Teach Her to Dream

It’s one of my favorite elements of parenthood, the dreaming.  Teaching her life and love and beauty, and yes, dreaming.  In this broken, mashed up, violent world, it is imperative she know more.  Life is about knowing God above all.  If we miss this, we miss the very point of living.  And He is the greatest dreamer of all. 

I don’t fret at imagination and day dreams.  I encourage them.  I want her to play dress up, fly in imaginary hot air balloons, dance and twirl on invisible stages.  She is the beauty in the story, always.  And He is her rescuer, every time.  I want her to dream, because I want her to know God, intimately.

I want her to paint and scribble and color, to create music with everything from pots and pans to well loved pianos passed down from great aunts.  I want her to hear music, in the tapping of her feet and the wind in the trees, the roar of oceans and tinkling of wind chimes and giggles.  I want her to see beauty in wrinkled hands reaching for her, changing leaves, guitar strumming, flower blossoms.  It is everywhere, beauty and music, and if she knows Him she’ll see it. 

At night while she slumbers, at day while she plays, in her heart when she hopes for a world better… I want her to dream.  Always. 

I can’t imagine a life without dreaming, hoping of greater goodness and joy and life.  What propels us if we don’t even have hope?  Nothing.  Life is stale.  We wait and wonder, perhaps, and life passes by.  Until one day it's simply over. 

A life well lived is vibrant with hope, vivid with color, alive with dreams.  And those dreams propel us, to love, to health, to seeing the world.  To writing books and lyrics and building houses filled with warmth and healing.  To start businesses and climb mountains and make families. 

I want the best possible life for her, but that life is one she’ll build herself.  I can’t do it for her, but I can show her how to dream it up.  I can teach her to sketch it out, draw up the plans and gather materials.  I can help her know her own greatness.  I can illustrate what good plans look like, and I can show her God, point to Him time and time again, reminding her that He is the only true architect who can bring those plans to life.

She can see and do and be all she dares to hope, but first she must dream. 

I want that for her, to see and know God.  More than anything else.  And I want to send her into the world someday knowing that though she’ll meet heartache along the way that’ll knock her to her knees, the dreaming will bring her back to her feet.  The dreaming will point her back to Truth.  The Dreamer will wrap her up in His arms and never let go.

 “Always be aware of your season, your surroundings, and the Source of your strength.  Success comes to wide awake dreamers.” –Hart Ramsey

When Eyes Light Up

You know the moment, the one of wonder or discovery or excitement.  It can be as simple at the neighing of a horse or a ladybug crawling across the sidewalk.  Eyes light up, there’s a squeal, maybe enthusiastic pointing or dancing of feet, and then it happens:

They lock eyes on you for affirmation.

If you smile and nod the joy continues, often escalating.  It’s hard not to smile or laugh at the grand enthusiasm that overflows as they simply discover life.  Things we rarely even notice are reason for joyful celebration in their tiny minds.  A bird flying over!  A train whistling!  A spoon to clang on the counter!  The simple, unadulterated joy of childhood.

Let’s be certain we don’t miss it. 

Those eye-locking moments of affirmation tell her she matters.  They tell her she is important, even now, unable to fully articulate her emotions, we get it.  We love that she loves the splash of the puddle, because we love her. 

We see you, darling girl.  We see your tiny toes in the water.  We see your shoes all soaking wet.  Does it feel cold?  Do you like how it splashes everywhere?  We see it.  All of it.  We see you.

I hear it darling girl, the sound of the fly buzzing in the window.  Is he trying to get out?  Can we catch him?  He won’t hurt you, I promise.  He’s just a buzzy little fly.  I hear him, darling girl.  I hear you.

I feel you darling girl, patting my shoulder as I scoop you up for a cuddle.  I feel every gentle pat of your tiny hand.  I love you too, sweet baby.  I feel you, always.

It takes all of 3 extra seconds to miss them, these individual, invaluable moments.  We’ve all seen it, time and time and time again… the dad checking email, the mom scrolling thru status updates.  The mind-numbing siren call to phone screens, computer screens, television screens.  Wake up, moma.  Open your eyes, papa.  Three seconds.  Miss them and you'll miss the beauty of childhood.

Life-giving beauty is unfolding right before your eyes.

Don’t miss it.

Living With Intention, Today

~Reaching for my husband’s hand, snuggled between crisp white sheets and a down comforter in the cool of our bedroom as the sun glows brighter by the moment.  He’s waking, our blue eyes and dimples is beginning to stir.  5 more minutes of hand holding.

~Frozen banana and almond milk, a splash of vanilla and cocoa powder, dollop of homemade nut butter.  Don’t inhale it.  Taste the flavors.  Savor.

~Chatting with my little sister.  She’s back to school in a matter of days.  Ask her questions, and really listen.

~Watching our girl at gymnastics, her wheels turning as she stares at older girls flipping from bars.  She isn’t too scared to swing from the ceiling, at least not in theory.  She swings with courage, then fear and tears come, coach brings her to a stop and she immediately looks at us with excitement signing ‘more, more!!’  We all laugh.

~Driving to the country.  Noticing the fields, the bales of hay, the barbed wire fences.  Rather than letting it breeze by, taking it all in, feeling it in my soul.

~Sitting with my grandmother.  I should be writing.  But she brought her writing, years upon years of scribbled poems.  I’m tempted to gracefully excuse myself, but she wants me to read them.  She wants to be seen and heard.  So I listen.  I read.  And I do my best to lock this moment away in my memory.  I’ll be grateful someday I did.

~My mother’s face the moment she locks eyes with Ev as we breeze thru the door.  It’s an expression I can envision every time I close my eyes.  Her eyes light up and the biggest grin spreads across her face.  She laughs, Ev giggles in response, they reach for each other and immediate chaos ensues.  It’s the expression every daughter hopes she sees on her own mother’s face someday.  I’m not sure I’ve ever seen her more alive than I do now, as a grandmother.  I pray my children say the very same of me someday.

I could have gotten more done, no doubt.  More research, more writing, more planning.  But I would have missed dancing with my girl while her Pappy strummed the guitar.  I’d miss hearing my Granny giggle at my teasing.  I’d miss seeing my girl’s eyes light up at the sight of girls tumbling, baby goats romping around, laying eyes on her grandmother.

What's important are these things.  These simple, every day, beautiful things.

One Simple Truth: Finding Balance

My heart is wrecked.   For a thousand reasons.  I've been wrestling and chewing on it, trying to find the thread to tie it all together and somehow make peace.  

The past many weeks have been full of heartache for so many people we love.  Stories surface by the day it seems, further evidence of our existence in a broken world.  Wives leaving devoted husbands and children, mothers losing babies, families knocked to the ground with ravaging diagnoses, husbands betraying loving wives, families left stunned and broken by people they trusted with their lives...  I can barely wrap my mind around the sheer volume of tragedy.  Some days it is all too much to bear.  

And then yesterday my dear friend Deb said this:

"...have I just accepted the theology of Christianity or have I embraced the person of Christ? Theology will produce the fruit of the Knowledge of Good and Evil. Embracing Christ is partaking of the Tree of Life. Sure, good theology will guide me, but where's the life-giving, wild adventure of relationship with Christ in that?"

Provoking.  I had to chew on it for a while.   Fast forward a few hours. 

I happened upon this story.  (Be warned, it's incredibly graphic and details accounts of sexual abuse and molestation.  Tread with caution or simply take my word for it.)  

And I broke.  After all of the mounting tragedy and hurt and stories of brokeness, it left me reeling.  I sobbed, heartbroken any child should endure such horror, and just when I was on the verge of composing myself, this woman who had walked thru the kind of unspeakable horror most of us can't even begin to conceive, said in the the most forgiving, grace-filled, loving, Jesus-like, downright beautiful tone:

"...it's a broken world with broken people - that's why He came isn't it? I'm pretty sure He didn't save us so that we could be comfortable - I think He's more interested in making our hearts look like His."

And I sobbed again. 

Here's the thing I'm finding again and again, the thing I'm contending with, wrestling with, examining and re-examining only to find it more true than the time before: 

Those who trust God most, are those who know Him best. 

Really, truly, rich and beautifully, they know Him. Free fall into nothing without hesitation, because they trust Him. Fear nothing, love all, fight for justice and truth like they've nothing to lose because likely they already have, and found Him waiting.  They know He is good, simply because He is nothing else. Experienced the worst the world has to offer and proclaim His goodness still because they know He wasn't in the darkness, but rather the light that expelled it.  

Those who trust Him most have stared death in the face, nose to nose, vile breath hot against their skin and realized... it holds no power.   

In the light of Christ, we finally fear nothing, and thus gain everything.   

It isn't about theology.  It's one solitary thing: embracing the person of Christ.  The real, living, always fighting for us person of Jesus.  He is all.  There is nothing else to understand.

There are days of course when it all feels too much to bear, the brokenness of this life and earth still awaiting restoration and redemption.  And on those days I settle my heart with this truth: 

"Whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable--if anything is excellent or praiseworthy--meditate on such things." Philippians 4:8

I let myself get lost in dimples and ladybugs, chunky toddler thighs, new rosebuds on my bushes, a cup of tea, ripening blueberries, serene moments at the lake.  All good.  All lovely.  All the true essence of who He is, Beauty.

And on other days, when I'm able, I trudge into the darkness with boldness and ask Him to meet me there, or better yet, go with me.  The phone call to hear the details of the heartbreak, the email to say I'm here, you aren't alone, the hard conversation about doing what's right even when we can barely stomach the idea, the space to cry, to lament, to watch them pound fists against the table and say I'm angry.  Or I hate them.  Or I don't feel like living today.  It's doing the research about human trafficking, homelessness, poverty.  Looking at faces, into eyes, considering for 20 seconds what it might be like to walk in their shoes and what I can practically do today to help, even if it's as simple as a sincere prayer.  (That alone could change the world if we took the moment to do it.)

It isn't pretty, but it's real.  And as Believers in Christ it's not only our duty and calling to rush into the darkness where the hurting lie broken, but even moreso to want to.  I admit I don't always want to.  I'd rather take pictures of sailboats, bake cookies, read stories to my girl, plan adventures.  And those things are all to be celebrated as well, the goodness and beauty of the crazy abundant life we find in knowing Jesus.  The balance for me is learning not to straddle the line with one foot in each reality from time to time, but rather live fully present in both, simultaneously.  It isn't either/or.

That is embracing the person of Christ.  That is the life-giving, wild adventure Deb spoke of: Experiencing the incredible beauty and goodness of knowing Him, and sharing it at every opportunity.  

Now we're onto something... and it has absolutely nothing to do with theology.  Thank God.

Living With Intention, Today

~Letting her feed herself cereal.  Despite the milk dripping off her chin and down her elbows, puddled across the countertop.  She wants to do it herself.  Let her.

~Feeling a little silly while she stands at the bottom of the escalator holding my finger, working up the courage to step on.  I excuse us a number of times as people smile and step by.  She watches them, glances at me with courage mounting in big blue eyes, pointing as she realizes she can do it.  She can.  Give her another moment.  It’s worth the wait.

~Letting her wander around the bookstore as long as she wants.  No rush, just wonder. 

~Watching intently at least a hundred times, as she spins in the middle of the room ‘dancing’ until she topples.  Laughing at her joy, sincerely.

~Letting her stir the pot with a wooden spoon inevitably splattering sauce everywhere.

~Gazing deeply into her eyes as she nurses.  Holding her extra long, even after she falls asleep.

I could do it all so much faster.  I could avoid the mess and extra time to clean it up.  I could get more done today, accomplish more, check more off the list. 

But that.  Is not.  The point.

And it’s also not living with intention, slowly and deliberately.  Getting lost in her dimples, savoring each bite of a summer fresh peach, each sip of an iced coconut ginger tea, her squeals at the kitty scampering across the yard. 

What’s important are these things.  These simple, everyday, beautiful things.

One Simple Truth: Motherhood

I couldn’t tell you much in the way of current events today.  I’m not really sure what’s happening politically or economically or anything else.  But I can tell you how Mickey and the clubhouse gang cheered Donald up when he was feeling sad.

I didn’t take a long quiet bath with lavender salts or candles and music.  But I did stick colorful foam letters to the side of the tub about a hundred times, all while trying to manage swimming wind-up water bugs, terry cloth finger puppets, and maybe shave my legs for the first time all week.

I didn’t read 3 chapters of Brene Brown’s Daring Greatly, all cozied up in my chair with a glass of mint tea.  But I read The Jolly Barnyard at least a thousand times, complete with animal noises, funny faces and loads of giggles.

I didn’t apply my favorite shade of lipstick for a nice dinner out with my husband, filled with lovely conversation and 3 or 4 courses.  But I did pull the top off my chapstick to perfect toddler-sized teeth marks as I sat to inhale dinner before bedtime stories ensued.

The reality is, I don’t get the luxury of quiet as before, long hours to fill however I please or even peaceful, uninterrupted sleep as before.  The house rarely stays clean for long and laundry, well, it will likely never be entirely done. 

But it is all absolutely, entirely, wonderfully okay.  Do you know why?

Because there is nothing no matter how grand, nothing at all I will ever do or aspire to as generous and selfless as this.  This thing, this journey, this daily dying to myself over and over and over again.  Anything else would be about me.  This is about her.  This humble, selfless shadow we call Motherhood.  This is love.

There isn’t anything bigger than love.

There are days where I stare at the toys in my tub and think remember when everything was neat and orderly? How nice and mellow and serene the world felt?  And yes there are days I feel alone and unseen, more or less forgotten in this grand spinning world. 

But one singular glance at blue eyes and dimples reminds me, to her I am everything.  To her I am teacher, best friend, guardian and protector.  I am illuminator, enlightener, nourisher and helper.  I am linguist, maestro, the hand she holds and face she knows.  From hot and cold to right and wrong, I am showing her, leading her, teaching her all there is to know in the world. To her, I am all that matters most.

Isn’t it fitting that motherhood begins with the sacrifice of your very own body?  You give it over like an empty vessel and allow it to be filled day by day with a living, heart beating, kicking and blinking new life.  Suddenly you are no longer your own.  And the moment that child enters the world your wants, desires, wishes and preferences all become second. 

This is not to say you should lose yourself.  I am still very much me.  My identity has not been consumed by who she is, who she will be.  I still write, still read, still spend long hours connecting with my husband.   I still dream and plan adventures and research all that interests me.  I still plan towards a beautiful future, full of travel and projects and dreams big and small. 

But for now, for right now, she comes first. 

Sidewalk chalk and sandbox toys take precendence over long hours in my flowerbeds.  Strawberry chunks and steamed carrots trump the recipe I pulled from Bon Appetite.  Hours at the park or chasing ducks at the lake leaves little space for working on home projects or sacred silence in my studio, dreaming and creating. 

But it matters.  For her it matters more than I’m able to conceive.  For her it is everything, her world.

As mothers it is something we should not, cannot, must not forget:  We’ll never do anything as big as this. 

We can climb corporate ladders, write books, build houses and business and empires.  It will never trump love.  The quiet kind.  The silent, ever present humble kind.  The mother kind.

Nothing will ever trump love. 

Give it wholly, completely and generously.  You’ll never look back someday and think I wish I’d loved my children less.  I promise.