Stepping Out

Blended families are tough.  There's multiple parenting styles, multiple celebrations, multiple family traditions, all melting together somehow.  Multiple opportunities to have conflict.  Multiple opportunities to show grace.

We've had our share of conflict; every family does.  But God is showing me that conflict brings with it a gift.  That gift is grace.  How we handle that conflict reflects how we let God handle our hearts and how we handle our own conflicts with God.

We can lash out at the other person, with shouts and claims of how right we are.  We can sulk, and close ourselves off emotionally and physically, in an attempt to make the other person prove they deserve our love.  We can give the silent treatment, and in turn give pride a stronger foothold on our soul.  We can hold onto unforgiveness, and allow bitterness to grow in those richly fertile fields.

Or.

Or we can choose to work together for the common good.  We can choose to remember that what we fight against is not each other, but the dark forces that are very much at work in the world.  We can reach out and touch and remind one another that we are still here, still supporting even if we disagree. We can forgive and set our own souls free, and those that have hurt us, to be the beautiful creation God intended full of love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness and self-control.  We can allow God to exercise whatever judgement He deems necessary for the fulfillment of His will.

I'm learning that I have a choice.  Free will.  I'm learning that blessings follow when I choose Jesus and His ways.  I'm learning to step out of my comfort zone.  I'm learning that forgiveness and grace are daily needs for all of us. I'm learning to slow down so that I can remember.

When I take the time to reflect on all of God's mercies in my own life, I can't help but want to pass those mercies on to others.  But, when  I allow my life to become full of activities to the point that I am passing myself on the stairs,  I lose the ability to offer grace.  I snap.  I don't seem joyful.  I trade peace for confusion and chaos.  My kindness is not readily noticeable.  Goodness is not my first thought.  I become faithful only to myself.  I have an edge I don't normally have.  Self-control becomes a stranger.

Stepping out in faith is what brings the blessings.  Stepping out in faith that God will provide, even when it seems impossible.  Stepping out even when life screams for you to hold back.  Stepping out into the beautiful life God created just for me, the life He created just for you.

Rainy Days and Tuesdays

I couldn't resist.  I'm a fan of Karen Carpenter.  Love her voice.

There are so many things on my mind this rainy Tuesday morning.  I'm guessing it will take me a few blog posts to organize the thoughts into some semblance of order.  I'm hopeful at least one of them will connect with you in some way.

I've been sick now for over a week.  It stinks.  For most of the time, I've been in bed trying to be as still as possible, my attempt at keeping the racking cough at bay.

When I was finally better enough to sit up for a bit, the blinding migraine started.  Really?  From what I hear, it was a beautiful weekend.  I missed it.  My kids were home this past weekend.  I missed most, if not all, their activities.  Have I mentioned being sick stinks?

There were blessings this weekend, even in the midst of being confined to my bed.  My parents live about 20 minutes away.  My mama met me at the doctor's office, took me to get my prescription, took me home, made me lunch, tucked me in.  My daddy picked up my kids (all four of them) from school, took them to their practices, brought them home, fed them, laughed with them, loved them.  My brother lives about 25 minutes away.  He got my kids to their Upward game, even though his own wife was home sick herself. My parents brought us one of their cars to use while ours is in the shop.

My husband...well, he did everything I usually do on top of all he usually does, including coach two of the boys in basketball, and went to the baseball draft for Little League.  He took all four kids to a family party for my Grandmother's 85th birthday (Happy Belated Birthday!).  He took the kids to church, went to baseball practice and back to church for the Upwards celebration.  He took the boys shopping for new cleats, practice pants, and anything else they needed.  He cooked.  He cleaned.  He did laundry.  He took care of me.  He loved me like Christ loves the Church.

Now, what did I do beside lay in the bed like a slug?  I was short-tempered with my mom and my husband.  The very people who were caring for me and loving me.  Why?  Because they weren't doing the things I usually do the way I usually do them.  Ugh.


I also learned a lot.  God offers us blessings every day.  It's our job to look for them, seek them out.  Be one of those blessings.  Allow God to use us to bless someone else.  Thank God for using others to bless us.  Thank them for allowing God to use them (even if they don't realize it).

Look for the good.  It's there.  Look for God.  He's there.

Even when the rains fall.  Even when the car breaks down in the parking garage on a Friday afternoon.  Even when you are sick.  Even when the dog's muddy paw prints decorate your freshly cleaned carpet.

Even when...

New Year, New Habit

Happy New Year!!

I love fresh starts (more on that later).  A new year is a beautiful time to finally get going on this.  I don't make resolutions any more.  I've learned that I can easily get caught up in the emotion of all the areas of my life I'd like to improve, only to have life get in the way of my progress.  I end up feeling frustrated, inadequate, and any motivation I had at the beginning has quickly dissipated.

What's a girl to do?  Start with the basics,  and as Lisa TerKeurst reminds us in Unglued, accept imperfect progress.  (A review of that book is coming as soon as I finish it.)

One thing I have wanted to do in the past, but honestly would somehow forget about, is the Siesta Scripture Memory Team over at the Living Proof blog.  I've been reading (I know, shocking.) and have been encouraged to begin scripture memorization again. 

My kids go to a private school and my daughter has scripture memory each week, usually building on the previous week's scripture.  When we homeschooled, we memorized scripture together.  Lately though, I haven't been giving it much thought, much less actually doing it.  In one of Beth's posts about the SSMT, she mentioned a spiral-bound notecard set as a way to keep track of your verses and keep your verses handy.  I ended up snagging a set of 3x5 cards on a ring at Staples for a whopping $1.  It's even hot pink! (I'll post a picture as soon as I figure out how to transfer it from my phone to my laptop.)

I finally chose my first verse today.  Or my 11-year old son did.  He asked what I was working on and when I told him I was struggling to decide which verse to be my first one, he suggested the verse he uses as his instagram profile picture.  That kid is such a blessing!

So, in honor of him, my first verse is Deuteronomy 31:6 (The Message)
"Be strong.  Take courage.  Don't be intimidated.  Don't give them a second thought because God, your God, is striding ahead of you.  He is right there with you.  He won't let you down; He won't leave you."

What's one habit you can start today that will deepen your relationship with Christ?  Scripture memory? Quiet time? Bible study?  I'd love to hear what it is so we can encourage one another.  If you choose scripture memory, don't forget to post a comment over at the Living Proof blog, too.

Looking forward to all the blessings God has in store for us this year!

Walking with Grief

There are all sorts of clubs, groups, and even cliques.  Membership usually requires some sort of checklist and possibly even dues.  Once membership is attained, certain privileges become yours. You are allowed to eat at the prestigious country club, workout at the "in" gym, have lunch with the "in" crowd.


Sometimes, however, we become members of clubs with which we never wanted to be, or thought we ever would be, associated.  Miscarriage, divorce, death, unemployment.  Who wants a membership in those clubs?  Not me.  I'm betting not you, either.


But loss seeks us out, grabs us when we least expect it.  The baby you prayed for months to conceive, suddenly has no heartbeat.  The marriage you thought would make it, and seemed to for a while, crumbles.  Cancer robs your husband, grandfather, mother, friend of their life, and it robs you of the relationship.  The job that had so much potential is cut, or worse yet, given to someone else.


Life is full of hurts and disappointments.  Memberships in clubs we'd rather not have.  


Twelve years ago, the excitement and anticipation of my first pregnancy came to a screeching halt when the nurse couldn't locate my baby's heartbeat.  She was very calm and suggested that perhaps I wasn't as far along as originally determined.  My heart knew otherwise.  The next ultrasound confirmed my fear.  My baby was gone.


I collapsed.  I weeped.  I wailed.


Grief came.  Grief stayed.


The months that followed were tricky.  Immediately I had to have surgery.  Two days later, I hemorrhaged and had to be readmitted to the hospital for another surgery.  When I finally was home, I didn't want to leave.  I just wanted my baby back.  I was physically unwell, spiritually unwell, and emotionally a wreck.


Eventually, the days got a little easier.  I began to venture out of my house.  I began to think I was going to be ok.  But then, I would see something, hear something, or even smell something; grief flooded back.  Its trigger evasive, sneaky; wrapping its fingers around me, pulling me down, tripping me up.


I eventually became pregnant again and delivered a beautiful baby boy.  I love that boy!  His birth helped me to face my grief more fully and be able to walk with it in peace.  The grief was still there.  Still is.  But it no longer consumes me.  It can still surprise me, but it no longer defines me.


A few years ago, my marriage of almost 13 years ended in divorce.  I fought it for years before I actually made the decision to walk away.  I didn't want to be divorced.   I didn't want to be "that girl".  God hates divorce.  So do I.  It's an ugly, painful, deeply grieving walk.


It's a grief that I thought would eventually be gone.  It doesn't go away, especially when there are children and ex-spouses involved.  I'm learning to walk with that grief.  Learning to help my children walk with their grief.  Learning to lean on God for my strength.


I've since remarried.  My husband is an amazing man who loves God.  I am blessed beyond measure.  He was married before as well, and has two boys from that marriage.  They have their own grief, too.


But we're all learning to walk through our grief together.  Be sensitive to each other, remembering that what we all really want is to be loved and accepted in the midst of a messy life.  Some days we do really well.  Some days not so much.  


But love and grace and mercy live in our house, right alongside our grief.  It mixes with our joy and laughter, becoming a beautiful thing that only God could orchestrate and sustain.


"Have I not commanded you? Be strong and courageous. Do not be afraid; do not be discouraged, for the LORD your God will be with you wherever you go.”   Joshua 1:9

Baby Biscuits

Growing up, we had biscuits on a pretty regular basis.  Not those canned biscuits either.  Real biscuits.  Flour-on-your-hands, knead-the-dough biscuits.

Sometimes my mama would use cookie cutters to make fun shapes, but most often it was her biscuit cutter.  I loved to watch her knead the dough, pat it out, and cut all those circles.  We would talk and laugh and enjoy this little slice of life.

My favorite part was my baby biscuit.  Yes, MY baby biscuit.  I'm the baby in my family. My mama was never one to waste something, especially biscuit dough.  So, when she had cut out every biscuit she possibly could, she would take the leftover bits of dough and combine them to make a baby biscuit.  Just for me.

This baby biscuit looked nothing like the others lined up neatly on the pan.  It was misshapen, odd, squished together.  But it was my favorite.

Ten minutes later the timer would ding and the blissful aroma of fresh baked bread beckoned me.  Before my mama could get them off the pan and buttered, my fingers were excitedly laying claim to the one made just for me.

The outside lightly browned; the inside fluffy and light.  Steam rising as I cracked it open, butter dripping down my hand as I popped the entire thing into my mouth, savoring this wonderful creation.  Sure, I would eat one or two or five more of the others; but this one was, and still is, far and away my favorite.

I have my own children to make biscuits for now.  My daughter, when she was still the baby of the family, would stand in a kitchen chair while I made biscuits.  We would talk and laugh and enjoy this little slice of life.  And she would get the baby biscuit.  Her sweet eyes would light up every time I told her the story of her grandmother and me doing the very same thing thirty years before. 

Earlier this week I made biscuits as part of our supper.  The baby biscuit was sitting on the pan, hot and ready, just waiting for my daughter to come along and claim it.  We had a full house that night.  The kitchen was loud and busy.
  
I turned to get the baby biscuit for my daughter's plate.  Something was missing.  Part of the biscuit was gone.  Who would do such a thing?  Doesn't everyone know she's the baby and that biscuit is hers?

Apparently not my husband.  It seems he likes baby biscuits, too.  And so does the now-baby in our family, our seven-year-old son.  Turns out EVERYONE likes, and wants, the baby biscuit. 

This got me thinking about how many times in life we tend to pursue the seemingly perfect things (relationship, job, home, church, etc.); desperately wanting to be like everyone else and fit into what we think is the best place, or what society has convinced us is the ONLY place, to be.  All the while forgetting that if we will just give our bits (the hurt, the questions, the insecurities) to God, He will make something so unique and beautiful in us, that everyone will want what we have.