My Joyful Mysteries, and A Revolution of Real

              My Safari and why I hated IT. 

Well, today I am going on a Safari. But let me get something straight, it was not my idea to go on a safari. Actually, I was planning on playing videos games for the week. But sadly Mom told Dad that we were going on a safari. And once Mom said it, there was no way out. The worst part is that is will take 20 hours to get to the Serengeti Plains. 

  
Well, we arrived an hour ago, and the plane ride was terrible. Mom wouldn’t let me bring a SINGLE video game. Which really stinks. While I could be at home playing video games, I’m stuck in these stupid plains. My favorite video game is “Die Zombies Die!” But as I said I can’t play because I’m stuck on these stupid plains. Well, I had a really weird dream full of floating baby heads. I think it made no sense. Well, technically I know it doesn’t make sense. 

Breakfast was pretty good. We had pancakes and scrambled eggs. Then we went on our first drive. We saw a lot of animals but the only cool ones were the fighting giraffes. They kind of got disturbing on the fifth second because blood was everywhere. When the giraffes went out of sight, I started I started looking at Rhinos. Their horns were kind of cool. 

“Uh oh,” Mom whispered.

“What?” I said just as loud as she did. But then I saw it. A rhino running at the car. And when it rammed us, everything was chaos. People were screaming, kids were crying, parents were panicking, and my Mom was holding my head to tight I felt like it was about to pop. When the car finally stopped rolling, the driver told everyone there was going to be an evacuation. And from the look on Moms face, I knew she Fully supported the idea. When we got back to camp, Mom called a plane and we were going to be picked up tomorrow. 

Well, now you know why my Safari was terrible. 

(The Author would like people to know that “Die Zombies Die” is based off a video game a character plays in the show “Good Luck Charlie.” He would also like people to know he does not play video games all day. He’d rather play baseball or bump at recess…so the main character is fictional. However the Mom is based off someone he “knows.”)  

(From where I stand…seems to be the week of Son’s. How appropriate during Holy Week. To God be the Glory.) 

The world is getting bigger. 

The conversations are getting harder. 

The truth? 

It’s all a little terrifying. 

How do I explain things even I don’t understand? 

Grief…sadness so deep you feel yourself sinking. 

How do I emphasize the quiet beauty of the human spirit when Evil speaks so loudly? 

Fear…worry tearing through our walls,  crushing buildings and lives. 

How do I explain the things I so want for him to know…

Gratefulness all encompassing that every minute matters.

Kindness so vast, that every life is Cherished. 

Nostalgia for memories and history that give roots and ground him.

Dreams that are lived, little and big- and real. 

Sorrow so real, that it folds him in two, because he has known true Love.

Love so real, that He eventually can get back up and find his hope again.

Courage to fight for the broken, strength to know when to fight for himself.

Happiness that is deep and pure, and ebbs and flows across his life. 

Effort that is heart wrenching, and hard. I want him to learn how to work for things…I want him to know how to fail…because I want him to realize there is a messy beautiful in that. 

I want him to continue to seek God. Because I don’t have all the answers. And I’m terrified because the letting go, and letting God fill those spaces we as parents just cannot fix is so very hard. 

The world is getting bigger. 

And life is getting more complicated. 

So we pray…

I hold his hand, that used to fit inside mine and now his fingers envelope mine. Forehead to forehead, mother and son. 
We pray for beautiful souls lost too soon to depression. 

We pray for places targeted and attacked in the name of evil. 

We pray that people know love, and find happiness. 

We pray for his godparents, their children. 

We pray for his grandparents, his Aunts and Uncles, and cousins. 

We pray for his friends. 

We pray for his coaches and teachers.  

We pray for the poor and forgotten, and those who have no one to pray for theme 

And we pray for the deep intentions of our hearts. 

And I look at him- his eyes scrunched tightly just like he did when he was little, and we would pray. He holds both my hands, with his big hands and sways a little. 

And I give him to you God. Again. May he always search for you. 

My beautiful boy how blessed I am to be your Mom. 

To the Girls who will Love my Sons,

I think about you a lot. I wonder if I already know you, or if I’ve given you a ride somewhere. I wonder if you used to spin until you wanted to throw up, and then watch the clouds pass in the sky. I wonder about your childhood. If someone has hurt you. If you feel loved. If you’ve met God, and know how much He loves you. I wonder if you even believe in Him. 

I wonder about your house. Do you share a room like my boys always did? Did you whisper to your sister into the night? Did you sneak a flashlight in to read “Harry Potter” under the blanket? I wonder if you had help with your homework and dinner at night.  

 I wonder if you were alone a lot. I wonder if  you were never alone. Do you have good friends?  Do you have the kind of friends who are lovely and fill you up with love and acceptance? Friends, who you fall over yourself laughing. Who don’t care what you’re wearing. I wonder if your home is filled with love? Are you happy? Are your anxious? Do you laugh a lot? 

I wonder if you roll your eyes at your Mother and slam doors because she “Doesn’t understand.” I wonder if you love your Dad and tell him that. I wonder if your parents are together. Or if you wonder where they are. I wonder if you remember them being in love. 

I wonder if you are bullied. I wonder if the words are texted on your phone. I wonder if the bullies are people you cared about. I wonder if you know that they are cowards. I wonder if you’ve watched someone be bullied or have hurt someone else with your words.  My heart hurts thinking you might have. 

I want you to know I pray for you. I pray for your protection…

In Mind…that the images of over sexualized people from “Angels,” to so called “fitness experts” on social media, to a world that is saturating us with too much skin and less depth do not change how you view yourself. That you don’t put so much pressure on yourself to be perfect, and that you remember to live. That you make eye contact and put down the phone.  That you read and learn every thing you can. And that you aren’t a prisoner to depression or anything that steals your joy. That you never ever compare yourself. And that you radiate confidence. 

In Body…that you love yourself. That you see yourself as a creation of God. That you exercise, but that you realize you look most beautiful when you are laughing because happiness is beautiful. That you embrace the parts of you that make you unique- scars and freckles, bumps and curves. And that you will love all of them. That won’t happen by magnifying  your self in a mirror, or taking the perfectly filtered selfies. 

In Spirit…that you will realize receiving love and giving love are two of the most beautiful gifts you can have. That you feel empathy for those in need, and serve them. That you have compassion for the broken, and love them. That you never compromise your integrity for a relationship, or a job, or a spot in this world. That you know that relationships don’t limit who you can talk to and be friends with, but encourage you to bloom. That you realize you are worth more than toxic people who will steal your joy and free spirit, in the name of love. But it won’t be love. I hope you know grace and humility. That you know how to say “I’m sorry” and how to forgive. And I pray that you will know brokenness enough to rely on God. Because He is the only way your spirit will flourish. 

To the Women who will Love my Sons…

From the moment that small little plastic strip showed a plus sign, they have been the center of my world. I would rest my hand across my stomach and speak to them, my little miracles. When each was born we named them intentionally. Names that meant something.  

 One that can never hide from God.

One that God will always protect. 

And…

One that will always speak the Truth.

We are raising them to know and fear Him. To be kind to others. To fight for the vulnerable. To be compassionate to everyone. To honor people. To Serve. To thank people. To Love. 

They. Are. Not. Perfect.  But they are good. They love well, they are kind to their little sister, and to eachother(most of the time, seriously…not perfect). And in life- they try so hard to do the right thing. And when they mess up…we expect them to make it right. We don’t enable, and I know this responsibility is big…this Raising a good man. This Raising Good Men. 

They know that true love exists. They are products of true love. A love I don’t deserve, but a love that has made a family. I want them to know that. I wonder if you will break their heart.

My beautiful Boys. With them I’ve cried tears of joy watching the years fly by, and wept with worry as I’ve pressed my cold hand against feverish foreheads…in these moments I have prayed with them. They know prayer. They know God. 

They know He is good. And kind. And merciful. And they want to follow Him. Not because they are told to, but because they know Him. 

And we are praying for you. Because maybe you will be a first great Love for them. Or maybe you will be the One. But regardless of where you will enter our lives,  we are praying for you.

 I want you to know that you are loved, and that you matter. We pray that you know your life is a gift.

I pray for you.  And I wonder about you.  

For now, I am the woman who loves them most. I’ve loved them their whole lives and will continue for all eternity. And I won’t take a second of them for granted. 

  
Love, Their Mom. ❤️

from where I stand. 

I don’t know when I started but I have…I’m learning to let things go. 

Maybe it was after I started telling God daily…”I’m here.” Such simple words, but the kind ofwords that   take the struggle from me. The struggle to keep it all together. The struggle to cling to the temporary. The struggle to be liked by negative and toxic people. I realized I was hating the rain because I was trying to fill my pockets with each drop of the struggles I was carrying that weren’t necessary. When that weight was lifted I could say “I’m here.” And suddenly it was easy to let go. 

Maybe it was my teenage son getting sick. Really sick. Pneumonia in both lungs. An ear infection. After he’d had an asthma attack at home alone and I wasn’t there- all of the crippling dark words began to clang in my head over and over. I should have been there. And then my husband sent a text, that said “It’s ok. I’m here with him now. He’s ok.” I must’ve read that text 20 times over the next few days. And after a lot of praying I let that go. And I loved my son. And was fully there for him. 

And then…

It’s funny how on the day I wrote I was learning to let things go the world began to tilt and slowly pour big drops of worry all over the surface of my real. I wasn’t trying to fill my pockets, but instead my boots were full and I tried to continue to walking. And then I was trudging “I’m here Lord…I’m. Here.” And then I couldn’t walk anymore. 

And there I was, standing still. 

There’s this…

My teenager tried out for baseball with pneumonia still on one side, and the raging ear infection that never went away. The first day of try outs were hard. He didn’t feel well. He didn’t feel confident. It showed. He came home, and walked silently to his room. As a parent it is heart wrenching to watch and see the transition of what is supposed to be joy and fun become twisted into uncertainty and defeat. The kids who have the biggest hearts don’t always make the team. Especially when they’re sick. As I stood outside his closed door, I could feel his pain through it. The silence said so much. A few days later we found out he made a team. I was elated, he was uncertain. None of his friends are on it, but it’s a good coach. He’ll make friends we told him. But when you’re 14 that’s not always easy. To him, he doesn’t see what a big deal it was that he went out there, and tried so hard when his body was so depleted. I told him this, as we sat in the doctors office the third time this week. He is stronger than he gives himself credit for.

And that…

My bonus Dad. Cancer. He has been fighting so long. He is the most faith led person I’ve ever met. Another appointment this week. I worry, because cancer doesn’t care who you are, or if you have people who love you. Cancer just takes. So he fights, and we stand by, and love him and pray. I have no doubt that God loves my Papa John. But it’s hard. It’s not fair. None of it. But Papa John…he trusts God with all of this, so I do too. 

And the rest of the week I stood stuck…because here I was thinking I was letting things go, but the battle for joy during the real stuff is hard. How do I let go when my child is hurting and his dream may not work out? When my Dad is sick and he may not get better? Or that my husband is fighting monsters, and I worry he won’t make it home.  How could I go on? Every day I worry for the safety of my family, because the media, politicians, celebrities, and social media are fanning a flame of divide. While he worked 18 hours yesterday, dealing with true evil…I didn’t want to share him with a public who doesn’t protect the good.  How do I explain the real stuff of mean kids in middle school, the kid that told my sweet Daniel he wasn’t a Christian because he is a Catholic- how could you say that to my boy with servants heart Daniel, the kid who shows me Christ everyday? Or  his” friends” who said loud enough for him to hear when he left the lunch table, “Finally, he’s gone.” I ask how as I stand still. I have no answers. I’m Stuck.

“I’m here.” 

But. But there’s more. When I went to the If Gathering earlier this month I came back changed. I look the same, but my heart is very different. I go to bed and wake up every morning with prayers escaping my lips. Prayers of thanksgiving and prayers to the One who gave me this life. This morning as I woke up, and my words of thanksgiving left my lips, I realized that standing still is allowing me something else…my boots and pockets may be full of worry, but I’m not stuck. Not at all. 

So I knelt. I knelt down on the hard ground. My worries left my lips as I gave it all to God…not needing answers, but trusting that no matter what, no matter how heavy it all becomes He’s Here too. And there’s a beauty and grace in not trying to walk or trudge but falling to my knees and just giving Him all of it. The heavy, the big, the Real. All of it. 

So maybe I’m not letting go yet. But I’m letting God be here. And I’m here too. 

So to you, my dear real friends…

May God give you comfort today. If you are stuck, I am on my knees with you. He’s here.

To God be the Glory.  

From where I stand. 

I’m not an expert on many things. I can’t tell you how to remove stains, or talk theology. I hate politics, and can’t help my teenage son with his algebra homework.  

I was trying to think of what I possibly could be an expert on. I know how to handle four kids with the stomach flu, and I know about good mascara. I can talk for days about God’s love, and how to care for someone with an eating disorder, or what to say to someone who has lost a child. But those latter things also make me cry.  

I’d love to say I’m an expert Christian, a perfect Catholic. But I’m not. I’m flawed and messy. I’d love to say I’m the quinnessential “police” wife. But I’m not. I cry for days over things people write, I can’t read the news, and I’m not as strong as he needs me to be.

So when I tell you I’m not an expert at marriage…please know I am not. It’s been  15 and a half years since we vowed to love each other through sickness and health. 5,667 days since I stood before God and my family and I promised to love for richer and poorer. And while I feel like I’ve grown up a lot in those 186 months, my marriage is a living part of my story. We are both constantly changing, growing, bending, and being stretched beyond our comfortable. 

I’ve noticed as I’ve approached the new year, that I rarely wrote about my marriage last year. Maybe because of its sacredness, maybe because I am so incredibly flawed. But from where I’ve stood recently I’ve felt there are things I need to share about, because I’m not an expert but I am a part of a marriage. 

In the past few years many of our friends have split up. Marriages that we thought were solid have crumbled. The reasons have always been more complicated than an explanation can give…there is always so much that is involved in a marriage that falls apart. Sometimes we on the outside try to simplify or understand, sometimes those on the inside do as well. But here’s the truth: Marriage as a living part of a story, when dying can be toxic beyond words, especially when one has made their mind up. And there are no easy answers. And all of it…is hard. 

And maybe that’s why I’ve hesitated to write about it. Because I’m not an expert. Because it is so complicated. Because even when you want Christ as the center, sometimes the world and pressures of so many other moving parts start to weigh and break you. 

Infidelity. Emotional and/or Physical.

Finances. 

Stress…infertility. Death of a parent. A child. PTSD. Depression. Trauma.

Work…too much, too little. 

Addiction (…to pornography, substances, gambling, video games).

And those things…they can kill even the best marriages. And they are uncomfortable to even type- much less face.   Then throw in the everyday stresses of life and everything that can go wrong with communication, and parenting, and lack of sleep. 

You want real marriage? 

A month ago my husband and I got in a fight. Usually we just fuss at each other. But this was a big one. Wires were crossed, and things were said. Hard things. The kind of things that run razor wire across your heart. The kind of things that make you want to say…

“What the heck are we still doing here?” 

“Why are you even with me?” 

“Why were you ever with me?” 

The apologies came long before the forgiveness. On both sides. And I had to really assess where I was. Where we were. Do I think my husband loves me? Absolutely. Does he adore me and want to be with me? Without any shadow of a doubt. Could he say the same about me? 

This is “for real life” as our daughter Grace calls it. And mistakes are made in for real life. 

So after this fight. And after we had talked for days. And tears were shed. And we prayed together I realized something I had been taking for granted. Something I feel like we all take for granted every single day. Something that is crucial to marriage. It’s not the big things. It’s the little ones. 

We forget to watch for those when we are busy living, but in order to keep our marriages, our relationships, our love alive we have to remember it is a living part of our story thing. And we have to care for living things. 

My love, he does the little things. 

He will always get coffee ready the night before for me. 

He brings me a Diet Dr. Pepper every Friday afternoon. 

He scrapes my car off when there’s ice. 

He always carries my bags. 

He always gives me the best seat on the couch or at the table. 

He does the dinner dishes every night when he’s home. 

He brought me a coffee yesterday at work because I had a sore throat. 

He never complains when I work out, or spend time with friends…or that we are having tacos again. 

He kisses me goodnight and tells me he loves me everyday. 

He always lets me receive the Eucharist first at Mass. 

For a while…a long time…I forgot to look for the little things. Instead I focused on all the big stuff that never amounts up to the daily actions of the little stuff. Our lives became a checklist of debts to clear, kids to raise, schedules to organize. But busy work doesn’t get the important stuff done.  

That’s the stuff that keeps things alive. 

Especially when we are living marriage on Gods terms. Because I can’t or won’t say, the things that steal and kill good marriages will ever go away, but the little things keep us constantly moving towards each other. Feeding a marriage that we want to work. Loving someone else more than my pride, sacrificing for our marriage. That means being honoring in my speech and actions. Because he’s worthy of my whole heart. 

On those days I didn’t remember to give my marriage to God, I gave myself to a million different things that with enough time could have been the destruction of a family. My family. 

Those things. They aren’t worth it. 

So I give my marriage to God. Every day. And I notice the little things. They matter.  I will never be an expert on it, but I trust the One who breathes life into our marriage. 

I give Him our Love. 

I give our Joys. 

And I give Him our Sorrows. 

Especially on the days I ask Why. Or I forget Why. Because it’s hard and real, and messy. And a beautiful living part of our beautiful love story. 

For Real Life? 

For Real Life. 

From where I stand. 

  
I was trying. 

I was trying to live up to an expectation that I had placed behind my head and on my shoulders around the time I was a child. 

A backpack of expectations I put on everyday. 

I filled it with many things. 

When I was little it was wanting to fit. I poignantly remember being around 5 with my grandmother at an apartment complex as she visited a friend in Havre Montana.  I was swinging by myself on the swing when a little girl came and took both of her hands and pushed me firmly off the swings. I fell on my hands and knees in complete humiliation. 

“Go away. Now. You can’t be here.” She said. 

And I did.  But the rest of the day as I picked pieces of gravel out of my hands I wondered what I did wrong. What I did to her. So I put the gravel-filled bits of humiliation in my backpack…so I would try harder next time.

Later the backpack was filled with anxiety that started around the time when I was 9, the kind of anxiety that kept me awake all night that I carried into adulthood. 

Deep fear of failure placed weight as the straps dug into my shoulders. Fear of gaining weight. Fear of not fitting in. Fear of not being loved. Fear of someone dying. Fear of being hurt. I was trying to protect myself. 

I carried shame from some scars that came when I was a child. That shame hung from the bag and rested heavy around the small of my back. These would shape my relationship with men, and change the way I viewed the world.  I was trying to be worthy. 

I had always loved Jesus. I don’t remember a day in my life where I didn’t know him. But He was TOO big to fit in my backpack, and so I put it on everyday. I never thought He’d help me with it. I never even thought to ask.

When I went into ministry I was either too full or too empty. I never found the balance so I was continually trying too hard, and putting too much of what others needed in my pack. I was trying to serve everyone. 

Later when I fell in love and got married, other things started to fill it. Suddenly I had all this “stuff” I was carrying into a marriage. I didn’t know how to live without my anxiety so I brought it along. I wasn’t sure how to be a good wife, so instead I spent too much time worrying I wasn’t measuring up. Then he became a police officer and I was worried I’d lose him forever.  Worry consumed me over bills, dinner, and dishes. I would zip worry in the side and squish it down. But it was always there, pulsing through. I was trying to be enough. 

…and then I had kids. I filled my backpack with the pressures of inadequacy, and guilt. So much guilt. Everyday I’d carry it around.  The burden and heaviness of all the pressure to be more, to give more, as I carried my back pack on my back with a child in my arms. It was so very much. I’d been trying for so very long. 

As the years have passed inadequacy has become heavier to carry but my backpack is as natural to carry as breathing. 

I’ve been trying to carry it. Trying to keep it all zipped tight. 

What if? 

Last weekend I packed a suitcase and flew to Austin Texas with my dear friend Britny to attend the If Gathering. If you are wondering what it is…it is more than a just conference and a retreat. It is a community  of women gathered together in unity to glorify God. But the gathering spans all across the globe watching and experiencing this oneness of what the church should be. There are amazing speakers and music and Jesus… 

Jesus is the center and no matter what our walks of life are- we are all walking toward Him. 

I was so humbled that it all worked out for me to go. But as I stood on the steps waiting to get checked in my backpack felt heavier than usual. 

Later, I looked around at all the beautiful women waiting in anticipation as we sat waiting for it all to begin. 

“Go away. Now. You can’t be here.” 

I tried to ignore it. 

But I heard and felt the words as I stood there. The weight of humiliation, anxiety and worry, fear, shame and inadequacy resting heavily on my shoulders. 

And then it began…

I want you to know that while I want to tell you about each speaker, and each song, I can’t really give any of it justice. Because there was more happening there…someone much bigger was working. 

I was trying to listen while my backpack rested against me…and pressed against me.

Words echoed off the walls as they were spoken:

God is the redeemer of my life. I do not need to hold tight to humiliation, because He redeems us and scrapes the gravel from my hands. 

Christ comes to redeem and restore my purpose. It is an honor trust Him with my anxiety and fear, because He is the God of restoration. He can save me from it. He can lift it off my shoulders. 

Repent and Believe. Because He is God. Those words carry power and glory. 

Stop making God in my image. He is better than that. He sees me- there is no shame in how He made me, I was wonderfully made. I don’t have to carry shame against me. He is big enough to lift it off me.

He knows everything about us…and he is still here. I can be worthy of His love. Not because of me…because of Him. 

We do not know the why, but we know the Who. Worry only seperates me from life, and joy, and God. I don’t know the why, but I have to trust the Who. 

Touch, feeling, presence, proximity…Guilt, inadequacy, detachment, hollowness. I don’t want to reach for those in my backpack anymore. I want more.

I am here. I am here God. 

In a nutshell I cried…a lot. I prayed a lot. And for the first time in my whole life I gave Christ my backpack. I emptied the contents at his feet. And Hetook it. And He took me as I am. And I was free. 

You see…I have always loved Jesus. I speak about Jesus  and I write about him but I carried those things on me. They’ve defined me for a long time. But this weekend I heard Him and I listened. And returned home with one less carry on and so much more. 

I’m done trying. 

I’m staying. Now. I can be here. 

I’m not wearing a backpack. 

I’m here. 

 
  We had never met Liz from Oklahoma City, but now I can’t imagine life without her. I cried buckets in front of these two beautiful souls. 
  

Four years ago my Kindred gifted me Ann Voskamp’s book “One Thousand Gifts.” During my dark night of the soul I read the pages over and over. Somehow after coming out of the fog I emailed Ann to thank her. She read my blog and emailed me back an incredibly gracious kind email. But then she gave me a gift- she prayed for me. Meeting her was a gift. I will always pray for her. 

from where I stand. 

Some weeks are so easy. 

And some weeks are so hard.

It’s amazing how much you can know about someone after so many years…how you can memorize how straight their eye lashes are and the way their back curves when they sleep. 

It’s amazing how much we still don’t know…we are still discovering things about each other. 

Some days we barely get to speak. We spend so much time checking days and schedules off a calendar, lives moving between jobs and children, bills and responsibilities. 

Some days we speak in short sentences, the stress of life is too much. Everything about life being too much. Even eachother. On those days the fact that we are out of syrup seems to be a much bigger deal. 

Some days we can’t stop touching, and hugging. I call him at work just to hear his voice, even for a second. He takes the kids out of the house so I can take a nap. We hold hands under the dinner table. 

It’s constantly revolving and changing…this little family we built with vows that remain the same, in the house of God. 

It will be easy. 

It will be tough. 

I’m far from perfect. 

So is he. 

But still we choose this. We choose each other. 

Every day. 

From where I stand.

from where I stand. 

I left you trailing behind me today…out my rear window. Rain poured down as I left you behind. Suddenly it was if the fist clenched tight in my chest was slowly starting to release. 

I left you behind…the tightly wound fist of resentment. It has been in the back of my mind for quite sometime. I realized in the past year that resentment even has a taste. 

A bitter metallic taste. 

  
Being Irish, I had always prided myself on how forgiving I was. How somehow that “grudge” holding gene skipped me. Don’t get me wrong- I am fiercely loyal. I will fight for someone’s honor, and take care of the people I love. But I didn’t hold onto those things later- instead I would release what ever it was or who it was that hurt me or someone else. They weren’t worth my head space. At least that’s what I said. 

…then I had kids. 

And everything changed. 

It is far harder to forget the choices other people have made that have affected my kids…the coach who didn’t put my son in for the entire game because “he really wanted to win…” and then told my son that. The “adult” who picked on my child and then favored others. The coach from the other team who yelled to his pitcher when my son went up to bat “it’s number 7, easy strike out.” The “friend” who told my kid he was fat. All of those things happened to just ONE of my children. And while they are all separate have irrevocably changed my child. While I have never forgot it, and while rethinking about it makes me so sad, I have forgiven these individuals. I mean I’m not sending them a Christmas Card or anything, and I don’t want to have coffee with them.  But I don’t resent them. They made mistakes…very flawed and some of them were mean mistakes. But I forgive them. 

And I won’t ever say my child is stronger for it. While I believe children are resilient they are also human and can be deeply hurt by the actions of others. They don’t forget and they don’t get over it easily. But my child, my Son, who is now my teenager, is insightful and compassionate and kind. Because he knows what it feels like on the other side. And he is strong, but not because of what people chose to say or do to him, but because of how God made him. And I could not be more proud. 

I forgive because…

I am incredibly flawed. And I’ve made big mistakes and some of them have been hurtful and mean. And I’ve received forgiveness…so I should offer the same. 

But. But. 

Something happened in the past year that has become a huge source of resentment. I’ve tasted bitterness thinking about it. One of my children(a different child)  after I told them about a situation at school, thought and requested to do the right thing. I know I’m being vague, but that is on purpose. In a nutshell, the “right” thing didn’t happen. Even though it was logical, it wasn’t done. The passionate part of me, tried to state his case, because I knew the powers that be wouldn’t hear him…he was a kid. But instead I became the subject of gossip, and an individual with no filter told me everything that was said about me.  Afterwards I felt a wave of resentment I hadn’t felt since Middle School. I thought it was because someone used their authority in such a stupid way, especially when it should have been about the kids, and only the kids. Or maybe because a couple people stopped talking to me because of the situation, even without the real facts. Maybe because I found out someone I loved and trusted talked about me.

I tried to pin point the reason I was holding tight to this resentment. The unfairness of it all left such a bad taste in my mouth. 

I shared with a dear friend who just encouraged me to let it go. It was months past. So I tried. And for the most part I did, until the event that started it all came around again. Another one of my children is a part of the activity. (I know, I have way too many kids…)  There’s been no situations, but still the resentment was there. 

Until today. 

Today as I drove back from Seattle as the sky was still dark, I realized my resentment was there not because of what was done to me, but because the intent of my child was doubted. As his parents we have spent his entire childhood wondering how we received such an incredibly caring person. He has a servant’s heart, and his faith is incredible. I realized that I was carrying around resentment because they were giving me too much credit, when it wasn’t my idea- it was all him. He deserved to be acknowledged for his kind heart and amazing soul. Funny how I spent my entire childhood wanting to be noticed and stand out…but now nothing I do is really about me anymore. If I’m not giving the love I’ve been so freely given, if I’m not showing God to others quietly, then I’m doing it wrong.

 I want my kids to be loved, but I also want them to love others. And so far, they haven’t learned that from me…it has always been them. 

But as the freeway stretched in front of me I realized a big something. 

  
My son, Daniel, didn’t want the acknowledgment. He just wanted to do the right thing. It’s the same reason he shaved his head last week, in honor of his Papa John who has cancer…or asked if we could light a candle for his best friend Britt who had pneumonia after mass. He doesn’t do it to be noticed…he does it because that’s who he is. No more, no less. I held on to something because they should have seen that. It had nothing to do with me, it was always him. My beautiful boy. But since they didn’t, they were missing out. 

In the early dark morning, I opened the my window in my heart and let the resentment go. It unraveled slowly and I left it behind me.  All that time wasted, slowly trickled out as I drove away. 

Resentment didn’t make me stronger, it just made me sad and kept me going back in the same place in my head, running over a silly situation in life. Instead my resolve to forgive is strengthened, but even more so is the joy of what I should have focused on. Even though it didn’t work out He did the right thing. 

How often have we held tight to something? So tight that it has burned holes in our heart and hardened us with bitterness?  

It’s not worth it. 

From where I stand I truly believe this is a year of Restoration. For all of us. Maybe we’ve allowed things to build for too long, and we’ve become so stuck on the details we’ve forgotten to look up and just be present…in this. To savor the taste of joy and gratefulness in the little miracles that happen when we least expect them. In the freedom of realizations and the choice to let things go for good. 

Today, I smiled because God gave me children who are so His, but he’s letting Me call them mine. They will go through many more tough things, and will be hurt. And they will hurt others. But they will offer forgiveness, and will know forgiveness. Because they are beautiful souls. 

Today… I left you behind. And found peace up ahead. 

from where I stand. 

I had an epiphany…

After 10 years of working very part time while being a full time Mom and Wife, I embarked on a brand new adventure as an part time EA(educational assistant) at a local elementary school. The gist…I am the main recess supervisor.  

When I told people about the job and the fact that I am outside for 6 recess’s most of them cringed, because really that’s a whole lot of recess…but the people who really know me, know that I love watching kids bloom in play. I love knowing the rules and guidelines, but allowing them to skip and jump, and live. It’s not all fun in games, but what in life is? 

I’ve started to realize that my life won’t be full of awards or diplomas. And I’m mostly okay with that. Instead the mark I leave will be a little different, and as long as I’m home with my kids when they are home, and that I’m present, I find that is what matters most. Maybe not to everyone, but all that matters is them. 

But I digress. 

Recess. 

If you look closely you can learn a lot about life from recess…

Fourth grade boys take more time picking teams for basketball than actually playing. When they start playing they spend the majority of that time arguing. 

As soon as the bathroom pass is given to one girl, there is a kid desperate to go too. When you say no, she insists they aren’t friends, no it was totally coincidental they are wearing the exact same thing…in fact they just met. And suddenly when the other girl comes back, poof she doesn’t have to go the bathroom, and they skip off together.

A kid CAN drink water from a mud puddle and survive. And will. Twice. 

There is always that kid who kicks the ball up and away during wall ball…and I’m pretty sure thinks it’s worth it no matter how many times he sits on the wall. 

And there are those who think the rules don’t ever apply to them, even when someone could get hurt. They think I’m mean. 

Shoes come untied a lot. 

Who needs a jacket in freezing cold or even pants when you’re a fifth grade boy?! 

Everyone thinks Star Wars is cool. 

There is always a little boy in his own world, having the time of his life, all on his own. 

There is usually a posse of kids(mostly first graders) looking for a toy someone lost. They all work together to look. And usually the person who lost it remembers right as it’s time to line up “Oh Wait, I left it at home.” 

Best friends share a jacket when it’s cold. 

Kindergarten girls give a lot of hugs. 

Fifth grader girls walk around and talk a lot. 

I give out at least one ice pack a day. 

One bandaid on a good day. 

There’s always a boy that the girls ALL love…but are very intentional about ignoring right in front of him. 

Meanwhile the fifth grade boys are still playing basketball as the fourth graders are still arguing…about basketball. And none of them buys it that I can play street ball. 

Inside recess is the pits.

There are always kids who will be the first to help, the first to help someone, and always step up. 

Someone is always left out…or can’t find their friend…or has missed recess due to choices they made. 

Once the bell rings someone always takes someone’s place in line…”On purpose!”

Someone is always crying.

 And someone is typically rolling their eyes. 

And there’s always one who looks so happy and can’t stop giggling. 

And then they file in, voices low, back into class until the next recess. 

And here’s where my epiphany came in…
Being a Grown Up is A lot like Recess.

You meet a lot of people…

There’s always going to be a group or a committee, or a person who spend more time on details than action, and then argue about it. They typically are in leadership roles and shouldn’t be. 

And sometimes we just can’t imagine life without a friend, we want to walk through every second of life with them. We all long for that sort of friend, and when we grow a part we grieve them. 

As adults we do weird stuff to get attention…umm Fear Factor? Christmas parties? Vegas? 

There will always be someone who will break the rules and think it was totally worth it, or maybe it’s that person who always overdoes it when it comes to fire works and campfires(yes I’m talking about my husband).

When we don’t think the rules apply to us, and blame everyone else…we steal truth from society. 

Everyone needs a little love once in a while. Even us. 

There’s always that person who doesn’t need a jacket and is wearing flip flops in the snow. 

Star Wars will always be cool. 

One of the greatest lessons in life is learning to be content by ourselves. And not placing our happiness on anyone else. 

Friends are the best finders…and when we find the good ones Keep Them. 

Share and Hear…Caring about how someone else feels rather than only sharing your stuff is important. Sometimes we just need to wrap our coat around someone else and listen. 

Human touch is a gift. 

So is friendship. 

See a doctor when you’re hurt. 

There is nothing wrong with asking for help. 

There will always be attention seekers. Attention stealers. Instead of focusing on them, focus on the people who are there for you…and don’t fall into that shallow place. There is no real joy there. Be intentional in love…for the right reasons. 

It’s true, I can’t play street ball, but I can play a mean game of Bump. 

We all need fresh air. 

Look for the Helpers. They are rare and beautiful. They are the quiet strength our world needs. They may  wear badges, and protect our country. They are brave so we can sleep. The helpers are also the real leaders, they pray and serve the poor in quiet ways. 

We will always feel left out once in a while.

And maybe will feel a little lost. 

We maybe want someone to blame for our bad mood or our bad day. 

Because life is hard. And hard things happen. 

And sometimes we just need to cry. 

We search for purpose in those moments…as we wait in line, wait for a call, wait for a better offer…

But while life is never predictable, there is always other chances and other reasons to find hope. To smile again. To start anew. 

Until the next day. 
I may never have plaques on my wall, or degrees, but I have a paper clips from a second grader I need to keep forever, and I am told daily by a little deaf boy he loves me after he hugs me, and I laugh a lot. 

Because God is teaching me so much these days…and even on the bleakest days I find hope and joy peeking out from the clouds…as I breathe the fresh air, and hear the chattering voices of so many lives- who all deserve so much love.

There is such a beauty in that.  In the blooming…in the living. It’s not all fun and games…but life should be more than that. 

And from where I stand- that’s a good thing. 

from where I stand…

Earlier this week it came in a simple inconspicuous  envelope. But inside contained paper work necessary for the teenager next year for high school. Game changer. 

Wasn’t it yesterday he was entering kindergarten? Walking next to me, as his backpack hung low on his little frame. The sunlight glistening through his blonde hair, his puffy little boy hand wrapped tightly around my fingers. 

Back then I wasn’t ready either.

This week when I saw that envelope…I just wasn’t ready. 

It made me think about all the times I’ve been at a restaurant or eating dinner and I’ve left to attend to a child, or use the restroom, and I’ve come back and my dinner plate has been removed. All that’s left is my crumpled napkin, or the ice in my glass. Even if there were only a few bites left, the unfairness of it always caught me off guard. I wasn’t ready. It is such a small thing, but I wanted to be the one to say when I was ready. 

In a nut shell, that is parenting. And marriage. And being a grown up. And Life. No matter how much you’ve prepared, even when you slow down and try to savor every moment, some how suddenly they take your plate before you’re ready, they start to bus the tables and vacuum while you still are in conversation…you’re not ready. For any of it. 

The job didn’t work out…My family won’t talk to me…The pants don’t fit…The house is a mess….We can’t get pregnant…Parents get sick…Marriage gets hard…Sickness comes unannounced….he lost his job…Bills pile up… The Pipes burst…. The baby won’t stop crying. 

There’s a lump. 

He left us. 

I can’t breathe.

 She doesn’t remember who I am anymore. 

My heart feels like it’s beating out of its chest. 

My heart aches, and hurts and I can’t stop crying. 

My heart is breaking. 

There’s no heartbeat. There’s no heartbeat. 

I wasn’t ready. They started clearing the plates before I was ready. Maybe if I’d been more prepared, maybe if I would have been more vigilant. Maybe…

The past week I’ve heard such sad news. Different people from all different aspects of my life have needed prayer for the saddest, heaviest, most heartbreaking matters. None were ready. How can we be? 

I prayed. But I also hurt. I hurt for them, but I felt all of the ways I’m not ready yet for so many things…My kids are growing up. It is beautiful the people they are becoming, but life can be so painful. It is full of dishes piled high, and China so fragile, and sinks full to the brim of soapy water that has grown cold. I try to grasp for more time, but life keeps happening, and my dinner plate lays half eaten…and yet I still wanted to finish it. To remember. The good stuff. The bad stuff. 

I guess I’ll never be ready. 

“In his heart a man plans his course, but the Lord determines his steps.” – proverbs 16:9 

True words…

While I’ll never be completely ready to say hello, or to whisper goodbye, the one who has set the table before me…is. He is ready to surround me with grace in the moments where my words are broken and my heart is crushed. He brings promise when every other promise and vow has shattered under my feet. He brings hope when shadows have settled and darkness rests on my shoulders. He is my strength. My everything.

He is ready. 

The gravity of what I’ll never be ready for has been softened by the promise and protection of a God who has always been ready. To bind. To heal. To restore. 

There is a table set for me in paradise. I believe I’ll get there. People I love are there…especially one who has been on my heart a lot this week. A little girl who I was never ready to say goodbye to. She’s waiting, and all the unfairness of this world, pales in comparison to the hope in seeing her again. In holding her again, in the light of His grace. 

So,if my table is cleared here…I’ll be ok, because I know even though I was never ready…the love I’ve seen at this table of life- was so worth it. All of it.