Sep 30, 2013 | 31 Days, Stories, The Good Word
Hi there! I’m posting the links to each day on this post to make it easy for folks to find them. Please scroll down to read the #31 days series introduction!
Day 1: One Day at a Time
Day 2: The Strength in Our Frailty (And the Guy at the Bank)
Day 3: Blind Faith Sees
Day 4: On Dragons, Angels and Jesus
Day 5: You Got Spirit, Let’s Hear It
Day 6: The Declaration of Un-independence
Day 7: Fight Fear with Good
Day 8: Holy Stooping and Drama Llamas
Day 9: Lost and Found
Day 10: The Gift in Giving
Day 11: Finding Yourself
Day 12: Life’s Beautiful Brevity
Day 13: Blessed Obedience
Day 14: Joy from Ashes
Day 15: A Heads Up at Halfway
Day 16: Work Worth Waiting For
Day 17: When Less is More
Day 18: Beautiful No-Nos
Day 19: The Voice(s)
Day 20: Faith is a Team Sport
Day 21: On Entering Negative Space
Day 22: Using Your Voice
Day 23: Simple Trust
Day 24: Because You Know What They Say
Day 25: For When You Can’t Keep Going, But You Must
Day 26: Unconventional Wisdom
Day 27: Love in the Small Stuff OR Lessons from Baby Clothes
Day 28: Overlooking the Junk for the Love
Day 29: That Super-hard L-Word
Day 30: The Joyful Decrease
Day 31: Reflections on His Goodness
I guess this story really starts about five years ago, when The Nester wrote about the same topic for 31 days. She has a fantastic blog about, well, nesting naturally, but about 3,700 other great topics fit inside of that realm, too. And five years ago, she wrote, I loved it, and I thought, “Ooh! I want to do that!” The next year, she invited eight friends to join in, and I, from far away in South Africa, read along and thought, “Ooh, I still want to do that!” and the next year, she sort of “opened it to the general public” and 746 people jumped in. I thought, “Ooh, I still want to do that!” but I think I was moving countries and had some small children or something.
Then, last year, 31 Days arrived again and I thought, “Oooooh! I still want to do that!” But I was very pregnant and certain the little one would arrive early and I was unwilling to sacrifice sleep and I had other small children and… wow, here I am making excuses again.
So, this year, I decided to bring this little challenge before the Lord and let Him make the excuses for me, because then I would feel better about having an excuse not to do something that I think would be quite good for me. I was standing in front of the washing machine, which thankfully has a window behind it which allows me to look out toward the river while I ponder how much time I actually spend on laundry each week, and wonder what the bottom of my laundry basket looks like, if it does, in fact, exist.
The conversation went like this:
“Lord, I constantly get the sense that You want me to write more, and I feel like I need to get over some internal hump and just jump brave in, and I think writing for 31 days would be a really good way to actually show myself that these books You have stirring in my heart could actually turn into something on paper if I’d be disciplined enough to do it.”
Okay, do over, I think the conversation went more like this. Although all of the above was in my head and heart at the time, so the Lord ‘got it’ without me ‘splainin.
“Lord, I feel like I should do that 31 Days thing. But I don’t know what to write about. So. If You want me to do it, will You please give me a topic?”
[Complete silence, both external and internal.]
I walk away thinking I might be off the hook.
But then. This weekend, the smalls and I travelled along with HH to a wedding a wee ways west of Winston-Salem… I don’t know if it could be classified as the mountainous section of North Carolina, but it was at least foothilly enough to be inspirational for me.
We needed the Belle to have a little morning nap in the hotel room, so HH took the boys out to play and I was there with a sleeping baby, no laundry to fold, and … silence.
So I started reading, which, for me, kind of naturally turns into writing, and then, plain as day, the Lord simply whispered a little theme to my heart, which I am pretty sure if I looked back would be a recurring theme, a bright pink thread, right straight through, from the early days when this blog still had Smiling, Avocado and Bacon in the title. And if you can remember those days, well then, leave a comment because you’re one of eleven.
To test and see if this was actually a 31-dayable topic, I quickly flipped to a clean page, jotted down the numbers 1 – 31, and promptly came up with 22 post ideas in less than 22 minutes. Perhaps even ten. Minutes that is.
And then, my friends, I was cornered. In His glorious goodness, He kept His end of the bargain… so I have to keep mine.
And for the next 31 days, heaven help me, I’ll be writing about exactly that: His glorious goodness.
As I proceed toward the end of a year that might, for all intents and purposes seem not good, (considering the unexpected loss of my Dad this March) and as I work through a soul-challenging season where my plate seems uber-full — and not of bacon or avocado or even a slice of home-baked bread — I am somehow confident that putting this new thing on my plate, where I am actively looking in unexpected places to find ways to say He is so good, there is the significant possibility that everything else will suddenly look a heckuvalot better, or perhaps go strangely dim, which will help me to recognize how small it all is in comparison.
Part of the challenge for me will be not simply saying “He’s good because there’s Jesus and forgiveness and stuff” but actually searching for redemption in the hard, the broken, and even in the just plain ordinary. The other part of the challenge will be the discipline of getting up and writing each morning for the next 31 days.
So, quick question for you. Will you join me in a conversation about His Glorious Goodness over the next 31 days? If you are along for the ride, it will make it so much more meaningful for me. I write because when I do, you write back and tell me how much it has meant to you — and I can’t say thank you enough to you amazing people, far and wide, who have taken the time to say Thank you or That meant something to me.
I’ve had the privilege of hearing many of your stories, and sometimes even meeting some of you, and it has been such a joy, SUCH a gift. You dear readers and social media-sharers and encouraging commenters and (I’m usually blessed and embarrassed at the same time) dear folks who put quote marks around something I’ve said, attach my name to it and pass it on… I write for you, and it is totally His glorious goodness, that He gives good gifts, and then we get to be gifts to each other, because of Him. But maybe that’s a topic for Day 17 or something?
That was a lengthy rabbit trail. Back to the subject, my apologies:
Will you join me on the #31Days adventure? You can follow along by subscribing to my blog or liking With Love, From Here’s page on Facebook or, obviously, just coming right back every day this month.
I hope so. I think it’s for me, but I’m secretly (well I guess it’s not a secret now) pretty sure this is for you, too.
Isn’t that glorious?
xCC
{You can also follow other #31days participants by searching that hashtag at Twitter or visiting the Nester’s Link-Up Page. — I will link to it once it goes live later this evening!}
Sep 26, 2013 | In the Name of Love, The Good Word
I occasionally marvel at the incredible ability my children sometimes have to hear something coming out of my mouth but not listen to a single word I’m saying. We might be in close proximity, or I might be calling from the other room — somehow they are born with an in-built ability to completely tune out the sound of my voice once they reach eighteen months or so.
I was contemplating my own listening patterns this morning, however, and realized my children and I have something in common. Sometimes I sense the still, small voice of the Lord whispering something to my heart, but I want to keep doing what I’m doing, so I don’t give it any of my attention.
Over the weekend, I was busy getting a bunch of stuff done around the house that needed doing. My Mom had come over to help and we were knocking out laundry by the basketload, I was scrubbing tubs, she was changing sheets — it was a very busy morning, but it felt so good to be getting so much accomplished. During an eager floor-scrubbing session, I sensed the whisper of the Lord, almost one of those taps on the shoulder that you feel in your heart. It seemed like an invitation to sit still for a moment.
I’m sad to say I kept on working. My Mom was helping, I was eager to get stuff done, perhaps I was afraid the Lord was displeased with me and didn’t want to hear what He had to say. But looking back, and knowing how good and sweet His words are, how full of life, I realized it was a missed opportunity.
I forgot that, in my case, (I can’t always say the same for my children), communing with the Creator of the Universe is a privilege not to be taken lightly.
Sarah Young points out in Jesus Calling
that “Kings who reign on earth tend to make themselves inaccessible; ordinary people almost never gain an audience with them.” But how glorious is it that the Lord, though King of the Universe, is totally accessible to you and me, and is with us wherever we are! (p.281)
And Isaiah 55:3 says,
Come to me with your ears wide open. Listen and you will find life. I will make an everlasting covenant with you. I will give you the unfailing love I promised David.
God’s invitation to come includes promises like rest for the weary, an easy burden and a light yoke, grace, mercy that’s new every morning, compassion that never fails.
I wonder what marvelous gifts from the Lord’s heart I’ve missed, all the times I’ve decided to close my ears and just “do what I want to do.”
In the case of my kids, the number one solution I’ve found to the ears wide shut problem is often asking them to look at me. I usually say, “[Kid name] look at my eyes.” I wait for them to stop what they’re doing and change their gaze to meet mine, and then I am able to communicate with them whatever it is I want to say.
And perhaps there’s a very good parallel to hearing from the Lord. That still small voice can’t be heard if your own voice is shouting, your own heart is beating loudly from exhaustive efforts, your own hands are working and making a din of their own.
Sometimes, He does whisper while we work. But sometimes, we must be willing to come with ears wide open, to put down the dishcloth or the iPhone, the expense report or the dirty laundry.
He’s asking us to Be Still and Know {Ps. 46:10} and if we can’t be still, then we won’t know.
Have you sensed that gentle nudge, that shoulder tap, the warm sense in your chest lately? Don’t be afraid to stop what you’re doing and turn your gaze to meet that of your Creator. Put down what you can for a while, and let the eyes of your soul rest on His.
Listen, and you will find life.
xCC
Sep 20, 2013 | The Good Word
I had a birthday this week, and it was wonderful. I was with lots of the people I care about the most, and there was a wonderful collaborative effort to make the day special for me. It was. There were cards and cake and chocolate, and gifts to unwrap, including the gift of a little time away from my little people with a friend, which was fun and just really nice.
It is easy to smile when there are gifts to open!
The next day I was out on the playground with my kids, simultaneously pushing two boys in swings, while playing peekaboo with a just-now-waving her wee hand little girl in the stroller. The boys ran and climbed and zoomed down the slide, I played along with the make-believe-moments, as a shark that turned into a good Pirate, and as a space alien that became an astronaut.
Surrounded by my three small people, on a day with a perfect temperature, the sun streaming in through the trees to make tunnels of light, my heart was warm and well aware: this is another gift to open. Thank You, Lord, it is good.
The boys continued their climbing and jumping while I watched from a shady spot in the grass with the Belle. Music played from my phone that brought me back to Scotland, exercising in the student gym, strolling through the city at my own leisure with headphones in my ears.
Kind of a lot has changed since then.
I stared off into the distance, reflecting on how time has passed and life has changed, and noticed a single piece of pine straw, suspended and dancing the air, caught in a single thread of a spider’s web.
My first thought caught me by surprise: how quick I was to say in my mind, “Look! A gift!”
Somehow everyday simplicity is becoming a joy to hunt out and savor.
I’ve been training my heart to keep seeing all of life through that perfect picture frame, that 5 x 7 of thankfulness, that helps me remember that even when the word “gift” is not immediately apparent when I look at a situation, somehow, it’s very possible that I’ll still have the privilege of seeing the gift if I keep my eyes open (or more often my heart).
Seeing gifts in the nice breeze-by-the-river moments will perhaps always be easier than seeing it in the moments where two out of three children are hollering at the top of their lungs, because there’s an argument about which show is going to fill up their TV time or who did the thing that wasn’t supposed to be done.
Last night, HH and I reflected on the fact that we didn’t book as many weddings this year as we had hoped. We already have a few booked for next year which we’re very excited about, but this year’s wedding season was not nearly as busy as we would have hoped. But as we stopped for a moment and thought about that, about what has happened this past year, losing my Dad and accepting the unexpected part time job of settling his estate, learning to be a family of three and kicking off a career of homeschooling, moving house and starting life over in a new place…
suddenly it was easy to see what we hoped for but didn’t have as a gift, too.
We were blessed with plenty of business, HH has stayed busy with a camera in his hand, and, perhaps one of the greatest gifts I’ve been reflecting on lately, life just keeps happening one day at a time.
None of us can be completely sure what will come our way next year or next month, or even next week. But we can enjoy the life that we have in front of us each day, and we can train our hearts to see the gifts in that day. Whether its a stuffed bag of goodies from a very thoughtful Mama (thank you again, Mom, I love you!!) or looking down at a two-year-old’s cheeky grin and pearly white teeth as he tells me he loves me at bed time, or even enjoying the little bunny rabbit we love to watch munching the grass that has grown up under the pig-cooker in the backyard — it’s an opportunity to see a gift and to unwrap it by letting your soul whisper a silent thank you to your Maker, the One that all the good and perfect gifts come from.
Perhaps you’ve been looking for reasons to give thanks for a long time, and if so, I’m sure you can wax poetic about how life-changing it is. But maybe you haven’t been much for giving gift-hunting a slice of your everyday time. Friend, all I can say is, try it. Try looking for reasons to be thankful each day. And not just for the obvious, your family, your job, your home – although they are important gifts to count again and again, start looking for those simple moments that Elizabeth Barrett Browning referenced when she said:
Earth is crammed with heaven, And every common bush afire with God;
But only he who sees, takes off his shoes –
The rest sit round it and pluck blackberries.
You might find in time, that your heart begins to walk around barefoot, and for your life? It will make a gloriously beautiful difference.
xCC
Sep 13, 2013 | Stories, The Good Word
It’s been a while since I gave any thought to that nice old saying, Every Person Has a Story. But a Friday afternoon incident at the bank brought it home to me again. And I thought it was a lesson worth sharing.
Here’s the backstory.
Today, on the six month anniversary of my Dad’s death, I was busy opening envelopes and recording check amounts and numbers. My Dad was a part of a ministry called Samaritan Ministries International, an alternative to traditional health care. Each month, the members of SMI send their “share” to another member who has a “need”, at the direction of the central office. I’m surprised I haven’t shared with you about this ministry already, we (the Collie family) are also members and had a great experience when the Belle was born — but it’s a topic for another day.
My Dad’s need, namely, his significant hospital bills was published by SMI this month — the significant delay related to the hospital’s delay in sending the big bill and was not the fault of SMI. This means that over the course of September, I’ll be receiving hundreds of checks in the mail, with cards and words of encouragement and prayer, and those checks will cover the hospital bills from my Dad’s final days. {I hope all this makes sense, but feel free to ask questions in the comments if it doesn’t.}
I had about 110 checks to deposit into the Estate bank account this afternoon, and after spending a good wee while opening those envelopes, recording the details and so on, I was pretty spent, so I went to the bank and hoped it would be okay for me to not fill out a deposit slip listing each individual check.
The bank was short-staffed for a Friday afternoon, but I only waited a moment before my turn in line. I explained the backstory to the 110 checks I needed to deposit and asked if it was okay for me to not singly list out each check on a deposit slip. The teller was very happy to run them through her system for me and I was totally relieved.
At the time, she was the only teller behind the counter; another was in her office with several clients sitting across the desk from her, and the third was manning the drive through window.
I’ve been in the process of settling my Dad’s estate for about six months now. There are a heap of unusual twists and turns and loose ends, which mean I’ve made lots of trips to the bank settling different accounts, and the tellers have been very friendly, and we’ve gotten to know each other a little. While we waited for the checks to go through, she asked how my children were doing. We chatted some more, she continued the process of entering the checks, and I looked back over my checklist, trying to guess what the total was supposed to be, because, really, I hadn’t gone through and made sure everything was clear.
It was the end of a long week, my third week of homeschooling, still unpacking from our move, the anniversary of my Dad’s death… for some reason the thought of the holidays without him had been looming ahead of me all week — I was pretty much just spent.
I overheard one customer waiting in line complaining to another about the wait and specifically using a few words that made me think he might be referring to me taking a long time getting my deposit done. I decided to believe the best about the gentleman and assume he wasn’t actually referring to me.
But, as the transaction came to a close and I gathered my things to leave the desk, he commented, loud enough for the entire bank to hear:
“Are you sure you don’t want to take a little more time and make the rest of us wait a little longer?”
The loud, overbearing tone and rough and disrespectful words felt like an unexpected slap in the face. I spun around on my heels and said, “Would you like to know why that transaction took so long? I am depositing checks to pay my Dad’s hospital bills… he died…”
But before I’d said three words, even louder, even more disrespectfully he chirped “NO NO NO I don’t want to hear it.”
Maybe I spend too much time at home with my Hero Hubs and children, where no one is allowed to speak to anyone in that sort of manner. But the shock of the interaction really stung, and I walked out muttering my regrets that the world didn’t revolve around him.
I climbed back into my van and erupted into a pile of tears. Today? Really, today?
After a few minutes {okay, maybe several} I’d managed to compose myself and I was ready to run the next errand on the list before heading home.
Deep breaths, tissues. Jesus.
By the time I pulled into a space in the parking lot at Walmart, I was upset all over again thinking about the interaction. I sat in my van for a few minutes looking over my checklist and trying to figure out why the teller said there were 112 checks when I could only count 111. I looked for my phone in my bag to open the calculator and see whether we’d still come to the same total. When I picked it up, it was vibrating.
I answered with a shaky voice, and the teller from the bank was on the other end of the line. She called to apologize for how the other customer had spoken to me.
“He’s a {occupation title removed so as not to incriminate anyone} in town, so I guess that’s just his attitude all the time.”
“It was wrong and completely uncalled for and I’m sorry.”
I was in a puddle again — just totally appreciative that she’d taken the time to call me and apologize for something that wasn’t even her fault. It is funny how having a witness to pain, having someone agree — that happened to you and it wasn’t right — somehow makes walking through something more bearable.
I thanked her for calling more than once, we wished each other a good weekend. A few more deep breaths and tissues and I was ready to let my tear-stained face into Walmart. Although I seriously considering leaving my sunglasses on, the first shopper who looked at me funny forced me to put them on top of my head.
Moments before, in the middle of that brief and heavy-hearted drive from the bank to the Walmart parking lot, I brought this care to the Lord the best way I knew how.
I was reminded of one very important thing: in every situation, Every Person Has a Story. The person who cuts you off in traffic, the Mom who just can’t devote an evening to a PTA meeting, the guy who seems totally disinterested when his kids are screaming on the bus. The girl who might look like she’s just a selfish and careless youngster taking up the teller’s time at the bank with small talk while people are waiting.
And, even the jerk at the bank who has something very unkind to say, after his patience is worn too thin at having to wait a few extra minutes before seeing a teller. Was he abused as a kid? Did he recently lose someone he loved? And perhaps has noone ever encouraged him to consider the possibility that God has a plan for his life that is so much better than being a walking, talking meaniepants?
Every Person Has a Story.
It was a fresh, timely and good reminder for me. As I hunted a space in that parking lot, I waved at the employee who looked down on his luck, standing outside and speaking with a friend. I smiled graciously when the aisles were too full and I had to navigate a sea of fellow shoppers and gently ask if people wouldn’t mind moving their carts for me to get through.
I waved another car that had just left the little Perfect Perks coffee hut in front of me so that she wouldn’t have to wait for all the cars behind me to clear in order to get moving.
I remembered one important thing: I’m not the only one who’s hurting. None of us are alone, facing a sometimes cold, often broken world. And the guy at the bank and I? We might actually have a lot in common. Perhaps we’ve both experienced a significant loss recently. Perhaps we both feel like there are more tasks on the to-do list than we can actually accomplish.
One thing is for sure. Love is the best answer for every broken question. Kindness is the best medicine to give a hurting world.
Every person has a story.
And today, even when it hurts, I’m grateful for the reminder, and I’m grateful this is mine.
xCC
Aug 14, 2013 | The Good Word, The Parenthood
She is sitting down, on a potty, right in front of me, when all the thoughts start swirling in my head again. Seven months, quickly closing in on eight, her eyes are bright, filled with wonder and interest, and I am simply lifting the tow hook of a little lego truck and letting it fall for her to see.
Gravity is not in her vocabulary, but wonder, oh how wonder is.
Gift. Gift I think — what I could have named her, and her brothers. Gifts. For the days that are long and hard, for the losses that grab a hold of your heart and squeeze so tight it’s hard to take each breath. They are gift, gift, and reward.
And the thoughts that swirl? How strange it is to see this as other than gift.
Sure, there are days. Laundry piles high. Dishes stack up. Tempers flare: He hitted me with that ball! Let go of your brother, you are not his Mommy or Daddy! How many times do I have to call your name before you will look at me? I strain my voice too often.
But stand still. Be still just a moment. Mimic the wonder you see in front of you — take it all in. Flesh of flesh, bone of bone, this child that sits here with half my DNA — absolutely desired before she arrived, though fear met me once or twice: This is quick. They will be less than two years apart. Two kids in diapers…
Still, and I see it: she cannot be seen as other-than gift.
And what of the other-thans?
They are the words of strangers: Boy, you’ve got your hands full! You know where they come from right? Aren’t you finished yet?
And the stories they tell: I could only put two through college. We just wanted one and we would be done. How can you handle more than two or three at the most? Kids are bad for the environment.
The world’s sending mixed messages, one grocery store checkout line at a time.
Post-potty bath time, she is splashing and full of wonder — water swirling with a few white suds from a little baby wash in the duck tub sitting on the island in our kitchen. She beams. Glee. HH hurries for his camera — and I tell the truth, he calls her name and she looks and poses as if she understands, with a huge grin, mouth open nearly as wide as it will go, eyes, too. She pauses the splashing to pose and lets us capture the moment.
I beam with Mama-pride at this simple moment. Thankfulness has been swelling my heart these days — I am taking it seriously. A thankful heart prepares the way for the Lord. I am taking seriously the business of being still, giving thanks.
I have wept with friends, struggling to become pregnant. Wept with friends who have experienced loss. And with research, intervention and no small amounts of effort together as a society we endeavor to put children in the arms of the childless. Through the marvels of modern medicine and the awe-inspiring beauty of adoption.
None is sad. One is great. But too many? A burden — and some might even say downright wrong — bringing too many children into the world.
A gentleman sitting next to me on a plane once genuinely questioned the sanity of a married couple who does not want to use birth control if they already have more than a couple of children. What is the difference between birth control and clipping your fingernails? he mused.
I disengaged from the conversation as quickly as possible.
You’ve got your hands full. Maybe so.
But these moments of God-wonder have not slowed. For the four-year-old who understands so much, thinks deeply, cares and cares. With the two-year-old’s milky white smile, peeking from perfect, parted pink lips, eyelashes to rival any mascara commercial — and eyes to charm any man or woman in town.
And this little one, who sat in front of me, warmest smile, toothless, yet so full — wild after-nap wispy waves encircling her head. Able to take my mind off the greatest problems, able to unfurl every knot that threatens to tighten me up to that struggling-to-breathe-state that occasionally finds me.
Who is right? What is true?
A friend and I talked about it the other day, the comments from the older ladies in the grocery store. How it is nice to hear “treasure this time” and “it goes by fast” — these reminders to slow down and take off your shoes. It is hard to hear “how many do you actually want” and “Boy, you’ve got your hands full” — which with certain tones and inflections sometimes sounds more like “Have you heard of birth control, you idiot?”
He has held her, for me to type now, and brings her in pink polka-dot pajamas, perfect hand-me-downs from her older cousin. With privilege I kiss her cheek before he takes her to bed.
God’s hand has provided riches beyond measure. I see it. I could take off my shoes if I were wearing any.
The Bible puts it this way:
Behold, children are a gift of the Lord;
The fruit of the womb is a reward. {Psalm 127:3}
With the busyness that has me doing the things I must and sometimes keeping me from things I love to do, these three little gifts are constant reminders: He is so, so good. And my answer these days to the world of other-thans, to the “Boy, you’ve got your hands full {—you dummy—}” folks?
“My heart is even more full.”
xCC
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