Bacation, All I Ever Wanted

Since the Spring before Jon and I were married, my family has gone to Tennessee.  Just us; just the six of us.  Something my parents wanted to do before our six expanded to seven.  And that first time was like crack.  We've gone back ever since.  We start to countdown the days almost as soon as we return.

The packing train does not break for late night/early morning combos.  It keeps chugging past.  It doesn't not wait around for sore throats to clear up or littles to quit fighting sleep like ninja warriors.  It does, however, slow down for painting toenails, playing ball, tent pizza parties, and birthday celebrations an hour away.  Somethings are just worth the wait.

Each year's trip to the land of banjos and sweet tea holds it's own magic and memories for us. Our posse of six then seven has expanded to 14, avec bun in oven this year.  Hair and cabins have changed, too.  Serious hiking has been replaced with a more leisurely kind to accommodate littles and preggo mommas. This year, hiking is mostly out of question for me but even that's a bit of this year's magic - discovering new.  And all the while, we enjoy the monuments that have stood throughout: time together.

I don't exactly know what it is about this place. Maybe it's the relaxed time together, the vacation mode we settle so well into. Maybe it's that all our memory making happens in the backdrop of the Smokey Mountains.  But we love that our kids will grow up vacationing here.

And we don't have to countdown much longer 'cuz we leave tomorrow; all so ready for "bacation," as Eden puts it.

Good-on-top-of-good?  Kate's MRI results were good.  If you have been praying, thank you and please keep it up.  Kate starts her next round of chemo next week.

Packing train needs to keep rolling, miles to go.  Happy Fridaying, all!

To Skin

Our lives are thwart with blessing.  Tea parties in the afternoon, doggies included.

Sunshine and visits from friends who get us and bring with them the warmth of familiar.

But it's hard to live in the "other side" seasons of life.  The moments, however long they are strung together, where disappointment and devastation come in waves, stripping you down to skin.  It's gutsier still to admit aloud that your new home address is 291 Heartache Way.

Holly McRae's words of her sweet Kate ring so raw and real:

And so some days I still morn. Life as it once was. Hopes and dreams that nowhere included cancer at the age of 5. Nor 2 more brain tumors at the age of 7. It is a battle not to curse the leg brace some days. Not to resent some peoples seemingly easy and seemless life. Not to be offended hearing people stress and worry over having the best of schools, knowing school for Kate could be a future source of frustration now. That is reality, the little things you still struggle with that you wish you didn't. The occasional hurtful comment that you wish didn't sting, but it still does. But here is the thing I have noticed. Those moments of remembering, wanting so desperately to go back, wanting to brush Kate's blonde curls one more time and slip a cute new pair of flip flops over her feet. Those desires have lessened with time. Of course I still want them, I want Kate to use her right hand, I don't want to see her leg muscles atrophy, I want her mind to be sharp and alert in the future. But I love my new Kate. I love that her tenacious spirit allows her to pull off her hat in class and sit balder than all of the boys. I love that some days she will tell me "mom, i really want to wear flip flops again one day. But, if I don't it's really not a big deal. It's okay." I love that her beauty from the inside has shined brightest during the ugliest of storms. She loves life, and doesn't fear death. She doesn't fear it, but she really wants to live. And so now, there are more moments where despite the frustration, and at times fear, I feel so grateful to still have her for now. As I know far too many mothers that don't. That I can tuck her in at night, or hold her during a movie. That we can still talk about life and dream about the future. Those are the moments I realize, yes, she is still battling a life threatening cancer, but she is still living. And I am trying too.

Please join the McRaes, begging obnoxiously for a Good God to touch Kate and heal her body.  She will have an MRI tomorrow morning.  Please pray for the results to be life...and more life.

On Being Mom

I love being a momma.  And I know it's a couple days past Mothers' Day, but sometimes, a few days removed offer best perspective.

The days can be grey and cloud-covered, I can go to bed ticking off all the ways I have failed them, but the next day, the sun comes up and my kids greet me with all-things-new-face in the morning. 

Jon asked Eden who her best friend was on Mother's Day.  She said, Momma.  And I bottled that up, stored on a shelf of the blessings of motherhood.  I'm gonna need to build more shelves.

I love these two little people who call me Momma.  Not because of what they have done or who they might become, simply for who they are.

Sunday was a lovely day with my momma (we missed our Momma Metz!).  My sister and I cooked - Lemon Pasta (thank you Pioneer Woman) and Pecan Crusted Chicken (at least this part was GF, Sara!) - we decorated; we even broke out the cloth napkins and table covering.  'Cuz she's our mom...and she's been there, cheering us on, correcting our steps, laying herself aside, all along the way.

Photo by Kenna.  And yes, that's me as a cheerleader.  It was Halloween.  Don't judge.

Mother's Day always gets me thinking about legacy, about the women who went before me, about my daughter who will go after me. 

It's just a day, Mother's Day, but it's like a giant pause button is pushed, allowing for closer inspection.  And you marvel and appreciate and soak it up.  I wonder what traditions my kids will carry on, will they eat popcorn with tomato soup; will they sing spontaneously throughout the day; will they know they can resolutely trust in their Heavenly Father, even if their hearts are shattered.  Will they love...because they knew love.

Photo by Kenna.

Photo by Kenna.

Cheers to you, Mommas, who love littles.  Cheers to you, Grand-mommas, who love your littles' littles.  Cheers to you Aunties who love your nieces and nephews like they are your own.  And cheers to the presence of woman in our lives - nurturing, encouraging, sheltering, celebrating.  Whether you birthed us or just stood beside us, we are all better people because of you.

lost and found.

I wish I was better at introductions and segues.  I'm not.  And with that said, I hope you'll permit me to just dive right in to some of the very personal things I have been processing through.

I believe we are here on purpose, for purpose.  We have a destiny, a role to fulfill.  I believe we each have a unique place and are the only ones who can fill it - and if we do not, we deprive the world of our gifts.  Perhaps you are certain that your place in this crazy world is to be a foster parent.  Or maybe to be an art teacher.  Maybe a woman who works hard for her family.  Maybe a man who invents the next big thing and changes a piece of the world.

But what do you do when you aren't sure what it is you were made for?

I know I was made to be a daughter, sister, friend, wife, mother.  I AM those things.  And I bloody well want to dig deep and be the best of those things I can be.  I love my life.  And I would be content to remain quiet and small, living well in the life I am in.

But honestly, there is a fear that lurks in the shadowy recesses of my heart.  Am I fulfilling my design?  Am I living my purpose?  Is my role an empty stage presence...obvious to onlookers that something's...missing.  Someone is missing...  Am I just facing the typical discontentments of life and need to remember to appreciate where I am. 

I read an article this week that continued to stoke the fires of question and discovery.  I'll give a very botched version, but if you're interested you can read more here.  The post was written by author/book mentor, Mary DeMuth, and how so many people she encounters are passion-lost.  She suggests three steps in discovering your passion: 1.) ask yourself what the world's biggest need is, 2.) list your three favorite movies and decipher their common thread, and 3.) ask people what your "one thing is" - the thing they'd say best describes you. 

Here's mine: 

ONE
I perceive the world's greatest need to be hope.  And, in the spirit of hope, to be given the tools needed to rise out of current situations.  Tools like clean water, that people don't have to bathe and drink from the same water source.  That they may be freed from countless diseases, all because of the tool of a well.  Tools like the skills of farming and jewelry-making, that women and children can support themselves and not fall prey to trafficking, property theft and other exploitations.  I believe hope is empowering.  Life can be different.

TWO
My top three (it was hard to choose): 1.) The Four Feathers, 2.) Walk the Line, 3.) Les Miserables.  Common thread?  Broken people who've made a disaster of their lives and are offered a second chance...and that second chance makes all the difference.  Life is never the same for them again.  In a word, redemption.

THREE
I so do not want to follow up on #3.  Talking to my husband one night this week, he told me that I need to risk more.  I am a private person.  Mostly because there is so much going on in the world and my life is good.  In part, too, I am private to protect - myself and my family from vulnerability.  In this blog, I wrestle at times with how much and what to share for the sake of that protection.  But here I am - sharing more personally than I have, stripping off layers of confidence to admit that my inner life is not as neat as it appears.  And I hate asking, but I am.  If you are reading this, whether or not you know me well or have commented on a post before, what is my one thing? 

It strikes me that you, wherever in the world you are reading this, could be in a similar pilgrimage of question and discovery.  A journey of wrestling and wondering.  Over the Rhine would sing, The gift of your heart frees me from mine.  And I love that, hearts that unfold and disclose together, whispering to each other, you are not alone.

Addressing Spirits

There's a certain "lostness" that comes with the job of stay-at-home-momma.  It's a good lostness, to be sure.  Our kids are small only once and the early years are so precious.  And it's so very good to get a little lost in your time together because the moments are fleeting. And we want so desperately to live fully in each one. 

But even good needs to be balanced with some healthy resistance.  'Cuz life is so much bigger than us. 

There's a scene from Charlotte Bronte's Jane Eyre that I love.  After a painful childhood of neglect and unwant, Jane finds herself valued.  For the first time in her life she is treated as an equal by her employer, Mr. Rochester.  Equals become friends and hearts blossom into a love that seems impossible.  She faces an uncertain future as he entertains aloud the obligations he faces to marry another woman.  And her heart, strong now from love, writhes:

Do you think, because I am poor, obscure, plain, and little, I am soulless and heartless? You think wrong! — I have as much soul as you — and full as much heart! And if God had gifted me with some beauty and much wealth, I should have made it as hard for you to leave me, as it is now for me to leave you. I am not talking to you now through the medium of custom, conventionalities, nor even of mortal flesh: it is my spirit that addresses your spirit; just as if both had passed through the grave, and we stood at God's feet, equal — as we are!

Small and obscure.  Poor and little.  Unwanted.  Uncared for.  Unloved.  Unnoticed.  Cold, harsh realities that describe life for so any people around our world.  People equal to us in every way but in opportunity.  People we forget all about as we live in the lostness of our own families, tucked in safe beds at night.

Love turns the whole thing around.

Brave, risky love steps forward to defend the weak against the strong, against those fat on power and position.  Organizations like WAR, International (Women At Risk), the International Justice Mission (IJM), and charity: water are becoming dear to my heart.  They square shoulders and dive into deep waters of pain to pull people out, to provide, to protect, to infect those broken lives with hope.  Practically meeting needs.  And I love them for it. 

How can you not?

Much, much more to come on these organizations.  I'm excited to continue to share what I discover.  In the mean time, check them out (WAR, International / charity: water / The International Justice Mission.)  They'd offer some great ideas for Mothers' Day, Fathers' Day, birthdays, etc.  Help them love the obscure.  Give.  Volunteer.  Help them speak for the voiceless.  Pray.  Spread the word.

I read a story last month about an American couple who adopted brothers from Russia some years back.  When they entered the orphanage, they were stunned by the silence.  Rooms of babies quietly rocking themselves in their cribs, wooden slats knocking on the walls of their loveless home.  The soon-to-be-daddy remarked that after a while of going unheard, even babies will quit crying out.  They know no one is coming for them.

Pain throws hearts to the ground.  But love?  Love turns it all around.  We are blessed to bless.  'Cuz life is bigger than us...

We cannot do great things on this Earth, only small things with great love.

(Mother Teresa)

Silver Linings

MOVING

It's official: except for a few odds and ends at my parents' place and the pieces of ourselves we left behind, we have moved.  Bittersweet - I've had my tearful moments.  But it is so good to have Jon home, to have dinners and even lunches together.  Looking forward to sweeter days ahead.  (And visits, rights?  Guest room is set up and waiting for you guys.  For reals.)

MY ANKLE

I don't need surgery.  Still have to stay off my foot completely for another two weeks plus time of building strength up after that...but I'm healing.  Got the x-rays to prove it.  My God is kind.  He would be even if I did need surgery, but I am so very thankful...

I don't stop to try to figure things out; to try to solve the riddles and whys and what's-the-meaning-behind-this's of life.  I don't really see the point.  It's all just adventure.  Another chapter, another part of the story.  And this story I observe unfolding, is a good one.

Our church family and my own extended family have come over every day for three weeks to help me with laundry, to help with my kids, to make sure they went down for naps, got outside to play, cut hair, painted toenails, went to the store.  And then, they sent us off with a walker, a shower chair, and a freezer full of food to help make the final move easier for our family. 

Eden, my little firecracker that first and forever made me a momma, has come alive.  The little nurturer has awakened within her  When she isn't helping me reach something or running to get something for me, she kisses the baby growing inside me.  We read stories and draw her hand on crisp white pages.  She goes out on adventures and brings me back flowers and rocks, little gifts of the outdoors.

For as long as his busy boy body will allow, my sweet Silas snuggles with me.  He showers me with sloppy wet smooches.  We mimic each other and have fake laugh contests.  (He usually wins 'cause I can't fake it for long.  Real laughter erupts from within me.  Can't help it.  His fake laugh gets me every time.)

Then there's my guy, Jonathan Simeon.  The man that I love and married, when I swore I'd never get married.  He bears all this added responsibility on strong, capable shoulders, bathing kids and getting them tucked in for the night.  He goes grocery shopping.  He stays up late to help me shower - not in the steamy honeymoon version following a day of "I dos."  It's the "Hey, I need you 'cuz I can't do it on my own and I'm gonna start stinking" version.  In sickness and in health.

And somehow the magic of need is transforming our little family.  The humility of not being able to do things for myself, requiring me to swallow pride and ask for help, is changing me.  And it's all knitting us tighter together, tucked up in love.  I'm so glad for a slower pace to be able to see.  To notice, to soak it all in.

My reading has been so very timely...

And I'm so very thankful - for a God that sends people to take good care of us.  And for people that respond as His hands and heart.  There aren't words.  And while thank you doesn't seem to quite suffice, thank you. 

Vision and Peace and the Return of the Fanny Pack

Remember doing this in grade school?  What object doesn't belong?

If this was grade school, if you said the boot, you'd get a big red-penned smiley face next to your answer. 

But several miles west of grade school, these objects all describe our moving weekend. Thursday night, I broke my fibula.  Wish I could tell you an amazing story at this point about para sailing or skydiving -  some activity meriting a broken ankle.  I can't.  Walking down the stairs, I stepped down wrong, rolling my foot and snapping bone.  Just like that.

Let me tell you, I'm not a-sit-around-and wait-for people-to-help-you sort of girl.  I like rolling up my sleeves and getting to work.  I like independence.  I like the freedom of loading my kids up in the car and going on some adventure.  I like being able to walk up the stairs to kiss them goodnight.  I like to sit outside on a blanket in the uneven grass with my son; kick the soccer ball around with my daughter.  I like taking care of my husband, making sure his work clothes are ready for the week, trying out new recipes he'll like.  I've been looking forward to setting up our new home, getting organized just so. 

I can't put weight on my right foot for 6-8 weeks, maybe more if surgery is needed.  I'm not sure how a pregnant momma of two little ones with spring outside survives a sentence like that.....but I know we will.

It's so easy to doggie paddle in the deep end of self pity, thinking about all the ways this inconveniences my life; going down the list of things I won't be able to do with a big yellow "why me" highlighter.  A shower becomes a production.  A trip to the grocery by myself, impossible.  Book on the floor, a major hazard.  Trust me, I've had my doggie-paddling moments already.

It'd be so easy to stay there, highlighter poised.  6-8 weeks is a long time.  But it isn't forever.  And it certainly isn't life-threatening.  I feel pain, but at least I know the pain will end.  I have a support system surrounding me, family and friends jumping in to help out.  Many suffer alone.  Above all these things, I belong to a God who sees.  A God who cares.

I hope Jon and I look back on this season and laugh as we remember the fanny pack I broke out to get things from place to place, hobbling around on crutches.  (Okay, for now the fanny pack is a joke.  I'm using my pockets.  But in a week or two, I might be pretty tempted...)  I hope we look back and remember the family and friends who showed up, not because they were obligated but because this is part of life, too, and all a part of doing life together.  I hope we remember with absolute clarity how our Good God was near us, providing all we needed along the way. 

Let's try again.  What doesn't belong?

A loving family.

Supportive friends.

A kind God.

An ungrateful heart.

Gratitude unlocks the fullness of life. It turns what we have into enough, and more. It turns denial into acceptance, chaos to order, confusion to clarity. It can turn a meal into a feast, a house into a home, a stranger into a friend. Gratitude makes sense of our past, brings peace for today, and creates a vision for tomorrow.

Melody Beattie

Photos by Kenna.