Busch Gardens Fun

Alternately titled: Proof that I’m getting old because two days later I’m still worn out.

First order of business – I am over at (in)courage today talking about being uncomfortable. I’d love for you to read about the hope that God has placed in my heart despite the unsettled place I am in. Thank you for reading and for your support as I continue to work out the struggles of moving.

And on to my second order of business. Telling you random bits about my life…

We entered into our final ten weeks of curriculum this week and let me just tell you something – home schooling is exhausting. I’m wiped. Some days are jazzy fun. The kids get it. I’m happy.

Birds flit about the house chirping in perfect harmony.

But other days it appears that someone has tied a ten pound stone about all our necks, thrown us into the deep end of a pool and yelled, “Swim!” We stay afloat, but Lawdy we have to work hard.

The only things keeping me sane motivated are frequent scheduled breaks and Cuban Espresso. I like to call it caffienated sludge. It’s somethin’ potent, but it gets the job done. I feel great once my hands stop trembling. Come to think of it, the cartoon birds only flit about when I drink my sludge. Interesting…

Last week I laid out the kid’s lessons and gave them a great, big goal – finish it all by Friday and we will head to Busch Gardens. I wish I could adequately explain the zeal with which they attacked their Math books. Little tongues stuck out of their mouths in deep concentration as they worked through each lesson mothodically. Then they moved on to spelling and writing and Russian and reading and each time someone would start to complain I’d raise an eyebrow (which, incidentally, I never knew how to raise one eyebrow until I became a mom. It’s like I inherited that magic brow when my first born hit two) and they’d snap their mouths shut and put pencil to paper.

Call it motivation, bribery, reward –what.ev.er. We went to Busch Gardens.

I don’t have great pictures of the picture perfect reward day because who wants to carry a mammth camera around an amusement park?

Well, actually, I kind of do. I am going to bring my good camera next time because there are a lot of great photos to be taken there.

The photos I did get, though, were filled with three grinning, laughing, blond headed children who deserved a break. I am proud of my kids and the hard work they’ve put in this year. I’m not sure if we are going to home school again next year. We are still praying about it and looking at our options, seeking what’s best for them, for me and for our family. But for now, I am cherishing this sweet and challenging year I’ve had with my children. We have all grown and learned in different ways. I wouldn’t trade these months for anything.

 

This was his first big kid ride. I'm hoping he will be my child who likes roller coasters. No one else in my family will go on them with me.

 

Like my new tennis shoes? I was hoping they would provide a bit of motivation to work out. Turns out they aren't magical. They're just...shoes. Disappointing.

 

"Mom, I'm pettin' a Wallaby!" That might be my favorite quote of the day. Tia was enamored with these creatures.

Happy weekending everyone! May your days be filled with sun, laughter and maybe even a Wallaby or two!

I hear you…with Grace?

A certain former TV hearthrob made some comments last week that have ignited a fire storm of criticism. I’m not going to mention who it was (because most of you probably know – and I’ll bet more than half of you had a crush on him at some point) or what he said (because that’s not what this post is ultimately about), but I will say it’s been equal parts amusing and sad for me to watch the reaction play out online.

On and on the dialogue runs, everyone shout-typing their view at each other SOMETIMES WITH CAPS because as we all know, caps are a super effective tool for getting a point across online.

And all I can think as I read posts and listen to radio soundbites of the interview is, “I wish we could all listen to one another with Grace.”

We’ve talked a lot about Grace over here the last few months. I’m learning what Grace is all over again – not the lofty concept that floats over you in church like an invisible shield of protection, but real, true Grace. The Grace that was given to us when Christ laid Himself bare on a tree. The Grace that is given to me every moment of every day by people around me. The Grace that we all claim to long for but are so slow to pass on.

I’ve been working hard on speaking Grace in the last few months. It doesn’t always come naturally to me. But watching the reaction to this actor’s comment has revealed another area in me that needs tending – listening with Grace.

If we can speak Grace but not listen with it, our words mean nothing. We can spew pithy claims about love and acceptance, but if we refuse to listen and hear why someone else believes what they do then what good are our words? They mean nothing. Grace cannot simply be spoken – it must also be displayed.

And I don’t mean this to only apply to evangelical Christians and conservatives. We all need to work on listening more gracefully. We toss around the word “tolerance” like a mantra and demand it from one another with zeal, but the fact of the matter is I don’t want to tolerate you…and I don’t want you to tolerate me. That sounds so…sterile.

I want to love you and I want you to love me. Even if we disagree.

I say this with full understanding that it’s easier to listen gracefully when someone is speaking gracefully. But even if someone is spouting off a load of nonsense (and there are plenty of those folks in the media), what if we took a few seconds to weed through our anger and try and make sense of what they’re saying from their world view and not our own?

What if we changed our filters?

Instead of screaming about our First Amendment right to speak our minds, what if we calmly asked others to explain what’s on their minds? It may not change what we believe and it probably won’t change what they believe but could we, perhaps, find a bit of common ground on which to stand together?

Idealistic? Perhaps. But not unworthy of a bit of effort…

If you want an example, read Shaun’s last post in his Cross-Shaped series about his discussions with the students at Eastern Mennonite University (perhaps one of the best series of posts I’ve ever read on the internet). The post drips with Grace not because Shaun got his message across and sparked a Southern tent revival amongst the students but rather because he listened to them. He didn’t agree with them on everything and they didn’t agree with him on everything, but in the end there was common ground on which they could together stand.

And they all grew a little.

There are a lot of hot button issues to navigate and opinions to share, especially leading into this fall. But…can we listen to each other in the process? Gracefully listen with not just a willingness to tolerate, but perhaps a desire to grow, understand, love and, if the situation warrants it, maybe even change?

(For a great and humerous post on why all us 30-somethings love talking about Grace, visit Jessica’s site. Love it.)

Image Credit

The wind howls and my dog’s possessed

In the dark of night we listened to the wind howl above and around us. Our first Florida spring brings forceful winds that zip up and over our house, wrapping us in a cocoon of noise. The bushes rattle against the windows. The front door shifts forward and back with each gust. The high pitched whine of a poorly sealed window frame gives an eery voice to the darkened house.

And inside, as we hear the rain begin to pound sideways, sleep is elusive. Tia comes into our room around 3:00, scared and shaking. “My woom is making sounds,” she cries and she burrows deep beneath the covers next to me, her hot hand flung over my chest.

And then I feel it. The hot stare. Isn’t it amazing how we always know we are being watched? I open my eyes slowly, unsure of what I will see, and I gasp and jump. The dog sits over me, her dark eyes big and wide and inches from my face. Like Pet Cemetary.

Creepy.

I karate chop the air, scare the dog and jostle my finally-nearing-sleep daughter. And that was the clincher for me. Sleep would evade me for the rest of the night Saturday night. The winds did not stop howling and I couldn’t rest. The noise was too much and noise in the dark gives way to fears…most of them irrational.

What if the roof rips off?

What if a tree comes flying through a window?

What if the dog is possessed?

When day finally broke and we dragged our weary bodies from the bed, we looked out the window to find the wind had not stopped. But somehow it seemed less threatening. In fact, it was kind of beautiful the way the air seemed to move in the early morning sunlight.

Strange what a little light can do, huh?

This move has been like a massive wind storm. We are trapped inside gale force winds and sometimes it’s dark and scary. There isn’t the calm predictability of the known to lean back on, but each gust of wind brings a new change and you find yourself prone to huddling in the dark, waiting for it to end.

And you wait for the moment when the light will shine. A conversation with a friend. A bit of encouraging news. Anything to move the dark away and bring forth some sense of stability. Because even if the wind still blows in the light, at least you can see the effects the change are bringing about.

We are still caught up in the doubt and struggles that accompany a move. This past week was a rough week. For the first time I allowed myself to feel sadness. I let myself cry and miss, and it felt like sitting in a wind storm in the dark. Without warning, I found myself lost in doubt and emotion.

Why are we here?

Why can’t we find a church?

Why is home schooling the kids so hard for me?

Why do I doubt everything around me?

Why is the dog staring at me in the dark?

Why?

These are all questions I have not allowed myself to ask since we moved. I simply wouldn’t give myself over to that emotion. I couldn’t because I knew if I did, the flood gates would open. So I held them at bay and pushed everything away.

But this week, I felt a bit attacked. The Enemy was waiting for a brief moment of weakness when I let my guard down and he could sweep in with these winds of doubt and sadness. He waited for me to give in to the dark.

And I kind of think he momentarily possessed my dog because she has never stood over me all creepy-like before. Demon dog. *shudder*

Not only did I get caught up in the swirl of emotion about our move, though, but I also rode the winds in a wave of doubt over…well – just about everything. Parenting, wife-ing (I can verb wife, right?), writing…everything felt too big for me and the wind swirled.

Ugh.

I hate doubt. I hate being attacked. I hate falling to this place where I’m tossed around in the dark.

But I love that every time that happens and I cry out for help, the Lord brings someone along to shine a little light. Friends to speak wisdom and encouragement. A husband to make me feel loved and appreciated. A Bible study group to let me open up and be vulnerable.

All these work together, not to make the winds stop howling, but to at least light up the world around me. Life’s not so scary in the light.

The dog’s not either.

Image Credit

And then I go to Africa

Compassion Bloggers: Tanzania 2012A little over two years ago I sat in front of my computer screen and cried. Hot tears rolled off my chin and onto the keys. It was the first time I had seen Compassion in action and I was so deeply moved by the stories and images coming out of India.

As I read, and our family began sponsoring a child, something ignited inside of me. I wanted to be a part of this movement of storytelling to change a child’s life. And I began to pray a simple prayer every single day.

Lord, use my gift and passion to Your glory and not to my own.”

I wanted to be a part of something bigger than just myself. I wanted to give back an offering through the words that stir my soul. I wanted to just do something.

It’s no secret that I have the deepest and utmost respect for the ministry of Compassion International. What they do for children around the world inspires and moves me deeply and it’s been an honor to write about them in the past whenever the opportunity arose.

But now…well, honored seems too small a word. I’m humbled. Deeply, deeply humbled to be a part of this ministry in a new and exciting way. For two years I have read the words of bloggers whom I admire as they give the world a glimpse into what Compassion does for children from India to Kenya to the Philippines to Ecuador.

And all the while I’ve prayed for an opportunity to be able to tell stories in a way that honors the One who gave me the words. As I prayed, I knew that I would someday have the chance to do this thing I so desired. I just didn’t know in which capacity it would take shape.

I am thrilled to be a part of the upcoming Compassion Bloggers trip to Tanzania. Thrilled and honored and humbled and a little nervous.

Thrilled because I love a good adventure.

Honored that Shaun had the confidence in me to allow me this opportunity.

Humbled that the Lord would choose to answer my prayer in this way and that He would grant me the opportunity to do what I love with an organization that I am passionate about.

And nervous because Shaun mentioned something about an in country flight and he said it with this sort of half smile on his face like he knew something I didn’t. I’m also nervous because I’m pretty sure I’m going to need a few immunizations and I generally do all I possibly can to avoid needles at all costs.

Including give birth to three children naturally because I FEAR THE NEEDLES. And when I say I fear them, what I mean is I usually faint…and sometimes seize…when I get a shot.

It’s super neat.

I am truly grateful and thankful for this opportunity and I hope that you all will join me on this journey and invite your friends along. We’re all going together to see and hear and experience the ministry of Compassion as they vigilantly work to release children from poverty in Jesus’ name.

Will you come with us?

“Laptop Homicide” – Part Two

We’ve all now had a few days to think about and discuss Tommy Jordan’s public response to his daughter’s Facebook rant. Once again, the internet seems divided to the extreme on an issue, this time the issue being parenting. On one side we have all those who wholeheartedly support Mr. Jordan’s dramatic response. These people hail him as a hero and a role model for excellence in parenting.

On the other side, we have the group that hollers for his Dad card to be revoked. They’re calling social services and the police (who’ve both come out and have applauded him for sticking to his guns…pun intended) and they all apparently have some kind of degree in psychology because they’re positive that his daughter’s rant was a plea for help due to what could only be a lifetime of emotional trauma suffered at the hands of her cowboy dad.

And then there is the group smack dab in the middle who are looking at this thing a bit more pragmatically and, dare I say, sensibly?

I had to laugh out loud at some of the posts railing against this father’s actions. One woman asserted that his daughter clearly felt used and if she didn’t want to make her bed then why make her to do such inexplicable task. Why not just do the chores for her in an effort to salvage the relationship?

Um…really?

Listen, parenting is hard. We all know that. There is no guidebook on how to do it and just when you think you’ve got it figured out, your next child comes along with a completely different personality and throws you a curve ball. Or the child you thought you had nailed grows and develops a little and you’re back at square one with learning how to deal with that particular child.

I have three children, all with completely different personalities. My oldest needs constant reminders and complete consistency in discipline. He needs detailed explanations regarding rules and consequences and usually needs to be explained “why” more than once.

My middle child has to be watched like a hawk because she breaks rules so quietly that half the time we miss it completely. She needs swift consequences but doesn’t want to talk about it. She likes to work things out internally and we have to give her the space to do that.

My youngest child is incredibly soft-hearted and can be broken with just a stare. He needs to be held close when given instruction and consequences have to be given much more gently than with the other two because his heart breaks easily. With just a stare from his daddy, he is prone to crumple in a heap of tears.

They’re all different and I know exactly what each needs in order to effectively learn. Does this mean I always deal with all of them appropriately? No. Sometimes I speak too harshly with my third born, sometimes I talk too much to my second born and sometimes I expect too much of my first born. I don’t parent right all the time, but I know what needs to be done to reach my kids.

I don’t agree with how Tommy Jordan responded to his daughter. I thought it was a bad idea to post something like that on the internet. But here’s the kicker – Tommy Jordan doesn’t agree with his own reaction, either. In hindsight, he wouldn’t do it that way.

Post the video, that is.

I have a feeling he’d still shoot the laptop and I honestly don’t have a problem with that. Could he have donated it? Yes. But I have a feeling that Mr. Jordan knew exactly what his daughter needed to understand how serious he was.

Because I think he knows his daughter better than I do.

I don’t fault Mr. Jordan for wanting to post his feelings about her note publicly. In fact, I think that’s a smart move. I’ve told my children before that if they embarrass me in public they can expect to be embarrassed right back. What I mean when I say this is I will verbally correct them in front of everyone watching if needed. Perhaps Mr. Jordan would have been better served to answer her note a bit more gracefully, but I wouldn’t fault him for posting it in the same medium she did.

That’s effective, if you ask me.  You did ask, right?

In the end, I respect Mr. Jordan in a lot of ways. He made a foolish choice and it will follow him forever. He reacted in anger, which never produces good results and he had to suffer his own consequences for his actions. But, instead of letting his daughter take the blame for what happened, he is taking the heat himself and in so doing, is modeling grace to his daughter.

I also respect the fact that he’s resisting the urge to jump into the mainstream spotlight for the sole reason that he wants to protect his daughter’s privacy. He himself has said that he doesn’t want to profit from the embarrassment this has been for his daughter and I respect him for that. He is handling the fall out from his poor decision wisely and in the end I think his daughter will learn more from that than she will from the consequences he has laid down for her.

I think there are a lot of things that we, as parents, can learn from this video. It opens up a great discussion on parenting with grace while also revealing some gaps in our society. The fact is, many children do feel entitled and they do believe that the world owes them something.

How else do you explain the Occupy Wall Street Movement?

If more parents were willing to stand up and say no, I won’t give you a free pass and yes, despite the fact that it seems inane and unnecessary, you will still make your bed, then maybe more children would leave home ready and prepared for the rigors of adulthood. We live in a society that says if you want it, you can have it (I believe this idea in and of itself to be riddled with faults, FYI). Once upon a time, though, it was understood that you had to work for what you wanted (whatever it was that was desired).

These days, though, there’s a frightening and pervasive thought that if you want it you can have it. Just wait awhile and let it come to you, or see if someone will give it to you.

As parents we cannot do this to our children. Parent with grace. Love your children gently. Teach them right from wrong decisively. And please…don’t judge one another.

Thoughts?

Do you have Just a Minute?

We have all been impacted by someone. As a teenager, I was deeply impacted by one of the leaders of my first trip to the former Soviet Union. We were standing in a pizza parlor in the middle of Red Square when he said something that I’ve never ever forgotten. It was a moment that would eventually come to define the person I am today.

I wrote about that moment here and much to my delight and surprise, Wess Stafford, President of Compassion International has used that very story, along with many others (including one from Shaun Groves who also wrote up a wonderful post about the book), in his newest book, Just a Minute. Compiling stories that reveal the power of just a quick moment to impact a life, Wess Stafford’s new book is inspiring, encouraging and filled with sweet moments that reveal the impact we can have on a child’s life if we’re willing to take the time to speak wisdom and encouragement and love.

And it only takes Just a Minute.

Tonight as I sent the kids to bed after what can only be described as a long and arduous day, Sloan asked me to sit down and read with him. I didn’t want to. The arduosity (that should totally be a word) of the day was mostly due to him and his eight-year-old boyness and quite frankly all I wanted was for the house to be quiet so I could curl up in the corner.

But then I thought about this quote from Just a Minute:The time is now, while their spirits are soft and impressions are easily made. Tomorrow’s leaders, in whose hands the future rests, will still climb into your lap today, run to your embrace, laugh at your jokes, listen to your wisdom, and comfort you with tiny arms and big hugs. But not for long. In a few short years, the clay will harden, and they will inherit the corridors of power and start making the decisions that will shape your world.”

The selfish and tired part of me wanted to just shoo him off to bed with empty promises of “another night” but I couldn’t shake the thought that this moment was precious and fleeting. So we climbed into his bed together and laughed heartily at Calvin and Hobbes, while he sat nestled in the crook of my arm, still more boy than man but every day changing and growing with lightening speed.

And let’s face it, my first born truly does have the potential to wield great power over my world one day.

Will he put me in the scary nursing home where I’m left alone in a dark corner or the happy one that looks like a spa and serves me ice cold Jello and Nutella three times a day while I lay snug in my cozy feather bed?

Here’s to hoping he remembers the little moments when I’m old and frail, right?

Right Sloan? I know you’re going to read this…

If you haven’t considered sponsoring a child through Compassion International, I would really encourage you to do so today. We received another letter and picture from our sponsored child yesterday and I marveled at how much he had grown. He is the same age as my Sloan and in the two years since we’ve be writing to him he has lost his little boy look and is developing the more mature look of a young man.

How I pray for this developing leader, as I pray for my own children. We talk about him as if he were a part of our family and it’s because he is. And signing up to sponsor him? Well, it only took just a minute.

This isn’t meant to be a pitch or to make anyone feel guilty. I truly believe in the power of Compassion International to change a child’s life and give him hope for the future. I believe in this because I’ve spent time reading about the work they do, and seeing the hearts of those who lead.

If I can encourage you to do anything today it would be to purchase the book Just a Minute, to hug and encourage a young one near you and to consider how you can impact not only the children closest to you, but also those around the world who need someone in their corner.

For more information on the book, visit this site.

 

The Need to be Known

We sat in a circle, the porch lit up by a string of lights and the air around filled with youthful squeals and the unabashed laughter of little ones filled with delight. For three hours we sat and when we finally rose, my cheeks ached from the smile stretched wide.

It felt good to be known.

Perhaps the most difficult aspect of this move has been the feeling of having to put on airs. When you walk into a room full of strangers, the natural reaction is to put on a smile and those people aren’t going to know if my smile is fake or not because they don’t know me. It’s not their fault. It just takes time to get to know someone.

But this golden lit circle of people was not a group of strangers. They were family. My aunt and uncle and cousins. The people we vacationed with growing up. We’ve watched one another get married, rejoiced in babies born, mourned in loss.

There is just something comforting and familiar about family. Though I haven’t lived in the same state as my cousins since we were all in diapers, we still hold fast to the bond of family that seals us together. We know each other. We’ve traveled roads together that no one can understand. We experienced heartache and joy that binds us tight and holds us fast.

On the 21st anniversary of one of the deepest hurts our family experienced, we gathered. We didn’t plan the gathering on this specific day – it just happened. And we laughed and loved and relished in one another. Many were missing, and how I wished they all could have been there, but for Lee and I the meeting was perfect. We needed to laugh. We needed family.

Sitting with them late into the night, Lee and I didn’t have to pretend and my family didn’t expect a mediocre answer. When they asked how we were doing, we told them. This is hard. Moving is stressful in a lot of ways and the last six months have been the most trying of our entire married life.

It was cathartic to share – to be able to open up and be honest. The rest of the evening was spent laughing…hard.

Our kids ran around, screaming and shrieking, delighting in one another the way my cousins and I did when we were little. It was so good and so sweet to be known. Like walking through a fountain after traveling the desert. Refreshing and cool, Lee and I came home rejoicing.

And tonight, as two teams I didn’t care about played for a title that meant nothing to me (I just broke some hearts…I’m sorry), we talked and laughed with friends. New friends who, over the last few weeks, have allowed us to open our hearts and share and laugh and cry, and old friends who not only know us from back home, but who also know well the path we’re on right now.

They’re on it too.

I have asthma and on the days when breathing in is just a little more difficult, I always relish in that one moment when I’m finally able to fill my lungs fully. My head spins a little and the panic that has begun to well up dissolves as I can finally take a much needed deep breath and I can actually feel the oxygen circulating through my body.

This weekend was a deep breath. It was needed and we drew it in deep.

My head is still spinning a little.

The Grace to Shut Up

Grace.

I have camped out on this very word for the year 2012. It is my theme and the anthem of my heart. When I feel frustrated. Grace. When worried. Grace. When annoyed or angry.

Grace.

It is good that I landed on this word as we head into a contentious political season. Already I have had the opportunity to dwell in Grace. Spending ample amounts of time online can lead to high blood pressure for those of us who tend to veer toward hot headedness.  My first inclination is generally not to remain quiet, but instead to add my voice to the fray.

But I am learning to dwell in Grace.

Do you know how many Facebook statuses I’ve written and erased this week?

It’s interesting, when you’re learning to embrace Grace, how much more difficult it feels to give it. I find myself so quick to judge. When I see posts that upset me, the nasty little voice in my head scoffs all hoity toity-like, “Don’t they understand Grace?”

And then that smaller voice counters, “Do you understand it?

It’s at this point that I make my fingers be still so my heart can get quiet. It’s amazing how quiet and stillness can actually snuff out the nasty, isn’t it?

Just because I’m learning Grace doesn’t mean everyone is learning it. Just because I’m trying to practice Grace by being quiet doesn’t mean everyone should be quiet. Indeed, I’ve seen numerous posts and comments that oozed Grace in a way that I’m not always skilled at conveying.

I needed the Grace to shut up so that I could learn Grace by watching others.

It’s hard not to get bothered by ramblings online. There are so many voices in this world wide web. So many opinions to be shared, observations to be made, accusations to be flung and promises to be spoken. And weaving through it all, if you aren’t careful, it’s easy to become lost in the negativity.

“But you’re just being real,” the nasty little voice yells. “You have to let people know who you are and where you stand or you won’t ever be heard.”

Hmmm…I don’t agree little voice. Be gone!

There is something to be said about being Graceful, even above being kind. I’m trying to lean toward Grace instead of kindness. Because even kindness can lend itself to an air of condemnation. If someone doesn’t feel the same way I do about an issue, I can kindly assert our differences, but there’s no guarantee that that person won’t feel hurt or judged by my words.

It’s a balance, this thing called Grace. The balance comes in knowing when to speak up and when to be still. When to speak wisdom and when to simply sit. Thankfully I have seen a LOT of people do this well in the online world and I am trying to learn for them. To learn, though, I need to be quiet for awhile.

Grace doesn’t always shine through me and in the past, I’ve been part of the noise problem. I’ve spoken with brash confidence and haughty self-love. I’ve assumed that my opinions were so worthy and noble that naturally everyone would want to hear them and should indeed agree with all I said.

That’s not to say I don’t think people should have a voice. I do. And I think you should exercise your right to voice your opinion. In fact, in the last month as I’ve learned to just be still and quiet a marvelous thing has happened. I’ve learned to appreciate, if not agree with, differing opinions.

*gasp*

Suddenly, my own opinion isn’t the only one that matters. And I’ve been able to more clearly think through what I feel, think and believe about an issue.

This is nothing short of miraculous, folks!

So I’m learning. I will likely fail here and there and I can’t promise I’ll always keep my mouth shut my fingers still, but if I can continue to sit quietly long enough to calm my heart, I just may learn what it means to dwell in, and live with, Grace.

And maybe, just maybe, I’ll someday be able to speak Grace.

Yes. Pick me. I’ll Go.

Comments now closed. The lucky winner is Emily! Emily I sent you and email. Send me your address and I will get the book in the mail ASAP. Thanks everyone for entering. Now go buy the book!

I’m currently nearly finished reading Kisses from Katie and I can barely contain the tears that have been flowing since I opened this book. Have you read it?

Why not?

“I fell in love with Uganda as soon as I arrived. After I woke up the first morning of our stay, I looked around and saw glistening bright white smiles against ebony faces; I heard happy voices, lilting language, and gentle laughter. I saw strength and depth of character in people’s eyes. I found Uganda to be a beautiful land filled with beautiful people.” Katie Davis, Kisses from Katie

Change a few adjectives and this is the exact way I would describe my feeling the first time I stepped off the plane in the former Soviet Union. It was as though a part of my soul – a piece of myself I hadn’t known existed until that moment – came alive and I would never be the same.

I am awed by Katie Davie and her willingness to say “Yes, Lord. I’ll go.” As I’ve read, I’ve found myself thinking more than once that somehow the decision she made was easier. She was young – she didn’t have anything tying her down. Of course she could just pick up and go. Of course she could say yes.

This thought is selfish at best and outright offensive at worst.

Katie was an eighteen year old Homecoming Queen with the world at her fingertips and the resources to grasp it. Instead, she “quit her life,” left everything comfortable and known – all her dreams and plans, her parents’ dreams and hopes and desires – and she moved to Uganda. Forever.

Katie Davis said “Yes.” And it was a hard “Yes.”

I am a wife with three young children. My “yes” may look different, but I have the exact same ability to say “Yes, Lord. I’ll go.” But would I mean it? Can I say it? Because honestly, the responsibilities in front of me are real, and necessary and daunting and when I think of saying “Yes, Lord. I’ll go,” my mind automatically thinks so big and so vast and I feel immediately incapable of succeeding.

I wish my “yes” could be in another country where the harsh but beautiful lilt of the Russian language filled my ears and the laughter of children in need quenched the thirst in my soul.

But that’s not where He has me right now. And I sometimes fear that maybe I long ago closed my ears, gave a resounding “No” and relinquished my ability to impact His kingdom.

Then I pull out the Math books and the history book and the Russian books and realize that I already said “Yes, Lord. I’ll go.” Every single day, as I shepherd and mold the small hearts entrusted to me, I say “Yes.” I didn’t want to home school. Honestly, most days I still don’t. But I’m supposed to. I know with all my heart that right now, at this moment, I’m where I’m supposed to be.

“Yes”.

Katie Davis’ “Yes” took her to Uganda. It made her the mother of fourteen children before she could legally drink in America. Her “Yes,” by my standards, is huge. Her “Yes” by any standards, actually, is huge. How many of us were willing to give up everything at eighteen to go serve the poorest of poor on the other wide of the world?

But guess what? We all have the ability and the obligation to say “Yes” to that which is right in front of us. My “Yes” to home schooling is not that big, especially when you take into consideration the reluctance with which I agreed. But still I said, “Yes.” Just thinking about it in these terms has renewed a passion in me for discipling my children this year while I have them home.

Consider Katie’s words: Sometimes, the everyday routine of my life feels so normal to me. At other times the idea of raising all these children seems like quite a daunting task. I realize that since I have chosen an unusual path it is easier for outsiders to look at my life and come to the conclusion that it is something extraordinary. That I am courageous. That I am strong. That I am apecial. But I am just a plain girl from Tennessee. Broken in many ways, sinful, and inadequate. Common and simply with nothing special about me. Nothing special except I chose to say “yes.” “Yes” to the things God asks of me and “yes” to the people He places in front of me. You can too. I am just an ordinary person. An ordinary person serving an extraordinay God.”

We can all say yes. We can say yes to the man on the street corner with a sign for food and a plea for help crying from his desperate eyes. Small? Not to Him and not to God.

The King will reply, “Truly I tell you, whatever you did for the least of these brothers and sisters of mine, you did for me.” Matthew 25:40

We can take food to a neighbor in need, visit someone in a nursing home, hug a hurting friend or give out of the abundance of our resources to those who have little. “Yes” takes many forms, but we have to be willing to say it, then do it.

In the interest of giving everyone the chance to be inspired and encouraged and challenged and convicted, I have purchased a copy of Kisses from Katie to give away to one reader. Simply leave a comment for your entry. I will choose a winner randomly on Wednesday morning, February 1, at 9:00 am EST.

Good, Kind, Important

I read The Help this summer as we made our long and exhausting move from St. Louis to Florida. I was emotionally vulnerable and the book was the perfect escape during that first week we were here. I got lost in the story, the rich development of the characters taking me out of my momentary troubles and giving me someone to root for.

I was most struck by the relationship between Aibileen and Mae Mobly, the little girl she watched and loved. Aibileen took it upon herself to make sure that little girl knew and understood her value and her worth.

“You is good. You is kind. You is important,” Aibileen crooned to Mae Mobley over and over in an attempt to undo the emotional harm and pressure the child received from her young, inexperienced and judgemental mother. This relationship was precious and I bawled, both in the book and in the movie, as Aibileen walked away from Mae Mobly after giving her one last reminder.

“You is good. You is kind. You is important.

I’ve thought about this a lot as I’ve parented my children these last few months – particularly as I have schooled them at home. I will be the first to admit my weaknesses as a mother. While I am constantly challenging my children to be quick to listen, slow to speak and slow to become angry I myself am not always following that.

I am slow to listen, quick to speak harshly and even quicker to become angry. And in so doing, I tear my children down. I. Hate. That.

Sloan takes the brunt of my quick to become angryness. Mostly because he is equally quick, and perhaps even quicker, to become angry and I react. It’s not that I don’t try to stay calm and patient. I try and I try and I try. And he pushes and he pushes and he pushes.

Round and round we go until one of us snaps. On the precious few days when I manage to not be the one to snap I collapse into bed exhausted and depleted of all sense of myself. Most days, however, I crawl into bed heavy hearted at once again losing control of my own emotions. And I wonder…

Does he know that he is good and kind and important? If I think back on the days events have I given him any reason to believe that I see him as good…and kind…and important?

The thought that perhaps my child is going to sleep unsure of these things can be paralyzing. He knows I love him. He knows this because I tell him all the time. A hundred times a day he hears me say I love him and I sincerely mean it when I say it. I love that child fiercely.

But does he know how good I think he is? Does he know that I think him to be one of the kindest young boys I’ve ever known? Does he know how important he is not only to me, but to so many others? Does he know?

Today found Sloan and me locked in yet another battle of the wills. Each day is new and yet each day is the same. It’s a battle and a war and some days I feel like I am losing. I’m at battle with all three children, of course. You’re at battle with your kids, too, if you think about it. We’re all fighting the war against their sinful natures and desires. We all wake up each morning and walk into the battle zone and it’s a war we must win when they are young and their hearts are pliable and easily molded.

As I felt the frustration bubble up inside of me, I looked into his challenging eyes and saw so much anger. So much confusion. You see, Sloan isn’t the only child needing correction in our home, but he receives it more than the others. This is partly his fault and partly mine. He tries to parent the other two kids and gets in my way and so I have to deal with him before I can deal with them. But many times I deal only with him and forget to correct the other two for pestering and nagging him in the first place. And Sloan feels worn down – I can see it.

So after a particularly grueling hour of back and forth, I stopped and grabbed his hand. I was angry and he could tell, but I was fighting against the anger with every fiber. Looking deep into his baby blues, I spoke softly.

“Do you know that you’re good?” I asked. He blinked, surprised by my reaction.

“Do you know that I think you’re amazing? I think you are kind and gentle and humble. Do you know how good you are?”

Slowly, he nodded his head yes.

“Do you know that I think you’re important? You’re important to me and you’re important to God. Do you know that?”

Again he nodded, his eyes welling up with tears.

“Good,” I said, the anger melting away. “I want you to know that.”

I’d like to say his behavior changed and that he was immediately kinder and gentler with me and his brother and sister. It didn’t exactly work that way, but as the day went on, when he lost control I would look him in the eye and raise my eyebrows and he would stop and nod.

He knows.

He does know. And my prayer tonight is that he would embrace those things and bury them deep. Tomorrow is another day of battle and I feel more prepared now that I’ve added another weapon to my arsenal. We’re going to win this war, he and I. He’s too good and too kind and too important for me to give up on.

Losing is not an option.