So, yesterday's post about Sundays seemed to spark some great thoughts and discussions. I have heard from many of you. You agree with some of my ideas, but I'm not foolish enough to think that all who read it found it easy to swallow. Here's what I know - any time we bring up the word CHURCH we are diving into a personal and sacred space. For many, this is a holy sanctuary of hope and light. For others, just the mere mention of the word floods your mind with guilt and judgement and fear. Yes, I find my heart filled in the context of the communal faith experience. But I also feel very convicted that in inviting all to join me in this journey, I am digging up memories of pain and loss.
Because I pride myself on transparency and truth, I cannot write one post on valuing Sundays and leave it all as glory. The Church, and all that it brings, is not all sunshine. For rest of this week, my blog is going to focus on the ups and downs in my church going experience. We don't get to the place where we pour our heart and soul into a mission without a good story. Sure, my happy children's choir days are mighty special, but so are the very hard lessons that I have learned from working and serving and giving my life to a community that I feel as passionately about as I do the Church. As we begin, you must know that when I say 'Church' with a capital 'C,' I am referring to the universal gathering of the followers of Jesus. Statements made with this broad stroke are ones that apply to all of us - protestant, catholic, evangelical, conservative and progressive alike.
While you may only read one or two of the posts this week, please know that this is a collective set. Don't think that my Pollyanna-ish view of ministry in today's post is what you will see as you read on Wednesday or Friday. Because the truth is, people are involved in the Church. And with people comes brokenness. And with brokenness comes opportunities for growth (that's my super positive spin on painfully hard, gut wrenching seasons of hell).
As you read yesterday, I fell hard for Church life at a young age. I liked the ritual and the classes and people and the cool robes. I thought the mystery of the texture of the communion wafers was fascinating. I thought that sneaking in to climb in the rafters of the sanctuary (mom... we didn't get hurt or break anything...that we know of) was so cool. The majority of my childhood memories involve some aspect of churchy-ness. And I loved every minute of it.
My first taste of grown up church life came when I was the youth representative to the Church Council. In my mind, this meant I was official. AND I got to go to meetings. I thought I had arrived. The way I saw it, if these grown-ups could see how great I was, I would be in charge in no time! I found my place at church. I didn't fit into the model of normal teenage life. I really wasn't interested in being rebellious. I didn't skip school or drink or smoke. I loved Church because I didn't like high school and if I did the right things and studied the right books and listened to the right music I was 'popular' at Church.
This was formational territory I my understanding of what contributed to a life of following Jesus. In my moralistic mind, you were either a good or a bad Christian. I didn't want anything to do with the bad, so I latched on to checking ALL the good boxes. I must stop for just a moment and express a word of apology to anyone who knew me in those days. I feel certain, no matter your reason to encounter me, that you were judged on my Jesus-loving scale. Life was so very black and white to me. For the thoughts and words and scowls that knowingly and unknowingly came from my judgey-jugerson self, I am so, so very sorry. Here's the good news, keep reading in the days to come because I learned the hard way how much I was a broken, flawed, desperate child of God.
Despite this limited thinking, came a very real and genuine desire to honor God. As I prepared to go off to Baylor, I had done all that I could think of to serve my local church. I was a youth group leader. I was a youth choir member. I served the larger United Methodist Church on committees and boards. I spoke on Youth Sunday. I even served on the retreat team at my high school, thinking that maybe my wisdom for God would rub off on some of the wild girls. Did I mention that I was judgmental?
One of the last trips before I left for college was a large youth gathering on the University of Arkansas campus. We heard speakers and worshiped and learned. As camp was coming to a close, in true youth camp fashion, they had the service. This is the end of week service where they invite you to dedicate your life to God in a new way. I was a veteran, and I knew what to expect. As I sat through the muffled hormonal sobs of intense adolescent feelings, I watched and genuinely prayed for many that were open to seeking God for the first time. I assumed that they would be ushered to the waiting adults and the rest of us would be left to close the final night with a dance, we were Methodists, mind you.
But then the speaker offered another invitation. I don't really remember exactly what the words were, but the message was something to the effect of, 'if you can't get away from this tugging that God has a big plan for you to serve the Church with all that you are, come on up here.'
I had no intention to move from my seat that night. And before I could realize what was happening, I was on that auditorium stage with other teenagers and they were praying over our lives and ministries and callings. I had no idea what that meant. Many days, I still don't understand it, but I can tell you that my life was never the same. I knew from that moment forward that whatever road I traveled, I was supposed to do it in a way that God was the center of my journey. And then I picked up 5 weeks later and went to college. And, well, college taught me a few new lessons.
Monday, March 27, 2017
Sunday, March 26, 2017
Part 1: Why Sunday Still Matters
I grew up in a family that was always at church on Sunday mornings. I cannot remember one Sunday that we were not sick or out of town that we were not at church. It is what we did. To this day, my heart gets excited to see the many faces of my childhood that taught my Sunday School classes, lead my youth group, directed choirs and organized Vacation Bible Schools. I love that I have treasured childhood memories, but I love it even more that I have relationships with those same friends as adults. We don't go to the same churches, we don't even live in the same towns, but I feel a connection to their lives that is unique.
It didn't happen out of obligation. Sure there were days when as a 15 year-old I did not enjoy waking up on a Sunday, but I loved it when I got there. It didn't happen because we walked in at 10:59am and were out the door at 12:05pm. For my family, church was not a weekly one-hour event, but a way of life. My parents were active in their own gifted ways. My dad led singing for the kids and taught Sunday School. My mom had so many roles in children's ministry that I dare not count them. When we aged into the youth program, it was my parents that organized retreats and went to camp and planned lock-ins. There was even that time that dad serenaded the charter bus with his version of Poison's "Unskinny Bop." Thanks, Frank.
Church life was not just about committee meetings or responsibilities or attendance. Church was family. They were the ones we spent Christmas Eve with (and still do). They were the ones that celebrated our birthdays with us. Those same precious friends drove to East Texas to celebrate my Granny's life. They were our traveling partners on many family vacations. They were at our weddings and graduation parties. They were our people.
In the modern context of church life, this seems to be abnormal. Sure, most churches would say they are about community and connection, but raising kids in 2017 means weekend sporting events and travel meets and all-weekend school activities. Even if you are not booked from 9-noon on Sunday, the pace you keep the other 168 hours of the week does not set you up for prioritizing the Sunday morning experience. Just keeping it super real, you have to work to go to church in our post-modern world.
Is it worth it? I would argue that it is the very best use of my parenting energy. Not because of a flashy and cool youth program. Not because my kids are entertained or love the preaching. It is vital because we live in a world where connection is scarce and being known and treasured is a lost commodity.
If you don't like your team, you can join another one. If you don't like your job, quit and get a new one. If you think your school is too big, choose one with individualized instruction. If you don't like your teacher, just change classes. Our kids are growing up in a world where your individual needs are paramount, and the Church today pays the price.
Maybe I'm being a little hard-nosed on this one, but I think it's good for my kids to expect that on Sunday and Wednesday nights and on serving days, they are going to be present with their family at church. We don't hold the line as tightly as I recall in my childhood, as we do miss for special events (including sports). But we also choose not to do things on Sunday morning so that we instead spend that time together. It is a very fine line between helping my girls value community and not creating resentment that they are missing out on their events, I get that. But I also think that we don't have to be everything to everyone on everyday. Saying 'no' to what I want in favor of the good of a community is a skill we all need to work on.
I still love my faith community. The church that I am a part of today is very different from the church of my childhood. We don't have hymnals. We don't wear dresses. We have a band. I must tell you, if we were to sleep in on a Sunday or skip out on a small group or summer camp, my daughters would be throwing a big fat fit! They would miss seeing their mentors. They would be so sad to miss their week helping in the pre-school class. If they missed a Wednesday night dinner and study time, I would be the one in big trouble. They love their community. They love that they are known and loved and missed when they are gone. They love their 4 year-old friends and their 64 year-old friends. They love when a new baby comes to church for the first time and when someone chooses to be baptized.
And even though the name and location and feel are different from my traditional church of 1984, the foundations are the same. We love Jesus. We share life together. We feast at the Table. We value each other. We show up in the good and the hard.
It is my greatest prayer that when my girls look back on the church of their childhood that they will know that they were deeply loved and that the world needs them to continue to be bearers of hope and grace and community. Sure, we can do that in ways other than gathering together on Sunday mornings, but in my darkest hours of life, the place I knew to run was to Jesus and his people. I'm so thankful for the ones that were there for me in my childhood and the ones that are still there for me every Sunday morning.
It didn't happen out of obligation. Sure there were days when as a 15 year-old I did not enjoy waking up on a Sunday, but I loved it when I got there. It didn't happen because we walked in at 10:59am and were out the door at 12:05pm. For my family, church was not a weekly one-hour event, but a way of life. My parents were active in their own gifted ways. My dad led singing for the kids and taught Sunday School. My mom had so many roles in children's ministry that I dare not count them. When we aged into the youth program, it was my parents that organized retreats and went to camp and planned lock-ins. There was even that time that dad serenaded the charter bus with his version of Poison's "Unskinny Bop." Thanks, Frank.
Church life was not just about committee meetings or responsibilities or attendance. Church was family. They were the ones we spent Christmas Eve with (and still do). They were the ones that celebrated our birthdays with us. Those same precious friends drove to East Texas to celebrate my Granny's life. They were our traveling partners on many family vacations. They were at our weddings and graduation parties. They were our people.
In the modern context of church life, this seems to be abnormal. Sure, most churches would say they are about community and connection, but raising kids in 2017 means weekend sporting events and travel meets and all-weekend school activities. Even if you are not booked from 9-noon on Sunday, the pace you keep the other 168 hours of the week does not set you up for prioritizing the Sunday morning experience. Just keeping it super real, you have to work to go to church in our post-modern world.
Is it worth it? I would argue that it is the very best use of my parenting energy. Not because of a flashy and cool youth program. Not because my kids are entertained or love the preaching. It is vital because we live in a world where connection is scarce and being known and treasured is a lost commodity.
If you don't like your team, you can join another one. If you don't like your job, quit and get a new one. If you think your school is too big, choose one with individualized instruction. If you don't like your teacher, just change classes. Our kids are growing up in a world where your individual needs are paramount, and the Church today pays the price.
Maybe I'm being a little hard-nosed on this one, but I think it's good for my kids to expect that on Sunday and Wednesday nights and on serving days, they are going to be present with their family at church. We don't hold the line as tightly as I recall in my childhood, as we do miss for special events (including sports). But we also choose not to do things on Sunday morning so that we instead spend that time together. It is a very fine line between helping my girls value community and not creating resentment that they are missing out on their events, I get that. But I also think that we don't have to be everything to everyone on everyday. Saying 'no' to what I want in favor of the good of a community is a skill we all need to work on.
I still love my faith community. The church that I am a part of today is very different from the church of my childhood. We don't have hymnals. We don't wear dresses. We have a band. I must tell you, if we were to sleep in on a Sunday or skip out on a small group or summer camp, my daughters would be throwing a big fat fit! They would miss seeing their mentors. They would be so sad to miss their week helping in the pre-school class. If they missed a Wednesday night dinner and study time, I would be the one in big trouble. They love their community. They love that they are known and loved and missed when they are gone. They love their 4 year-old friends and their 64 year-old friends. They love when a new baby comes to church for the first time and when someone chooses to be baptized.
And even though the name and location and feel are different from my traditional church of 1984, the foundations are the same. We love Jesus. We share life together. We feast at the Table. We value each other. We show up in the good and the hard.
It is my greatest prayer that when my girls look back on the church of their childhood that they will know that they were deeply loved and that the world needs them to continue to be bearers of hope and grace and community. Sure, we can do that in ways other than gathering together on Sunday mornings, but in my darkest hours of life, the place I knew to run was to Jesus and his people. I'm so thankful for the ones that were there for me in my childhood and the ones that are still there for me every Sunday morning.
Saturday, March 25, 2017
Taylor Swift, Blink-182 and Pink!
Our oldest decided that she wanted to play the guitar when she was in the 3rd grade. This sent me on a search for a teacher. Up until this point in my life, my only journey into instrumental excellence came from a painful two and a half year attempt at piano lessons. My piano debacle ended in a full blown pre-teen fit in the teacher's yard where by I loudly proclaimed to my mother, "I know dad wants someone to play for him in his old age, but I can't do this anymore!" Seriously, I have no idea where my girls get their drama...
I have always loved music. I tried choir in middle school. I auditioned for the ensemble group in high school. Fortunately for the ears of all involved, I was not selected. I made a run at the church bell choir, but I really did not play music, I played color coded circles. On a good day, I did it correctly.
I should have known that AJ would be more passionate about musical mastery from the beginning. We bought her a small electric guitar and she learned some songs. This was in the height of Taylor Swift's rise to fame, so the story of a blond haired teenage songbird had my dreamer hooked. Each week I would sit at her lessons and stare at the beautiful guitars. I had no idea how to play or tune them, or even read the music. I was watching my kiddo pick up on these skills, but they were foreign to me.
After a year of looking and dreaming, I mentioned to her teacher that I would give anything to have the coordination to play drums. I mean, really? Who does not want to be cool enough to play drums? Say what you want about the lead vocalist, but when I see a concert, I am mesmerized by what is going on in that cage. My coordination gifting, however, did not set me up for Travis Barker like success. I knew I would look like a cross between an arthritic giraffe and Animal from the muppets. I am not cool enough to be a drummer.
But he would not let the idea of me trying something new die. Each week, he harassed me about trying guitar. I knew the technique involved in being a good guitarist was challenging at least, so I sheepishly began peeking past the shiny black acoustics to the bass section. I had no idea what it took to play bass, but damn they looked cool. So one night, I went on Amazon (stop wincing, musician friends) and bought a bright pink beginner bass with a checkerboard strap.
A few weeks later, I took my first lesson. That was more than 5 years ago. Every Thursday, I take my 30 minute lesson. The best part of my teacher is that he has never forced me to learn theory or guilted me about practice. Instead, he lets me bring in everything from Pink! to David Crowder and we figure it out together. Over the past 5 years, he has learned a lot about being a momager of two girls and pastoring a church. I have learned what it looks like when you give your life to a passion and don't let education or a paycheck determine your success. I like to think it is a mutually beneficial lesson.
I will never be a great bass player. I had taken lessons for two years when I was guilted into playing in front of another human. Since then, I have joined the band at ECL. Let me be very clear, I am far from self sufficient. Most Sundays that I play require remedial help from both my teacher and our worship pastor. They both graciously encourage me. My family has the pleasure of listening to me practice in the living room. I secretly enjoy practicing on Saturdays when they are all in the room because without fail, they sing the songs. Even though they act like it drives them crazy, they love the preview of the next day's set list.
We mistakenly think that in adulthood we master things, not begin them. At 36, I needed to learn a new skill. At 41, I still need to be a student. I need to have times that I am relying on someone else to teach me something new. We all need to regularly place ourselves in the humbling position of student. When we think that we have figured something out, we become complacent. When we take a beginner's class or start a new job or walk into a gym for the first time, we are intentionally saying that we are ready to learn. This is a powerful statement.
If I ever grow up, I still want to be a learner. I want to travel to new places. I want to read new philosophies. I want to sit at the feet of people that have already learned and be their student. I never want to reach the place where I think I know all that I need to know. That is lame. And, it is also the time that arrogance and insensitivity and ignorance and hate begin to weave into your consciousness. When we become stagnant, we invite into our hearts and souls the space to assume that we have life figured out. I don't know about you, but I have much to learn.
So, book an art class. Sign up for a retreat. Seek out a spiritual mentor. Join an exercise group. Take a swim lesson or get your scuba certification. Learn to sail. Take an e-course. Join a book study. Find a way to place yourself in a position of learning. Not only will you be blessed by the education, but you will cultivate gratitude for all those around you who are struggling to master a new computer skill or Algebra or faith or sobriety or the bass.
I have always loved music. I tried choir in middle school. I auditioned for the ensemble group in high school. Fortunately for the ears of all involved, I was not selected. I made a run at the church bell choir, but I really did not play music, I played color coded circles. On a good day, I did it correctly.
I should have known that AJ would be more passionate about musical mastery from the beginning. We bought her a small electric guitar and she learned some songs. This was in the height of Taylor Swift's rise to fame, so the story of a blond haired teenage songbird had my dreamer hooked. Each week I would sit at her lessons and stare at the beautiful guitars. I had no idea how to play or tune them, or even read the music. I was watching my kiddo pick up on these skills, but they were foreign to me.
After a year of looking and dreaming, I mentioned to her teacher that I would give anything to have the coordination to play drums. I mean, really? Who does not want to be cool enough to play drums? Say what you want about the lead vocalist, but when I see a concert, I am mesmerized by what is going on in that cage. My coordination gifting, however, did not set me up for Travis Barker like success. I knew I would look like a cross between an arthritic giraffe and Animal from the muppets. I am not cool enough to be a drummer.
But he would not let the idea of me trying something new die. Each week, he harassed me about trying guitar. I knew the technique involved in being a good guitarist was challenging at least, so I sheepishly began peeking past the shiny black acoustics to the bass section. I had no idea what it took to play bass, but damn they looked cool. So one night, I went on Amazon (stop wincing, musician friends) and bought a bright pink beginner bass with a checkerboard strap.
A few weeks later, I took my first lesson. That was more than 5 years ago. Every Thursday, I take my 30 minute lesson. The best part of my teacher is that he has never forced me to learn theory or guilted me about practice. Instead, he lets me bring in everything from Pink! to David Crowder and we figure it out together. Over the past 5 years, he has learned a lot about being a momager of two girls and pastoring a church. I have learned what it looks like when you give your life to a passion and don't let education or a paycheck determine your success. I like to think it is a mutually beneficial lesson.
I will never be a great bass player. I had taken lessons for two years when I was guilted into playing in front of another human. Since then, I have joined the band at ECL. Let me be very clear, I am far from self sufficient. Most Sundays that I play require remedial help from both my teacher and our worship pastor. They both graciously encourage me. My family has the pleasure of listening to me practice in the living room. I secretly enjoy practicing on Saturdays when they are all in the room because without fail, they sing the songs. Even though they act like it drives them crazy, they love the preview of the next day's set list.
We mistakenly think that in adulthood we master things, not begin them. At 36, I needed to learn a new skill. At 41, I still need to be a student. I need to have times that I am relying on someone else to teach me something new. We all need to regularly place ourselves in the humbling position of student. When we think that we have figured something out, we become complacent. When we take a beginner's class or start a new job or walk into a gym for the first time, we are intentionally saying that we are ready to learn. This is a powerful statement.
If I ever grow up, I still want to be a learner. I want to travel to new places. I want to read new philosophies. I want to sit at the feet of people that have already learned and be their student. I never want to reach the place where I think I know all that I need to know. That is lame. And, it is also the time that arrogance and insensitivity and ignorance and hate begin to weave into your consciousness. When we become stagnant, we invite into our hearts and souls the space to assume that we have life figured out. I don't know about you, but I have much to learn.
So, book an art class. Sign up for a retreat. Seek out a spiritual mentor. Join an exercise group. Take a swim lesson or get your scuba certification. Learn to sail. Take an e-course. Join a book study. Find a way to place yourself in a position of learning. Not only will you be blessed by the education, but you will cultivate gratitude for all those around you who are struggling to master a new computer skill or Algebra or faith or sobriety or the bass.
Friday, March 24, 2017
Why I Won't Run Away
When we moved into our house more than 17 years ago, I thought we would live here for 5-10 years. Did I mention that I have never played the future guessing game well? Not only did we stay, but we have put down roots in this community. There have been seasons that we felt that perhaps a move was on the horizon, but up to this point we have been planted in the same place.
This has provided many challenges and blessings. I have traveled a bit of a winding road since 1999. The temptation to change locations to avoid the pain of growing still (to me, this is also known as growing up), has been great. When I am uncomfortable, I want to change positions. When I feel uneasy, I like to leave the situation. And when I have wanted to reinvent myself, the temptation to leave my known has been pressing.
But there are days like today that I am so glad that I have remained. We did not know a soul in this town when we moved here. We were 23 and 24 years old and we had no idea what the next season of life would be like. Upon moving in, we found our place at a local church. I was on staff as the student pastor and we were immediately surrounded by teenagers and their families. I loved every minute of that season.
This house has hosted sleepovers, hide and go seek marathons, volleyball in the field, Bible studies and movie nights. It has been toilet papered too many times to count. It has been host to retreats and game nights and all of this happened before 2006. In the 6 years of full time ministry, we had countless teenagers in our home. They were our kids before we had kids. We genuinely walked with and cared for and loved them.
We now have a youth group of our own in this house. We still host lock-ins and mission trips, but now we are the dorky parents rather than the cool young adults. We still rent vans and take kids to camp, but now we have the grey hair to prove that we are old enough to be covered by church insurance.
Staying in the same house with the same phone number has provided me with surprise Sunday afternoon knocks, from now grown ups, that just want to see if we are still here. It has blessed me with deep adult friendships. It has given my kids a wealth of adults that love them. It reminds me daily that if I can stay still and grow up, my relationships will deepen with time and hardships and celebrations and life experiences.
Today we had lunch with one of these teenagers. As we talked, I was reminded that we are now the age of the parents that I met when I first came to League City. Our kids are the ages of the teenagers and they are now the ones with houses and young kids and careers. My kids now babysit for their kids. I get to call them for help with all things grown-up. What a great ride!
Just 17 years ago, these kids were the reason that I dressed in obnoxious costumes, stayed up all night and lost sleep about their worries and futures. Today, they are my neighbors, colleagues, advisors, cheerleaders and family. It seems like a lifetime ago, and it was. So much has changed and yet in that change so many wonderful journeys have remained connected because I did not run for the hills when I was uncomfortable in my own skin.
And the best gift of all? Because I didn't run, they know where to run when their faith and life and marriages and kids and struggles are hard. Sure, we share the good, but I have sat in some of life's hardest struggles with them because ministry doesn't end when you age out of the youth program. Relationships are the heart of ministry, and they extend all the way to hospital room and the wedding reception and the rooms of recovery. They bring you face to face in the grocery store and the therapist office. Relationships like these share coffee on a sunny afternoon and tears at a graveside. I thank God everyday that student ministry was only the introduction.
This has provided many challenges and blessings. I have traveled a bit of a winding road since 1999. The temptation to change locations to avoid the pain of growing still (to me, this is also known as growing up), has been great. When I am uncomfortable, I want to change positions. When I feel uneasy, I like to leave the situation. And when I have wanted to reinvent myself, the temptation to leave my known has been pressing.
But there are days like today that I am so glad that I have remained. We did not know a soul in this town when we moved here. We were 23 and 24 years old and we had no idea what the next season of life would be like. Upon moving in, we found our place at a local church. I was on staff as the student pastor and we were immediately surrounded by teenagers and their families. I loved every minute of that season.
This house has hosted sleepovers, hide and go seek marathons, volleyball in the field, Bible studies and movie nights. It has been toilet papered too many times to count. It has been host to retreats and game nights and all of this happened before 2006. In the 6 years of full time ministry, we had countless teenagers in our home. They were our kids before we had kids. We genuinely walked with and cared for and loved them.
We now have a youth group of our own in this house. We still host lock-ins and mission trips, but now we are the dorky parents rather than the cool young adults. We still rent vans and take kids to camp, but now we have the grey hair to prove that we are old enough to be covered by church insurance.
Staying in the same house with the same phone number has provided me with surprise Sunday afternoon knocks, from now grown ups, that just want to see if we are still here. It has blessed me with deep adult friendships. It has given my kids a wealth of adults that love them. It reminds me daily that if I can stay still and grow up, my relationships will deepen with time and hardships and celebrations and life experiences.
Today we had lunch with one of these teenagers. As we talked, I was reminded that we are now the age of the parents that I met when I first came to League City. Our kids are the ages of the teenagers and they are now the ones with houses and young kids and careers. My kids now babysit for their kids. I get to call them for help with all things grown-up. What a great ride!
Just 17 years ago, these kids were the reason that I dressed in obnoxious costumes, stayed up all night and lost sleep about their worries and futures. Today, they are my neighbors, colleagues, advisors, cheerleaders and family. It seems like a lifetime ago, and it was. So much has changed and yet in that change so many wonderful journeys have remained connected because I did not run for the hills when I was uncomfortable in my own skin.
And the best gift of all? Because I didn't run, they know where to run when their faith and life and marriages and kids and struggles are hard. Sure, we share the good, but I have sat in some of life's hardest struggles with them because ministry doesn't end when you age out of the youth program. Relationships are the heart of ministry, and they extend all the way to hospital room and the wedding reception and the rooms of recovery. They bring you face to face in the grocery store and the therapist office. Relationships like these share coffee on a sunny afternoon and tears at a graveside. I thank God everyday that student ministry was only the introduction.
Thursday, March 23, 2017
It's a GIRL!
We did not find out the gender of our children during pregnancy. We decided that there were very few surprises in life, so we went the old fashion route of delivery room discovery. Both times. This drove some people in our lives crazy. It significantly simplified baby prep because there was a singular focus - a baby. No color choices. No nursery decisions. No outfit coordination.
I can still remember the moment that they said, "It's a girl!" There is a video of my reaction and it is so clear that while I played a good game of 'what ever is perfect', I was mighty darn excited to have a daughter. Skip ahead 3.5 years and repeat the process. Same pre-event poker face, but upon announcement, I was beyond thrilled because that meant SISTERS!
In the 11 years since then, I have learned that sisters fight. Sisters are not always best friends. Sisters can be very different. Upon refection, I wanted my oldest to have a relationship like I had with my sister. Instead, she received an entirely different gift who will inevitably teach her equally important lessons. However, 15 months apart and 3.5 years apart make for some challenging differences. They struggle to find common ground at this age and somedays (lets just be honest...most days) it is more like a scene out of a Wrestle Mania cage match than a precious Little House on the Prairie moment.
My desire to have daughters, and for my girls to have a sister, was the obvious dream of duplicating my childhood. What I did not expect or even know how to appreciate, was just how perfect of a girl dad Lucas was going to be. He was made for this gig. Now granted, he is just a super fun dad, so a son would have loved him, but he is seriously the man when it comes to these girls.
If you follow him on social media, you know that his two primary posts include concerts and sports. He loves these activities because his girls love them. Our oldest loves live music. In the last year, the two of them have seen 30+ bands together. Sometimes they take a friend (for instance tonight they are seeing Blink 182 with AJ's best friend and her dad - how cool is this?!?!?), but many nights it is just the two of them. They go to small venues and big arenas. He stalks ticket outlets. They catch drumsticks and guitar picks. They stand in line for pictures and they get cool t-shirts - that they always buy in a large so they can share it. THE MAN.
While sports come a little more natural to his love language, he gets the younger daughter's passion for physical activity. They ride bikes together. They play in the pool together. They go play putt-putt or bowl on dates. They smack talk their basketball brackets. And even though she is currently beating him, the competitive banter will continue until next Monday night. She may get her spunk and fierceness from momma, but dad loves and encourages that athletic fire. They get each other.
Every night, he walks down the hall and does his bedtime rituals with them. This is one of my favorite things because he loves them each in their own way. I'll spare you all of the squishy cuteness, but there is one part that gets me every night. There is a metal giraffe named Gertrude that lives in the corner of AJ's room. After the kisses are given to the humans, he walks over and taps Gertrude's neck (which is on a spring) and says goodnight to Gertrude, too. He loves all the many ways that our girls are unique, even the metal spirit animals.
When we were standing in the delivery room more than 15 years ago, I wanted a girl so that I could have a daughter. Today, I am so thankful that I have daughters because I fall in love with their daddy each time I see him express love to them. I know that being a dad to a teenage girl can prove exhausting, but to all the dads out there that are in the trenches, you got this! I can tell you from personal experience, the love that this daddy's girl was given in those years helped shape the woman I am today. Let them sit in your lap, be engaged in their life, know their passions and their spirit animals. They will never forget it.
Wednesday, March 22, 2017
Where Will You be in 2027?
"Where do you think we will be in 10 years?" At our house, this question is a favorite conversation starter on date nights. We regularly laugh at the notion that we can predict the future. 10 years ago, I would have NEVER guessed that my life would look anything like it does today.
At the time, our oldest was in Pre-K and the youngest was 20 months old. Our youngest had developmental delays and she was not speaking. She was going to physical, occupational and speech therapy and was wearing leg braces. Our oldest was terrified of most things, including the thought of going to school. My slow starting youngest is now one of the most active (and loquacious) pre-teens I know. My brave oldest faces down challenges and is thriving in all things education. But on March 22, 2007, I could not have predicted this path.
Tonight I was teaching our Lenten study at church. We are calling it "Cries of Redemption." The topic we discussed tonight was relationships. As we talked about the changing roles that people play in our lives, I was struck by the ever morphing rhythm that brings people into and out of our lives. Sometimes it is a geographical move or a birth or death. Sometimes it is an interest or activity that links you for a time. And sometimes, there are relationships that were once vital and closely held that are now fractured and separated.
As I stared at the drawing we did tonight, I realized that there is pain with any relationship loss, but in each change came a new level of wisdom and listening and vulnerability. When we experience the loss of those we love, we are invited to examine the how's and the why's. We are given the opportunity to clean our own side of the street in understanding the brokenness or grief. We are granted access to liberation from wounds of yesterday and we are given the freedom of what's next.
I will never be able to predict the future. The more that I ask the 10 year question, the more I enjoy that the unknown is just that - even when it comes to the humans that mean so very much to my journey today. Because the truth is, that is all we have. We have this time and this space and these people for today. May we soak up all that we need from all that we love.
As I stared at the drawing we did tonight, I realized that there is pain with any relationship loss, but in each change came a new level of wisdom and listening and vulnerability. When we experience the loss of those we love, we are invited to examine the how's and the why's. We are given the opportunity to clean our own side of the street in understanding the brokenness or grief. We are granted access to liberation from wounds of yesterday and we are given the freedom of what's next.
I will never be able to predict the future. The more that I ask the 10 year question, the more I enjoy that the unknown is just that - even when it comes to the humans that mean so very much to my journey today. Because the truth is, that is all we have. We have this time and this space and these people for today. May we soak up all that we need from all that we love.
Tuesday, March 21, 2017
Available?
I was in yoga class today (let's all just pause and let the fact that I have been participating in a form of physical activity for 2.5 months sit for a second...thank you) and there was a situation. A person in my physical condition fears these words from an instructor, "We are going to have an active flow today." This is code for you non-flexible and out of shape yahoos are in trouble.
I have come to embrace that I have to modify almost every class. That is a given. But this thing they (notice I did not even attempt to do this thing) did today was cray. We were all sitting on our blocks. I did that part. And we were stretching our hips. Check. Then there was some binding...and then standing...and some balancing...
I know I was staring at the instructor with my mouth hanging open in horror. How can these people do such things? My teacher so graciously said, "Do this if it is available to you."
Well, it was not. There was nothing about this pose that was "available" to me. And it sent me on a journey with this word available all day.
Available:
adjective
1. suitable or ready for use; of use or service; at hand:
2. readily obtainable; accessible: available resources.
3. having sufficient power or efficacy; valid
I wonder what seems unavailable to you today? Is it hope? Or love? Or grace? Are you struggling to see how peace is ever going to be obtainable? Does it appear that all that you are grasping for is not accessible?
All of these things and so much more have seemed out of my reach at one point or another. There are many days when I still feel like the list of the available resources is much shorter than the one that announces the many things that are unavailable.
Perhaps it is my natural negative bent, but more times than not, I am focused on the things that are unavailable rather than the things that are already firmly grounded in my life. Just like in yoga today. The class was an hour. Sure, there were some things that were hard. There were things that I modified, but there was only ONE pose that was completely unavailable to me. The other 58 minutes, I was totally availing myself of good, whole, healing stretches that just 3 months ago, I could not do! I had a moment today that I had to stop and look at my feet in my downward dog. My heels were less than 1' from my mat. THIS IS HUGE!
Just weeks ago, I did not have the strength to hold that pose very long and now I am comfortable. I have made new friends, and learned to breathe in new ways and forged a new path for prayer that makes my heart very available to seek God. In all of that goodness, I spend countless amounts of energy on the 2 minutes that I can't do rather than the 58 that I can. Am I alone in this struggle? Nope.
So for today, may we focus on the many things that are available right before our eyes and hearts and minds and bodies. And for the areas that feel unavailable right now, may we continue to do the hard work of preparing the way for the day when we to can stretch in new and crazy ways.
I have come to embrace that I have to modify almost every class. That is a given. But this thing they (notice I did not even attempt to do this thing) did today was cray. We were all sitting on our blocks. I did that part. And we were stretching our hips. Check. Then there was some binding...and then standing...and some balancing...
I know I was staring at the instructor with my mouth hanging open in horror. How can these people do such things? My teacher so graciously said, "Do this if it is available to you."
Well, it was not. There was nothing about this pose that was "available" to me. And it sent me on a journey with this word available all day.
Available:
adjective
1. suitable or ready for use; of use or service; at hand:
2. readily obtainable; accessible: available resources.
3. having sufficient power or efficacy; valid
I wonder what seems unavailable to you today? Is it hope? Or love? Or grace? Are you struggling to see how peace is ever going to be obtainable? Does it appear that all that you are grasping for is not accessible?
All of these things and so much more have seemed out of my reach at one point or another. There are many days when I still feel like the list of the available resources is much shorter than the one that announces the many things that are unavailable.
Perhaps it is my natural negative bent, but more times than not, I am focused on the things that are unavailable rather than the things that are already firmly grounded in my life. Just like in yoga today. The class was an hour. Sure, there were some things that were hard. There were things that I modified, but there was only ONE pose that was completely unavailable to me. The other 58 minutes, I was totally availing myself of good, whole, healing stretches that just 3 months ago, I could not do! I had a moment today that I had to stop and look at my feet in my downward dog. My heels were less than 1' from my mat. THIS IS HUGE!
Just weeks ago, I did not have the strength to hold that pose very long and now I am comfortable. I have made new friends, and learned to breathe in new ways and forged a new path for prayer that makes my heart very available to seek God. In all of that goodness, I spend countless amounts of energy on the 2 minutes that I can't do rather than the 58 that I can. Am I alone in this struggle? Nope.
So for today, may we focus on the many things that are available right before our eyes and hearts and minds and bodies. And for the areas that feel unavailable right now, may we continue to do the hard work of preparing the way for the day when we to can stretch in new and crazy ways.
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