Adventures in Writing #4 - {On Prayer}

Tuesday Thoughts is where I pick a topic that’s on my mind, set a timer, start with “Go”, write about it for five minutes, and end with “Done”. Editing is non-existent and I am grateful for that since I can spend hours fine-tuning and agonizing over a post.  Even writing this paragraph, I've written and rewritten it about five times, sent it to my hubby to edit, rewritten it, and am still debating whether it's acceptable.

In this exercise, I am enjoying the freedom to just write, without stressing about perfection or what others might think. This is my lovelimess after all.

....

(This particular post was written several months ago when I wasn't blogging, but just enjoying writing for its own sake. Since then, we've gone through several more cars. Just in case you were wondering.)

(Andy's "small" collection of Toyota MR2s from back in the day)

Go

Our old car murmurs in the background as we drive.  This car is the newest in the series of junkers we've gone through, but I like this one. Old leather seats, worn and ripping, mould themselves around you, and the windshield has a few battle cracks. Our iPhone plays worship songs quietly in the background as we drive and chat.

"What am I supposed to be doing with my life?" he asks as we drive along. Today has been a hard day, full of things gone wrong, complacency that eats away at your motivation, and a creeping sickness that we're both sniffling away at.

"Have you prayed about it?" I ask quietly, hoping he knows I care.

"I'm not good at that."

"At praying?"  I know he hates praying in public - it feels so forced sometimes.

"Yeah. At praying. I just don't know what to say. I feel like I'm always saying what I think other people want me to say, instead of having a conversation with God. I just don't know how to pray like that."

My mind whirrs.  How does one pray?  My bible study on Discerning the Voice of God by Priscilla Shirer runs through my head in clips and flashes.  How do I pray? I ask myself.

"Start with the truth. Tell God you don't know what to say or how to pray and ask Him to teach you."   It's what I did several years ago and only now am I realizing that God has been answering that prayer. I am learning to pray.

It didn't start with a sudden revelation or even some great new understanding about how to pray. I just talked to God and I told Him the truth.

I don't understand You. I don't know how to talk to You. Sometimes I feel irreverent. I know I'm in the presence of the God of the Universe, and I don't know what to say.

And then He began to change my prayers and as He did, he has begun to change me. But then I suppose that talking with the Creator of the universe is bound to leave an impression on a person. I think about those early days and I thank God for what He is doing in me. Even this week, God has been peeling back another layer of pride in my life and teaching me about humility in prayer.

As the car moves forward, we move with it, into uncharted territories of the holy, bringing our limited perspectives to the Omniscient and asking for grace as we press in to know Him more.  

Done

Adventures in Writing #3 - {Home}

Tuesday Thoughts is where I pick a topic that’s on my mind, set a timer, start with “Go”, write about it for five minutes, and end with “Done”. Editing is non-existent and I am grateful for that since I can spend hours fine-tuning and agonizing over a post.  Even writing this paragraph, I've written and rewritten it about five times, sent it to my hubby to edit, rewritten it, and am still debating whether it's acceptable.

In this exercise, I am enjoying the freedom to just write, without stressing about perfection or what others might think. This is my lovelimess after all.

....

(This post was written last January after we had moved into our old little farm home. The front door now allows guests, but our friends are more like family and they all come in through the laundry room anyway.)

(Andy and Isabel 2013)

Go

The pellet stove is burning warmly, chasing away the bitter chill of this drafty old house. We’ve been here for a month now and have experienced life without a dishwasher or any heating besides the little pellet stove in the corner. We’ve left a house with four bedrooms (that we barely used), new appliances that did amazing things, arching ceilings, and everything suburbia offers, and moved into this little 127 year-old dilapidated home full of ladybugs, sloping floors and holed ceilings.

And the most incredible part of it all? I love it.

I love it more than I loved our “perfect” suburban home with my huge bathtub and walk-in closet.  

In this old charmer, I walk in and I feel at home. Sure, the floor is a little slopey and, yes, you do have to come in through the laundry room, but every day here feels like home.

The wall in the laundry room has hash-marks where Andy was measured as a child - where we’ll measure Isabel next to her papa.  The living room is small and warm and cozy and pulls me in to linger there, cozying up beneath blankets listening to the fire flicker in the pellet stove.  The chill of our bedroom encourages snuggling beneath covers as we laugh to keep warm together.   Isabel crawls around and can go anywhere in the house unhindered and she loves this new freedom.

Life here isn’t full of perfection, but it is so full of joy that it feels like our little home will burst with it.

Done.

5 Things I've Learned From My Mom

I've learned more from my mom than can easily be summarized in five points. In fact, this post has been incredibly difficult to write because I am having a hard time choosing just five things.   She is my best friend, my person I go to when I'm crying and sobbing and can't handle life, she's the person I call when I'm most excited, and the person who has always believed the best of me - even when I didn't deserve it. I love you mom.

1.  Deep conversations are the best conversations

Whether by example, or the fact that our personalities are similar, I've found that I have an intolerance for casual conversation. I want the heart and life and the soul of a conversation and I'd rather skip over the pleasantries altogether to just speak and hear about what matters. I remember whenever I'd come home from school or camp, my mom would start with the best questions and listen and listen and before I knew it, I was pouring out heart and soul, sharing everything that mattered and my thoughts and feelings and struggles and disappointments and dreams...  Maybe because she modeled these conversations in our home or maybe because she always valued the sharing of the heart that I find that I do too.

2. Beauty matters

My mom modeled for me that beauty matters.  Both the unfading beauty that is buried inside and the exterior beauty that the world sees have value.  She taught me that caring for yourself means becoming a person of integrity and character while still valuing and caring for the physical body that God has given. So every morning, we'd chat in her bathroom, smearing makeup, laughing together, blow drying hair, talking about life, and preparing our physical selves to go out into the world. While she also invested hours and years into caring for our character, our inner strength, and our love for God. And when I look at my mom now, I see Beauty shine from her, an inner beauty that flows outward and glows just behind her physical beauty, illuminating my life and the world around her.

3. Children are a gift from God

I know they are. I do. But sometimes it is so hard for me to see past the moment into who these little people are becoming. But my mom does. She sees it so clearly sometimes that I can't help but want her glasses over my eyes helping me see them with the clarity that she has.  I love my children, but I forget that every moment-becomes-a-day-becomes-a-week-becomes-a-lifetime... And then they are grown and gone. I forget, but she remembers. And I need that.

4. Everyone is interesting

I'll admit it. I might assume things about people before I really KNOW them. I might think a person has nothing I might be interested in hearing, but then I watch my mom talk to someone and before I know it, their struggles and hopes are laid out on the table and tears are flowing and hugs are being given and new friendships are forged. And I stand there gaping like a fish out of water wondering how she does it -  how she truly cares about every person that she meets... I want to be like that.

5. Memories are worth making and keeping

"If my house was burning down and I could only save one thing - I'd save my photos."  This was said countless times around our home and now I realize why. My mom values memories. She has invested years into our lives and the lives of others and, at the end, all that is left on this earth are memories and relationships. Both are worth cherishing.

Who knew?

What have you learned from your mom?

Adventures in Writing #2 - {Running}

Tuesday Thoughts is where I pick a topic that’s on my mind, set a timer, start with “Go”, write about it for five minutes, and end with “Done”. Editing is non-existent and I am grateful for that since I can spend hours fine-tuning and agonizing over a post.  Even writing this paragraph, I've written and rewritten it about five times, sent it to my hubby to edit, rewritten it, and am still debating whether it's acceptable.

In this exercise, I am enjoying the freedom to just write, without stressing about perfection or what others might think. This is my lovelimess after all.

...

(Going running for the first time after Melody was born.)

Go.

My feet pound against the ground. Shudders climb my legs as I propel one foot in front of the next. Run. Run. Run.

Breath pounds in my lungs, an aching clawing pain, but my feet keep moving and my brain prods my body to push itself just a little farther. A couple feet longer.

My legs slow and I walk, breathing steadier, but feeling the ache of the run in my legs, in my knees, in my heart. Training is hard. It sucks your breath away, makes your heart beat, strips you of weakness and leaves strength in its place. It makes me want to vomit, it makes my body burn, and it hurts.

I'm enough for you. He whispers it in the wind on the road. And I know it's true. He's been enough through each push and pull, each need from little hands or mouths. He's been enough for the brokenness in the world around me. And, always, again, He is enough for me.

So I keep running. Putting one foot in front of the other.

I know what waits at the end of the race and so I keep pressing on. Pushing my body past it’s limits into the realm of His strength. And I feel my lungs fill with breath that is not my own and my body propelled by His power. The running, it hurts and it burns, but it is sweet too.

Done.