Embrace the weary, and rest

I’m realizing, after months, no possibly years of emotional exhaustion. I’m realizing that weariness is not bad.
Some days it’s heavy. A ton of hopelessness mixed it with self-condemnation.
Maybe I’m the one who's done it … Maybe I need to get a grip. Maybe I need to stop wallowing in the self-pity or living in the dark place called fear.

Yet, while it's true that what I’ve been experiencing may be intensely hard. So true. I've realized that the weariness doesn't mean it's bad. Being life-tired doesn't necessarily mean I've made a mistake or that I've failed somehow.

Recently, an evening with friends I found myself completely done. It was time. If these people, if they are who they say they are to me, to us, it was time to bare it all - emotionally and spiritually.
So the weight was shared. The grief and agony that we’re living
... it seemed so self-serving, it sounds so self-serving.
Except we know, we sincerely believe, that in order to be honest in relationships we need to risk and maybe expose a bit. So those dear friends got more than a glimpse, I’m afraid. They saw and heard some raw emotion, and in turn a more full picture of our lives, our perspective, the reality we are in. And in turn they shared our pain.

I recognize that only God truly understands each individual.
Only He understands Me.
Hey... I don’t get me.
But I am determined to say to hell with walls building up around my heart
Walls that spell out helplessness.
Helplessness that's attempting to strangle Hope, which in turn sabotages my future.

Oh those heart walls - they’re two-sided.
On the inside they scream I’m done!
On the outside they arrogantly say
I’m doing just fine, thanks
or
I don’t care about you anymore
and yet, the reality of this seeming apathy is so often the exhaustion talking

The other morning, after a long walk down my path...
the Me at the beginning sure didn't look like the Me at the end.
Started out with a bounce, determination, gonna get this done.
Ended like a worn out rag doll ... all my energy was gone.
The determination was true. The reasons for getting out there hadn’t changed but I was done… for today.

That’s what the outside wall is like. What looks like a lazy jogger or an apathetic athlete is just a weary one. Done walking for today. Done the workout for right now, but willing to head out there again… soon. Maybe tomorrow, but definitely soon.

So may I say to you my weary friend ... go ahead and be tired today, or maybe a few todays.
Share with a friend.
Risk a little, risk a lot.
Embrace the weary and rest.

Just say the word

This week … I’ve been going back and forth, vacillating
At times I'm convinced ...

The other shoe is gonna drop
Something bad is going to happen
Something - really - bad

Then I hear the whisper of hope

Look what I'm going to do

...

Just say the word, Jesus

There’s a story I recently re-read. It's a story of a soldier who lived centuries ago. His title - centurion. 

He was an important man in the Roman army so many years ago.
This story was written for me, today.

The Faith of a Roman Officer

Go ahead and read it.
Maybe you'll skim it over and not really think much about it, how it relates to you, 
cause, well … you’re not a centurion in the Roman army in the year 3 AD (give or take a year)

Yet, I love this story, in all of it's ancientness.
I love this snippet of a biography of a man who lived centuries ago.
A powerful man.
Soldiers under his authority who obeyed his every command.
Probably a wealthy man who seemed to have it all.
A beautiful home.
Servants and slaves who ran the home.
And then there was this one.
"a most valued slave who was deathly ill"

Here was a man. A Roman centurion meant to be respected, probably feared, in charge.

And he found himself desperate. He found himself without being able to fix some thing. He had no answer. He didn’t know what to do next or who to call for help. I’m sure he had the money for the best physicians … he had resources at his disposal. And none of them were working. Nobody could help. Nothing worked.

One of his slaves, a very important commodity in his home, was lying on his death bed. Remember, this was a time when slaves and servants were integral parts of a wealthy and prestigious family's functioning. 
Yes - this is a subject that frightens us today, repulses us to think that a man, a woman, a whole family should ever belong to another. Yet here is this soldier, who is desperate for his slave, whom he valued. Desperate for help.

Desperation leads us to do many things. It leads us to spend money we don’t have. It leads us to anxiety-induced illness. It causes families to fall apart, when they should be coming together. Desperation has the potential of stripping us bare of all we are - using up all the resources we have.

And then Jesus comes along.
This soldier-man, he had heard of Jesus. Maybe he had met him at some point while guarding the temple. His status in the military would have placed him in the know. He would have known all about this rebel rabbi named Jesus from Nazareth. 
But what he had heard and possibly even witnessed, had obviously impacted him.

There’s one smart guy.
Not missing Truth when it’s right in front of him.
He recognized the real thing, possibly because he had searched for it everywhere. And the answer was not to be found.
All he did find was that there was nothing to heal this disease afflicting his servant.
There was no more coin to be paid, no more effort to be expended to save this valued member of his household.
There was no other answer
So in his desperation, in his surrender of heart, he trusted the Truth when he saw it.

Say the word, Jesus.
He knew that this Man, God incarnate, the Divine in the flesh, just had to speak and the disease would be gone. He recognized the authority, the spiritual authority that Jesus had over the affliction that had affected his household. 

Jesus.
With a word is able to cure disease, break addiction, remove oppression.

The centurion recognized Truth standing before Him.
He acknowledged the power and sovereignty - God in the flesh.
He believed that if God is Who He says He is, He is able, with a spoken word to transform a disease-ridden body to wholeness.
Jesus ... able to break the grip of addiction, heal a dissolving marriage, eliminate chronic pain, eradicate cancer. 
God is able. He is able to do this.

As Jesus whispers in my heart
look what I’m going to do

I'll surrender my will, my timing, my way muddling through desperate nothingness.
I will respond...

When your kid lies... what to do, what to do

If you’ve never experienced that first time?

Your little one looks you straight in the eye - with chocolate peaking out of the corner of their mouth, a trail of chocolate chips in their wake - and says...
 No. I didn’t have a cookie Mommy.

Just hold on… the Lying Train is coming. It’s just a matter of time.

My friend *Genevieve and I were talking about this the other day. We were lamenting really. That First Time. Sometimes our Littles are little enough that it’s kinda cute. Then the Next Time… whoa what’s up with that? And for some of our kiddos… too many Next Times I’m afraid.

The Lying Train pulled in to our family station so many years ago, there were shovels and coal involved.

My friend’s Lying Train? Operating like a bullet train ripping through a beautiful European countryside.

I do love it when you can find someone who has gone before you, has experienced that something, a comrade-in-arms so to speak. Whether that someone has a clue what to tell you to do about it (that was me), or that friend has pearls of wisdom to throw your way.

At least you have a cheerleader and at least there is someone else to hang out with in that “Parents of Children That Lie” club.

The result of our conversation? other than confessed tears, frustration, a sense of fear (chronic liars are a thing), we put our heads together and came up with these:

5 Things To Do When Your Child Lies

1. If you lie… STOP

2. If you don’t do #1, then remember. This is not about you. This is not about your parenting.
If you won’t even Enter in the Exit door at the grocery store… you’re probably not the influence here.

3. Kids have choices.
They're mini-people, born with the ability to choose. They have their own decisions to make. They have their own consequences to learn.

When my 1st was little I had such a hard time with this one. Seeing her as her own person was a tough one. It was an emotional struggle, and she’ll tell you at times a physical one. A lot of wish-I’d-known-better and wish-I-could-have-a-do-over moments for me. But they do have choices to make. The sooner Moms (and Dads) recognize this, and accept it as truth, it will give the parent the break. And will free the child to grow ...

4. Let them Fall, Let them Fail. 
Listen to Kathy and Dr. Laura and Stop rescuing your kid!
You can Never over-love but you can over-rescue (if I could rewind the clock ...)

You have to let them endure the consequence of lying.

If that means a teacher failing them at school (gulp),
a store manager telling them they can’t shop there anymore (BIG gulp),
or maybe straight-to-the-heart-ouch! a parent not letting them play with their kid anymore (Seriously, who does that?)
Whether they should or not, whether it’s fair or not
If it’s the result of dishonesty I’m afraid we have to walk that through.

5. Hang in there.

Parenting is like the most intense whitewater rafting trip you’ll ever take.

Parenting teens? Categories 5 and 6.

Some days. Some months, dare I say years? you feel like you've been catapulted out of the raft. But you can crawl back in. You can do this.

And they do grow up.

They grow up with scrapes on their knees, maybe a broken bone or two, a few bad grades (or a lot of bad grades), broken hearts, years that are hard and hopefully years that are Amazing!

Scraped knees and broken bones?
They've played outside and run wild and free, or they've tried something hard or done something stupid.
Bones heal.

Bad grades? They’re gonna learn life takes hard work, not everything’s handed to them.

A broken heart? A most amazing opportunity to grow an empathetic heart.
To learn early on that not everyone loves them.
Not everyone likes them.
That’s okay. That’s real life.
Love them, hug them, listen to them.

The seemingly endless hard weeks or months or years? It strengthens the soul as we depend on God.

I promise.



*Names have been changed to protect the guilty

When eternity kisses my heart.

Uncle Seth and Aunt Hope xo

I've known him all of my life.
And now his life on earth has ended.

My sweet Uncle Seth xo

My loss is not as profound as others. His absence is felt by me but I can't begin to pretend that there are others who aren't feeling it now, with such depths of pain.

My sweet dear aunt.
With a grief that is palpable and numbing and surreal and horrendous.
Jesus hold her, hold them all.

I'm not sure if you've ever had the opportunity.
Yes, that's what it was opportunity
To be present when someone's life is ending.
To be in the room, in conversation with one who has lived well, loved fiercely and knows that he knows what his forever is.
To be talking with, hugging, crying with another human who has lived his whole life in anticipation for this moment.

I am privileged to have witnessed that thin veil of eternity begin it's parting. The doors that lead to forever had begun to open. Not a fear-filled forever. But the forever we were created to live in. The forever we have been mandated to live for, dream of, hope for.

Remember ... Forever is part of our Now.
It is just a thin veil separating us from what is real.
A thin veil away from our living and breathing.
It is all that comes between our being and our promised eternity to come.

He lived well.
He breathed his last.

...

He is more alive now then his 91 years on this earth.
He is home.

My family, my extended family, is facing death and the grief that it brings.
Quite a few these last couple of years, I'm afraid.
It's tough on the human soul.

Along with so many of you who recently have lost sweet friends, and sweet, sweet moms.
Dads and brothers or sisters you wish you knew better.
Or maybe you have lost children.
I don't pretend to know that kind of loss ... my heart is full for you.
Loss is great.

We all fight against it, and yet it's pretty much guaranteed that we're all going to face it.
Those we love, they will die some day.
We, you and I, will die some day.
It's just a fact of life.
And it's so hard.
So hard on the heart and the mind and the body.
We weren't created to die.
It wasn't supposed to be this way.
That exhausting emotional journey called grief.
It is vast.
It can feel endless.
Because that wasn't the Creator's plan... that's not how He intended it to be.

So we hurt.
We grieve.

And yet, here we sit. You and I. I'm writing it, you're reading this (thank you).

We will finish this life on earth.

Let's do this well.
Let's come up with a plan, a plan to live until we die. To live like my sweet Uncle Seth, loving, being loved and knowing his God, and sharing, and giving of himself to those who were blessed to know him.

So here's how we need to do this ...

1. Let's live like we're dying.
Not morbid... fatalistic, brimming with pessimism and whoa is me... though I can be tempted. Let's live well by not putting off today what we should do, today. What I'm called to do, what you know you should do and maybe feel a little bit afraid... okay maybe terrified, to do.

2. Let's live with no more regrets.
This one may take some fixing. This one may take some action ... right now.
Have that conversation.
Make that apology.
Extend forgiveness.
Stop worrying about what you're wearing or eating or doing or not doing today and make someone else's today more beautiful.
My sweet, young friend Shannon has said this so beautifully in her blog, which you can READ HERE. Beautifully written from a heart of one so young.

What if we were to live everyday, not as if it was our last, but if we were seeing our best friend for the last time…ever?What if we were to treat them with pure kindness, joy, appreciation, and love, because they meant the world to us?What if every word we spoke to them counted, and our last words summed up exactly how much we truly care about them and revealed our heart of hearts towards them?…..What would your last words be?And why don’t we live with this kind of appreciation, thankfulness, and love everyday?

Enough said.

3. Live Today... not curled up in entertain me mode in front of our Netflix, YouTube, movie screen, iPhone, laptop, game system.
Not running to the mall, or the gym, or the wine bar, or staying late at work.
Avoiding. Avoiding life and purpose and living
Put down the electronics. Put down the book. Step away from the TV.

Pick up the phone and have a conversation or a FaceTime/Skype.
Go have a coffee or an iced tea or a beer (I hate beer) or dinner or lunch or brunch (I love brunch).
Walk out your front door and go see your mom or go meet your neighbor.

4. Write that card or letter or email.
This stems from the last one ... and is how we do the second one.

Today I heard Beautiful. I heard the most beautiful obituary, from a son who was loved and who loved well. It was an echo of what was already said, out loud, in person, to his dad. His dad, died knowing this love.
Obituaries can be beautiful.
Obituaries can be sad.
Obituaries can be painful.
Because way too often, they're words that were never said to the living.  Sometimes they're even filled with plain ole' fibs. Because the relationship really sucked, the person was really miserable or mean or ... you know who I'm talking about.
But those relationships that didn't suck, or shouldn't have been messed up, or stayed shallow when you wished they were deep. That's when the obituary is sad.

Maybe you've already lived this for someone you love. Someone who has died. Someone you wish you had said more to.

But look around you. There are more someones in your life. There are others who need you to see them, talk to them, listen to them, be present in their lives.

Today. Live today, telling that person, those people, that someone, what you would say if you were standing, at their memorial service, at their graveside.

There might be awkwardness.
There will possibly be tears and emotion.
Let me lovingly say ... Get over it.

Buy a card, one that you really mean.
Write out the words.
Tell them you love them.
You know who them is, who I'm talking about.

Don't be creepy like they're already dead but don't wait until it's too late.

Eternity is hope and forever and amazing, when we place our hope in the One who created it so.
And when Eternity has kissed your heart ...  you don't look at Forever the same.

Live well,
my friend.
Love well.

Stop God-hoarding and other such nonsense

This is the last in a series of three
I got tired of the title so I changed the title cause I can do that.

To re-cap.
I have had a month or five or 12 ...of I got nothins'
so I decided to sit down a make a list. Cause I can't live in nothin' forever.

I came up with six things.
Six things that I realized I had done right raising my four children.
Six things I don't regret.
Six things to share with you.

Here are the first three...   HERE
And follow this link for 4 and 5...  HERE

Here's the last one... plus a bonus (I'm obviously out of control)

6. I wasn't a God-hoarder... most of the time.

The intense love I have for Jesus, it's so huge. I just couldn't imagine not letting my kids know how true He is. How real He is. How relevant He is. How necessary He is for life, every day life.

So ...if you really believe it
If you have faith in God... make sure they, your littles, mids or bigs know what It is for you

Don't get all it's their choice to make
That, only comes out of the mouths of people who have not yet parented,
     or aunted (it's a thing) or mentored a teenager.

They'll make up their OWN mind.
You bet they will!

And you won't be able to stop the tatting or the piercing or the hair coloring or any other ing they can find.
Get over that.

I’m not talking about going to Mass twice a year or once a week.

I’m not talking about dropping your kids off at Temple
    or making sure they go to Bible club after school
    or a midweek service.
I’m not even talking about making sure they go to a Christian school
That you have a Bible verse hanging on your wall at home ... beautiful!
An awesome bumper sticker on your car (bumper stickers are stupid! - ooops, did I say that?)
Those things are not enough, my friend.

If what you believe in is worth your faith, or energy
If it's worth your passion and your love
Then why would you not let it ooze out of you so that your kid could absorb it?

Why wouldn't you talk about your Creator (remember this is my blog)?
Why wouldn't you direct conversation to be about Him?

And if I believe God is as great as He is... why would I be worried about sharing my doubts and concerns about Who He is or why something has happened or hasn't happened?

(See how I went from you to I?)

Either the Almighty is big enough or He's not.

(Listen up Kathy ...)

My life
My parenting and loving and living
It would be nothing without my relationship with God.

I'm not blowing smoke.
I'm not just saying words ... I'm truly, honestly absolutely void as a parent without God.

There are days, there have been weeks and even months where I thought I had it under control myself. I would get content in my seemingly brilliant parent skills.
Okay back up, that's never lasted months or weeks, but I've had some gosh-you're-an-amazing-mom days. Yay Kathy.

Which is okay when I give credit to the source of that Amazing.
We're all guilty of committing life-plagiarism.
Don't believe me?
Give it time.

So to go back to the original point

If my faith, my belief in God is true and I kept it tucked away private and personal then what good would it do anyone but myself.
- afraid my kids would roll their eyes
      so what
He is not a God to be hoarded.
Risk a little ...
Keep it authentic, honest
Not preachy

Make sure you know what you know... doubts and questions and all.
Then share what you know
Don't freak out over the doubts
Don't be a God-hoarder!

And finally
A Bonus for you ... my reader

Yay for bonus points!

* Don't be afraid of your kid
Don't be afraid of what their reaction might be when you say no.
or...  if you are afraid, it's okay
       no judging here, it is a very fearful thing some times,
Say it anyway.
No.

A recurring conversation with #2

Me: I only have one chance at this parenting thing. 
Wouldn't you rather that I erred on the side of a few too many no's? Wouldn't you rather that one day, when you're all parent-like yourself to be able to look back and say, "Mom, remember when you wouldn't let me ---?" Instead of "Mom, why in the world didn't you stop me."

#2: Ya, you're right.

You're welcome.

My messy, messy life.

"You must be doing something wrong. 

People just don't have that many bad things happen to them."

Go back and read that again.

Seriously...

This was said ... out loud, on purpose.

A dear friend, a long-time-not-old-cause-that-sounds-rude friend of mine told me...
someone actually said this to her.

My friend, who has had so many years of so much crap, of so much hard and messy and scary.

She told me this
       and then I yelled, out loud.
Really loud.
Like Norb opened the door and checked on me kind of loud.

Obviously, this well-intentioned-overly-opinionated (careful Kathy) person,
we've obviously never met.
Or she's never met any of mine. Because we are people and we have many bad things happening to us. Right now. Over and over.
Her heads in the proverbial sand... way down deep.

We've got a bunch of messy going on over here.

And I've realized it's not gonna clean up any time soon.

Don't mock... I love these!

Me + Messy = not so good

I'm the label-maker-loving, drawer sorting, color-coded-filing lover of all things neat and orderly. I love a made bed. I love a beautiful pile of folded clothes.

I hate piles of paper and corners filled with clutter and junk.

Don't mock... I hate this!

And herein lies the irony.

Life is messy.

If you think you're the only messy out there. Take heart... you are not alone.

If yours is not messy, if your life is predictable and relatively easy, I'm not writing this to mock you. I don't even doubt you. But pay attention. Broken lives. Struggling families. Addiction, incarceration, sickness, chronic disease, families and friends who are in a crisis. They aren't to be judged, corrected, or bullied.

You might say your intention isn't to bully or criticize, just to correct and to help.

Perfect. Do that. Minus the correcting part, there's One who does that beautifully, and without shame. He's got it covered. Trust Him with it... and don't think because you ate pizza before bed last night that the revelation and wisdom oozing out of your brain means it was God. Because your hormonally imbalanced this week, or you read something once by someone somewhere and it sounds something like this. That doesn't mean now you know the answers to all of their problems.  Because the thoughts are in your head, it doesn't meant they should come out of your mouth.
"Because I love you" doesn't make the cut, doesn't give permission to say it.
Trust me. That one was thrown in my face once, in a church lobby... but that's another story.

And now that I'm writing this I'm freaked out
I'm afraid I've been that person.
I'm realizing that I've believed I had the authority to tell someone how messed up they are, believing I said it in love.
I was wrong.
I don't wanna be that wrong any more.

God forgive me for taking on your role without your permission too many times.

You might ask, doesn't God use people to help other people?
Yes. God does place us in conversations and relationships that allow us, command us, to walk through stuff with someone. To confront addiction, to confront destructive behavior or abusive relationships.

When God truly calls someone to speak up I believe it is usually preceded by soul-searching, some agonizing, but not preceded by I can't wait to set them straight.

Doesn't God use us?
Isn't there anything we can do to clean this up, to make a difference, to help?
Oh yes... beautifully and deeply and affectively.

We help by praying.
We help by praying for them, not at them.
We help by loving them.
We love by loving their kids, or their parents, or their husband or their wife.
We love by helping them move, by bringing them food, by taking them to coffee, by paying their rent, or their utilities, or buying them a car, or paying medical bills.

We help by loving, we love by showing up and shutting up.

We should love.

Not by trying to make their lives look all neat and organized like yours or how I wish mine could be.

But by just showing up...
Taking a seat beside them...
Loving them, in their messy, oh so messy life.

If you have ever walked into an abortion clinic... then you know.

Today I got a text.

She's going to have an abortion tomorrow.

Pro Life?
Don't get all condemning here.
Pro Choice?
Don't get all defensive.

It really shouldn't matter what we think. 
It doesn't matter what your philosophy is or your conviction is. This is a big deal.
Anyone that says abortion is a benign thing ... you're lying to yourself.
Any woman that doesn't see this is a massive decision? A life-altering decision?
...
Huge.

She's pregnant. She's scared. 
She's young. She's been living on her own since high school.
She's barely out of high school.
This isn't in her plan. And she has some really good life plans. 
She's been dealt some hard stuff since she was little. In fact, she survived abortion herself. Her mom changed her mind in the clinic, years and years ago. Her mom said yes to her life. Here she stands ... very independent. Very hard working. 
A good friend to so many, a good daughter with a dad who loves her. A great sister. A good student and this is in front of her.

Some of us, we can get all pious in our knowing. Or maybe you don't feel pious, but strong, passionate convictions .... the gentle heart beat of a little one in utero. It can create a visceral response, whatever the response is.

I have embraced motherhood. I knew I would be a mom, somehow.
It didn't scare me. That positive pregnancy test. It only brought joy.... and a little bit of fear.
But I embraced it.

My sweet friend. Not so much.
She's terrified.

The only part of this, right now, where I sit, the one thing that pisses me off is the lie she's been given her whole life. Maybe not directly to her. But a society that has taken on a god-complex. 
We've given our selves license to decide life or death stuff. 
We've given ourselves license to judge others, only by what we see.

Of course abortion is her option. For her. Where she stands. What she's been told. 

Tonight, maybe tomorrow before she goes in, maybe she'll say yes to sitting down again with me. Maybe she'll continue to be open to our friendship and know that I care for her. I care for her enough to tell her the risks. To tell her the realities of what abortion is and does. Medically. Physically. To give her options. Beautiful, beautiful redeeming options.

Maybe she'll hear me when I tell her about the emotional repercussions this will have. 
It will have on her.

Asking God to give me the words. Asking God to speak the words to her heart. To a heart that I've seen has been softened towards Him. A heart that is curious about learning about a God who loves, unconditionally.

And... if you've ever walked into a clinic. 
If you've already made this choice ... if this is part of your story

You know. 
This is no trip to the dentist.
This is definitely not a benign operation.

If you are reading this and you understand abortion, intimately
If you have personally experienced it.
If you have personally participated in it.
If you find yourself living in others-inflicted shame

Please hear me... you are loved.

If you feel ridiculed and judged,
If you have felt the weight of condemnation by a bunch of sometimes-well-meaning-sometimes-not pro-life people,
If you have been afraid to tell your story, talk about your past, been devastated by pointing fingers and accusatory words,

I am sorry!

I am so sorry for not speaking up for you - the wounded, scared, abandoned - you know who you are and I for one, want you to know,
You are loved!

I'm not speaking this out of direct experience, I'm not pretending to relate to your sometimes agonizing choices, your anger or your sorrow.
I've never had an abortion.

Yet, I'm afraid to say,
if I had become pregnant at 15 or 16, I'm not sure, then, what I would have chosen. Being pregnant, a teenager who wasn't married. That was just not allowed. 

Pregnant girls were often sent away.
Having a pregnant daughter who wasn't married was one of the scariest, shame-filled things for a "good Christian family."

That is why this happened, I'm afraid.

Before I knew it I found myself driving my sweet friend to the clinic. I didn’t know what it meant. Astonishing, but I really didn’t. I had said no to God long enough before that I couldn’t even hear His voice anymore. Telling me to stop. Turn around. Save this little life. She was my friend and she was pregnant. She asked for a ride. She wasn’t pregnant anymore. And that was that ... 

I played a part. 
Call it ignorance. Call it convenience or immaturity or fear.
In rejecting the voice of the One who never rejected me, I let my friend down. I will forever regret that. Forever mourn the loss, on so many levels.

I'm not writing this to berate a system or condemn well-meaning people. I'm not calling the Church or Christians to task (or maybe I am). 
I do know that God is so patient. Astoundingly patient in my life.

And deep in my soul I do believe in the sanctity of each precious life.
I believe with my whole being that each life is purposed, planned (by God).

He's a God of the fatherless and motherless and rejected.

But I do believe we are playing with fire when we play God. 

Oh I love my darling, scared friend... so much.
And I've never met a baby I don't love.

I'm holding my breath ...

Never underestimate coffee with friends.

We've been pretty much been screaming, Norb and I have, for the last few months. Okay, years.
For Wisdom.
Sometimes together, through some long, dark nights.
Sometimes separate. Hard stuff does that to couples. It pulls. It attempts to tear apart.

We haven't known, don't know, what to do in the middle of some very serious stuff.

I've overused the phrase I Got Nothin'. But it hasn't changed.
I
We
really haven't known, and continue to not know, what to do.

But here I sit today.
With my own coffee in hand.

I've cried a lot of tears this morning. God-tears. The kind I cry when I talk with God about God-only stuff.
God-only stuff is the stuff that only He can do anything about.
God-only moments. My soul, hyperventilating, gasping for air, for a whisper of breath.
He comes with the paper bag, gently holds it over my mouth.
Breath in.
Breath out.
Breathe in.
Breathe out.

The Holy Spirit fills me with His breath. Life. Peace.
The ability to trust Him - we'll call it patience.
Being loved. An all encompassing, marrow-deep kind of love.

While I sit here with my own mug of coffee, wrestling in the peaceful surrender of knowing He knows, I'm reminded of coffee with friend

A month ago, an impulsive trip was taken. It was our anniversary. We needed a break...

An impromptu coffee date was had with a friend.
A friend who knows our family, and who loves our boy.
How's the boy?
...
Send him my way.

That is happening now.
It is good ... we didn't see that coming when we walked in the eclectic coffee shop, with it's industrial decor and it's huge community table in the lower east side of town. We didn't realize on this, our third cup of the day, we would be handed this opportunity.

Today, we're praying for our boy, for the deep stuff to happen in a month of serving.
We're begging God, really, for the transforming stuff to continue, because we know it started years ago, but that next level of growing. It has to happen. There is no option.
And he's being cared for and challenged and held accountable and seeing the world is bigger then himself.
Beautiful.

A couple months ago, two like-minded men were introduced.
Had a coffee, cause that's what my Man does.
Two polar-opposite life stories - understatement of the year.
Think drug cartel meets preacher man.
Stories are shared. Hearts and passions are connected.
What's your story?
...
I think I have something for him... I think it's exactly what he needs.
Would he meet me?
I wanna help.

Sometimes it takes a village.

This is happening now.
It is good... I hope. I didn't see it coming at all.
Today we are praying for our other boy as well, for the deep, deep transforming has-to-happen-miracle.
We are praying for the continued healing of a
mind and heart and will. The breaking down of walls around a battle-weary soul.
Make or break?
God doesn't make mistakes. I'm positive. But when my faith is weak, I freak out.
Like my own PTSD. I've seen stuff, I've lived stuff and it's not for the faint of heart.
I've watched, endured and lived Bad.

That's why the God-tears.
That's why I'm living the God-stuff right now.

So maybe my take away for you, my reader?
Go have coffee with a friend.

6 Things this Mom has done right-Part 1

I've had a lot of I got nothin's lately
so I dug a little deeper and realized ...
I've got this

6 Things this Mom just Might have done Right - Part 1

Part 1 ... cause you know you don't have the attention span of a gnat.

You. Are. Welcome.

1. I have laughed ... hard.

The - best - therapy - ever!

My #3 was in preschool. He came home one day and wanted to know what the middle finger meant. I immediately gave him the appropriate mommy speech.

Me: Sweetie, we never do that cause it's like potty mouth. It’s very yucky, ok?

#3: Okay mommy - all while smiling his most disarming chubby-faced smile.

Next day.
Phone rings.

or that one son ...
Tellin it like it is!!

#3's School: Mrs Kohler, your most adorable son has been sent to the office for flipping off his teacher … with both hands.

He double-whammied her!!! (That's a thing you know)
I could totally picture his honestly adorable 5-year-old-self standing there with both hands in the air - while smiling from ear to ear.

Well, I’m sorry. That’s worth every guffaw and cackle I could muster. And then, there was more. We found out that his obviously-not-experienced-with-anything-bad-in-life teacher was devastated by it. I mean really upset.

That did us in. He was five years old for goodness sake. And he was sitting in the office smiling from ear to ear! Apparently quite proud of himself especially with the reactions he got. My only regret is that I didn’t get to see it myself.

There I said it. I’m bad.

2. Pulled my kids out of school for ... sometimes I just wanted them home.

Don't freak out.

When they were wee little ones sometimes we (I) needed a mental health day ...it's a thing too.
Not having to get out of our pajamas, not having to worry about other kids for a few hours, just watching a movie or playing with toys or reading books. Ahhhh!

Sometimes, when they were a bit bigger, we'd pull up to school. I'd run in to the office and sign my girl out for the day.

School office: Why is she leaving today, and what time will she be back?
Me: Family reasons... and No.

Then she'd walk out of class and down the hall and see me just standing there, grinning from ear to ear.

Me: We’re going to the beach! 
My Girl: ~squeals of delight~

Nothing better I tell ya.

A couple of years in a row, while we were living in Canada, we informed all of the teachers (four kids= lots of teachers) that they wouldn’t be at school for a couple of days that week. It was American Thanksgiving for goodness sake. Turkey doesn’t taste right on Saturday, it must be eaten on the 3rd Thursday of November. And then there’s football watching and baking and Christmas decorations. It’s serious and we needed it.

Or, leaving on vacation a little early, coming back a little late.

Maybe, just maybe, letting them sleep in on Monday morning cause they’re doing so well in school and they’re tired. And you're tired.
Letting them sleep in on Monday morning cause they’re not doing so good in school and they’re exhausted from trying.

We sometimes just all need the break.

You know your kids. These personal or family days, or mental health breaks, they're like life lessons for your-sooner-than-you-can-imagine-they-will-be-adults children.

Teaches them an invaluable lesson
Yes. Life is hard work and some times life is just Hard.

It’s good to know when to stop and breathe or jump in the sand.

3. Admitting I was wrong when I was wrong.

This isn’t self-deprecating “woe is me” mommy behavior.
This is honest, introspective, grown up talk.

Read this one through ... I'm not alone here.

This is recognizing when you yelled too loudly
       smacked someone when you should have taken a time out yourself
       ignored a child when you should have sat on the floor and played
              or read
              or listened.

This is recognizing your imperfections and realizing that you can still parent in the middle of them. In fact, the best parents or leaders or mentors are the ones that are obviously flawed and show us how to work through the mess.

They’ll learn from you what it's like to handle themselves when they are wrong.

This isn’t an “if” but a “when."


I have a few more on my list of things-this-mom-has-done-right.

Stay tuned ...

Sugar + Salt

"Sweet is nice enough, but bittersweet is beautiful, nuanced, full of depth and complexity."
Shauna Niequist

I love food.
The author I just quoted, Shauna Niequist, isn't actually talking about food here. But I'll get back to her in a minute.

I love new food.
I love old school comfort food.
       cheesy mac and cheese or chewy chocolate chip cookies

I love discovering new dishes, I love landing in new-to-me restaurants (thank you Yelp), creating marvelous recipes, finding new food blogs.

I love looking at pictures of food - yay Instagram! and binge-watching Food Network. I think I've actually lost some years.

Ironically?

I hate cooking every day.
I hate deciding what to cook or deciding where to eat next.
And...
I hate thinking that I’m demanding or being all diva about food now.

Peanut butter and jelly should be enough - except for the whole gluten-free thing my body really needs.
A simple scrambled egg or chicken and rice.

All of This. that I'm talking about?
It's opened up a whole new can of worms …
Gluttony.
If you look it up - the true definition. I'm living smack in the middle of it.
So let’s just say I will write about that soon.  And it's sure shootin' not as easy to talk about as you might be thinking.

Back to food.

I love sweets … but oh my!what sugar does to my aching, fibromyalgia-ridden body. I’ve paid for it.
I love baking sweet things, and just thinking about what I could bake, or driving across town for a Side Car Doughnut or a Susie’s Cake slice of heaven.

I love salty, that’s kind of a new thing for my tastebuds. Probably some deficiency or other.
Crack open a fresh bag of chips.
That first bite of tri-tip, grilled to perfection.
In the end - what I love is a beautiful marriage of the two.
Salty-sweet
That’s tastebud heaven.

About a month ago, I read this excerpt from a book called Savor. I don’t own the book, yet. I probably should, so I’m putting the link to Savor here for all of us to check out.

In this sweet devotional Shauna Niequist talks about the "bittersweet" (often much more of the vinegar and less of the honey, I’m afraid).

Such great perspective.

"The idea of bittersweet is changing the way I live, unraveling and reweaving the way I understand life. Bittersweet is the idea that in all things there is both something broken and something beautiful, that there is a sliver of lightness on even the darkest of nights, a shadow of hope in every heartbreak, and that rejoicing is no less rich when it contains a splinter of sadness. Bittersweet is the practice of believing that we really do need both the bitter and the sweet, and that a life of nothing but sweetness rots both your teeth and your soul. Bitter is what makes us strong, what forces us to push through, what helps us earn the lines on our faces and the calluses on our hands. Sweet is nice enough, but bittersweet is beautiful, nuanced, full of depth and complexity. Bittersweet is courageous, gutsy, earthy. So this is the work I’m doing now, and the work I invite you into: when life is sweet, say thank you and celebrate. And when life is bitter, say thank you and grow."

Shauna Niequist

Savor

Is it just me, or is that not just awesome.
"Sweet is nice enough, but bittersweet is beautiful, nuanced, full of depth and complexity."

I do love beautiful.
I love my vegetables, trip tip and a beautiful slice of coconut cake.
I love my people - a little ornery, a lot of sass with plenty of quirky mixed in.

I’m grateful for life - a God-given life with it’s moments and days dripping with molasses and syrup, and it’s drenching days of balsamic vinegar and aromatic seasonings.

I realize I can’t live on sweet anymore, where my teeth rot out of my head and the inflammation in my body says Enough Kathy!
I definitely can’t live on just salty, or bitter. I lose bits of my self and I struggle to hang on to hope.

But the combination, sometimes at the same time, mixed in the same bowl of popcorn.
A beautiful pot roast meal, and always leaving room for a delicious bowl of blueberries and cream (heaven) or a slice of key lime pie.

6 Things this Mom has done right - Part 2

A Couple More Things this Mom has done right

In case you missed the First Three, you can find read them Here - 6 Things (Part 1)

1. Inappropriate laughter...
2. Happily made my children truant...
3. Said I was sorry over and over...

Just a couple more
  cause I love my overwhelmed-or-menopausal-or-ADD friends
  cause we just can't handle too much at a time

4. Compared children all the while embracing the Label .... whoa!!!

I’m not talking about comparisons like you’re nothing like your sister.
Or, your brother never did that. What's your problem?

(That’s just rude, stupid Mr. High School Teacher.)

I am talking about watching my 3rd and 4th navigate stairs.

As simple as that.

I realized #3 wasn’t walking up stairs as well as #4. He was older and was seemingly healthy.  Seeing him walking on his toes or needing to use his hands to tear up those stairs. It just didn’t make sense. I wouldn’t have noticed it without comparison because, man was he a fast one.
But when I’d watch them race up, side by side.
Some Thing was off, the development wasn't the same.

It was hard day
The day I heard the diagnosis of (very slight) cerebral palsy.
Truth.
Didn't even see that coming.
But without eyes on them, comparing them, seeing the usually-beautiful-sometimes-agonizing differences.
Without me seeing it, I know the neurology referral would have happened a lot later.
And having that initial neurology consult has helped pave a pathway to other care.
And other diagnoses - and Labels.

I know. They're all precious in His sight and amazing human beings.
I know that sickness or differences don't necessarily define us.
But they have been born into a world, a broken screwed up world with disease, sickness, sin, disability, trauma, neglect and abandonment.

It's the truth and we can't change that.

Don't run from what is in front of you.

Look for Labels, be open to diagnosis if it's needed.

Don't be afraid of imperfection ... because perfect kids.
That Label is just not fair.

5. I've Never been afraid of the Zingers ... okay just a teeny bit terrified.

Kid: Mom, who made sex?
Me: God. And it is awesome!
Kid: No way! Ewww
Me: Right Dad? Am I right?
Dad: Yep, He did. And yep it's awesome!
Kid: ~gapping mouth and wide eyes~
Me: Anymore questions....?

Kid: Did I come from your tummy, Mom?
Me: No, Buddy. You were in another mommy's tummy first. And while you were in there He knew that you needed a mommy to care for you. And He picked me.

Kid: Mom, would you miss me if I died?
Me: I wouldn't even want to keep on living. I would hurt so much and miss you so much. And maybe never stop crying.
Kid: But you have #1 and #2 and #4. You don't need me.
Me: Oh I need you, sweet one. You are part of me. It would be like a part of me died. 

Kid: Hey Mom, what is ---  ? Everyone's talking about it at school.
(thank You President Clinton and Ms. Lewinsky, thank you very much) 
Me: ~overwhelming sadness that this would now be our world,
       way before it should be AND
       serious elation that I was being trusted enough to be asked
       Celebrate the wins!!~

These, my friends, are just a very few samplings of some very real questions that this mama has been asked. Some times they have come out of the blue. Some times I've seen 'em coming. Sometimes they have taken me off guard while driving down the road and made me very sad. It’s sad when your little ones learn about brokenness. It’s sad when they struggle with very, very heavy things at very, very young ages. It's sad when the beautiful gift of sex and intimacy has been misinterpreted and abused.

But when it happens - when they throw a zinger at you - know you’re not alone.

You might answer it wrong at first or get defensive or get all judgy about something.

Relax, we all get judgy sometimes.
You've already judged me in the middle of this and I'm good with it.

It’s okay to pause. It’s okay to say I’ll get back to you about that one. It’s okay to say let’s figure it out together.

Or... it's okay to sit down and cry.

The Band Perry & a beautiful baby boy!

You know when you have one of those nights...

You have tickets to see The Band Perry in concert.
A warm, summer California evening.
Great seats.
Great sound.
With great friends!

Walking in to the concert you get a call and a text ... Not good ones.
Potentially life-shattering ones.

You find your seats and think should we leave right away?
This is not the first time.
But every time we get these calls, these messages... every one of them matter.
You take every one of them very seriously.

A quick call is made to another (thank God for the others in my life)
And the other drops everything to go, assess, to sit and care.

And that same night, at the Concert
You're on the alert cause a baby is about to be born.
You receive another text
Her water broke!

And another
Mama's doing good

God's treasure to us

And finally, much later
After you've left the concert - early -
You get home and you feel a God-confidence
After an agonizing night praying, crying, pleading with the Almighty.
You're enveloped with a Peace that makes no sense
peace the warrior is on duty

And after a very long night (two days) of some of the most important work your sweet niece will ever do, you receive a final text.
He's here!

The thrill of new life
The anticipation of one more (high) chair to be added around our can-it-get-any-bigger-Thanksgiving table.
He is born - healthy and beautiful and awesome!

Yet your heart was heavy as you lay in bed that night
Your whole being is exhausted today with the weight of what could be, the weight of tears and prayers ... because praying is not for the weak.

What starts out as a great concert with great friends

Becomes a holy night with a holy God

Oh to be a little girl again.

Some people write letters to their little girl selves, telling them to hang in there. Telling them how great it will be some day when they're all grown up. Telling them what to look forward to and what to not worry about.

Just ignore the mean kids. They're mostly just insecure boobs. 

Speaking of boobs, you will get some, some day, and you'll discover that they're just not that big of a deal after all. 

And speaking of that again, boys will like you some day
... at first cause of... well ...boobs. 
But those are definitely not the boys to pay attention to. 
And no, boys don't ever stop being weird, but they are great!

Finally, young Kathy, enjoy your muffin-top-free years sweet child, as you rock your new bell bottoms and your brand new clogs.

Yada yada...

This isn't about that.

I have never been one to wish to be younger. 

Gray hair don't care!

At least not often ... curse you gray hair that changes the texture and body of your whole dang head, seriously...

So other than the hair, and the muffin-top thing (nasty), I'm good with older. I've even been heard
saying, wouldn't wanna go back and do that over again. No sirree, no thank you ma'am.

So this isn't "that" either.

A couple of weeks ago, a friend on Facebook posted this picture.

 This.

This is the place I spent most of my summer days ... This is a picture of the lake that was mere feet away from where, as young as I can remember, we drank in summer. We celebrated most of our warm summer days here, year after year. Until the year we moved to the other side of the continent. Until it was out of our reach and our summer days were spent poolside in our California ranch-style home. #humblebrag

(I know ... pity my life)

This is Camp.

Not sending-your-kids-away kind of camp.

Though they had that, and I was sent there for the first time, at the age of 5... oh my!

I'm talking about a family campground. 

One where you put down roots. Whether it was a cottage - which we owned - or a trailer or camper or just a tent, parked in it's -permanent-as-long-as-you-rented it spot. Or maybe they even owned that spot, I don't know. I was the kid and haven't a clue. 

But what I do know is that we spent days, weeks, months there. Every hot, humid summer we would head out of the city and travel in our wood-panelled station wagon to camp. The five us. Mom,
Karen, Karl and I, we would stay the entire time. Dad would travel back and forth for work, we would hunker down for the whole blasted summer!! 

Lazy mornings sleeping in... or not.

Days spent at the beach, on a lake that would go from putrid green slime 

...seriously 

like out of an alien movie or something 

obviously before environmental regulations were a thing

... to cool, clear, sandy-bottomed awesomeness!

I learned to swim there - not when it was putrid sludge mind you.

Learned to "swim" in the shallow break. Crawling on all fours on the sand ...I was 4.

Evenings spent at Kids' Church. Not can't-stop-wiggling or fall-asleep church. But singing, story-telling, game playing kind of church. Church where I learned that Jesus loved me. Where I learned to believe that Jesus loved every little child in the whole wide world, no matter their skin color, no matter what.

Days when it rained ... good ole thunder showers
    being from California where it thunder showers, almost never...
    except for today, which is weird, and is probably why this post is happening - today
    today, listening to the rain pour... in Southern California
    Strange times my friend.

In our smaller-than-most-kitchens-in-California cottage, sitting around our big ole, round, wooden kitchen table playing Monopoly for hours, or Rook, or Yahtzee. I loved playing Yahtzee.

It was good.

My childhood wasn't filled with fear, danger or regret. Maybe there was some, but today I don't remember any of it. 

That Facebook picture has made me remember the bonfires we lit, at the end of the summer when most campers had left the campground but we, the few, the brave, hung in there.

We ate the creamiest of creamy corn on the cob, straight from the field down the gravel road. Ate it til we were sick. Huge slices of watermelon that hadn't traveled from around the world, but were from the local farm stand. We roasted marshmallows hanging off of our metal hangers, cause we didn't know then that that heated up metal coated in who knows what would kill us some day. Heaven help us.

Oh to be a little girl again...
A time before,
before I knew the heaviness that is part of life now. A time when my mind was not yet able to grasp the pain I would feel some day for one of my own. Before I would witness such mind-numbing struggles and agony.

Don't be mistaken - I don't want to run away from my beautiful-as-it-is life. I don't regret, or lament or wish differently my Todays. 

But today I remember.
I remember a little girl, sitting on those hard wooden benches. A time when I learned well. I learned  and began the journey of understanding that He was a God to be trusted. He is the God to be trusted now.

Today, this week, this summer, as I listen to the it-never-rains-in-California summer rain, I'm just wanting some respite for my heart and my mind.

Just wanting to remember what it was like, to be a little girl again...