our special spot for just you and me?"

That was my reward, one I am confident I didn't deserve after our two long weeks of not agreeing and having a hard time together.

I squeezed him and said, "Yes,  Yes of course.  Just you and me.  Its our secret spot when we need time together."

We hugged and a few minutes in the biting cold, we walked back up to our car.

The whole thing was about 10 minutes long.

Time to absorb.  To let that moment that will never happen again seep in the fabric of our memories and lives.

I went  home and did dishes and worked on projects till midnight, and none of that I remember.

I remember that moment with my son.

I remember sitting around our Thanksgiving and even to the groans of everyone present I make us share what we are Thankful for.  I want real moments to connect me to the people I love the most.

I remember the joy on my kids face and we laid down under our Christmas tree the night before we take it down to sing Christmas carols and say good bye to a magical season.

I remember the comfort I received from Scripture when I read and re-read a verse and before moving on, I let it sink in.  

I absorb it.  

It grounds me.  

It reattaches me to the foundation of my existence.  It reminds me that I am alive and not just going through the motions of my life.  And it makes me want to embrace more of my life and see the joy in the mundane.

Sometimes we can't slow down.

But always.  Always, we can stop, wait, and absorb a moment so we don't miss our life.

Soak something up today, and love it.

A time of rest

If you follow this blog at all, then you know I haven't written in some time.  Most of that is due to the book that I needed to finish.

However, once it was finished, it required triple the amount of hours in editing I didn't anticipate.  After that, it needed artwork, layout, printing, promotion, posters, website, business cards, the list was endless.  

You see, I didn't just write a book, I am publishing it.  And my husband designed it, which kept me intimately connected through the whole thing.  I knew it was going to be work, but no one can prepare you for exactly what that means until, like most things, you do it yourself.

After I was done writing the book, I wanted nothing to do with writing anything.  I love writing and want to keep doing it, but I have multiple creative outlets and for the last six months the only thing I have had time for was the book.  

I was done writing.

I was really done looking at my computer.

I really didn't want to take any more time away from my kids and husband.

My kitchen desperately needed my attention, and I needed to do something with my hands, other than type.

So I took a nap.

Then I watched a movie in the middle of the day while my daughter napped.  I felt like I was breaking the rules with that one. 

Then I cleaned my kitchen, which truthfully never lasts long.

With a deep breath, I pulled out my embroidery and project book and started making Christmas presents.  I have been sewing and crafting and cooking again like I used to. (All while in the midst of sending emails, posters, and making phone calls to promote the book.)

And now here I am.

Ready to write again.

For the last six weeks, I have wanted to share my heart with you and what is going on with the book and our life, but it has felt like pressure.  Thoughts that roll through my head are, 

"People are waiting to hear from me."

"I have neglected my readers."

"People will forget that I am  here if I am not putting my voice out there."

All of a sudden, my blogging became about other people instead of what I felt compelled to write.  It started to feel as if I needed to please "Them" instead of be true to my core life values.  These values include putting my faith, family and personal well being first.

When I started to feel the pressure to write, because I didn't want to be forgotten or I felt like I needed to promote the book, I would ask myself, 

"Is this a good time to write?  What would be better for you and the family right now?"  Most often the answer was, playing cards with the kids, pay the bills, get some rest, refuel my spirit so that I can love on the people around me."

So dear sweet reader, who has supported me so much in this venture, I won't apologize for putting you at the bottom of my priority list.

My dry and desperate soul needed time in the word and meditation.

My family needed to see that they came first.

My body needed rest.  Well, it still needs rest, but we are working on it.

I don't ever want the faceless "Them" to dictate what I do.  I want to write here because I feel inspired and encouraged and want to share with you those things.

Thank you for being with me on this journey.

It is so wonderful to share with you our little lives in North Minneapolis.

With that being said...

I'm back and have so much to share!

Get ready.

Again

That word. 

Again. 

Most often that word explicit's frustration from me.  It angers me as I hear myself say...

I am starting my diet.  Again. 

I am going to start meditating.  Again. 

I am going to try exercising.  Again. 

Why am I angry at myself?  Again. 

I spent the whole day being a sloth and reading, and watching bad movies while ignoring my responsibilities and my children.  Again. 

I didn't do anything beautiful today.  Again.

I wasn't brave to speak my mind.  Again. 

I only thought of myself today.  Again. 

I read a ton of blogs and got incredibly jealous of all the incredible things people are doing.  Again.

I only saw what others had and nothing of what I do have.  Again. 

I didn't do devotions.  Again. 

I wasted opportunity.  Again. 

I yelled at my kids.  Again. 

I broke a promise.  Again. 

I ate junk food for breakfast.  For lunch.  For dinner.  Again.

I got down on myself.  Again. 

This word, Again, has the power to keep us locked in a destructive cycle.  It steals our hope because let's be honest, every time I loose hope, I think, I did it...again.

This is where I am at right now.  I am living in the dark side of Again.  I have over committed myself...again.  That leads me to cast aside every healthy habit I have in favor of survival habits.  Survival habits that include drinking coffee late at night to keep working.  Giving up exercise because I need, and I mean need, that extra  hour to clean or see my family, or again, keep working.  When I give up exercise, I throw eating well out the window.  Because apparently I am too busy to make myself a salad, I become a stash and grab eater.  Those eating habits create low energy for me, so I drink more coffee.  I am then up late working, so I can't get up early for devotions.

I have done this so many times in my life, it's disheartening.  So I utter these words...these painful words that heap on guilt and a cycle of shame...

"I am not going to live like this AGAIN." 

And then I do. 

Because I am human. 

Because I am broken. 

Because I will have issues that I wrestle with till the day I die. 

Again and again and again and again. 

It's almost enough to make you want to give up hope right? 

But then I remember. 

I remember that I am loved.   Again.

I remember that I am forgiven.  Again. 

I remember that God's blessings are new each day.  Again. 

I remember that my husband is dedicated to my success.  Again.

I remember that each day is new.  The sun rises every morning Again to give me another opportunity. 

I remember that God calls me his beloved.  Again. 

That he walks with me each day, every moment, giving me second chances...again and again and again. 

When I live in my dark world of Despair again, I am hopeless. 

When I live by the truth that God is never done with second chances, I can live free... 

Again. 

Words, like most ideas, hold the power of good and evil.  They can be life affirming, or self destructing.  Again is a word that can bring forth guilt or hope.  Most often it is in our perspective in how we live out the words that shape our hearts.

I want to be a believer of again, not chained down to it. 

Today I choose to live into the freedom that Again gives me, not the life it can steal from me. 

Remember that you are loved today.  Again. 

The need for protection

We dream of having someone to protect us.  To have that one person in your life who loves you more than anything.  The person who will see the darkness and the life in you at the same time and say, "You are worth it.  Everyday I choose you.  I love you.  I want you.  I will never leave you."  Flowing from those beautiful poetic words, usually comes a promise to "have and to hold, to protect and cherish".  I believe it doesn't matter who you are, we all desire to be chosen by someone.

We then take it one step further in our confession for the desire to be protected. Protection from harm is where our childhood fantasy plays out with the Knight and shining armor.   To have a protector that will battle any and all dark forces so that not one hair on our head is touched.  That we would be so cherished by the love of our life, that they would risk their own life for ours.  It is sacrificial love at its best.  I do not believe this childhood dream is for girls alone.  I have witnessed and experienced boys who have turned into men that long for a protector as well.  Maybe not physically, but, what of our hearts?  The dreams and the spirit that makes us unique?  What about our gift that each one of us offers humanity?  Will the love of our life help us protect those very intimate and personal aspects of ourselves? 

It is a disservice not only to our hearts, but also our relationships when we leave the act protecting to its over simplified  physical limit.  Are not our hearts and dreams and wounds worthy of protection and attention?  Deep inside each of us is lies the scars where we have been wounded and were not protected.  The dreams we hold that we are afraid to share because at some point in our history, someone attacked our idea and we were left wounded and bleeding, promising to never expose those parts of our heart again.  When we are left without a protector, we don't dare to believe that we can be vulnerable or lovable or that we are worthy.

This past weekend I found myself walking the beach on the coast of Connecticut participating in the NE District Youth Gathering.  I was there pursuing my dream of speaking truth and life and love to the hearts of students across the country.  I left my husband and three kids home.  After working 50 hours that week, my husband would then have to manage our three kids, our home, the grocery shopping, our broken car, homework, baths, all the meals for three diet restricted kids, laundry, fights, silly games, screen time, church, and in the end make sure everyone was ready for school Monday morning, because I wouldn't be home till midnight Sunday.  

He called me Saturday, and I was expecting a full break down of frustration because everyone was tired and falling apart.  Instead, I got encouragement and his genuine excitement for me doing what we both believe I have been called to do.  He asked me to make sure I enjoyed my time.  He reminded me to protect my sleep so I could soak up all the blessings that God was pouring on me.   He said that when I got home, life would resume to schedules and homework and we would back to the daily grind.  He wanted to make sure that I rested, enjoyed, and sought God in my weekend.  To enjoy the students and the blessings they are.  Mostly he called to tell me he was so  happy I was living out my dream. 

Protection poured out from him.   His words of protection poured over the lies that I had believed that I wasn't good enough for this job I longed for.  Protection over my heart and the ability to live into a dream.  A gentle reminder to protect my boundaries so that I could remain healthy.  

Protection wasn't a word that I thought much on when looking for my life partner.  It has however become a characteristic that I believe needs more of our attention. 

Our immediate reaction to this would be,  

1. If we are single, we would start looking for a protector

or.. 

2. If we are in a relationship, make our partner read this to speak these words of what we desire from them

I would challenge that neither of these is my goal for writing this post.  What I have learned and gained from life so far is that if we see what the world is lacking, then we should make the change first in ourselves.  Michael Jackson said it when he sang, Man in the mirror; its where the change starts. 

Whoever you are and in whatever relationships we have, spouses, partners, friends, children,  parents, bosses, co-workers; we have the ability to protect those around us.   To protect those things that people are scared to share.  That when someone dares to expose part of their heart and dreams, that we would rush to protect instead of tear down.  That we could be their champion encouraging and uplifting and protecting along the way.

To help protect their dream by encouraging them. 

To help protect their lives against abuse.

To help protect someone in their healing in AA. 

To help protect a friends heart against shame and guilt.

To help a friend live into their dream of loosing weight to be healthy. 

To be present in the lives of the people around protecting their time. 

To show love in deep ways that will protect wounds we don't even see. 

If we choose to live into that challenge, then I say, we shouldn't and can't stop there. When I think of protection, I think of so many women and children who can't protect themselves.  Women and children who have names and faces and fears and wounds that we don't understand.  Women around the world, children lost in the cities.  Where is their protector?   Do they even believe protectors exist?

Is it possible?  Could we dare to believe that we could, even without knowing them, be apart of their protection?  That if these women and children see that someone cares enough to protect them, then someone would care enough to love them?  That would mean they were worthy.  Worthy enough for love.  Worthy enough for life.  Worthy enough for new beginnings. 

Protection goes beyond our false ideal of a Knight and Shining Armor.  It is so, so much more. 

There are many different organizations that are serving God and humanity by the work they do in protecting those who need protection.  Here are just a very SMALL few to get you started if you don't know where to look.

www.haitimissionproject.com 

www.eyesthatsee.com 

www.compassion.com

www.healinghaiti.org

Be blessed friends, and I am excited to see how protection starts living out in your lives. 

Eyes that see - Rim to Rim

What motivates you to action?  What motivates you to do something great and daring.  Something selfless and completely and totally out of the ordinary for someone else? 

Sometimes we need to do something amazing for our own spirit, and sometimes the need of someone else moves us to action.   I don't know which push you need, so I'm going to give you both.

With the evolution of the internet, the ends of the earth are at our finger tips.  We see stories of pain and heartache coming from countries we have only ever dreamed of.  Let's be honest, in any given hour if you watch TV, listen to the news, or browse the internet at any length, you will be given dozens of opportunities to give to amazing organizations doing incredible work around the globe.  I don't know about you, but with the magnitude of missions and organizations out there, I often feel so overwhelmed, that I start to tune them out.

You want real honesty?  I will confess to even hearing myself say, "OK, its another hungry kid, I get it."   

I feel helpless to help them all, so I don't help any.

 How are you to choose who gets your $50 or $100 bucks?  Or who gets your free time to volunteer and help out?   Habitat for Humanity?  The firemen that save our lives?  The vets out begging for food?  The orphans?  The abused animals?  The homeless?  The war victims in Africa?   Even writing this I feel overwhelmed with the needs of real people and don't know where to start.

If you have ever felt that way, I am writing this for you.  Right here and right now is your chance to do something.  To stop the cycle of impassivity.  We can't do nothing. Humanity calls us to do something.  

Eyes that See  is an organization that does work in Ethiopia.  They help release women from prostitution.  More than that, they create the safe place that is necessary and the counseling and leadership that is required to bring God's powerful healing to their lives.  They work towards healing and love for the body, soul and mind.  "Eyes that see" desires that these women would grow to understand their beauty and power that is theirs in Christ Jesus.  It is an amazing ministry that is doing incredible work.  Please check out their website to learn more about them.

The thing about this though is that at this moment, if you are still reading, this organization still doesn't have a face to it.   It's just another organization doing amazing work in some country around the world, and I'm just another blog telling you about it.

That is where my friend Steve Wiens comes in.   If you don't know who he is, I would highly recommend checking out his blog.  He is a man not just searching after God's heart, he is actively running towards it.  I know you will be blessed by his ministry if you take the time to read his blog or listen to his preaching.  

The really great thing about Steve is that he was inspired by Lynne Hybels blog, Maybe I can, can you.  Instead of just loving what Lynne was doing, or hoping that others would catch on and do great things, Steve stepped up.  Being the father of three small boys and a pastor at one of Mpls/St. Paul's biggest churches, he has excuses and reasons to say he is too busy.  Yet he didn't give in this time.  This time, he stepped out and is doing something insane.

Steve will be running the Grand Canyon on Sept. 15 from Rim to Rim.  (Which is right around the corner.)  He has worked his butt off to raise $50,000 to save 50 women out of a life of sexual slavery.   

50 freakin real life women. 

50 women with names. 

50 women who are daughters. 

50 women who are crying out for help, hoping to God someone hears them. 

What I love about what Steve is doing, is right out the gate he has invited people to join him on this journey.  He knows it takes all of us.  All of us who are waiting for that perfect thing to be called to support. 

Well people, here's your calling.  This is that perfect thing.  That organization with a name, a great story, and real women who need us. 

When I travel the country speaking I encourage my audience to open their eyes.  I tell them that "The need is the call".  If you see a need in front of you, then God is calling you to do something about it.  It's as simple as that.  That is God talking to you.  He is inviting you to bring heaven here on earth.  To ACTIVELY participate in creating more space for love while pushing the darkness out.

This is your chance. 

Steve is just under $9,000 away.  People from around the globe have given more than $41,000!  He is so close!   

41 women will be saved from sexual slavery. 

9 more need us. 

9 more. 

Those 9 women need to know that someone sees them.  That they are worth redeeming.  That they are worth love. 

Let's get Steve the rest of the way.  He is daring to do something great with you.  Join him.

Donate now.  

Please. 

9 women. 

9 names. 

9 daughters. 

Hiking turns us into a circus

As we walked to the rose quartz mine this year, it reminded me so much of our experience from last year.

Somehow because of the schedule, I still ended up in a skirt and ballet slipper shoes.  I had Paul with me though and 15 other people so it was easier to pass Little around instead of carrying her on my own.

We did run into a few mutilated deer limbs though, which I am not sure I will ever get used to.  Seeing animal body parts that have been torn to shred by a larger, fiercer animal should by my first indicator that I should turn and go home.

We paused just as much  though as Big gathered so many rocks before we even got to the mine that he had to hold his pants up, otherwise the weight would pull them down.

Apparently this little hike seems to bring out our ridiculousness.

Either way, here is a fun story for you to read and enjoy from our South Dakota camping adventure.

I did laugh out loud when I read that I shouldn't do this hike again, or at least remember what happened last year.  Clearly, I didn't do that before we went hiking, me in my skirt and girl shoes.

Happy evening everyone.

The storms that seem to destroy our trust

It was early morning, the kids fell back asleep tucked in their car seats and wrapped in their blankets.  I had iced coffee and Sanders Bohke filling the car with soulful rich music.  It was a beautiful way to start our 12 hour drive home.  I was waiting for the sun to come up and greet us.  I was looking forward to the start of a brand new day, with the hopes of being filled with adventure and giggles from my kids as we sang silly songs and played games in the car.

We were heading west, so I watched the first signs of orange and red in the rear view mirror.  The further we drove however, it was clear that there was a huge storm in front of us.  At one point, immediately after the kids woke up, the sun was shining behind us, there were gray clouds over us, with slight sprinkles that brought out a double rainbow, but in the distance, I saw the blackness and I worried.  Big still really struggles with storms.  His triggers are dark clouds and thunder and instead of being safely tucked in a home under its protection, we were traveling in the big metal box that he saw damaged and pierced with tree limbs in the tornado two years ago.  His faith in our current protection was shattered as he too noticed the black clouds coming.  He looked out and said in a high pitched worried voice, “mama, its coming!  Look, something bad is coming!”

I tried to reassure him that we would be OK.  We worked on reality therapy.  I would ask him questions like, “Does thunder hurt us?  What is thunder?  What happens if it rains?  Who is bigger than this storm?  What has you worried the most?”  All these things he would answer, trying to hold onto the truth that the rain doesn't hurt and the thunder is just noise and we are never left alone.

But then we drove in the storm and even I got afraid.  Never in my life have I driven through such a storm.  It was almost like a winter white out, the rain was coming down so hard I couldn't see if front of us.  The sky moved from grey, to dark, to midnight black.  The rain pounded our car so hard that I couldn't even talk to the kids.  I had to scream to them that we were all right which just seemed to make it worse.  The thunder cracked so loud the windshield shook at one point.  The lightening would pierce the sky over and over.  My hands were white knuckled on the steering wheel and I kept questioning whether we should pull over and stop and wait it out.  I knew though however that if I kept focused we could push through and get through the storm faster, than just sitting in it and waiting for it to pass. 

I needed my kids to trust me.  I took my eyes off the road for one brief moment to check the review mirror to make sure they were OK.  I saw all three kids huddled together with their blankets over their heads.  I saw Big, Middle and Little all holding hands.

As I drove through that storm, I am sure my children wished with all their might that I would pull over and find a safer place to be.   They wished that somehow I could make the storm stop, to just make it go away and bring the sun back.  But I wasn't doing that.  I kept driving through the storm and I needed them to trust me.  I needed them to trust me to make the right choice in driving through the storm.   That I knew when the storm was OK to drive through, and when it was time to pull over.  I needed them to trust that I would keep them safe even though they were scared.  I needed them to trust my love for them, that even though things were very hard right in this moment, I wouldn't do anything to hurt them.  Even when it felt absolutely terrifying, I needed them to trust me.

And then the rain started to ease up.  The thunder slowly started to sound softer, and the lightening was no longer flashing in the sky.  Streams of light starting to shine through the clouds and all of a sudden, we were on the other side.  The blackness we just drove through was behind us, reflecting in the review mirror, and the light was bright in front of us.

We had made it.

The kids slowly pulled down their blankets from their heads, and peaked out.  They cautiously looked at me and asked, “Is it over?  Are we safe again?” 

Yes.  We made it through.  Even though it was scary and hard, we made it through.

In the midst of the storm it was impossible to imagine it being over.  The storm raged so loud around us that it was all we could see, all we could hear, all we could live in.  I wasn't thinking about when it was over, I was thinking about, how do we live in this place right now and be OK?

And then God spoke softly in my heart, reminding me of how little I trust him when things are truly hard and overwhelming in my life and all I can see is the pain and the suffocating struggle of every day.  In that moment in the car, he begged me to trust him, just as I wanted my children to trust me.

There are days when I shut down and I hide in books or TV or FB or Twitter and I don’t want to come out.  I don’t want to face the things that make life hard.  I hide instead of handing my struggle to the Lord really learning what it means to trust him to guide me through it.

My children made it through that terrifying experience in the car that day.  While we walked back to our cabin this week in the black hills of SD, there were black clouds approaching and thunder rumbling in the distance.  As Big squeezed my hand, he looked at me and said, “We made it through that bad storm in the car mama, we can get through this one too.”

That is the great thing about trust.  When you put your trust in the one who can provide for you and get you through, every storm gets a little easier because they have proven to be trustworthy.  They become someone you can count on.

I spoke to Henry that day in the car and recalled the storm experience for him.  The first thing he said to me was, “You have a story in there.”  And he was right.

God has a way of taking the moments in our life and turning them into truths that we can hold on to get us through this journey called life.  These moments that can ground us in peace and love as we fight through the storms of life.  Our little family was scared that day, but we are stronger for it and God rested his peaceful hand on our hearts.

As we press on

I sat in a worship service in the black hills tonight.  I was surrounded by family and friends and strangers.  The candles were lit, the lights low, the music soft and gentle brushing over people’s hearts.  It wasn't just quiet, it was still.

We all faced the cross and the words were read, “Take a deep breath.  Breathe in and breathe out, breathe the very breath that connects you to the one who made you.”

I closed my eyes tight hoping beyond hope that I could grasp onto that connection.  I wanted desperately to feel passionately about my faith again.  I have been running on empty.  That deep connection to your spirit, the one that lights up your eyes has been missing.  The list of things to do weighs heavier on me than I like to admit.  Instead of breaking down, I have become numb.  I get through the day.  I try to laugh and enjoy my family each day.  I try to write and find progress on the long list of projects that people are waiting to get from me.  I try to somehow just maintain a semi clean home where my family has clothes to wear and something to eat.  The monotony of each day with the pressure to accomplish super human possibilities causes me to shut down so that I can keep pressing towards the goal.  I accomplish all these things, but they are done with heaviness in my heart and a worn look in my spirit.

My prayers seem rehearsed.

The Biblical teaching to my children when correcting or encouraging them feels empty.

My running in the morning that used to be filled with cries out to God for guidance and help are silent these days.  I don’t even know what to say.  I fill pages after pages with words for multiple projects and then I have none when I am left alone to share my heart with God.

All the things that I used to do to try to reconnect to my spirit aren't working.  Or I am too tired to really care to try.

It feels stale, and worn and tiring.

I used to believe that it was wrong to say such things, till I realized that at some point we all feel that way.  About our faith, our life, our relationships.  Trying to ignore it never works though.

But tonight, in the black hills of South Dakota, I breathed deep.  I breathed out and breathed in.

I was reminded that the very breath I have inside of me is the one God gave me directly.  It is his breath that gives us life.  And so even in the midst of feeling distant and cold and shut down, I am still connected to him and my spirit because I live.

Because I am alive, he is with me.

Even when I am running on empty, he does not leave me.  Every breath I take belongs to him.

I had peace in my soul for the first time in awhile remembering this truth.

I am not alone, nor am I lost.

He remains with me, even when I am over committed and underwhelmed.

He is also with you, in every breath you take.