My Joyful Mysteries, and A Revolution of Real

from where I stand…

I’m no good at ironing. And yet I iron his shirts. It takes me more time because it’s not something I do well at. Honestly, I don’t enjoy it, but I will always iron his shirts. 

A couple weeks ago, he and his team had to deal with a true monster. The kind of person who does the unthinkable. Someone who hurts kids. 

On those nights, the nights where he sees monsters and has to see the things monsters do in order to do his job…he always comes home with circles under his eyes. He is quieter. He sits with the kids and reads to them a little longer. And then the next day he goes back and does his job again. 

He’s never won an award for what he does, but he wins time. Time where monsters are removed and put away. He always give the credit to the people he works with, they do the right thing, for the right reasons. He is just doing his job. 

But I see him, and I know. 

So often,  I see the time that is taken, when he’s called in or has to do something before it’s too late. The time that adds shadows to his eyes, and grey to his hair. That steals our holidays and nights together. 

And still he goes into work and does the job…where he meets monsters, and the thankless. 

So I iron his shirts, and I pray for his protection. And I thank God for those who face the monsters. Who fight them. 

When I iron…

My lines are never perfect, and it takes a lot of time. But love is an action of sacrifice. My sacrifice isn’t that big. He loves his job…his sacrifice is vast. I can iron his shirts. 

to God be the glory.  

“What Now?!” you ask. 

“Already?” 

“Again?” You may say. 

After the last year of writing almost daily midnight struck another year. Last year I was asked to be real, and you joined me. You didn’t hesitate, as so many voices spoke real…in this blog and to me through your emails and messages. I expected the year to end and it to be that. I’d be back to being a very occasional blogger if that…

But this morning as I stepped from the shower, God spoke. He always does when my mind is doing the monotonous things. Washing my hair, drying my Body, putting my socks on. I may be thinking a million thoughts, and checking off the to-do lists on my day. And there it is. His words. 

I don’t find him to be wishy-washy. 

He’s fairly concise when he speaks to me. Just like I like it. I’m not someone who does well with mixed signals. 

So there it was. 

…from where you stand. 

2015.

We wrote. We wrote our real on the good and bad days. We wrote about the grey that muddies the black and white. We wrote about love and heartache, redemption and from a place of rawness. 

And here we are. 

What if we could stop and notice the world around us in between the moments of where we stand? 

Where we stand as we search for joy, peace, and God. 

The real gave us a voice…beyond the filters we surround ourselves with. 

But there’s always more…Seasons change, and life continues to be unpredictable. Today I stood at the edge of a bridge covered in frost. I had to walk carefully because I didn’t know where the ice would fall under my feet. But I kept walking…even though I didn’t know.

Right now there are a lot of uncertainties in my life. And I don’t know how it’s all going to look on the other side. 

But from where I stand it’s worth it. 

You in?

  
From where I stand. 

I hate looking in the mirror when I work out. There are always those who feel comfortable right up front. They watch themselves in the mirror, comfortable as they bend and twist. Years ago, it was always a mystery to me when I would lift weights at the gym, as the guy next to me would grunt as he did curls and watched his arms fold up and then relax. 

These days, I take multiple classes a week, and usually try to stay to the middle and the back, and if for some reason I catch a glimpse of myself- I become self conscious. 

I take a Zumba class one night a week where one of the instructors turns off the lights. She has a disco type light that spins, and she is the only person you see in the dim light. It’s refreshing to not compare, or focus on how ridiculous you may look. Instead you laugh as you turn, and the music leaves you inhabited to dance because you enjoy it. 

What’s funny is when there’s no mirrors I’m just me. I’m not afraid to make sure my stomach is pulled in when I laugh. I’m not aware of the bags under my eyes, or how messy my hair looks. I’ll dance because I love to dance. I’m not worried about parts that sag or wobble. I’m not afraid of how my face looks when I say something funny, or about my chipped tooth. 

If there’s one thing I learned after writing for a year is no matter how flawed I can be, my capacity and craving for joy is insatiable. I search out joy. There is a holiness in joy. 

For too long I searched for joy in the exterior. Was I thin enough? Could I be prettier? If only I could fit into that size then I would be happy. When the past two years unfolded and my health became fragile, I found myself questioning what I’d thought was the key to joy.  That awareness led me to a place where those thoughts began to be something I loathed. I began to reevaluate how I did my job. I started to notice the overwhelming emphasis on how success so often equals  physical quality. It was everywhere. It is everywhere. I saw how people become enslaved to it…I almost lost someone to it, I was raised around it. And I was done. 

Because of them. Because of her. 

  
Because of how she sees herself in mirrors.  Because of how she looks at me. And how she acts the same when she’s not in front of one. She makes ridiculous faces. She dances with reckless beautiful abandon.  

She keeps teaching me that knowing who I am in my skin and out and being okay with who I am is a gratitude to God. And is a gift to those around me. 

Having my self worth based on the exterior, had become a weight too heavy for me to bear. It consumed my heart too often, and consumed every choice I was making. 

I am done. 

Is it easy? No. Rewriting and rewiring the way I have thought about myself for as long as I can remember just doesn’t feel natural. But I refuse to allow the sags and the wobbles to steal my joy. It is a slap in the face of my God and every single person who has seen the real me. And loved her. 

The real me loves her laugh lines, and the joys of a beautiful life. A real life.

I have a beautiful life. 

Because of them. Because of her. 

In 2016 I will look in the mirror…and I will search for the joy in the real me- and I won’t be self conscious. I will just dance. 

My prayer is for you to find the same. You are worth that. 

There is beauty in joy. 

There is a holiness in joy. 

And my life, my joy, and to my God be the glory. 

I love my Mom 

So verea(very) mach(much)

Sea(she) is tha(the) 

Best.

Little love letters, and phonetic spelling for the win. 💗

Micah: Mom! Grace is brushing her hair with a fork!

Husband: It’s because she’s a mermaid. 

   
A day in the life with our little mermaid. 

the Magic goes beyond…

It goes beyond the jingles we could sing in our sleep, or the Christmas tree we’ve forgotten to water. 

the magic is beyond presents, and hot cocoa dusted with sprinkles and cream. 

the magic is beyond the stories of a chimney and black shiny boots…and a man with reindeer. 

Last year four days before Christmas I came down with the flu. Like the real live flu. I had the vaccine* which is why I still believe I had less time fighting with the body aches, and fever, and absolute exhaustion. Any person who has had the real flu knows what I’m talking about. You can’t drive, you can barely move, you hurt everywhere. I wept because we’d planned to travel for Christmas, and I couldn’t understand how I could miss out on so much. We would be home, I couldn’t imagine at that point how I could even get to the car. I missed volunteering with homeless families but my family still went…I missed sitting with my family at dinner on Christmas Eve but my family still ate. By Christmas morning, the fifth day, I had been 24 hours fever free, I woke up in time to see my kids and all the magic of Christmas morning…and was able to go to church with my family. I sat in the quiet mass, and felt so very grateful for health, as the body aches had begun to fade finally. In that mass I promised myself I would never succumb to the over planning, I would never complain about how tired I was when my kids just couldn’t sleep, and I would be aware of what was beyond the magic. Always. 

Because…

There is magic in the mystery. 

The mystery of why God would send us the greatest gift in the humblest of ways. 

To a traveling couple, with a baby on the way…far from home. No where to go. 

The mystery of why that night, the night where they lay in a cave with animals and dirt, He would be born. 

In the humblest of settings.

On the holiest of nights. 

There’s mystery in why our Savior came to die, for sins we committed against God, and each other. 

It’s a mystery how we’ve become so focused on things that we’ve forgotten to focus on lives being precious.

 A gift. 

The gift in a newborns cry, on a night where a star shone above the silent night sky. 

This I know…

God is big. 

God is good. 

God is faithful. 

And My faith is real.

It’s not something I claim when life is good, or I live just because I was told to. 

It defines every part of my life. 

God’s gift to the world wasn’t some cosmic fire bolt that traced across the sky reminding us of how big he was. His goodness came in a child. A baby. His faithfulness came in a dream to a Man who had decided to divorce his betrothed in private…because she was pregnant with a son. A son that wasn’t his. His faithfulness came when that Man, Joseph, heard and took her as his bride…Mary. Blessed are you among women, and blessed is the fruit of your womb…Jesus. 

The rest of the story we all know. Whether we choose to believe or hear it…is our choice. But I will never stop. 

Because I know the magic goes beyond. 

And I love the magic of Christmas, and I love teaching my children to look beyond…

To love better. 

To live a life where you bring light to others. 

To have your faith define you. 

…So much that people will wonder what brings the light to your cheeks and joy to your soul and you’ll tell them…

“It’s not a mystery, it’s God.” 

A light that won’t go out when the days are hard, and grey. A light that reminds us of a child born in a cold dark cave. But brought shepherds to the door, and Kings from the East. 

A Light that would change the Whole World. 

Light of the World.

A Light that changed mine. 

…and the rest of the story, what happens next is up to Him. 

I choose Him. Because quite frankly, I love a good mystery. 

* get the flu vaccine. 

1: 48 am.

Last year, or maybe it wasn’t even a year ago I was talking to my Mom about a frusterating interaction I’d had after I taught a class…the person was in their early 80’s and no matter what I said…it was as if I was talking to a brick wall, if brick walls are kind of mean and thoughtless. For the next week I did what I always do and rethought the conversation trying to see if I could’ve said or done something different. As I was talking to my Mom, I said something about the situation and how this person was set in their ways and I should just accept that that’s who they are, and that’s how it is and blah, blah, blah…”

And my Mom, without missing a beat said “that’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard. You are never too old to change. Ever.” 

2:23 pm

My Mother is a wise wise woman. 

And what she said resonated with me. 

This past year I’ve had quite a few revelations come through that have resonated and stuck with me. They are the kind of things that have made life uncomfortable but also made me so appreciative for good friends, who are real and tell the truth. 

11:00 pm 

Life changes around us. It doesn’t wait for us to be ready. It doesn’t wait until we’re skinny, or more beautiful. It doesn’t pause so we can gather our thoughts and our things. Time marches on. We age. We grow. We hurt. And we are never ever too old to change. My Mom was right. 

9:00 am

Nothing about this past year was particularly comfortable. It wasn’t a bad year. In fact there was heaping amounts of joy. But it was a year of absolutes…a year of stepping beyond what I knew, speaking up for what is right, and following God into areas I wasn’t quite ready for. This was the worst year for a law enforcement family, as the media and even our President created a divide and even when truths came out, made issues based on agendas. My husband went to work everyday facing real live monsters…as my anxiety deepened for his safety. Political parties have began to resemble comic book characters- just talking in circles and never coming to resolutions, only more division. I have very little patience for talking in circles and politics. It’s why I avoid school board meetings. 

1:43 pm

So maybe it’s wisdom, maybe it’s insomnia, or maybe it’s growth… But here are things I learned during the uncomfortable. I’m 36, so I used 36 things. 

2:10

1. You will never regret doing the right thing.

2. Teaching our children gratefulness is more valuable than any academic lesson they will ever learn.

3. People that are negative and complain all the time, miss out on a lot. 

4. It’s not just about you. 

5. It’s not just about me. 

6. Don’t ever tell a pregnant person your labor and delivery story…refer to number 4. 

7. Celebrate Birthdays. 

8. Find a workout you enjoy. And then workout often.

9. Say No…if it’s Gods will He’ll keep bringing it back up. 

10. Don’t ever ask anyone if they are pregnant. 

11. Be compassionate. 

12. Search for the real, even if they are a a little broken. 

13. Avoid entitled people…they spread poison. 

14. Know your team is not the only team. Respect others. Don’t be a jerk. 

15. Life is too precious to worry about matching socks. 

16. Introduce yourself. Make eye contact.

17. Change can rock your world. 

18. Learn a new language. 

19. Support law enforcement, and military. 

20. Don’t talk down to people. 

21. Always speak life. 

22. Respect others beliefs and truths. But don’t ever stop living yours. 

23. Drink more water. 

24. Stop putting yourself down. 

25. Mean girls exist even as adults so avoid them. Because they are stupid and dumb. 

26. Find friends who love you on your worst days, and always show up. Be like that.

27. People that gossip to you, gossip about you. So don’t gossip. 

28. Give compliments freely, and criticism rarely. 

29. Give to the poor first.

30. See Star Wars.

31. Go to Church. And pray. 

32. Call your grandparents. 

33. Forgive someone. 

34. Sing every chance you get. 

35. Love More…you get to take Love to heaven. It’s a scientific fact.

36. Live your life. Stop living through a screen. Look up! You are missing so much. 

5:18 pm 

To God be the Glory.

“I’ve learned that you can tell a lot about a person by the way they handle these three things: A rainy day, lost luggage, and tangled Christmas lights.” -Maya Angelou 

As this year comes to a close we’ll start hearing Resolutions for the New Year…

This past year I didn’t do Resolutions, just did this Revolution of Real project. After I started writing God started asking me for my Yes. 

It started out like a big tangled ball of word, and lights, and slowly began to unravel. With each yes I said, another knot became untangled- and I began to find that the more real I was, the more life made sense. 

During this time I began to hear stories, or other people’s real. Some of them were beautiful…friends struggling to get pregnant – conceiving twins, adoptions going through. People finding love again. People finding life again, after a diagnosis or an addiction. Forgiveness. Freedom. 

Then there was that twisted knots of real…friends living through divorce, abuse, infidelity, death. These words and real were hard and gave way to a whole new set of harsh realities that come from starting over again, when your heart is in a million pieces. Resentment. Hurt. Hatred. Prisoner of grief. 

And here we are. The 20th of December. 

Tonight after church we drove around looking at the Christmas lights that strung across homes. Some twinkled and some were a shower of color and display. We drove past each slowly. Some of the houses were subtle, some over the top. And some were dark. No lights. 

There was one house though that had half of its house lit, while it looked like half of the strands were out. It looked a little lopsided, as if it was a house broken into two. 

It got me thinking as we made our way back home. We stare at houses as we drive by…the bright, the subtle, the dark, and we never really understand what is going on inside. We never really know what’s behind doors and windows…we never really know. 

It’s easy to judge or speculate…but sometimes we just need to be there. To let someone speak their real…the good, and the bad. To be there for the tangled and the dark, to shine a little light. Even the smallest twinkle. Be there. 

And to pray…for them. With them. 

It wasn’t so long ago that I was surrounded by beautiful lights, and lives I created and I slowly wrapped myself in the tangled, in the dark. So I don’t forget those who may need us. They may not realize how tangled they are.

Notice the lights. Even when you feel dark. 

Be real. Say Yes.

And may God slowly untangle the knots, and help you shine again. 

Instead of writing Grace and I have been giggling at our quote book…

From Septembet 2011
Jonah: Daniel, will you stay out of this? It’s between me and Micah. 

Daniel: No. I’ve been looking for something or someone to argue with and this is going to have to be it. 

Moral of the story…write EVERYTHING down. You won’t regret it. 

“You have thin skin.” 

I was offended when he said it and it must’ve showed in my face because he followed up…”that is not a bad thing.”

My counselor told me this during a session when I lamented how I hate hate that I cry when I’m angry, or nervous. That I hate that I think about conversations for months, and always feel obligated to apologize…even when I know I didn’t do anything wrong. And I feel things too much,  I cry toohard at movies, I ache too much when people hurt.

“You have thin skin…and that is not a bad thing.” 

When I was born because I was so early you could see through my skin. The doctor commented on it multiple times. My Mom kept telling him I was beautiful just as I was.

So I guess I’ve been translucent literally and figuratively…physically and emotionally. 

The last couple days I was floating on air, things were going well for the most part, God has been answering prayers, and things…feel…right. 

But suddenly real stuff began to weigh heavy on my heart. And I felt it. And I felt sad for people I love who are hurting, and there’s nothing I can do to help them except be there. And I feel for those who are lonely. And just life…its messy and hard. 

I feel it all. 

And I hate that. 

“You have thin skin…and that is not a bad thing.” 

That day I sat in the corner chair, with the pillow and the tassels, and was offended…he proceeded to tell me that yes I feel things, but I’m also deeply compassionate and aware of those around me. That I have not an iota of entitlement but an immense obligation to take care of others. And that I persevere  and show passion, through feeling things and being there. That being thin skinned is NOT a sign of weakness.

After the session I went and sat in my car and wrote these things down…because for the first time in my life…I wanted to not be ashamed of this part of me. So what if I’m sensitive, and feel shit? I’m also funny and real, and super tired most of the time. I don’t know another good person who isn’t that way these days. 

So…go be yourself. 

Feel stuff. 

Don’t be ashamed of crying once in a while, and being liked when you’re doing the right thing. The good thing. 

Literally and Figuratively, Emotionally and Physically…

Be who You are.

This is not a bad thing.