God of the Zeros

A few days ago, I was traveling somewhere with a new friend.  We had just been in the home of someone with various religious artifacts, and I asked:  "Are you Catholic?"

"No," she replied, nonchalantly.  "I'm more of a zero."

When I lived in Atlanta, I more or less expected the "zero" attitude, though few people admitted it quite so readily.  In small town Georgia, it caught me a little (okay - a lot) by surprise.

I wasn't sure exactly what to say, so I prattled on quickly. In hindsight, I wish I had said something. 

Specifically, I wish I had said, "Yes, I've been there too."

Pepper's Day has moved!  To keep reading, click here. 

Thanks for stopping by!

For All Moms Who Miss "Feeling Pretty"

Oh, my sweet, tired friend . . .

I saw you just the other day in the mall, averting your eyes when you walked past the mirror.

I liked your photo on Facebook . . . the one where you used your precious newborn baby as a prop to cover all but a sliver of your face.

I heard you laugh but felt you wince in the elevator when your toddler poked your belly and giggled:  "Squishy!"

I saw your sad eyes in the supermarket checkout line when you saw that it was a 22-year-old who claimed the title of Best Actress and you suddenly realized that you may have passed your cultural prime.

I heard your sleepless heart late at night when it whispered . . . 

Have I already spent the best part of me?

And I cried a little, because I’ve been there too.

Oh, my dear friend . . . can we be in this together for a minute?

I’m tempted to write something cliché, but I know you:  you are smart and savvy and much too tired to tolerate the platitudes.  So hang tight with me, because I’m going deep:

. . . . For the rest of this post, visit my new site at www.homespunheartsongs.com.  :)  And don't forget to sign up for email updates over there!  

Calling All Would-Be Friends

Making friends as an adult has been tricky for me.  I’m not a planner.  I’m easily exhausted in social situations.  I work too much.  My house is too messy.  I need to spend one-on-one time with my kids.  I need to make quality time for my husband.  I need more sleep!  I’m not good at making finger foods.  I can’t multitask over children and conversation.  I don’t have anything to wear!

                Does your list look anything like this? Managing the logistics of friendships with the reality of daily life can be tricky.  (Really, who needs another thing to do?)  However, I’ve found that logistics aren’t the real obstacle to friendships in my life:  I am.

When you get right down to it, all of those insecurities disguised as logistics say the same thing:  I’ll be ready for friendship when _________________.  Or, stated differently, I’m not really ready for friendship right now.

                Does my last sentence make you as angry as it makes me feel to write it?  Of course I’m ready for friendship.  I’m desperate for friendship!  It’s just that . . .

Good friends plan fun parties and bring energy into the room.

Good friends are selfless stay at home moms who have somehow managed to prioritize their families and friends over jobs, finances, and ambition.

Good friends have clean houses, don’t rotate pajama pants as casual wear, and provide Pinterest worthy party foods for their guests.

And really, it’s just that . . .

If you put me under a microscope with all of my junk and my issues and my demands and my stuff, you’d see . . .

I’m not really worthy of friends right now. 

But I will be one day. 

When I finally quit my job. 

When my kids are older and my house is cleaner. 

When I’ve worked through my issues in therapy and have recovered from ___________ (you fill in the blank).

               If this is you (and trust me, it’s me) . . . call me!  I need to visit your messy house.  I need to know you cannot find a single. pair. of. jeans. that. fit.   I need to see you struggle to string together sentences over your three year old and to hear your frustration (and sometimes relief) over dropping said three year old off at daycare.  I need to know what it’s like for you if you stay at home with your kids and struggle with feelings of inadequacy (of course you do!) just like I do when I go to work. 

                Do you hear me?  I need you!

Why?  Because when you take the risk to expose yourself to me, you help me see myself through God’s eyes.  When you share your messy house, your burnt cookies, and your dirty bathroom with me, you remind me that we are all created perfectly imperfect.  When we connect over something, you are like a mirror to my soul, showing me that some part of me is lovable.  So very, very lovable.  Right where I am.  Just as I am. 

So, let’s make a pact.  You share your vulnerability and your humor and your stories and your tears with me, and I’ll let you visit my fraternity-esque bathroom, see my unwashed hair, and hold my child with spaghetti on his shirt.

Let’s trade mess for mess.  Something makes me believe we’ll both leave feeling a little more loved, a little more worthy, a little more like the daughters of a King who did not hesitate to embrace the dirty, the sick, the issue-laden, and the needy.

Like I said, I need you.  And you need me too.

Heart Psalm

Dear Heavenly Father,

Sometimes, you don't seem so real to me.

Sometimes.

Sometimes, life sits like a rock in my belly.

Sometimes.

Sometimes, fear overrides faith and the future looks blah.

Sometimes.

But that is no way to live.

My heart wasn't created for fear, or for rocks, or for fiction.

So I will come to your gates with Thanksgiving.

Even when I can't see you, I will praise your name.

God of the universe, who loved me enough to allow me to taste your burden

To see how love feels when swallowed whole.

Father God, I praise your name,

God, I praise your name.  

Yummy!

One day, after a nice summer swim, Frog realized that he was very hungry.  He hurried to his house and made a plate full of his favorite:  grilled cheese sandwiches.  With his mouth watering, he took his plate and a glass of pink lemonade outside for a lovely afternoon picnic on a rock by the river.

Just as he was getting ready to take his first bite, Moose sauntered by.  Catching a whiff of the delicious smelling grilled cheese sandwiches, he turned around, looked at Frog with his plate piled high, and said, "Mmmmmm.  Can I have a bite?"

Frog looked from Moose to his sandwiches and back again.  Finally, he tore off the most itsy bitsy teensie weensie teeniniest piece of sandwich that he could manage and placed it on the rock.  

"Here you go!" said Frog.

Moose looked at the crumb, looked back at Frog, and said, "It's okay.  You can keep it."  He then wandered on his way.

Frog shrugged and brought his sandwich up to his mouth, but just then Goat cantered up.

"What a de-e-e-licious smell!" exclaimed Goat.  "Can I have some?"

Frog shrugged and said, "Sure, help yourself."  He pointed to the crumb that Moose left on the rock.

Goat quickly licked up the crumb.  When he saw that Frog wasn't going to offer any more, he trudged away with his head hung low.

This time, Frog quickly crammed a piece of the sandwich in his mouth, but before he could chew it up very well, Alligator crawled up.

"Yuuuummmmmy!" said Alligator.  "My favorite!  Can I have a bite?"

Frog's mouth was too full to speak, so he just pulled off another tiny crumb . . . this one even smaller than the last, and held it out for Alligator.

Alligator looked at the crumb in Frog's hand, licked his lips and . . . 

CHOMP.

Rumor has it that there is still a mostly-full plate of grilled cheese sandwiches sitting on a rock by the river. You can help yourself. 

THE END.

Three Little Monkeys

Guest post courtesy of Theo Lu, master storyteller and husband extraordinaire.  

Once there were three little monkeys:  John, Don, and Ron.  They were great friends, but they liked to out do each other.  John was the leader, and he always went first.  Don always went second, and Ron always went last.  If John ate one banana, then Don would eat two bananas, and Ron would eat three bananas. And so it went between John, Don and Ron.

One day as they were frolicking through the jungle, they came upon a sleeping tiger.  John said, "Watch this!" Very quietly, he crept up behind the tiger and brushed his hand against the tiger's tail.  Then he slipped away without waking the tiger.

Don said, "That's nothing!  Watch this!"  Very quietly, he crept up behind the tiger and he gently grabbed the tail.  Quickly and quietly, he crept away without waking the tiger up.

Ron said, "You think that was something?  Watch this!"  Quickly and quietly, he crept up behind the tiger, grabbed the tiger's tail, and shook it around.  The tiger woke up.

And so, now there were two little monkeys:  John and Don.  They were great friends, but they were always trying to out do each other.  John liked to go first.  If he ate a mango, Don would say, "That's nothing!" and eat two mangoes.  And so it went between John and Don.

One day, as John and Don were swinging through the jungle, they came upon a river in a canyon.  John said to Don, "Watch this!"  He swung over to a narrow part of the canyon, grabbed a vine, and swung once and then twice.  The third time, he let go and flew over the canyon, landing safely on the other side.

Don said, "That's nothing!  Watch this!"  He went to the widest part of the canyon.  He grabbed a vine and swung once and then twice.  The third time, he let go and flew over the canyon, landing safely on the other side . . . almost.

And so, now there was one little monkey.  His name was John.  And he was a very careful little monkey.

The End.

Tucked In

Most of the time these days, I go to bed before my husband.  I can fall asleep with all the lights on, underneath a pile of clothes on my bed, with books and cell phone arrayed around me.  This doesn't bother me at all and never has.

Sometimes I sleep right through my husband coming to bed, and sometimes I wake up.  But the best times are the times that I waver between dreams and wakefulness . . . because those are the times I get to spy a little on his unwatched heart.

He will pick up my cell phone and books and put them on the bedside table.  He (sometimes) will move the clothes, depending on my particular arrangement. Then he will pull a blanket up to my chin and kiss me goodnight.

And I get to go back to sleep, all tucked in with love.

Valued Beyond Measure

On a weekend visit home from college, I turned onto our little dirt driveway from the main road.  It had been a long drive, a long day, a long year.

And then I saw it.

Along the cow pasture fence that led up to our house, yellow flagging tape was draped purposefully, in celebratory fashion.  Our driveway is a quarter of a mile long, and the flagging tape welcomed me all the way home.  At the end, I found my dad hastily tying off the last of it.  He had a goofy smile on his face, sweat popping up on his forehead underneath his hat from his hurried display of love.  

He had a million other things to do, but this bold act of extravagance wasn't lost on me.  Did I mention that yellow is my favorite color?

I am so thankful for a father who would never hesitate to break the alabaster vase for me. 

Yucky!

"Alexander" aka Collin

Part I:  The Nighttime Visitor

On Monday, Alexander burped five times at dinner.

On Tuesday, Alexander wiped his nose on his brother Sam.

On Wednesday, Alexander let his dog lick his hands and then rubbed them on his mommy's face.

On Thursday, Alexander put Sam's toothbrush in the potty . . . and then tried to put it in Sam's mouth.

On Friday, Alexander helped Sam "wash his hair" with yogurt.

And on Saturday, Alexander got in so much trouble that he was sent to bed without reading any books, without playing any games, and without snuggling with Mommy and Daddy.

No books?  Could we really send this kid to bed without 1 or 2 or 5 books?!

"Alexander," Daddy said as he closed the door, "We love you very much, but you have to learn to be nice!"

The room was very dark and very still, and Alexander was just beginning to think about crying when he heard three sharp, precise knocks on his bedroom door.

Alexander sat up in his bed on his knees, grabbed his best friend Archie bear, and said, very quietly,

"Daddy?  Is that you?"

The door swung open, and in walked . . .

"A lizard?" breathed a very surprised and confused Alexander.

"In a suit?!"  Alexander's eyes were as wide as saucers.

"With a book?!"  Now Alexander was barely remembering to breathe at all.  This was the strangest thing he had ever seen.

The creature straightened his back indignantly, quietly shut the door, and flipped on a lamp.  Alexander could now see that his visitor was much bigger than a normal lizard, coming to the top of Alexander's dresser.  He was red with peculiar purple polka dots, and his suit looked like the suit that Daddy wore to his Aunt Lydia's wedding.  He had three wisps of hair combed very carefully over his head, and on his back he had two very small wings.

The creature cleared his throat and said, in a very proper voice:

"My dear child, I, ahem, am not, ahem, a lizard."  He sniffed rather snootily before continuing.  "And this,"  he dusted off his black jacket with his bright red hands, "is most certainly NOT a suit.  It is called a tuxedo."

We could have used this dragon's help getting dressed on this day!

"You look like a lizard," said Alexander.

"Don't argue child.  It's impolite," said the creature.  "Allow me to introduce myself.  My name is Sir Yuckivester Angelos Andreas the Third, and I," he took a ceremonial bow, "am a dragon.  At your service."

Alexander stared at the dragon, who was becoming less scary by the moment.  He considered what the dragon had said, and then he asked,

"That's a long name.  Can I just call you Yucky?"

The red-and-purple-polka-dotted dragon turned even redder than he already was, but he managed to keep his composure.  He gingerly opened his great big book and flipped through the pages with his well-manicured dragon claws.

"Tsk, Tsk,"  he scolded.  "Dragon Rule Number 812 states, 'It is never nice to make fun of someone's name.'"  He looked up accusingly at Alexander before continuing.

"However, Dragon Rule Number 812 (a) (iiii) notes that 'a nickname is often a term of affection that is impolite to refuse.'"  The dragon sighed.

"I suppose that if we are going to be friends that I will allow you to call me . . . Yucky."  Yucky's long nose wrinkled a bit as he said his new name.

Alexander eyed the big book and then asked,

"Yucky, did Mommy and Daddy send you to read a bed time story to me?"

This time, Yucky did not hold back his distaste.

"My dear, dear child.  I am not a bed time story reader.  I am an ettiquette coach, and I am here to teach you some manners."

"Etti-what?"  asked Alexander.

"Ettiquette," repeated Yucky.  "How to behave nicely to others.  And I apparently have my work cut out for me.  If you don't mind, I am going to go to sleep so we can get started first thing in the morning."

"OK, Yucky," said Alexander.

And with that, Yucky climbed under Alexander's bed and fell fast asleep.

Part II:  The Lesson

The next morning when Alexander woke up, he jumped out of bed and looked underneath it.  No Yucky! He scratched his head.  Had he dreamed it?  But when he arrived at the breakfast table, there was Yucky, dressed in his tuxedo, smelling suspiciously of Alexander's father's aftershave, flipping through his book underneath the dining room table.  Alexander looked around. His mom was drinking coffee, Sam was smashing food in his highchair, and his dad was cooking pancakes on the griddle.  No one else seemed to notice Yucky.  Alexander shrugged and sat in his seat.  Yucky promptly stuck his head out from under the table, pointed at the book, and whispered,

"Our first lesson comes from Dragon Rule Number 933:  You should always compliment the cook on the food.  Be sure to say thank you this morning."

Just then, Alexander's father brought over a hot stack of pancakes and put them on Alexander's plate.  He turned around to tear up a pancake for Sam, and Yucky nodded encouragingly at Alexander.

Alexander took a great big bite of a pancake.  Mmmmmmm, it was delicious!  He was just getting ready to tell his dad how tasty the pancake was when his father turned back around.

"Alexander, you know better than to eat before everyone is served!  I thought we were going to work on being nice today!"

The pancake seemed to grow bigger and bigger in Alexander's mouth while his father glared at him.  Finally, it seemed too big to swallow.  He spit it out.  "I didn't mean to Daddy . . . It was . . . it was . . .Yucky.."

Alexander's mother didn't let him finish his sentence.

"Young man!  Go sit on the couch.  Your father worked hard on those pancakes.  It is not nice to tell him they are yucky, and it is certainly not nice to spit it out!"

"But, I ---"  Alexander started to try to explain, but the words seemed to stick in his mouth just like the pancake had.  Instead, he trudged over to the couch, and Yucky sheepishly followed.  While the rest of the family ate pancakes, Yucky pulled out his book.

"Oh dear.  I forgot to mention Dragon Rule Number 721," he sighed.  "Never eat before everyone else has their food.  I should have mentioned that!"

"That would have been helpful," said Alexander with a frown.  His tummy rumbled as he watched his family eat.

After breakfast, everyone got dressed for church.  Alexander went into his mom and dad's room.  He liked to play in their closet while they got dressed.  Yucky followed him.

As Alexander tried on some of his dad's sneakers, Yucky pulled out his book again.

"Let's try again with Dragon Rule Number 322.  It says 'It is always nice to tell your mother she looks pretty when she is getting dressed.'"

"OK," Alexander shrugged.  "I can do that."

He walked out of the closet and saw that his mother had just put on a dress for church.  Alexander was about to tell her how pretty she was when Yucky leaned over to whisper one last bit of advice in his ear. Unfortunately, as he leaned over to whisper he tripped over one of the shoes that Alexander had just taken off.  He accidentally pushed Alexander, who fell right into his mother.

RIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIPPPPPPPPPPPP.

Alexander grabbed her nice new dress, and it split clear down the middle.

"Alexander!"  his mother exclaimed.  "Look what you did to my dress!  You have to learn to be careful."

"I'm sorry mommy," he said, climbing up to apologize, "I didn't mean to rip it.  It was Yucky!"

Now Alexander's mother's eyes filled with tears and she said,

"Alexander!  That is not nice to say at all! Mommy's dress was not yucky!  I think you need to go sit on the couch and think about what you said!"

For the second time that morning, Alexander trudged to the couch.  Yucky followed, with his book in tow.

"Ahem," said Yucky, opening the book one more time.  "This morning is not going very well, but I think I know how you can make all of this better."

Alexander glared at Yucky, but he decided to give him one more chance.

"How?"  he asked.

"Dragon Rule Number 1,000 always helps in a pinch."   Yucky read from the book, "It is always nice to share your favorite toy with your brother."

Alexander looked to where Sam was playing in the play yard with some blocks.  He sighed, looked at Yucky, and said, "OK - I'll try."

He got up from the couch, went to his room, and got his favorite toy:  his foam pirate sword.  He brought it downstairs, put it in the play yard, and said, "Here Sam.  You can play with my pirate sword."

Sam looked at the sword, smiled at Alexander, pulled it to his mouth, and took a big bite out of the foam. He chewed it in his mouth for a moment, tried to swallow it, and started to cough.

Into the hand, into the mouth at this age . . . 

Alexander's mother and father rushed into the room.  They saw the sword, saw baby Sam, and glared at Alexander.

"What have you done?!"  Alexander's father exclaimed angrily.

He picked up Sam, thumped him on his back, and a big piece of foam sword flew out of Sam's mouth.  Sam gurgled and then grinned a big toothy smile.

Alexander's father looked at Alexander long and hard.

"That's it, young man.  You're in big trouble.  I'll have to think about your punishment, but it won't be fun."

Alexander hung his head.  He thought about telling his parents about Yucky, but it wouldn't do any good.  It would just make them mad like the other times Alexander tried to explain.

A tear trickled down his cheek and his tummy felt hot and rumbly.  He looked at Yucky, shook his head, and mouthed,  "Go home."

Yucky pulled out his book, flipped a few pages, and read, "Dragon Rule 2,012:  A guest never stays past his welcome."

He bowed to Alexander, closed the book, and sadly walked to the door.  Quick as a flash, he opened it and slipped out.  No one said good-bye.  In fact, no one but Alexander seemed to even notice that Yucky had been there at all.

Part III:  All's Well that Ends Well

Later that day, after church and his nap, Alexander's mom and dad came and sat on his bed.

"Alexander," said his mom, "We've been thinking about it.  What if we did something special this afternoon - just the three of us?  Would you like to go to the park for a picnic?  We have a babysitter for Sam."

Alexander couldn't believe his ears.  He smiled.  He loved the park.  And he wasn't in trouble!

His mom told him to put his shoes on while she changed to some clothes for the park.  When she came out to help him into his car seat, she had on a bright red shirt.  Red was Alexander's favorite color!  He remembered Yucky's advice, and he said,

"I like your shirt mommy.  It's very pretty."

Alexander's mom smiled and kissed Alexander's head as she buckled him in.  "Oh Alexander, I love you too. Thank you for the nice compliment!"

When they got the park, Alexander played on the slide with his dad, rode on the carousel with his mom, and raced across the bridge six times.  When he was done, he was tired and out of breath.

Check out this tough disciplinarian. :)

"Would you like a treat, Alexander?" his dad asked.

"Yes, please!" said Alexander.

His dad walked up to the concession stand and came back with lemonade and strawberries for everyone. They sat at a picnic table to share.  Alexander bit into a juicy strawberry.  The sweet juice ran down his chin.

Just then he saw a lizard scamper across the table.  He thought about Yucky and Dragon Rule Number 933.

"Thank you for the strawberries, daddy.  They are delicious!"

Daddy smiled.  "You're welcome, Alexander!  That was a very nice thing to say."  Daddy looked across at Mommy and she nodded, like they had discussed something earlier.

"How would you like to pick out a special surprise before we go home?" Daddy asked.

Alexander jumped up and down.  He loved special surprises!

The family finished their snacks and then headed to the gift store on the edge of the park.  The first thing Alexander spied was a pirate ship.  It looked like a real ship, and it came with tiny toy pirates.

He really does love pirates . . .

Alexander's mom and dad followed his gaze to the ship.

"Alexander, would you like the ship?" his mom asked.

Alexander really wanted the ship, and he almost said yes --- but then he remembered Sam eating his sword. If he got the ship, he couldn't share with his brother.  Sam would put the pirates in his mouth too.

"No . . . " he said slowly.  Then he turned, picked out a bright red ball, and handed it to his dad.  "I want this one!"

Alexander's mom and dad looked at each other across the aisle, shrugged, and Alexander's dad took the ball to the cash register.

All the way home, Alexander held the ball carefully in his lap.  When his dad unbuckled his car seat at the house, he raced to the door.  Inside, Sam was playing on the floor with the babysitter.

"Sam!"  Alexander cried.  "Look what we got!"  He gently rolled the ball to Sam.  Sam cooed and kissed the ball.  Alexander's mom and dad smiled.

Sometimes they really are this sweet!

That night, Mommy and Daddy both read Alexander stories, played a game with him, and snuggled with him in bed.  When it was time for lights out, Mommy kissed him on the forehead.

"You are a sweet boy, Alexander,"  she said, "And I love you very . . . "

All of a sudden, Mommy stopped talking, got a funny look on her face, and let out the biggest, loudest burp Alexander had ever heard.

Alexander and Daddy started laughing.  They laughed so hard they cried.  And then Mommy started to laugh too.

"Excuse me," she said, when she finally quit laughing.

"It's OK, Mommy," said Alexander.  "I love you, too."

Bedtime really is a sweet, sweet time.  It can also last for 45 minutes.

Mommy and Daddy shut the door and headed downstairs.  Daddy left to take the dog on a walk, while Mommy started to clean the kitchen.

She was just clearing the table, when she heard three very distinct knocks on the door.  Wiping her hands on a dishcloth, she looked through the the keyhole but didn't see anyone.  Very slowly, she opened the door.

In strode a little red dragon with the most peculiar purple polka-dots.  He was wearing a black tuxedo and had three wisps of hair combed very carefully across his head.  He was carrying a great big book.

"Are you a . . a . .?" Mommy started to ask, but Yucky cut her off.

"Yes, I am indeed a  DRAGON," he stated proudly. "In a very expensive TUXEDO, I might say," he added.

Mommy rubbed her eyes once, twice, three times, and then she remembered herself.  "Well nice to meet you, er, ah . . . "

"Sir Yuckivester Angelos Andreas the Third, at your service," he filled in.  "But my friends call me . . .Yucky."

"Well come on in, Yucky," Mommy smiled.  "Please, have a seat."

Yucky strode into the kitchen and smiled at Alexander's mother.  She eyed his book and asked, "Did you come to read me a story?"

Yucky sighed and shook his head.  Then he took a seat, flipped through his book, and read, "Dragon Rule Number 522: 'It is never polite to burp in the company of others, but when one does, one should always say 'Excuse Me.'"

"And laugh," Mommy added.  "Laughing makes everything better."

Then she smiled, chuckled to herself, poured Yucky some tea, and said "Yucky, you need to meet my son Alexander . . . "

Would this mom need Yucky?  Yep.  Absolutely.  Especially after these boys!

THE END

Boogie Bear

A story for all the little Boogie Bears out there.  Especially mine. :) 

Once upon a time there lived a little bear named Boogie.  Boogie wasn't his real name, of course, but all of his friends called him that because he LOVED to pick his nose.

At night when Boogie was at home, his mama would say, "Eugene, get your paw out of your nose.  If you don't watch out, it will get stuck there.  Then you will be in a fine fix."

Boogie just laughed and laughed, but his dad said sternly, "Eugene, you better listen to your mother.  She is always right."

Boogie would race around the room, hide behind a chair, and stick his paw into his nose --- just to make sure he could get it out again.  Easey-peasy . . . his little paw always slid right out.

One day, Boogie Bear was playing in the woods by himself.  All of a sudden, he smelled the most wonderful smell.  It was coming from up in a tree.  Boogie climbed up, and what did he find?  A tree full of the most beautiful golden honey.

Well, the one thing Boogie liked more than picking his nose was honey. Boogie just loved honey.  He quickly stuck his paw into the tree and began to shovel the ooey gooey yummy ummy honey into his mouth.

Boogie ate and he ate and he ate some more.  He ate until all the honey was gone, and then he climbed back down the tree, sat at the bottom, and patted his great, big, full, happy belly.

Just then, he noticed that his nose began to itch.  Without thinking twice, he slid his little paw up to scratch. But when he tried to pull it back out again, it was stuck!  All that ooey gooey yummy ummy honey was all over his sticky paws, and - try as he might - he could not get his claw out of his nose.

Poor Boogie!  He had to walk all the way back through the forest with his finger stuck in his nose . . . past all the bunnies and the deer, the birds and the other little bears.  Everyone laughed and laughed at Boogie Bear limping along with his paw in his nose.

When he got home, his mother took one look at him and shook her head.  Without saying a word, she helped him take a bath and pry his claw out of his nose.  That night, she put a box of tissue next to his bed when she kissed him good night.  

"I love you, Eugene," she whispered.

"Love you too, mommy," he mumbled back.

And do you know what happened?  Well, I'll let you guess . . . but before long everyone was back to calling Boogie "Eugene," and he never got his paw stuck in his nose again.

THE END

Lost Sleep

Can I tell you one of the things that keeps me up at night?

It's embarrassing, it's often prompted by Facebook, it's prominent when I'm overtired, and it's real:

I'm worried that I'm not going to matter.  

That I will live my life and dream my dreams and have grand visions, and at the end of the day . . . I'm only going to have done very normal things.

And there is this imaginary crowd in my head that is going to say,

"She had so much potential, but . . ."

"If only she'd made that decision differently, then . . . "

"I always knew she'd never do it . . ."

When I am less tired, less comparison-oriented, less focused on me, I realize that this "crowd" is bent on making me the unhappiest person on the planet.  Because all those voices that tell me that I'm not going to matter . . . what do they know?

What if my limits are like guardrails from God . . . directing me into the path of grace, pointing me toward my purpose?

This past year has been one of the most challenging of my life.  I had two babies under two at the start of it.  My work had seen better days.  My thank yous were six months behind, at least.  I'm not going to list the rest of the issues.  Suffice to say, it hasn't been pretty.

This past year has also been one of the most beautiful of my life.  People have been phenomenally good to me.  Unsolicited grace has decorated my days.  Effort, my lifelong idol, has been replaced by something far superior.

And I have these two amazing little boys and their devoted father reminding me day in and day out of gifts, blessings, love.

And it is all so normal.  So blessedly normal.

What if significance isn't so much what we do but how we perceive? Experience?  Share?  Accompany?  Acknowledge?

Witness?

What I have witnessed this year has been extraordinary.

Significant.

Divine.

Normal.

Thank you, all of you, who have blessed me with eyes to see. 

Sweet Joy and Loving Kindness

A birthday message to my boys:  Collin, age 3; Connor, age 1

My dear, sweet, silly, and above all precious boys,

Happy Birthday to you both!  I planned to set aside a day every year to write to you individually before your birthday, but it hasn’t worked out exactly as I planned.  I won’t make excuses.  I also won’t dwell on the undone, because I have learned that God has a way of orchestrating EVERYTHING, even the flops and delays and not-good-enoughs, for his glory.

It just so happens that today is two days before Easter (yes Collin – it is your birthday cake that is in the oven today), and my message for you both this year is an Easter message.

My children, I will let you in on a secret.  Life is like a series of Easters.   You will have seasons of triumph, seasons of betrayal, seasons where the very hands of God wash your feet, seasons of cross-bearing, and seasons where God and his promises seem fraudulent, false, dead, crucified.  There will be moments when it seems that the darkness has won.

My darling boys, we are all human, and your emotions will tempt you to believe that the season you are in is the only season.  But it is not.  Because always, always there is the resurrection.

When you are tempted not to believe this, look around.  Nature, the seasons, our life spans, the birthing process . . . everything is designed to reflect this truth.  Resurrection is printed on your soul’s DNA.  

So when you make decisions, my children, make them with this truth in mind:  the resurrection is real.  Joy will come in the morning.  New mercies await around each corner.  Love can be beaten and nailed to the cross, but in the end, it will triumph.  

What does this mean? YOU ARE NOT RESPONSIBLE FOR ACHIEVING YOUR OWN HAPPINESS.  Don’t be fooled – you will never sustain any lasting contentment based on your efforts.  You are simply responsible for beholding the resurrection with eyes and hearts wide open, witnesses to grace, recipients of love.   If you do this, joy will find you.  Loving kindness will find you.  Purpose and peace will find you.   

And your heart will be glad.

What bigger prayer could I have for your lives?  What bigger hope?  

When the darkness descends, keep your eyes open.  

Hope is on the way.

I love you, my children, always and forever.

Mama