October 8th is a date I will always remember. Usually, as soon as the month of October begins, I start thinking about the significance of this month 9 years ago. Wow, I can't believe it's been 9 years. My baby girl, middle daughter, sensitive spirit child Anna was born 9 years ago in July of 2007. On October 8, 2007 she had open heart surgery. A day many in my family will never forget and a day I am commanded to never forget because it was a day of the Lord's faithfulness shown to me.
Just as Joshua commanded the Israelites to pick up stones from the middle of the Jordan River as they crossed through it, so am I commanded to pick up stones along my journey. Especially in times where the Lord parted the waters so I could walk on dry ground. As I tell my story, Anna's story, as I remember the faithfulness of God that is written on my stones, I tell the next generation of His mighty power. "When your children ask their fathers in times to come, 'What do these stones mean?' then you shall let your children know, 'Israel passed over this Jordan on dry ground....so that all the peoples of the earth may know that the hand of the Lord is mighty, that you may fear the Lord your God forever.'" Joshua 4: 21, 24.
There is definitely a stone in my life marked October 8, 2007. Even a few inscribed with the dates leading up to this day and many, many in the multitude of dates since. When faced with an event as significant as your 10 week old baby having open heart surgery, there has to be some walking on dry ground in the midst of a raging river. I often think back to that day, watching my baby be wheeled off on the stretcher, sending her special little pink bunny with her, sitting in her room for a few minutes after they had taken her and praying with my husband. I can remember the peace I felt. I can vividly recall the presence of God I felt in my soul and on my body. I thought I would be that screaming mom we see on tv, falling to pieces and crying all over the place, because that to me would be a normal reaction. However, I was the complete opposite and the only explanation of the peace I felt was that the Mighty God was in that room with me and He was holding my hand as we walked on dry ground through the roaring river.
The reason I believe so strongly that God's presence was so great in my life that day is because of the prayers of our family, friends, and strangers across the country. I cannot remember this day without giving thanks to the Lord for all the people He invoked to pray for our family as Anna was in surgery. Whether they spent a few minutes praying, several hours, or the entire length of surgery, their petitions to God on our behalf gave us strength in supernatural ways. The prayers of our family and friends held the waters back and allowed us to walk on the dry ground and not be flooded with worry, anxiety, and fear. Every prayer a person offers in petition for another person is part of the victory, it's part of our story.
There will always be Jordan Rivers in our lives that we have to cross. The dry ground is always at the bottom of the river. We have to take hold of the Maker's hand as we step into the river. We have to call out to others and ask them to intercede on our behalf. We have to take it one step at a time, reaching our toes to find the dry ground, pleading with our Mighty God to prepare the path ahead of us. As He goes before you and parts that raging river, don't forget to bend down and pick up a stone. Write on it, inscribe it with the faithfulness of God and the step He allowed you to take. And when you get to the other side, celebrate the victory and tell others of the greatness of our God.
October 8, 2007 My God walked through the Jordan with me as Anna had open heart surgery at 10 weeks old. Today, she is a healthy, quiet, sensitive, and snuggly 9 year old. Her heart beats in perfect rhythm and the scar on her chest is a reminder that God personally touched her heart. My prayer for her is that her heart will sing no other name than Jesus. That one day, my stones will become her stones and she will continue telling her testimony of how the Lord carried her through the river on dry ground and He has been faithful to her ever since.
Saturday, October 8, 2016
Thursday, August 18, 2016
The Bigger Picture - Guatemala Part 1
I returned from Guatemala two weeks ago today, along with my husband, oldest daughter and 12 other team members. Throughout the last two weeks I have been trying to steal away quiet moments to sit and reflect on all that I saw, learned and gleaned from this trip. This is a difficult task when it is the final weeks of summer and you have 3 children who want to ask you questions every time you sit down. Given all of the distractions of everyday life, I have done the best I can to seek out what the Lord taught me through this trip. I'd like to begin sharing a little of my story here and hopefully in a few more blog posts to come as I know this is a work in progress. I could not possibly sum up the magnitude of this trip in one blog post.
I believe a necessary element to the understanding of what God is doing in my life is to look back at where I've been and how far He has brought me. Growing up my best friend's dad. Dr. Lee, was a travelling evangelist. He still is to this day. He takes God's Word to the ends of the earth. My best friend went on several mission's trips with her dad. He would often tease me, with some seriousness, about when I was going to go on a trip with him. I simply would tell him that was not for me, I liked it here in America. Underneath that simple answer was a much greater issue, a lack of surrender to what God wanted for me.
I clearly remember thinking and possibly even saying out loud, I cannot go to the mission field because God might call me to be a missionary and that is not what I want to do. It feels terrible to write that and to know that for so long that is truly how I felt. I will not go, it's not my thing, I like America. That is raw transparency, but it is an accurate display of the condition of my heart. I knew from a young age that I was called to be a teacher. God made that calling perfectly clear to me and my parents. I also deeply desired to be married and be a mother. I did not see being a missionary to a foreign country as part of the plan or fitting in with my other plans, so I did not view going to the mission field as a priority. It was more of a kink in my plans.
Dr. Lee never pushed me to go. Ironically, the one trip I probably would have gone on was to Guatemala because my father and brother went on the trip, as well as my best friend. I do not recall if I ever considered going on the trip or if it was even an option, but looking back, I most likely could have gone with them and should have gone.
After making it through my high school years and not being called to be a missionary, I was feeling pretty good about my chances of escaping that calling. I attended Liberty University, Jerry Falwell's school. We went to convocation, which was like chapel, every Monday, Wednesday and Friday and attended Campus Church whenever it was offered. The funny thing about going to a Baptist Christian university is that they love to have altar calls. It seemed like every other church service the band would come up at the end of the service and play "I Surrender All". It is one of the classic altar call songs, and for that reason I believe one can sing every word of it and not mean any of it. I'm not sure why God chose one particular day to whack me over the head while I was singing that song. It was as if He bonked me and said, "Stop singing that song, you haven't surrendered it all to me." Ouch! If I haven't surrendered it all, what do I need to surrender. "GO....GO on a mission's trip, surrender this fear of being called to the mission field, just GO." Within a few weeks, I was signed up to go on a Spring Break Mission's Trip to Jamaica. If I was going to be called to be a missionary, Jamaica would not be a bad place to be!
Going to Jamaica was an amazing experience. It was hot, we did construction work, I got sick to my stomach, I took cold showers with frogs and it changed my life. A chain was released, a surrender was made. I saw God move in the lives of deaf children. I heard them sing praises to God with their hands and it was the most beautiful worship I had ever seen. I saw friends who were called to missions thrive in their element and feel their call even stronger. I did not return the same person, and I did not return called to the Mission Field oversees. God so clearly showed me that my own dorm room, dorm hall and circle of acquaintances is a mission field too. But, I had to GO when He tells me to go. I had to be willing to surrender to part of His will that is for all of us. He tells us in the Bible to go and preach the good news to all the ends of the earth. I was telling Him no, and He had to break that chain around my heart. I needed to learn how to be in complete surrender.
I have not gone on a foreign mission's trip since my sophomore year in college. The trip this Summer to Guatemala was the first time I considered going back to the mission field in 20 years. When our church announced 6 years ago that we would be partnering with Hope of Life in Guatemala and transforming a village, I knew it was a trip I would take one day. I was living my calling out though of being a mom to 3 little girls and going to the mission field was not a viable option. So I waited, I waited until God did it again and said, "GO....go see what I am doing." There was never a hesitation, there was never a fear in my heart that God might call me to be a missionary. There was only the absolute certainty of surrender. The best part is I didn't have to go alone, my husband and my 11 year old daughter wanted to come. Notice I said my 11 year old daughter WANTED to GO. She couldn't wait to go to Guatemala. There was not an ounce of fear in her, just excitement. I am so thankful she took the leap of faith to go at such a young age. Praise the Lord for her obedience to GO and see, serve, love, surrender.
Guatemala has a piece of my heart. No, I do not feel called to change my family's life and go live on the mission field. Yes, I do feel called to spread the news about the people in Guatemala and how much they need us to come, to see, to serve and to surrender. We can change their lives one person at a time, by changing our hearts and surrendering to God's will for us to go and preach His gospel, His life-giving message to the ends of the earth.
I believe a necessary element to the understanding of what God is doing in my life is to look back at where I've been and how far He has brought me. Growing up my best friend's dad. Dr. Lee, was a travelling evangelist. He still is to this day. He takes God's Word to the ends of the earth. My best friend went on several mission's trips with her dad. He would often tease me, with some seriousness, about when I was going to go on a trip with him. I simply would tell him that was not for me, I liked it here in America. Underneath that simple answer was a much greater issue, a lack of surrender to what God wanted for me.
I clearly remember thinking and possibly even saying out loud, I cannot go to the mission field because God might call me to be a missionary and that is not what I want to do. It feels terrible to write that and to know that for so long that is truly how I felt. I will not go, it's not my thing, I like America. That is raw transparency, but it is an accurate display of the condition of my heart. I knew from a young age that I was called to be a teacher. God made that calling perfectly clear to me and my parents. I also deeply desired to be married and be a mother. I did not see being a missionary to a foreign country as part of the plan or fitting in with my other plans, so I did not view going to the mission field as a priority. It was more of a kink in my plans.
Dr. Lee never pushed me to go. Ironically, the one trip I probably would have gone on was to Guatemala because my father and brother went on the trip, as well as my best friend. I do not recall if I ever considered going on the trip or if it was even an option, but looking back, I most likely could have gone with them and should have gone.
After making it through my high school years and not being called to be a missionary, I was feeling pretty good about my chances of escaping that calling. I attended Liberty University, Jerry Falwell's school. We went to convocation, which was like chapel, every Monday, Wednesday and Friday and attended Campus Church whenever it was offered. The funny thing about going to a Baptist Christian university is that they love to have altar calls. It seemed like every other church service the band would come up at the end of the service and play "I Surrender All". It is one of the classic altar call songs, and for that reason I believe one can sing every word of it and not mean any of it. I'm not sure why God chose one particular day to whack me over the head while I was singing that song. It was as if He bonked me and said, "Stop singing that song, you haven't surrendered it all to me." Ouch! If I haven't surrendered it all, what do I need to surrender. "GO....GO on a mission's trip, surrender this fear of being called to the mission field, just GO." Within a few weeks, I was signed up to go on a Spring Break Mission's Trip to Jamaica. If I was going to be called to be a missionary, Jamaica would not be a bad place to be!
Going to Jamaica was an amazing experience. It was hot, we did construction work, I got sick to my stomach, I took cold showers with frogs and it changed my life. A chain was released, a surrender was made. I saw God move in the lives of deaf children. I heard them sing praises to God with their hands and it was the most beautiful worship I had ever seen. I saw friends who were called to missions thrive in their element and feel their call even stronger. I did not return the same person, and I did not return called to the Mission Field oversees. God so clearly showed me that my own dorm room, dorm hall and circle of acquaintances is a mission field too. But, I had to GO when He tells me to go. I had to be willing to surrender to part of His will that is for all of us. He tells us in the Bible to go and preach the good news to all the ends of the earth. I was telling Him no, and He had to break that chain around my heart. I needed to learn how to be in complete surrender.
I have not gone on a foreign mission's trip since my sophomore year in college. The trip this Summer to Guatemala was the first time I considered going back to the mission field in 20 years. When our church announced 6 years ago that we would be partnering with Hope of Life in Guatemala and transforming a village, I knew it was a trip I would take one day. I was living my calling out though of being a mom to 3 little girls and going to the mission field was not a viable option. So I waited, I waited until God did it again and said, "GO....go see what I am doing." There was never a hesitation, there was never a fear in my heart that God might call me to be a missionary. There was only the absolute certainty of surrender. The best part is I didn't have to go alone, my husband and my 11 year old daughter wanted to come. Notice I said my 11 year old daughter WANTED to GO. She couldn't wait to go to Guatemala. There was not an ounce of fear in her, just excitement. I am so thankful she took the leap of faith to go at such a young age. Praise the Lord for her obedience to GO and see, serve, love, surrender.
Guatemala has a piece of my heart. No, I do not feel called to change my family's life and go live on the mission field. Yes, I do feel called to spread the news about the people in Guatemala and how much they need us to come, to see, to serve and to surrender. We can change their lives one person at a time, by changing our hearts and surrendering to God's will for us to go and preach His gospel, His life-giving message to the ends of the earth.
Saturday, July 16, 2016
I See You Tired Momma
I often get frustrated when my husband is watching a sporting event at a restaurant while we are having dinner. It used to drive me crazy when we were dating and I would try to position us at the table so he didn't have a great view. It's nearly impossible though because there is a TV in every corner. I have a similar problem though, but it doesn't involve TV; it involves people watching, mother watching to be exact. I will instinctively watch families with children at restaurants. I can know an entire family's order and sum up their dynamics very quickly, all while enjoying dinner with my family. It's probably something I should seek help for and you're probably thinking that I should be more present with my own family! You are probably right, but I am a superior multi-tasker.
A couple of evenings ago, we stopped for an early dinner at Jason's Deli on our way home from a day at the waterpark. We have Jason's Deli down. I know everyone's order, there are no surprises and no complaining. It's nice to be in this stage of life where everyone can verbally express their desires and then proceed to get their own beverages and make their way to a table. Eating out has become a less stressful event over the last year, although more expensive, because they eat so much more!
As we had just settled into our table and I had strategically placed myself to face the rest of the restaurant, a young couple walked in the doors. Let me clarify, a young mother carrying a car seat in each arm with twin babies huffed and puffed in, while dad hobbled in on crutches. I immediately felt empathy for this woman I had never even seen before. I know men, and I'm sure his foot really did need to be wrapped up and he really did need to be on crutches, but I can imagine the tender loving care that woman has had to give that man over a hurt foot the last week. That alone would be enough to have me on the brink of a break down, and then to add twin babies on top of it.
So as they entered the restaurant, it was clear he had come from work as he was still in his military uniform, I imagined she was ready to get out of the house after a long day with two babies. She settled the babies in the booth as he sat down and then she went to order. As she returned to the table with the salad plates, her husband said something to her, I couldn't hear it because I do not have super power ears unfortunately. But whatever he said defeated her. She sat down put her hands on her temples and didn't move for a few good minutes. He may have just said, "Oh, you got me chicken noodle? I was going to have French Onion." It could have been, "You ordered me the salad bar, I just wanted a side salad." Whatever it was, the intention did not appear to be deflating her, but that is how she perceived it. As she is taking a moment to breathe and in my interpretations, "not lose her mind," cue baby #1 screaming. Yep, 2 empty salad plates, 2 empty drink cups, 1 man who can't move and 1 baby screaming because she is hungry.
So mom, who is visibly at the end of her rope, grabs the two bottles to go to the bathroom and fill them with water. Everything in me wanted to go into that bathroom with her, put my arms around her and let her cry. Then go back with her to her table and fill her drink cups, feed the babies, make her salad and let her go sit at another table by herself. That probably wouldn't have happened, but in my mind it made for a great story. She finally emerged from the bathroom, made the bottles, filled the drinks, made 2 salads, finally sat down just as the babies were finishing their bottles and baby #1 began to scream for more.
My husband had not seen this entire scene play out and I couldn't fully explain to him what I had seen until we left the restaurant. However he did hear the screams of baby #1 the entire dinner and we just had to giggle because our baby #3 used to do the same thing. We often remind her that when she was a baby she would scream when we went anywhere. Many meals were spent with one person in the car with the screaming baby and the other in the restaurant with 2 happy children still under the age of 5. I don't know which was the more preferred place to be.
So as we sat in Jason's Deli and listened to this baby screech, and I watched this tired momma do everything she could to hold it together, my heart ached for her. I wanted to tell her that this does get better. It's going to be hard for a couple of years, and you're going to want to give up, but you have to keep fighting. Cry, fuss, pout, and tell God that you can't do this day after day, but then get back up and keep doing it. Fight for joy in the middle of this crazy time, find peace in a quiet time with your Savior, ask for help, admit you're weak only to find out how strong you actually are. Noone expects you to be superwoman, so stop expecting yourself to be. Grant yourself grace and take each day one hour at a time. You are not alone, there are mothers surrounding you who have been where you are and know every feeling you are feeling. Reach out, talk about it, don't hide, embrace love.
Of course I didn't say any of those things, but I did walk over to her as we were leaving and simply told her that our baby #3 used to do the same thing as her baby #1 when we were in restaurants. Then as my baby #3 bounced over we told her that she is now the most joyful child you'll ever meet and smiles constantly, even underwater. This big smile came across her face and she simply asked, "So it does get better?" Yes tired momma, it does get better, and just know that I see you, you are not alone.
A couple of evenings ago, we stopped for an early dinner at Jason's Deli on our way home from a day at the waterpark. We have Jason's Deli down. I know everyone's order, there are no surprises and no complaining. It's nice to be in this stage of life where everyone can verbally express their desires and then proceed to get their own beverages and make their way to a table. Eating out has become a less stressful event over the last year, although more expensive, because they eat so much more!
As we had just settled into our table and I had strategically placed myself to face the rest of the restaurant, a young couple walked in the doors. Let me clarify, a young mother carrying a car seat in each arm with twin babies huffed and puffed in, while dad hobbled in on crutches. I immediately felt empathy for this woman I had never even seen before. I know men, and I'm sure his foot really did need to be wrapped up and he really did need to be on crutches, but I can imagine the tender loving care that woman has had to give that man over a hurt foot the last week. That alone would be enough to have me on the brink of a break down, and then to add twin babies on top of it.
So as they entered the restaurant, it was clear he had come from work as he was still in his military uniform, I imagined she was ready to get out of the house after a long day with two babies. She settled the babies in the booth as he sat down and then she went to order. As she returned to the table with the salad plates, her husband said something to her, I couldn't hear it because I do not have super power ears unfortunately. But whatever he said defeated her. She sat down put her hands on her temples and didn't move for a few good minutes. He may have just said, "Oh, you got me chicken noodle? I was going to have French Onion." It could have been, "You ordered me the salad bar, I just wanted a side salad." Whatever it was, the intention did not appear to be deflating her, but that is how she perceived it. As she is taking a moment to breathe and in my interpretations, "not lose her mind," cue baby #1 screaming. Yep, 2 empty salad plates, 2 empty drink cups, 1 man who can't move and 1 baby screaming because she is hungry.
So mom, who is visibly at the end of her rope, grabs the two bottles to go to the bathroom and fill them with water. Everything in me wanted to go into that bathroom with her, put my arms around her and let her cry. Then go back with her to her table and fill her drink cups, feed the babies, make her salad and let her go sit at another table by herself. That probably wouldn't have happened, but in my mind it made for a great story. She finally emerged from the bathroom, made the bottles, filled the drinks, made 2 salads, finally sat down just as the babies were finishing their bottles and baby #1 began to scream for more.
My husband had not seen this entire scene play out and I couldn't fully explain to him what I had seen until we left the restaurant. However he did hear the screams of baby #1 the entire dinner and we just had to giggle because our baby #3 used to do the same thing. We often remind her that when she was a baby she would scream when we went anywhere. Many meals were spent with one person in the car with the screaming baby and the other in the restaurant with 2 happy children still under the age of 5. I don't know which was the more preferred place to be.
So as we sat in Jason's Deli and listened to this baby screech, and I watched this tired momma do everything she could to hold it together, my heart ached for her. I wanted to tell her that this does get better. It's going to be hard for a couple of years, and you're going to want to give up, but you have to keep fighting. Cry, fuss, pout, and tell God that you can't do this day after day, but then get back up and keep doing it. Fight for joy in the middle of this crazy time, find peace in a quiet time with your Savior, ask for help, admit you're weak only to find out how strong you actually are. Noone expects you to be superwoman, so stop expecting yourself to be. Grant yourself grace and take each day one hour at a time. You are not alone, there are mothers surrounding you who have been where you are and know every feeling you are feeling. Reach out, talk about it, don't hide, embrace love.
Of course I didn't say any of those things, but I did walk over to her as we were leaving and simply told her that our baby #3 used to do the same thing as her baby #1 when we were in restaurants. Then as my baby #3 bounced over we told her that she is now the most joyful child you'll ever meet and smiles constantly, even underwater. This big smile came across her face and she simply asked, "So it does get better?" Yes tired momma, it does get better, and just know that I see you, you are not alone.
Memories of my Grandmother
My family and I went on vacation this past week. It's a place we have been before in a remote South Carolina town. We have actually travelled there five times, as it is an annual trip. We stayed in the same cabin we've stayed in three previous years and not much has changed in that cabin. Except for a few new area rugs, it has pretty much remained the same.
However something was different this year. All around me I experienced memories of my grandmother. I had never realized certain aspects of this cabin that reminded me of my grandmother's home that we visited quite often as children. I have very fond memories of her small two bedroom home that had one bathroom for seven people.
The doors of our vacation cabin in South Carolina are made of thick, burnt orange colored wood that are lacquered in heavy coating so they shine even in the dark. It's the kind of door that makes a loud, heavy sound when slammed. The kind of door that could take a finger off if the finger was in the wrong place at the wrong time. My Grandma Smith had these types of doors in her home. I specifically remember the one leading from her kitchen to her back porch and the endless times we would run through it to go play in the back yard or play restaurant on the back porch. It was also the door used to shield important phone conversations as the kitchen phone cord would reach out to the back porch and this heavy door would provide the barrier needed to keep those important conversations with my best friend private. They are big, solid doors. The handle on the doors in the cabin were black rod iron and I remember this same type of handle on my grandmother's front door leading into her home. The locking mechanism was tricky as it had a turn style lock that one could never quite figure out if it was in the locked or unlocked position. When you're anxious to get in to see grandma, this can be very frustrating as you hear here switching the lock back and forth.
Another memory that was brought to my mind were from the dishes in the cabin. They are a simple, plain white dish by Cornelle. For as long as I could remember my Grandmother Smith had Cornelle dishes. I can remember fearing that I would break one because they are so fragile. She often would comment that she needed to replace a piece of Cornelle but could never find the right pattern. In my later years of visiting her, she had received a new set of Cornelle dishes that were a dark beige with little pink and blue lines and flowers along the edge of the plates and rims of the cups. I remember thinking how pretty they were.
The last memory I experienced this vacation was probably the strongest and that is because it didn't have to do with a tangible item. It was a smell. I love when a smell will trigger a memory because it is fun to see what the mind can recall. The cabin does not have a dishwasher therefore all dishes must be washed by hand. There isn't even a scrub brush, so a dishrag must be used. As I was washing dishes one afternoon, I allowed the sink to fill with water and then squirted classic, green Palmolive dish soap into the basin. That's when the memory hit me. My grandmother must have used Palmolive dish soap. I can remember standing at her sink, helping her wash dishes and that very same smell entering my nostrils. Add this to the fact that I was washing Cornelle dishes with a dishrag and the memory intensified. I can remember immersing my hands in warm water to find the dishes sitting on the bottom of the sink basin and being very careful not to drop one or break it. I loved helping her wash the dishes.
As these simple little cabin items allowed me to relive memories from my grandmother's home, I found it quite curious that these were significant memories at all. However, we don't get to choose our memories. I don't get to choose what I remember from my grandmother's home, just as much as my children will not get to choose what they will remember. I so hope they remember certain aspects of our home and their grandparents' homes, but I cannot make it happen. One day, they'll be on vacation and a door, a dish or the smell of liquid dish soap will take them back to a time in their childhood and hopefully they'll smile, just like I did.
However something was different this year. All around me I experienced memories of my grandmother. I had never realized certain aspects of this cabin that reminded me of my grandmother's home that we visited quite often as children. I have very fond memories of her small two bedroom home that had one bathroom for seven people.
The doors of our vacation cabin in South Carolina are made of thick, burnt orange colored wood that are lacquered in heavy coating so they shine even in the dark. It's the kind of door that makes a loud, heavy sound when slammed. The kind of door that could take a finger off if the finger was in the wrong place at the wrong time. My Grandma Smith had these types of doors in her home. I specifically remember the one leading from her kitchen to her back porch and the endless times we would run through it to go play in the back yard or play restaurant on the back porch. It was also the door used to shield important phone conversations as the kitchen phone cord would reach out to the back porch and this heavy door would provide the barrier needed to keep those important conversations with my best friend private. They are big, solid doors. The handle on the doors in the cabin were black rod iron and I remember this same type of handle on my grandmother's front door leading into her home. The locking mechanism was tricky as it had a turn style lock that one could never quite figure out if it was in the locked or unlocked position. When you're anxious to get in to see grandma, this can be very frustrating as you hear here switching the lock back and forth.
Another memory that was brought to my mind were from the dishes in the cabin. They are a simple, plain white dish by Cornelle. For as long as I could remember my Grandmother Smith had Cornelle dishes. I can remember fearing that I would break one because they are so fragile. She often would comment that she needed to replace a piece of Cornelle but could never find the right pattern. In my later years of visiting her, she had received a new set of Cornelle dishes that were a dark beige with little pink and blue lines and flowers along the edge of the plates and rims of the cups. I remember thinking how pretty they were.
The last memory I experienced this vacation was probably the strongest and that is because it didn't have to do with a tangible item. It was a smell. I love when a smell will trigger a memory because it is fun to see what the mind can recall. The cabin does not have a dishwasher therefore all dishes must be washed by hand. There isn't even a scrub brush, so a dishrag must be used. As I was washing dishes one afternoon, I allowed the sink to fill with water and then squirted classic, green Palmolive dish soap into the basin. That's when the memory hit me. My grandmother must have used Palmolive dish soap. I can remember standing at her sink, helping her wash dishes and that very same smell entering my nostrils. Add this to the fact that I was washing Cornelle dishes with a dishrag and the memory intensified. I can remember immersing my hands in warm water to find the dishes sitting on the bottom of the sink basin and being very careful not to drop one or break it. I loved helping her wash the dishes.
As these simple little cabin items allowed me to relive memories from my grandmother's home, I found it quite curious that these were significant memories at all. However, we don't get to choose our memories. I don't get to choose what I remember from my grandmother's home, just as much as my children will not get to choose what they will remember. I so hope they remember certain aspects of our home and their grandparents' homes, but I cannot make it happen. One day, they'll be on vacation and a door, a dish or the smell of liquid dish soap will take them back to a time in their childhood and hopefully they'll smile, just like I did.
Monday, June 6, 2016
The Peace of a Kindergartener
Do you remember how it felt to be in Kindergarten? Not a care in the world. Not a burden to carry. The biggest worry was that the ice cream man would drive by your house and your mom might say no. Or worse, she would say yes, but you would fear missing him while you searched for your money.
As the weather has changed to warm, Spring afternoons, my Kindergartener's favorite thing to do is run outside and play immediately after school. I don't think her backpack even makes it out of the car most days. The neighborhood kids all come out and greet one another and then conjure up some fun game to play or activity to do. Yesterday, I could hear my Kindergartener and her friend riding bikes around the cul-de-sac chatting away like two little old ladies who needed to catch up on the latest news.
I stood by the storm door watching and listening my little one's free spirit, just enjoying the crisp Spring air with her friends, and I was jealous. Jealous that I couldn't throw off the weight of the day, or leave it in the car as she had done, and just ride around the cul-de-sac chatting away and playing make believe. Instead, I was inside battling inner chatter, that self-doubt chatter that so easily creeps in and tries to be my friend. That "need to figure it all out" kind of chatter that can consume my mind. This kind of chatter thinks it is my friend, but it is not. It creeps in and steals my joy and steals my peace. It is not my friend, it is the enemy of distraction.
Isaiah 26:3 says, "You keep him in perfect peace whose mind is stayed, on you, because he trusts in you." It is a battle to keep my mind on Him. This distracting chatter that enters my mind often deters me from keeping my mind and heart on the One who already knows everything I'm trying to figure out. So I am left with a choice. Do I stay inside the comfort of my home and listen to the chatter of my mind, or do I choose to step outside, embrace joy, and let peace envelope me like the warm, Spring air?
My desire to know, plan, and explain can so easily set my mind off of the trust I do have in Jesus. The enemy is real and he uses distractions to keep my mind occupied so I do not think on the truth that I do know of Jesus' love for me and His plans for me. So today I choose to step outside, leave my burdens in the car, play like a Kindergartener and chat away like a little old lady. Who knows, maybe the ice cream man will even come down the road, and I'll say yes.
As the weather has changed to warm, Spring afternoons, my Kindergartener's favorite thing to do is run outside and play immediately after school. I don't think her backpack even makes it out of the car most days. The neighborhood kids all come out and greet one another and then conjure up some fun game to play or activity to do. Yesterday, I could hear my Kindergartener and her friend riding bikes around the cul-de-sac chatting away like two little old ladies who needed to catch up on the latest news.
I stood by the storm door watching and listening my little one's free spirit, just enjoying the crisp Spring air with her friends, and I was jealous. Jealous that I couldn't throw off the weight of the day, or leave it in the car as she had done, and just ride around the cul-de-sac chatting away and playing make believe. Instead, I was inside battling inner chatter, that self-doubt chatter that so easily creeps in and tries to be my friend. That "need to figure it all out" kind of chatter that can consume my mind. This kind of chatter thinks it is my friend, but it is not. It creeps in and steals my joy and steals my peace. It is not my friend, it is the enemy of distraction.
Isaiah 26:3 says, "You keep him in perfect peace whose mind is stayed, on you, because he trusts in you." It is a battle to keep my mind on Him. This distracting chatter that enters my mind often deters me from keeping my mind and heart on the One who already knows everything I'm trying to figure out. So I am left with a choice. Do I stay inside the comfort of my home and listen to the chatter of my mind, or do I choose to step outside, embrace joy, and let peace envelope me like the warm, Spring air?
My desire to know, plan, and explain can so easily set my mind off of the trust I do have in Jesus. The enemy is real and he uses distractions to keep my mind occupied so I do not think on the truth that I do know of Jesus' love for me and His plans for me. So today I choose to step outside, leave my burdens in the car, play like a Kindergartener and chat away like a little old lady. Who knows, maybe the ice cream man will even come down the road, and I'll say yes.
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