Love, Grace, and Friends

After my last post, I was fully expecting a brown Christmas. There was no sign of snow in the forecast, and I began to think it was possible we would hit New Year’s Day without a trace of the white stuff. But God had a different plan.

While it had snowed just enough to cover the grass with a thin layer, the truly magical scene was while I was coming out of my church after the Christmas Eve service. It was a candlelight service that honored the hope that is associated with the coming our our savior. I loved hearing my pastor’s message about the light of the Lord inside each of us. Walking out of the sanctuary to the view of enormous snowflakes floating down from the sky was the icing on the cake. Just what I needed in that moment.

Christmas Day was restful. There were excited children, who were so grateful for every gift they received that I wondered what kind of scheme they were pulling. There were cookies and candies filling an entire table to the point that I worried it would buckle under the weight of it all. There were naps. Cat naps. Long naps. Short naps. All the naps. There was sledding and laughter. Most of all, there was time together.

Today, after the kids and hubby allowed me to sleep all the way until 8 (!!!!!), I woke to the sight of a blanket of snow covering the front and back yards, as smooth as freshly ironed linens. The feelings of contentment far outweighed any seeds of negativity that were attempting to burrow into my heart.

Then, the plows came. Disrupting the clean sheet of snow with chunks of ice and dirt. And the driveway was shoveled. Sending the kids out into the backyard, I watched as my energetic 9 and 7 year old boys tramped through the snow, building snow forts, having a snowball fight, and laughing gleefully as they pelted each other with snow. This. This was the best part. Even better than that smooth sheet of snow I woke up to this morning. I loved watching them from the dining room window, with a cup of hot peppermint tea in my hands. I would rather have a million footprints in that snow all season long than a pristine coat of snow.

Footprints = fun!

Footprints = a childhood full of memories!

Footprints = boots that keep their toes warm in the snowy cold!

Footprints = quality time together!

The evidence of their joy will be there until the next snowfall, when we will repeat the whole process over again. Their squeals of delight will further feed my soul.

What in your life makes you want to shout for joy to God?

Three days before Christmas and no sign of snow. Not even a flurry. However, I found myself slipping and sliding on the ice as I made my way across the YMCA parking lot this morning, making me question my date with the treadmill.

It has happened before… the brown Christmas.  Just a few years ago, I recall a Christmas day that included bike riding in the driveway for a couple little boys. It felt unnatural then, and feels unnatural now. We here in Minnesota are simply not accustomed to anything other than a white Christmas. My husband and I lived in Phoenix for 7 years. Our first holiday season there was a shock to my Minnesota-at-heart system. I can remember driving around, giggling at the saguaro wrapped up in colored lights. I found it surreal to make plans for hiking Christmas day, enjoying the sunshine and 70 degree temps.

The lack of a white blanket of snow puts a psychological damper on that holiday spirit we associate with the Christmas season. It is tough to feel the warm fuzzies of the soft twinkling lights and a cup of hot chocolate in contrast to the drizzling rain with temps hovering just above freezing, which is cold enough to be uncomfortable, but not cold enough to produce those magical snowflakes falling from the sky.

I’ll admit I had a tough time getting into the spirit of Christmas preparations. With a major project due for school, a bout of strep throat, and the emotional baggage of losing 3 grandparents this year draining me of all my time and energy, I was reluctant to engage in any of the things I would normally want to do. My husband took over shopping for presents and even handled decorations (both indoor and outdoor) without a moment of complaint. I struggled with deciding whether or not to send out Christmas cards. I threw one together last minute only to discover that our mailing list had been eaten by our computer hard drive. A plea for addresses produced only a handful of responses and after digging out our old address book, I felt the sting of seeing names and addresses of those who either passed away or have faded from my life for one reason or another. I knew I needed to find a way to start enjoying the season, even if it was a little forced.

So I did.

I began baking cookies. A lot of cookies. It is one of my favorite things to do. Armed with a truckload of flour, sugar, spices, and more, I dove into the task of creating some of my favorite treats. I don’t bake often, but love every opportunity I get. Except when I experience what could be called a Pinterest Fail. I have those moments. An unsuccessful recipe, or dough that is over-beaten. I ruined a batch of spritz cookies, which made me wish my grandma was here to show me her ways. Instead of dwelling on the negative sense of loss and failure, I found a fun moment in it, making a game on my Facebook page to see if anyone could guess what they were supposed to be. It helped get me through what could have dragged me down into sadness.

I have since been vindicated with a much more successful batch using a different recipe and a much better frame of mind. These held together and grandma would have been proud. Using her old cookie press makes me think of the thousands of cookies she created using it. And the countless cookie I ate every Christmas. Grandma always brought an enormous spread of candies and cookies that she had made.

 

Even working through this, I know that this season is not really about the snow on the ground or the hot cocoa and decorated tree. It certainly isn’t about cookies. But hanging on to some traditions are worth the fuss. Making cookies with Grandma’s cookie press, using recipes in her handwriting, and sharing these moments and memories with my family… they are worth the effort.  Those are just some of the rituals I want to hang on to as part of the celebration of the birth of Jesus.

And it worked.

After all that baking, I am ready for Christmas. I am ready to celebrate and teach my children about that little baby born in Bethlehem. I am ready to spend time with family and friends. I am ready. Perhaps I needed to kick-start my holiday spirit a little with a tradition that I love.

I also have a lot of cookies. Feel free to stop by for a couple.

Merry Christmas to you and yours!

I have started and trashed this blog post several times. I find myself asking, what is holding me back from making my voice heard?

Is it my insecurities?

What will they think of me? Does what I have to say even matter?

Is it my critical view of my writing?

Does what I write reflect my heart? Am I being clear?

Regardless of my hesitance, I have been feeling God’s nudge. More like an incessant push. With a bag of Dove Dark Chocolates leftover from the Splendid Retreat, I have been nibbling devouring my way through the bag this last week. I am a stress eater. I know. The stress level has been through the roof lately. More on that later.

Now, these are the chocolates with the cute sayings inside the wrapper. The same two kept appearing.

Give them something to talk about. What are you waiting for?

Duly noted.

After attending the Splendid Retreat last week, something stuck with me. Well, many somethings, but this one has been swirling in my head for a week, and it has had me deep in thought. Anna LeBaron Davenport spoke during one session, sharing her story of escaping from a polygamist cult and becoming a fierce Christian who is a Jesus girl through and through. She asked us to write down our biggest burdens. The things that seem impossible. The things we are afraid to say to another person or even out loud. It felt so vulnerable to put it on paper. Someone might see my dark spots that make me feel like an ugly person at times.

After putting those burdens on paper, we placed them in Anna’s bible. Giving them up to God. God can carry the heaviest of burdens. There is nothing too big or too small. It felt so freeing in the moment to be relieved of those burdens, even if for a moment. The next day, Anna gave us our burdens back. But not in the way we gave them to God. They were now shredded, mixed up with the burdens of our Splendid Sisters, sharing the load. We would be able to help carry each others burdens. And somehow, all shredded up, those burdens felt lighter.

Fast forward a week. A lot has happened. Life. Kids and their challenges. Hearing words like hospice and “keeping her comfortable” for a third grandparent in a year marked by loss, health concerns, and pain. Self inflicted challenges in the form of a degree that I sometimes question myself on. And those big things I heard from God last weekend,  doubting or wondering if they were really for me… discernment is tough. Some insecurities and self doubt invaded a space that was, briefly, free of the strain. My pain is not big enough to share. They won’t care. I am not important enough. I am not enough.

In the words of Jen Hatmaker:

Horse. Crappery.

Those feelings of insecurity and self doubt are exactly what the enemy wants. God wants me to give up my burdens to him. He will not only share the load, but He will take it away completely. I also need to trust that my burdens are worth sharing. I need to keep giving my burdens to God. Over and over again. Until they are no longer burdens. Then, give him the new ones, because as humans, we always feel burden.

I am wrecked. In a good way.

I am overwhelmed. In a good way.

This weekend was a defining moment in my walk with the Lord. I took a bold step in faith and somewhat spontaneously decided to attend The Splendid Retreat in Green Lake, WI. We were surrounded by God’s artistry, both in the peak fall colors of trees creating a tapestry of reds, oranges, yellows, and greens, and in the beauty of the women attending, stepping out in faith.

I knew nobody. I arrived alone.

Driving into the conference center, I felt the anticipation of meeting new people. Would I be welcomed? Would I regret this? Should I turn around and leave?  The flood of emotions was overwhelming. I felt the familiar anxiety of being exposed and vulnerable. This was the point. I needed to be brave and fearless in this journey. The next three days were filled with 38 other women walking in faith together to grow in our relationships with God and an understanding of how we can be whole in our brokenness.

This weekend, God placed pivotal speakers at the conferences, with messages I needed to hear. God knew I needed to hear about accepting grace when those big things are just too big to manage. He’s got this. God knew I needed to hear, through the words of Jana Craft,

Where has God asked you to GO?
What has God asked you to DO that you are avoiding?
What has God asked you to BE that you are hindering?

Why has it taken so long to believe that I am Splendid and Lovely? Why am I getting in my own way, holding back from His plan? When am I going to stop allowing negative thoughts about being invisible and insignificant to infiltrate my mind, preventing me from quieting my mind to hear the words of the Lord?

I left the retreat with a lot to think about, and the voice of God reminding me that I am His. I am His daughter. I also left with many new connections and a sense of hopefulness for the family that was created this weekend.

I left on my own, but I wasn’t alone.

Love is…

• Bringing a friend a hot coffee or meal when they are having a tough day
• Late night feedings with your infant or watching your son play soccer on a cold, rainy morning
• Holding your mom’s hand while she gets a chemo treatment
• A long kiss with your spouse
• Shoveling an elderly neighbor’s driveway when they are home-bound

This list could go on forever. If you spend any time on social media, blogs are articles are ready to tell readers what the true meaning of love is.

This particular verse has been on my heart for a while. Last spring, I was attending a conference and heard Bob Goff speak on the topic of love. He wrote a book, Love Does, chronicling how love in action has played out in his life in some of the most incredible ways. Since that conference, the idea of putting love into action has been a constant in the back of my mind.

Now, throw in a introvert who is not always confident in herself and you’ve got a failure to launch.

Recent events in my small community lead me to believe that there is a growing need for love to be shared through action. Words are not enough. We can express our love over and over again through words, and it will not be received.

Why?

I don’t have any good answers, but I have some thoughts. Perhaps our words and actions are not in sync with each other. Perhaps they hear us say, “you are loved”, but our body language is not convincing. Perhaps we are not following through on our words. Perhaps.

So. This “failure to launch” that I am experiencing? I am turning my fears over to God and finding ways to put my love into action in my little town.

Share your ideas! How can we put our love into action and show those who are hurting or lost that we care?

Last week, I went on a little road trip with my friend Natalie and all of our boys. We have 5 between us, and thought it would be a great idea to take them all down to Des Moines to check out the Lego Creativity Tour. And we were right! It WAS a great idea. The boys had a blast building cars, Bionicles, and wading through an enormous pile of Legos, big enough to fill my living room, dining room, and kitchen. They explored and built and created art masterpieces that would last until they needed to be taken apart for the next session.

Natalie and I decided on our way back to Minnesota that our reward for rocking the Lego Tour would need to be a Caribou treat.

Naturally.

Pulling off the freeway, we noticed a man standing at the top of the off-ramp with a cardboard sign asking for money for food. We looked at each other and dug around in our purses to see what we had.

$4 and a granola bar. It wasn’t much, but we felt good about leaning out the window and handing it to him. These days, when technology rules, it is rare for me to carry cash anymore. Today, I had a little, and I felt good about giving that along with an immediate way to address his hunger.

As we drove on in search of our Caribou, we talked about the homeless situation, and the people who we see standing at off-ramps or on corners, holding signs in hopes of a donation. We both are familiar with individuals who do this as a job, making it difficult to distinguish those who are truly in need from those who are presenting a false claim. When my husband and I lived in Phoenix, this was a daily sight due to the warmer climate and larger homeless population. My husband regularly kept a supply of water bottles and McDonald’s gift cards handy to give them, and they were always grateful in their responses. Here in the upper-Midwest, particularly in areas that are more rural than urban, we don’t see it quite as often. We felt good about our small act of kindness and hoped that he got a little food to eat soon.

Back to our quest to find that Caribou. We hit the drive-thru, requesting our Chai Tea Lattes and a sweet treat from the bakery. We made it to the window and  the barista told us that our order had been paid for. I have never had someone do that before. It felt so nice. We turned around and covered the car behind us. It immediately put smiles on our faces. Natalie looked at me and said, “After covering the car behind us and giving that man some money, we still come out ahead.” It was all God’s handiwork.

Having a generous heart,

even in small amounts,

comes full circle and we are doubly blessed.

As a bonus, we were able to bless two other people in the process. Who knows what was shaping their day. Perhaps the gentleman with the cardboard sign was laid off and struggling to find work. Perhaps the person behind us in the Caribou drive-thru was dealing with loss or broken relationships. Maybe they were having a fantastic day, and it was just made better.Regardless of their situation, those small acts of kindness have the power to create a wave of blessings.

Timehop is a magical app. Most of the time. Sometimes it brings back wonderful memories that have been long forgotten. Sometimes those memories are tinged with pain and sadness.  It has a way of exposing just how repetitive life is from year to year, showing posts from annual events and seasonal habits. Today, it brought back a tough memory from a time when my oldest son’s autism was a bigger challenge. We were in a transitional time, having moved to Minnesota from Arizona. It was a return home for my husband and I, but it was a new place for our kids. This post is from my old blog, which was an outlet for me during a tough time navigating the ASD world.

Struggling with Change

This morning I had a tough time watching Alex struggle with change. We have been attending a variety of churches over the summer, primarily dependent on where we happened to be on a Sunday morning. We have on numerous occasions gone to a lovely church in Austin – Faith Evangelical Free Church. We went this morning to discover that the routine had definitely changed. All summer, Alex had gone into the nursery with Michael- no problem. They even looked forward to it. So when we walked in and saw that the preschoolers were in their own room, I was a bit unsure of how this would go.

After dropping Michael off, I took Alex to his new room. He immediately started having a meltdown- crying, throwing things, and yelling “no!” So, I stayed there with him. I also felt at such a loss for being able to provide for his needs that I started crying. I was embarrassed, frustrated, and was acutely aware of the fact that I am not around enough to fully know what to do in this kind of situation. I felt helpless and alone.

So, between Todd and myself, we sat out in the entryway and watched part of the service on a screen while working to console our son. As we sat there, a lovely woman asked me if she could give me a hug. I said yes, and truly had a God moment, knowing that this is what a Christian community does- even for newcomers. She gave me her name and number, asked for mine, and provided me with some other moms of children with autism within their church community.

I felt so grateful for the acknowledgement that sometimes, life is so much bigger than ourselves and we need to accept the grace of those around us.

With about 15 minutes left, Alex was finally ready to go back in and play. We went in with him- just in case. While he wasn’t visibly paying attention to the bible story, I knew he was hearing the teacher’s words as he repeated them back to me. We managed to slide out of the room with about 5 minutes left- a tiny victory for an emotionally draining morning.

5 years later…

While we do not attend that church,  I am thankful for that experience even though it was tough and I felt the mommy failure so strongly that morning. And God has a way of putting the right people in your path at the right moment. That mom who showed me such kindness? Her husband is Alex’s special education teacher at school. I am not sure she knows just how much of an impact that moment made on me.

Yesterday I went to the State Fair with a couple coworkers and dear friends as a part of my employer’s staff appreciation week. We hit all our favorite spots, eats, and sights on a steamy August afternoon. At the end of the day, feet tired from all the walking, I snagged my traditional Sweet Martha’s cookie bucket and headed for the bus that would take me back to the park and ride.

There was an extremely long line for the bus to Bloomington, and I was certain that I would be waiting for the next bus. But then, I heard the attendant say there was standing room available, so in spite of sore soles, I jumped at the opportunity to get on and be on my way. Finding my spot, I settled in, expecting to stand in silence for the ride while trying not to fall into someone else’s personal space. What I wasn’t expecting was an engaging and fun conversation with the people around me that made the ride enjoyable and one that I will remember for a long time.

Sitting in the seats near me was fun lady about my age with her daughter and mother. As the bus was loading and I came to stand in front of her, she smiled and welcomed me into the space. They spotted an older couple standing in the aisle a little further up, and gave their seats up to them for what ended up being an hour long ride. I am always impressed by people who give their seats up on the bus. At the end of a long day, everyone is tired, but those people are just a little extra awesome.

The older couple turned out to be freshly-minted great-grandparents from Hawaii. They shared that they had always wanted to go to a state fair, so they were here for the next 9 days to take it all in. Their first instinct had been to attend the Iowa State Fair, but they decided there would be much more to do in Minnesota so opted for this one. Sorry, Iowa. We all compared notes on what we had seen and eaten at the fair, providing the couple with suggestions and ideas for things to do at the fair and around the twin cities.  This sweet couple was so excited to try all the foods on a stick and we marked on their fair map all the best spots to check out.

“Yes to the cheese curds and pronto pups.”

“Check out the dairy building for ice cream and the dairy princess butter sculptures.”

In an hour, you have a lot of time to get to know each other. We shared our stories about what brought us to the fair that day, our families, careers, and more. They loved hearing about Austin as the home of SPAM. “Mrs. Hawaii” told me that they are big supporters of my town. I said thanks, and told then to come back next summer when the new museum opened.

After getting off the bus, I walked the couple to the light rail station where they were off to their next adventure – A Twins game at Target Field. As we were walking, they told me that this experience on the bus was encouraging, and a view into the idea of people being “MN nice.” I would like to think that it was more than that. We all could have easily sat in silence, waiting for the time to pass as we inched through rush hour traffic. Instead, for me, it was another example of how life is better done together. It can be easy to feel alone in a crowd. However, a smile and an invitation for comfort can create a little community…even if it was only for an hour.

Several months ago, I was browsing my Nook for something new to read. I stumbled upon a book entitled “A Simple Act of Gratitude: How Learning to Say Thank You Changed My Life” by John Kralik. The author was, at the time, a lawyer in the Los Angeles area who felt like his life had hit rock bottom. He began writing thank you notes, launching a project to write 365 notes in a year as an exercise in gratitude. You’ll have to read the book to see just how much his life changed.

There is a saying that things get messy before they get really good. Looking back on things, it was out of some of the most challenging times that the greatest growth came. The messy times when my husband was facing lay-offs when we had a newborn, or when we learned of our oldest son’s autism diagnosis, or when we found ourselves living apart, relying on family while we moved cross-country and attempted (and failed) to sell a house at the height of the mortgage bust… those messy moments are part of my story, contributing to what makes me, well…me.

It also makes me feel thankful for the support and prayers I have received throughout my life. 1 Chronicles 16:8 says, “Give thanks to the Lord and proclaim his greatness. Let the whole world know what he has done.” God has orchestrated  the shifts in my life from messy to shiny, sparkling, and new. Don’t get me wrong. There is plenty of mess in my life. Because life in itself is messy. However, when I look at the mess with thankfulness for the promise of God’s grace, it is easier to work through.

True to Mr. Kralik’s experiment, when we express gratitude not only to God but to those around us, the outlook changes a bit. Not only for you, but for those on the receiving end. A smile and a sincere thank you have the potential to cause a chain reaction of gratitude. What do you think would happen if there was a tidal wave of gratitude rather than the venomous hatred we see every time we wade into the comment section of a story on a hot button topic?