New Songs and Slimy Pits

It's been slimy here the past several weeks.  The pit, I mean.  So slimy that I can't get my footing to lift myself out.  Like the spin cycle on Wipeout. 

I fell in.

But I found the way out.  God's strong hands.  He grabbed me by the armpits and pulled me out with His superGod arms.  He did it a few days ago as I mourned the end of summer break and the start of a new season of my life.  The one where both of my children go to school all day and I learn how to be a different kind of mom.  He showed me that my youngest starting kindergarten is really not about me.  He reminded me that it's been His plan all along.  This growing up thing. 

And He started teaching me a new song. 

I like new songs.

"I waited patiently for the LORD;

he turned to me and heard my cry.

He lifted me out of the slimy pit,

out of the mud and mire;

he set my feet on a rock

and gave me a firm place to stand.

He put a new song in my mouth,

a hymn of praise to our God.

Many will see and fear

and put their trust in the LORD."

Psalm 40:1-3

That's why I'm linking up today with Emily for Tuesdays Unwrapped.  Because they're singing all kinds of beautiful songs over there.

No Place Like Home

After about five hours in the car yesterday and ten hours of (really amazing!) sleep in my own bed with my own pillow, I am home.  So why do I feel so . . . blah?  That I-don't-know-what-to-do-today-so-I'll-just-do-nothing-and-hope-my-kids-don't-notice kind of blah.

I mean, I was refreshed.  Replenished from five days spent with the friends who became family during those nine years we lived away from blood relatives.  And yesterday when my kids and I loaded up the car through the tearful goodbyes, I somehow felt ready to return to my own home of three years.  Freshly.  With rested mind-eyes and renewed intention.

Because time spent with a good friend doesn't just make you feel better, it makes you better.   Not just in conversation.  But in the way she serves her kids and loves your own.  She makes you a better mom.  A more intense lover of Jesus the King.  A more wholehearted wife.  A better friend.

It's why we cried yesterday as we drove away.  Because those water droplets that fall from heartstrung eyes know the truth of a good friend.  And they don't want to exchange the moment for the memory. 

But we must.

Because, in spite of it all, there is no place like home.

And now, after three years living here, four and a half hours from there, this is home.  Not just where we abide.  It's where we live.  And so, I begin to pray that my heart can catch up with the here and now.  That my children's hearts can do the same.

So today, we will transition.  Letting our hearts figure out the moment to memory exchange.

And then we'll probably call our friends and let them know we made it...

home.

Now What?

My daughter graduated from preschool today.  Well, the equivalent of preschool graduation, anyway.  Her last day of school is actually Friday, but today was the celebration part of the end of school.  I imagine that last day will be the reality part.

She and I were both quiet on the drive home.  Odd for her, since lately her favorite phrase is, "So what should we talk about?"  I think we were both a little contemplative.

It's strange how change does that to a person.  Or the anticipation of change, anyway.  I mean, in three very short months, both of our lives are going to change drastically.  She will join her older sister at school all day while I stay home and figure out how to do life as a stay home mom who no longer has any children to stay home with.  And, although neither one of us knows exactly what that will look like, we each look forward to it in our own unique way.  Trepidation and excitement all mixed up together into a great big ball of mixed emotion.

You know that part at the very end of Finding Nemo where all the fish have escaped the dentist's office in plastic sandwich bags, having crossed the busy road, and end up in the ocean and Bloat says, "Now what?"  Yeah, that's kind of how I feel.

I wonder if Moses felt like this at all after the Israelites finally escaped Pharaoh's clutches and crossed the Red Sea.  "Now what?"  Because everything he'd done up until that point was for the freedom of his people.  He did as God said because he was God's chosen man for the job.  "Now what?"  Because the other side of that Red Sea represented an entirely new season of life.  For him.  For his family.  For the entire nation of Israel.  And, after they sang songs of praise to the Lord, they traveled in the desert for three days before they even found water (Exodus 15:22).  I wonder if during those three days, Moses' heart rang out the question, "Now what?"  Surely it did to some extent.  Because all he knew to do was to take the next step.  The one that God told him to take.

And that's all I know to do.  Take this step.  It's how marathons get finished.  It's how life gets lived.  It's how God leads His people.  But my nature wants to know... "Now what?"

For now, though, I will take this step.  The step that eases my youngest into kindergarten and enjoys summer vacation with my kids.  And I will do it wholeheartedly.  With gusto.  Because I don't want to get to the other side of this road and realize that I've missed the scenery along the way.  The beautiful scenery of my girls growing up and being little girls.

Want to join me and a bunch of other women in a purpose-filled summer of making memories with our kids?  You should check out http://www.inspiredtoaction.com/.  It's full of really great inspiration and very, very practical advice on fulfilling our purpose as moms.

Aspirations of a Strawberry

She was only two-years-old.  But she's always been mature for her age.  The wisdom of a child is something I will forever admire.

So when she told her grandpa that she wanted to be a strawberry when she grows up, I was not surprised.  Rather, I was delighted. 

Because, the truth about growing up is that it has less to do with what we do than it does about who we are.

And now she eats strawberries instead of aspiring to be one of them.

Today, I'm linking up with tuesdays unwrapped as I thank God for what He teaches me through my children.

The Clash

I love variety.  Always, my mantra has been "variety is the spice of life."  Truly.  I mean I love to find new ways to get somewhere.  It gets boring driving the same way all the time.  I love discovering new ways to use things in my home (I love the word "repurposing").  And I love new things.  New scents of shower gel.  New hairstyles.  I love making new friends and finding new restaurants and places to hangout.  But, I especially love finding new ways to arrange a room.  I used to love re-arranging my bedroom when I was a kid.  Something my daughters have inherited.

So, today we re-arranged each of their bedrooms.  And as we did, I did not enjoy the process nearly as much as I normally do.  I struggled.  Because the eight-year-old, (i.e. the instigator of this morning's activity) has a very specific non sense of style.  And it does not match mine.  It doesn't agree with my hgtv taste and all of the things I've learned from that beloved channel.  She wants things her way.  No opinions please.  This is how I want my room to look.  Thank you very much.  My opinion on the new arrangement was politely dismissed.  She stayed her course.  And it bugged me to no end! 

As she described her vision of placing her day bed so it sticks out into the middle of the room instead of conforming to the nature for which it was created (i.e. being pushed up against a wall), my insides screamed "No!!!!"  That's why my husband so annoyingly wisely reminded me last night that I need to let her have her own space.  It's not my room.  It's hers.  Because he knew I would not catch her vision.  He knew we would not see things the same way.  He is such an amazing dad.  Therefore, against my every inclination to take her downstairs and brainwash train her with my Pottery Barn books and hours of hgtv, I calmly asked if I could offer my opinion.  She kindly agreed to listen.  And then decidedly denied the help.

You know what?  I already knew she wouldn't like it.  Because it wasn't her idea.  Sometimes, I feel like she doesn't like things just because it's my idea.  Like she was born to prove to me that she needs no training of any sort.  About anything.  Especially when it comes to something that is hers.  In this case, her bedroom.  Her space.

I hate that we have such different ways of seeing things.  We have always had this clash.  And, realizing that many moms and daughters have a certain mother/daughter clash thing, I am just not okay with it.  I don't want her to grow up to just accept that we will always clash because "that's just what moms and daughters do".  I want to have a healthy relationship with her.  With both of my daughters.  I want to work through it.  I don't want to struggle with my pride everytime we disagree on something.  Because I think that's what's at the bottom of it.  Pride.  Hers.  And mine.  She wants to prove she knows enough.  I want to prove I'm in control.  P.R.I.D.E.

That's why I began praying for a healthy relationship with her back when she was about two-years-old and the clash began to raise its ugly face.  Because I want to be the mom that Jesus made me to be.  The mom that He knew she needs.  The kind of mom that teaches her who Jesus is.  What His ways are.  Why they're the only way to really live.      

And sometimes, I feel like we're improving.  Like the ten minutes every night that she and I started spending together reading through a devotion book for girls her age.  And yesterday when we played Gamecube together while she was sick at home and her sister was at preschool.  But, we always seem to return to the clash.  I know we'll always have differences.  That's relationships.  I know we will never have the perfect one.  We are human.  But I also have to believe that it can be better.  Strong-willed child, strong-willed mama and all.  I only wish I knew how.

Any thoughts?  Anyone else been there?  I'd love some advice...

My Own Personal Gethsemane

"Every true disciple of Jesus Christ will know their own Gethsemane." --Beth Moore, in lesson nine of her study Jesus the One and Only.

After they shared the Passover Meal and sang a hymn, "Jesus went out as usual to the Mount of Olives, and his disciples followed him (Lk. 22:39)." They followed Him. On His trek through the Kidron Valley to the personal cross He endured that very night as He submitted Himself to the perfect will of His Father. They had been following Him for three years. Learned from Him. Sought His direction. Studied under Him. Rabbi in Word. In deed. Indeed. But the true following, I think, was just about to begin on that trek through the Kidron Valley and into the Garden. Where He would lay down His life and fight the battle of all battles before He faced the battle in physical form.

There is so much about this study that challenges me. But the part I can't get over, the one that keeps repeating in my head, is the idea that if I am a true disciple of Jesus Christ, a true follower of Who He Is, then I too will face my own personal Gethsemane. A place, as Beth Moore puts it, "where serious decisions are made that will affect the rest of my walk (with Him)." And it might happen more than once in my lifetime.

Funny thing is, I think I'm there. Today, as I listened to her talk on the video, I realized the Lord's clarification of some, as of late, very persistent and personal thoughts in my head. And in my heart. Thoughts like, (okay don't lol) "Bria, put down the computer and play with your kids." And, "Bria, don't start a game of Pathwords, you know you'll get sucked in for another at least 45 minutes!" And "Bria, turn off facebook and listen to Me. I've got something better." Or even, "Bria, don't you know that what I have to offer is so much stinkin' better than any of what you could possibly be doing?!?"

And so I have to choose. It's time for me to make one of those decisions "that will affect the rest of my walk." And, I know it sounds (or looks) trite, but it's a very real struggle right now for me. Not just the time on the computer, but my "me time" as a whole. As an at-home mom, I've always been able to justify stealing whatever moments by myself that I could get, knowing that every mom needs alone time or she's just not her best. As true as that is, for me, in all pure and utter honesty, I think I've gone to the opposite extreme. No, my children are not neglected. But I must say, confess rather, that I certainly have not appreciated my opportunities with them to the best of my ability. And I most definitely have not been willing to forfeit my "me time" in order to submit in the Gethsemane way to the will of the One Whom I claim to follow.

But, you know what? That's just like Jesus. Agonizing. Hmm, cool. I guess i'm on to something. And now, to just do it....

The Prog

So last night we took the girls to their first ever Cleveland Indians baseball game at Progressive Field. And what an appropriate name for the field it turned out to be.

This was my husband's and my first trip to Progressive Field. It used to be called "Jacob's Field" or, even better, "The Jake". We made many memories at the Jake (now called Progressive Field), so you can imagine our sense of dismay (ok not really DISMAY, but you know what I mean) when they changed the name. We spent many a date at The Jake before we were married. We got to see the American League Championship Series against the Seattle Mariners there in '95, in the frigid October air. We got to sit in a loge (spelling?) once with my sister-in-law and brother-in-law. We even got to see the home opener of 1996 at the Jake, when they received their World Series rings (even thought they didn't win, they got something for just being in it the year before). We went there on a whim on our 1st wedding anniversary as we were driving by after having a nice brunch aboard the Good Time Two. We were listening to Tom Hamilton on WTAM 1100 when someone hit a homerun, the crowd went wild, we heard it and decided we wanted to be there too. So we parked the car, found a scalper and the rest is history. :)

So when The Jake changed its name, we struggled a bit. What would we call it now "The Prog"? (That was actually my husband's idea.) But last night, it proved an appropriate name for this new stage of life we've recently hit. Namely, the stage where we can go to a large public gathering, such as a professional baseball game, with our children and actually find more enjoyment in the process than stress. (Notice I did not say it was entirely stress-free.)

So we are progressing. And we had so much fun (despite what I may look like in the above picture taken with the cell phone)!

And Cleveland even won!

GO TRIBE!

Blogger In Training

This morning I got to help the oldest write a story. I know I'm a little biased, but I'm telling you she's a really good author! :) So today, in honor of her hard work, I've chosen to publish her story, kindergarten spelling and all, on the bria blog ...

the big bug

Once upona time there was a bug named Lola. She was a very small butterfly. She sall (i.e. saw) a very big bug. When she sall the big bug she flyd (i.e. flied) away. When she was back home she wishd to be big too. When she went to sleep her wish came troo and she was Lola the big bug just like the big bug.

the end

Ah, if only it were trooly that simple. :) Good stuff, huh?