A Week of Firsts

I ate cottage cheese for the first time in my life.
Sam had pneumonia for the first time in my life and his.
Jamie spilled ice-cream, water, and cream soda on the freshly cleaned carpets, all within a 30 minutes time span.
First time I've been 160 days past my 34^th birthday.
Abby screamed and cried more this week than EVER.
I participated in a spin class at the gym where I thought for sure I would breathe my last.
While watching a painter paint a column at said gym, I leaned against the wall to wait; guess he could have told me the wall was still wet.
Come Thursday afternoon, I will be the mother of a middle school boy.

 
So it's officially a week of firsts. A lot of strange things happen to me, anyone that knows me can attest to this. Of course, a lot of strange things happen to you too, but you may not want to tell anyone. I, for one, do not mind telling people of my crazy. There is so much significant about some of these firsts.
I'm a picky eater. My diet does not consist of healthy fare, it's typically as fatty and fried as you can get. I'm finally trying to broaden my horizons and try some new things. I like cheese. Therefore, I should like cottage cheese. I've never eaten before mainly because it looks gross. The consistency freaks me out, but I'm trying it again today.
I don't work-out in public. Well, until recently. It's embarrassing to me, but I suppose an early death leaving my children without their mother would be cruel, so I really need to do what I can to take care of myself. I can get over my embarrassment and do my part to be healthier.
When Sam was 10 days old, he was hospitalized with RSV. There began our journey with a frequently sick little boy. Hundreds of ear infections, bronchitis, cold after cold after cold, and now, pneumonia. It happens and he's getting better.
Jamie is my clumsy child. I really should not fuss at him when he has these episodes—he's just like me. I just get tired of cleaning up my messes AND his messes.
Abby is a diva. We've contributed to that, no doubt. It's my responsibility to rehabilitate her diva tendencies. I can't take the screaming when she doesn't get her way. I've swatted that girls legs so many times in the last couple of days. And in all her defiant glory, she screams some more. Time out works sometimes… she is a different animal from the boys. This is going to be a long process.
I feel particularly old today despite the fact that I know I am not. But with each passing second, minute, hour, day, week, month… I grow more weary. I can't seem to focus on what's happening around me. It's as if I'm driving in a car, on the highway of my life, and when you look out the passenger window, things fly bye so rapidly, you can barely see them sometimes. And once you pass it, it's gone. Just a fading sight in the rearview. Ugh.
So tonight I go out with my 11 year old, 5^th grade soon-to-be graduate and buy him a suit for graduation. Tonight, I will snuggle my 9 year old, accident prone comedian and listen to him crack a silly joke. I'll pick up my daughter and hold her light-as-a-freakin-feather little body and listen to her tell me "I'm her best mama". All is right with the world when I am in their worlds. It's hard to watch them gain their independence. I know that's my job as their mother, but I sure don't like teaching this to them.
*tear*tear*

ps- the paint... it did come out of my pants and yes, it got it on my booty.  Naturally. Makes sense that I should draw more attention to my self by walking through the gym with paint on my can.  It was funny, so I can't be mad at the weirdo painter who failed to warn me.  

 

 

 

 

 

The House That Built Me

There is a song I hear each morning and after afternoon on my commute to and from work. It chokes me up EVERY time I hear it. Between the rhythms of the smooth guitar, the soft, mellow voice and the lyrics themselves, I simply melt.

The lyrics resonate within me. One of those moments of "ah, yes, that's how I feel and that's what I'd say if I could" moments. You know those times where you can't put words with your feelings? How frustrating that is! Then someone comes along and not only gives your feelings words, but makes beautiful music.

I think about my birthplace a lot. So many wonderful childhood and adolescent memories. As an adult, the memories are few and far between as I've spent little time in my adulthood. It was different when I was in college and then out of college and after we were married. I'd go home and I retrace my footsteps through familiar settings.

There are times now when I wish I could go back. Not necessarily to the place, but to the time. I can life through my 12 year old eyes! I can feel the heat of the summer, the cool air-conditioned running in the kitchen window; I can remember swimming and playing. I vividly remember the summer nights. The balmy evenings with fireflies; nighttime serenades from the crickets and tree frogs. Oh how I remember the way the sky looked at night! A velvet blanket of stars—they seemed close enough to touch some nights. And if the moon was full in the sky, it was like a soft spotlight shining on the stage.

I can still hear the gravels beneath the wheels of a car coming down the drive. I can hear the sound of the tractor mowing the lower field; the sound of the saw-mill over the" holler". And even the sounds of the bees and other honestly annoying summer insects.

One of my favorite things about summer mornings was the dew on the grass. When you'd come outside, it was hot, but the green grass was cool and damp beneath your feet. The sun would stream from the mountain peak, just on the horizon. It was so beautiful early in the morning, before you could really feel the heat from its beams. Oh and the birds singing at first light? Divine!

In my mind, I walk about the front door and down the gravel drive. I turn the bend in the road, and walk down the hill towards the creek. The water laps gently along the stone, rushing down towards the pond. The drive tilts up another hill; along the left edge is a steep embankment with trees hanging over the road. Along the right is a barbed wire fence—rough and rugged, reminding me of another place and time. I touch the fence, between the barbs. I long to connect with something from the past. You can smell the woodsy air and on the breeze you pick up hints of years of memories.

As the steep road flattens, I smell the familiar aroma of my grandparent's home. I can hear the dishes on the stove and the blaring television set. I see the glow of the familiar lights as dusk is falling. The porch lights beckon me like a moth to flame; I climb the cement stairs...one…two…three…four… I stand before the old oak door with aged window panes. I can hear faded laughter and distant porch swing chains clanking. When I reach for the door knob, the lights go out, the sounds disappear. The house is empty and dark.

(no, that's not the actual house but similiar.)

I'm staring out a window at a brick parking garage. The only sounds I hear are from the busy street below and the keys on the keyboard. I enjoy being transported back in time, but it hurts my heart. When I'm there, in my mind, everything just seems to make sense. When I'm here in reality, I can't seem to make sense of much of anything.

"I thought if I could touch this place or feel it

This brokenness inside me might start healing

Out here it's like I'm someone else

I thought that maybe I could find myself

If I could just come in I swear I'll leave

I won't take nothing but a memory

From the house that built me…"

 Sometimes I wish I could move backwards. Sometimes I do wish I could rewind and have another shot at something. How I wish that going back to the house that built me would give me strength and perspective. I guess there are times in our lives when the roots surface. Taking time to acknowledge their existence isn't a bad thing. There is strength in our foundation.

 Knowing where you come from is a huge part of who you are! Holding on to my vivid memories and bringing them to life gives me courage. Sure, I can't stand on that front porch. I can't walk barefoot in that grass. I can't hear the gravel beneath the car or the tractor in the distance. I can't go back and sit in the tree behind the house and pick cherries; eating them until my stomach aches. I cannot watch my mother at the kitchen sink from the yard—with the light casting an odd orange glow in the backyard from the overhead light. Wondering what she's thinking? I'm just watching, studying.

 I have a head full of memories. They get all bunched up sometimes. I can't figure out how to get it all out. Not that I want to lose them; quite the opposite. I want to save them-- I want to pass them down to my children. I want to be able to paint pictures with words; tell the stories so believably that even if they can't live it, feel it, see it… they will experience it in their minds. I want to give them the living, breathing memories from the houses that built me.

Home Is Where the Heart Is

You can't pack up the memories. As the photos have been taken down from the walls, mantle and various other areas of display, I'm struck with the overwhelming reality that you cannot really box up the memories. I cannot tenderly wrap them and place them snuggly within a cardboard shell. I cannot load them in my car and take them an hour up the road to unload them in the house on Beaten Path Road. The laughter, the tears, the many conversations and the many friends that have passed through the threshold on Markus Drive—those irreplaceable memories cannot be removed. They will echo in the small house forever, as long as the house is standing.

Sam's backyard baseball games; Jamie's backyard football; Abby's first room, first steps, first words… her first days of living out in the real world. The finger prints on the glass, on the walls… the footprints, the dust—all of combine to make so many wonderful memories.

They say that home is where the heart is. I used to believe that to mean that my heart belonged in the home on the side of the mountain in Virginia, off Ridgecrest Road. I used to think that my heart would always long for my childhood home; nothing can replace that home. So many memories that are impossible to remove from that home—they could not be boxed up and carried with me to each house that followed.

I have come to realize in my short life, that home is in fact where the heart is. Home is not four walls, bedrooms, bathrooms, living rooms-- home is not the "where", but the "who". Home is exactly where my heart is! And my heart is with my Sam, Jamie, Abby and Jeffrey. My heart is with them wherever they go; whatever they do—my heart belongs to them and is always with them. I am at home, at peace, when I am with them.

Preparing to move my entire family and life as I've known it for the past five years is very difficult. Harder than I thought it would be. My heart aches as I imagine my children starting over; making new friends in a new school. New routines, new schedules—a new life. It is exciting and for me, the chance at "new" is extraordinary. But I worry about my boys especially. I worry about my husband and his future career path. I'm the mom, I'm the wife—I'm supposed to worry, I suppose.

As I walk through the rooms as they empty out, I'm sad. I remember the parties, the dinners, the play—I think of each of the folks that have come into my home over the last five years. Some I don't see anymore; some I long to see again.

I pray for a new start; a fresh beginning. A chance to open my home once again to familiar friends, family and to invite new friends in. To sit and chat; to dine and play with people who I love and who I will learn to love. It really is quite exciting when you think about it! A blank slate, to be filled with whatever God chooses. So, I take a deep breath and I place one foot in front of the other.

It is not an easy road to travel. I can't pack up memories in neat little boxes, but I can carry the warmth of their existence in my heart. Some memories will fade as photographs, but some will remain with me always. And when I recall Markus Drive and my five years there, I will smile and I will know deep within my heart—my family, my heart, my life was blessed by that home.

As the door closes one last time behind me and the key turns the lock, I know that I can walk forward confidently into the new. Thank you for shelter, thank you for warmth, and thank you for the memories Markus Drive. May you richly bless those who walk through your doors henceforth and may they find peace, comfort, warmth and shelter within your walls.

Why? Because I NEED to breathe, that's WHY!

Have you ever been walking along, minding your own business, doing your own thing—when all of the sudden, out of the clear blue, a scent steps out in front of you causing you to come to a screeching halt. You are immediately transported back to another place and time. Ideally, this would be a pleasant scent and a pleasant place and time. There is comfort in the familiar. There is also comfort in pleasant scents or sounds or feelings. There is comfort when the scent that wafts in front of your nose reminds you of sitting in your Grandma’s kitchen while she cooks; when the scent reminds you of your cousin’s house; when the scent reminds of your first love; when the scent reminds you of a serene and peaceful place… etcetera, etcetera, etcetera.

(No, I don’t want to talk about the unpleasant scent, that’s for another time.)

Several of you have questioned why I have such a deep admiration and love for Needtobreathe. Some of you have questions my enjoyment in reading the Twilight Saga. I’m going to explain both.

You see, needtobreathe fell upon my ears at a time I desperately needed God. I was distant, I was hurting, and my life was falling apart. I felt betrayed by humans, but ultimately, I did feel betrayed by God. Driving to work one morning, a song came on the radio. The first words I heard were… Daddy was a preacher, she was his wife; Just trying to make the world a little better, you know, shine a light. People started talking just to hear their own voice… and floodgates opened. The tears that had been bottled up spewed out of my eyeballs. I had to pull into a parking lot to sit. Even when the rain falls, even when the floods rise, I am washed by the water.

“Oh God help me! You know what is happening, you know how I hurt. Help me!” I cried and cried.

And he did. The music kept going. Even when the Earth crumbles under my feet; Even when the ones I love turn around and crucify me, I won’t never ever let you down; I won’t fall, I won’t fall, I won’t fall as long as you’re around me.

God began pulling the pieces of my broken life together and he put me back on the road.

Thus began my love affair with the music of needtobreathe. I wasn’t hearing God anywhere else. I’m sure he was talking, but I couldn’t hear him. So, he used music to speak to me.

And on and on He spoke… Before the truth will come to fill our eye, The wool comes down in the form of fire; And when the answers and the truth have cut their ties, Will you still find me, Will you still see me through smoke, through smoke? Who do you believe when you can't get through? When everything you know seems so untrue? When I'm lost in a place that I thought I knew? Give me some way that I might find you, through smoke…

12We don't yet see things clearly. We're squinting in a fog, peering through a mist. But it won't be long before the weather clears and the sun shines bright! We'll see it all then, see it all as clearly as God sees us, knowing him directly just as he knows us! 1 Corinthians 13:12 (The Message)

And He kept speaking… Won't you take this cup from me, because fear has stolen all my sleep. If tomorrow means my death, pray you'll save their souls with it. Let the songs I sing bring joy to you.

Let the words I say confess my love. Let the notes I choose be your favorite tune. Father let my heart be after you…

41-44He pulled away from them about a stone's throw, knelt down, and prayed, "Father, remove this cup from me. But please, not what I want. What do you want?" At once an angel from heaven was at his side, strengthening him. He prayed on all the harder. Sweat, wrung from him like drops of blood, poured off his face. Luke 22

God sent even more… Give me all the love and peace to end these wars; Give me something sacred

Something worth fighting for. It’s clear enough to me, the ugliness I see is evidence of who I need. Give me an answer, Give me the way out, Give me the faith to believe in these hard times.

5-6By an act of faith, Enoch skipped death completely. "They looked all over and couldn't find him because God had taken him." We know on the basis of reliable testimony that before he was taken "he pleased God." It's impossible to please God apart from faith. And why? Because anyone who wants to approach God must believe both that he exists and that he cares enough to respond to those who seek him. Hebrews 11 (The Message)

God kept talking to me… I am a troubled mind, I am a calloused heart, A failing engine from driving way too hard, I was trying way too hard. I pulled a thirty-eight out of my bleeding heart , I killed my selfishness for bringing me this far, this far away from you… I will stand alone in the valley of tomorrow; Oh, this is the way I wanna go down, (This is the last time) I'm starting over with you

This is the way I wanna go out, (This is the last time); I never second-guessed the little voice I heard

It's just a whisper, that sounded like a scream , I ain't never felt so free

1-2With the arrival of Jesus, the Messiah, that fateful dilemma is resolved. Those who enter into Christ's being-here-for-us no longer have to live under a continuous, low-lying black cloud. A new power is in operation. The Spirit of life in Christ, like a strong wind, has magnificently cleared the air, freeing you from a fated lifetime of brutal tyranny at the hands of sin and death. Romans 8 (The Message)

God talked to me and I HEARD him! I could hear his voice… I was changed by the life of Jesus and I was moved by the Spirit. I was alive! I was hearing and seeing and feeling. God began growing hope and joy way down deep in my soul. The sadness and the pain were losing power.

So tell me why I should run for cover at the sound of the coming thunder; All I hear is the cry of my lover, So take your shot, I won't turn back

12-14I'm not saying that I have this all together, that I have it made. But I am well on my way, reaching out for Christ, who has so wondrously reached out for me. Friends, don't get me wrong: By no means do I count myself an expert in all of this, but I've got my eye on the goal, where God is beckoning us onward—to Jesus. I'm off and running, and I'm not turning back. Philippians 3 (The Message)

So I don’t believe you if you tell me God can’t speak through whatever means he wishes! God will find a way to speak to hearts. God will find a way to change lives. God will do it with or without you and with or without me. There is no stopping him!

I read my bible. I speak to God. I enjoy the company of Jesus and Spirit dwells in me. It cannot be contained, it cannot be defined, it cannot be what man says it must be, it will forever and always only be what God desires it to be.

Twilight Saga: I read it to distract me from the ugliness I saw all around me. I read these so I could feel young and alive. I read these because it was summer and I wanted to try to enjoy it. Period. I needed the distraction, God allowed me a distraction.

So get out your mixing bowl and big wooden spoon. Combine these ingredients:

1 part lyrics of needtobreathe                  1 part Twilight Saga

2 parts devotion of friends and family       3 parts pain

3 parts deep sorrow                                10 parts God speaking to me

1 pinch of vision

(So really, you’re going to question the order I placed those in? Really?)

Bake it for 10 months, in a very hot oven. Add an extra 120+ hours of purposeful and intense prayer.

Guess what comes out of the oven?

An awakened soul!

And guess what? You can’t have that without the pain. You can’t come out of the oven even remotely appetizing if hurt and sorrow aren’t part of the ingredients. It won’t be appetizing without the devotion of friends and family and it definitely won’t be appetizing without God in it.

I could not look at life the way I do today, this moment, this hour, had I not had the experiences life allowed me specifically over the last 10 months.

It was ugly where I dwelled. It was horrific, cold, stale, and full of death.

It is beyond beautiful here, where I sit now! And it’s full of LIFE!

Jesus has literally breathed new life into the marrow of my bones and has shown me his love over and over and over and over again. I don’t deserve it and it’s more than I ever imagined it to be!

If you’re reading this, it’s more than likely you have been on some part of this journey with me. You may know very well all the ingredients in my recipe. I can honestly and wholeheartedly say I’m so glad to be on this journey with you all. Thank you for loving me. Thank you for hating me. Thank you for kindness and thank you bitterness. God had taken it all and made SOMETHING BEAUTIFUL! If you can’t see that, I don’t know what to tell you other than OPEN YOUR EYES!

In your ocean, I'm ankle deep
I feel the waves crashin' on my feet
It's like I know where I need to be
But I can't figure out, yeah I can't figure out
Just how much air I will need to breathe
When your tide rushes over me
There's only one way to figure out
Will ya let me drown, will ya let me drown

Hey now, this is my desire
Consume me like a fire, 'cause I just want something beautiful
To touch me, I know that I'm in reach
'Cause I am down on my knees, I'm waiting for something beautiful
Oh, something beautiful

And the water is risin' quick
And for years I was scared of it
We can't be sure when it will subside
So I won't leave your side, no I can't leave your side

I wanted to be consumed by God, with God, for God AND I HAVE BEEN.  He has made something beautiful out of the rubble.  I'm not going to drown.  He won't let me!

God is alive, he’s on the move and he’s using me (and you) to change the world!!

I can honestly say as I am living proof of the fact that GOD WILL NOT WASTE YOUR PAIN. (Thank you, Amy, for understanding this in your life and sharing this very important piece of the puzzle with me.)

It’s time for the rubber to meet the road, people. There are sick people among us. We’ve got to get serious. This is a life and death battle. We’ve got to take the sick to Jesus! Just as you took me to Jesus, and I’ve taken you to Jesus-- we have to keep taking our brothers and sisters and those who don't know they are our brothers and sisters to the feet of Jesus. He will radically change their lives! Because we know and believe that which is placed in the hands of Jesus will be blessed.

Jump-jivin’… let’s get busy, people, we’ve got work to do!

We may be The Outsiders… Oh, why are we keeping score? Cause if you’re not laughing,

who is laughing now? I’ve been wondering, if we stop sinking could we stand our ground?

And through everything we’ve learned, We’ve finally come to terms, We are the outsiders.

I’m not leaving without a fight. I got my holster around my side. Just ‘cause I’m wrong it don’t make you right. No you ain’t right.

But Jesus spoke very clearly, even though we are outsiders, we have a job to do and some people just won't like it. But we've got a choice to make!

17-20"Don't be naive. Some people will impugn your motives; others will smear your reputation—just because you believe in me. Don't be upset when they haul you before the civil authorities. Without knowing it, they've done you—and me—a favor, given you a platform for preaching the kingdom news! And don't worry about what you'll say or how you'll say it. The right words will be there; the Spirit of your Father will supply the words.

21-23"When people realize it is the living God you are presenting and not some idol that makes them feel good, they are going to turn on you, even people in your own family. There is a great irony here: proclaiming so much love, experiencing so much hate! But don't quit. Don't cave in. It is all well worth it in the end. It is not success you are after in such times but survival. Be survivors! Before you've run out of options, the Son of Man will have arrived.

24-25"A student doesn't get a better desk than her teacher. A laborer doesn't make more money than his boss. Be content—pleased, even—when you, my students, my harvest hands, get the same treatment I get. If they call me, the Master, 'Dungface,' what can the workers expect?

26-27"Don't be intimidated. Eventually everything is going to be out in the open, and everyone will know how things really are. So don't hesitate to go public now.

28"Don't be bluffed into silence by the threats of bullies. There's nothing they can do to your soul, your core being. Save your fear for God, who holds your entire life—body and soul—in his hands. Matthew 10:20-30 (The Message)

LET US LOVE! Living, breathing, life-giving, L-O-V-E, without condition!

In the crowd of the dead and disappointed
We're ashamed, giving up on what we wanted
Take a chance on a long shot this time
Aren't we all just at least worth another try



I'm a king in the land of abuses
Undermined by the promise of excuses
Who's to win if we know that it's not fair
Who would fight when it seems that no one cares
If somehow we could wake up


Let us love
Like we were children
Make us feel
Like we're still living
In a world I know that's burning to the ground
Give us time


To beat the system
Make us find
What we've been missing
In a world I know that's burning to the ground
Let us love
Like we were children
Make us feel
Like we're still living
In a world I know that's burning to the ground


How is God speaking to you?  Think about it.  Talk about it.  He's everywhere, in all things.  If you look for him, you will find Him- but your eyes, ears, heart and mind have to be open.