God's Pursuit of Me
To have found God and still to pursue Him is the soul's paradox of love. - A.W. Tozer
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Half Way. But Not Quite.
It has been happening all month. Ever since I learned about charity:water. Ever since I wrote about charity:water. Ever since we told our kids about charity:water. Ever since we showed the kids a video from charity:water. I am constantly noticing water. How much I drink every day. (Like way more than my eight glasses.) (And it’s always cold.) (And ice is always available.) How often I leave the tap water running while cleaning the kitchen. (It’s a bad habit for so many reasons. I got it.) How much I pour down the drain at bath time. (The kids got super dusty while playing in the dirt while attending Riley’s first…
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don’t buy juice this month.
We have those weeks at our house. Like everyone else I assume. Weeks where the grocery budget has been spent and we end up eating tomato soup and grilled cheese sandwiches (at an estimated cost of less than 80 cents per family member) or tuna casserole (a throwback from the quick, easy, low cost dishes of my childhood). I cut coupons and am currently trying my hand at the whole CVS game. And I’m not doing it because I like spending several hours huddled over newspaper ads or searching websites for great deals. I’m cutting coupons and planning low cost meals for the same reason everyone else is doing it.…
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A Little Like Me
My children say some crazy things. Out of nowhere, Mosely commented, “Wouldn’t it be weird if a witch came here right now and turned Bergen into a dog?” (Where’s that kid learning about witches and how powerful does she think they are?) Or Bergen wondering out loud, “Wouldn’t it be funny if all shoes were made out of sausages?” And I actually like to hear these bizarre-o statements escape their lips. Because I like laughing. But it’s the sweet, unexpectedly kind and thoughtful comments that really shape my heart. Brushing Scout’s much-longer-than-I-realized hair, I began telling her how much her current seven-year-old self resembled my former seven-year-old self. (It’s uncanny,…
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I’m Just Like Bergen
Sometime in the less-than-distant past, this event occurred at our home. It was bed time. Some friends were over. Bergen wanted Nate to fly him to bed like a superhero. (Because Nate can do that, you know.) But Nate was busy. So Bergen began to wait. Impatiently. He cried out Nate’s name. Loudly. Repetitively. Nate told Bergen he would be right there in just a minute. But Bergen didn’t care. He just kept crying out in a sobbing voice, “Naaaay-Aaaate”. Over and over. Increasing in volume each time. Nate was not ignoring Bergen. He had every intention of entering the living room, scooping Bergen up Superman-style, and making a grand…
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remember
You know how sometimes you just want a sign for what you should do? You ask God to make it clear what direction to move or to let you know what He would have you to do or how He would have you act or whatever? You know how we pray like that? (Or, I pray like that.) But then we (or, wait – I) don’t even look for the signs that I just finished asking for? I don’t even listen for the voice. I don’t keep my eyes peeled (as my kids say) for what God is showing me. Do you ever do that? Well. Okay. This isn’t about…
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poor.
Over the course of today I had the following series of conversations with my son Bergen. (He’s five, you know.) At The Breakfast Table. We sang a song we like to sing every morning after we eat breakfast. (It’s a song I was reminded of many months ago by my sweet friend Rachael.) And it’s a song I have been trying to claim as our family’s anthem. Pure & Holy Passion. I don’t know if I can even imagine a sound more lovely than the voices of my young children singing those true and simple lyrics together of an early morn. Berg loves the song. He grins while we sing…
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Farewell Old Friend
You know what I am through with? Pretense. Maybe it’s my age. (I did just officially get older last week.) But I don’t feel the need (nor the desire) to appear to be what I am not. If you ask me how I am – I will tell you. I won’t say “fine” when I am not. No, I don’t plan on giving you more than you asked for or disparaging people in my path to being “real”. But I don’t care to be pretend any longer. And I don’t want you to be that way either. You don’t have to share your deepest secrets with me when I ask…
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today
What day of the week was today? I don’t remember. Do you ever have days like that? I awoke to chaos in my room. It came to meet me in my bed, actually. In the form of a two and half foot screeching two-year-old who had experienced a bad dream about lions and monkeys and tigers. And here it is – some 14 hours later. I don’t think I heard anyone call me by my given name. What did I even do today? Uh. I watched Otto conquer two steps. And then I watched two steps conquer Otto. Twice. Little bruiser. For 14 hours today 14 hours in a row…
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Hey Jordin – I Can Tell You Why
There’s this song that always seems to be playing – in the car, from Riley’s bedroom, at our computer, from the kitchen iDock. Always on. Why does love always feel like a battlefield? Oh, Jordin Sparks. Why does it? I’ll tell you why. I will tell you why love always feel likes a battlefield. (Actually, for the record – whatever that means – I don’t really like the song at all. At all. I don’t even know why. Maybe overexposure or something. I’m not sure. Probably overexposure. But I feel as if I need to clarify that. But really, why do I think I need to clarify my personal taste…
Keep Reading . . .
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parenting reminds me I need Jesus
The Deal With Me & Low Cost Flights
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good day. bad day. control. letting go.
Today was a good day. But it was lining up to have every reason to not be. Fox has been fighting some kind of sickness for the past several days but his little conditions worsened by this morning. Crusty, weepy eyes. Runny, red nose. Add in a cough and eye rubbing and general discomfort and I knew we should probably make the journey in to see a doctor. We had a Pisgah Forest trip planned but we ditched that and I called the doctor. “Can you be here in half an hour?” the nurse asked. I looked around my kitchen. Four mostly disappointed kids (they love Pisgah – and today…
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Alone
It was late. I was lonely. I called my brother. And we talked. And that was nice. We talked about things and stuff and all that. But as I was talking and as I was listening another part of me simultaneously was realizing that although I was reaching out trying to connect through distance and space and time (another time zone) and the miracle that all that really is I realized that I was trying to avoid being alone. To stave off loneliness. But I couldn’t. Because really I actually am all alone. We all are. All Alone. Right now. In the end. Here. Then. Always. Alone. When we…
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The Thing With Feathers
Hope is the thing with feathers That perches in the soul, And sings the tune without the words, And never stops at all, And sweetest in the gale is heard; And sore must be the storm That could abash the little bird That kept so many warm. I’ve heard it in the chilliest land And on the strangest sea; Yet, never, in extremity, It asked a crumb of me. – Emily Dickinson Oh Emily. You might have been a tad eccentric. You were probably lonely. But you know a thing or two about hope, don’t you? Hope. It’s a bit of a dangerous thing really, isn’t it? The thing with…
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my diet
Disappointment is my daily bread. Yes. You guessed it. This post might just be a downer. Click somewhere else if you want. I’ll never know. But today . . . I don’t have anything to offer. No weird vomit tale with which to regale you. No everything is spiritual epiphany. Only a ranting. I just don’t feel like suffering in silence today. That’s all. It’s seems I keep moving back over to that edge. On the verge of tears almost always. Sure – for big reasons. And for smaller ones too. It just seems lately that I fall asleep to disappointment and then I wake up to disappointment. It sits…
