When you’ve lost your wings {a poem}


Severed by scissors,

angled and severe.

Holy hearts, diamonds, circles emerge

as corners are snipped,

possibilities removed.

Paper flutters to the floor;

wings litter the ground like waste.

We gingerly unfold,

creases and bumps smoothed,

loose edges freed.

A snowflake stretched wide. 

This is nursery artistry. 

Taped to the icy window pane;

winter light 

beams through empty spaces. 

***

Next Post: Book Discussion Questions for Just Mercy, by Bryan Stevenson


6 Things to Do When You Live on ‘White Island’

Your island is comfortable and for the most part it is safe. Let’s call it “White Island.”

Imagine you live on an island. Your island is small, but secure, and you have everything you need to survive. You have as much contact with the mainland as you want, but can switch off communication at will. You also have the freedom to leave the island to travel to the mainland if you wish. Your island is comfortable and for the most part it is safe.
Let’s call it “White Island.”
White Island is my home right now. My city is 93% white, the ten churches we have visited since moving here over a year ago have been 99% white and all of my neighbors are white. I am a stay-at-home mom of three children, four and under and never truly need to leave a five mile radius from my home unless I choose to. My portal to the outside world—the mainland–is a Smartphone with apps to read the news, listen to podcasts and stay in the social media stream. But that device also has an “off” button.
I can ignore the fact that there is a mainland if I choose to do so.
This is where many white people like me live. And when the news of the happenings “out there” on the mainland begin to disturb us, we simply shut down our portals for a little while so we can move on in peace with our quiet lives on White Island. We have the luxury of an “off” button.
But those who do not dwell on White Island do not have that privilege. They cannot tune out or turn off the news because they are living it.
I never realized I lived on White Island until a friend brought a black baby from the mainland to live on the island with us. It was only then that I realized her non-white son was treated differently than my white children. Soon, I began to stop tuning out and start tuning in to the pleas of those on the mainland. They had been calling out for a long time, but the stations I had frequented weren’t picking up their cries. It wasn’t until I began dialing in to different sources that didn’t originate with White Island that I began to hear a broader range of messages.
I cannot get off of this island right now. But that doesn’t mean I am powerless. And it doesn’t mean I must live in ignorance of the mainland. So what can those of us who feel stuck on White Island do?
1. Listen and learn.
Before we speak or act, those on the mainland have asked that we research the problem—with humility. Michelle Higgins said in a recent podcast that “Solidarity looks a lot like humility.” Our black sisters and brothers want us to get buried in their history, pain and struggle before we emerge. They will respect our silence at the beginning as we step down from our leading, teaching, and lecturing and take a seat in the row of desks for a while. So sit down, listen, take notes and do your homework.
2. Find friends who are different from you and visit the mainland.
We will live in greater solidarity with others as we notice that those who are different from us are also mothers, fathers, sisters, brothers, sons and daughters. Tears, rage and joy are part of humanity. We will see this as we enter life with someone who is different from us and perhaps begin to empathize. Do you attend a gym, take your kids to a park or work with someone different from you? Don’t be weird, but do be intentional about pursuing a friendship with someone who doesn’t live on your island.
3. Move off the island.
Most places in our country have the coloring skills of a five-year-old who is content to keep solid colors in the lines of the coloring book. It’s time to develop our skills as an artist and dabble in the magnificence of a mixed pallet. This may require that we make plans to move off White Island all together. Find a diverse school for your children to attend, visit a new park, or look for a new church. Research the demographics of a neighborhood before buying a house and be intentional about seeking out diversity.
4. Use your platform.
How many lives do you, your spouse or your kids touch in a day? Who is in your square you interact with on a daily or weekly basis? What do you talk about? How can you cast light on topics some prefer to keep hidden in darkness for fear of offending? How can you use your voice in your particular slice of life to speak out and speak up for those who don’t have a voice?
5. Drench your everyday world in color.
How many people of color do you come across right there in your home? If you are a parent, do your children have books, dolls, decorations or games with people that look different from them? What about you? How diverse is your social media feed? What steps can you take to diversify your Facebook, Instagram or Twitter feeds? Who can you follow who will give you a fresh perspective from the mainland? If you are a reader, how many books have you read by people of color this year? Do you watch T.V. shows or movies or read magazines featuring people of color? The mainland is always reading about and watching stories of White Island, maybe it’s time for us to branch out.
6. Don’t tune out or turn off.

We on White Island must resist the urge to close our portals and pretend the problems on the mainland don’t exist. Yes, sometimes we need to step back, catch our breath and live small. But sometimes we need to gather courage and make space for the pain of other mommies, daddies, sisters, brothers, sons and daughters to hurt our hearts. Sometimes we must open our eyes even when we may prefer blindness.

***
Related Posts:

70+ Race Resources for White People 

The Ugly Truth about Diversity

I once was (color) blind, but now…

An Evening with Bryan Stevenson: Get Closer  

White People Are Boring

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Previous Post: Breastfeeding and the Liturgy of the Hours {for SheLoves}

Your island is comfortable and for the most part it is safe. Let’s call it “White Island.”

Breastfeeding and the Liturgy of the Hours {for SheLoves}

I’ve grown to recognize that pausing, waiting and stillness is, in fact, a gift of lavish love from a patient father.

I am a doer, goer and to-do list extraordinaire. I buy post-it notes in 12 packs. Freshman year of college was the first time I met anyone who actually enjoyed sitting around doing nothing. Bursting into our dorm room to change clothes for an intramural soccer game before my study group and the floor party later that night, I was shocked to find my roommate perched on her bed, staring at the wall.

“Are you okay?” I asked.

“Fine,” she answered.

“But what are you doing?” I asked, puzzled.

“Just sitting here,” she responded. I’m sure I gave her a quizzical look before darting off to my game, inwardly judging her for wasting time.

That was the beginning of nearly twenty years of living with introverts (including my husband), a true gift of tough grace for an extroverted over-achiever like me.

Through the years, God has used various people and circumstances to wrestle me to the ground, sometimes finding it necessary to dislocate a limb of pride, power or privilege along the way as He holds me to a forced stop. But though sitting still can sometimes feel more like being punished in time-out, I’ve grown to recognize that pausing, waiting and stillness is, in fact, a gift of lavish love from a patient father.

***

Now is one of those times—and I am fighting it. I am breastfeeding my newborn several hours a day, leaving my other two children, age four and two, wild and free to execute devious plots and create elaborate messes. Though I thought pregnancy was the worst sort of slowness, I had forgotten the demands of having an infant.

I now spend hours on my couch, holding a tiny, dependent human, in the midst of a house that looks like someone picked it up, shook it snow-globe-style and then put it back down again…

…continue reading at SheLoves. 

***

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Previous Post: Monthly Mentionables {November} 

Next Post:  6 Things to Do When You Live on White Island

Monthly Mentionables {November}



This month the Chicago Cubs won the World Series for the first time since 1908, Donald Trump was elected president, Mosul was invaded and the Gilmore Girls staged a timely reunion whereby we could all drown our sorrows in sappy Stars Hollow after stuffing ourselves with turkey and sweet potato casserole.

November 2016 really happened.  This is real life (and yes, this links to THAT YouTube video…).

In the midst of these huge (and not-so-huge) events, I learned a lovely new word, the Danish word “hygge.” Think snuggling up in an oversized chair next to a crackling fire, feet tucked under a plush throw blanket as you sip tea (or red wine) while re-reading Little Women and you have a pretty good working image of hygge. Tanya Marlow goes into greater depth in her article on the topic and joining the 900+ member Facebook group started by another SheLoves editor, Holly Grantham, will offer you daily doses of cozy if you’re into that kind of thing (which I am).  Hygge dives head-first into the search for contentment, making it perfectly okay to pour time and energy into your home environment if that will make your nest a peaceful place you truly want to spend time in and invite others to snuggle into as well.

Hygge is a pretty good picture of Sabbath rest.

Christmas wears hygge well, I’d say.  Twinkle lights, winking candles, pottery mugs of hot cocoa, fake or real fireplaces, and our houses wreathed with spiced air.  

But Christmas also brings honor to the spirit of waiting. We light candles with our littles, shushing them and ignoring their whining, hoping to invite them into the mystery that is God as a baby on earth.  We meditate, read and sing of Advent wonder–Jesus coming again–maybe tomorrow, maybe next year, or perhaps one thousand years from now. At Christmas, we enter into childlike delight--even if it is out of duty.

I need Christmas this year.  I think we all do.

But in spite of the heaviness of the past month, I want to share some of the books, podcasts and articles that I’ve been reading and listening to. Many of them have brought sparkling light to the dark corners of November.


Books:

Life Creative: Inspiration for Today’s Renaissance Mom, by Wendy Speake and Kelli Stuart
Ooh, I loved this book! It is the modern day Walking on Water: Reflections on Faith and Art for moms. These ladies understand the tension moms have between wanting to care for their families while at the same time yearning to create.  They share the stories of more than 30 moms through clear, thoughtful and poetic writing. Life Creative is a perfect mix of practical and abstract, outward-looking and reflective.  If you are a mama with the desire to write, act, sing, paint, draw, sew or any other creative venture, you should definitely check this book out!


The Nightingale, by Kristin Hannah
We read this for our book club this month and I have to say that while this was entertaining and educational on some levels, it did not have as much depth as I hoped.  The reading level did not strike me as being very high and it almost felt like a Hallmark version of a WWII story, or a PG movie at the very least. I listened to most of it on an overnight road trip from Chicago to Denver, though, so the fact that it kept my attention in the wee hours of the night has to be an indicator that it was at least interesting enough to keep me awake.


 

Podcasts:

Epiphany Fellowship
This African American pastor, Eric Mason, was recommended to me by someone from the Be the Bridge Facebook group. The week after the election, I really needed to hear how people of color were responding to all of this. Since I attend a nearly all white church, I am committing to listening to a sermon by a person of color each week to diversify the voices I listen to.

In God We Trust (First sermon after the election). 

#WokeChurch

#WokeChurch: It’s Time for the Church to do Something

#WokeChurch–Lamentations 3:1-18

#WokeChurch–Jesus on Justice


Kin City (On social issues in Chicago)
The South Side & Segregation with Natalie Moore

(Haven’t listened to many yet, but others are on how cops are trained, racial reconciliation, homelessness, adoption and tokenism)


On Being
Vincent Harding (Civil Rights leader)–Is America Possible?

Isabel Wilkerson (author of The Warmth of Other Suns)


Pass the Mic
Processing Donald Trump with Jemar Tisby

Round table: Perspective 

Current Events: The Election of 2016


Persuasion
This is one my favorite podcasts these days. I appreciate that the hosts are not afraid to discuss controversial issues in the church today, but also love the way they represent Christian women as intellectual, capable and respectable. 

The Outsourcing of Women’s Discipleship to Para-church Personalities
(On the issue of Lifeway’s dismissal of Jen Hatmaker books).

Evangelicals Are Having an Identity Crisis


Seminary Dropout
#SheLeads Summit–Austin Panel 
A panel with Latasha Morrison (founder of Be the Bridge), Tish Harrison Warren, Keith Atkinson and Kenny Green about how women are incorporated into the church body.


This American Life
The Sun Comes Up 
Interviews with both Trump and non-Trump supporters in the day and week following the election.


Thought-Provoking Articles from the Web:

An Open Letter to the Evangelical Church, from the Black Girl in Your Pew, by Ilesha Graham for Huffington Post.

Dear Children of Aleppo: The People of the World Needed to tell you THIS on #GIVINGTuesday, by Ann Voskamp at her blog.

Finding Contentment in the Uncomfortable, by Christen Bordenkircher for The Mudroom Blog (I loved this for selfish reasons because it was so similar to my own story!)

Gilmore Girls: A Series in Books, by Anne Bogel for Modern Mrs. Darcy. (A glimpse of some of the 339 books we saw Rory reading in the first seven seasons!)

Glennon Doyle Melton’s Gospel of Self-Fulfillment, by Jen Pollock Michel for Christianity Today.

I Was an Evangelical Magazine Editor, but Now I Can’t Defend my Evangelical Community, by Katelyn Beaty for The Washington Post.

In Defense of Domesticity, by Tyler Blanski for Crisis Magazine.


Lifeway Stops Selling Jen Hatmaker Books Over LGBT Beliefs, by Kate Shellnut for Christianity Today.

No Place for Self Pity, No Room for Fear, by Toni Morrison for The Nation.

To the Mamas of Littles During the Holidays, by Lora Lynn Fanning at Vita Familiae.

Trump Syllabus 2.0 by N.D.B. Connolly and Keisha N. Blaine (an actual syllabus of a course that explores the foundations of “Trumpism”)

What I Want Pastors to Know About Women’s Ministry, by Sharon Hodde Miller for Christianity Today.

5 Ways Parents Pass Down Prejudice and Racism, by Danielle Slaughter for Huffington Post.




Websites:
 
Barefoot Books: Diverse and Inclusive Books
(Great books for Christmas presents)

The Advent Project Devotional Series (sign up for free for daily devos for Advent including art, music, a hymn, prayer, scripture reading and a devotional)



For SheLoves

Madeleine L’Engle Made Me Do It









For Scraping Raisins:

This Was Not the Plan

Posts about Christmas & Advent

The Anticipation of Advent (four ways we like to celebrate Advent as a family)

The Truth About Family Advent 

Living the Sticky Life 

*** 

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Linking up with Leigh Kramer  and Emily P. Freeman

*This post contains affiliate links.

This Was Not the Plan

I lie alone in a pool of my own blood, wondering what just happened.  A little over an hour after arriving at the hospital, the midwife skidded in on the second push as my little blue son was born, wheezing and sputtering as they placed him on my chest. Within minutes, the nurses said they’d need to take him away on their plastic cafeteria cart.  Of course my husband would go with our new one, I’d join after being stitched up when the bleeding slowed. 

This was not the plan.

“He’s going to be okay, isn’t he?”  I asked, weakly, before they whisked him away. 

I couldn’t move. I couldn’t go see my son or even get out of the bed to wash the birth fluids off my weak body.  My husband was with our son, the nurse had stepped out and I was alone.  I lie there and closed my eyes. 

Suddenly I imagined Jesus standing over me, stroking my hair.

Our son spent over 48 hours in the NICU, of which I spent about 40 hours in there myself.  I tried to keep the white and red cords separate from the blue ones.   I was careful not to disturb the IV which pierced his tiny heel, giving him glucose when I should have been his source of nourishment.  Even so, I was constantly setting off the machines until the night nurse would have mercy and eventually silence the machine.

I sat rocking my sleepy newborn through the hours of the night, not caring that he was sleeping more than eating or that I was awake and not asleep.  I stroked his downy, loose skin, like a hound puppy’s.  Flimsy curtains were pulled for privacy, though I could hear everything going on.  The daddy weeping softly and whispering to his preemie daughter, “I love you.”  The gruff, 50-something night nurse, Joe, with a beard rubber-banded in two sections who moonlighted as a teddy-bear counselor for the young nurses and weepy moms who never planned for their babies to not be with them. “Oh, this is the end of the world, isn’t it?” he would chide the teeny babies as they shrieked while he changed their diapers.  On the second night, I caught him cuddling a newborn while looking at motorcycles online.

Once our baby was in the NICU, it was a fight to get him out.  The oxygen levels quickly stabilized, but then it was his glucose levels, then the bilirubin.  When he was finally moved to our room, the pressure was on to feed him enough that his glucose levels rose.  When they fell rather than rose, the woman in charge said he could only leave the hospital if I agreed to feed him supplements. 

The door clicked shut behind them and I stood looking out the window, swaying with my baby, tears in my eyes. 

This was not the plan.  I was supposed to breastfeed easily and naturally just as I had with my other two.  Wouldn’t this hurt his chances of breastfeeding in the future? 

My newborn slept in my arms, unconcerned with adult worries.  My husband had gone out for coffee earlier and I was alone in my grief.  As the sun set behind the Rocky Mountains, my sadness threatened to engulf me.

But then I heard the tapping.

I tiptoed to the window, peering through the smudged fifth floor window pane.  Three small, brown feathered heads on the windowsill all shifted nervously toward me.  Sparrows.

Now, I don’t believe that we should read messages from heaven into every coincidence we encounter, but I do know that God likes to speak to us if we are willing to listen.  And in that chance encounter, I knew He was speaking to me.

The week before I went into labor, my mind echoed with a long-forgotten song, a lullaby sung by Lauryn Hill that had comforted me in college at a time when life was a confusing tangle of twists and turns.  

“Why do I feel so worried?  Why do the shadows come?  Why does my heart feel lonely and long for heaven and home?  When Jesus is my portion; a constant help is he.  His eye is on the sparrow and I know He watches over me…” I had meditated on these words in the weary weeks of being hugely pregnant with no emotional or physical energy to care for my family.
 

So as those three birds tapped on my hospital window, I knew.

I knew I was seen, loved, and heard.  I knew I was precious to Jesus just as my heart throbbed with love for my new little one.

 “Are not five sparrows sold for two pennies?  And not one of them is forgotten before God.  Why even the hairs of your head are all numbered.  Fear not; you are of more value than many sparrows” (Luke 12:6-7 ESV).

It was not my plan for my sweet son to be hooked up to machines and secluded away from his mommy and daddy in his first days of life.  It was not my plan to fight for him to get out of the hospital and home with us.  And it was not my plan for this crunchy mama to bottle feed her baby.

But God was present with me when my map had no north.  I felt small and weak, but God saw me as His lovely little sparrow.  

***

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Previous Post: Madeleine L’Engle Made Me Do It {for SheLoves}

Linking up with Grace & Truth 

When your birth plan doesn't go as you hoped...







Madeleine L’Engle Made Me Do It {for SheLoves}

I shared this last week on SheLoves for the theme “legacy.” When I thought of a woman who has had a huge impact on my life, Madeleine L’Engle immediately came to mind…

 
My husband and I fell in love dodging sparks over a shared affection for travel, coffee and Madeleine L’Engle. I had just finished rereading L’Engle’s treatise on faith and art, Walking on Water, for the umpteenth time, feeling the usual pull to be a writer without the guts to follow the call. My future husband, it turned out, owned every non-fiction book she had written, but had a special affinity for this one because of his own call to be an actor.

Over the years, L’Engle’s words have not only entertained, but also empowered me. For the closet creative with a secret compulsion to write, act, paint, draw, sing, plant or plan a Pinterest party, her words are just the pixie dust you need to fly.

I’ve had a fondness for Madeleine L’Engle since the first time my mom thrust A Wrinkle in Time into my hands in elementary school, making me promise to read it before devouring another Babysitter’s Club book. Years later, after graduating and taking a job teaching seventh grade, A Wrinkle in Time was my first choice of a novel for my students to read for our literature circles.

But it wasn’t until last year that L’Engle’s words changed the trajectory of my life.

Five years after my husband and I fell in love, I reread Walking on Water not in the midst of my single life full of wide-open paths, but sitting on a spit-up stained couch by dim lamplight nursing my second baby. As I read, my secret compulsion unexpectedly grew into courage.

Like a prophecy that awaits its time, the words finally claimed me.

“Feed the lake,” she wrote.

I had so many excuses why I shouldn’t begin writing publically. (The baby on my lap, for one). But there were others…

Continue reading at SheLoves.

Monthly Mentionables {October}

Running, cooking, baking, reflecting and socializing (aided by much additional coffee drinking) have resumed a bit now that our new little one is nearly two months old and I’m out of the the Month One Fog. I feel more like myself than I have in about eight months, actually.

I’ve also had a chance to listen to some more podcasts this month, which directly correlates to the amount of laundry, cleaning and showering I do since that is when I usually listen to them. (Laundry is happening a lot more than showering these days since we can get by without me being completely hygienic, but not without clothes for our family.)

I’ve also been spending more time working–yes, working (and I don’t mean the butt-wiping/endless-feeding/boo-boo-kissing/mothering type of work)! Albeit as a volunteer, I’m officially an editor for the online publication, SheLoves, a fabulous community of women who are dedicated to living out their love for Jesus in practical ways in the world. I edit pieces that run on Mondays and get to publish with them monthly. I’m loving it!       

Here’s some of what I’ve been up to in the book, podcast, recipe, article and writing departments this month:


Books


The Girl on the Train, by Paula Hawkins
This was the book for my book club this month and I stayed up waaay too late to finish it. It didn’t change my life, but was definitely engrossing and entertaining.  It was fun to read a page-turner instead of my standard, serious non-fiction fare.

 

Given: Poems, by Wendell Berry
I’m embarrassed to admit that this is the first book of poetry that I have read cover-to-cover in about ten years AND the first book by Wendell Berry I have read (shameful, I know).  Last month I attempted to read A Widening Light: Poems of the Incarnation, edited by Luci Shaw, but took too much time analyzing the poems and reading them aloud that I had to return it to the library before I was finished.  So this time around, I decided to just read it as I would a book, hoping that I would absorb a bit of beauty along the way.  His poetry was very readable for the non-poetry reader.  My favorite poem in the book was “How to Be a Poet (to remind myself).” Here’s an excerpt:


Make a place to sit down.
Sit down. Be quiet.
You must depend upon
affection, reading, knowledge,
skill–more of each
than you have–inspiration,
work, growing older, patience,
for patience joins time 
to eternity. Any readers
who like your work,
doubt their judgment…


Have you read a book of poetry before? What was your favorite? I’d love to hear your advice on the best way to read it in the comment section!  Enlighten me;-)

Monthly Mentionables {October}: Here's some of what I've been up to in the book, podcast, recipe, article and writing departments this month.
Morning Walk




Podcasts

The God-Centered Mom

The Power of Sex in Marriage: Francie Winslow

The Ripple Effect of Healthy Sexual Connection: Francie Winslow

Life Creative: Kelli Stuart 

10 Ways to Stop Meltdowns & Arguments: Kirk Martin



Persuasion

A Woman’s Place with Katelyn Beaty (Part 1)

A Woman’s Place with Katelyn Beaty (Part 2)

Home is Where the Art Is

The Self We Find in “Eat, Pray, Love”


Sorta Awesome

Social media tips, tricks, advice and more


Recipes!
(This is a tell-tale sign that I am feeling 90% better than a month ago:  I feel like cooking again!)

Chicken Corn Chowder (Plan to Eat)
A woman from the church we’ve been visiting brought enough of this soup over to feed us for FIVE days. And anything I’m willing to eat five days in a row, must be tasty, right?  I made it last night for Halloween and didn’t love it as much as I did when this friend made it, but it’s definitely worth keeping in the fall repertoire and tweaking. 

Sheet Pan Chicken Tikka (Smitten Kitchen)
This was delicious and very easy as long as you already have all the Indian spices like coriander, garam masala, ginger, etc.  We ate it with rice, topped with purple onions, lemon wedges and cilantro.  Yum.

Healthy Pumpkin Bread (Cookie + Kate)
Ok, so this was “healthy” in that it used coconut oil, wheat flour and maple syrup instead of the usual fare, but in this case “healthy” also meant “doesn’t taste very good.”  That said, if you’re looking for a healthier pumpkin bread, this would be a good choice with one caveat: ADD CHOCOLATE CHIPS.

Creamy Thai Sweet Potato Curry (Pinch of Yum)
This was very tasty and I’ll make it again.  Next time I think I’ll add chicken just so it’s not so starchy with the potato + rice combo.

Miso Salmon with Mushrooms (PBS Food) 
A friend of mine brought this dish after the baby was born and I begged her for the recipe.  It is very simple as long as you are able to pick up Miso and Mirin.  I found Mirin (Japanese sweet rice wine) in the regular grocery store, but my friend brought me the Miso from an Asian grocery store.  I actually made it twice this month–once making the foil “pouches” and once just covering the dish with foil.  I’d definitely recommend using the pouches.  I also used frozen salmon (defrosted) and it tasted just fine! I served with white rice and fresh spinach nuked in the microwave for a minute, then tossed with a bit of soy sauce.  Delicious.


Thought-Provoking Articles from the Web


Book Club Questions for Fiction/Novels from Lit Lovers (used for our book club this month)

Ethical Fashion and Sustainable Lifestyle Resources at Eco Warrior Princess

How Millennial Moms are Changing the World by Kelli Stuart for Huffington Post

‘This Is Us’ and the Dignity of Human Emotion, by Abby Perry for Christ and Pop Culture 

This One Shift in Perspective Will Change Your Life, by Claire De Boer at her blog, The Gift of Writing

What Jen Hatmaker Gets Right About Christian Love, by Katelyn Beaty for Christianity Today

What White Children Need to Know about Race, by Ali Michael and Eleonora Bartoli

18 Children’s Books with Characters of Color, by Joanna Goddard for her blog, A Cup of Jo

For Fun:

These Hilarious Parenting Comics Are Almost Too Real, by Valerie Williams for Scary Mommy
 
The Adventures of George Washington (language alert!)




Published Elsewhere on the Web:


Frozen Manna, for SheLoves


In Case You Missed it on Scraping Raisins:

In This Season (of motherhood)

An Evening with Bryan Stevenson: Get Closer 




What about you?  I would LOVE to hear any recommendations you have for any of the above categories!

***

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Linking up with Leigh Kramer

~This post includes affiliate links

Frozen Manna {for SheLoves}

I wrote this quite a long time ago, but I still wanted to share this with those of you who missed it over at SheLoves this month.

If you asked me how I am really doing right now, this is what I would say:

“I am lonely.  I am physically weary.  I long for authentic community.  And I miss the days when I felt fulfilled in living out my calling.”

But if you then asked me to climb out of my head, open my squinched-shut eyes and look for what God could be doing in this desert season, I would confess that I feel loved, seen and held.

And I’d have to admit that sometimes God intentionally grabs our hands and yanks us straight into the wilderness.  

Loneliness is natural to the human condition and often necessary to our spiritual journeys.  I struggled with loneliness when I left my family and moved to another state for college, when I began my first job in Chicago as a teacher, when I lived on the other side of the globe as a single woman in China, when I returned home to the states to get married, and as I’ve navigated the shift of identity and calling that comes in becoming a mother.

Sometimes God wants our feet dangling in the air as we clutch the edge of the cliff so we are that much more aware when He supports us, lifting us from below.

For context, I am 39 weeks pregnant, have two little ones under four, and am used to being very capable, able-bodied and driven.  But these days, I congratulate myself if I keep everyone in our home clothed, fed and breathing.  I’ve never felt as depleted as I have in the past few months.   
Having moved cross-country over a year ago, we have few friends to walk with us during this pregnancy.  We have always found our people at church but have visited 11 churches in 16 months and are still homeless.  There is nothing that makes you feel lonelier than sitting in a crowded room full of people for an hour and a half, then walking out at the end without speaking to a single one. 

After “dating” a church for nearly a year, we reached the point where we needed to either get married or break up, and we’re facing the sad reality of having invested so much time in a relationship only to move on and start all over again.  We had hoped to stay through the duration of my pregnancy, mainly for the meals and support, but when I sat quietly asking Jesus about this decision, He seemed to say, “Don’t you think I can provide a few freezer meals for you?”

Continue reading at SheLoves…

An Evening with Bryan Stevenson: Get Closer

The crowd leapt to their feet as Mr. Stevenson took the stage.  He hadn’t even opened his mouth, and had already received a standing ovation.

Why?

Because this man’s story opens blind eyes. 

In his book, Just Mercy: A Story of Justice and Redemption, Bryan Stevenson shares about his experience working with men, women and children on death row. I have met more than one person who, after reading the book, looked down at their feet and, with tears in their eyes, whispered, “I didn’t know that African Americans are still treated this way. Until I read this, I didn’t realize.  But now what do I do?”

I had a similar response after reading Just Mercy this spring.  In fact, I was so moved by Mr. Stevenson’s story that I hauled my 12-day-old newborn across town to hear him speak a few weeks ago, frantically taking notes with one hand while nursing with the other.

The audience was made up of mainly white people over 50, though college students and a few people of color were present as well.  Across the aisle sat a man in his late 20’s with long hair, loose-fitting clothing and bare feet.  Beneath his chair was a cardboard box that was forced closed, leaving me wondering what was inside, though I forgot my curiosity as Mr. Stevenson began speaking.

He was as powerful a speaker as he is an author and he seamlessly wove stories, statistics and inspiration into a flag of justice that we almost felt strong enough to help wave as we exited the building at the end of the night.


He shared four things we could do to improve our capacity to change the world right where we are:

1. Get closer. 

“Get proximate to the problems instead of trying to solve them from a distance.” He expressed that we are too comfortable and do not see injustice because we are not close enough to see it.

2. Change the narratives that sustain inequality and injustice. 

“Fear and anger are the essential ingredients of oppression.”  He gave the example of calling drug addicts “criminals” and alcoholics people with a “disease.”  He said that these narratives are what imprison the downtrodden and empower the privileged.

3. Stay hopeful.

“Hopelessness is the enemy of justice.”  In spite of all the dire examples of vast injustice in the world, Mr. Stevenson also shared many inspiring stories of hope as he has worked toward change.
 
4. Be willing to do uncomfortable things.

“We have to judge ourselves by how we care for the poor.”  He said that this action point requires intentionality because our default is that we choose to be comfortable, but perhaps we need to move more into discomfort.  

He also spoke about how he has come to the realization that as we acknowledge that we ourselves are broken people, we will find that we have much more in common with the poor than we once thought. 

***


After his talk, Mr. Stevenson took questions from the crowd.  I was surprised when the man across the aisle from me padded up to the front with his cardboard box, setting it down by his bare feet as he waited patiently for his turn at the microphone.  When Mr. Stevenson turned to him, the man announced that he had gotten out of jail a week prior and that he wanted Mr. Stevenson’s help in going to the Supreme Court to fight for laws that would allow him to sleep outdoors.  He talked for a long time and I could tell that the crowd was getting fidgety.  He was taking up precious time for other more relevant questions.  I half expected an usher to quietly stand next to him and give him the signal that he was talking too long.

But instead of ridiculing him or rushing through his answer, Mr. Stevenson responded with humility, grace and respect.  He listened to this man’s story and said that he was absolutely willing to represent him.  While the rest of us were inwardly scoffing, Mr. Stevenson practiced what he had just preached and offered the man something the rest of us weren’t willing to give: dignity.

I was humbled and convicted.

In myself, I saw the Pharisees of Bible times, urging Jesus to move on and not stop for the lepers calling out His name, the woman kneeling to touch his cloak or the children hugging his knees. I saw myself looking for the high profile poor instead of noticing the needy right in front of me.

It is easy to say that we want justice for the poor as long as it is convenient and comfortable for us.  But when we become aware of our own powerlessness, judgment and prejudice, we want to hide away in our safe suburbs and write a check from a distance.

How far do you live from the poor, homeless, sick or oppressed?  What would it take for you to move out of your comfort zone into proximity of those you say you would like to help?

As a person who feels very insignificant in this season of life as far as world-changing goes, I walked out of that auditorium with a greater desire to not just notice injustice, but make practical moves towards the oppressed.  When we make decisions over the next few years about where we will buy a house and which schools we will choose to send our children to, I hope that we will not continue to hide away under the umbrella of “safety” or “good schools.”  Instead, I hope for the courage to live in such proximity to my suffering neighbor that I cannot ignore their cry any longer, because they will be right in my backyard.

***

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In this season (of motherhood)

“To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven:

A time to be born, and a time to die; a time to plant, and a time to pluck up that which is planted…”
(Eccl. 3:1-2 KJV).

In this season (of motherhood)~~Am I blooming here, or just biding my time, hoping that this season will pass quickly?
*** 



Colorado is yellow in the fall.  Aspen strike the treeline of the Rockies with such a brilliant yellow, that you nearly have to squint your eyes to take them in without being blinded.





My husband and I passed these flowers blooming in a neighbor’s garden on an evening walk a few weeks ago.  “Have these always been here?” my husband asked.  

“I don’t think so,” I said.  “I’m pretty sure they only bloom in the fall.”

Though it’s a bit cliche, those perfect yellow blooms got me thinking about this season of motherhood, asking myself, Am I blooming here, or just biding my time, hoping that this season will pass quickly?

A week and a half ago, I took the one-month old baby and fled to my parent’s house over the highest road in the nation.  I just needed a nap.  My parents took care of me, fed me, held the baby and allowed me to rest for nearly 48 hours. On the majestic drive home in the early hours of the morning, I forced myself to spend the two hours in silence.  I attempted to clear my head and just listen.


In the silence, I began to formulate a list of priorities.  Watching the center line kept me from careening over the edge, much like keeping my eyes on Jesus is holding me from sailing right into the tired mama’s tendency towards postpartum depression. My list right now is simply this:

Sleep when I can
Exercise daily
Get outdoors daily
Eat healthy food
Seek God
Talk to another adult

But I also felt like I needed to remember my husband.  For the past few months, we’ve been high-fiving one another and passing on the baton in the relay-race of parenthood.  We are partners and team-players, but are we lovers, friends and companions?  This newborn’s needs must come first right now, but is my husband a close second?  So we are instituting weekly one to two hour date nights for a couple months and getting better about being intentional with one another.  I’m trying to remember to make eye contact and really see him even when I can barely see straight because of sleeplessness.

It’s been a week and a half since my assessment and I am feeling more emotionally healthy.  On the days I don’t walk alone, I strap on the baby and push us out of the house for a walk.  The exercise and fall are ministering to my weary soul. 

I will be the first to tell anyone that I am not a pinteresty mom.  I don’t do crafts or cutesy activities.  But in a moment of weakness last week, I drew up a simple scavenger hunt for my kids to do during the “hike” part of our walk. 

The kids looked for animal tracks in the hardened path, picked up sticks and were delighted when we discovered three apple trees along the way.  I tried not to smack the baby as I hoisted a stick up to dislodge the apples, yelling at my kids to get out of the way so they didn’t get hit in the head. Our mouths full of sweet apples, we laughed at one another and delighted over the special unexpected treat.  



It was one of the first times I have felt fully present with my kids in a really long time. 

Over the past few months, an image has come to mind as I’ve thought about my life as a mother.  So many times, I feel like I am sitting in the stands while my kids are out on the field playing. But I am the type of disengaged spectator who is scrolling through social media on her phone, wishing she were anywhere but here.  

I see my kids as an interruption.

Instead, I hope to be not only paying attention to them, but their greatest fan.  In his book, Just Mercy, Bryan Stevenson said that he always knew that his mother adored him.  I hope the my kids will be able to say the same of me.   

A friend sent me a verse several weeks ago that had spoken to her as she prepared to have a baby of her own.  It has also come to mind over the past days and weeks as I’ve struggled to be content in this season of life that can feel so restrictive and confining.

“Trust in the Lord and do good;
Dwell in the land and cultivate faithfulness” (Ps. 37:3 NASB).


The word that stands out to me is “cultivate.”  Cultivating requires staying in one place and tending to my garden.  Patience, persistence and attention are needed if I am going to see my seeds grow.  This is the season of staying put and doing the back-breaking, repetitive work of watering, weed-pulling and guarding from both frost and heat.

This is the season of loving when I see very little return for my love.  It is the season of tilling hard soil and wondering if my words will ever sink down deep. And the verse that follows is one that ironically, I clung hard to in my many years of longing for a husband and children: 

“Delight yourself in the Lord;
And He will give you the desires of your heart” (Ps. 37:4 NASB).

It is not just in delighting in nature, my “me time,” my husband, or my children that I will find the soul rest that I seek.  It is in delighting in my God.    

Nevertheless, my prayer in this season is this:

“Lord, Help me to listen more than I speak, read more than I write, 
laugh more than I cry, praise more than I criticize and be more than I do.”

~~~

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