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Word of the Year 2015

Word of the Year 2015

The other day, a friend of mine asked me how I did with my word of the year for 2014.

Uh . . . ok so it started out well.

I chose the word Abide, and I did think about it quite a bit for the first few months. After that, when it came to mind, it was usually in the form of imagining a hobbit house. Seriously. Because abide means to dwell and I feel like dwelling happens best in a little hobbit hole. I don’t know why.

Part of my downfall, if we can call it that (and I think we should) is that I did not have any practical ways to pursue my word, aside from painting a cool visual of it to put in my office closet. I don’t how much it helped but it looked awesome.

This year, I debated declaring anything at all. I thought about a few words, but what came to mind was a phrase. It might not be a surprise to you, if you read this previous post about my mint plant. No, my phrase is not mint plant, but “Keep your soul well.”

Keep Your Soul Well

I haven’t been able to stop thinking about this phrase since reading John Ortberg’s book Soul Keeping. I can put so much energy into what is happening outside and around me, and neglect my soul.

Our souls are needy. They need nurturing. They need feeding. And also truth, love, guidance, restoration, redemption. These needs take intentionality.

So I have a few practices, habits, that I hope will keep this phrase fresh in my mind and active in my life. I’ll probably post about them in days to come. Hopefully in weeks to come, as I plan to carry this one further into the year than last time.

Of course, the first order of business is to create a cool visual.

What about you? What’s your word?

Related posts:

Word of the Year 2014: Abide

Word of the Year 2013: Content

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Reflections on a Christmas Morning

Reflections on a Christmas Morning

It’s the wee hours of Christmas morning. The only other person awake is my mom, stuffing our enormous stockings to capacity, leaving the rest as a stack underneath. In our family, we DO stockings!

Once again, I find myself struggling to wrap my heart and mind around the reality of Christmas. I don’t want to walk away from another season with nothing more than warm feelings and a pile of loot. I want the truth of it to sink deep in my soul and change me.

So I ask myself today, “what does Christmas mean for me?”

This is my answer:

Christmas means I have life.

Not just eternal life but abundant life here, now, life with meaning and purpose.

It means having a Savior, a rescuer, not just for eternity but for all those moments when I flounder on my own.

I have a shepherd, a comforter, one who is compassionate on me in my weakness and need.

I am no longer alone.

There is one who sees me, knows me, wants me, holds me fast.

He was willing to be limited, weak, helpless, affected, vulnerable, poor, tired, misunderstood, hated and killed for love of me.

When it says in Isaiah that He will “open eyes that are blind, to free captives from prison, and to release from the dungeon those who sit in darkness” –  I was the blind, the captive, sitting in darkness. You were you.

Christmas means light, freedom, a way out. All of this on his initiative, moving toward us out of love. When I look at this Jesus, I see the face of God. He is personal and good.

He is zealous for me. For you. For us.

The weary world rejoices.

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Death by Gingerbread House

Death by Gingerbread House
(this is not our house. Far, far from it).

 

Today was a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day, all due to the intense and relentless desire of our son to make a gingerbread house.

We made one once, in the U.S., before we knew that you could preserve your sanity and use a kit. I vowed never again to make one from scratch. I would have used a kit here, but IKEA ran out before we got one, and the other places are too expensive.

So here I am, so exhausted, frustrated, and stressed that I resorted to taking a few old potatoes and hurling them at my shower wall as hard as possible.

I need more potatoes.

I thought that it might be hard to make a gingerbread house here because of the high humidity. That was the least of our issues.

I thought it would help to use a box inside for reinforcement. Yeah, that wasn’t much help.

I could list out the problems, but let’s say that in the end, we have a gingerbread house precariously held together with not just frosting but also tape, glue, staples, nails, and sewing pins. It is a house that any inspector would instantly condemn.

I’m afraid to let the kids decorate it because I know the second someone touches it, it will collapse. So it will remain undecorated. In fact, when I get around to it, I’m pitching it. I’d like to pitch it against my shower wall too, but I still have to clean up the potatoes. And the nails might scratch the enamel.

I informed our son that we are never ever going to attempt another gingerbread house from scratch. The crazed look on my face convinced him not to argue. I told him maybe we could just paint a box brown and decorate that. He said maybe we could just eat the decorations. Hey, even better!

The biggest bummer is that I was at a Christmas luncheon on Thursday and part of the dessert was these really cute little figures made of sugar – trees and people. I asked everyone at our table to give me theirs so I have a virtual sugar forest and village. They will be homeless this Christmas.

Related posts:

Missing Christmas 

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Keeping Our Souls Well

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“It’s alive!” This thought, like the ravings of a mad scientist, leapt to mind when I saw this yesterday:

Keeping Our Souls Well

It doesn’t look like much, but trust me – I had inadvertently done my best to kill this mint plant all through the summer and fall. Completely unintentional, I assure you, it’s just that I am not a good keeper of plants. The fact that it isn’t dead is nothing short of miraculous.

I bought this plant last summer at a farmer’s market in Minnesota. I dragged it with us to Colorado, then back to Orlando, where I put it on our front patio. In the Florida heat, it struggled to survive. I often forgot to water it. When I did, I might have drowned it a little. It wilted, and parts of it even died, but I didn’t take time to prune it. It seemed to want to survive, though its leaves were never as large as they initially were. It grew a little crazy, but not strong.

I finally wised up and looked online to see what mint plants actually need to survive. Turns out they need morning sun and other environmental factors I wasn’t providing. In fact, I could have been writing a book on how to kill a mint plant in 10 easy steps. I was not treating it well.

So I moved it to our lanai, where it drinks in morning sun and where I see it often enough to remember to water (but not drown) it. I had to cut it back to its roots essentially and hope for the best.

And now, weeks later, it is sprouting.

It’s no coincidence that I was reading Soul Keeping by John Ortberg when I saw my plant. God felt I needed a visual.

This mint plant is my soul. I can so easily be careless about the environment I put it in. I feed it what it doesn’t need and neglect to give it what it does. I forget about it. I think maybe it will just grow and flourish on its own. My soul wants desperately to thrive.

I’ve been thinking a lot, as I read this book, about what I must do to keep my soul well. I want to be a good keeper of my soul. There is pruning that needs to happen, a change of environment perhaps. Certainly greater diligence to its health and care, putting it in a place where I am aware of it more often. I made a list of what feeds my soul and what does not. I hope to shape my life more and more to fit that environment, so my soul can be fully alive.

How is your soul today?

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Promises to My Children

Promises to My Children

Kids, you have a lot of life ahead of you. You have big dreams and hopes for how that all will go. There are so many things I want to promise you about that life.

I wish I could promise you, sweet girl, that you will become a world-famous women’s soccer player. Or that you, brilliant son, will someday live on that space station (though you know I want you to stay on this planet).

I wish this world would always love you, no harm will ever come to you, you will have an easy path, life will be fair, and you will be happy and carefree.

I can’t promise any of that.

Here’s what I can promise you:

I promise you will always be loved.

I love you so much sometimes I can’t stand it. It spills out all over you in hugs and kisses you don’t necessarily want. Other times it’s harder because our sin gets in the way, but I promise I will always make it my aim to love you well.

And when I fail, which I will, remember that you are unconditionally loved by the One who made you. His is the one opinion that will never change. He’s wild about you. Let that be your solid place, even more than me.

I promise I will love your dad.

He’s a good man, your dad is. I’m blessed. But neither of us is perfect and marriage is hard work. I promise I will love him and fight for what we have. We will show you that it’s all worth it to have someone who is with you for the long haul. We want that for you.

I promise God will always be with you.

If I could, I would always be with you (probably even when you’d rather I wasn’t). I will always try, but there will be times that I cannot be there, or should not be there for your own growth. God has no such restrictions. He will always be there with all you need.

I promise to get all up in your business.

Hey, I’m your mom. So yes, I’ll ask about who you hang out with and what you talk about. I’ll put restrictions on what you can watch and play. When you’re emailing and browsing online, I’ll be looking over your shoulder. I’ll stick my nose in your room when you aren’t expecting me. I’ll make you eat your vegetables and do your chores. Get used to it. It’s because of #1.

I promise to let you go your own way.

I know that might seem contrary to #4. It’s hard for me to write, but I know you need to be independent from us. I have ideas about who I’d like you to be, but those don’t matter. What matters is that you be you. I know there will be many times when I need to just let you go, maybe even let you fail miserably. I will. Or at least I promise I will try.

I promise to always be FOR you.

At every competition, every job, every relationship that means something to you, everything you attempt, I will be your cheerleader. I’ll be the last one standing even if everyone else has stopped watching. Even when you don’t believe in yourself, I will believe in you. I am your biggest fan.

I promise to be with you in the fight.

You know I can’t keep you from all the hard, painful, unfair experiences of life. That’s true. But I promise that whatever you are going through, I will be all in. I will weep with you, be angry with you, pray with you and fight the good fight with you. We will walk the hard roads together.

I promise to keep trusting God for you.

I know you think I’m a good mom. Thanks for that. But the fact is, I’m not enough, and I need to own that. Where I am powerless, I need to trust in God to grow you in ways I just can’t. I will keep prying open my sticky fingers to trust you back to Him, believing that He is doing good work in you.

I promise I will make mistakes.

You know I can’t be a perfect mom, but that’s not what you need anyway. You need a mom who is human and makes mistakes, but gives herself grace and picks herself up to move on. And when I mess up, I will apologize. I can model that for you. Thanks for always being gracious when I do.

I promise to point you to Jesus.

At the end of the day, He can give you so much more than I can. I hope you always believe that. I’m never going to stop telling you and showing you, because when you find a well in the desert, you take others there. He’s living water, your source of life. He’s the best I can offer you. I promise.

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What Being a Soccer Mom Teaches Me About Parenting

It’s Worth It 

Parenting is Hard 

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Thankful

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Thankful

As I stand in my kitchen this morning, preparing for Thanksgiving, I can’t help realizing that our time overseas has given me a new and deeper appreciation for certain things I didn’t have before.

I made a creme de menthe pie yesterday. Long story short, I had to make it twice.

All it required to remake it was a quick trip to the store for two inexpensive items. Overseas, I had to make the pie shell, make the marshmallow cream myself (with precious imported gelatin), make the whipping cream (purchased at great cost at the western grocery store 30 minutes away) and spend a few minutes convincing a person at Starbucks to give me three shots of mint flavoring.

I don’t take for granted that we can buy all the ingredients we need to make whatever people requested (in this house, in addition to the pie, it was green bean casserole and sweet potatoes with marshmallows). Not only are they available, but we can afford to buy them. In short, life is easier and cheaper here.

Not only that, we have a giant oven in which to cook food, and our microwave doubles as a conventional oven so I can cook them all at the same time. Our oven overseas was “big” because it wasn’t just a toaster oven. It wasn’t until our last three years there that we owned a refrigerator that was anything more than a glorified dorm fridge. That was ok though – chances were there was somewhere in your house cold enough to thaw a turkey. The problem was storing any leftovers.

And while we’re disappointed not to be spending the holidays with family, we have come to know the joy of celebrating with friends who feel like family. They, too, know what it’s like to not have this abundance. Today, we’ll be grateful together for all we have here.

As challenging as some of those experiences were overseas, I’m grateful for them too. They reminded us that the best gifts are not tangible. So maybe we didn’t have a turkey or the other traditional foods we knew. We have so much that cannot be taken from us – salvation, joy, eternal life, love. All these other gifts are above and beyond. My heart is thankful.

This isn’t the first time I’ve had these thoughts back on this side of the ocean. Here are a few other reflections:

Absence Makes the Heart Grateful 

A Year of Thanks 

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The Fight Belongs to Him

The Fight Belongs to Him

We are at war, and I am a lousy general.

There are issues in the world worth fighting for: the hearts and minds of our kids, strong family ties, justice for the oppressed, basic human rights.

I don’t stop there though – I have all kinds of ambitious ideas, expectations and goals for myself, my family, my world. I approach them as hills to be conquered.

I am a fighter. I’ve never been one to sit on the sidelines (remember, I’m the overly enthusiastic sideline coach). The problem is that my weapons are not effective.

I fight in my own strength.

I’d like to think I’m a pretty strong woman. I am, by most standards. That’s my downfall.

When I see these issues around me that I want to change, I tackle them with all my might and wrestle them to the ground. I come at them with my best arguments, lofty goals, high energy, intentionality.

What looks like fierceness is often nothing more than a fearful attempt to control the outcome of a situation.

If I just keep trying and try hard enough, I can conquer them, right? Right? Tell me I’m right.

I’m wrong. These problems are bigger than me. They take more than I have. Others are simply not my battle to fight; they’re my ideas, not God’s. Most of them are spiritual battles, led by an enemy bent on our destruction. Who am I against that?

[ictt-tweet-inline]I’m picking the wrong weapons and the wrong battles.[/ictt-tweet-inline]

I am not meant for this war, but He is. Lately, I’ve been convicted of my need to lay down my feeble weapons and turn to His power. He sees the true battles and sees them better than I do. He knows what it takes, and He has it. He knows what must be hard fought and what is not meant to be.

My best weapon is not inside me but in praying the fight back to Him, trusting that He will do what needs to be done.

[ictt-tweet-inline]He wants to fight for me. My job is to step back and let Him.[/ictt-tweet-inline]

Do I stop fighting altogether? No. There are some problems worth pounding the table about. But there are some hills that I am not meant to climb. Those I leave to God.

I want to fight as one who knows her place as a lowly foot soldier, trusting in my commanding officer’s weapons, wisdom, guidance and strength, not my own. I want to follow His orders on when and where to fight, and with what. The battle is the Lord’s.

“The Lord will fight for you. You need only be still.” Exodus 14:14

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I Don’t Need Rescuing (Except I Do)

Soldier On, Friends

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Welcome to the Kingdom

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Welcome to the Kingdom

It feels good to be welcome.

I’m not a volleyball player. I’m not much for any organized sports, actually. In most I am, at best, a liability. It’s ok. I am who I am.

When I was asked to join in a volleyball game at our women’s retreat a few weeks, I gave them fair warning, “I will not add anything to this game.” I thought surely they would regret inviting me.

Within minutes, I discovered this was not the case. In fact, I soon realized that there was no level of mediocrity which would warrant dismissal from the court. It wouldn’t even get a sideways glance. We were all equally average or below. Our only objective was to keep the ball in the air. And it was fun. We celebrated. We cheered each other on. We laughed. It was the most fun I’ve ever had playing volleyball.

It was a beautiful picture of the kingdom of God.
We’re not invited based on merit. It doesn’t matter how good or bad we are, we are welcome. When you mess up, there’s grace. Lots of it. And instead of defeating you, it will make you want to get back up and try again. We celebrate. We cheer each other on. We laugh. It’s good. Welcome.

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Faith Like a Child

Faith Like a Child

I’ll never forget asking our friend’s four-year-old son to make a wish before blowing out the candles on his birthday cake. Without hesitating, he took a deep breath and said, “I wish I could fly!”

Kids. They ask audaciously. They’re aware of their wants and needs and not afraid to express them. They’re helpless and weak and innocent and foolish and humble.

And to enter the kingdom we’re supposed to be like them.

Being the Adults

I’m an “oldest child” if there ever was one, though ironically, I’m not the oldest. Having an older sister who is mentally challenged thrust me into the role early and hard. It was part of God’s story for me.

But being that oldest, responsible, self-sufficient, trustworthy kid meant I took on a mentality of being the one no one had to worry about. I took care of myself. I was good at it. And I took the same attitude with God. I decided I’d be the one He didn’t have to worry about. I thought I was doing Him a favor. I wasn’t.

Being Like Children

We’re meant to relate to God as children. Helpless, weak, foolish, humble, needy children. Those are not the qualities I most like to exhibit in my life. In fact, they are the ones I am most inclined to avoid. Can I get an amen? Is it only me? Is this thing on?

Lately, God’s been calling me back to this place as a beloved child. He’s reminding me that it’s not only ok to own those places of weakness and mess and need, it’s necessary. It’s when I’m weak that He is strong. It’s in my needs that I find His sufficiency. It’s in my mess that I find the unconditional love I seek.

And from that position of humility, He calls us to ask. Be audacious. Be bold. Tell Him you want a pony. You want to fly. When I’m in that place where I know I don’t have it together, I am incompetent for the task at hand, I am reminded that it doesn’t matter because my Abba is more than enough. He delights to give good gifts to His children. Make a wish.

Me, age 4.

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What Being a Soccer Mom Teaches Me About Parenting

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What Being a Soccer Mom Teaches Me About Parenting
Photo by Arseny Togulev on Unsplash

 

I have embraced what seems to be the natural calling of an American mom.

Outside the home, I watch soccer. That’s what I do.

Every weekend, sometimes more than once, I am in my camp chair with a water bottle and a phone in hand to text updates to my husband.

Each game brings a certain amount of trepidation. I hope our daughter will get to play the position she wants. I hope she will play well. Please God, I hope she will not get injured. I hope we will win, or at least play well and learn from it. I hope the girls will have fun.

We all do. All the parents sitting on the sidelines hope. What I’m noticing is that we all have different responses to that hope.

How We Hope

There’s a range of how vocal the parents on our team are. Some throw out only encouraging comments when the girls do well. Some restrict their suggestions to their own daughters. Others get more involved, particularly when the game isn’t going in our favor. And then there are the few who mistakenly believe that they need to make up for the lack of direction from our coaches, and sideline coach every. single. minute.

I get it. It’s hard to watch from the outside and see mistakes being made, opportunities lost, to witness fumbling right in front of the goal, and not be able to do anything about it.

The comments we parents make from the sidelines are not enlightening our girls in the slightest. They are fully aware that when the ball is centered in front of our goal, they should clear it. When someone else has taken the ball, they know some pressure might get it away from her. They are cognizant of how the game is going.

Our coaches embrace the philosophy that coaching happens at practice, and during the games they let the girls figure it out themselves. They want them to talk to each other, to realize what they’re doing wrong and correct it as a team. They took their U-17 girls to the state championship last year, so I think it’s working.

Where We Should Hope

The older our kids get, the more I realize that much of my parenting must feel like the overly enthusiastic sideline coach. They know when they are making mistakes, for the most part. They see the opportunities, they know how it’s all going. Do they need some direction now and then? Sure. But not the kind of micro-managing that comes out of a hope that has become an expectation that has become, “how you do reflects on me, therefore I must control the outcome of this.” We need to step back sometimes and let them make their own mistakes, figure it out for themselves.

Ultimately, it’s not our coaching or direction that will get our kids where they need to go in life. We cannot put our hope in our own ability to direct our kids. Our hope is in God, who is a far better coach and counselor than we are. Let’s trust in His guidance of them as we cheer them on from the sidelines.

 

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Focusing on the Right Goals 

Why It’s Good When We See Olympians Fail

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