Faith vs Fear

A friend asked me to guest blog for her 31 blogs in January series.  I said yes a few weeks ago as we caught up for 2 hrs on the phone in a LONG overdue conversation.  Then on Tuesday she texted me to see if I'd commit to Sunday.  This Sunday.  Like today Sunday.  Well, crap, I didn't want to!  

And I had a million reasons to say no.  
1.  The kids were on snow day number 9 (unprecedented for the Portland area!)
2. I had only been to the office 2 days so far since Dec 22, 2016, due to snow and holidays.  
3. January is a super busy time for an accountant, especially one in management.  
4. I still have employee reviews to deliver.
5. My kids are driving me crazy and everyone is stir crazy and I can't leave the house and I'm trying to reconcile excel schedules with kids just making noise and picking on each other because they don't know what else to do. 

So I waited until Wednesday night, after I had been to the office for one day and felt mildly better about catching up on my job.  I usually LOVE working from home, but I had never been happier about getting a day in the office.  Until 

6. All the rain melted all of the snow and our gutters are frozen and so the rain dumped in and our basement started leaking, and estimate #1 says $14K to repair properly to ensure it doesn't happen again.  

But instead I texted back and said yes.  Yes, I can write a guest post for you.  

Because the truth of the matter is if I don't set a deadline, I'll never have the time, there will always be things that are more important.  But you know what?  I want to write.  I want to practice writing again.  And if I would have pushed her off until next Sunday, I would have shipped it off to her Saturday night/Sunday morning at 2am, like I did in the wee hours.  

It was hard to write.  I felt clumsy and too worded.  I was sharing some personal victories and tips and waking up early, and not drinking or being on FaceBook.  It was hard to press send.  I didn't feel like it was good enough for her beautiful blog.  I didn't feel like I had enough to offer.  I felt insecure all night.  Until I got a text today where she said she "loved it"!  

It inspired me, it reminded me. Both of my love of writing and I encouraged my self in the topics I wrote about.  Articulating my "why" made a big difference for me.  

This morning in church, the story of Abraham and Sarah was shared.  How they are really the ultimate story of faith.   God made them big promises about the nations and gifts he would give them.  He didn't tell the how, why, when or where!  And they just dropped everything, in ultimate faith, and they went (Gen 12).  But we barely get into their journey when Abraham becomes afraid and tells Sarah to act like his sister instead of his wife, and if backfires and she gets taken into the Pharaoh's Haram and Abraham gets rich from it,  God shows up for them, even though they were not faithful, he gets them out of the situation and even let's them keep their riches.  But can you imagine how Abraham felt?  Knowing he basically gave his wife to another man out of fear, potentially giving up all the nations and the promises, out of fear.  Can you imagine what a dumba$$ he felt like?  And this is like 5 minutes after JUST DOING THE THING THAT REQUIRED MORE COURAGE AND FAITH THAN ANY OTHER THING.  And then that is the story, the bigger story.  Of Abraham and of the whole Bible, and of every story.  Fear vs Faith.  Which will we choose?  Which will I choose.  

But fear...dang it.  It gets us.  It's at the heart of nearly every problem, weakness, sin.  

We make bad family, financial, relational, professional decisions because we are so afraid.  

The bible says fear not.  Do not be afraid.  

I was afraid to even write that paragraph above.  I'm clearly not a bible study writer or teacher.  And I'm basically just paraphrasing what the paster said this morning, with much more elegance.  Who do I think I am, re-telling it? THEN, when I overcame that fear, and kept typing, fear told me that people were going to judge me for being so religious, for writing about the Bible, for sharing myself or my beliefs at all.   But that's just what fear wants me to do.  Be silent.  Fear knows that God has a plan for me, and he wants me to share myself.  To feel known and seen and loved.  Fear doesn't want those things at all for me.  

Faith though, faith wants me to be empowered and brave and trusting.  Faith says that it will be the adventure of a lifetime, not a comfortable adventure, but a meaningful adventure, one where I feel loved and whole and worthy.  

When I think about a life free of fear, I imagine TRUE FREEDOM.  So I'm going to keep my eye on the prize.  

I've had a few fearful days, paralyzing days, days where I felt doom and gloom seeping in.  

But every good story has a villain.  And only because of the villain do we get to truly experience the power of God, the love of God, the goodness of God.  God.  

Faith says he'll be there for me.  When I trust Him bravely, but also when I blow it big time.  In the meantime, putting myself out there is a small step.  

Thank you Dawn, for asking me to step out into your space, to share myself.  You gave me a gift to push past fear and get back to what I love to do, which is share myself unapologetically as I write my story.  

Just do the next right thing

That's it.  That's my New Year's motto for 2015.

I can outline my goals and my lists and my wishes (and believe me, you know I will).

But what can I really do?  What do I really want to do when it is all too overwhelming?  When it is all out of reach and out of control and I am out of energy?  I can stop, breath, and do the next right thing.

Thank you Ann Voskamp for your little word of wisdom today.

I thought yesterday and today about how much I wanted to write.  To sum up the year, to dream and scheme, to muse.  But the days got away from me.  They were wonderful and they were hard and full and there wasn't a moment to write.  Or sum, or dream, scheme, muse.  There was time for feeding, and sweeping, and bathing, and cooking, and playing, and hiking.  Just the next thing that needed to be done.

And so…I guess that just has to be ok.  It has to be enough.  Rather than look at the mountains ahead of me, just take the next step, and then the next.  And I will get stuff done, and done well.  Whether it be an organization project of massive proportions, putting away one load of clean laundry, or not losing my cool when my little people are pushing all my mama bear buttons.  Just do the next right thing.  I can do that.  I CAN do that!  

I hope that I will be here more this year to write.  I do not hope to tie it all together with a neat little bow, because when I try to do that.  Sequencially, explanatorily.  I can't get a damn thing written.  Because I'm late and I'm behind, and all my show blogs have gone right down the drain as soon as I hear Addie scream at Bryson, or Lily scream at Addie, or Bryson scream at me.  Now that I think about it…the screaming, I swear, it ruins ALL my good blogs!

I need this space again.  More words.  Less pictures.  My space.  If you read it, I love that, but if you don't.  That's okay too.  It's for me, and my family, and my memories, and my records.  And for now, the next best thing was to write this blog with 4% of battery life.  Now the next best thing is to wipe down sticky hot apple cider counters, and then the next best thing after that will be to walk a few laps around the house picking up toys to reach my step goal on my fitbit.  One next right thing at a time.

Here are my beautiful people.  We are ready to start a new year, a blank canvas, a fresh page, a new chapter…it's our favorite series and we've learned so much from all the years we've left behind.

38 Reasons to Give Thanks (and why I love my beautiful daughter Jenny at age 38)

by Elane Dickenson, my mom 

(All of these are so sweet, but I bolded a few of my favorites, the ones that touched or made me laugh)

1. I love that Jenny has always included me as part of her life, even when we are many miles apart.

2. I love Jenny because she loves and appreciates me, with all my many flaws, and lets me know it.

3. I love Jenny because she is a wonderful, caring mother.

4. I love Jenny because she married Lawrence Herman on a mountaintop in 2002 and continues to make her marriage to him the priority in her busy life.

5. I love Jenny because she made me a grandmother, enriching my life beyond imagination

6. I love Jenny because she has always had her own mind, which gives her a unique and wonderful perspective and insight.

7. I love Jenny because she has a warm and giving heart.

8. I love Jenny because she has a sense of humor, that lets her see the funny side of life (eventually).

9. I love Jenny because she is able to communicate the ups and downs of her life, the love and the frustrations, the humor and failures, in writing. Her talent for turning life into a story is exceptional.

10. I love that as nice a person she has grown into, Jenny has never completely lost the “edge” she’s had since she was a little girl.

11. I love Jenny because she still likes coming “home” to Joseph, and loves that her husband and kids love her hometown.

12. I love that Jenny loves her “little” brother Matt, and has developed a special relationship with him as a grownup (even though she always wanted a sister).

13. I love Jenny because she enjoys, and is very competitive at board games (except for Scrabble).

14. I love that Jenny’s heart extends beyond her own family, and her compassion for those less fortunate resulted in financially “adopting” a little girl exactly Lily’s age on the other side of the world.

15. I love how Jenny is always striving to become a better person. When she falls short of her high standards, she picks herself up and strives again.

16. I love that Jenny, who independently on her own initiative used to ride the church bus to Enterprise when she was little, is a strong Christian whose faith both supports her and makes her a better person.

17. I love that Jenny has also embraced Lawrence’s Jewish faith, and incorporates it, as well as Christianity,  into their children’s lives.

18. I love that Jenny has a clear and wonderful memory of her childhood, with all its ups and downs.

19. I love how important it is for Jenny to create – and save -- wonderful memories  for her growing kids. Whether it be skiing and snowshoeing outings, fun or benefit runs, trips to Arizona or New Jersey or Joseph, soccer and karate or campouts with friends and families, the Herman kids are stockpiling a wealth of family memories.  

20. I love that spirited little Jenny, though teased and bullied, never gave in or let the “mean” kids win.

21. I love that the friends of her childhood and high school years are still some of her best friends.

22. I love Jenny’s intelligence and talent with numbers. Starting about age 6, she was the one in the family that had everyone’s phone numbers memorized.

23. I love how Jenny loves and celebrates  the individuality and special quality of each of her three children. On their birthdays and other occasions she’s written about each of them with such love, tenderness  and insight in her blog.

24. I love Jenny’s blog, “Herman, Party of Five,” where she shares  her talent for  writing, as well as  insight, humor, and most of all her life with friends, family and many who have come to appreciate her.

25. I love that Jenny uses Facebook to reach, and interact, with many family and friends. I love her photos and snippets of her life that might otherwise pass unshared in the blur of daily existence.

26. I love that Jenny buys and sells on craigslist, both for extra money, to cut down on clutter, and to save on things she needs. She found me the 1997 RAV4 I’ve been driving for four years on craigslist.

27. I love how capable and organized (mostly) Jenny is in her daily life, fighting the genetics and example passed on by her mother.

28. I love and am proud of Jenny, the working woman, who has excelled in a demanding job with Schrödinger for the last dozen plus years, being promoted several times in a company that values her.

29. I love that Jenny has double downed on my attempting to make birthdays   very special days when she was little by celebrating her kids’ “birthday week.” A traditional themed party is only part of the birthday child’s fun in the Herman family. I love that she also started making my birthdays special with cakes and even a watermelon basket as a kid, and with flowers and special gifts (such as a tent) as an adult.

30. I love that Jenny has also made Christmas a celebration full of fun and traditions for her kids, complete with Santa’s cookies and milk, and – as of last year – the Christmas elf. She also encourages Jewish traditions, such as the lighting of the menorah at Hanukkah.

31. I love that I never found out that little Jenny knew what all her Christmas presents were before Christmas. (Though if I did, I might have hidden them better!)

32. I love that Jenny is somehow able to find the time to maintain and nurture many friendships that are important to her.

33. I love that Jenny stays on the right side of the law and is not an alcoholic or drug user.

34. I love that Jenny (and Lawrence) enjoy an active lifestyle, teaching their kids to ski, run, swim and hike. I love that they all take part in 5K runs and am so proud of Jenny finishing the Hood to Coast relay this year.

35. I love that Jenny’s connection to family extends to her aunts, uncles, cousins, and even my cousins, at the Blanchet Ranch gathering on Memorial Day every year and Red Bridge campout most years. I love that it’s important to her that her kids connect and grow up with her cousins’ kids and the family roots at the Coombs Canyon ranch.

36. I love that though my little Jenny with her big glasses and in-your-face attitude grew up into a beautiful woman (inside and out), she’s never  gauged her own worth in her physical beauty.

37. I love that I was able to enjoy and be proud of Jenny performing  in many plays at Missoula Children’s Theatre, community theater and Joseph High School as she was growing up. She still loves theater as an adult and is passing it forward with MCT for her kids.

38. I love Jenny for anchoring my life and bringing joy to my life from the moment she was born 38 years ago in Emporia Kansas. No matter how old she is, she’ll always be my little Jenny Bug.

My coffee broke up with me but I pressed on and we are back together again!

Based on the way my coffee treated me, I should have ended it, I should have been prepared for last week to suck a little, but I didn't see it coming.  My oldest baby was going to be 10, which means I was celebrating a decade of me being a mom.  This was the week of me and Lily.  This was also the week that Lily and Bryson were star of the week.  I needed coffee for last week.  

Monday morning started off like anything other.  A hundred things on my plate and trying to fumble through making coffee while finding sides for lunch.  How do I go to the store and purchase stuff for lunches every weekend but there is never anything other than saltines and dried cranberries for lunches?   I hated myself for not doing these two chores the night before.  I hate myself every single morning for this reason, but not quite enough to muster up the energy to do it each night.  That morning, I didn't end up pushing start on the coffee until the girls were out the door for the bus with Lawrence.  It's French Vanilla flavored coffee in the Dunkin Donuts bag, and I'm surprised that Lawrence bought it, he hates the smell of coffee (one of my excuses for not making it at night), and this brand is the strongest smelling.  After about 5 minutes I hear a singeing noise and see that there is no pot under the coffee filter.  It has a plug feature for that, but the filter has filled full and is brimming over the top in every direction.  I mopped up a bit of coffee, sighing with relief that the house is off the market and perfection wasn't in the cards.  I should have just quit there, spent $2.50 on the way to work and called it a day.  

Nope.  

I get the pot under in time, and salvaged the rest of coffee.  I poured my cup tippy top full and added some milk.  No sticky creamer thank goodness.  I finished getting Bryson ready, turned on Curious George to keep him still, and headed upstairs to get myself ready.  

I had already showered but that was about it. I washed my hands and reach back to dry them, when my left hand swiped the tippy top cup of too hot coffee and over it spilled.  It went everywhere.  E.V.E.R.Y.W.H.E.R.E.  In every drawer and every cupboard and up under everything, in the jewelry holder, soaked every piece of laundry on the ground and every floor mat, around every piece of jewelry, in every toothbrush holder, and in every make up bag.  Everywhere.  I can't emphasize the everywhereness of it enough.  This one cup of coffee seemingly multiplied into gallon after gallon, soaking everything in it's wake.  

An hour later my hair and makeup were left undone, most of the visible coffee was wiped up (I would find more for days), I had a load of coffee laundry going, and out the door my star and I went, late for school.  

French vanilla...the smell never goes away.  A week and a half later, I sit at my desk at work, and I can still smell coffee, every where I go, every minute of the day.  Maybe because it's on my toothbrush, hairbrush, and part of my eyeliner.  

My cleaning lady came on Tuesday of this week, I was so happy the smell would finally be gone, but alas…it's still going strong every time I plug in the flat iron.  

Tuesday, Lily turned 10, and the day was awesome.  We ice skated, I decorated her door all cool, Matt and Heather came over, her presents were appreciated and grown up.  It was a very good day.  More on that another time, but suffice to say, I thought my coffee woes were done.  

Friday we had a slumber party for seven little girls.  After sweating to death throwing together an around the house scavenger hunt, (E-GADS!) I made a cup of coffee to get ready for the night ahead.  Seven little girls are a LOT louder and more excited than five little girls a year younger were last year.  What a difference 2 people and 1 year made! I poured in the water planning to share with any moms dropping off girls who might want some.  Unfortunately there was only a little bit of coffee left in the Dunkin Donuts bag, not nearly enough for the amount of water I'd poured in.  It didn't stop me (or Shawna), we drank our coffee flavored water like it would fuel us for days.  

But. Oh. My. Gosh. you guys! 

The girls were up until 2am.  I got up at 6:30am with Bryson and around 7:30 it occurred to me, THERE WAS NO COFFEE FOR TODAY.  Lawrence and Addie left shortly after for her soccer game and I was not wise enough to realize that I should have run out quick to get coffee before they went.  And by not wise, I mean, I was running non-stop from the second I got up to get uniforms laid out and the coach's shirt clean and figure out if we were the home or away team and water bottles filled up and after game snacks ready, and hair in a pony…WHEN I SHOULD HAVE BEEN OUT BUYING COFFEE.  

One of the things I really am starting to like in this mothering for a decade is that I don't have to pretend I have my shit together.  I mean I couldn't even pretend that if I wanted to, so it's more than convenient that I don't have to.  

So I sent out an SOS.  To the moms of the daughters I "let" stay up until the wee hours.  

I need coffee.  I had a ten year old slumber party with NO COFFEE for the morning for myself and I am DYING OF TIRED over here.  

I looked at my coffee water left from the night before.  I reheated some.  It was so watery and sad.  I knew it wouldn't do any good, but I was desperate.  The SOS moms said they could bring some, but pick up wasn't until 10am, a whooping hour and a half away.  I poured some milk into my coffee water and put it in the microwave.  I took a big gulp and then looked into my cup.  

A small dark object with wings floated into view.  

A fruit fly.

In my coffee water.  

After 4 hours of sleep.  

And I actually contemplated picking it out and going forward. 

Instead, I dumped my coffee.  The betrayal.  After all we went through, it was over.

But you know what?  Those SOS moms, they were fierce with love for me.  They showed up early.  With coffee. Three of them.  And I drank all three cups! 

I was full as they reminded me of my community, that even in silly post slumber party coffee pity, all I have to do is reach out, admit I need something because I was thinking only of scavenger hunts and hard forgotten about my deep need for coffee.  I have a community of people who think I'm wonderful, despite my lack.  Who appreciate the night off I just gave them.  Who will show up early because they understand that this is a mama emergency.  With each sip of my delivered coffee, I thanked God for those ladies.  

Coffee and I made up, we are having a better week this week, and I see only good things in our future. I also smell them.  All. The. Time.  

 Thanks friends! 

Two apples

Getting out of the house on a Monday morning is no small feat.  Addie left mad at the world because I somehow lost her jog-a-thon envelope that I have never even seen.  Bryson wanted me to read him a lego magazine comic, but of course I didn't have time for that, so he slinked away and said, "That's okay, I'll just look at the pictures for now".  I let him watch Curious George to ease the guilt, just a little.  I could have had time, I thought, if I didn't need to eat, and wipe the counters, and make some coffee.  All in all, we got out of the house by 8:15 after I ransacked three cupboards through piles of papers tucked away during house showing with no sign of that damn jog-a-thon envelope and got Bryson to school by 8:25.  Beds made, laundry in hampers, cushions smoothed, hair cleaned off bathroom surfaces, sinks cleaned, toilets doubled checked for flushing, all just in case someone wants to look at our house to maybe buy it today. 

I got to school and Bryson's teacher asked me if we brought in two apples.  We did not.  Nor was it on my radar.  I asked her if I could bring them in on Wednesdays, she said that by Wednesday they'd be made into applesauce, today was for cutting them up and tasting.  She said I could bring them in after school when I picked him up.  But after school he goes to daycare, and I get home at 6pm at the earliest.  I left and thought about how I could get those apples to her after school.  Call our nanny, call another mom from the class? I ransacked my brain, trying to think if I knew about this at some point or not.  I could imagine a cartoony calendar, one from a month ago. Where was that thing now?  How could I let this happen.  I beat myself up most of the way home to get the apples. 

It's not the end of the world, you know.  

My friend is mourning the loss of her father
My friend is watching three of her kids thrive in health, and one in multiple therapies to regain mobility
My friend is worried that her marriage is hopeless
My friend is trying to understand her son's debilitating anxiety.
My friend is a newly single mother, worried that she cannot do it alone
My friend is pushing through the pain of her foster children.
My friend was in a car accident
My friend is worried about her mom's chemo treatments
My friend is struggling as she watches her daughter not recover well from surgery

I forgot the apples.
I had time to go home and get some and drop them off.
I still got to work on time.
I emailed the jog-a-thon team, new form will go home tomorrow.  
What is my problem then? 

My life with it's little blips each day is okay.  It's better than okay.  Today, I don't have any of those worries that I listed above and people I love have those, and that is a blessing.  Bigger than a blessing.  My day will come with some life shattering worries, I'm sure of it, but today was not that day, and if I pretend that it is, then I am a liar and a thief of my own time and joy.  

I will not let the liar into my head who tells me I am a failure because I forgot to bring some fruit to preschool.  Or that a mad kid over a lost fundraiser form determines my worth.  That my struggles are big or real, in the way that they have the power to take away my victories.  I will not let two bad apples rot away the tree full of good apples.  

I have to proactively work at this thinking.  We all do.  For some reason, it doesn't come naturally, not unless you practice it.  To wake up each day and remember to listen for the Voice of Truth over the lies of the busy and condescending world.  Each day starts anew, you have to remember again and again and again, until you are weary wondering how many times you have to learn the same lesson.  But then, there isn't a better feeling than feeling perceived failure pushing you down, sinking lower…only to remember the brightness of the good truth, and to feel your heart raising up, the fog lifting, the truth about who you are and what matters carrying you high.  

So today started with a feeling of defeat, but then, then I remembered.  

And now my heart soars with gratitude.  

Mean girls

This has been a really rough week for me.  I know I haven't blogged for a while.  It may feel like I'm talking from the middle, and that's okay, this if for me.  

Much of this week, in those few precious hours I have with my kids before work and before I tuck them in for bed, the kids, the girls especially, have been…mean...to me.  Mean because they over slept, mean because I hurried them to get their shoes on, mean because one sibling took up time that they wanted from me, mean because I said no to another piece of chocolate, mean because I asked them to stop being mean.  

I'm worn.  I feel particularly disheartened because maybe for the first time, I feel like can't reason with them, like they don't care.  They've always cared before.  

These big-hearted loves of mine, they are growing up, and I race ahead wondering what will ever happen to me and my tender heart when they are teenagers.  When their mean is not because they don't want to go to bed, or in an argument over movie night, but it is meanness over stuff that matters and stuff that lasts?  

Am I screwing it all up?  Today I looked at Addie as she screamed at me in anger.  I think it was an emotional issue not a discipline issue.  I did discipline, but it didn't feel right.  I was calm on the outside but raging inside, I had to fight hard for the calm.  Her yelling and raging lasted for so long, I kind of fell apart on the inside, while I told her I loved her and I would help her with whatever it was that was upsetting if she just stopped screaming at me.  Eventually she did, and while she had a nice evening, I couldn't help but wonder if I did it all wrong, letting her have movie night anyway, and sleep in the playroom with her sister.  Finally at bedtime, while getting the playroom sleepover setup, when Addie was sweet and kind and loving, Lily was short and rude and exasperated with me for the third night in a row, mad that I was setting up the bedding wrong.  She sighs heavily and cliches the muscles in her neck and shoulders and shakes looking at me with big eyes like she just can't take me and my annoying blanket folding ideas for one more moment.  While I prayed with her for the first night in 3, I cried because we are hurting each other and we don't know why and we aren't even really sure how to stop.  

Lily cried too.  

Much better at expressing herself than her sister who just whimpers and whines, Lily said that she has felt like she wanted to mean lately and she doesn't know why.  She admitted that it's not just me, she really has been acting mean, and she wants to stop.  She will try to do better tomorrow.  

So will I.  

Tonight though, I sit here sad, and exhausted, emotionally very tired.  And yet ever hopeful and thankful that tomorrow is a new day, that I can live in that day, not race ahead to borrow worries of a day ahead that could be harder than this.  

Happy Mother's Day to my beautifully merciful mother!!

 Happy Mother's Day, Mom!

So, it's the day before Mother's Day and I haven't sent my mom a card or a gift.  As the guilt washes over me, I resist the urge to feel terrible, because of the grace and love she will offer me.  Why should such an amazing mother receive nothing on Mother's Day though?  I hope Matt sent something on time.  Ha.  Ha.  Hahahahhahahahahaha.

I have a card in my purse, and an idea in my brain, and I worry that my mama will be sad and lonely on the day when she should feel most loved and cherished.  I am writing this, not only because I love to write about brag & about the woman who raised me all by herself, but also because I hope that my words will touch her like a gift.  In place of the one I've not yet sent.

I've written things about her before: here and here, and a bunch more here. I didn't re-read those posts before starting this one, so I might be saying something I've said before, but if there is one thing I know as a mom, woman, wife, and friend...hearing the things that we've done right in our life, the things that made a difference for others, the places we matter to those we love...hearing that a few extra times, does not get old.

I'll start by saying that I cannot imagine who I'd be without my mom.  I also can't imagine a life without her in it someday.  Some of my favorite people have lost their mothers, some of them lost their mothers a long time ago, some in more recent years...some of them have children who will never knew their mother this side of Heaven.  While I appreciate my mama without the perspective of those unimaginable losses, I am reminded of all the blessings I have, just because she is still in my life, just because she loves me more than any other human on this earth.

That perspective prodded me to invite her along on a work trip last September.  It reminded me that those friends would give anything to make new memories with their mamas, and I needed to get on that while I still could.  My mom and I see each other 4-5 times a year, we make a lot of new grandma memories, and that's very important, but we don't make a lot of mother/daughter memories.  I'm racing and running, she's spoiling the kids, and we leave them with her to get a date night in while our cheerful free babysitter shoes us out the door.  

So I took her with me to Vegas.  I enjoyed her company.  I marveled at the way she fumbled through security, acted worldly with the cabbie, and took pictures of me checking in at the hotel.  I wasn't rushed or overwhelmed, and that made it really easy to enjoy my mom, just as she is.  And let me be clear, because I'd hate for my actions to speak louder than my words in many moments.  I. DO. LOVE. HOW. SHE. IS. AS. SHE. IS.  Even if I'm terrible at showing it most of the time.  I'm so lucky for how she is.  I'm so happy for how she is.  That was such an amazing trip for us.  We ate, we saw, we talked, we read, we ate, we played, we walked, we laughed, we almost missed our return flight, we enjoyed.  I'm ashamed to say that I don't remember the last time I simply enjoyed us that much.  I loved getting to be with her, as her daughter - leaving many of the other life responsibilities for a few days.  When we returned home, she had college friends in town for a mini reunion.  So I got to meet old college boyfriends and their wives, her old friends and new friends, all people who love her so much.  It was an amazing time for me to spend time with these people, people who loved my mom as she was before there was me, before she was a mother.

A month or so ago, I was working through a bible study, and I came to the topic of mercy.  There was a question asking if there was anyone in your life who always offers mercy.  Mercy isn't a word that I could define exactly, so I looked it up.  

mer·cy  

/ˈmərsē/

Noun Compassion or forgiveness shown toward someone whom it is within one's power to punish or harm An event to be grateful for, esp. because its occurrence prevents something unpleasant or provides relief from suffering

As I read more about the meaning of mercy, my mom was the only person who came to my mind.  I took the question a bit further and tried to think of a time when she did not extend mercy to me, and I could not.  And believe me, I deserved punishment, I was no picnic, yet she didn't/doesn't give me what I deserve.  Does that mean I was raised by the most merciful woman in the world?  I think so.  

A while back a loved one and I were talking about wishing we had more time to connect.  I told her that while she felt like we weren't connecting enough, I was connecting with her more than I do with many...and I said that I don't connect with my mom as much as I should.  She asked me if that was right.  The truth is it isn't right.  But it is how it is.  The reason is because my mom is so forgiving and gentle with me.  She understands that my busy is never something personal against her.  She acknowledges the stresses in my life, and that I get frazzled to a fault.  When I don't call her for weeks at a time, and we are in touch through liking photos and comments, she is glad to have a window into my world.  If I have a list of 3 people I must call, she drops to the bottom of the list, not because I want to talk to her the least (quite the opposite) it is because she will be the most understanding, never once have I had to worry about her wrath.  It's not fair to her that it works that way, but it does.  And she loves me anyway.  Fully.  She doesn't hold it against me, she doesn't remind me that the last time I messed up and apologized, and here I am messing up again.  She forgives in a way that means I'm fully forgiven, the slate is wiped clean, again and again.  Because of that, I probably screw up with her the most, she is my safe place for screwing up.  It brings me to tears when I try to put into words how much it means to have that safe place with her.  

As I mother my own children, I want to better remember my mother's mercy, and what that brings to me, even as a 36 year old woman.  On a regular basis, I hear myself reminding them of their past faults and their past shortcomings.  I am frustrated with them, not because the disobedience at hand is the problem, but because it has been a problem in the past.  Because if I am really honest about it, I have not forgiven them for something that I say I have.  This bible study that had my mama written all over it, talking about mercy, it was about Jesus (Blessed are the merciful, for they shall receive mercy.  Matt 5:7).  Even though she isn't a believer, my mom is and always has been that example to me, she loves me like Jesus does, she loves everyone like that.  A while ago, I was thanking God for teaching me about His love for me through the way I love my children.  And now, even more I am thanking Him for teaching me about His love for me through the way my mom loves me.  

I'm always setting goals and working on stuff.  I'm always wanting to improve and fix stuff that is broken.  My mom's always telling me I'm perfect just as I am, not because she doesn't want me to improve, but I think because she thinks I'm so wonderful and it pains her to see me striving all the time.  There's a happy medium in there between how I see myself and how my mom's sees me, but I haven't found it yet. So I keep striving and she keeps reminding me about how great I am.  

A goal I'd really like to strive toward for my mom and me is to keep intentionally making new mother/daughter memories with her.  I think of how much I cherish her daily, but I tell her how much I cherish her rarely, and I want to make sure that she knows it.  Like knows it knows it.  I want her to know that as she feels like she's fumbling her way through life, her heart has given me a road map that leads to love and happiness and fulfillment.  A roadmap that I am lucky enough to have as much of my foundation growing up.  All the good things about me are her fault!  She may have had a hand in some of my quirks too, but I definitely give her credit for all the good stuff. 

Mom, I thank you for who you are, for the way that you love me as I am, for giving me such a safe and warm place to grow up, for making me feel so important and valuable to you, for bearing through my teenage years (always have to throw that in), for cheering me on now, even when I don't do the same for you, for blessing me with atypical selfless parenting, for helping me to believe I was extraordinary, for the incredible grandmother you are to my children, and for sharing your beautiful heart with everyone you meet.  Thank you that each sacrifice you made for me was your sincere joy! 

I'm sorry that there wasn't a Mother's Day card in your mailbox or a gift on your doorstep or flowers on your desk.    You deserve more gifts than anybody else! I know I don't even have to say that I am sorry.  You forgive me and you mean it.  You love me  and you mean it, with no strings attached.  I pray these scattered words saved on a tiny corner of the internets, shared with you on facebook, will touch your heart as much as you deserved to be touched.  I ask that you keep loving me this way, mama, so I can be a mama like you someday.  

I love love love love you! 

Forever yours,  

Jenny Bug

Wordful Wednesday - Because words matter

Today at work, a friend was having a hard time.  We found 15 minutes to talk and I was so grateful.  At the end of our conversation I told her that she is a good wife.  Because she is.  She really needed to hear that today.  That's not why I said it, I said it because it is true.  

I got back to my desk and she wrote this to me:

You are such a blessing to me and all of your friends and family.

You rock as a wife and mother! And you are a good daughter and daughter-in-law too.

Most of all, you are a beautiful daughter of God! 

I think He must smile often when He thinks of you and your quest to be the best daughter of the King possible.

My friends, I can't think of anything nicer she could have said to me.  That anyone could have said to me.  This has been a tough week, and it's only Wednesday, and here this friend just whipped up what she thinks of me real quick in a gchat.  She whipped up in 30 seconds a few sentences that basically encompass what I want my whole life to be about.  And I'm in awe that someone I respect and think so highly of would say that about me.  Broken, messy, crazy, little, me.  To remind me that in all of my ugly places, God is smiling down on me, as His sweet little girl, and noticing how hard I'm trying.  My words mattered to her, and her words mattered to me.  Say nice things to people who...to people.  Because words matter.  

Early to Rise

I've been reading a lot of good stuff lately.  All of my Amazon reviews in 2013 have been 5 stars.  

I love the path that life takes you on.  I love that books are a vice that you never have to try give up.   I love that there are people who are put here for the purpose of helping other people see life in a way that can help them become who they want to be.  Who can help them believe that there is more to life than the daily grind. 

Over the past few months I’ve come across several of those people, via books, and podcasts, and growth groups.  

And people, my cup overfloweth.  Wait, is that the saying?  

I'm on day 12 of an early to rise challenge.  A simple little thing that is really rocking my world.  And instead of thinking of how I can get out of it, I'm trying to think of ways I can get up even earlier, and fit more stuff I can do during this new found "me time".  

IS this even the same me?  Who has been a snooze button addict since the beginning of time?  Who calculates the minutes in arguing rationalization each morning, negotiating a one less shower or breakfast out of the deal?  Who is the biggest NOT morning person I know?  

It's just such a good time.  Sure, I'm more tired at the end of the day.  But I'm ALONE.  And when the kids get up, I'm pleasant.  Our time together is spend on them, not on me.  I'm already up and caffeinated.  The get up at the same time but somehow we have double the time together before I have to go to work.  AND I've been introduced to the coolest app yet.  Sleep Cycle.  I love getting woken by a smart alarm that knows when I am in a light sleep.  

I've gotten more than a few eye rolls in my life.  You know, for all the self-help books.  But I don't care.  I know who I want to be.  I know other people have really good ideas of how to get there.  I know that seeking wisdom is a critical daily decision of successful and fulfilled people.  I know if I keep working and keep searching and keep striving, I'll get there.  I'll keep getting there.  My soul is full and happy and...full.  

And, Lord love me, I'm a sucker for a 30 day challenge.  

I can do hard stuff.  And if I can do THIS, then maybe, just maybe, I can do anything!  

How exciting is that?