I love my church.

It’s messy and honest.  It’s real.

Church is such a strange word.  It probably conjures up a different picture in everyone’s minds, good and bad.

For me, I’m not just talking about the few hours each Sunday that a group of us get together, although that certainly falls under the umbrella of “church”.  I just mean the people involved as a whole.  How we worship, eat, work, play, and just be together.

AND, how we are not together.  My week is not filled up with church meetings and activities every night of the week.  At least, not in the corporate, organized meaning of the word.  While we do lots of stuff together and are actually concerned about doing real community, there’s not a constant barrage of planned things that I’m always obligated to attend.  It frees me up to actually live out my faith beyond the contained, cozy members I call my church family.  I love that.

As for our actual, regular Sunday gathering, I love that too.  We’re a new-ish group, with more single people than married couples, and we meet in a homeless shelter in downtown Flint.  So, yeah, there are more bumps in the road than most, but the authenticity and genuine care is what speaks to my heart every week.  And, even after almost 3 years, I still look forward to the preaching every single week.

We are far from perfect.  Stuff gets overlooked.  Things get done wrong.  There’s lots of hiccups, mistakes and shift-uneasily-in-your-seat moments.

But what sets these people apart from anywhere else I’ve been is the response to those things.

There’s heartfelt discussions.  There’s willingness for apology and openness to change.  There’s mindfulness of shortcomings while still experiencing the joy of being united in what’s important.

So, while I like the fact that I can wear a dressy skirt one week then jeans and flip-flops the next, the fact that some sit quietly and don’t sing at all while others stand with their hands in the air and belt out each word, the fact that there are all kinds of economic, racial and even favorite ice cream flavor differences represented, the part I like the most is the tender boldness.

Tender in loving and caring for each other and those around us.  Bold in believing and living out the Gospel.

We try not to argue, um.. discuss, in front of the kids.

First of all, it’s none of their business.  Secondly, they choose the craziest, most inopportune times to bring it up later.  And lastly? I know how some “sensitive” (manipulative) children can hear their parents passionately debate… um, work through an issue and suddenly think we all hate each other, and one of us will move out and we’ll all split up, and they’ll all be sent to an orphanage where they’ll wear rags and sing Tomorrow, tomorrow, I love ya, tomorrow!

But we’re also real.  Real people.  With real responses and reactions and feelings and emotions and, yes, real messed up flaws. So, sometimes we do “discuss” in front of the kids.

But here’s how it can be a good thing.  If kids never, ever hear their parents arguing… um, doing the real work of relationship, then they’ll have unreasonable and unnatural expectations of how married people have to work through crappy situations and struggles.  I’ll end up raising a paranoid, easily offended daughter who, when her husband scowls at her, will burst into tears and think, surely, her marriage is just a huge farce.

Or, even WORSE, a mamby-pamby, complete beast of a boy who thinks it’s more manly to leave than to stay put and work things out.

Besides, sometimes it’s just really, really inconvenient to take the time to go aaaallllll the way up to our bedroom, shut the door, turn on the fan for white noise and THEN duke it out.  I just want to say something snarky… um, offer my thoughtful commentary on a pressing issue right then and there.

So.

You might know that we had a week-long family vacay a few weeks ago.  (Or, maybe you don’t know, and that’s perfectly okay, you weird stalker person.)  We made it through 8 entire days of being with each other non-stop without any major eruptions.

Well, there was this one time that we were trying to squeeze our long, big, ugly brown van (no, I refuse to call it tan.  It’s just brown.)  into this ridiculously tiny parking lot.  There were wide, easy to reach parking places in the lot right next door, but they had BIG signs warning to NOT park there or they would puncture your tires and throw your children into the lake. Something like that.  So, I insisted we obey and park in the actual lot we were supposed to park in.  Because I’m a rule-follower.

Baby Daddy, who we all know is a authority-questioning big rebel, chose to humor me.  So there we were, stuck sideways in this tiny lot while some lady in a SUV behind us was bent on blocking us in entirely.  But, instead of admitting that the situation was likely impossible, I just laughed my head off from the passenger’s seat, AND took a picture of Baby Daddy as he tried to maneuver us out of there.  We all know how great it is to be slightly pissed and have someone take a picture of us, right?  I’m so helpful, I know.

But that was hardly an eruption.  I’m getting to that.

It was the very last day, and we were still about 3 hours from home.  Everyone was extremely hot (the long, big, ugly brown van does not have air conditioning, unless you count having the windows all the way down even on the expressways) and also extremely hungry.  We had a cooler full of yummy food, but decided to look for a park to stop and eat at.  I mean, we were on a pretty, two-lane highway that meandered through little towns.  Much better than baking to crisps on a blacktop parking lot, right?

Except that Baby Daddy has this thing where, once he begins driving, just… drives.  I swear he ceases to see anything in particular except for the road ahead of him.

So, we’re driving along and whenever I noticed a suitable place to stop, I’d read the sign aloud and point to it.  We passed one.  Then two.  Then three and four… I squirmed from the sheer exertion that comes when I’m refraining myself from grabbing the steering wheel.

“What are you going to do?”  I demanded.  “Drive all the way home and then say you just never saw a place to stop???!!  We’re starving!!”

He calmly replied, “Just tell me where to stop, and I’ll stop.”

“AaAhH!!!”  I yelled.  (With much grace and class, of course.)  “We’ve already passed four places!!!  You’re not even looking!! OR listening!!!  WILL you just PULL over so we can EAT!!!!”

(I’m sure I was the picture of sweetness.  I’ve perfected the art of shrieking while still looking darling.)  And so he pulled over.

Right there, in the middle of nowhere, he slammed on the brakes and pulled off to the shoulder, gravel and dust flying up in a cloud behind us.

And, while he sat there calmly with a smug expression, I totally lost it.  “AARGH! You can be SUCH a JERK!!”

The kids, who had been bickering loudly the last fifteen miles, were suddenly silent.  I refused to look back, but I could imagine their big, round eyes all looking up at me.  And, even more so, their big ears soaking up every word between us.

Anyways, we ended up finding a nice picnic spot beside a pretty lake where we laid out sand-encrusted beach towels and destroyed what was left of our cooler stash.  All was peaceful and right with the world again.

Then out of nowhere, Angel Imp looked at me with a smile and said, “You called Daddy a jerk.”

Ahem.  What can a mom do but take the opportunity to say, yes, I had said that and it was wrong for me to say and I was sorry.  And, for good measure, I leaned over and smooched Baby Daddy while we both laughed.  The kids looked relieved.

Actually, that’s not true.  They mostly just looked bored with the whole thing.

The end.

Well, kind of.  I cut out the part where I added after my sweet apology, “You really can be a jerk sometimes.”

I’ve been sitting here staring at the screen for several minutes.  I’ve typed and deleted a couple sentences.  I don’t know how to begin this; This rambling post that has been swimming around in my head about how I write a lot, but feel like there’s more that I don’t understand than what I do understand, and all the questions that swarm my thoughts on a daily basis, and while I try to be faithful to what I have learned and know to be true I can’t escape the reality that the more I know, the more I realize I don’t know.

I think I repeated myself a couple times there.  See, that’s what happens when I just vomit my thoughts on a page.  At least, I think there is one coherent thought in there, somewhere.

Every once in a while, someone will say or write something so nice to me, thanking me for what I write, or asking my advice, or wishing they could’ve known or thought something earlier, or whatever people say that makes me feel all sunshiny inside.

(It makes the icky comments and mail far more tolerable, by the way.  People are so thoughtful, you know, trying to point out all the things I’m doing wrong, or at least not perfectly.  It calls for some self-examination on my part, but usually I’m just humored by the idea that they think I’m so influential.  Whenever I am feeling down I just go back and read my hate mail, so I can feel like I really am significant and have such impact.)

While I appreciate the nice stuff (Who wouldn’t? What, you think I’m made of angel dust?) I kind of get uncomfortable if I begin to feel like someone is getting the impression that I think I have it all figured out.

Honestly?  I sometimes feel like I am drowning in doubts.

Not drowning as in every once in a while stopping and considering the possibility that I might be wrong about something.  I’m talking about drowning as in Oh my God, please help me have a clue about something.  Anything at all.

(Assuming there is a God, because yes, sometimes I feel like I could be talking to a cute little green man in suspenders just as much as the Creator of the Universe.)

So, yeah.  There’s the gut-wrenching uncertainty that even what I believe right now could be proven wrong tomorrow.  That always sucks.

And while I wish that the topics I write about was stuff that has appeared on glitter-sprinkled scrolls I found beneath a fern leaf in my garden, there’s instead the undeniable truth that much of what I have learned, I’ve learned by doing the opposite and making a complete butt of myself.

I’ve had to battle the weight of crushing debt.  I’ve screamed at my husband with tears running down my face and my hands clenched into fists.  I’ve cried myself to sleep over the horrible way I responded to my children on a particularly frustrating day.  I have felt the chains of anger, laziness, pride, and the inability, no, the unwillingness to forgive.

Heck, if I’m really gonna be honest here I’ll have to say I’ve broken my toe because I meant to angrily kick over a pile of folded clothes and ended up catching the corner of the wall as well.  Because I’m that awesome.

I’ve also known the freedom of taking responsibility.  I’ve felt as if my heart could explode with the exquisiteness that comes from deeper intimacy with my husband.  I’ve enjoyed the results of learning how to better relate with my children and raise them in a way that actually makes life with them a huge blessing.  I’ve experienced liberty from captivity, in several ways.

But my writings aren’t only my stories.  I’ve read letters and listened to women.  Some who can’t contain their joy as they excitedly share their story.  I celebrate with them.  Others, who make my throat swell even as I write this, who have spilled their hearts and related their tales of pain.  I mourn with them.  And then there are the ones who I may not even know, but share their story simply by the way they speak, or dress, or post pictures of themselves on Facebook.  They’re the ones I think about most of all.

And that’s what I pour out on the page.

You can catch up on past posts…

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

You’ve heard the saying, If you need something done, ask a busy person.

Unfortunately, I’ve found that adage all too true!  Those who truly have their days filled wisely are often willing and able to squeeze something in that will be a help to others.

It’s good to ask myself, Am I really too busy or just lazy?  What I sometimes mistake for being “busy” is often simply poor time management!

We are going to fill our time with something, and we usually find a way to do the things we really want to do.  I think it would be more honest to say, I really don’t want to make time for that.

Take a good look at how you spend your days. Write down what you have to do, what you should do, and what you would like to do.

Now, come up with a daily rhythm.  I say rhythm because most of us would never stick to a schedule.  They are constricting and limiting.  But children and even adults thrive on a rhythm to their days.  Rhythms not only set clear expectations, they also allow for changes and surprises to occur without much stress.

Start with the things you absolutely must do, then add the others.  Try to be realistic with how much time each takes up.  You’ll probably have to adjust it a bit, but that’s expected.

The biggest blessing to having a rhythm is peace of mind.  I know that I can sit with my hot coffee and Bible or blog in the afternoon without any guilt because I made it part of my day.   Yes, a million things need to be done, but not right then.  That stuff will have their turn.

There may be some things you need to get rid of.  For example, I’ve gotten rid of any weekly commitments for the children out of the home, like ballet, since that just won’t flow with this season’s activities.

You may also need to limit how much time you spend with certain pastimes.  I know that for me, computer time can easily get the best of me if I’m not diligent.

When things seem to be pressing in, it helps to write tasks down.  I have been known to lie awake with thoughts racing over something, unable to sleep.  I also often have my children write notes down while we’re driving, as that is a time I often think of things.  Jotting them down seems to release their hold on me and free up my memory bank.  It just makes it easier to think!

During the course of your day, you can pretty much depend on little “fires” popping up that you’ll be tempted to “put out”.  The problem with these fires is that they all seem important, but probably aren’t as crucial as they feel.  Keep your have-to’s in mind first and foremost.  If the fires can wait at all, write them down and deal with them at a later time that you have set aside for catch-up stuff – say, during the children’s naptime.

Make a daily rhythm as well as a weekly rhythm.  Allow your rhythm to ebb and flow with real life, while still maintaining some consistency.  Your husband, children and home will thank you!

Part 1

Part 2

This is the third part to a series I’m writing about time management.  I think through writing it’s become clear that time management has a lot to do with heart issues just as much as practical skills!

Then there is the season we find ourselves in.  How a working wife, a mother with very little ones and a mother with older children each manage their home will be very different!

A mother who is home with all young ones to tend to will have a more difficult time doing anything because she is often their sole source of attention and nurturing.  She probably won’t have much time for her own pursuits. The question is, is she okay with that?  Or resentful of other’s seeming ‘freedom’?

If you have only little children, it’s helpful to recognize that it is just a season you’re in.  But there are some things you can do to make it easier.

Include your children.  Sure, washing dishes or the bathroom is easier without them, but in the long run you aren’t doing anyone any favors.  Give them a wet rag and let them “clean”.  Set them up at the sink with a little water, a few dishes and a scrub brush – and be prepared to mop the floor when they’re done.  Have them hold the dustpan while you sweep.  Be creative in involving them!

Wear your baby.  Ask other moms what their favorite baby carrier or sling is.  Better yet, wear theirs for a couple hours to see if you like it.  Most babies love to be carried, and will happily ride for hours.

Ask for help.  Is there a anyone that can come periodically and lend a hand?  Maybe she can help with some household tasks, or watch the children while you run errands or work on some projects.  Some will gladly come simply for the blessing of it, or perhaps you can work out a deal and barter services.

Mothers with older children have a great service right at their fingertips.  The question is, have you effectively trained them in tasks or have you insisted on doing it yourself the “right” way?

I wouldn’t be able to do half the things I do without my three older ones.  They help with meals, laundry and dishes every day, as well as the extra things like cleaning bathrooms and landscape work.  It takes a bit of time and effort at first to show them how things should be done, and there will be occasions when you have to reinforce what is expected.  Don’t let that deter you though, as everything they learn in running a home will only bless them greatly later in life!

Avoid gender laziness.  Boys need to learn how to do laundry, and girls can certainly take out the trash.  Do all future wives and husbands a favor and teach your children how to do a wide range of household tasks.

Recognize age limitations but also avoid allowing poor expectations to rule.  What I mean is, while a 3-year-old may not be able to cook a meal he can certainly set the table.  Take abilities and particular traits into consideration.  I think it’s important to note that most children would surprise their parents with what they’re capable of!

Sickness, new babies, guests staying, weather, and on and on all have an effect on home life.  Each of them can be their own Season, and we would do well to recognize them and adjust accordingly.  Remember that no season lasts forever!

You can find Part 1 here.

Pride can be a deadly thing.

I know firsthand the damaging consequences of pride.  I have been too proud to admit my shortcomings, and it resulted in hypocrisy and pretense.

It didn’t matter if I pretended to have it all put together.  An unannounced visitor would see otherwise.  My children and husband knew otherwise.  And I would grow weary and discouraged trying to keep the illusion a perceived reality.

Pride says, I can do it on my own.  Partly because I think I can do it the best, but mainly because I don’t want to concede that I need help.  People might see my warts, or at the very least, my dirty laundry!

Ladies, I would say that we were never intended to handle it all.  We were created to help one another.  The only way community is possible is if someone actually acknowledges they desire assistance and then welcomes the support!

There is always another wife or mother that we can learn from.  Don’t be afraid to ask questions or to seek her counsel.  Also, don’t automatically assume she’s older than you.  Sometimes the best admonition I received in my heart was after a conversation with a younger friend!

Pride also can say, I don’t have time for anyone else. It can prevent us from sharing with others the stuff we have learned.  We can become so wrapped up in our own homes and families that we don’t consider the responsibility we have to the other ladies in our life.  Yes, I think it’s possible to use our husbands, children, and daily tasks as excuses as we insulate ourselves from everyone around us.

If our home life is such that we are too preoccupied, exhausted, or uninterested in serving others, we need to check our hearts.  Some adjustments need to be made, internally and practically, so that we are being faithful with what we’ve been blessed with.

When people say “I don’t know how you find time for ________”, the possible connotations are many.

It could be said admiringly, as they express their appreciation.

It might be said in wonder, with a tinge of jealousy.

Or it could be said in a condescending light, with the implication that they disapprove.

I’ve come to the place where I no longer respond with defensiveness.  Along with finding a rhythm for us that allows our days to flow rather smoothly, I also have learned how to effectively manage the home and best utilize the tools I have.

Of course, I’ll be the first to admit I don’t have it figured out.  Life has a way of humbling me!  The key is to be consistent with what works, and then be ready to tweak, toss or add as necessary.

The more I thought about the issue of “time” the more I realized that I could never do the subject justice in one post.  I think it’s time for another series!  I’ve got plenty of encouragement, admonition and irritations floating around in my brain right now so this week I’ll attempt to get them down in publishable format for you to read.

For today, ask yourself if you’ve ever said (or thought) the comment “I don’t know how you find time for that!”  Now think about how you meant it, and what you were implying in your tone or harboring in your heart.

Was it admiringly?  In amazement?  Or condescendingly?

How we view that comment will shed a lot of light into how our own home is run.

If we are eager to learn better ways to manage our time, we tend to admire other moms and want to pick their brain.

If we are a bit stressed from our topsy-turvy homelife , we tend to be jealously amazed but doubt if anything similar is possible in our own home.

If we are feeling resentful due to differing choices we’ve made, we’ll tend to question other mom’s priorities and look down on them.

I’ve been told I have some pretty weird, out-dated ideas about sex and related issues like porn, abstinence, and sex in marriage.  When asked why I believe what I do, the easy answer is because that’s what the Bible says about it. But that doesn’t mean much to most people, even those who claim to believe in Jesus.

My guess is because we really don’t understand why God would’ve said to wait till marriage to have sex, or to remain monogamous as long as you both live, or to never lust after another, etc.  In our minds, it’s like a stern, glaring parent telling us we can’t have any candy.  It just seems like we’re being kept from doing all the fun, yummy stuff.

It doesn’t dawn on us that if the One who created our bodies, created sex, created attraction, and created orgasm, then He probably had a reason for it, and most likely designed that purpose to give us great, even mind-blowing blessing.

Instead, we settle for far, far less.  Let me explain.

Let’s say that you’re going to meet your friend at a really classy, upscale restaurant.  They’ve offered to buy, and you are anticipating the wonderful, mouth-watering meal you’ll enjoy there.  As you travel, you hungrily wonder what will be on the menu.  You’ve heard stories of the fantastic experiences others have had, and you can hardly wait to savor it yourself.

As the miles pass, you cannot stop thinking about how ravenous you are already.  Your stomach growls loudly, and you consider stopping to get something small and light to take the edge off your hunger.  You continue on, knowing that it would be best to wait so that you can fully enjoy the special meal.

Then you pass a large sign advertising another restaurant.  It’s just a run-of-the-mill, below average dining place, but the picture of the large entree causes you to stare in longing.  You again consider stopping for a snack, but resolve to continue waiting.

You pass through a small town, and suddenly, your senses are assaulted by the aromas coming from a small diner.  Your mouth waters as you bask in the smell of hot, ready food.  Your stomach screams to be filled, and your brain quickly justifies the sensible, practical decision to grab something, just a little something, so you don’t feel weak or sick.  It’s not like it’s going to ruin your meal later on.  And so, you gobble down a few bites of greasy fries.

You continue on, and the hours pass.  The short satisfaction the fries brought is long gone, and your belly is again gurgling loudly.  You’ve driven so far, and you begin to get discouraged.  You had no idea it was going to take this long to arrive at the gourmet restaurant.  Is it worth it?  Is it really all it’s cracked up to be?  Why would it be so far away and difficult to get to?  You see so many people enjoying the various restaurants along the way, and they sure seem happy.  And now, to make things worse, it’s late at night and all the restaurants are closed.  Even if you wanted to stop, you couldn’t.  You press on.

Finally, you’ve had enough.  You’ve been traveling for what seems forever, and you’re sick of it.  All you can think of is food.  You begin looking for something that is still open.  The next little town only has one small diner, and as you pass you notice an employee walking back in through the back door.  The dumpster behind him is over-flowing, and you get a glimpse of bread crusts and chicken bones.  You slam on the brakes and turn quickly into the lot.  Within seconds, you are digging frantically through the garbage for bits and pieces of morsels, holding up a half-eaten cheeseburger in delight before you greedily devour it.

Much, much later, you are sitting in the long-anticipated restaurant.  The decor and ambiance are far beyond what you have imagined, but you barely notice them.  As you read the menu, you squirm uncomfortably from digestive cramps.   You’re having a hard time settling on anything.  Previous plans of ordering an appetizer, entree, dessert and special drink have faded, as you wonder if you could even choke down a salad.  The list of appetizers and entrees become a blur.

And so it is with anything that we enjoy.  Food, sex, drink, money, love… We don’t understand their true worth, so we choose just the shadow of their existence and miss out on the blessing.

The biggest irony?  We choose the dumpster garbage fragments over the four-course gourmet meal, and then think we’re getting away with something.  We tell ourselves that we’re free.  We believe the lie that it’s wonderful.

When we actually see the value that lies within the fullness of an enjoyment, we are willing to partake of it within the created boundaries.  Boundaries are no longer viewed as arbitrary and senseless rules, but as protection and support.  It then becomes obvious that those who indulge in the rubbish are captives; slaves of their own unbridled urges; feasting on moldy tidbits.  We are meant to enjoy far greater.

What are you dining on?

Every good thing in this life has it’s taste of bitterness, and I am no exception.

I am thankful that I usually think logically and don’t revel in drama.  I’m sorry for when I’m not compassionate.

I am thankful for having zeal, passion, and willingness.  I’m sorry when I’m impatient and irritated with others.

I am thankful for the desire to be authentic and genuine.  I’m sorry that I sometimes call people out when they aren’t ready.

I am thankful that I laugh a lot and have a vast sense of humor.  I’m sorry when I step on people’s toes.  I’m sorry when I focus too much on the light things at the expense of deeper subjects.

I’m thankful for my husband and children.  I’m thankful I love being a wife and mother.  I’m sorry I often neglect and forget to nurture my relationship with female friends.

I’m thankful I notice needs around me.  I’m sorry I can focus on doing instead of building relationship.  I’m sorry I can become resentful of others who aren’t noticing and doing.

I’m thankful for my children and the blessing each one is.  I’m sorry my focus can get warped and I mourn the appearance of “mommy medals of honor”.  (and if you don’t have any idea of what I’m talking about, just be very grateful.)

I’m thankful for my home and all we enjoy.  I’m sorry for often allowing the constant need to care and maintain stuff cause me to act stressed and crabby.

I’m thankful for all the people in my life.  I’m sorry when I don’t appreciate them as I should.  I’m sorry for not serving them as I should.

I’m thankful.  And I’m sorry for the brokenness that is intertwined within it.

“All creation anticipates the day when it will join God’s children in glorious freedom from death and decay.  For we know that all creation has been groaning as in the pains of childbirth right up to the present time.  And even we Christians, although we have the Holy Spirit within us as a foretaste of future glory, also groan to be released from pain and suffering. We, too, wait anxiously for that day when God will give us our full rights as his children, including the new bodies he has promised us.”

I’ve found myself on a roller-coaster of emotion.

Exhaustion from health struggles.  Humor from watching a child’s antics.  Tiresome comments.  Comfort from my husband.  Irritation.  Too many phone calls.  Joy in friendship.  Wonder and awe in God’s grace.  Sting of tears from sharing my heart.  Singing in worship to my Father.  News of yet another person I “offended”.  Enjoying fellowship.  Smiles from a surprise visit.  Feeling the love of family and friends. Working through the deathly effects of legalism and ungodly judgment. Basking in the feel of falling asleep while cuddled with my dear husband and chubby toddler.  Comforting a worried, tearful friend.  Being flooded with encouraging words.

Someone recently commented about being in ministry, “Feel like I need a seatbelt for the ups & downs.”

Where there is favorable growth, change, or impact, you will also find increased fault-finding, criticism, and even vilification.  The fact that they go hand-in-hand, however, does not make the reality any easier to bear.

You see it even in the great strides that have been made in revitalizing the city of Flint.  While many work for continued progress and advancing new (at least here) ideas, they are met with increased opposition.

(Urban gardeners want to return us to a “plantation” mentality??  Please.)

Of course, criticism can be good, and a wise person will always take the opportunity to examine the issue to see if there is any truth in it, and a need for adjustment or apology.

However, I have found most that most negativity comes from people who

1. just want a good excuse to justify their lack of growth, willingness, action
2. don’t have a better suggestion

When it comes to being in leadership, the flak can get quite personal and therefore more difficult to disregard.

My thoughts are going all over the place regarding where I’ve witnessed the tendency for positive significance to be met with negative opposition.  From the Mayor, to well-known pastors, to most anyone in any type of leadership, to friends, to even ourselves.

What I try to remember is that “Hurting people hurt people.”

May accusations be met with humbleness.  May excuses be met with gentle honesty.  And may enmity be met with love.