Scraping Raisins

July 7, 2016

A Muslim in Our Home

This 4th of July weekend, while Americans attended swelteringly hot parades, grilled hamburgers and sat under a bursting night sky, those in the Muslim world had a holiday and a succession of explosions of their own. My family was no different from most Americans in the way we spent our weekend, though this year in Colorado our fireworks followed a rodeo and the parade included more farm equipment and horses than anything else.

Perhaps the only difference between our Fourth and yours was that we spent ours with a devout Muslim who is currently living in our home, a close friend whom our children call “Auntie Boo.” She lived with us for a year in Chicago and is now staying with us for a month after recently finishing her studies in Denver. We invited her to celebrate the 4th of July at my parent’s house a few hours away in the middle of the Rocky Mountains.

On our drive home over the achingly beautiful mountains, Auntie Boo and I reflected on the weekend. Neither of us had experienced a rodeo before and decided anyone who would strap their children to sheep (called “mutton bustin”) was certainly crazy. She remarked that her favorite memory of the weekend was learning to kayak. But as we talked, I thought about the many events she missed because she was sleeping or didn’t join us for meals.

While we feasted, she fasted. Tuesday marked the final day of 30 she has been fasting from food and water during daylight hours for Ramadan. Fasting while in America presents many challenges for Muslims in that others are constantly eating around you and you are awake at night while others are sleeping. In community with other Muslims who are fasting, she tells me there is nothing like the solidarity you feel, but alone in America, she has felt very isolated. At my parent’s house, she would spend hours praying and reading the Quran while the rest of us slept.

As I slowed the car for the tourists in front of us to gawk at a few elk along the side of the mountain, she asked if I had heard the news from her country, Saudi Arabia, over the weekend. When I admitted that I hadn’t, she told me of the three bombings that had occurred there–one close to the burial site of Muhammed. “These people,” she said about ISIS, “they are not true Muslims.”

We also discussed the attack in Iraq on Sunday where more than 250 people were killed in a crowded square. “Those people were simply out in the market preparing for our holiday the next day,” she lamented. In America, it would be similar to the shopping district in New York or Chicago being bombed on Christmas Eve. Unthinkable.

As we discussed ISIS, she expressed shock and disbelief over the ways this terrorist faction has managed to “wash the brains” of young people around the world. In an article in The New York Daily News, Shaun King notes that, “Claiming a religion as cover for terrorism doesn’t make you a genuine follower of that religion. Yelling “Allahu Akbar” (which simply means God is great) before killing people makes a man a Muslim no more than yelling “Hallelujah” before a mass shooting makes a man a Christian.” The recent attacks on Muslim holy lands further prove that ISIS and Islam should not be equated.

Back home on the other side of the mountains, our friend broke her fast with us yesterday evening and then spent an hour showing us videos and pictures on Snapchat of her friends and family celebrating Eid in Saudi Arabia and around the world. Doe-eyed women peered out of burkas or more daring women took selfies of themselves in elaborate new costumes or cocktail dresses. Groups of men draped in white cloth with red checkered head dresses chatted on white leather couches and children opened beautifully wrapped presents and envelopes full of money from doting family members. Candies, dates, cakes, fried bread and Arabic coffee were artistically spread across tables. Laughing, Auntie Boo said that Pinterest has had a definite influence on the Eid preparations.

Watching the millions of people celebrating this holiday that most Americans don’t even know exist reminded me of the smallness of my world. My world right now is feeding, clothing and nurturing two teeny people and one big person. It is getting by on the limited reserve of energy I have as my body grows this new life inside of me. It is zoo trips, scribbling thoughts in the margins of my days, church, a plastic pool in the backyard, date nights and slow walks to the park. If I’m honest, I admit that I try not to think about terrorism, bombings or refugees so desperate to survive that they are willing to stow away on boats. In an age of selective news, I can see what I want to see and hear what I want to hear. It is so much easier to pretend those people and places don’t exist.

Until you can’t.

It’s not until a person from another culture literally moves in with you that your world cracks open and you look up from your narrow view. It is then that you are reminded that there are 1.6 billion Muslims in the world. There is nothing like a single relationship to personalize pain and remind you to care about the rest of humanity.

How many Muslims do you know on a first name basis? How much would one relationship influence the way you see the rest of the world?

~~~

Related Posts:

When the Nations Come to You

The Ugly Truth about Diversity

Last Post: Monthly Mentionables {June}

Subscribe to Scraping Raisins by email and/or follow me on Twitter and Facebook. I’d love to get to know you better!

"If I'm honest, I admit that I try not to think about terrorism, bombings or refugees so desperate to survive that they are willing to stow away on boats. In an age of selective news, I can see what I want to see and hear what I want to hear. It is so much easier to pretend those people and places don't exist. Until you can't..."

July 1, 2016

Monthly Mentionables {June}

The month of June enveloped us with her open arms as my husband and I left our children with the grandparents and took our first week-long vacation in San Diego without kids. We marveled at the silence and relished the rest and opportunity to get to know one another again after the past four years of being in survival-mode with little ones. It was wonderful.

On the tail of that came The Readjustment to Real Life. (Ahem, reminding our children, who had a vacation of their own, that mommy and daddy do things differently than mimi and papa). And just as soon as it seemed that life was back to “normal,” I plunged into potty training BOTH my children.

But thanks to the vacation, where I put my phone aside for an entire week, I was able to indulge in reading, do a bit more self-education about race issues and listen to some fascinating new podcasts. Here’s some of what’s been blowing my mind this month:

Books:

The Invention of Wings, by Sue Monk Kidd
The Invention of Wings is written from the perspective of one white woman from a slave-owning family in South Carolina and the African American attendant she was “given” as a girl. The chapters alternate between these points of view and walk us through their lives as the United States begins to awaken to the injustices of slavery. The themes regarding race, women’s rights and the role of history and religion in the formation of our laws are discussions that are still applicable around our living room, at bars and certainly on the Internet today. Packed with imagery and symbolism, this book provided a great discussion for our first book club. I would certainly recommend that you explore its depths with a friend or two.

The More of Less: Finding the Life You Want Under Everything You Own, by Joshua Becker
Here’s a snippet of the review I wrote for this book:
This book is a practical how-to book for the minimalist novice looking to explore the benefits of a simpler lifestyle. As I already agreed with Becker’s concepts of minimalism at the outset, I didn’t need a lot of convincing and personally found the first half of the book to be purely common sense. But the second half of the book offered so much practical advice on how to actually incorporate minimalist ideas into the average American’s life that I found it to be a gem in the midst of so many books now available on this current trend…continue reading

Tattoos on the Heart: The Power of Boundless Compassion, by Gregory Boyle
This is one of the most powerful stories I’ve read about real lovers of Jesus doing the hard work of living and working among the poor right here in the U.S. Gregory Boyle breaks the mold as a fearless, potty-mouthed priest who moves into the ghetto of Los Angeles. An expert story-teller, Boyle poetically juxtaposes stories of loss alongside humor in a way that dunks you into the emotions and reality of life on the streets again and again, but still leaves you gasping for breath (and sometimes even laughing) at the end of it all. If you are in the market for a true and inspiring story about a man making a difference, buy it right now (don’t make the mistake of checking it out of the library like I did–you’ll want to underline this one!).

Unashamed: Healing Our Brokenness and Finding Freedom from Shame, by Heather Nelson
Shame is a buzzword that is rising to the crest of discussions on identity and self not just in the world of psychology, but also in society at large. This book provides a much-needed seat at the panel discussion of shame as it delves into this topic from an overtly Christian perspective. Heather Nelson clearly pinpoints the shame that is so prevalent, though often unrecognized, in the life of the Christian, and offers hope through holding that shame up to the cross of Christ. If you are a follower of Jesus who is at all familiar with the work of Brene Brown on the topic of shame, then you will find this book to be a powerful and necessary compliment to her work as it address the topic from a biblical angle. (And this is the first book I’ve ever read that was written by a real, live friend of mine! I’m in awe.)

Podcasts:

Code Switch: Race and Identity, Remixed
I’m so excited about this new podcast. It‘s a group of journalists of different races that talk about some of the hard issues surrounding race. I really appreciated the first episode I listened to and it gave me lots to think about: Can We Talk about Whiteness?

On Being with Krista Tippet
Oh my. I’m obsessed with Krista Tippet’s VOICE (so I just may love people with great voices…). It is so soothing. In addition to that, she is one of the best interviewers I’ve ever heard. I’m really enjoying this very professional, deep and insightful podcast with some of the best thinkers alive today.
Revealing Ramadan
Michelle Alexander–Who We Want to Become: Beyond the New Jim Crow

Sorta Awesome
I now feel like these ladies are my friends, so I love just listening along and always come away with some new book to read, recipe to try or fad to explore. It’s positive listening in a heavy world, so I appreciate that so much!
The Good, the Bad, and (Rarely) Ugly of Blogging

The Happy Hour with Jamie Ivey
Jamie is such a laid-back, down-to-earth host and she has some incredible friends on the show. I loved this one with Jen Hatmaker, who is just as hilarious in person as she is in her books!
#50 Jen Hatmaker

Coffee + Crumbs
I sort of binge-listened to this podcast this month. It feels like listening to a few mom friends chat about everything I’m thinking about these days, so I loved it!
#2 Making Mom Friends
#3 It’s Their Day Too
#4 Mommy Doesn’t Go to Work
#6 Potty Training is the Worst

Thought-Provoking Articles from the Web:

I Used to Lead Tours at a Plantation. You Won’t Believe the Questions I Got about Slavery., by Margaret Biser for Vox

“The site I worked at most frequently had more than 100 enslaved workers associated with it— 27 people serving the household alone, outnumbering the home’s three white residents by a factor of nine. Yet many guests who visited the house and took the tour reacted with hostility to hearing a presentation that focused more on the slaves than on the owners.”

One Small Square, by Lisha Epperson for The Mudroom (The Mudroom actually did an entire series on race during the month of June that was fabulous.)

“There’s a difference between contemplative silence and a quiet birthed from fear. I found myself knotted up in the latter and afraid to admit it. It’s the kind of quiet that kills and makes hope a commodity you think you can’t afford. It’s also easier, but would never lead to the kind of redemption I sought. It was time to still my silence, unleash the internal verbal parrying to the page as prayer – to move forward in courage.

A reawakening happened as I zeroed in on the heartbeat of my everyday world. Surely I could handle one small square. Using a teaching technique that’s worked well with my children, I leaned into the specifics of my piece of the quilt – my portion. I got clear on the questions I needed to answer. Who do I want to be to my family and community? How do I want to show up in the faith communities I’m called to and how I can I align myself with the gathering of courageous ordinary people doing the work of justice in their daily lives?”

The Heartbreaking Reality of Raising Black Children in America, by Jacalyn Wetzel for the Huffington Post

“As a mother of two black boys, I have to be extra vigilant in making sure they understand how their presence can make people feel threatened, while at the same time help them understand they have value. I have to have a conversation with them when they get a little taller about how they will “fit the description” most of the time, and how to react when they do. Sometimes the reason for being pulled over is because you’re brown and the sad truth is, if you don’t act in a manner that is completely compliant, you can get a jolt of a Taser or worse. As parents our goal should be raising a boy in America, not raising a black boy in America or a (fill in the blank) boy in America.”

This ‘Hamilton’ Star Validated What So Many Women Feel–But Rarely Say Out Loud, by Jennifer Gerson Uffalussy of Fusion

“I would just love to say that if you know anything about me, I have spent the last 10 years of my life—what some would consider the life blood of a woman’s career—just trying to have children. And I get to testify in front of all of you that the Lord gave me Benjamin and Brielle and he still gave me this,” she shared from the stage, holding her statue…”

When Happily Ever After Isn’t Easy, by Ashley Hales at her blog

“Because ultimately the strength of that covenant doesn’t rest on words we said when we were just babies. It rests on the great I AM who says he will never leave us or forsake us, who runs to welcome his wayward bride, who clothes us with the robes of family. He is the rock of ages and, on that foundation, we can keep placing our little wooden marital pew.”

White Privilege: Unpacking the Invisible Knapsack, by Peggy McIntosh

This article has been around for 30 years, but I’m ashamed to say that I am just now reading it. To learn about white privilege, read through the checklist (there are 50 total) and see how many you would say “yes” to…

I can if I wish arrange to be in the company of people of my race most of the time.
If I should need to move, I can be pretty sure of renting or purchasing housing in an area which I can afford and in which I would want to live.
I can be pretty sure that my neighbors in such a location will be neutral or pleasant to me.
I can go shopping alone most of the time, pretty well assured that I will not be followed or harassed.
I can turn on the television or open to the front page of the paper and see people of my race widely represented…

White Privilege and What We’re Supposed to Do About It, by Kristen Howerton at her blog, Rage Against the Minivan

“Simply put, privilege refers to an unearned advantage. It usually refers to something inherent . . . something you were born with rather than something you worked for. There are many types of privilege: economic privilege, gender privilege, heterosexual privilege, and of course . . . racial privilege. Racial privilege can take many forms, from minor things to life-threatening things. White privilege can look like being able to grab some shampoo at the grocery store and being confident they carry products for your hair type. White privilege can look like being able to find a band-aid that matches your skin tone. White privilege can look like waling through an upscale residential neighborhood without anyone wondering what you are doing there. White privilege can look like wearing a baseball cap and baggy pants and no one assuming you are a criminal.”

Recipes:

So I mentioned we were on vacation for a week, right? And the potty training thing…? It was a bit tricky getting back into the swing of cooking, so I went with a lot of invented recipes this month involving some combination of bean/grain/roasted veggies/feta for suppers that I won’t bother you with. I did try these out, though, and would recommend them:

Colorful Beet Salad with Carrot, Quinoa and Spinach {Cookie + Kate}
We actually ate this as a meal, but it would make a great side for a cookout or potluck since it’s so pretty. I didn’t have a fancy spirilizer, so I just used my vegetable grater and that worked fine.

Lemon Raspberry Muffins {Cookie + Kate}
I made a big batch of these before we had a week of house-guests and they were a hit. I love anything with lemon and fruit, so it was a great find for me. And because they were healthier than your normal muffin, I had no hesitations in giving them to my kids for snacks.

Published Posts:

Chicago’s Uptown at You Are Here
(I love the essays on this site–if you are into the connection of place and identity like I am, then you should head over and read more!)

“A fire engine shrieked through the stoplight, casting a light show in my room and spraying the bare white walls with color. Even through closed windows, the sound was deafening. Within minutes, an ambulance from the hospital in the other direction bayed and bounded through the intersection. I rubbed my eyes. The city had assaulted me through the night, pushing away any hope of restful sleep. The thought of coffee propelled me out of bed….continue reading

A Book for the Budding Minimalist {The More of Less} at Blogging for Books (excerpt above)

In Case You Missed It on Scraping Raisins:

Overcoming Smartphone Addiction

“A monarch butterfly sailed on the wind as I sat waiting for my latte at an open-air coffee shop in San Diego. I watched it glide, dip and twirl around the men and women busily setting up tables and canopies for a weekly farmers’ market. Suddenly, I realized that I wouldn’t have noticed this spectacular solo performance just a week ago. Nose-down, scrolling through any number of messages, alerts and notifications on my phone, I would have missed this simple dance on the wind…continue reading

Potty Training a Strong-Willed Child

“If you are not currently a parent of toddlers or preschoolers, please feel free to skip this post or pass it along to someone who is in this stage of life–I won’t be offended. But hopefully this will be helpful to those of you in the middle of this insane time of life where we actually get excited about our kids’ poo…continue reading

Loving Like They’re Lost

“My babies are my tattoos. When I gave birth to them, my flesh ripped and I was left with beautiful, forever scars. I’ve been branded. Altered. These tattoos are a display of the divine artist who chose the intricate motions that would sear my skin and create the unique patterns of each child. Like a fresh wound, motherhood leaves you vulnerable and exposed. Motherhood sensitizes you to pain, but also to raw joy… continue reading

My Friends Are Books: Finding More Time to Read

“… My husband and I call books our “friends.” When we decided to declutter and minimize our possessions before our move last year, my husband sifted through more than one thousand of these old pals to choose which ones to say goodbye to. It was a painful parting.

Just as any relationship evolves, so, too, our on-going affair with reading. I was that kid in elementary school, narrowly missing smacking into other students as I walked the hallways with my head buried in a book. I read billboards, cereal boxes at breakfast and shampoo bottles in the shower. Anything with words would do…continue reading

~~~

What have you been up to this month?

~~~

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Note: This post contains affiliate links. If you click on a book and buy it through Amazon, you will not be charged extra, but I will receive a very small commission for your book.

~~~

Previous Post: Potty Training a Strong-Willed Child

Next Post: A Muslim in Our Home

Linking up with Leigh Kramer

Here's some of what's been blowing my mind this month.

June 29, 2016

Potty Training a Strong-Willed Child

If you are not currently a parent of toddlers or preschoolers, please feel free to skip this post or pass it along to someone who is in this stage of life—I won’t be offended. But hopefully this will be helpful to those of you in the middle of this insane time of life where we actually get excited about our kids’ poo.

My son is currently three months shy of his fourth birthday and my daughter is 23 months old. We tried this foul business almost exactly one year ago and I was so scarred that I’ve put it off until now. If it weren’t for the fact that I will soon have THREE children in diapers at once, I’d probably wait even longer, but that thought alone motivates me (along with the fact that we already put down a deposit on my son’s preschool where he must be potty trained by the end of August).

I’ve read the books and done my research. I’m armed with stickers, fruit snacks, juice (well, mango tea…I forgot to buy juice), movies, a froggy potty, rags, cleaning products, a bajillion undies, a doll to train, pull-ups, a reward toy and promises of going out for ice cream and calling grandparents with the good news.

But here’s the thing…my son couldn’t give a rip. That toy has been sitting in my closet for an ENTIRE YEAR. So I’m going into all of this knowing full well that it will be a battle of the wills…and I’m determined to win.

After last year’s sad attempt at using the naked bootcamp method of staring at your kid’s naked bum for three days straight without leaving the house and not having a single hit in the potty, this time around I decide to relax. I’m okay with naked, but will keep the kids in undies if at all possible (and shorts with an elastic band, too, for my son so he can get used to pulling them off and on).

I’m starting to accept that I’m not a cutsie parent who does sticker charts, dances and elaborate parties–and that’s okay. Kids all over the world learn to control their bowels completely without the help of Pinterest. I also let my husband off the hook and decided to do it during the week instead of over a weekend. So here’s how it went for us…

Pre-potty training (trying to gear myself up)

(Saturday):
I sat in an Adirondack chair with a cup of tea and let the kids run around in the backyard in their underwear all afternoon. My son had one big wet accident on the carpet in his room at 6:30 pm, but held it otherwise (even though I asked every 15 minutes if he needed to go). My daughter peed in her underwear 4 times (and I finally put a diaper on her right before dinner).

(Sunday): Skipped

(Monday):
More backyard nakey/undie play time in the afternoon. Brought the little potty outside, which my daughter sat on for over 15 minutes without going, then promptly peed on the patio. I never saw my son go, but I suspect the wet undies weren’t from playing in the plastic pool.

The Real Deal

I decided to just go for it. We pulled up the rugs and I committed to staying home all day for four days, but was ready to bail if it was terrible.

Here’s my “method”:

show them what I want them to do by demonstrating myself and with a doll
set a timer and take the kids to the potty every 20 minutes
have my son sit on the actual toilet normally with a step stool (we have a pretty small/low toilet) and my daughter on the portable one
make up stupid songs about pee as they sit there for at least two songs (Twinkle Twinkle Little Star is a good one for this 😉 )
don’t make a big deal out of accidents
RELAX and enjoy lounging around watching movies or laughing at my kids playing in cute undies outside (this is why I waited for summer)

Also, last minute I decided to go cold turkey with my son even at night and naps because I figured he’d just hold it until I put him in a diaper. We put a waterproof mat under his sheet and a portable potty in his room at night and naps and hoped for the best…

Day 1 (Tuesday): Not terrible.

I started out the day bawling on my husband’s shoulder because my son kept announcing that he was NOT using the potty (hey–pregnancy hormones are for real). But I rallied and we ended up having a low-key morning of cuddling and eating popcorn on towels on the couch.

All day long, I marched both kids to the potty every 20 minutes. Neither ever went during these times.

My daughter was the first to pee in the portable potty. She went while she was watching T.V., but I suspect it was just luck because I probably changed her undies six times throughout the morning as she played around happily without even noticing the rivers she was leaving on the wood floor.

Later in the morning, my son announced he needed to go potty, then went in the regular toilet like it was no big deal. I was so happy that I CRIED. Honestly. I never thought this day would come.

Hugs, cheers, kisses and high fives seemed to be enough of a reward and he didn’t even mention previous promises of rewards.

He went once more right after his nap in the portable potty–all by himself in his room without prompting. No pooping all day. No accidents, either. Hallelujah!

Day 2 (Wednesday): Failure…

Neither kid went in the potty all day long…not once.

My son started out the morning by unloading his bowels into his undies twice in 20 minutes. Throughout the day, we continued parading to the potty every 20 minutes with no results. During non-nap times, we watched movies and the kids played outside in the backyard. My son held his pee from 8:30 am until 5:30 pm (nine hours!), then let it whoosh after sneaking into another room. My daughter started resisting sitting on the potty and would go on the floor minutes after our bathroom trips. Hopefully vinegar will be enough to cover any potential smells…

Feeling discouraged.

Day 3 (Thursday): Success!!!

We woke up at 5:30 am to my son shouting, “Mommy, Daddy, I pooped in the potty!!!” It was his first time. We stumbled into his room, admired his “present” in the portable potty, gave hugs and high fives and “let” my son flush it down the toilet. Grandparents and uncles were called later in the day.

The second time he went #2 was right before his nap–alone in his room. He also peed in the potty two or three other times throughout the day and stayed dry otherwise (even at night and naps!).

I didn’t even bother taking them every 20 minutes because my son never once went during any of these times, but always went of his own initiative. Oh, the strong-willed child. So frustrating, but so lovely in their ability to surprise you. Later in the afternoon, he remembered the promised toy he has admired in my closet for the past year and we decided it was finally deserved.

I had my daughter in her undies in the morning as they played outside in the sprinkler, but gave up and put her in diapers in the afternoon after more accidents and no hits in the potty since the first day.

Day 4 (Friday): An Outing.

My son has been dry for over 24 hours (sleeping times included), so I decide to attempt an outing. We went out for frozen custard and french fries–at 10 am. I put my daugher in diapers, but brought a change of clothes for my son, a towel and threw the froggy potty into our van for good measure.

About 30 minutes into our time at the restaurant, my son said he needed to use the potty, so we rushed into bathroom and he bravely scooted onto the much larger public toilet to do his business. I was glad it wasn’t an automatic one, because I wasn’t ready to deal with that trauma. He did it! More cheering, hugs and alerting of the family members. We headed to the park for a little bit after that and made it home without any accidents.

1 Week Later…

Up to now, my son has had just one accident and has stayed dry while sleeping–for an entire week. In that time, he’s gone at church, at restaurants and even peed off the hiking trail with daddy. We’ve jumped right back into life as usual and trust him to tell us when he needs to go. But what’s surprised us the most is how this new skill has transformed him. He is more confident, willing to try new things and glows with pride in himself. He can control something very important in his little life and this knowledge empowers him.

~~~

Here’s my take-away:

1. Wait until they’re older, not just “ready.”
My son was very content to stay in diapers forever, so I couldn’t just wait for him to tell me he was ready, but I think the fact that he was older made it all go so much more quickly. I keep thinking of it like picking fruit–would you rather pick fruit prematurely and have it sit on your counter for a week to ripen, or just wait and pick it when it’s good and ripe? My son was ripe and ready for this. My daughter? Not so much. But she’s two next month and we’ll try her again when the time seems right.

2. Relax.
Don’t take it too seriously and be willing to wait if it doesn’t work for you right now.

3. Be willing to go against “the books.”
My son certainly didn’t follow the potty training script–he never ONCE went when prompted, stayed dry at night and naps from day one, and seemed more motivated by our smiles and praise than by stickers and prizes.

Ah, parenting. I never thought I‘d see the day when I‘d look in the toilet, see a huge turd and start smiling and clapping.

~~~

What’s your experience with potty training?

~~~

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Previous Post: Overcoming Smartphone Addiction

Next Post: Monthly Mentionables {June}

What we did and how it went when we attempted to potty train my strong-willed son.

June 25, 2016

Overcoming Smartphone Addiction

Technology is not the devil, but we don’t need to allow it to be our god, either.

A monarch butterfly sailed on the wind as I sat waiting for my latte at an open-air coffee shop in San Diego. I watched it glide, dip and twirl around the men and women busily setting up tables and canopies for a weekly farmers’ market. Suddenly, I realized that I wouldn’t have noticed this spectacular solo performance just a week ago. Nose-down, scrolling through any number of messages, alerts and notifications on my phone, I would have missed this simple dance on the wind.

The Phone Fast

My husband and I recently took a one week vacation without kids to California to remember each other and ourselves after four years of having babies and before number three’s arrival in a few months. Before leaving for our trip, I tentatively decided that I would bring my phone, but leave it off in my suitcase and just let my husband check my texts and calls every evening. I did have a laptop with me, so I checked email and other social media once or twice a day, but I didn’t have access to the Internet when we were out and about since the laptop stayed back at the cottage.

I was nervous about unplugging. What if I missed something important? How would I be able to post pictures on Facebook immediately? How would I check the weather? What would I do if I needed to wait somewhere with nothing to do?

But after the first morning of my detox, instead of withdrawal, I felt…free. I’ve known for a while now that my phone makes me feel shackled and that it has become an addiction, but I haven’t been sure how to conquer the blessing-turned-curse. After a week of doing without, here are a few changes I’ve made to ensure that I am the boss of my Smartphone instead of my technology lording over me.

3 Ways to Overcome Smartphone Addiction:

1. Sleep with your spouse, not with your phone.

A few weeks ago, I spent my first precious thirty minutes before my children woke up just lying in bed checking Facebook. The night before, I had been on social media in bed long after my husband had fallen asleep. It was then that I knew I needed help. So I started charging my phone at night downstairs in the kitchen instead in our room. I bought a cheap travel alarm clock to replace my phone’s one true reason to even earn a spot in our bedroom. It has been a simple, yet liberating change that is helping me to sleep better at night.

2. Declutter the apps on your phone.

The day we got back from San Diego, I did a bit of “life-changing magic” and tidied up the apps on my phone. Though they “sparked joy,” they were unnecessary if I could just as easily check them on the computer, where I could be in better control of the time I spent on them. I nervously deleted Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, email and even the weather app.

How many times a day do you “quickly” check the weather on your phone and ten minutes later you forget why you even turned on your phone in the first place? That was me. I can check the weather just as easily on my computer in the morning just the way I always did in pre-Smartphone days.

So now, my phone is for texting, taking pictures, reading books, making calls, checking the internet, GPS and listening to music or podcasts.

(A less drastic solution would also be to turn off all notifications for social media or hiding the icons–but I’m sneaky, so that never worked for me.)

3. Start wearing a watch again.

Since my phone has become a permanent fixture on my body, I haven’t needed to wear a wristwatch anymore. But just as the weather app can be a seductive Siren, innocently “checking the time” can steal your precious attention away when you feel you suddenly must find out what those social media notifications could be. And again, twenty minutes later, you return to reality and try and remember why you were looking at your phone in the first place (“Oh yeah—what time is it?”).

~~~

Two Weeks Later

It’s been two weeks since I stripped my phone of its many roles, but so far the change has been glorious. I am so much less tempted to use it to fill any downtime in my day because there isn’t much on there to lure me away anyway. There have been a few times when I’ve craved Facebook and when I open up my phone, I end up clicking on the Kindle app that is now in its place and reading a book instead.

Think of it like ridding your home of junk food and filling it with fruit instead so that when you crave a snack, you’re forced to eat an apple. Kindle for Facebook. It’s rough at first, but then your body starts appreciating the fact that you’re feeding it with substance instead of empty calories and you start to LIKE those apples. I am certainly spending more time reading now that I don’t fall down the Twitter or Facebook rabbit hole.

But more than anything, the greatest aspect of having more limits in place is that I’m forced to pay attention to the world around me again.

On the fourth day of our vacation, I plopped my 27-week-preg-body down on a bench outside of a small museum in a historic town we were exploring, letting my husband continue reading every word of every informational sign as he likes to do. The only place to sit was next to an elderly lady who was people-watching. I joined her and we noticed the huge, gorgeous tree stretching across the lawn.

We made small talk and admired the gaggle of middle-aged Chinese ladies dressed in eclectic and brightly colored clothing, each posing elaborately in front of an old courthouse before replacing their oversized straw hats and continuing on, their high heels clicking on the sidewalk. And once again, I reflected on the fact that I normally would have missed all of this. Before the phone fast, my first instinct would have been to pull out my phone while I waited for my husband to return.

Absorbed in the lives of others on social media, perhaps I would have even forgotten to live my own life. I would have missed the chance to delight in the wonder all around me: watching a butterfly ballet, marveling with the elderly and admiring the hilarity in the scope of humanity.

I know I’m not the only one who struggles with this addiction. I don’t think we need to be radical and throw away our phones or be overly idealistic about the days of before we had all “this technology.” Technology is not the devil, but we don’t need to allow it to be our god, either. Are you ruling your phone or is your phone ruling you? What practical steps can you take to ensure that your phone is a tool of freedom and not a chain of bondage in your life?

Do you have any other ideas on how to break free from Smartphone addictions? I’d love to hear them in the comments!

~~~

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Related Posts:

21 Ways to Live Counter-culturally

A Book for the Budding Minimalist {The More of Less}

KonMari Krazy {The Life-Changing Magic of Tidying Up}

Previous Post: A Writer’s Prayer

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June 23, 2016

A Writer’s Prayer

My dear Jesus,

As I pull my chair up to the computer to write, I beg that you would not only sit next to me, patting me gently on the back, but actually dip down and draw up words from the well of your Spirit. I pray for your anointing. I want my words to make you smile.

Lord, I’m sorry for competing, comparing myself, and seeking affirmation from others. Forgive me for the pride of exalting myself instead of pointing to you. I confess my blatant ignorance of the suffering of others and the ways I shield myself from their pain so that I can continue in my comfort. Wash me, Lord, and purify my motives for writing.

Thank you for raising up writers to speak truth during days when truth seems like a shimmering mirage. As your daughters and sons, we see through a darkened glass, but it doesn’t mean that Truth is not solid or that it does not exist.

I pray for the boldness to speak up against injustice when I have the opportunity–even when I don’t have a solution.

I pray that fear would never keep me from doing what you have called me to do. Please give me faith to keep moving forward.

I pray that you would pour my boiling anger at rash injustice into the funnel of faith, hope and love. Mold it into a useful tool for building and planting instead of a weapon of violence that only kills, destroys and feeds the fury of hate.

I pray for the strength to do what I can, when I can, and to have grace for myself and others for the things that I am not capable of doing right now.

I pray that I would do my part–tend my small square in the larger tapestry–and write for my community and my people without being overwhelmed by how much more there is to do in the name of justice, hope and love.

I pray for the courage to be vulnerable, authentic and transparent if my openness will free others to feel they are not alone, aid in their healing or empower them to do the next thing. I pray my writing would cost me something.

I pray for the gift of words–dazzling, true, clear, precise words–that will best speak the message you want me to share.

I pray for discipline to write even when I feel tired, uninspired or empty.

I pray for energy to learn, change, grow, admit my weaknesses, beg forgiveness and ask hard questions that may have no obvious answers.

I pray for wide eyes, hearing ears, open hands and a burning heart that come from spending time in the presence of Jesus himself.

I pray for wisdom in choosing the path you have marked for me without getting distracted by the daisy-lined trails that may intrigue, but are not the ones you want me to explore.

I pray for miracles. May your Spirit transform my words–my simple offering of a few loaves and fish–and multiply them to feed the ones (even the one) you intend for them to feed.

I pray for encouragement on the days I want to quit. Please minister to me when I feel depleted and nourish me with even one small crumb of a reminder that I am still on Your Way.

Jesus, thank you for raising up other writers to add their voices to the collective chorus that is singing out boldly for you in the midst of so much pain, hatred and bitterness in the world. Keep our voices sweet, but strong.

Finally, I pray for love.

For “if I speak in the tongues of men and of angels, but have not love, I am a noisy gong or a clanging cymbal. And if I have prophetic powers, and understand all mysteries and all knowledge, and if I have all faith, so as to remove mountains, but have not love, I am nothing. If I give away all I have, and if I deliver up my body to be burned, but have not love, I gain nothing (1 Corinthians 13: 1-3 NLT).”

Loveless words are empty words. Infuse my words with the purifying fire of your love.

Thank you for calling me to write for such a time as this. Thank you for the few magical moments when I’ve felt that you are pouring words into and drawing them back out of me. I pray that you would keep my voice in tune with yours and fill the earth with even more voices to sing out to you.

I pray that you would give us holy anger, inexplicable wisdom, unshackled hope, compassionate love, endless grace, spirit-fueled power and unpolluted vision as we cannot help speaking about what we have seen and heard (Acts 4:20)

Thank you that we are never alone, but that we write with you.

In Jesus’ powerful name.

Amen.

~~~

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Previous Post: A Book for the Budding Minimalist {The More of Less}

Next Post: Overcoming Smartphone Addiction

Related Post: To the Writer Mamas

Check out all the posts in this series here.

On (most) Thursdays this year, I’ll share thoughts, tips and inspiration for writers. I’m not an expert, but hope to seek personal encouragement in this art and want to share with anyone who’s also trying to find their way as a writer. These short posts will come from books, articles, the Bible, my own thoughts, and other people. If you’re new to the series, check out the posts you missed here. Please introduce yourself in the comments–I’d love to meet you and hear your thoughts on writing.

Happy writing!

Leslie

June 20, 2016March 5, 2018

A Book for the Budding Minimalist {The More of Less}

A Book for the Budding Minimalist {A Review of The More of Less by Joshua Becker}

Usually the concept of “minimalism” evokes images of eliminating our creature comforts, meditating in bare white rooms or downsizing to a tiny home in Montana. But in The More of Less, author and blogger, Joshua Becker, sets out to convince us of the paradox that living a minimalist lifestyle will not strip away, but actually enhance the life we were meant to live.

This book is a practical how-to book for the minimalist novice looking to explore the benefits of a simpler lifestyle. As I already agreed with Becker’s concepts of minimalism at the outset, I didn’t need a lot of convincing and personally found the first half of the book to be purely common sense. But the second half of the book offered so much practical advice on how to actually incorporate minimalist ideas into the average American’s life that I found it to be a gem in the midst of so many books now available on this current trend.

Becker humbly incorporates the wisdom of other popular minimalist gurus in his discussion and his bibliography offers a wide range of resources for those looking to do a more in depth exploration of minimalism.

Becker’s clear and relatable writing style gives readers the “guy next door” impression that might empower middle class Americans to feel that they, too, might be able to make some simple changes to their life of excess.

While other currently popular books on minimalism focus on decluttering or organizing possessions, Becker makes a wider sweep and considers how being more intentional about the number of our kitchen utensils, clothes or cars also impacts our family, friends, goals and aspirations to make a difference in the world.

Most other resources about minimalism today focus on the individual benefits to self and the ways we will have happier lives as we purge our possessions, but Becker reveals how having more time and money will enable us to help others through volunteering, giving and generally just having more time for people. Becker points out that our choices to intentionally own less will free up our time and finances so that we can be a blessing to others. This—not just personal happiness—is what he describes as the paradox of “the more of less.” He says, “It’s about having a smaller material lifestyle so you can experience a bigger life, full of passion and purpose. Own less to live more” (212).

If you are looking to live a more counter-cultural lifestyle and transition from feeling controlled to being in control of your possessions, finances and time, then this book is for you.

~~~

I received a free copy of this book from Blogging for Books in exchange for writing this honest review.

**This post contains Amazon Affiliate Links

21 Ways to Live Counter-Culturally

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June 14, 2016

Serving Single in China

I recently had this essay published in a magazine for singles in Australia called SPAG Magazine. The editor has given me permission to republish it here.

Cowering behind the faded window curtain, I tentatively peered out into the darkness. Another explosion sent me inching deeper into the tiny cinder block apartment for safety. Slowly, logic began to overlap my irrational thoughts. Perhaps the “gunfire” outside wasn’t a group of Chinese militants coming to kidnap the brand new single woman missionary after all. Could it be that maybe—just maybe–it was simply fire crackers to celebrate a traditional festival?

In my five years of living in China, the first night was the most frightening. But as anyone who has done the brave thing has ever experienced, reality often ends up being much tamer than our imagination. So once I began to adapt to my surroundings, many irrational fears fled and left me with confidence. In 2004, God had led me to move across the globe from the U.S. to live alone in China as a single woman missionary.

Here is my story.

Choosing Independence

If I told a psychologist three of my literary role models, they could probably psychoanalyze me fairly well. Anne from Anne of Green Gables, Maria of The Sound of Music, and Jo from Little Women were my heroes. Though each woman eventually married, marriage was never the goal of their lives. Instead, they were strong, independent women who knew what they wanted and refused to let a man barricade the way to their dreams. Like these women, marriage was never my endgame.

I went to a Christian university where many women’s goals were to leave with the famed “M.R.S. degree.” My roommate’s father warned her that if she couldn’t find a man there, she would have a hard time finding one anywhere. Horrified, I vowed I wouldn’t get married during or immediately following college because God had called me to serve Him overseas and I didn’t want anything—or anyone—to get in the way of that call.

My Call to Missions

When I was 16-years-old, a missionary visited our church to share about his family’s work in Uganda. Complete with a slideshow of his children growing up learning how to throw spears and wear war paint, I was enthralled. At the end of his fiery sermon, the pastor did an altar call asking if anyone wanted to “give their life to missions.” Heart burning and hands sweating, I made the trip forward to answer the call.

From that time on, I read every missionary biography I could get my hands on and absorbed myself in the lives of Amy Carmichael, Bruce Olson, Jim and Elisabeth Elliot, George Mueller and Hudson Taylor. I copied Jim Elliot quotes into my journal and practically tackled visiting missionaries so I could find out about their lives. I was enamored with the romantic notion of throwing my whole self into God’s service.

In college, I led the Africa prayer team and signed up for a six month internship in Africa, where I was sure God was calling me to spend my life. My first experience abroad was in Uganda, where I faced culture shock and came up against many of my unrealistic ideals about being a missionary. I was less useful and life overseas was harder than I had anticipated. After returning, I decided that if God wanted me to live abroad, then He would have to make it unmistakably clear. A few years later, God showed me that it was time to go. He led me as a 25-year-old single woman to a three-year commitment—which turned into five–to teach English to college students in China.

Advantages of Being Single

Fear, excitement, hope, anxiety and wonder swirled internally as I prepared to leave for China in July of 2005. I sold my car, quit my teaching job and said goodbye to friends and family. Though I had moments of doubt when skeptical family members would question my decision, I was confident that if God called me to China, then He would be the one to sustain me there.

Once there, God proved that He was more than enough. I was surprised that though the loneliness was acute at times and my marital status was a mystery to the Chinese, who almost always married by the time they were 30, there were so many advantages to serving God as a single woman.

Compared to my married teammates, I had the gift of time. As I only taught about 16 hours a week, I was able to spend the rest of my time learning Chinese, meeting up with fellow teachers and teammates, having students over weekly to teach me to cook Chinese food, exploring the city, visiting my students in their homes in the countryside, and seeking Jesus in the long mornings. I noticed that many expat married women with children were much more isolated as their time was spent homeschooling and creating a cocoon for their family. They often seemed to be much lonelier than I was as they didn’t have time for many other relationships outside of their families.

I soon realized that I felt much more comfortable as a single woman in China than I did back home in the United States. In China, I was a part of a team that felt like family and was always welcome at the table of my Chinese friends. They eventually assumed that single women were the norm in my country, so they didn’t put pressure on me to conform to society the way my friends and family back home did. After summers at home, I was often eager to return to China, where I felt a sense of belonging and like I was more accepted than I was in the church and society during my short stay in the U.S.

Missions: Sacrifice or Privilege?

My teammate and I had many visitors over the years I was in China. Some were friends, others were on “vision trips,” but some came for the sheer purpose of encouraging missionaries on the field. Many times these trips were made up of older married men in ministry with good intentions, but a narrow view. Sitting down to bowls of spicy noodles, they would ask my teammate and me about the “sacrifices” we had made in giving up everything and going to China. I knew they referred to not being married or having a family, the comforts of home and missing out on weddings, births, deaths and life events back home. I could tell they felt sorry for us. Yes, there were sacrifices, but I felt like these men were missing the point. Being in China felt more like a privilege than a sacrifice. There is a supernatural peace that settles in your soul when you know you are right in the center of God’s will. And you don’t want to be anywhere else.

The street I walked down everyday in northwest China.

Luggage, Logistics and Loneliness

In spite of the overall peace and joy I felt, of course I had my moments of wishing I were married. Dealing with luggage on long journeys home and simple life logistics were often pity party triggers. On cross-country train rides, I joked that I wanted a husband so I didn’t have to haul my suitcase up and down the staircases at the train station. On plane trips, I wished I had someone to watch my luggage so I could run to the bathroom instead of having to lug it into the stall with me. It seemed life would be easier with a companion.

But I also longed for a “constant” in my transitory life. If I had someone who knew both my China and U.S. self, I wouldn’t have to go into long explanations with pictures and diagrams to every single person I knew. At least there would be one person who knew me on both sides of the globe.

The biggest internal struggle I had as a single woman was feeling like I was giving up all prospects of marriage by moving to the middle-of-nowhere China. Like Mary Magdalene, who broke her alabaster jar of perfume at Jesus’ feet, I felt that I was sacrificing all hope of marriage. There were only three other foreigners in our entire city: my female teammate and another single male and female from the U.K.—both in their 60’s. Our organization didn’t allow us to date Chinese men, so I knew marriage would have to be a miracle if it was what God wanted for my life.

Missions vs. Marriage

“In your way, in your time, if it’s your will” was always my prayer when I talked to God about my desire for a husband. But in a fight for contentment, I stopped praying about meeting someone. I noticed prayer was sometimes a nice excuse to indulge in fantasizing, so I trusted my mother and other close praying friends to bring my desire before the throne.

When I returned to the states for my brother’s wedding in the middle of my fifth year in China in January of 2010, I had no aspirations of meeting a man. Some friends and I planned to spend the weekend at a cottage and I ended up carpooling with a guy who had mysteriously been included on the guest list. Convinced that if God wanted me to get married, then he wanted me to marry a missionary, I chattered away with this actor from Chicago the entire three hour drive with my guard completely down. No way could he be “the one.” But by the car ride home two days later, I knew I was in trouble. I was falling in love.

On the outskirts of the city where I lived my first three years in China.

Questions about Calling

I flew back to the states in July of 2010 for a year-long furlough, but got married six months into it. Though marriage itself has been easier and better than I expected, I’ve done a lot of soul-searching about what it means to be “called,” guilt over leaving the mission field and grief over giving up the life I thought God was leading me to live.

Though God made it very clear that this was His new plan for me, I still struggled with the fact that marriage and missions seemed to be mutually exclusive in my life. It is much easier to step in to ministry than it is to step out of it. It is even harder when you are trading in your independence and commitment to your call for a man.

Amy Young, a woman in leadership with our organization at the time, was gracious as I apologetically confessed that I was leaving for a man. “Life is long,” she said. In a book she wrote titled Looming Transitions, she elaborated on this idea and said, “This transition will not become the sum of your life…It’s natural for people to mark things in terms of before or after events: graduation, marriage, a certain job, a baby, a painful breakup, a big move, or a serious health issue. But those events don’t become the story. They become a page in the story or possibly the beginning of a new chapter. They join a plot larger than the transition each one creates. Part of staying fertile, then, involves reminding yourself of the bigger picture–the bigger story–that came before and will live on after it” (pg. 37). “You will outlive this season,” she says (pg. 47).

I once met a couple in China who had been leading short term mission trips every summer for 20 years. They were 70-years-old, which meant that they began their ministry when they were 50. They were enjoying the fruits of a long life of walking with Jesus. We have no idea what God wants to do in our lifetime of following Him. The older I get, the more I appreciate the rear view of life more than the forward view because of all the glimpses I see of Jesus on the road with me when I never even realized it.

Looking back, I am thankful for the years that I was single. I am now in my sixth year of marriage and pregnant with my third child. I miss those long mornings in China spent in the presence of Jesus. I miss the days of exploring, wandering and taking time to get to know people without tiny hands pulling me and high pitched voices demanding my attention. I am grateful that I had adventures and grew into my skin before I met my husband so that I knew who I was and who I belonged to before I committed my life to someone else. And I see the wisdom in God leading me home. He knew I had begun to worship my call. In the past few years, he has shown me that I am not called to missions, teaching, art, writing, marriage or motherhood. My first call is to intimacy with Jesus. And nothing compares to intimacy with Him.

Through going, returning, singleness, marriage and motherhood, God has been my anchor. He has consistently reminded me that though my circumstances change, He remains the same. His love is steady and my identity in Him is secure. Just because I am not serving Him as an overseas missionary right now does not change His character or the way He sees me in any way. He is still moving, breathing His Spirit and whispering His plans just as much at home in the states as He was when I lived in China. And it turns out that He—not a man–was my “constant” all along.

References:
Young, A, Looming Transitions: Starting and Finishing Well in Cross-Cultural Service, 1st paperback ed, pp. 37 & 47, Createspace Independent Publishing Platform, USA. 2015

~~~

Used with permission from SPAG Magazine

Here’s the link to this edition of the magazine, which will only be active until the fall: SPAG Magazine (June-August 2016)

~~~

Check out my 31 Day Series on Re-entry!

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Single in China~ The biggest internal struggle I had as a single woman was feeling like I was giving up all prospects of marriage by moving to the middle-of-nowhere China.

June 10, 2016

My Friends are Books: Finding More Time to Read

We’re on vacation this week (without kids!!!) and I’m pretty sure we’ve been to a bookstore every day. The first time we giggled with glee at the fact that we could even aspire to enter a place with so much to pull off the shelf and destroy. Having small children certainly makes you appreciate the perks of a quiet, adult life. We’ve also spent a ton of time just reading. For hours. It’s been divine.

My husband and I call books our “friends.” When we decided to declutter and minimize our possessions before our move last year, my husband sifted through more than one thousand of these old pals to choose which ones to say goodbye to. It was a painful parting.

Just as any relationship evolves, so, too, our on-going affair with reading. I was that kid in elementary school, narrowly missing smacking into other students as I walked the hallways with my head buried in a book. I read billboards, cereal boxes at breakfast and shampoo bottles in the shower. Anything with words would do.

I inherited this lifelong love from my mom, an ardent book lover. She drove my dad batty on family vacations. While weaving through forests of giant trees, beside chattering brooks and over gigantic mountains exploding with wild flowers, he’d nearly veer off the road with his rubber-necking, while my mom’s head would be bowed in the passenger seat, lost in a book.

Though I was content to read Babysitters’ Club books, my mom usually thrust the classics under my nose before buying another cookie-cutter series book for me to read in an hour. Island of the Blue Dolphins, Caddie Woodlawn, The Witch of Blackbird Pond, A Wrinkle in Time, Jane Eyre, Charlotte’s Web, Little House on the Prairie, Anne of Green Gables, and Little Women were my companions when I wasn’t pretending I was a gymnast on the fence in our backyard, collecting caterpillars or making up dance routines with my childhood best friend, Natalie. The courageous girls in these books were my sisters and literary friends.

The rigors of high school and college then usurped the ability to choose my book friends and I was forced to get to know those books I wouldn’t have chosen for myself: Fahrenheit 451, The Handmaid’s Tale, Crime and Punishment, The Great Gatsby, Animal Farm, To Kill a Mockingbird, The Odyssey, Othello and The Scarlet Letter. These friends weren’t as easy to get to know and being with them sometimes made my brain hurt. But just as befriending “difficult” people changes, challenges and stretches us, these books transformed me.

When you graduate from college, the thought that you can read anything you want is liberating after four years of forced reading lists. The freedom! So in those years after college and before masters studies, I leisurely caught up on the books I had missed while I was entrenched in academia. This was in the days before Netflix, Facebook or Twitter where wasting time meant first going to the video store, then coming home to put a DVD in the video player and curling up on the couch to veg out. It was almost easier to just grab a book.

Apart from my three years of masters study, my adult reading life has been slow, but continual. But because I read so much less than in years past, the books I spend time with must be worthy partners. They must educate, inform, inspire or be utterly engrossing. Life is too short to read books you hate.

And as writing has become more a part of my life, I’ve been surprised to find the pace of my reading pick up as well. I’ve always known that writers read, but it’s been amazing to find that though I have less time to read, I’ve found ways to fill in the chinks in my day that were once allowed to remain empty (or more likely filled with social media). Here are some ways I’ve been able to do that.

3 WAYS TO READ MORE

Read More Than One Book

One way I’ve done this is to read several books at one time. After listening to the popular podcast What Should I Read Next? where the host, Ann Bogel, interviews readers about their reading life, I noticed that most of them laugh when she asks them what they are currently reading. “I’m reading six books right now!” they usually say. Their reasoning is that they always have a book ready to fit their mood.

So I am giving it a try. Here’s what that looks like for me. I’m reading a devotional-type book in the mornings after I read my Bible. Right now, that’s Ruthless Trust, by Brennan Manning. I have a nonfiction book like The Writing Life by Annie Dillard, ready to read with breakfast if I don’t need to talk to anyone (which rarely happens). I have a more engrossing book, like The Invention of Wings, by Sue Monk Kidd, that requires a bit more head space to read for a few minutes with tea after I put the kids down for their naps. Finally, I have a book on my night stand, The More of Less, by Joshua Becker, that I can groggily read a few pages of (3 minutes, according to my husband) since night is not my ideal time for engaged thought.

And it’s working!

Read in Different Formats

In addition to surrounding myself with a variety of book friends, reading in many different formats has also helped to accelerate my ability to read more. If you always have a book or two on Kindle on your phone, then you always have a book with you to read. This has been great for standing in long lines, waiting in the car in the parking lot as my husband jets into the store to run an errand or if I sit down on the couch and realize my other book is too far away. And if you download the audio book of the same book on audible, then the book will sync up and enable you to listen while you’re driving around, then go back to Kindle format when you get home.

Keep a List

Finally, keeping an up-to-date list on Goodreads allows me to quickly choose the next book to put on hold at the library. My children already know that mommy and daddy usually have books on the hold shelf to retrieve before their story time at the library and they happily carry our books to the check out counter for us.

Reading is a satisfying love affair. More than just a way to escape daily life, it changes my perspective of people, God, and the world. What are some ways you are keeping up this affair in your life? I’d love to hear!

~~~

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Linking up with Velvet Ashes

On (most) Thursdays this year, I’ll share thoughts, tips and inspiration for writers. I’m certainly not an expert, but am simply seeking personal encouragement in this art and want to share with anyone who’s also trying to find their way as a writer. These short posts will come from books, articles, the Bible, my own thoughts, and other people. Subscribe in the upper right corner so that you don’t miss a post. If you’re new to the series, find all the posts here. Come meet me in the comments–I’d love to read your thoughts on writing.

Happy writing!

Leslie

June 8, 2016

Chicago’s Uptown {You Are Here Stories}

I’m sharing today at You Are Here Stories for the theme “sound.” You Are Here is a collection of stories about roots, identity and place, which are some of the topics I love to write about the most. Here is a teaser, but I hope you can click over and check out the rest of the article on their site!

A fire engine shrieked through the stoplight, casting a light show in my room and spraying the bare white walls with color. Even through closed windows, the sound was deafening. Within minutes, an ambulance from the hospital in the other direction bayed and bounded through the intersection. I rubbed my eyes. The city had assaulted me through the night, pushing away any hope of restful sleep. The thought of coffee propelled me out of bed.

As new college graduates, my two roommates and I were fresh from the sweetly singing suburbs. Having recently secured jobs in Chicago, we moved into a two bedroom apartment above a tuxedo shop doubling as a dry cleaner in Uptown, at the corner of Clark and Wilson. Our landlords owned the block. The father, an Arab from Palestine who worked tirelessly at the dry cleaner, was a large silver-haired man with bushy eyebrows and kind black eyes. He gave us a 10 percent discount for being his tenants. His burly son lived across the hall from us and owned the cell phone shop next door, which sold a variety of wares during our four years living there. The uncles worked across the street at the liquor store where we dropped off our rent.

Continue reading…

Photo of the Wilson L station by Graham Garfield

~~~

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June 1, 2016

Loving Like They’re Lost

My babies are my tattoos. When I gave birth to them, my flesh ripped and I was left with beautiful, forever scars. I’ve been branded. Altered. These tattoos are a display of the divine artist who chose the intricate motions that would sear my skin and create the unique patterns of each child. Like a fresh wound, motherhood leaves you vulnerable and exposed. Motherhood sensitizes you to pain, but also to raw joy.

I’ve been complaining a lot lately. About children’s tantrums, humiliating tasks, “lost” time, wasted gifts, mundane moments, tiredness and the general humdrum of motherhood. But here’s the thing. I could easily have never been a mother. Or I could lose a child.

I could have been the mom at Cincinnati Zoo, whose little son slipped away from her and ended up being dangled around by a 400 lb. gorilla. And I am not exempt from having the baby wiggling in my womb right now never take a breath or losing a child in the myriad of tragic ways we have all read about on the Internet. Like gawking at a train wreck, we read along even though we know what such stories will do to our insides. How we’ll weep, fear more and clutch our little ones until they complain that we’re crushing them. But it’s that last part that I want to do more of. More of that clutching and squeezing my kids until they tell me that I’m hugging them too hard. I’d rather hug them too hard than make them wonder if they are less important than the rectangular box with a glowing screen that I cradle and stare at all day long.

A mom once told me that on the hardest days as a mom, she says to herself, What if my son died tomorrow? I thought that was dramatic at the time, but today I came across a woman’s story of losing her five-year-old daughter in a fire and fresh grief and fear gripped me. It’s a real thing. This losing of a child. And those of us who have never experienced that kind of loss have an obligation to love the ones we are given as if every day were their last.

So though you won’t often find me gushing about all the magical moments of mommyhood, I do want to write about them today. I need to come back to this post on the rough days when I wonder how my three-year-old was trained in torture techniques that could wear down the more resolute of prisoners.

Because gratefulness comes in the expressing of a thing. Beaming the light of thankfulness reveals the gifts that the darkness likes to hide. It illuminates the intricate, incredible, delectable, delightful details right under our noses.

Here are some of the ways I am thankful for my little people.

I’m thankful for this three-almost-four-year-old boy child that made me a mommy. He is a skinny thing of average height, with curly cornsilk hair with just a hint of strawberry in it. He has a small nose dotted with five brown freckles, green eyes with the same amber spark as mine and dimples that look more like creases right under his eyes when he smiles. He is pale, though he never seems to sunburn and still runs like a foal getting used to its legs.

I’ve started calling him Tigger Boy because he will not stop hopping around like the bouncy, trouncy, flouncy, pouncy, fun fun fun fun fun tiger in Winnie the Pooh. He is always moving, making trucks talk and acting out elaborate tales. Removing toys from his room has never helped him to sleep because he just plays with his hands instead, making them banter, leap and fly. The only way I can get him to be still is to plop him down in front of a fresh pile of library books and he will be quiet for an hour.

We have sung him the same three songs at night for the past year and he will not let us change. So every night after reading a book and a Bible story, we kneel at his bed and sing “Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star,” “Amazing Grace” and “Skip to my Lou.” Every. Single. Night. After that we pray and then he tells us he’s been saving up some kisses for us. So with what are usually wet fingers, he counts them out, “One, two, three, four, five, seven. No…one, two, three…” By this time we are usually ready to be done with this routine, but remind ourselves that this is sweet. We should savor this. This will not last. And so we wait and then squeeze our eyes shut as he slowly leaves saliva on every inch of our face.

He probably asks a hundred questions a day. Easily. And more than half we have no answer for. Where is that truck going? Why is that house green? Why are train tracks called “train tracks”? What is that lever on that boat for? Why do airplanes fly? Why do ants eat people food? Why do people watch races?

Lately, I’ve found that the only thing that seems to motivate him to clean up his toys is the promise of a BIG hug and a kiss. After months of threats, I was shocked that this simple flip of the switch from negative to positive reinforcement would actually work on my stubborn boy. A begrudging affection-giver, receiving these hugs from him is like precious treasure.

Having this first baby boy was the first time I ever fell instantaneously, head-over-heels in love.

Having convinced myself I’d probably have all boys, I couldn’t believe it when the ultrasound technician announced that my second baby would be a girl. My husband and I squeezed hands and looked at each other with eyes full of tears–a girl!

Now almost two-years-old, she seems to delight in tormenting her brother, snuggling with her parents and exhibiting more of an attention span for Lego’s than for dolls. Girl clothes, hair and toys are still an enigma to us as we’re slowly adapting our expectations from Little Boy World to Little Girl World and finding that they are, in fact, two different things. We’re discovering how complicated it is to match different shades of pink and purple clothes and convince your toddler to sit still for more than two minutes while you comb out her tangles and brush her straw-colored hair into two neat, wispy pigtails. And we’re already wading the sea of sexist toys earmarked for girls that seem to stereotype and define females from such a young age.

But this little girl. Oh my. Her chubby cheeks and thighs. Her musical laugh. Even the way she beats up her brother with her tiny hands slapping his back while he just sits there saying, “ow, ow, ow, ow” without moving away. The way she breaks into crocodile tears in an instant when we say “no.” She looks at us defiantly from those huge blue eyes, button nose and pouty lips when she’s in time out, but usually willingly joins our son for his time outs when he is in trouble. She has fire in her.

But also sweetness. She shows surprising kindness even at this young age and will eventually surrender her toys to her screaming, tantrum-throwing brother even though it was technically “her turn” to have them.

And the two of them together? Lately, they love to twirl to music, arms raised, and run in circles on the carpeted living room floor until they fall into a giggling heap. They can’t wait to get butt naked before bath time so they can do their “nakey dance” as their dad and I clap out a rhythm for their tiny dancing bodies. They sit in lizard-like positions, draped over the couch or coffee table as they are mesmerized by the moving images on the T.V. screen. On walks, they flatten themselves on the sidewalk to poke at unassuming bugs and transfer them to blades of grass or twigs. They squeal endlessly when we pin them to the ground and tickle their hands, feet, tiny toes and soft necks.

These little ones are my axis right now. The climate of my world often shifts depending on whether they have slept, eaten or been shown enough affection throughout the day. My days are more dreary when they are unhappy, and flooded with sunshine when they are spilling with laughter.

Perspective breeds gratefulness.

Today, I give thanks for these precious babes. For their innocence and simple delight. These beautiful tattoos on my soul. And I want to love them more wildly for all the mommies who have lost their little ones. I owe it to these mothers, but also to my beautiful, darling children and to my Jesus for entrusting them to me for such a time as this.

~~~

**Trigger alert**
www.abigumbrella.com This was the site that I poured over yesterday afternoon that led to writing this post. It is heart-wrenching, but a beautiful testimony of finding that God clings to us even as we’re searching for Him in suffering.

~~~

Linking up with #GiveMeGrace

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I've been complaining a lot lately. About children's tantrums, humiliating tasks, "lost" time, wasted gifts, mundane moments, tiredness and the general humdrum of motherhood. But here's the thing. I could easily have never been a mother. Or I could lose a child.

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