Drafts on the New To-Do List

Today, I came across an old to-do list. It included signing my son up for golf lessons and for art camp for the summer. It made me pause. Will our near future include sports or group activities? I was planning to attend a writing conference next month, one that I had been looking forward to for two years. It is indefinitely postponed, just like the rest of our lives. Pending. Waylaid. Held up. My packed calendar, dotted with coffee dates and meetings and deadlines is now all null and void. I’m not even attempting to reschedule, which is perhaps the most disheartening part. There is no real end in sight.

My once full calendar in now startlingly empty. As if someone took it and dumped it upside down and time scheduled for friends, work, school activities, group Bible studies and writing in a bustling coffee shop all came tumbling out and slipped away. . . just like that. One day I was worried about having enough time and then seemingly overight, wondering what to do with all the extra time.

The New Normal

While none of us have experienced an almost nation-wide quarantine, many of us have had our lives changed overnight. I know I have. More than once. Sometimes we see it coming. Perhaps a move or a divorce or a sick loved one. We know change is coming. It’s not always bad either. A marriage, a baby, a new career path. Our lives are one thing and then the next day they are another. The sudden changes are the most shocking. A few years ago, I had texted about plans with one of my best friends for later that day—but later that day, I would be standing next to her hospital bed. I never got the chance to talk with her again. It all happened so breathtakingly fast.

Perhaps you have had something sudden like this in your life? You have found yourself looking around and saying, now what? What does my life look like going forward? How do I pick up the pieces or find my new normal? How do I rebuild?

Changing Roles

Our lives have been changed almost overnight. All the liberties we’ve enjoyed; so thanklessly gone. School and work to now be conducted from the walls of our homes. So many of us woke finding our roles changed from homework helpers to full-time teachers in a live-in school where nobody ever leaves. We wade through history lessons and confusing math problems, pretending to know obscure elementary English grammar rules, while secretly looking up plural possessives. I have great ideas of writing a book or organizing the junk drawer that doesn’t even really open anymore. And yes, I have seen your posts online—quarantine day 2: organized all my closets; quarantine day 3: taught the kids to play the mandolin and grow our own sweet basil. Yet, I feel like showering and making the bed is a win for the day.

Sudden change brings out different sides in all of us. Many of you will rise to the occasion and color coordinate your homeschool folders, while my dog has walked over ours with muddy feet at least 3 times now (and I write little sorry notes to the teacher in the margin). But I’m sorry about so much more than a muddy dog print. I’m sorry I’m not a teacher or an organizer; I’m sorry I’m not using this forced time at home to achieve more around my home or write a book (although there still may be time). Apparently, not having enough time was not the real problem.

What is on your new to-do list?

As more and more is stripped away, I find there is less and less to distract me from what I really should be doing; and it’s not teaching or writing or cleaning or even panicking. It’s seeking God. Long prayers where I lay it all out—the way I do on coffee dates with girlfriends. Time spent in study, deep study where I doggedly sniff out the meaning layered in the ancient words. And just time at His feet, waiting for healing in my heart and direction in my life. Who is God? Where is He in this? How is it with my whole city shut down, basically my life outside of this house, that I’m still distracted from doing what I need to do? Somehow I’m still focused on the wrong things. God says. . . Know Me. Trust Me. But I’m distracted by my worry of what this all means.

The last year or so I have spent my mornings in prayer. This is the one part of my pre-quarantine life I have held onto (it surely isn’t a normal bedtime). My prayers have gotten noticeably longer. More requests tacked on to the end til the appendix is as long as the book itself. I pray for all eight of our parents by name (and my grandparents); I mention my friends one by one, lining them up before me with their specific needs during this time. I ask for stability in a space that feels like it could easily tip. I ask that we will be extra sensitive to the leading of the Holy Spirit—pray for this person (maybe even call them); tell us where we can go and where not to go. Help me listen to the still small voice in new ways. I pray for our leaders, our decision makers. I pray that fear will not drive us (me), but that we will have a peace and trust in God almighty.

Cause me to hear thy lovingkindness in the morning; for in thee do I trust: cause me to know the way wherein I should walk; for I lift up my soul unto thee.

Psalm 143:8

Is your Bible worn with good use?

Life can change without any notice. We prepare for a life of singleness and meet someone. We build our forever home and have to move. We meet new friends we weren’t even looking for and we say goodbye to people we thought would always be there. What is that saying? “The only constant in life is change.” Will this generation ever look at a fever and cough the same way? Will we at times stop and look at full grocery store aisles and think what a beautiful sight. I believe gathering with friends will feel less like an everyday activity and more like something special.

Uncovered Idols

I have been studying the books of Kings and seeing how Israel turned its back on God and chased after other gods. What gods have we chased as a nation? What have I chased personally? Is this a time of calling us back? A time of taking away our idols? Sports. Beauty. Money. Success. Family. I have sat in the dark of my bedroom and asked God to show me where I have gone astray. Where is my heart off? Where have I let things creep in? I believe the world is (has) changed in a very fundamental way and I want to emerge from this time ready for what awaits. I pray that I will “hold fast the profession of our faith without wavering . . . “ and that it will keep me steadfast and rooted. I think more will be asked of me. More confidence in what the Word of God says, more boldness in my life and quick, ready answers for those who ask, why I follow God’s words.

I hope in many ways this does change me. That it teaches me to trust in the Lord more. I found my weak spots in this very quickly. How about you? I read the Word and I pray like I mean it (because I do), but yet worry sneaks in like a tick, unnoticed. It digs in deeper each day trying to poison my faith. I need to treat it like the invasive demon bug that it is. I need to pluck it out with cold, hard tweezers. With precision and purpose, dropping everything else I’m doing and dig it out before it causes real and lasting damage.

What do you need to go after?

What is God calling you to during this time?

Know His Word.

Pray like it changes things.

Teach your kids (family/friends) the most important homeschool lesson of all.

Minister to others.

Who will you be after all this is over? The same or someone different?

Drafts on The Unlived Life

Your flight has been canceled! How many times have we arrived to the terminal to be told those soul-crushing words. We had a plan. A ticket, even, as proof of the direction (literally) our life was headed. We had it all mapped out only to be told we would not be partaking in those particular plans. Has there ever been a more fitting metaphor for life? When we are young we make such grand plans. With nary a thought for cost, delays or an entire re-routing. We say such things as, “I shall never get married” or “I will have three kids, two boys and a girl,” with no concept of any interference. We boldly pronounce that we will leave town as soon as we can, securing a flat in a faraway country or a lavish ocean-front home. Dreams are free. Free of cost, free of reality. Free of the entanglements and strange twists of life. But all too often dreams get canceled.

We are just coming off the holidays and I always try to make a point of watching It’s a Wonderful Life. I have seen this movie more times than I can count; I even acted in the play in college. The older I get the more I realize just what George gave up. I’m sure you are familiar with the movie, but in a slight recap, George Bailey has big plans. He grows up dreaming of travel and excitement. In one scene he is purchasing a suitcase for his adventures. The first piece of luggage he is shown is met with a head shake, no that is not big enough! It will never hold the numerous stickers from all the countries he plans to visit. He has a life plan and it is getting out of his little town to see the world. Bag in hand he heads out to say goodbye to friends and family. But, alas, George never puts one sticker on that suitcase. It turns out he didn’t need the extra large one, or for that matter, any luggage at all. That life was canceled.

Do you have a suitcase in your closet for that life you never lived? Most of us do. Have you packed up a wedding dress that never walked down an aisle or put away baby clothes that were never used? Did you plan to finish college and got sidetracked by a baby? The move to Paris or Rome never materialized and you live in the same town where you grew up. The job pays the bills, but you had dreams of a career in fashion or owning your own restaurant. You thought you would go out to conquer the world, but instead you deal with chronic pain or depression and conquering the day is all you can manage. Or you were going to show your kids the world and everything you loved as a child, but they live in their own quiet world that you can’t quite reach.

Most of us are George Bailey with a life unlived. We did the right thing, we stepped up when a parent needed help, we held back when a child needed us. We pay the medical bills instead of booking that voyage. We take in a struggling friend or we do rounds of endless doctor appointments with our spouse. We put the suitcase in the closet and shut the door. Perhaps you made a series of wrong decisions. Invested in the wrong person, left when you should have stayed, stayed when you should have left. Either way you feel like George when it all starts to cave in around you. You look longingly at the empty suitcase and think if only . . .

We Make Resolutions (And Then Life Happens)

So here we sit in the foothills of the mountain that is this year; this decade even, and we are asked to make New Year’s resolutions. To write down what we hope to achieve these next 365 days. I can strive to write more, have less clutter in my house and find something to be thankful for each day. But the truth is I will forget about these small goals in a month’s time. We never talk about these aspirations in March or July. They are long forgotten because life happens. We move again, someone gets sick, someone gets born, we switch jobs, we age. There are triumphs of course. We meet the right person, we get a promotion, we start a business, we finish school. But the trouble with even achievements is that they fade. In It’s a Wonderful Life, George has wonderful things happen. He marries a lovely woman, has four children, helps countless friends, grows the business and supports his country during wartime. He is a beloved pillar of his community.

I do not for one minute think, if George had left town that day and taken his trip, we wouldn’t be having this same discussion—it would just be in reverse. He would have traveled, but never found, say, love or real meaning. He would see the world, but have no sense of home. We humans are genius at longing for what we do not have. If it wasn’t that thing, it would be another. I’m easily tricked into thinking, if I had what I wanted, than I wouldn’t want what I have now. That if I had gotten on that “flight,” I would be happier somehow. I would have a wonderful life. But it is a lie. If we travel, we long for home. If we are secure, we want adventure. If we have responsibilities, we want none and if we have none, we ache for them. We are funny, fickle creatures. Always chasing something. Always wanting more . . . or less.

We are always chasing something.

Always wanting more … or less

We all have suitcases in our closets

I can tell you my perfect life as I’m sure you can tell me yours. We are told the trick is balance. But we can’t, no matter how hard we try, stay in balance; we just hit it once and while, on the way to being out of balance. I’m all for being mindful and intentional. Make New Year’s goals; I did! But what the Bible says in Philippians 4: 11-13 is true; we must learn to be content in whatever state we find ourselves—in plenty and in need. I’m always in both these spots in various parts of my life. Flush with friendships, but struggling at work or dry spiritually but in good health. The life I wanted is not this. How could it be? I long for balance, for perfection and something is always out of sync.

If I could make it all work, I would not need a Savior. My goals are sweet, but small. They speak to the here and now which will never, ever be enough. I can have the best marriage, kids, job, vacations and it would not come close to being enough. One of the greatest blessings in my life are friends, as dear as sisters, and family I enjoy like friends, but it is only a taste of what I long for. Achieving dreams is amazing. I met a goal of getting over 100 pieces published and it was rather exciting and a feather in my cap; but it does not give my soul purpose, it is merely a feather, ornamental. I very much wanted our unique little house with the wall of windows and mid-century modern fixtures, but I have to be very careful not to complain about its lack of a second bathroom and doors that don’t close tight. Opening our own business was exciting, but at the end of the day, it’s a job, and a hard job at that. All the dreams that do come true are still not enough.

God knew it would never be enough. Our bodies were not designed to die, but to live. Our hearts were not created for envy and longing, but for a perfect, complete love. Our minds are meant for good, for edifying thoughts, not negative and evil imaginings. We use our liberty to create bad as well as good. We are victims of others’ free will and they are our tragedies, as well. So thus the world goes: broken, lost, and hurting even in the best of circumstances. The Bible teaches us to control our thought life, to think on things that are good and lovely; not because we will necessarily manifest a better life that way, but because we will need this discipline to navigate life. (Read about this in Philippians 4:6-8) It is a bumpy road. Sometimes the plane leaves on time and we get upgraded to first class and life looks good; but other times we have to sleep in the airport, just to find out we are seated next to a fussy toddler (who is oftentimes our own!).

This post is not about how we miss one flight to make another, different but better excursion. Our lives are a lot of canceled trips, lost tickets, sick on Christmas Day, missed opportunities and so forth. And in many ways we just miss out. But we are mostly nearsighted. We look at the life unlived and we mourn, while God sees eternity, knowing the end from the beginning. He knows our hurts and our disappointments, He is farsighted! Where we see loss, hurts and failures; He sees the refining of our souls. He knows we are pilgrims, just passing through. As it turns out we didn’t miss the flight at all, we are still waiting to board. It’s a bit of a delay, so we set about doing things, having families, working that job, putting our hearts into a ministry . . . all while we wait to live our (yet) unlived life.

Do you find yourself longing for an unlived life this side of eternity?

Have you considered that even if you had that dream life it would still never be enough? Can you think of some examples of people who have it “all” and still struggle?

What can you do to keep your focus on the things that are “good and lovely"?

Drafts on Christmas Lights

Christmas is such a unique time of year. As a kid it’s so intense, mostly about the gifts (let’s be real), but also, all the special things like decorating cookies and twinkling lights and watching favorite movies while snuggled up in red plaid pajama sets. Yet, as I entered my teens and young adult years, it lost some of its charm; I couldn’t quite get those old feelings back. The lights were not quite as bright and the wreath cookies not quite as sweet. The pressure to find the right gifts and fit in all the events started to feel like a chore. As a parent, I get to enjoy the wonder of it all again (but this time on the other side-the work side). The wonder isn’t going to put up its own lights or remember whose gift is in which identically wrapped box after the dog eats the tags off.

As a child of divorce, your lack of not being able to do it all and be everywhere is never felt as deeply as at Christmas; although in retrospect, it was good practice for marriage. The minute I told my Grandma I was engaged to my husband, she blurted out, “I get Christmas Eve” . . . it was July. We still talk about how smart that was. We were too distracted by wedding venues to realize we should probably add a disclaimer, but my husband congenially agreed. Guess where we go every Christmas Eve? (I’m taking notes.) No matter what your arrangement, you can never be in enough places or bring enough gifts or food. Because the thing with Christmas is, that it highlights what you are good at and what you are bad at. My mom can wrap a gift so that the wrapping is the gift, where I just gave a friend a gift with the price tag still on (it was on sale) so at least she knows I can find a good bargain.

While I’m beyond blessed with family and lavished in blessings, I am at the same time more keenly aware of the brokenness that many may feel during this season. The losses are felt in a more profound way this time of year. The strings of white lights reflect not only the awe and magic, but also the loss and heartache. The people that are missing, the fractured relationships, the pushed down depression or anger or bitterness that may surface in the cold air of December. Like Charles Dickens’ famous line “It was the best of times, it was the worst of times,” Christmas for many of us can be a tale of two Christmases The joy of eggnog by a fire with those we love and trying to smile while Aunt Claire asks you why you aren’t married, have children, or didn’t bring more dinner rolls or Uncle Clyde asks if you have been promoted, published your book or if you would like to hear about his eczema issues (just kidding he doesn’t ask).

Unlikely of Places

As the holidays approach, most likely you are being asked to contribute or attend an event, that although you will show up (with cookies) your heart isn’t right. Perhaps there are family members that are difficult (see eczema story), maybe you feel judged or unappreciated? Holiday gatherings can bring out old insecurities and emotions we thought long buried. We revert back to our childhood roles that are just not who we are anymore. Frustrations, jealousy and misunderstandings may float through our heads as we drive to parties and stay to dance around our conversations. The enemy wants us at our worst during these times. He wants us ineffective and distracted, and while it can be lovely to chat about the job and kids and how amazing the tree looks, maybe there is someone that needs to hear something deeper. Maybe a hot cocoa in a comfy corner by the fire can lead to healing words over a deep struggle. When our hearts are right, the Lord can use us, even in the most unlikely of places.

When we feel warm and fuzzy over Christmas, it’s easy to think everyone feels this same way. After all isn’t that what we see as the cards start to arrive, lining our windowsills—smiling faces looking back in holiday cheer. Isn’t everyone enjoying the parties and shopping and looking forward to the day of being reunited around a tree? What we don’t see in the cards are the sleepless nights over our jobs, anxiety over grades, the toll of finances and the health issues yet shared. We see the good, as it should be, but also not the whole truth. I’m trying not to be fooled into thinking everyone one else is problem-free this season.

I wrote an article years ago on what goes on behind a photoshoot; all the people at work to make that one picture look perfect. Fake hair, fake eyelashes, fake food and computer generated images make models and homes look flawless. I myself have modeled in these shoots and there is not only a small army of professionals styling each set, but also liberal airbrushing to catch any possible flaws. When I look at Christmas cards, I enjoy the adorable children and creative settings, but I try not to think that they have it all together; especially, as I look around my house, at tinsel waiting to get stuck in my vacuum and I still can’t find the O from my silver letters that spell NOEL. (My son keeps asking what NEL means!) I’m behind on shopping, decorating and baking (i.e. buying random things to bring to parties because I can’t remember what I signed up for). Quite obviously, I do not have a team of stylists working on my Christmas card setting (which I’m actually not sending for the third year in a row).

I’ve decided with the house lights off and the Christmas tree lights on, that it looks almost pretty—but those lights also cast shadows. I gathered with some of my best friends last week to celebrate, but one of us is missing (she went to heaven two years ago). I miss her so much and when we are all together, I feel like I’m always looking over my shoulder, wondering who is missing from the table. As we shared salted rosemary bread and warm cookies, we also shared our loss. While I gather with family and friends, I’m overwhelmed with my love for these people. The Lord has been healing my heart with hope of knowing this life isn’t all there is and I will see those who have gone ahead, especially, my sister (who has been in heaven far longer then she walked this earth). I have mostly known life without her, but I still feel her absence more keenly at these times of emphasized togetherness. I, also, long to sit again on my grandma’s bed and tell her all my problems or ride one more time with my grandpa on a sulky, training a young race horse.

For unto you is born this day in the city of David a Saviour, which is Christ the Lord!

The first nativity wasn’t this polished

As I smile for pictures by the tree lights, know that I’m happy and blessed, that I love eating snowman-shaped cookies and watching you open my haphazardly wrapped gift. The Lord is filling my longings with promise and as I look at my nativity set, I know that He, the Christ Child, came to suffer & die for mankind. He is lit by the glow of my tree in this moment; however, He was not in a polished glass manger scene, but in a dirty, smelly stone cave. It was most likely not well-lit, or warm or comfortable, but yet He brought the gospel of peace (“He restoreth my soul”). He would start His life on the run from men that wanted to kill Him, yet would not be angry. He would be called out of Egypt to a humble life, strikingly void of any grandeur, yet He would not be bitter. He is a King, but came as a servant. He was born, so that He might die. He gave all, so that we might gain everything.

The tree lights pale in comparison to my Saviour’s light. He illuminates all my blessings and all my faults, all my efforts and all my failures. He promises to be the strength in my weakness, the grace in my failures, the joy in my soul and He uses everything for His purpose. He is no longer a helpless babe in a manger, but God come in the flesh. He has known hunger and betrayal and deep loss, He knew His purpose and never looked for the easy road, He did not seek an earthly treasure, but one that does not rust. This time of year as the twinkling lights dance in the darkness, I’m in awe that even the tiniest of lights can be seen. I can be a little light in someone’s struggle because His light shines though me and perhaps brightest through my pain. A string of lights during the day goes unnoticed; it is in the darkness that they really shine.

**update: The missing O from NOEL has been found and returned to its rightful place!

What do the tree lights illuminate for you this time of year?

How can you be a light in someone’s darkness?

Drafts on Ebb Tide

Change is a constant companion in our lives. Like the ebb tide of the waves, the new washes up and the old is swept away. It is relentless. When we are young, this feels slow, as if we will be children forever; remember when summer felt like it would go on forever? One sandy beach day disappeared into the next, marked by dripping popsicles in the hot sun and counting fireflies in the evenings. I never once thought about change on those long carefree days. But change was always there, with me, even when I was unaware. Now as a middling adult, I’m keenly aware of change and the passage of time. My childhood seems a lifetime ago. The changes I have gone through are staggering. The hardships and the growth that followed has formed me into an entirely different person.

As I write, I’m perched at the window bar of a coffee shop and my view consists of blowing leaves and pumpkins on hay bales: it is autumn. This is my favorite season. I identify with its many layers—a clear sun followed by unexpected clouds, cold rain and gusty winds. I have often wondered what our favorite seasons say about us. Fall is a time of change, cooling temps, tall boots and burnt orange sweaters, The days are short, but bright. It is the last brilliant moment before the world resets with a long sweep of cleansing cold, unforgiving air. It is change wrapped around me like a scarf, held in my hands like hot apple cider.

The older I get the more I realize that change is part of the game; it’s not going away. I’m constantly growing and learning. And in that growth, I must face the fact that there needs to be growth, because I’m still not there yet. I see this in my marriage. After 15 years together, we are still figuring it out. Our partnership, all and all, is fairly smooth, but then last weekend we had a fight about a juicer. Yup, a juicer! So guess there is still room for growth there, or at least a glass of carrot juice.

Parenting is arguably the biggest vehicle of growth around. Having a baby is like an instant death to your old self and born in its place is this soft squishy person who cares about bizarre things like the shape of pacifier nipples and who keeps a journal of wet diapers. Who is this person? And in a way you relive your childhood all over again with all the great things, like reading Make Way for Ducklings, but also all the hard things, like when your first fish dies (R.I.P. blue beta fish). And you change. . . you are a parent to a baby and then a toddler and then suddenly the baby is driving. And while you were fine to drive at 16, surely that cannot be true today!

Twisting in the Waves

Change also comes in the form of hardships. Tragedies like divorce, loss or severed relationships that can close off parts of us until they shrivel up and die. We can’t even access that part of our heart anymore. Maybe you have lost someone or perhaps your marriage feels like far more of a struggle than it’s worth, a needy child is chipping away at you and there is no time for anything you enjoy. The grind of life . . . has well. . . ground you up. Those long easy days of summer are a distant memory that play in your head like a movie you watched once. Ten-year-old you would never recognize your life now. Your dream journal seems completely unrealistic. Obviously, you are never going to work for SeaWorld at this point (although, the Blackfish documentary really finished off that dream).

Blackfish aside, I don’t know where you are at today. Perhaps life has come up roses with a few thorns or perhaps it’s thistles with a few flowering weeds. Life is always in motion, the waves are always reaching for us, trying to push us forward or pull us back. Sometimes there is little we can do about our circumstances. My childhood was punctuated with tragedy, there were long summer days and nights on the porch counting fireflies, but storms blew in unexpectedly. Loss and tragedy are big part of my identity. Of who I am. They shaped me young into twisty ways that are taking a lifetime to untangle. But I’m working on it.

The enemy has spent years whispering in my tender ear that this is who I am. That these knots cannot be untangled. The blood supply has been cut off and growth cannot take place. And you know what? In many ways it’s easier to let these areas lie dormant. I’m strangely comfortable in it. Like when your foot falls asleep and you are unaware until you try to move it and as blood flows back into those veins, it is painful. As I have reopened some of my past, it too, is painful; but I no longer want to be pushed into a shape that God did not intend for me.

So I look back at things that happened to me and I start to look at it all through the eyes of the Lord. Sure, He can use these things and He absolutely does, but also He does not want me to be bound up in my losses, my hurts, my disappointments.

When the waves reach for me, I start to sink in the quicksand of my emotions, being sucked under by the past. Bound—unable to swim; sinking into depression and despair. At times, the Lord sends others to swim along side of me to encourage me to keep swimming; but more so, Jesus Christ, my Savior, wants to see me unbound, free to swim over the surface of what tries to pull me down.

Learning to swim

He will Walk on Water

When our minds turn to depression/anger/bitterness/ apathy, we start to feel the weight of our past, our pain, the things that haven’t worked out. It’s too heavy, we are tempted to stop swimming and just sink. We look away from God and we start to go under. We are trying to swim with broken legs and twisted arms. If we are standing on the beach and we see our child or a friend struggling in the water, would we not rush out to help them? Of course! And God our Father does the same. If we cry out, He will walk on water to save us from sinking. But more so then save us from drowning this one time, He wants to teach us to keep our eyes on Him so we don’t sink; showing us how to navigate rough waters, to swim because He knows storms will arise often in our lives. While I want Him to remove me out of the water altogether and put me up on dry land, He knows the world we live in and that it will never stop trying to pull us out to the depths. In John 16:33, Jesus says, “These things I have spoken unto you, that in me ye might have peace. In the world ye shall have tribulation: but be of good cheer; I have overcome the world.”

The waves will roll over my head, the enemy will try to convince me to stop swimming. But the Lord, the Lord Almighty will teach me to swim. The Holy Spirit will buoy me, the Great Physician will heal me, the power of Christ will strengthen me. We will face my crippling hurts together and He will breathe new life into the dead parts of my soul. He will unshackle the weights the enemy has chained to my limbs, and teach me to use them again. I will keep my eyes ever on Him—reading His word to renew my mind and speaking His truth to my hurting spirit. I pray in the power that changes things, changes me; I try (in His power) to cast off the old weights and get my stride. It does not come easy, it is work. I’m fighting the current. But the more I immerse myself in the things of the Lord, the stronger I become. I can only write about this because I have lived it. I have been bound up and I have been set free. Matthew 11:28 says: “Come unto me, all ye that labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest! “ The ebb tide will never stop, but the difference now is that (in Him) I can navigate the rough waters—I can swim..

In what ways is the ebb trying to take you out? How are your limbs bound up?

What would it look if you let the Lord unwind the areas in your life that are twisted up?

Are you being called to help someone else learn to swim?

Drafts on Margins

Let’s see, do I have everything? Computer and cord, blanket scarf (in the unfortunate event air conditioning has turned a lovely fall day into the polar vortex), library book to return, shopping bags and list, Bible study (in case I get a few minutes in car line) and the snack bag (never forget the snack bag!). This is how I leave my house most days. I run from one thing to the next, always having to think three steps ahead. Do I have the notes for that meeting, the right shoes to get a work out in and enough food to get me through the next six hours? It’s a lot and as you can imagine, I often fall behind and have to call my next meeting and say I’m running late. I jam too much into a day and if one thing gets off track, the whole day is off-the-rails and I’m running, running, running!

Have you ever noticed how pages come with margins? That lovely clean space around the perimeter of the words so there aren’t letters or punctuation marks running right off the page and falling into the abyss. Margins offer a space to work that leaves a little room. Margins keep all the thoughts confined to the middle of the page. But perhaps the best part is that they leave room for mistakes. I make a lot of mistakes; how about you? I misjudge how long a conversation will take, what the expectations are, or I show up in the wrong shoes with the wrong attitude. Margins allow time to find parking and to take the long way round if the bridge is out. So, if I get a little lost or need to take a phone call, margins give built-in sidelines to my day—to my life, which gives me space for such things.

Am I Available?

Margins give us room to breathe. A few minutes to collect ourselves and the space to help others. More importantly, margins give room for God to use us. When I pack my day so tight, I’m not available for any assignments He may have for me. Maybe a conversations that starts out about the weather (a fav topic here in Michigan) takes a deeper turn and demands more time or maybe one of your kid’s friends asks for a ride home, but really it’s a divine appointment for prayer. If I don’t have any margins in my day for such things, I will miss out on what really matters. Is my goal to check off my to-do list? Or to bless people? Do I get up in the morning with the goal of turning out three loads of laundry, replying to work emails, and helping with the school play? (Surely these things need to be done.) Or is my goal to be available to those who may need me?

The other day at the grocery store, the checkout girl was new and young and she was struggling. I had built in extra time to go the store so I was able to be patient, but the woman behind me was loudly complaining about how slow the line was moving (I saw myself in this woman), but I just smiled kindly as the girl apologized for needing to repack my bags a couple times; she was going to need some encouragement to get her through the next client. I have to build margins into my day and hope others build margins into their days when I might . . . say, lock my keys in my car (and then my son’s piano teacher has to load up her 4 kids and mine and come get me at the post office and then drive me home to get the spare key and drive me back again!). So . . . I might need some big margins.

Creating White Space

Last week I talked about making time for kindness in our days: see Drafts on Kindness in Tiny Beads. I have been pondering just how does one build free moments into our hectic lives? There is no easy answer and it looks different for everyone depending on where we are in life. Perhaps getting up a little earlier than usual? One of my friend’s gets up at 5:00 a.m. to get her time with the Lord in before her children wake, and I believe she also gets in a whole pot of coffee (I mean—it is 5:00 a.m.!) To me that is a ridiculous time; clearly meant for sleep! But I guess we are all different. Of course, we can not stack our days so tight, perhaps spacing out meetings in case they run late (don’t they always?). If you have small children (or just any children or even a dog) getting ready to leave 20 minutes sooner so you have time for the lost shoe hunt, muddy paws, spilled juice on the one day you actually thought—maybe, just maybe, you could finally wear white again.

I just got a text about a playdate after school today; and while I did say yes, I put a hard border on the time. If I make it home by 5:00 p.m. instead of 5:30 p.m., that extra half hour margin will allow me to be a more patient mother at bedtime, which is most often when we have our best talks about God and life. (I’ll let you know how it goes . . .) Update** So, I did make it home around 5:00 p.m. and still felt crazy trying to get it all done; but when my son asked me later to read to him about the weird creatures in the Bible in Ezekiel, instead of being ridiculously past bedtime it was just sorta past bedtime—so I went for it. I was glad there was that little clean margin on my page for that conversation.

These are simple ideas, and I know there are just days that have no margins (and sometimes the Lord calls for our time when we feel we have no time to give). Yesterday, a friend texted me after her child threw a fit about having to wear pants to school and then they got in the car late to only realize she was completely out of gas. This is the type of day where the words are written right on to the edge of the page with no room to breathe. Maybe there is something you need to say no to in order to have more time in your life for God to work. My husband and I have had seasons of saying no to good and fun activities, like sports and sitting on the board of great nonprofits, because it just made our days spill off the pages. Things I would love to volunteer for or writing projects that I would be thrilled to take on, but knew it would just fill my days to capacity and I need (I think we all need) margins for the Holy Spirit to move.

I find when I don’t build space in my day, I get crazy, I have no patience, no time and I more than not end up with a headache that has me stuck at home anyway. I want to take it all in. I want to fill every second of my day with coffee dates, work projects, community events. I think of those old letters people used to write when paper and postage were expensive and they would literally fill ever inch with teeny-tiny writing, even on the envelope.

Does your life look like a Jane Austen letter?

But my eyes need a place to rest—white space, if you will. Gaps from the words of life to just not have to focus and think and try. Margins allow us to write postcripts to our day, underline and draw arrows out to the edges; making note of this or that, praying for this person or that person as the Lord lays it on our hearts. I know for me, I may need time to take an unexpected phone call. I may need time to comfort and encourage hurting people; taking note of what they are really saying and what they really need. I may need time to stay late and talk. Sometimes I need your margins and sometimes you need mine. I’m trying to keep clean edges on the pages of my day.

What does the Lord want to write in your margins?

Is there space for Him? Or have you filled your days tight like a Jane Austen letter?

~~~~~~~~~~

If you have a margin in your day please leave a like and comment below … scroll down to subscribe!

Please share with anyone whom you think would be blessed by this website (thank you)

Drafts on Kindness in Tiny Beads

Bins of teeny-tiny Perler beads awaited us at the elementary craft night at our library. My child had been begging for these minuscule beads for over a month. In case you missed it, check out my last post on How I Melted the Dog’s Face to see our first round with this craft. I avoided them for about two years, but my number had been called. We are back for more, but fooled not by their cheerful riot of colors: neon, pastel and sparkly. I know exactly how this was going to go down. There will be certain colors needed, tiny beads stuck to sweaty little hands, all going everywhere except the peg on which they are supposed to land. Tables bumped, tears (mostly mine), and this just a night of fun crafts with kids. So as you can see, I went into the event with the right attitude.

I had brought along my computer to hopefully catch up on some work, thinking I would sit in the hallway and not necessarily participate in this struggle, I mean craft activity. But I could quickly see, with the time restraints, that parental participation would be needed, if I ever hoped to make it out of here before bedtime. So without much deliberation, my son chose to do a wolf and of course would need mostly grays and whites. It became apparent to all the parents that we would be the one digging out colors, that is, if we didn’t want to spend the night to finish this project. While an overnight in the library has its appeal, those bean bag chairs in the corner looked suspiciously like some place I would not like to lay my head.

So, I sorted through hot pink, clear and royal blue beads to hand-pick the desired hues. It was a full-time, absorbing job that had me glancing longingly at my computer. But I resigned myself to my task as his beaded Minecraft wolf began to take shape before my eyes, along side the other creations of butterflies and puppies. As moms asked their kids what colors they needed next and grey, white or pink was called out, something interesting began to happen. One little girl delivered a handful of black beads that she had sorted out for a boy at her table. I thought, well, that was sweet and carried on plucking out our needed colors. Soon another girl delivered a small cache of white to someone else at our table. We all looked up and acknowledged her thoughtfulness.

Next, an adorable little girl delivered an offering of gray to my son. He was thrilled and touched by her kindness. Such a little thing I thought, but it seemed to ignite something at our table. My son asked the dark-haired girl across from him what color she needed and started searching for her orange beads. My rational mind thought . . . well, what’s the point? If we all look for our own colors it would be just as effective. But that’s not the point, is it? While these kids showed up to make Perler bead creations, they were actually participating in a big life lesson. Kindness was being passed out in tiny beads. It was catching!! Most of the kids at our table were actively looking for colors for other children, eager to show a complete stranger that they cared enough to help. They did not know each other’s names or backgrounds; they had no idea if that child had a good day or a bad day, they were not doing it to win favor or get a prize. They were simply being kind.

Our lives are so busy and harried we often don’t take time to show each other kindness. We are always on to the next things, running late, forgetting something, needing to make a phone call or send an email. I think if I just keep my head down and keep typing and posting and emailing, I just might be able to get my work done. I plan my days so tight there is no breathing room for say, a break-down (I usually have those in the car or the shower) or to lose my phone, panic and then realize I’m talking on it (you guys do that, too, right?). I often go to bed the night before already overwhelmed by the day to come. Meetings follow meetings, I dive through the grocery store on the way to something else and vacuum just the parts that show (please don’t look behind my couch or under it!).

I tend to work in coffee shops (big perk of freelance) but one issue is running into people I know when I’m under a deadline. We will say Hi and I try to show through the frantic look in my eyes, that I have just this little window of time to get my work done. I must be doing something wrong because this seems to invite them to sit down at my table and tell me what is going on in their lives. While I feel like I don’t have time for this, I am also quite certain this exactly what I am supposed to be doing. You see, I pray in the morning that the Lord will use me to encourage others, help others and be someone that can show God’s love in a tangible human (although, flawed) way. And then, I promptly act put out when He actually does. People—why are we so ridiculous?

We can all stay in our own lanes, getting our work done, finding our own beads. But is that the point? Maybe part of this time here on earth is helping others find their beads and letting them help us find ours. Not one of those kids was worried about getting their own project done. They were not hurried or stressed. Remember those days? No? Me either. Yes, I need to post for work, and make that phone call and write that piece and there is a time for that, but there is also a time for kindness. There is time to listen and time to do someone a favor and time to pray, and you know what, I never regret it. There will always be another thing in my work inbox and more dishes to wash and somehow we are always out of essential staples, like bread or butter or dark chocolate. But I want to look back and say, I took time to show kindness to the people God has put in my life and the stranger he often sits next to me at a coffee shop.

Although kindness doesn’t cost money, it often costs time. My husband says time is money (when I want him to cut the lawn or wash the windows), but time does not seem to cost as much when there is a baseball game - hmmm? So, there is a cost. When I take a phone call at an inconvenient time because someone needs to vent or when I linger over coffee with a downhearted friend because they need a soft place to cry, I never think . . . well, that was a waste of time. No, I think that it is what I was supposed to be doing. But now, when will I edit that copy I wrote for a client? The time it takes to show kindness is not free, but I count the cost and find it worth every penny! And you know what? Others do the same for me—they listen, they bring meals, they encourage, they let me cry and they give me rides. I don’t usually stop to think that this cost them something; they started dinner late or didn’t make it to the store or lost a precious time to read before bed, but they counted the cost and found it worth their time.

If life is an exchange of colored beads, I want to know what color you need.

Write about an instance where you made time to be kind. What did it cost you? Was it worth it?

Journal about how you can make a change in your day and outlook that will make more time for kindness.

DRAFTS on The Time I Melted the Dog’s Face

Don't worry; this is not a post on housework. But it is about a time I tried ironing or also known as the time I melted the dog's face. There are many, many things I struggle with like the aforementioned housework; and then there are things I'm just plain bad at and ironing would fit into that category. But sometimes we are forced to do things we have no business doing. That is just life. The day of reckoning came for me when I dragged my six-year-old to the craft store while I picked out fabric for a project. As you will soon see, I'm no good at crafts either, so I was forcing my friend, Tracy, to make me a shower gift (I do this all the time) and in exchange I continue to be the Ethel to her Lucy. 

After an exhausting hour in the store, against my better judgment, I allowed my son to pick out a craft. He selected these things called Perler beads. The idea being that you take these beads and put them on a peg board to create something like a turtle or a cat. Then you iron the beads to melt them together. Easy— right!?

So, I unearthed my iron from the basement. As I plugged it in, my son, *Wolfy* asked what it was. Which makes sense because I had yet to iron anything in his lifetime. I replied that it was, in fact, an iron. He asked what one did with an iron and I said, “iron things”. He asked the next logical question: is it scary? And I answered: I think so. At that extract moment, the iron let out a hissing spray of steam like a medieval dragon and both my son and dog dove under the bed in pure fear! This is what happens when you don't iron regularly . . . or at all.

Once I tamed the beast and coaxed the team out from under the bed, I set to my task of ironing this beaded puppy. It must be stated here that my son was called puppy for at least two years, so the love for puppies is fierce. He had worked long and hard on his creation (because Perler beads are no joke) and my only job was to fuse it together with a little heat from the hissing dragon. Wolfy and Scout quickly left the room as I cranked it up all the way and laid it on the dog. When I pulled it away, it looked a little —well—perplexed. I sent Tracy a picture and she texted back: Awww, you melted it’s face.

Yup, I melted the dog's face. My dog, Scout, was not wrong to hide from the threat of a similar fate.

We all have things we struggle with, but can't get away from as parents, spouses, friends, employees and writers.

Fortunate for me, ironing doesn't come up very often, although my mom would argue that perhaps it should, but other things do—more important things. Perhaps forgiveness is hard for you or patience and when you are forced to pull these things out they are rusty and scary and quite frankly could melt a dog's face.

Maybe it’s a part of your job, such as being nice to rude people or maybe you are in a parenting stage that you are just plain bad at like having sympathy for teenage problems. Perhaps being happy for others who are achieving your dreams, when getting there yourself is proving difficult. 

This is great lighting, but this poor dog’s face is much more melted than it appears—we all love a good filter.

What is the "ironing" in your life? Is it something tangible like caring for an aging parent or is it something emotional like serving your boss who you feel should not be in charge of anything. I did go on to iron a turtle, a cat and another dog with varying degrees of success. No one who knows better, will be asking me to iron anything, but I can do it when life demands.   

Ironing aside, we are all asked to do hard things. Challenges we feel unequipped to handle. When we are naturally good at something we tend to do it in our own might; thinking, yes, I’m good at connecting with people or I’m trained for an emergency. But when something arises that is out of our wheel house we acutely feel the lack of our own abilities. It is in these moments that I have learned (often the hard way) to find strength in someone else, someone bigger than me — my personality, education, background — when I’m out of my element, I have to turn to the Lord. He tells us in His Word that our weaknesses are made perfect in His strength. Do we believe this? What does it look like when we live this way? I have to lean on Him to walk through the anxiety and fears that often accompany the areas of my life that make me want to pull the covers over my head.

Parenting asks so much of us, as does marriage or work. At times, demanding things we don’t feel able to give, but know we must. God does not ask us to go it alone. He says come to me, you who are tired and weary. Why does quitting sometime seems easier? Because I’m trying to do it on my own and I simply can not do it. Writing this blog forces me to talk about it, ask people to read and share it and that makes me want to cringe. It makes me want to quit. But I asked the Lord to bless my writing, to use my words to be an encouragement for the weary, a needed word or bright spot. It is only in His strength and not my feeble attempts that any good will grow out of these scattered seeds. Perhaps you feel this at your job or in a relationship, you feel the weight of doing it alone, when the Lord never asked this of us.

Write about something you tried to do in your own strength. How did it go? (Did you melt the dog’s face?) What would it look like if you tried to rely on God’s strength instead?

*This is my son’s chosen nickname, which I’m using for blogging purposes—but ironically one of my fav names growing up was Wolfgang and I distinctly remember my mom saying she hoped I would marry a man that would not let me name a child this. Ha! The Wolfgang name will be victorious. I don’t get this last sentence?? This last sentence is from my mom and it makes me laugh so hard I had to leave it in maybe nobody gets it but me(?)

Drafts on the Comments Section

I have been word-bombing blank pages with my thoughts since elementary school. The journal covers may have morphed from prancing horses and snuggling puppies to vintage travel with Jane Austen quotes, but the idea is the same—I need to write. I find putting pen to paper not only a way to organize my thoughts, but a form of therapy. As my emotions perch on the lines of the pages, I can look them square in the eye. In high school, I can remember writing so hard I ripped the paper (bc teenage feelings are that strong). Some words came carefully, as I tried to get them just right, and others poured out like a faucet, open at full tilt, left to overflow the sink and splash around on the floor.

As I grew older, I started writing pieces to share with others. I wrote poetry for my friends and short stories for class. Teachers and family encouraged me to pursue writing. I would work on stories for weeks before reading them aloud to my sisters. Their excitement over my characters and the dramatic and often tragic storylines would thrill me and encourage my writing. I learned that I didn’t want to just write in journals for myself, but I wanted to write for others. I started taking creative writing classes and reading books on the subject. After attending a writing conference I quickly realized this is what I wanted to do. College beckoned and I went on to earn a professional writing degree and started publishing my homework in magazines.

One of my favorite aspects of being an author is opening a notebook and letting others read my words. Like anyone in the arts, we don’t want our creation to stay tucked away in the studio, we want the world to see it and react. I have written pieces for others like a gift, the same way a potter fashions a cup or bowl with someone in mind. I have friends who cook or sew or make chocolate—I write words. Poems about friendships, articles about my mom’s love and short stories about my dad’s farm. This is an expression of gratitude. I want to see their reaction, like when we find the perfect gift for someone, we can’t wait for them to tear off the paper and see just what they mean to us.

When I started this blog, I really thought it would be mostly about writing and its brewdy sidekick, coffee. I had hoped to encourage writers, provoke ideas and share tips. I knew my faith would enter in at times because it is such a big part of me and my writing. After a handful of posts, with nods to my faith, it began to take a more prominent role, no longer watching from the wings, but stepping out into the spotlight. And it felt right, like that is where it belonged the whole time. Like when the star of the show gets laryngitis and the understudy has to go on and he is amazing! I love to write about publishing and little lessons from my life and will continue to do so, but I have felt that there is more to say. Like perhaps my writing is a form of worship, a love letter to my Lord. And I hope it comes across in my words. I don’t want to live a faith that leaves people wondering.

God did not leave us to wonder. He wrote a book for us so we could know Him. It’s an amazing love story! And like any good book, it has it all—humor, drama, adventure, loss and Redemption. God had His book commissioned—to be read; it has an eternal message we all need. I hand out business cards, post on social media and try to casually tell people in conversation that I have written something (not of Biblical proportions by any means!) but I would love it if they took the time to read my blog. The hope is that lots of people will read it and even more so, leave a comment!

Readers comments are the fruit of my labor. When someone takes the time to tell me what my writing meant to them personally, how it was just what they needed that day or that they shared it with a friend, I’m overjoyed. All the hard work feels worthwhile. I try hard to not have high expectations, for it’s a slow process and I’m figuring it out one hurdle at a time. Which brings me to a recent post I wrote and how it had no comments, not one! I was rather disappointed. Perhaps it wasn’t that great of a post; blogging is such a different thing than writing articles for magazines. Blogs are just quick shots of life, not poured-over manuscripts for which someone thought worthy of pay. I assumed it just wasn’t a comment-worthy piece until I realized I hadn’t turned on the comments section!

This got me thinking about how often I feel that God isn’t speaking to me. I’m praying, asking for answers and guidance and if feels like He stays silent. But have I turned on my comments section? Am I looking for the answers in the right place? God has authored a book and as it turns out, many of the answers I’m looking for are in the pages of His Word—God’s comments section, if you will. If we want to hear God speak we must turn on the “comments section” by opening up our Bibles. Something I have not always done. In my younger years of being a Christian, I did not read my Bible very often and I wondered why God was so quiet. Turned out He had plenty of notes and suggestions, if I cared to read it.

Once I realized I had not turned on the comments section of my blog post, it all made sense. Of course, I wasn’t going to hear anything! I have always wished I could get an audible response from God or even if He wanted to write me a letter—I would wait by the mailbox everyday! Well, He did write me a letter - I just need to turn on the comments section or better known as “opening up” His Word. Of course, God speaks to us in other ways, in our spirit and through His followers as we are His hands and feet (“Now then we are ambassadors for Christ…” 2 Cor 5:20a). He often sends someone to encourage or redirect us. I have sat across many a café table from someone lamenting that they just wish they could know the truth. I love to say God sent me to tell you to turn on your comments section. He is Truth . . . and He has so much to say.

Have you ever been confronted by something you journaled, perhaps putting those thoughts on paper made you examine them in a different light?

If you have journals, look through some old musings and write about how your feelings have changed.

Are you looking for answers when you haven’t turned on your comments section?

Drafts on Smuged Windows

The window next to my front door is always covered in nose prints. If you have read my earlier post, you will know that my dog, Scout, is always very concerned by what is happening on the other side of the door and the evidence of his curiosity (some would say obsession) is always very apparent on the windowpane. So I often find myself cleaning this window. I spray it down and clear away the doggy nose prints so I can see out the glass again. It looks good, sparkly and clean, transparent for about thirty minutes. Sometimes I think, why do I bother? This window will always be smudged. Yet, if I don’t keep up on this task, it will get worse and worse, layer upon layer, until my natural chemical-free cleaner won’t do the trick and I might have to bust out a stronger version to cut through the grime.

One day, as I polished the window—yet again, I was struck with how this window is like me. I get smudged and tainted by life; I can start the day off fairly sparkly, but I leave the house late, forget my phone charger, catch every red light and I already have a layer of grime. It doesn’t take much to mess up a windowpane, but then add that next layer - just one longing look at something I don’t have (in Scout’s case a squirrel) in mine, a book deal or a professional cleaning service - and my view is dirtied. I press my nose to the window and think I need more to be happy. But the reality is that if I had the book deal, then I would want the book to sell well, and if I had a cleaning person, then I would want a cook, which would lead to a gardener (and frankly, I don’t have room for that much staff in my house). In short, it would never be enough.

I have lots of aspirations, and I’m working towards many of them right now. Starting this blog was a dream I had for years. I sat with my nose to the window forever, envisioning my own website, a place to write what was on my heart, things I have learned—little shots of life. It brings me great joy to string words together, to craft them into ideas that can move through the world on their own. I have worked hard to pull it all together, and many people supported me and walked along side me to make it happen. My husband’s unfailing encouragement, my friend, Cordelia, who helped me build the site and ultimately pushed the button to just go live (I would still be trying to make it perfect), my cousin of Lighttighttank has done amazing photo shoots to make my vision come to life and my mom has bestowed her gift of editing and insight on my pieces. And just as important, YOU, my reader (with bonus points for sharing). I spend time praying, thinking, typing, reading and rereading. And, then, I press my nose to the window and I want more. Like all of us, I want to be acknowledged, loved, told I matter and rewarded for my hard work.

Sometimes we send little pieces of ourselves out there and it comes back void. As a writer, I often experience rejection. In the publishing world we have a saying—it’s not rejection, but redirection. I have had lots of “redirection” in my life. How about you? Sometimes instead of pulling back and looking at how far I have come, I look out the window and stare at what I want. The window fogs up and I have a hard time seeing past the condensation. I get in my head and ponder what it is I think I need; what is supposedly keeping me from finding happiness. There will always be another squirrel to chase. And if there is anything I know about squirrels, it’s that there are lots of them. I have a lot of dreams, some are big and exciting and others are small and simple. I want my words to matter on a big scale, but I also want to drink amazing coffee out of beautiful cups. Both these things make me very happy. The first one takes lots of time and patience, where as, the coffee is very obtainable.

I’m doing a project on myself right now, where I really take the time to appreciate my blessings. This means pulling away from the window for a time, to enjoy a homemade scone or marvel that I live in beach town or to simply be enthralled with the slice of heaven that is having hot water on demand. The more I think like this the more my selfishness, envy and self-pity is chased away. It does a good work on my soul to contemplate how very different my life could look like if I had been born in a different time or place, without all the luxuries I so often thoughtlessly enjoy. There is a time to look out the window and dream, but if I do it too much, the window gets covered in longings and what-ifs. Sometimes the door is flung open and we get to run after our hearts’ desires. But just as often the door remains shut and the Lord says this is not for you now, but look at what you have already - '“for with Thee is the fountain of life”. Human nature is so prone to want what we don’t have, to want more instead of less and to think what another has is better than what I have.

I don’t want to fall into the trap of spending all my time staring out the window when life is happening around me. I may not be able to have a weekend getaway with my husband, but we can share small plates on a sunny rooftop bistro in our hometown; after all not everyone has someone special to split a goat cheese crostini with. I spend a lot of time driving my child around to lessons and sports and friends’ houses, but we get a lot of time in the car to pray, we do our best praying in the car. Writing is hard and its doesn’t pay well, but it’s portable, so I can do it from quaint little coffee shops. What could your sentences say about your life, relationships and your faith? Where are you spending time looking for something more, when you are missing all that is right before you?

I want to look out clear windows and see a reflective glass not marred with smudges. As I wipe off my old way of thinking it floats in the air and clings to the surfaces of my life and it has to be swiped away. Just as our bodies are constantly shedding and regenerating, so must our minds be renewed. “And be not conformed to this world: but be ye transformed by the renewing of your mind”. (Rom 12:2a) I no longer need to think I am not enough or my life is not successful because I have too much dog fur floating on my floors or not enough likes on my last post. Happiness, or perhaps a better word, contentment is a tricky thing. There will always be too many squirrels to chase—I want to say, we should enjoy the squirrels we have already, but I had a squirrel in my home once and I did not enjoy it one bit, so the analogy falls apart here—but you get it!

Write about the dreams that keeps you pressed to the window.

What are some small things you can appreciate while chasing the big dreams?

What are some of the lies that keep messing up your mirrors? How can you work to clean those off?

Please share your response on Typeset or any other writing you would like to post. It can always be anonymous - just let me know when you send the email in the submission form..