People are Assholes.

For as long as I live I will never understand people.

Among other things, I have a list of questions that plague my mind every day concerning the human race. How have we gone this long as a society thinking it is acceptable to treat people the way some do? How do some people sleep at night? How can people even remotely justify their assholery?  And here is the one that gets at me the most: Why am I shocked to see people continue in their assholery?

I’m going to take a second and write to a certain group of people. If you don’t fall under the category, I encourage you to still read along. You might be able to shed some light onto the topic.

Christians. We can be the absolute worst at this.

Why? Why do we insist on treating others so poorly? Nowhere in the Bible did Jesus ever treat people as if they only mattered if they could add to His Kingdom, that people are somehow dispensable. People are not a commodity. People have value and Jesus determines that value, not me and not you.  I never once read where Jesus said “If you ever walk away from me, that’s it, you’re dead to me. There is no grace for you if you walk away. You cannot come back. This option is no longer. Dueces.” He never acted, spoke or taught people to act this way, so why are we? If we are acting this way, supposedly following Him, we’re doing it wrong.

The fallen world is watching us y’all. No wonder those who do not believe in Christ as their Savior hate us so badly. We are devouring each other. Why would anyone want to have a relationship with Jesus if all they see are His followers being assholes to each other?  I feel like this is an obvious statement that I’m about to type but I’ve learned not to assume too much these days. Christian folk, please take this next sentence to heart. We have one common enemy and it is not each other, it is Satan. PERIOD. When we fight each other, we are wasting our energy firing missiles at the wrong target.

I am truly convinced getting hurt by brothers or sisters in Christ hurts worse than a slap in the face from the world. Hurt people, hurt people. I get it. I’m hurt too. To be honest, I am so badly burned that it seems my entire body is an open wound where others insist to pour salt on me. It hurts so badly. I am in desperate need of a healing salve. The only One who can offer the healing I need is Jesus. Not my words, not my retaliation, not my bitterness, not my hate, not my anger. It is Jesus.

Instead of adding insult to injury let us remember and take to heart that we are all on the same team. If we are too busy fighting each other we have zero time and energy to fight our actual enemy. We cannot reach a fallen world when our eyes are focused on each other instead of being focused on Jesus. Jesus’ message is peace and His gospel is love. Let’s stay in those parameters when handling our offenses. Besides, when we look at our offenses they pale in comparison to the offenses Jesus carried. Jesus didn’t respond to his hurt by hurting others. He didn’t use cutting words to make people feel less then Him. He forgave them. As Jesus was dying, He cried out to God, “Father, forgive them, for they do not know what they are doing.” (Luke 23:34 ) If in His death, Jesus can forgive His offenders, surly we can follow His example and forgive one another.

Let’s receive the healing only Jesus can provide, put on love, grace, & forgiveness, move on and advance His Kingdom.

 

 

 

we’ve missed it

I missed it. Unbeknownst to me, I absolutely missed it. It’s difficult to admit because my pride stands in the way but when removed, I can plainly see I missed it. I missed Jesus. Somehow, somewhere along the way my spirit became more concerned with the approval of others rather than the approval of Him, I had become so inundated with pleasing leaders and friends that I missed the voice of Jesus. Looking back at my spiritual walk over the last 3-4 years, I am ashamed to say I missed it so badly. I remember standing in worship one Sunday simply singing the name of Jesus because I was desperately thirsty for HIM. It was as if a veil had been removed from my eyes and I could finally see. I could see this approval I sought wasn’t the approval of Him. I could see I was building a kingdom but it wasn’t His. Y’all, I know I’m not alone in this.

When we seek the approval of others over that of Jesus, we’ve missed it.

When our motives are that of selfishness rather than humility, we’ve missed it.

When our goal is numbers for financial, congregational or relational gain rather than for salvations, we’ve missed it.

When our desire is success rather than Jesus, we’ve missed it.

When we can’t see someone for the worth of their heart, we’ve missed it.

When we won’t serve, we’ve missed it.

When we won’t love, we’ve missed it.

Jesus came to demolish the law and radically change the way we live our lives. He came to establish Love among us. This Love looked different from anything anyone had ever seen before. This Love was sacrificial, humble, impartial, peaceful. This Love conquered the division of differences. It is colorblind. It doesn’t care about race, religion or social status. This Love is fresh, alive and real. We’re missing it, y’all.

I had this vision of laying my broken, tattered, messy heart down at the feet of Jesus and all I saw there were hearts just as messy, some better, some worse. I wept. I wept because I see that people are stuck right there looking at those other hearts. We forget to look up. We forget to look up and praise the One we’ve just surrendered to. We are stuck and distracted by the other hearts we see. We love it here, because it is here that we justify the shape of our own heart. We can easily look at each other and say, “How dare you.” When we are focused on each others hearts we can’t hear or see what Jesus is trying to tell us to do with our own. As a result, we stay broken, tattered and messy. We live our lives in hate and bitterness, refusing to celebrate the Jesus inside those hearts.

Instead, lets choose to grab each others’ hands, look up and worship the One who has rescued and cleaned us. Lets choose to love the radical way that Jesus did.

Jesus, may your Kingdom be established as ours fall. May your Name be glorified as ours become less. Jesus, may our lives be about You. Be lifted high, King Jesus, pour over us as we lay our hearts down.

John 15:9 “As the Father has loved me, so I have loved you. Now remain in my love.”

 

Jesus went to Pre-K

My first born, Owen, is starting Pre-K in a few short hours. Howwww is this happening? How is he old enough for this to be taking place? When I look at him, I see a four year old but I don’t comprehend that he is indeed, four. This is just all happening too fast. Way too fast. I look at him and see my first baby. I can still smell that newborn scent when I kiss his cheeks, my favorite spot where his jaw meets his ear. When he sleeps, his deep, steady breathing reminds me of those first, precious, few months and how he felt on my chest during naptime. His profile is still the same. I am failing to comprehend is he’s a growing boy who is excited for new adventures and is ready to make new friends. I know it’s time and he needs to spread his wings but my goodness it’s difficult to let him. I think the only thing motivating me to keep letting go is what his future would look like if I didn’t.

With every new step of motherhood, I find a new level of respect and admiration for Mary, Jesus’ momma. From the moment she knew she was pregnant she carried the extremely difficult task of mothering our Savior. Difficult? You know, most people choose to describe her role as a blessing, an honor, a privilege (all true); but, I tend to think her task was more along the lines of exhausting, heartbreaking and extremely difficult. Being told the Savior of the world was growing inside her must have been earth shaking, obviously. However, she stood up and bore Him boldly. He was her firstborn. He had a newborn scent. There was a spot on his face that was her favorite to kiss. He grew older. He had his first day of school. She dropped him off. Did she cry? Did she experience all the feelings that day? How did she do it? How did she have this earthly relationship with her Son, our Savior, and let him go? Then, of course, my mind goes to Jesus’ death and I can’t even deal. Just think if Mary had been a momma who refused to let go? What if she fought to keep Jesus close? To keep him sheltered and protected from the world he was sent to save. She let go and that gives me hope that I can too.

Owen is nowhere near a savior but I have hopes and visions of him being a Kingdom builder. I want him to love and serve God, his family, friends and community the way Jesus did. I want him to make a difference in the world. He can’t do any of these things if I keep ahold of him.

Tomorrow will come and go, and before I know it, he’ll be leaving for college and I will desperately want to be back here. So, I will enjoy it. I will take it all in. I will feel all the feels and cry all the tears. I will let go. He will impact his world and will leave his mark. After all, he and his siblings are my greatest marks.

My Julie Andrews List

Being a mom is hard. So, so hard. If you’re anything like me, it is super difficult to remember and hold on to the sweet moments when you’re in the throans of tantrums, whining and straight-up craziness. When my littles are screaming bloody murder, won’t eat their food, want one more drink of water before bedtime, poop their pants, fight, push, kick, lick and fart on each other the very last thing on my list of capabilities is to be able to recall their sweet cherub faces being cute. I mean seriously.

Our littles are sweet, really, they are (deep down, sometimes deep, deep down). Hopefully there are some breaks in our days where we’re reminded of their sweetness, albeit a very teeny tiny glimpse some days. So, I’ve decided to make a “Julie Andrews List”. Ya know, of my favorite things of & with my kiddos. This list very well could be due to the nostalgia of the kids being oh-so-sweet this morning, or it could be the fourth second cup of coffee talking. Either way, hopefully by writing these out, it will help me recall the sweet when I’m in the middle of the sour. If not, at least I have it to reference back to right?

Without further ado and in no particular order, I give you, my favorite things:

*When I rock Sam to sleep and he sings. Holy heart strings.

*When the kids and I load up our water guns and attack Gavin the second he walks in the door from being at work all day.

*When someone (family member or friend) is sick and Owen &/or Lilly pray for them.

*Chasing my kids while yelling, “Fee Fi, Apple Fritter, I smell a Little Critter”.

*When Sam attacks. That kid is a beast and he loves to wrestle.

*How Lilly says the word ‘popsicle’….”Pockasicle”

*Fish kisses

*To hear Owen call Lilly and Sam “Sweetie”.

*After all the kids are in bed, Gavin and I sit on the back porch stargazing, dreaming, goal setting, future building.

*Watching Lilly climb on the toilet all by herself. Y’all this is a thing and it is hysterical. She climbs up on one side, perches there like a frog for a second or two and then she swings her leg over the other side which looks like she’s mounting a horse. It’s the best. I have no idea how she doesn’t fall in every time.

*Dance parties. (in the living room and in the car)

*Painting Lilly’s toes

*Singing “Hush Little Baby” to Owen before bed.

*Watching the kids learn.

*The huge, loud, squealing welcome Gavin gets when he gets home from work. The kids drop everything and run straight into his arms, screaming “Daddy’s home!! Daddy’s home!!”

*When Owen and Lilly scream as loud as they can at birds.

*Reading books to them.

*When Owen calls me cray-cray.

*First thing in the morning, as soon as Owen or Lilly wake up, they crawl in bed with me and tell me their dreams.

*Each of their individual laughs.

*How Owen slaps his knee when something is hysterical to him.

I could go on but I’ll go ahead and wrap it up there. Maybe I will make a continuous list through these years so I can reference back to it when we’re in the middle of the awesome Jr. High and High School years. For now, we’ll see how long this nostalgia lasts today. I’ll give it one spilled drink, a nap skipper, two fights over toys and warming up the last cup of coffee for the third time. 😉

Also, when I asked my husband what his favorite things are, his response was, “Warm hugs.” Thanks, Olaf. Dulley noted.

Fadder’s Day

I hit the jackpot y’all. Like the $65 million Power Ball Jackpot. My dad and grandpas are the absolute best. I know a lot of people say that about either their dad &/or grandpa, but mine really are the best. Then to top it off, for some reason I haven’t figured out yet, God planned for me to marry the cream-of-the-crop of husbands. He may not be perfect (only he is) but he is perfect for me.

My oldest son, O, affectionately refers to the last holiday we just celebrated as Fadder’s Day. He’s four. There is a part of me who thinks it’s cute when he mispronounces words. Then, the teacher side of me comes out and I think, “Oh my gosh. He can’t pronounce his “th” digraph! I have failed him. What do I do all day with him? Why am I not teaching him better??” I know this might come as a shock, but I’m a bit dramatic. I know, I know, you would have never guessed.

THIRTY YEARS AGO I was born the night before Fadder’s Day so I’ve always said I’m my daddy’s best gift, he probably thinks I’m the most expensive. Either way I’m the favorite. Sorry, Colby, truth hurts.

My dad had a great example leading and teaching him what it took to be an excellent dad. Job well done, Grandpa. James 1:19 “Everyone should be quick to listen, slow to speak and slow to become angry.” This is my father and most definitely my grandpa. 100%.

My dad is hysterical, kind, gentle, loving, joyful, patient, good, a total people person, social, etc… My dad taught me all of those things when he thought I wasn’t watching. Day in and day out he taught me how to love like Jesus, to look beyond skin color and social standings, those things mean nothing and it’s a person’s soul that matters. My dad taught me integrity and humility, to think of others before I think of myself. He taught me how to forgive. He also influenced my irrational love for Disney World, more on that later.

He loved me and I never had to doubt it. He mostly proved his love by allowing me to place 63 bows in his hair while he played Super Nintendo with my brother. Also, he coached my brother in multiple sports, football in particular. This one afternoon while waiting for practice to be over, I started to draw out “plays” for him to impliment with his team. I think I was 7, maybe 8. Guys, he carried that piece of yellow notepaper around in his wallet. I remember finding it and asking him if it was successful and he never skipped a beat in his encouragment telling me that it was. Y’all. It did not don on me until I was in my first year of teaching that he was just saying that to be nice. I can’t even. It warmed my heart. I don’t look at it like he lied to me, not even a little bit. He carried that “play” in his wallet. Who cares if it was an actual one that he used? I felt honored because he always had it with him.

I wonder what will it be for my kids? What will they put all their thoughts and efforts into hoping to “help me”. I hope I honor them and make them feel like a million bucks the way my dad did for me.

I love my dad so much. I cannot imagine this world without his humor, logic and knowledge of the most random facts on Earth. He is the very best, and I am so thankful to call him mine.

Comando Sundays

Moms. Sundays are hard. Getting yourself and your family ready for church is a whole thing. It just is. Especially for those of us who dole the responsibility of getting everyone ready Han style: SOLO. (Thank you, Barney Stinson, for that epic joke.)

My husband leads worship at our church, causing him to leave the house before the rooster crows so he can practice and get things ready, making me bare the task of readying myself and my three littles all by myself. My gosh. They are not ever as difficult to get ready as they are on a Sunday morning. It’s a strange phenomenon.

This past Sunday was one for the books. I woke up at 6:00 a.m. and I could just tell it was going to be one of those rare, knock-it-out-of-the-park kind of days. The ones where everything and everyone just does what they’re supposed to, when they’re supposed to. It. Was. Awesome. I had myself and all three kiddos dressed (in clean, matching clothes) (not matching each other, just their own ensembles) and ready, all the dishes done (what???) happy and in the car all BEFORE 9:00. I was pulling out of my garage at 8:58. I was so proud. The number of times this has ever happened before would be zero. Zero times.

We get to church, eat our donuts and then head in to the auditorium to watch Gavin and the band reherse. I was sitting on the front row making googly eyes at my husband, lots of kids (including mine) were playing all around while I was chatting with my husband’s best friend.

This is where it gets good and the gaunlet falls on my perfect morning. All of the kids were running, wrestling, jumping, twirling, rolling around. My hubby’s bestie, was standing on the floor in front of the stage, throwing the kids into the air one at a time. When he threw my daughter up in the air, my hubby, on stage, saw cheeks. She flew up, her dress lifted, and cheeks. She flew up, and cheeks. My hubby leaned to the side of his microphone and mouthed something to me. I had no idea what he said. He sang his part, leaned back over and whispered. “Her panties!! She doesn’t have any on!”

I died.

I FORGOT TO PUT PANTIES ON MY DAUGHTER. How does that even happen?? As I reeled the slideshow of the morning back through my mind, I saw them laying on the floor where I had accidentally left them.

I was laughing so hard I couldn’t tell my hubby’s bestie. I finally got the words out and then we both were hysterically laughing. Thank goodness his daughter (8 months younger than Lilly) had a pair of bloomers on, over her diaper. We borrowed those for the rest of the morning.

Good grief. So much for my knock-it-out-of-the-park day. At least she has cute cheeks. We have to laugh at ourselves, right? Otherwise, we might just truly end up in the looney bin.

Three Decades

One week from today, I’m turning 30. THIRTY. I can’t. I literally can’t deal. Anytime I try and come to terms with this, my brain goes a little crazy causing me to not settle on how I feel about this occurrence. Half of me tells me this is no big deal, 30 is still young, while the other half of me is freaking out thinking I’m old.

I don’t feel old. I actually referred to myself as 26 the other day and my oh-so-sweet hubby gently reminded me I’m knocking on my third decade. I remember being a preteen thinking that 30 seemed so old. I assumed all 30 year olds went to bed early, had no life, worked all day, lame-o’s. I couldn’t be more wrong.

30ers are awesome! Not all of us are mature yet, and that is quite alright, I’m not sure I ever want to be mature. I sense that in your 30’s is when you finally realize who you are and you aren’t ashamed of it. It appears easier to maneuver through the difficult turns that life brings. You make wiser choices, unless the choice involves sweet tea or chocolate chip cookies, in which case you always choose those two things. They trump everything.

Turning 30 has made me reflect on these last 10 years. I did the math and figured out that I met Gavin two months after I turned 20. This entire decade I’ve had Gavin by my side. I love that. There is not a single thing that has happened in this decade that he hasn’t been apart of. So cool. Gavin and I dated, got married and had babies. There is no other decade in which any of that will happen ever again. Well except the dating. We date each other a lot and I don’t intend on stopping anytime soon. We’ve lost loved ones but added lots of new ones. We’ve made friends we’ll grow old with. We’ve lost religion but gained Jesus. Lots and lots of Jesus. We’ve built a house and a business. This decade…it’s been pretty terrific.

I have high hopes for this next decade. To gain wisdom. To love more. To serve, truly serve the least of these. I want to share Jesus with people in a real way. I want to love the way Jesus loved. I want to be a better wife and momma. A better daughter, aunt and friend. I’d say I have a goal to be a better sister but I’m already knocking that one out of the park. My brother is a lucky fella. Also, this decade will bring a lot of new adventures with my kiddos: school, sports, extracurricular activities, sleepovers, vacations, homework, art festivals, field trips, school lunches, report cards, etc… I. Can. Not. Wait. Where will Gavin and I be? Hopefully more deeply in love and still having loads of fun. Maybe we’ll still throw bowls of milk on each other while the other is showering. That’s a long, hilarious story. Maybe I’ll tell it sometime.

A lot can happen in ten years. I’m looking forward to it.

Birthday Shenanigans

Owen turned four so naturally, we celebrated him with a birthday party. I’m not a mom to go all out on my kiddos’ birthday parties. I pick a theme based on their current interest, buy some napkins and table cloths that are the theme of said birthday, plates to coordinate and bam! We have a party! I’m not that creative either so super simple is key.

My best friend is SUPER creative though. When I say super creative, I mean like, she’ll bring over the coolest things for my kiddos to do. One day she brought over bubble wrap, rolled it out all over my kitchen floor, taped it down, and told my kiddos to RUN. She makes slime with them. Homemade, massive bubbles. T-Shirts. Chases them. Wrestles them. She made my daughter’s first birthday dress and multiple party decorations. Loves, loves, loves them. Everyone needs a Kayla, or as my kids adoringly call her, Kayka.

Anyway, what was I talking about? Ahhh yes, the deets of O’s party. It was an Avengers theme and we went to the splash pad in our hometown which is FREE. Winning.

When we first arrived, we went to the pavillion only to realize another party had reserved it for a later time that afternoon so we scurried down to the benches directly connected to the splash pad. As we were leaving the pavillion another lady was setting up her party. How do you nicely call someone a very bad name? However you would do it, insert that here. Her party was not the same as the pavillion renter, she was just a random partier, like myself. I thought, well she’s lovely (only not at all) I can’t wait to see how she responds when she gets kicked out of this joint.

About 30 minutes passed, my kid was shoulder deep in tissue paper from his gifts, and I looked up just long enough to catch a police officer arrive to settle a civil dispute at the ol’ pavillion. The lady who was a peach to me earlier was getting into a rather heated debate over the pavillion with the party who had it rented. Turns out it was quite a show.

Kids’ birthday parties. When did they become such a big deal and cause parents to absolutely lose their minds, forcing them to act like lunatics. I mean, a fight over tables? TABLES. Come on. Although, seeing the super awesome lady being confronted like that sort of made my day.

Parents, lets get a grip and lower the bar of party details while simultaneously raising the bar high for how much we simply enjoy our kids. It’s their birthday, not ours. They won’t remember the hours of prep time you spent, what they will remember is the hours you spend WITH THEM. Let’s just do each other a favor and get back to our kids.

Owen turned FOUR

Four years goes by quickly. So quickly that you don’t even know it’s happening. Four year programs seem daunting at the time but once you get started you find a rythym, flow right on through and before you know it, you’re at the finish line, reflecting on the journey.

When I look back on my life thus far, it seems to be broken into 4-year incriments: high school, college, teaching, and as of yesterday, the age of my oldest child. It’s hard for my mind to wrap around the fact that I have had Owen in my life for the same amount of time as it took for me to finish high school, to earn my Bachelors degree and the length I taught fourth grade. Four years. All of it.

Owen turned four yesterday. I cannot believe it. He made it. I made it. There were days where it was a little touch and go as to whether or not one of us would survive until the next birthday. Praise Jesus, let’s celebrate because we’re both still here. I keep reminising through the last few years and I can’t, for the life of me, comprehend how it’s gone so quickly yet seems like forever. On one hand I think, my god, Owen’s been with us forever; but, on the other hand, it seems like he just arrived last week. Well, maybe not last week. It’s more like a year ago. Yeah, that’s better.

Anyway, my oldest is four, meaning I can no longer say I have three children aged 3 and younger. That was fun while it lasted. People’s reactions were the best. “Did you mean to do that?” “You know what causes that don’t you?” “You and your husband need a new hobby.” To that last one, I say, “We don’t need a new hobby, we need a stronger goalie.” Can I type that? Well, I just did and I’m not backspacing, I keep typing, so I guess I can.

I am overjoyed and honored to call Owen my son. He has one of the most tender of hearts and sweetest of smiles. He radiates a peaceful spirit (most of the time), he’s always been super chill and oozes of cool. He has had me smitten since day one. He gets all of these awesome traits from his dad. From me, he got his OCD habits. Lucky fella.

His party is this upcoming weekend. Maybe by then I’ll have my act together and be able to stop blubbering about how fast time goes so I can celebrate his life.

Happy Mother’s Day

My youngest (8 1/2 months old) was quite competitive this morning. He wanted to be the first one to tell me “Happy Mother’s Day” so he woke me up at 4:30 & threw me a little party. His gift to me? Teething. Precious angel. 

For some reason I feel it’s important for you to know that when I first typed that last sentence it read “previous angle”. That fact is probably only funny to me because it’s 5:30 a.m. 

Anyway, while I was soothing & rocking my little go-getter I got to thinking about my own momma. I wish  I would have been more intentional to celebrate her when I was growing up. I wish it didn’t take me so long to realize how selfless she was or how much she sacrificed for me & my brother. I also wish it didn’t take me having my own little critters for me to understand just how crazy I made her. 

I think there are some things you just don’t learn about your own mom until you become one. Things like, they really were right. About everything. They also had reasons for everything. But the biggest thing learned, they really, truly, deeply love you. 

I recognize my mom’s love everywhere. All over my childhood. All around me now. She modeled selflessness & love everyday, whether she was aware of it or not. She was a working mom so she would always go to work super early so she could get off by 3:00.  I love sleep. I mean I looooove sleep. I can’t imagine waking up that early everyday but she did, just so she could be with me & my brother after school. Her weekends consisted of going to the games of whatever sport my brother & I were playing. She was our biggest fan, and also the loudest. I’m serious. She was LOUD. Ask my teammates. She cared deeply about our education. There was one year in grade school where she would give up her lunch breaks to come read to me & my brother’s classes. Those were my absolute favorite days that year. She volunteered once a month to serve meals to the hungry. She took me & taught me to serve. That’s a HUGE quality to have, service, & I’m forever grateful she intstilled it in me. 

Seriously, I could go on & on. She’s pretty awesome, that momma of mine. I have a lot to learn from her.