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And Then We Wept

August 23, 2011 by Kelli

An iron will combined with pure determination make her beauty a little tougher to penetrate. Life ebbs and flows under her watchful eye and she pours forth emotion only when unaware that anyone is watching. Fierce love and sheer delight dance in her eyes, though, and it’s here that her tough exterior shows weakness. The best kind of weakness.

Compassion.

Her white blonde strands dance in the wind and her baby blues swim with concern. Her brother has just been punctured by a catfish – his first fishing wound. As blood seeps and he cries, she makes her move unaware of my observance. She slips an arm around his shoulder and squeezes tight. Concern. Fear. Pain.

She feels it all.

She feels my watchful eye and turns to look at me. I nod, showing as little emotion as I can and for a moment, I see her compassion falter. But a maturity is setting in – one that hasn’t been there before. She is five and a half now. She reminds us every day.

What I see is more than an age, though. It’s God. It’s a given nature settling in, begging to be watered and fed. She is seeking and questioning. Who is God? What is Grace? What did Jesus do for me? She asks and I answer. Then we wait.

“I want to know Jesus,” she says from the backseat. “But I’m not ready yet.” And that is okay. We will let her wait and question and seek, because the time is coming when faith will call and she will make it hers. But it will be in the time that feels right to her. She would have it no other way.

I would have it no other way.

He would have it no other way.

Her younger brother cries. In a fit of laughter he took the corner too fast and head met wall with force. He wails and I look down. Her hand on his ankle and tears in her eyes. She looks entirely surprised by this reaction. Empathy has never been her first reaction. But lately…she’s changing.

“I don’t know why I’m cwying,” she says, her eyes bright.

Compassion.

I say the word to her. Over and over we discuss it. Compassion. I tell her every day now. “You are compassionate. You care. And that’s a good thing.” She needs to know. Because by nature, her independence prefers distance. She likes control and predictability. But compassion…it is unpredictable. You don’t know when it will strike and the tears will flow. Compassion requires surrender.

Late in the evening as a storm meanders off in the distance and the clouds paint the sky in a Master Tapestry of shape and color, she and I walk hand in hand. “Do you want to call her?” I ask. She has been talking about her friend Noelle for several days. I hear the ache in her voice. The tender age of five has not tempered her longing for companionship. She misses her friend.

“No,” she says and shakes her head hard. This is her sign. She doesn’t want to talk. She doesn’t want to process. The tough exterior is up. We return to the condo and I watch her move.

“Tia. Why don’t you want to call Noelle?” I ask, when the bustling movement of masculinity dashes to another room and we two are left alone. She looks at the floor, then at me. Again her eyes are full and bright and sad. She shrugs. She won’t talk because the emotion threatens and wavers and her first reaction is to fight for control.

“Are you afraid that hearing her voice will make you sad?” I ask. And she crumbles. We lay on the bed and weep together. Me for her…and for myself. I miss them too. The friends and loved ones. I miss them. And so does she. She’s only five, but also…she is five.

We spend some time talking about our friends. We remember all the fun we had with them and we rejoice in the blessing of dear, sweet friendships. Then we pray. She clutches to my chest, her hot tears dripping off her nose and together we plead for new friendships to fill the void. For me.

For her.

And one more time before the lights go out we discuss compassion. I stroke her silky soft hair and tell her again. It’s okay to feel. It’s okay to cry. It’s okay to love. She possesses all of these emotions in full but letting them out is the trick. It’s the magic.

It’s what makes her so unique and wonderful.

Filed Under: faith, Family, Florida, Kids, Moving, Tia Tagged With: children, compassion, faith, Love, moving is hard

On forgiveness

August 18, 2011 by Kelli

One of my favorite Sassy Bloggers (we should form a club…), Jessica, posted her Plank Pullin’ series today. I like this series. I admire Jessica’s courage to put her planks out there. You’ll notice I haven’t put any out there myself. There are two reasons for this:

– I’m lazy

– I’m a scaredy cat

BOOM!

But Jessica’s post today hit a particularly raw nerve with me. Forgiveness. It’s such a loaded word, isn’t it? It requires action and intention no matter what end of it you’re on. If you’re the one needing forgiveness, you must intentionally act. If you are the one to extend forgiveness you must intentionally act.

Sometimes you must do both…at the same time.

Oh forgiveness…why dost thou tease me so?

One thing I have always valued highly, a trait that was instilled by my parents, has been loyalty. I value loyalty over just about everything else. I believe in it and I try hard to live by it.

Because loyalty is so important to me, restoring relationships that have been damaged is also important. It pains me to my core to think that I have ever offended someone and generally I will go to great lengths to try and restore that relationship. Sometimes this is hard. It requires the swallowing of the pride. And my pride?

It can be a big pill to swallow.

Huge.

Ginormous.

Megatronic.

You get the picture…

Even if I don’t understand my offense against someone, I try to make it right. When Lee and I were newly married we made our first married couple friends at our church in Texas. We had barbeque’s and took walks with this couple feeling ever so grown up and…married. They were our closest, and only, married friends in town. Or so I thought.

Lee came home from work one day and gave me a look. “I talked with Bowzer* today,” he said. “We have a problem.”

“What?” I asked.

“Princess Pea* thinks you don’t like her. She feels offended because you have never called her to get together one on one.”

*Names changed to protect the innocent. But wouldn’t it be funny to have friends named Bowzer and Princess Pea? I bet they’d be a really fun couple…Can you tell my kids have been playing a lot of Super Mario Bros?

Now, let the record show that I think this is a silly little thing to get upset about. I did then and I still do. But that wasn’t the point – the point was that I had somehow inadvertently offended someone and in doing so a friendship was damaged. Never mind the fact that I am suckalicious at talking on the phone – always have been. That’s why I don’t call people very often.

Suck.a.li.cious.

I sat on this for a few days mulling over what to do. I mean, it really was kind of petty. Because the fact of the matter was this girl had never called me either. But I couldn’t feel right if I didn’t at least call and make things right. So I did. It was terribly awkward and uncomfortable, but I asked her forgiveness for hurting her feelings and asked if she’d like to get together for coffee.

We never did do that. And I haven’t heard from that couple in almost ten years now. So the issue obviously wasn’t mine, but I felt better knowing I had tried to make things right. I wanted forgiveness, truly and deeply.

Recently another issue has cropped up that has affected me a bit. A friendship ruined over something silly, trivial and petty. I tried to make it right and instead met resistance.

Hurtful.

Painful.

And unity was not restored but was, instead, further denied. And I had a part in it. That makes me sad.

I don’t like that. I hate disunity with others. I want it to be right. I feel all Monica Gellar…I want her to like me, dang it. (Five points to anyone who remembers that FRIENDS episode) And I keep questioning myself, looking inside, trying to decide what action I need to take to restore unity. But I’m a little scared, because last time I tried that it only got worse.

Forgiveness.

It’s a tough one, isn’t it? Forgiving, moving forward and loving unconditionally. Whew. As Jessica put it:

“It’s one thing to forgive someone and a whole ‘nother thing to be reconciled with them, and Christians can be so dad blame unrepentant of their arrogance, or unhospitality, or fill-in-the-blank that I occasionally find a very hard time building bridges with them.

And yeah, I’m on the guilty/unrepentant end sometimes, too.”

So on I press, ever aware of the fact that I am only responsible for my own actions. How can I live today in a way that restores unity and peace with others? Because I value loyalty. I don’t like to end or walk away from friendships.

So what is my plank?

I think it is my indignation when others don’t value loyalty as I do. I tend to get judgemental. I don’t like it. I’m constantly working on dying to myself and I am an admitted work in progress.

My deepest desire is to continue to search my own heart and seek to live whole with others, making things right when I offend and offering grace if ever needed. And drop the judgement. It’s very unbecoming.

It doesn’t match any of my outfits.

So Jessica, consider that my first plank pulled.

BOOM!

Filed Under: Blogging, faith, Life Tagged With: faith, Forgiveness, Friendship, Loyalty, Plank Pullin'

Insignificant

August 15, 2011 by Kelli

Post edit: I wrote this post several days ago and for a number of reasons decided to wait before publishing. I worried that it would sound like I was fishing for encouragement. I realize that many of my recent posts have been bemoaning our move to Florida. I’m sorry for that. This move has been more emotionally exhausting than I ever dreamed it could be. Thanks for your patience in letting me process in this space. I promise I won’t always talk about moving. I’ve got other things rolling through my head right now – get excited! I mean…ya know…if that sort of thing excites you…*sigh* I’m a dork. Read on…

You remember that awkward time in your early teens when you were gawky and moved clumsily through each day like a Great Dane on crack?

Remember those days?

Do you recall looking in the mirror at your oily, marked skin and wondering if you would ever grow into your nose and OMG why did your hair always look so weird and would your teeth really be straight when you finally got all that metal off of them?

Did you ever wander through your days back then feeling small and insignificant?

I mean, I didn’t, of course…but did you? Ahem.

I remember one conversation in particular. I was twelve and we had recently moved from Wisconsin to St. Louis. I felt lost in this new and foreign town. While I still harbored a small crush on the New Kids on the Block (Jordan and Joey...sigh), the people in my new classroom considered them soooo 1991. How did I know this?

We were in 6th grade art class and “The Right Stuff” came on the radio. I, of course, began humming along softly and suddenly the class macho man – let’s call him Troy for kicks because I honestly don’t remember his name – popped his head up.

“Who’s singing along to this song?” he demanded, his eyes scanning the room. I immediately froze and look up wide eyed and innocent.

“The New Kids are stupid,” he declared and everyone laughed and nodded in agreement. And thus ended my love affair with all things New Kids (publicly anyway). Tragic, indeed.

This incident combined with several other prepubescent crises caused me to come home and fling myself on the couch. It was totally melodramatic and very Disney Princess. “I don’t mean anything to anyone here,” I wailed, my hand over my eyes. My mom sat quietly next to me, just listening. After a few minutes, she finally spoke.

“You mean something to me,” she said.

I’d like to tell you that I smiled and leapt into her arms in a true After School moment, but I’m pretty sure I just huffed and rolled my eyes and muttered something incoherent about how she was only saying that because she had to and so on…

I was a peach.

But that conversation never left me. I bet she doesn’t even remember that moment, my mom. But I do – I remember. Because even though I didn’t really accept it, I knew that I mattered to someone. At twelve, I needed to know that.

I’m not twelve anymore.

Obviously.

But moving has brought on that feeling of insignificance once more. The other night we watched the most beautiful, glorious sunset I’ve ever seen. Seriously in all my life, I’ve never seen anything like it. And as I watched God paint the sky in brilliant purple and orange, I realized something.

I’ve felt insignificant since we moved here. Small.

Things happened and came about during the move that I didn’t foresee or expect and as I’ve dealt with those things, I’ve found myself shrinking back against the tapestry before me. And I’ve felt terribly insignificant. Suddenly, all the things that gave me comfort and…well…significance have been stripped away leaving me with nothing but my husband, children and a few earthly possessions that are easily within grasp. I tried to convince myself that these things should be enough. I don’t need any more than that in life, right?

Wrong.

I mean, I guess if I wanted to give the Sunday School answer, I would solemnly say, “All I need is my Jesus and my family. Nothing else matters.” But that’s not true. Relationships do matter. Taking care of my home does matter. Being in fellowship with others and taking part in a community matters. It matters to me.

I didn’t realize how small I felt until I was swept up in the glory of that sunset. And it made me emotional. Sad, even. I just felt so small.

Not that this move has been all stressful, of course. In the past few days, I’ve been overcome with peace regarding some of the bigger aspects of the move. Schooling, housing, etc…These are things that have caused a bit of stress in the last few weeks, but today, I feel nothing but rest when I think of them.

The other day, however, as I watched the sun dip beyond the horizon I wondered how I could feel such a combination of emotions. Peace mingled seamlessly with insignificance. And in a last burst of orange, the sun disappeared and I suddenly felt like that twelve year old girl lying on the threadbare couch once more. Only this time, I felt the Lord sitting over me and smiling gently.

“I don’t have anyone to share my heartaches and joy with,” my soul whispered. “I feel like I don’t mean anything to anyone here.”

And the breeze caressed my face as the sky grew darker, orange fading to deep blue and finally to black. “You have Me,” I heard deep inside.

And I do. I also have the many who are loving us from afar and online and I thank you all for that. Sincerely and truly from the bottom of my heart, I thank you for loving our family. I have received several emails from people I don’t even know that have lifted my spirits in ways I can’t express. And the phone calls from old friends have served as a constant reminder that I am loved and blessed.

I will still feel small from time to time, I suppose, but isn’t that a good thing? Being stripped of all the things that gave me a sense of identity leaves me with nothing left but Him. And for the first time in a long time, I think I’m okay with that.

Filed Under: faith, Family, Florida, Moving Tagged With: faith, Florida, moving, Sunsets

Sunsets with Friends

August 14, 2011 by Kelli

The doorbell rang and I answered, my four month old tucked snugly in the crook of my arm.

“Trick or Treat,” he cried, thrusting out his bag. He was three, dressed as a Power Ranger…or something like that. I pulled Sloan close and tossed some candy into the bag, his eager little face lit with joy. Sloan was dressed as a lion. Cruelly, I had even drawn whiskers on his chubby little infant face.

“Hi, I’m Carol,” she said reaching around the stroller to shake my hand. I also shook her husband’s hand and cooed over their brand new baby girl. We were fairly new to the neighborhood. Having only moved in a week after Sloan was born, I had spent the first several months in first time parents survival mode. I didn’t know many neighbors.

But here they were on my doorstep. And over the next few years, our relationship deepened. We borrowed sugar and eggs and carpooled to preschool. We celebrated birthdays and mourned the loss of beloved pets. We loved and lived and grew together. We created memories in the cul de sac and a beautiful thing happened:

Our children developed lifelong friends.

Three months ago, Carol came over and sat with me on my back porch. I forgot to mention one other shared love we had with these dear neighbors and friends:

Florida.

“So we’re really feeling like God is leading us to Florida,” she said. And I stared back my mouth gaped open. “Um…Lee is in Tampa right now interviewing for a job,” I told her. They were words I hadn’t been able to utter to anyone else.

“We’re thinking about going to Tampa too,” she said with a smile.

Saturday night we sat together and watched our children play as we’ve done countless times over the last eight years. Only this time…they were playing at the beach. Mike and Carol moved into their house last week. When it’s all said and done we will likely live within 15 minutes of one another.

One of the biggest surprises in this move has been the fear that crept in and pounced upon us like a lion in the night. We weren’t prepared to confront the attack. The questions that came up sent us into a tailspin. Did we make the right choice? Are we really supposed to be here? What were we thinking? Will life ever feel normal again?

The deepest sadness I felt was saying goodbye to the people who had known my children since the day they were born. People who visited us in the hospital and watched our children grow from chubby babies to tall, lanky little people. There is something special about having your children surrounded by people who have known them from day one. And I mourned the loss of that. Our move here felt like the end of such a blessing.

Why do I worry? Why do I fear?

This weekend, God gave us what can only be described as a miracle. We had a perfect sunset in the place that is to be our new home with comforts from our old home. By our side were people who had known our children from infancy. They’ve watched our children grow and we have watched theirs. And our hearts rejoiced as all those questions melted into the ocean with the sun. Rays of hope splayed across the sky.

As daylight faded into darkness and the past faded into tomorrow, I once again heard the whispers. “I was here before you and I will remain. The path is laid out before you and blessings abound.”

And we did count our blessings that night. They were wrapped in the rhythmic waves of the ocean, full of giggles. Friends from afar brought near. Love poured forth. Peace beyond what we can understand. Grace and mercy in the sand – dancing in the moonlight.

A lifetime of memories still to be made.

Anybody else want to join us?

Filed Under: faith, Family, Florida, Life, Moving Tagged With: Florida, God's Blessings, moving, Sunsets

The Homeschool Post

August 11, 2011 by Kelli

Forgive the lame photos. My good camera is at the spa getting a facelift.

I never planned to be a homeschooler. It was never something I desired to do. Never. In fact, I’m pretty sure my exact words in the past were, “There’s no way in H@#! I would ever do that.”

Classy.

But something happened earlier this year and a transformation began inside my heart.

Sometime after the New Year, Sloan began struggling in school. It wasn’t a major struggle. He was getting by just fine, but he wasn’t thriving. Part of that was my fault. Life was just so overscheduled. We had something almost every evening of every week – all good things, but it left my kids bouncing in the wake of life and they were tired.

So we started cutting things out. Good things. And I hated it. All the while, I shipped my worn out child off to school for eight hours a day despite his daily pleas to let him stay home “just this once.”

I’ve said it before but it bears repeating. I don’t have major issues with the public school system. I have nothing but respect for the men and women who choose to teach our children. Some are better than others, to be sure and the system is far from perfect. But it deserves respect and it has that from me. I wasn’t necessarily upset with the quality of education my son was receiving so much as the time it seemed to take to get it. I feel like one of the biggest flaws in our school system (and this applies to both public and private schools, incidentally) is the amount of time we are keeping our children in the school building.

Sloan got on the bus at 8:00 every morning and he got off at 3:30. This left very little evening time for us as a family. It also left him tired and unwilling to concentrate on any kind of homework. He never wanted to sit and read a book and I didn’t blame him. If I were forced to sit and listen for roughly 30 hours per week I wouldn’t want to read a book either. That’s a lot of time for our little guys to be away.

This combined with a lot of prayer led me to seriously begin considering homeschooling. I entertained that idea alongside the idea of checking myself into the loony bin, because I felt sincerely crazy. Homeschooling? Really?

Yes. Really.

Two kids, two sets of study guides, double the crazy?

I mulled all these things over by myself for awhile, then I went to my husband. I was positive that he would have his head squarely placed on his shoulders and would practically and reasonably talk me out of this silly little notion.

“I think you should look into it,” he said. And then I passed out.

When I came to, he continued. “Obviously the Lord is working something out in your heart because I’ve never heard you talk like this before, so I really think this is something we need to research and pursue.” So being the dutiful wife that I am (wink, wink) I took his advice and began talking to every single homeschooling friend I have. I asked them all for the exact same information:

– Give me every reason I should do this and…

-Give me every single reason I should not.

Not surprisingly, the reasons I should far outnumbered the reasons I shouldn’t, and the reasons I shouldn’t were mostly selfish in nature. But I still wasn’t convinced, so I researched and prayed and waffled and wavered and questioned and finally decided that homeschooling was something I needed to do. Not for me, but for them. (When I say them, I’m referring to the children…you already knew that, didn’t you?)

Ultimately, I knew that I needed to get my clutches into my kids and show them what a joy learning can be. Even if I only do it one year, I want the year to count. I want them to know that I was willing to give up everything for them so that they could see the magic of opening a book.

Now I’m not sure I can show the the magic in math. Because math is not magical. It’s just numbers. Lame.

Right after I made the decision to homeschool, we found out we were moving and the timing just felt right. It also felt horrible. How would I do this without a local network of support? HOW?!

I’ll tell you how. Yesterday, as I watched Landon at swimming lessons, one of the other moms walked up to me. “Do you homeschool?” she asked. I was taken aback, because why would she ask that? What a random question? Was I putting off some kind of homeschool vibe? It must have been the denim jumper I was wearing…the one with the apple and ruler appliques on the front.

I kid.

“Yes,” I answered. “This is my first year.”

“Oh you’ll love it,” she said with a smile. “I’ve been homeschooling for years. What curriculum are you using?”

“Sonlight,” I replied.

“Wonderful!” she cried. “That’s what we use. Let me know if you have any questions about it.”

OMG - So many pages. I feel like I'm decoding the key to a secret world...

Is it coincidence that she randomly struck up a homeschooling conversation? Maybe…but I doubt it. Because today our curriculum arrived in the mail and I am thoroughly and completely overwhelmed by it all. Thankfully, I have a new friend who will be able to show me the ropes. And for me, that was one more confirmation that we are in the right place, doing the right thing.

Now if you will excuse me, I am going to go churn my own butter while simultaneously working on my needlepoint and baking homemade bread.

I kid. I’m not going to do any of those things. I’m going to finish my wine cooler and go to bed.

So this is the part where you join in, my bloggy friends. Would you ever homeschool your children (or are you currently)? Give me the best and worst. I want to be prepared.

Filed Under: faith, Family, Kids, Motherhood, School Tagged With: Homeschooling, Kids, Motherhood, School, Sonlight curriculum

Whispers

August 2, 2011 by Kelli

Image Credit: www.moopandsaba.blogspot.com

“I have a secret,” he whispers. Or a “theekwet,” in his lispy language.

“What’s your secret?” I ask, leaning down so my nose is inches from his freckled face. (Oh how I love his dotted little nose.)

“I wub you,” he answers with a grin.

And then I melt. And promise him all the Cheezit’s he could ever want. And a pony. And his sibling’s inheritance.

How is it that children know the exact words to say when we need it most? I was tired this morning, and a little crabby. I wanted to sleep longer and wake up happier. My yummy little guy was actually still waking up himself and had snuggled his warm body close, his sippy cup tucked under his arm. (Because my third born does not function in any capacity in the morning without a sippy cup of juice or milk first. He’s a toddler coffee addict…without the coffee.)

How did he know that I just needed some kind of encouragement to get the day started? When I pulled back from our “theekwet” he grinned at me slyly. He’s a heartbreaker that one. Mama’s lock your doors, cause this kid is trouble. Adorable, squeezable trouble – the most dangerous kind.

There have been so many encouragement’s these past few days. Are you guys praying? Because I am feeling the power of God working in ways I didn’t imagine. Tangible delight being poured upon us. From “theekwets” to the making of new friends. From house hunting encouragement to just an overall feeling of contentment.

Today, I went with Lee to the bank to be added to our new account. The woman who helped Lee last week when he first went in wasn’t available, but another woman was there to help us. Her name was Ekaterina, or Katya – her accent was Russian. After we sat down, she left the room briefly and Lee looked at me with eyebrows raised.

“Hmmm…” he said, all smug-like.

“Don’t, please,” I groaned. “I don’t feel like it.” You see, friends, my husband feels the need to tell every single Russian we ever meet that his wife speaks Russian. Then he slaps me on the back and tells me to talk. It’s not my favorite.

But I’m also really grateful to him for it. Because, honestly, my personality is one that I would let all those opportunities just slide right by because it makes me a little uncomfortable and embarrassed. And this morning…well, the “theekwet” hadn’t totally burned off my crabby mood.

When she returned the firs thing Lee asked was where she was from. “Russia,” she replied in the accent that is so familiar to me. “Huh,” he said, looking at me. I sighed and turned and began speaking with her in Russian. And you know what?

It was awesome!

Why do I resist that sexy man of mine?!

So my new friend and I will be getting together sometime soon to go shopping at some local Russian stores. And it was yet another whisper – a “theekwet,” if you will – that everything is going to be okay. I love making Russian friends. Love it, love it, love it. And I would have completely passed that opportunity up today had it not been for my ~~annoying~~ supportive husband. And God once again whispered to my heart. “I’ve got you covered, young one. Just enjoy the ride…and stop complaining when your husband brags on you.”

I feel like I’m getting a lot of those whispers lately. And a few slaps upside the head.

Moving is hard. But right now, in this moment, I’m kind of enjoying the ride.

Thank you for riding this roller coaster with us and praying us from one side to the other.

*For more awesome pictures of my kids, and my nephews, visit my sister-in-law’s blog. Not only is Becke’ an amazing photographer, but she is a spectacular writer as well. She inspires me. You can see more of her photography here.

Filed Under: faith, Family, Florida, Kids, Lee, Life Tagged With: children, Encouragement, faith, God, Signs

Do you ever wonder?

August 1, 2011 by Kelli

Do you ever wonder if, perhaps, we as Americans have gone to far with our freedoms? Do you ever wonder, when you walk inside a church that looks more like an amusement park than a house of God, if maybe we’ve lost sight of what faith is?

I do.

Do you ever wonder if maybe we’ve made church a little too exciting for our little ones? Do you ever wonder if maybe they’ll grow into adulthood and not know how to worship unless they’re being entertained? Do you ever wonder if we’re short changing our kids by not exposing them to the beauty and theology of the hymns?

Do you ever wonder why we feel we need to put on a rock concert in order to make church exciting?

My friend, Joe, recently posted this article on his Facebook page. I found it both hilarious and fascinating. And by the end, I was a little sad. Do you ever wonder if we’ve made church so much like the world that we leave our young people with very little challenge to be separate of the world?

Do you ever wonder if American consumerism has, perhaps, gone just a bit too far? When you walk inside a church and are immediately faced with a Starbucks, do you wonder if maybe those things should be kept apart? Do you ever find the blending of the two a little uncomfortable?

Do you ever wonder if maybe the very thing that is our greatest strength in America (freedom) has, perhaps, also become our greatest weakness? That maybe faith has become a little too easy? Do you ever wonder what those who sacrifice everything in the name of faith must think when they see that we can sacrifice nothing for the same faith? Or is it the same faith?

Do ever wonder if we even have the ability to possess the same kind of faith as those who suffer true persecution?

Do you ever wonder if maybe church has become a little too easy – too…comfortable? Do you ever wonder if you possess strength strong enough to truly make a difference in the world?

Do you ever wonder any of these things?

If you do, what is your response?

Filed Under: faith Tagged With: Christianity, Do you ever wonder?, Faith in Ameria, Freedom

Signs

July 27, 2011 by Kelli

We rolled into Florida today, my smokin’ hot minivan dragging a bit under the weight of all the life shoved inside. It has been an emotional roller coaster, this trip into town. Of course any move is fraught with emotion. Change hurts. It’s hard. Tears must be shed in order to cleanse the soul of the fire that rages in your heart.

As we talked today on our second day of driving, we discussed the Why. Why did we make this move? What purpose did God have in picking our family up out of everything comfortable and placing us smack dab in the middle of the unknown. For all practical purposes, this is our wilderness. Albeit a wilderness with a beach (the best kind), but nonetheless this is our journey.

Why are we here?

Suddenly the reasons for the move become clouded beneath the emotion. Did we make the right choice? Was this really the path we were supposed to take? Did we somehow misread the signs? Were we instead chasing our own desires, or own passions?

Why?

While at my in-laws this past weekend, we had the blessing of soaking in their wisdom for several days straight. One thing my father-in-law (one of the three wisest men in my life, my dad and my husband rounding out the trio) said to us has really stuck with me.

“What makes you think,” he said in his thick Arkansas drawl, “that you had anything at all to do with this decision? It was God who moved you in this direction. Don’t forget that God is in full control. When you are seeking Him, you’re not going to make a mistake.”

What freedom that gave us. And what a wonderful lesson on which to dwell. Who are we to question the will of God? There were times when doubt caused us to wonder if, perhaps, we should scrap the plan all together – flee back to St. Louis. It’s peaceful there, simple. We know it. We know what we can and need to do there to stay comfortable.

But then what? Comfort is boring. As we drove today, the Cyprus and Palm trees buzzing by our windows, I held a book in my lap. “Reading the same page of a book over and over is boring,” I told Lee. “You have to turn the page to see what’s going to happen next in the story.”

We turned the page when we left St. Louis. Not that staying there would have meant our story stagnated, but ignoring God’s call and being unwilling to face something new would have been extremely boring. To live life wondering “what if we had?” would be a terrible burden to bear. And even on our trip, the Lord gave us little signs that we are on the right path – we are continuing our story.

Lee was given the opportunity to fly up to Arkansas to be with his family and to help us drive down here. An unexpected blessing and something we didn’t know we needed. Lee got a very encouraging call from his manager. It was unexpected and unprompted. And the words spoken and messages exchanged were a balm to the soul.

As we lay in our frigid hotel room last night, everyone slowly drifting to sleep, Sloan hopped up out of bed and came over to Lee and I. “I have something for you,” he said, the freckles on his nose dancing in the golden lamp light. He pulled two silly bands off his arm. They were shaped like palm trees. “These are to help you remember that we used to live in St. Louis, but now we live in Florida.”

How did he know that was the exact thing tearing at our hearts? We hadn’t spoken of our fears and heartache in front of him.

When we pulled out of the hotel parking lot this morning, the kids screeched and pointed at a beautiful rainbow painted across the gray sky. God’s promises never fail. He is still the same. All of these signs worked together to provide a bit of comfort as we continued to haul our lives southward. Nothing about this move has been easy. A part of me feels a bit like a spoiled brat who’s finally been given what she wanted, but it’s not enough.

“I want it MY way.” Foot stomp.

I want comfort and stability. I want the perfect house. I want it easy and fun. I want friends. I want, I want, I want…

The new goal is to take my eyes off of what I want. Together Lee and I are changing our focus. We’re turning the page. We want to know what’s going to happen next. And we want to know what part we get to play in it. To His glory. Arms stretched out wide, palms open, dancing in the rain. What’s next? And how do we keep our eyes pointed up? Not looking backward and definately not staring inward.

Not about us.

What’s next to His glory?

This is really hard. Really, really hard. As my sister-in-law told us the other night – this is a threshing. It’s a step into the Refiner’s Fire. The selfishness that has pervaded our souls for a long time needs to be burned away. There is nothing fun about that. Nothing at all. We are feeling vulnerable and the only refuge is God Himself. To seek any other would be foolish. There is no hiding – not even St. Louis could shelter us from the need to change these deepest parts.

Join us as we step forward in faith, our hearts open to what He wants and longs for us. And we would like to join you in whatever journey you might be on. What does a next step look like for you? Because we’re all on a different journey. How can we pray for you? What would stepping out of comfort look like for you? Who can you serve? What can you do to step outside of what you know? Or, if you’re already doing that, what are you learning? If you would like to share or ask for prayer, please feel free to comment and we can all join together. Or send me an email (kellistuart00 (at) hotmail (dot) com) and I will be happy to lift you up as you turn your face up.

Let’s dance in the rain together.

Blessings.

Filed Under: faith, Family, Florida, Life, Minivans, Moving Tagged With: faith, Florida, moving, starting over

The In-Between

July 24, 2011 by Kelli

He didn’t want to try it. Fear prevented him from true joy, from enjoying to the fullest that which stood before him. The vibrant blue waters of the pool were enticing and he tasted the joy when he stepped into the water.

But fear held him back.

He couldn’t bring himself to put his face in the water. The fear of the unknown was too much and so he simply watched in longing. Every once in awhile he put his chin beneath the surface, delighted to feel the cool water – such a contrast to the blazing heat of the sun. If, by accident, water splashed into his eyes he cried and dashed for a towel, wiping it away before realizing how refreshing it could actually be.

I wondered if he would ever overcome this fear. I wondered if he would ever experience the miracle and joy that comes with taking the plunge and diving beneath the surface. I wondered if he would ever realize that conquering fear leads to freedom.

And then one day he did it. He stepped off the edge and took a leap of faith. Faith that he wouldn’t sink, but would indeed return to the surface as promised. Faith that fun awaited if he just took a chance. And do you know what happened?

Photo courtesy of my sister-in-law, Becke'

Inexplicable Joy. Freedom. And he hasn’t looked back.

We’re stuck in the in-between right now. We’re in Arkansas for a week visiting family, which simply feels like any other vacation. I am having a hard time wrapping my mind around the fact that we won’t be going back to St. Louis from here.

We head to Clearwater to stay in my parent’s condo until we either find a house or decide to rent. That, too, will feel like a familiar vacation, which in the past has always ended in us returning home. But Florida is home now. It doesn’t feel that way yet, but that’s what it is.

Mark Twain once wrote, “Change is the handmaiden Nature requires to do her miracles with.” I so hope for miracles as we make this move. What does a miracle look like? I don’t know. Maybe it will be something big and measurable. Maybe it will be something that can’t be seen but only felt…realized only upon looking backward after time has propelled us past this unsure moment.

Maybe the miracle is our willingness to take the plunge – to face our fear of change and dip our head beneath the cool waters of the unknown. We would have been fine splashing in the waters of familiarity, but then we might have missed out on the joy and freedom that comes from taking a plunge beneath the surface.

Maybe the miracle will be my children suddenly waking up each morning with smiles on their faces and nothing but kindness on their lips. Maybe the miracle will be my children sleeping past 6:30 every morning!

I can dream can’t I?

Change leaves your heart and spirit in a vulnerable place. When you’re cut off from the passivity of the familiar, suddenly a whole new world of options are opened before you. There are no schedules to keep up with, no obligations to meet. Those will likely develop quickly, of course, but in the beginning, when life has finally, mercifully, slowed down the prospects of a clean slate leave me excited. What will we finally do that we’ve been dreaming of but lacked the time? What lies in wait for our fragile hearts?

It’s terrifying and exciting and wonderful. A tightly woven ball of “What if?” What if we had the time to finally do that? What if we were closer to finally participate in this? What if we finally set aside the resources to accomplish that dream? What if we watched in grand expectation and looked for the miracles?

While the in-between has given me a touch of vertigo, unsure of which way to turn, it’s also left me excited. I love what ifs. I love to see miracles happen and for the first time in a long time, I’m finally watching for them.

“Change is the handmaiden Nature uses to do her miracles with.”

Have you seen any miracles lately? Let’s share and all join in the excitement!

“For I know the plans I have for. Plans to prosper you and not to harm you. Plans to give you a hope and a future.” Jeremiah 29:11

For more pictures by my awesome sister-in-law, visit her blog. We’re having some wonderful, sweet cousin time.

Filed Under: faith, Family, Florida, Life, Moving Tagged With: Conquering Fear, faith, Freedom, moving, thoughts

The Ribbons and the Ribbon Maker: A Repost

July 14, 2011 by Kelli

It’s only been a year since I first posted this, but I wanted to post it again. We are headed into a hard week. It’s time to say our official goodbyes. On top of that, we did not find a house while we were in Florida and we’re discouraged. It’s just going to be an emotional few days and as I think about the people who have been so tightly woven into our lives here in St. Louis, my heart breaks and my stomach twists. I am the ribbon being tugged away this time, preparing to be placed alone in a new town and await the beauty that comes from being rewoven.

We covet your prayers these next few days. And I pray that you can identify those who are woven into the fabric of your own life with deep gratitude and thanks.

THE RIBBONS AND THE RIBBON MAKER

Six ribbons, each a different length, a different size and all quite unique. The Ribbon Maker looked at His ribbons and decided that they would be better if woven together so He carefully and skillfully began braiding them. One over another with careful precision He wound the ribbons until they were a cord.

It was a strong cord and the weaving made each ribbon stronger. Until one day one of the ribbons felt a tug. She looked up and watched as the Ribbon Maker began pulling her away. She looked at the other ribbons in the cord. “I think the Ribbon Maker is calling me away,” she said. The ribbons looked up and saw that it was so. Though it saddened them to see a piece of the cord leave, they were thrilled when the Ribbon Maker left behind a thread – a splash of the ribbon He was taking away.

“I’m going to make a new cord using this beuatiful ribbon as my starting point,” the Ribbon Maker said as He lovingly carried away his ribbon.

Then there were five ribbons. They were still strong and with time they grew tighter and tighter as a unit. Until one day one of the ribbons looked up. She felt a tug and noticed that the Ribbon Maker was looking at her. “I think the Ribbon Maker wants to take me away,” she said to the group. The other ribbons were sad. How could they remain a strong cord if another ribbon was pulled away?

Once again, as the Ribbon Maker carefully unwove His ribbon from the rest, he left behind a thin cord. Next to the other four ribbons, the two cords left behind revealed a lovely pattern. “Don’t worry,” He told his ribbons. “I’m going to take her someplace new and begin a new cord. And you all will be stronger for it.” And with that He carried the ribbon away.

For some time, the four ribbons remained and just as the Ribbon Maker promised, they grew stronger and tighter. The threads of those who were carried away remained a strong presence in their unit and they each grew strong individually as well. But one day the Ribbon Maker looked at His cord and decided it needed a new ribbon. So, as only the Ribbon Maker can, He brought in a new, vibrant ribbon to weave into His cord. It took a bit of work to fit her in just right, but with time He had her woven in such a way that it was as if she had always been there. And the cord was strong.

Until…

One of the ribbons looked up. She felt the tug and knew it was time. All of the ribbons began to wonder why the Ribbon Maker continued to pull them away when they were so strong together.

“Trust me,” said the Ribbon Maker. “I need her to start a new cord, but her presence will always remain within this cord.”

And He carefully pulled out a thread and left it behind. The cord was beautiful and strong, though the ribbons left behind felt sad as they looked around and saw how many had been tugged away. What began as six ribbons had become five, then four, then five again and now four. Four ribbons with three vibrant threads woven in. What was the Ribbon Maker up to?

“I am weaving you together to make you strong,” He told them gently. “I need you strong so that I can use you to start new cords, strengthening my other ribbons. If I leave you all together too long what use is that to the ribbons who have no one to join with them? Don’t you know that there are threads of each of you left behind in different cords? Don’t you remember how I’ve tugged you away and used you to start new cords? My ribbons are each created with a unique beauty and that beauty is only enhanced when they are woven amongst one another. But I can’t leave my ribbons in one place for too long or they get tired, comfortable, and they lose a bit of their shine. You are a beautiful cord and you have grown into strong ribbons. I am using you to weave a beautiful tapestry. Trust Me.”

“If one can overpower him who is alone, two can resist him. A cord of three strands is not quickly torn apart.” Eccelesiastes 4:12

To the women who have been woven into my heart by the Ribbon Maker over the last year and a half, I love you. I am stronger because of you. I am grateful for you. The threads of those who have gone on (or are preparing to move on) are still visible and we continue to pray for you as you begin braiding a new cord of ribbons. You are being delicately woven in Costa Rica, in Dallas and, soon, in Cleveland. And for those who remain, I’m hanging on for ride because it appears to me that the Ribbon Maker has a grand plan for our braided little group.

Filed Under: faith, Family, Life, Random