Decisions, decisions...

Life is full of decisions. Small decisions, like what to make for supper. Large decisions, like how many children to have, or where to consider treatment for an illness. Sometimes, the decisions that we pore over seem to be the right ones at the time. For me, my husband and I decided to move to the city this summer. We lived out in the country with a beautiful house, a big backyard, and our kids in attendance at a wonderful school. As a one-income family, the expenses that came with living so far out in the country began to take its toll, and we felt we could no longer live in our beautiful home. We added the bills up every month, and what was coming in never equalled what was going out, so we made the decision to move to an apartment in the city close to work.

We found one that accepted dogs. In a good school system. With a pool, and a private garage. We packed up our beloved belongings, and headed for the big city. The kids did fine - my daughter could make friends with a tree stump, and my son is fine as long as he can get chicken nuggets in the city. The dogs adjusted well. And my husband has a tv, so he's fine too. The problem lies with me.

Yes, I love the fact that I can hit the snooze bar three times before I *have* to get up and get in the shower. Yes, I love the fact that I can go all week on $20 in gas. I love that my friends are closer, and that I'm right by the highway so I can go to a Thirty-One party in any direction. We're close to our doctors, our kids' extracurricular activities, and we can have a pizza delivered for the first time in 12 years. But if we stay in the city we'd have to stay in our apartment. Home prices are two to three times what they are out in the country for the same house. To stay in the city means really city living in its finest - apartments, no mowing the yard, parking in a parking lot in front of our home, and always hearing footsteps from the people in the flat above ours.

There are some things I like. The kitchen bar that could fit twelve people. And the fact that I have a closet now for my purse business. That my husband hung my wind chime from our house, just because he knew it would make me happy.

But I miss the little things. My kitchen pantry that had enough room for the local soup kitchen to store their goods. My beautiful wood floors that shined to a sparkle... and even that one dent in the floor just behind the couch that no one admits how it came to be. My kitchen (and my bathroom) that were just remodeled. My yellow rosebush (Golden Age) that buds in bright yellow, then fades to a creamy moonlight color with a smell so sweet you could bottle it and sell it to kings of nations. The stories I could tell you... like the lady that came to the house when the sod was still taking hold and sold us 10 bradford pears out of the back of the trunk of her tiny hatchback. Or the $75 twig that she sold us that was supposed to be a Japanese Maple... that eventually did grow into a beautiful tree. Or the kids' playhouse in the backyard that my husband and I built together over twelve straight hours. The columns in the front of the house that I wrap every year with white lights. Not the halogen blue-white lights. But the old fashioned white lights that are supposedly bad for the environment but so much prettier. Or the neighbor that always hops up on our roof and hangs our Christmas lights each year so we don't have to. The snowmen that we built year after year. The cul-de-sac that we lived in, where the kids could ride their bikes with the neighbors. And that fact that it always, no matter what, felt like I was home as soon as I walked in.

I know my house wasn't perfect. The septic backed up when it rained for more than three days in a row. And every Fall we would routinely have a family of mice that tried to move in. And somehow our utility bill was always $200 more than the house next door every single month, even though we had the same builder and our houses were built at the same time. But the good things far outweighed the bad. And it was that place. That place of comfort, of joy, of Christmas cookies and memories.

Can you go back? Can you EVER go back once you make the decision to move on? And should you? When do you know? Should you let the fact that you're saving $1200 a month in the city sway you? What price can you put on nostalgia? There is no scripture reference I could find to tell me to stay or to go. To move back to what's comfortable - what's home. Or to stay where life is faster but never really feels permanent, never feels like HOME.

They say home is where the heart is, or that home is always just the people inside. But I think home, real home, is where the heart sighs when it gets there, like wings unfurled after a long flight back to a place long ago and far, far away.

This is all you get...

Recently I sat in a meeting with my boss. Every year at work we have to fill out a performance review – first we state how much we love (or don’t) our jobs, then we state what we think we are good at and what we feel we need to improve on, and then we have to make a “to-do” list to get ourselves on track for where the company feels we need to be.

The discussion of the hour was around my evaluation of how much I loved my job. On a scale of 1 to 5, I had given it a 2. For various reasons, but mostly because I’d been doing it for 12 years and really needed a change. The priceless comment that came back was: “Well we can see if we can move you somewhere in the company, but this is the career you chose so this is what you get.” It made me very sad.

You see, I always have been and likely always will be a dreamer. I like being encouraged to go pursue those dreams – to better yourself not just your employer. So often we're given goals that help our employer. And I'm okay with that. But where do my own goals and aspirations come into play? And where are we ever encouraged to become who we are meant to be, who we are designed to be? That’s one of the things I love about Thirty-One, and the decision I made to join the company a year and a half ago – you can be whatever you set your mind to, and it really is ALL about if you believe you can, you will.

Here in the corporate world, this man telling me that there is no reason to dream, no reason to achieve, you would never be anything other than EXACTLY WHAT YOU ARE. Thank heavens that God is not this way. That He doesn't say "what you are is all you will ever become". No, in fact, in Him we are continuously growing, evolving, aspiring, and dreaming every day. And I find comfort in that, just as Proverbs 13:12 says, "Hope deferred makes the heart sick, but when dreams come true, there is life and joy!" How wonderful that GOD wants me to keep on dreaming! Guess I better get to it - wouldn't want to disappoint Him, now would we? *wink, wink*

The road not taken...

My favorite poem of all time is Robert Frost's The Road Not Taken. Perhaps because my own life has had so many twists and turns. Perhaps because I now weigh every difficult decision (and some not-so-difficult ones as well) with what I think God would have me do. But most often it's because I don't want to relive any mistakes over. And over. And over. Not that I've done that in the past. But life's paths are so numerous - the choices almost limitless.

Sometimes I take the path of adventure, where I would have in the past been a wallflower; for all of life to me now is a bone of which the marrow of life must be sucked dry. Sometimes I take the path of cautiousness. Sometimes I wear my heart on my sleeve, or make new friends where before I would have been happy with a single friend for all of life. I see them now as wildflowers for my friend bouquet. Each one unique, and special, and adding color and variety to the bunch as a whole.

But I have to wonder about old Robert. You see, Robert spends a great amount of time looking forward. Inspecting the path, I suspect weighing the pros and cons of each. If his traveler is anything like me, they would have made a list. Several, in fact. Of pros, and cons, and why this path is better than that path. But one thing we notice about his traveler. He never looks back at the path he took. Only knowing that the place that he ends up, he is there because, perhaps in part, of the amount of time he took to analyze it up front. However, I am not that way. I spend time looking forward, inspecting the path. But I also spend a lot of time looking at the path I came from. I smell the flowers along the side. And some would say, stop at the roadside Kool-aid stand and take a big ole' drink.

Maybe Frost's traveler read in Genesis 19 (in the Bible) where Lot and his wife were fleeing for their life, and were told not to ever look back. (Lot's wife did and bless her, she was turned into a pillar of salt.) Folks of the Bible don't ever really come back once they've left. Except Jesus. Well there went my theory. lol

I don't guess we'll ever really know, will we, the reason why Frost's traveler looks only forward? And why does Old Robert come to the forefront of my mind today? Well, my family and I are thinking of making a big change. It seems a bit hasty for this plan-a-holic. But it makes sense financially. And it's a big path. A huge fork. One where whichever path you take, you won't ever be able to see the folks on the other path. Or ford a river to make it to the other path should you decide the one you took isn't so great after all. At least I don't think you can. But there are friends whom I'll ask to pray with me about it. And I'll make my lists. And I'll stare and stare as far as I can down each path to see. Eventually we'll take a step, and then another. And another. And pray that when we get to the end of the path, the one we took was worth the journey.

The Road Not Taken...

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;

Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim
Because it was grassy and wanted wear,
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,

And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I marked the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way
I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I,
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.

Day of confusion...

The past 24 hours have been indescribable. When I left for work yesterday, all was normal. The area I live in was set to have some bad weather, but nothing we hadn't seen before. The kids would have a school delay til 9 am, it would rain, and the backyard would flood, but subside later tonight.

Then a few hours after the kids started school, their principal emailed to say the school would be closing at noon, and everyone would be going home. Hmmm. It's my turn to ask to leave work to handle it, although it has been "my turn" the past three times and I haven't been able to get off work. Surely this time would be different.

Insert tornado alarm at work. For over an hour and a half, hanging out in a tornado shelter.

Follow that up with a boss who not only said I couldn't go get my children from their closed school, but mandated my husband (who had worked an offshift the night before and was going off two hours of sleep) go get them. Okay, Deep breaths. Apologize to the husband. Again. And feel like the worst mother ever.

Then insert the curveball: a colleague at the same title and career level (and the same boss!) asks and receives blessing to go home and check on his downed trees. Because his wife had called to say they were down. Not that his children (of which he has none) would be left alone outside a locked school unless he comes to get them. That his trees were down. Not children. Trees. Commence with the anger.

Fast-forward two and a half hours. Coworker #2 goes home because her (grown, not in elementary school) daughter is upset. Really? Coworker #3 then leaves because his wife won't answer the phone. At this point I am incredulous. And oh, by the way, back in the shelter for another two hours.

******

But the emotions are just getting started. Walk through with me. News reports of damage start coming in. One tornado after another. At least 7 major, with multiple more touchdowns. You hear on the weather radio that a tornado has touched down and is in the direct path of your home. Cell lines are jammed so you text your husband to take the kids to the laundry room. You start panicking. Someone has radar on their phone so you watch and see that the tornado on the path to your house has passed over. Your husband texts and says they are fine, so you start checking on others... friends and loved ones, and 31 sorority sisters. And you don't hear from folks, so you check facebook in hopes of "we're ok" status updates. Then you hear on the weather radio that a gas station in your town is leveled. They neglect to mention so is the grocery store next to it. And your hometown pharmacy next to that. And there are people trapped inside.

Insert fear.

You drive home, after walking through a dark manufacturing plant because the power went out just after they turned the sirens off and let you out of the shelters. On the way home you hear the entire county is without power. For a week. Except you can't really get home, because every road is blocked off, barricaded by police or flooded. You take detour after detour finally passing the gas station, store and pharmacy. Or what used to be. You drive up the road a bit and find your mother in law hysterical standing on the side of the road. The road ahead is blocked, decades if not centuries-old trees have fallen over in the 2-lane road and she has been told her house is destroyed. You talk her into following you to another relative's house, while you take another detour through back roads to check on her house so she doesn't have to. Her house is fine.

Insert relief. And praise. And thankfulness.

Two hours from when you left work (20 miles away) you finally get home. To a beautiful, perfect home. One by one your friends start checking in. Except the closest one so you still worry about her. You check in with your friends and family out of town one more time because more tornados came through later. Your mind races, thought after thought, person after person, tasks to do. Sometime later you finally fall asleep.

The next morning you wake up. Hundreds are dead, houses are missing, whole towns are gone, and people... well, people are too. Your husband suggests you leave for a few days, since there is no power, limited water, and lines for blocks to get gas and staples. Stores are letting in one person at a time. One person. Five items or less. Cash only. So you agree.

Insert guilt.

Guilt for leaving. Guilt because your house is fine and your neighbor's isn't. Guilt that you aren't staying to help. Guilt that you are running away like a coward, when you should be staying home. Because staying home in a power-less, water-less house is the least bit of respect you can show to those who have no house at all.

But your husband wants to go, so you pack. Walking blindly through the house you think "I should pack this because what if it's not here when I get back?" You want to pack your entire home in the back of your car. Your pictures. Your scrapbooks. The kids' toys. All of them. You don't even think about the stuff you normally think you'd take, walking right past the jewelry box like it's not there.

You drive to a friend's house at 7 am to make sure she's okay. Then you go one more place. Because you have to. It's the neighborhood down the road. The neighborhood you were supposed to live in. The neighborhood you bought land in, and then changed your mind to buy the house you live in now. It's the neighborhood that is now half gone, the path of the tornado straight through the very plot of land you sold.

You get back in the car and drive North, to a friend's. He has power, water, and an open invitation. On the way, you watch the whitest clouds you've ever seen float peacefully by in an azure sky. A blue so blue it looks photoshopped. The horizon is covered by bright green trees freshly washed by the rain. You are in awe, that an evening surrounded by so much destruction can be flanked by such beauty. You watch the emergency trucks and generators roll in, as ironically, you roll out. Towards the blue sky, white clouds, and open arms of a friend.

Give your gift away

Once upon a time (thirty-five years ago) in a land far, far away (Arkansas), a brand new baby girl was brought into the world. Not with a silver spoon mind you, but she did come with a mop of curly strawberry-blonde hair, bright blue eyes, and more “look out world” attitude than one could ever imagine. Unbeknownst to her, she also came with an assortment of wrapped gifts that would in fact be unwrapped little by little as life itself unfurled. She walked through life, invisible tote full of gifts slung over her shoulder. As she removed each one to give it away, she would find out more about herself in the process, and in fact, receive so much more in return than what she gave.

The first gift to give away would be companionship. The little girl was to be a companion for a woman who had known very little unconditional love and companionship in her life. Through circumstances beyond her control, the little girl would grow up with her disabled grandmother as primary caregiver. In exchange for giving the gift of her time and companionship, the little girl would have an upbringing quite different than her friends. Where her friends were watching Goonies and Molly Ringwald, the little girl would grow to love showtunes, black and white movies, Shirley Temple and Fred Astaire, and inform you that Audrey Hepburn and Katharine Hepburn are neither the same person, nor are they sisters, cousins, or mother and daughter.

The next gift the little girl would discover she had was a love for reading and writing. She would get lost in fairy tales, coming-of-age tales, read every Beezus and Ramona book available, and commonly check out ten books at a time from the library. And let's not forget the time she got caught sitting on the kitchen counter pretending to wash dishes when in fact she had read through three chapters of Charlotte’s Web, while an unmanned kitchen faucet gushed next to her, not a single bowl or plate cleaned.

This particular gift would come in phases. It would take years for the little girl to realize that this gift, like a precious jewel, was multi-faceted. And it would take many events, and many decades for her to understand the gift she had given was not just to read what others had written, but also to write for children, to continue breathing the breath of whimsy and youth into their hearts, and to encourage those who needed encouragement at the time through the written word. In return, she may never receive an award, gift of applause, recognition, or thanks, but something much, much deeper. For each time she gave this gift away, she would be filled with an unmistakable joy, a passion like no other, and a heartfelt knowledge that THIS was and is her calling in life; one she must NEVER give up on, no matter the odds.

By now, this girl would have grown into a woman, and unwrapped the gift of vision. Not the gift of sight, though it is in itself, a blessing to have. No, this gift would be different. The gift of vision looks at a scene and sees not what is currently, but potential for what is to be. She looks at her daughter and sees an amazing little girl, very much like the girl she used to be. She sees heart and soul, a love for music, dancing, reading, drawing, and all things creative. She can work a room like no other – survey all in attendance and know the situation and how to diffuse it or use it to her advantage (dangerous, I know!). She sees a child as smart as a whip, and recognizes the need to teach grace, tact, patience, and empathy so that pride does not befall her. While the child has the intellect to become a doctor or a lawyer, the woman could also see her daughter dancing on broadway, as an artist, or the next cartoon voice for Disney.

She sees her son, passionate, caring, and wild; the wide-open practical joker who can liven a room with his smile and laughter, yet has a heart of service like none other. He is smart, but a different “smart” – he has emotional intelligence – the empathy that his sister lacks comes naturally to him. He is sad when you are sad, yet is the clone of his father for his mischievous ways. He is the one that can achieve greatness as long as he knows you believe in him, and expect nothing less than for him than to try. She sees him as a veterinarian, the quirky high school teacher you all loved, or even the bus driver who always has a dimpled smile for everyone, and turns your entire world for the better in one 10-minute drive each morning.

The gift of vision does not end with just her children. She meets a woman, colleague, and dear friend who says “I don’t think I can” and envisions her a year from now with a reward for a achievement not only met but surpassed. She sees the dreams of other friends and dreams with them, encouraging them to pursue their own passions. She sees the grassy backyard of a new friend who dreams of a yard for her family, the bucket of fish in the hand of a long-time friend dreaming to be a penguin keeper, and a brand new life for a dear friend on a new journey as a single mom, her long-lost Jesus walking steadfastedly by her side. She sees her team of colleagues as the woman they long to be, and her husband as an exotic fish farmer, audio visual entrepreneur, and yes, ALSO as the quirky high school history teacher (I told you the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree). In return, her friends share their dreams, and she encourages them, with a smile, a word, or maybe just holding the candle high until that person takes their gift off the shelf to use it and give it away to someone else.

For you see, the gifts she has given so far, companionship, writing, visioning and encouraging, and the gifts we have ALL been given do no good if not given away. By giving them away, we not only bless others, but are blessed with much more in return. Look back in your own life. Look at the gifts you've been given, or even those you're afraid to share. No one enters this world gift-less. What passion have you given up on? What dream have you let die? There is no dream too silly, for it is yours. No one can do it the way you can. God did not give you a heart full of dreams so that you would keep them to yourself. To give the gift away… open it… embrace it, that is just the beginning. For it is when we embrace who we are and believe in the person we are yet to be, that is when our gift is returned to us, tenfold bigger and brighter.

Go ahead - someone is waiting for your gift, I promise.

The Book About God

I don't remember when I first heard the verses. Four years ago? Five? But I remember when I heard it that it spoke volumes to me. Deuteronomy 6:4-9 ESV “Hear, O Israel: The LORD our God, the LORD is one. (5) You shall love the LORD your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your might. (6) And these words that I command you today shall be on your heart. (7) You shall teach them diligently to your children, and shall talk of them when you sit in your house, and when you walk by the way, and when you lie down, and when you rise. (8) You shall bind them as a sign on your hand, and they shall be as frontlets between your eyes. (9) You shall write them on the doorposts of your house and on your gates." I knew when I heard them that I needed to start a book. A God book. In it, I would write my prayers and praises, my encounters with God, how He had blessed me, answered prayers, or just questions I had for Him. I wanted my children to be able to read it someday when I'm gone and know the God that *I* know, and use it to help deepen their faith.

I also knew that, in times when I needed to strengthen my own faith, or climb out of whatever spiritual valley I was in at the moment, that I could read of God's faithfulness in my own life and climb back up the mountain.

Recently I'd had a friend say to me how much she missed seeing me at my old church. And I'll admit, I miss it too. My children miss it. They still haven't quite fit into place at our new church, and honestly, neither have I. The Sunday School class isn't quite me, and there are a few other spots where we don't quite fit yet, but we're trying. Sometimes I just like to take the children back to our old church. I struggle a bit because part of me thinks I'm just confusing them by taking them back to their old church, giving them a false hope that we'll start going back again. And part of me thinks it'll reinvent the monster... the one that, the week following a visit to the old church, starts in with incessant whines of "but I like our old Sunday class better" as we drive up to the parking lot of the new church.

I asked a trusted friend her thoughts on whether you could be an active member of two churches at one time. (It's just a thought! Don't flog me or anything!) She had but a few questions for me. One was: can you effectively serve God attending more than one church? And the second was, what does your heart tell you to do? So I questioned it - could I serve God from more than one church? Could we serve God in one church one week and from another the next? And I wasn't quite sure of the answer, just that I felt guilty for even thinking I should have nothing but utter devotion 24-7 for the new church.

And then, while writing in "The God Book", I paused back through some of the previous pages just to take a break for a minute.... and promptly stumbled upon an entry from 6/15/09. On this Sunday morning, I distinctly heard God's direction on which church I should go to that morning. I listened, and ended up at a church where the Sunday School teacher was late, the backup teacher wasn't coming, and there was no one to teach the children - no teacher, and every parent had dropped their child off and gone off to their own classes! I listened to the voice that said "just start teaching" and ended up teaching the class that morning for both services! The ending paragraph on that entry read:

"It's amazing - God had a need, He knew there would be no teachers and He used me to fill that need! I was never angry, never felt that I was missing a Sunday School class or church service. I just knew that when I asked God where He wanted me to be, and every time He answered "there", I was right where He needed me to be."

And all the sudden (present day), I felt total peace about it. The answer to me was pretty clear: as long as you are seeking Me, and are useable in that location, that means more to me than the walls surrounding you. And this is exactly why *I* need this book. To remind me of conversations between myself and the Lord, and to allow me to share the God that I know and love lest I, in my hurriedness and daily life, forget.

Eureka Moments...

So often, I am consumed with whys and whens. Why this, why that, why doesn't God help me with this, or when is God going to reveal that? More often than not, it's related to life in general, my career, what I should be doing or not doing, or if I'm on the right path. I've written about why God doesn't just give us a GPS showing us the way to go just like my Garmin does...with a little checkered flag at the end of our journey that says "You will arrive here in 2 hrs 47 minutes, making this left turn, that right turn, and a straightaway path for 10 miles". And then this week, I had a "Eureka Moment". Literally, just like you see in the cartoons - just about knocked me over.

You know the story in Genesis 22, right? Abraham and Isaac had just set out for Moriah, Abraham having been assigned the task of sacrificing his son as a test of his faith. Certainly, the weight of the task ahead of Abraham laid heavy on his heart. Abraham had cut wood for the offering, and he himself carried the fire up the mountain while Isaac carried the wood and his servants looked on. It was verse 7 that caught my eye.

7-8: Isaac spoke up and said to his father Abraham, "Father?"

Yes, my son?" Abraham replied.

"The fire and the wood are here," Isaac said, "but where is the Lamb for the burnt offering?"

Abraham answered "God himself will provide the lamb for the burnt offering, my son." And the two of them went on together.

Now I have read that passage before, but never has it been revealed to me quite in this way. You see, God couldn't have shown Abraham what His plans were - He couldn't have given Abraham the GPS version of what would occur. Why not, pray tell?

Let's say Abraham and Isaac were still hanging out at the ole' tent. And God reveals to Abraham that he would A) take Isaac up the mountain, B) Abraham would bind Isaac, C) just as Abraham raises the knife, an angel will come out of nowhere and take the knife from Abraham, D) a ram will be caught in the thicket and E) the sacrifice will be made, and all will go home safe and sound. Left turn, right turn, left turn, 10 miles straight, then turn around and come back home.

And here was my Eureka moment: If God revealed these things to Abraham, would Abraham have done them in the same manner that God was expecting? In other words, would he have had the faith that God would provide the necessary lamb? No! Abraham wouldn't have needed it, because he would have already known the outcome! He could have leisurely tied up Isaac, pretended half-heartedly to attack him with a knife, pretended to be surprised at the ram in the thicket. Let me put it in another perspective. Let's say you watch Titanic (one of my favorite movies) for the first time. Ah, the ornate costumes, the love story between Rose and Jack, the drama unfolding as the ship is sinking, the musical score, the grandmother's story of triumph after tragedy. A movie masterpiece. The first time you see it, it is one inspiring, breath-taking, nail-biting, edge-of-your-seat event. And then you watch it again. The movie hasn't changed any. But are you okay with taking a bathroom break in the middle? Yeah. Do you blink? Sure. Because you already know the outcome. Sure you still love it, but missing this snippet or that isn't going to make a difference when you've already seen the show.

Thus it was with Abraham. If God revealed ANY part of His plan for Abraham, it wouldn't have been such a leap of faith for Abraham, God wouldn't have received the glory He was worthy of in that miracle, and perhaps, Abraham wouldn't have been in any hurry to follow orders anyway since he knew it would all turn out alright. (Not that we as humans would ever do that.) Abraham would not have needed to prove his faith, and the miracle of the situation would have been less... well, miraculous!

And so it is with us, and, admittedly, me. God doesn't reveal what our life path is because each miracle is just that - a miracle. A moment to trust God, to have faith, to get to know Him for who He is, what He does, and the POWER that He has... and in the process, to develop our walk with Him along the way.

Ah, Eureka moments. Gotta love 'em.

To be or not to be...

Sometimes I get so confused about what God wants from me. Especially lately. Not in the angry "What do you want from me?!?!" questioning God sort of way, but the dazed and confused "what am I supposed to be when I grow up?!?" kind of way. Thus, I've embarked on a quest of sorts.

You see, my children will be starting school in the Fall. Preschool, but school nonetheless. I can't help but think that had I led my life differently, I would already be a teacher by now. But, no use crying over spilled milk, right? So instead, I looked at the current career path I have chosen, and starting in January began praying for the Lord's intercession. One of the great things about the new church we're going to is that the Pastor doesn't stand up there for hours yapping just to fill a time slot (not that our old one did, I'm jes sayin'). He makes his point, backs it up with scripture, and moves on. But at the start of the year, the new Pastor encouraged us to look at our lives and at what we've given up on that God is still waiting on us to fulfill... and then get going. He also charged us with looking at an area of our life where the only way we can accomplish it is with God's intervention, and then ask God to intervene.

So for me, it was two fold. The thing I think I gave up on is becoming a children's book author (it's still a dream to have a children's picture book line, and some part of me thinks that I have "settled" by publishing my stories online rather than pursuing book author status). And the other... the thing I really need God's intervention on (aside from teaching) is that God would help me with a career/job that is more flexible for our family. Now it's not reasonable for me to ask God to find me a job that I'm not qualified for (teaching) that will accept me uncertified, that pays double what teachers make to live our current lifestyle, OR let me win the lottery in conjunction so all our other bills will be paid, so I in turn can afford a pay cut. Of course not. So maybe God can find me a career/job that affords me the privilege of either dropping my kids off or picking them up at school each day, being home to greet them at the door, or being home even to work on homework in the evenings. One that allows me to wake up at my natural 6:15 body clock, not the dreaded, hateful man-made alarm clock that jars me awake at 4:45 on a great day, or 5:30 if I'm going to cut breakfast, hair-washing, devotion, or some combination thereof in order to make it to work by 6:30. (Yes, I am asking the impossible, aren't I, to shower, have quiet time, exercise, and eat 3 squares all in the same day?)

So, to that end, I "got going" and started yet another adventure, as a Thirty-One Gifts consultant. Thirty-One is, you guessed it, based off of the Virtuous Woman from good old Proverbs 31. (You can check out my wares at www.mythirtyone.com/15845.) Yes, I love it, enjoy it, it is fun, and a great company to work for. But it's hard work in direct sales to make sure you are actually profiting and not spending all of your hard-earned money between hostess gifts, incentives, and product marketing. The goal was to use the income (if any?) to pay off school loans that will free me up for career moves to help accomplish/be promoted to/locate the new job (or job at the current company I work for) that I so desperately desire. And my husband is truly starting to think that I add these things into my life to get away from my family, when in fact, my MO is quite the opposite!

Except now I'm starting to wonder if I've done the right thing. What have I done, really, and is it worth it? Is spending even more time each week away from my family going to pay off? Should I quit, two weeks into it, even though I have booked 6 parties in a 4-week time frame? Or is confusion a work of the devil, sent to deter me from doing what God will bless? Rather than searching for a workplace Utopia, should I just devote my time to my current job and work harder? Suck it up and face that this is my bed in which I must lay? Should I quit both current jobs and throw myself into finding a separate job? Go back to school for teaching? Give up on teaching?

For the first time in my life, I'm afraid I don't know what to do. I've always had a plan, which usually started the next project before the current project was finished). Always been the one to pull everyone else out of their despair, always picked myself up, dusted myself off, and started walking to the next destination before I'd even decided where that would be. Little Miss Type-A personality, totally independent woman. Yet today, I am more confused as ever about where that next destination is, what it should be, and which path is the right one. For the first time in my life, even though in the past I've been (at the same time) wife, mother, full-time employee, full-time college student, Sunday School teacher, choir director, etc etc) with no problems at all, today I feel overwhelmed. And for the first time, I see myself as if from beyond my own body wondering where it all ends and when too much is too much. And... for the first time... I am sad that God might not have a grandiose plan to save me from my poor choices. That contrary to previous opinions, I really don't know what my future holds, and maybe there is no magical fairy tale ending.

And two things occur to me, even as I write this. One, maybe I'm placing the emphasis too much on myself. That if *I* work harder, *I* can pay off the loans and then *I* can find a new job. Where and how does God get any glory from miracles He works in my life if I take on these miracles myself rather than letting him handle them? Two, I am reminded, in hope, of Jeremiah 29:11... "For I know the plans I have for you, plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future". Most people stop reading there. But keep reading and you find He says "Then you will call upon me and come and pray to me, and I will listen to you. You will seek me and find me when you seek me with all your heart".

So here I am Lord, just me seeking you and your will for me with all of my heart. I don't know what you have for me, but you know the desires of my heart. Not just to be a teacher, but to be that woman, whose children rise up and call her blessed, to be there for them and not be a part-time mom and full-time everything else. To have sanity, showers, exercise, AND breakfast. To make my husband think there could never be another woman for him but me. To have a brain... to write your stories... to know that somewhere in this world, some child might be a better child after hearing my bedtime story...and to know that there is or was someone on this earth that came to know you because of me. Help me know what to do with my life, what to stop, what to begin, and what to maintain as Lord, I give it all to and seek, you.

Yours,

Karen

The Arm Bone's Connected to the Shoulder Bone...

As a teenager, I'd stopped going to church. We didn't have much money, and I allowed Satan to convince me that because I didn't have new dresses to wear every other week, that I didn't belong in the church I grew up in (where it seemed to my young eyes that anyone who was anyone had new dresses all the time). Years later, I married and my husband and I moved to Alabama. One day, we came home to find a local church had hung a welcome packet on the front door. In it was a most precious letter - a letter that would bring me back home to church. It said "Come as you are; God doesn't care what you wear and neither do we." And so, after 14 years outside the church, I came back.

We stayed at that church for about 3 1/2 years. It was a wonderful church, and we made so many friends, who became like a family. I served in choir, children's choir, Vacation Bible School, and children's church. The people there welcomed us with open arms. They pounded us when Gary lost his job ...let me digress for a minute to explain a "pounding", for those of you who have never been blessed to know what one is. It is when, due to some reason, you have a need. The church comes together (unbeknownst to you) and pounds you with as much love as you can stand. In our case, they had grocery bag after grocery bag full of food, toiletries, etc, cash... in some cases, those who couldn't afford to buy things would share out of their own pantries things that they had. It's an overwhelming feeling of being loved that you've can't explain unless you've been there. Anyway, we were pounded, prayed for, loved on, and welcomed the entire time we were there. They prayed for Gary to find a job (which he did), and they prayed for us when my dad died, and rejoiced with us when we were pregnant with the twins. I served with joy, baked with love, and fellowshipped each week. I had returned to "the body" of Christ, and found joy in whatever body part God asked me to become while there.

Later, God would call us to another church. At that church, I would also serve in the choir, but would expand to teaching, and would again go back to working with the children's choir. We had friends there too, and people who loved on us, expecting nothing in return. Like Derrick, who would wait for me to pull up in the front of the church, promptly remove my twins from their car seats, take them back to the nursery (all while I was still unpacking their bags), and then go park my car. Every week... for two years. Just because that was his service to the Lord. At that church, I learned how to put my spiritual gifts in motion, and how to recognize the spiritual gifts in others, and encourage them to use that gift for the Lord. I think I was a different part of "the body" while there than at the last church. Not because I changed, but because I understood what my own spiritual gifts were a little more, and could use expand on those to serve where God had gifted me.

When it became clear to me (after 4 1/2 years at the 2nd church) that it was again, time for us to find a new church, I was brokenhearted. How could I again leave a church I loved so much? I questioned over and over if it was the right decision for our family. I poured my heart out to the Lord, and then to my closest girlfriends, asking for their prayers for us to know the right church when we saw it. It was discouraging, to say the least to wander around church-homeless, and I felt akin to the Israelites, wandering around in the desert. Whereas the last time we switched churches, God told me where to go, this time, I had no clue where God would lead us. I only chose to let my husband lead, and trusted that God would lead HIM.

We tried 10 churches in all, over an 8-month span. Some we went to a couple times. And we went back to our old church a couple times to confirm God really was calling us elsewhere. But I am amazed at how each week, the sermon was either something I needed to hear, or God used me in some other way. Like the week that I dropped my children off in a Sunday School class at a church we had gone to once or twice, but their teacher never came, and the backup teacher had an emergency at the house. What else did I have to do that morning, but volunteer to teach 8 preschoolers? Why not? Or the fact that I really wanted to be in a church home long before Christmas so I could be singing in a Christmas program, but instead, got to observe (and be blessed by) more programs than if I would have been in a choir, practicing for just one. Or the week that we went to a church to find someone that I would *never* have expected to see in a church, which reminded me that people are always watching how we as Christians behave in the world. Or the week I was able to visit my "home church"... the one we joined when we first moved here, after not being able to for so long due to Sunday morning commitments. The hugs were phenomenal, and the inner joy was amazing!

But after 8 months, this "arm" is ready to be connected to a body again! And not just any body - the body that just so happens to need an arm... have a hole where an arm should be. If the Holy Spirit is in you, I don't think you can help but yearn to be around more of the Spirit. And that is where our churches come in. Think about that concept: if a piece of the Spirit is in me, and some is in you, and some in her, and some in him... if all four of us gather together with a common goal or purpose, wouldn't the strength of that spirit be four times as powerful, four times as large, four times as mighty as one of is on our own? And this morning, sitting in the pew of the church we've been visiting for the past few months, I felt as at home as an arm can be. Excited to be, maybe, possibly, home in a new body that desperately needs an arm... this arm.

The Pitter Patter of Little Feet...

Fall at our home always means the pitter patter of little feet. I heard them this past Monday, at exactly 5:18 am. This is not the sound of people feet mind you, but different little feet. The sound was like nails on a chalkboard, or Chinese water torture. Little tiny mouse teeth chewing through my walls. I don’t know if my house has an invisible 3 inch tall “come on in, you’ll LOVE it here” sign in front of it or what, but they always come with the first frost of the season. Last Fall I had 6 of them – just when I thought I got the last one, out popped another one, leaving their droppings on my pantry floor and across every shelf, and taking a nibble out of every single thing that didn’t come housed in an aluminum can. I suppose it comes with the territory of living in the country, but it’s still unnerving to think of these little rodents bringing their germs and potential illnesses into the house. Instead of imagining my beautiful children asleep in their beds, I envision little mice running across their bedding, spreading illness to their granola bars, and leaving mouse droppings in the Frosted Flakes box. The part I struggle with most is the biblical commandment #6: Do not kill. Last year, we had to use multiple methods to get rid of the entire mouse family. We used the green pellets, the snap-you-in-the-head old fashioned traps, the humane, no-kill traps (which are only humane because they don’t actually work) and sticky traps. The sticky traps are the worst because, while they work WONDERFULLY, I still have to go back later and "finish the job". And here’s where I get stuck. Filled with guilt, I perform my usual sticky trap ritual of loading the mouse du jour into the Wal-mart bag, and then double bag. We walk out to the driveway together, the bags crinkling with every step, and the poor mouse I'm sure, wondering what is going on. I then place the poor thing on the ground right in front of the left tire, get in, and run the bag over with my minivan several times, asking forgiveness the entire time.

Scholars argue whether the commandment translates to "do not commit 1st degree human murder" or "do not kill any living thing". Based on the terrible feeling I get when I slip into the driver's seat, I'd say it's the latter. On the other hand, I know God understands my desire to keep my children free from harm, and keep my home free from potentially disease-bearing critters. I know he also understands that the only reason I perform my ritual is not out of satisfaction, but because I want to put the little guy out of his misery the fastest and most sure way possible.

I wish that the little guys would just climb into their humane traps but so far that's only happened once, when one critter stood right in the middle of my floor (frozen in shock?) and allowed me to pick him up, drop him into a tupperware container with a block of cheese, drive him several miles away and deposit him at the base of a tree in the woods. But since those types of mice are few and far between, and I'm allergic to cats, I have to resort to other means.

For now, I'll pray that God will not allow any more mice to make themselves at home in my house. And for those that may already be here, I'll pray that they all suffer the least painful way possible, while still keeping my family safe and my home clean. And just in case that method is the glue trap, I'll keep a few Wal-Mart bags on hand.