Life | Page 15 | Minivans Are Hot

On the wings of love

May 9, 2011 by Kelli

Before we get started, I’d like to give you a moment to let the cheesy ’80’s ballad wash over you. Go on, sing it out. You know you want to…

…

Feel better?’

Great.

There is no great way to transition from obscure ’80’s music to prayer, but I’m gonna give it a try. Consider yourselves transitioned.

Once upon a time I was an early riser. While the rest of my generation slept until noon, I could often be found at sunrise jogging through the streets of my neighborhood. This was pre-baby when I still enjoyed jogging and my body moved in a more coordinated rhythm to make it possible, of course.

In college, I spent many an early morning watching the sunrise as I crammed knowledge into my over-functioning brain. In early motherhood, when it was me and one tiny baby, I watched the sunrise as I whispered prayers into his ear. I prayed he would grow into a man of character, a man of grace, a man of stature and wisdom and knowledge. I prayed that he would be strong and courageous, filled with love and a desire to help those in need.

But something happened to me in the seven years since I three times became mom. I lost my sense of wonder at the morning. My bed grew warmer and more comfortable. My children pitter pattered their way through the house at such an hour that in order to beat them up I really needed to rise while it was still night, just so I could welcome the morning.

With this unfortunate phenomena, I also lost my ability to passionately cry out on their behalf. My prayers for them became kernels of popcorn, popped up here and there throughout the day and rarely scratched the surface of my true desires for them.

“Help him understand love.” “Give her the courage to fail.” “Show him who You are.”

Generic.

A series of issues has brought me to a place of longing once again. Longing for the morning. The smell of life rising. The glint of dew on green grass and the painted reds, oranges and yellows stretched across the sky. Of darkness fading into morning light. Of fatigue mixed together with anticipation, staving off the sleep that still lingers. Longing stillness enough to hear.

To hear the wind blow. To hear the birds sing. To hear the Voice, still and small, waiting on the wings of love for my heart’s cry.

(How’s that for blending the ’80’s with prayer, eh?)

And my prayers are rising once again. A new song, a new desire, a new longing. I lay them down and wait. Sometimes I fall asleep in the pool of desire and heartache that I’ve only just surrendered. Sometimes I wait and listen.

For Sloan I pray Hebrews 10:19-24. May he be free from the guilt that so often weighs him down and pulls him back, his tender heart torn over sin, yet wrestling with the flesh. I pray Galations 5:22-23 and 1 Peter 1:5-6: self-control to make the right choices. I pray for wisdom in mothering such a strong willed, lion hearted child. I offer praise for being chosen for a clearly difficult task.

For Katya I pray 2 Timothy 2:10, that her heart would be turned toward the Savior and she would desire to know Him. I pray Colossians 3:12, that she would be free from the apathy that her spirit seems bent toward and would be filled with compassion. I pray 1 Thesselonians 5:15, that she would find more joy in kindness than she does in torturing her brothers.

I pray that I would have the belief that that last prayer could possibly someday be answered…

For Landon I also pray 2 Timothy 2:10. I pray that even at a young age, he will know and understand how high and deep and wide and vast is the Father’s Love for him. I pray Ephesians 6:1. I pray that he will delight in obedience and that the mischief that brings that twinkle to his eye would be harnessed, but not snuffed out completely. Because the mischief makes him oh so fun.

I pray verses over my husband that are sacred and are between me and God.

I don’t always give in to the call of the morning. Though I desperately love it, sometimes the call of my bed is more tempting, more comfortable, easier and warmer. But as spring is bringing change and decision, I find myself with a bit more urgency to reaquaint with the earliest hours of the day. And to pour over my children in the quiet that comes so rarely. I don’t whisper it in their ears anymore, as I am no longer cradling them in the rocking chair. But I pray that as I release my pleas, they take off on the wings of love and settle within the hearts and spirits of the little ones I love so dearly.

When and how do you pray for your children?

Filed Under: faith, Kids, Landon, Life, Motherhood, Sloan, Tia Tagged With: '80's ballads, faith, Motherhood, prayer, praying for young children

Bonjour

May 9, 2011 by Kelli

As I descended into Montreal, I craned my neck to get a view of the land through the low hanging clouds. Streams of water danced across the window and visibility was low. When we were finally in sight of the city my first thought was, “Oh, it looks like every other city in the world.”

But it wasn’t.

Montreal was wonderful. From the air, it does look like every other city in the world. It’s industrial and the drive from the airport to downtown could hardly be described as beautiful. But I’m getting ahead of myself.

I’m met at the exit by a man holding a sign with my name on it. My limo service driver. At once I break out in a small grin. I don’t often get met by cheuffer’s at the airport and secretly I hope I get to have this experience again someday. I also secretly hope that I don’t ever get so used to this occurance that it loses it’s magic.

After meeting up with the other woman who has been flown in for this event, the lovely Stacy from Mom Central, we make our way to our downtown hotel. When we arrive downtown, I notice that it looks quite similar to St. Louis in many ways. The buildings are close, every other street is a one way (created to torture directionless yahoo’s like me, of course) and it feels a bit grey.

But there is more to the city. I want to understand what it is. It suddenly dawns on me that I don’t know a single thing about Canada’s history. Why do they speak French in Quebec? How did Montreal get established? What mysteries lie behind the Notre Dame church that stands valiantly around the corner? I wasn’t prepared for how foreign it would feel in Montreal. For someone who adores international travel, this was icing on the cake.

My two days in Montreal were a whirlwind. I quickly realized that I should have spent less time mastering my “Eh” and more time learning some French. Thankfully, mercifully, most people spoke English as well and I was able to meander my way through the crowd with the ignorance of an American who can’t be expected to know another man’s tongue.

Note to self: learn a few functional phrases in the native language of any place you ever visit.

We kicked the weekend off with a beautiful dinner at Le Latini, which was every bit as wonderful as the name makes it out to be. Our waiters were both bald, with prominent eyebrows, laugh lines around their eyes and broad smiles. Their accents were thick and sometimes difficult to understand, but they treated our group of five well.

It ended up feeling like a girls weekend away. I so enjoyed the women I was with that I wished our time in Montreal could be a little longer. They were funny, sweet, thoughtful and…did I mention funny?

The next morning, after a glorious breakfast where we met up with the final two bloggers of our crew, we headed to the set of Walmart/P&G’s newest installment of the Family friendly Family Movie Night movies. Right now the working title of this film is “Passport,” but that is likely to change.

We are not allowed to bring cameras to the set, but are instead trailed by one of the cameramen, Francois, and the set photographer, Phillip. Have I mentioned yet that Canadian men are handsome? No? Not sure how I overlooked that important point… Not only are their names romantic, but so is their language. And yes, the men of Montreal are handsome. And now we all know – the hot men of the world are hiding in Quebec. That piece of information is brought to you free of charge.

We spoke first with Loren Dean, one of the principle characters. I think he was a little nervous to speak with us blogger types. He probably heard that we have fangs.

Actually, he was quite pleasant and spent about ten minutes chatting with us. I remember him from his role in Apollo 13 as one of the flight controllers but from a bit of research it appears he has been in quite a few productions of greater notoriety.

We watch them film a chase scene and meet the child actors on the set, both of whom were terminally cute and extremely personable. Then we are ushered inside the house they are using to film much of the movie. Or maybe I should say mansion. The house is spectacular.

We watch a couple more scenes being filmed, then set up to interview the Executive Producer. After that we each had the opportunity to interview Robin Lively who was lovely. And who knows Zac Efron as her husband played the dad in the High School Musical franchise. I tried to act cool upon hearing this information. I may or may not have pulled that off. I really enjoyed speaking with Robin. She has three children, almost the same age as mine, a girl sandwiched between two boys. But she doesn’t drive a minivan, something that I urged her to remedy quickly. She agreed to consider it. If I may have somehow managed to pull another mother out of the confines of “coolness” and into the freedom of the minivan, I will consider my time there well spent.

Amen.

We also had the opportunity to interview the amazing Christine Baransky who was absolutely delightful to talk to. She was so nice and so personable and friendly.

And she told me I should get massages. BOOM! Instant friendship.

This post is getting far too long so I’ll spare you too many more details. In a couple of weeks I should receive the photos and video for my post regarding the movie. I’ll share more then. For now, though, I can honestly say that I had the best time on this trip. Turns out I’m kind of a camera whore. I loved when they said “Action.”

Who knew?

I will also say that Canadians are extremely friendly. Even the people working in the airport! Shocker, right?! They smiled, they asked questions, they laughed. They were all so pleasant. And cute. I’ve mentioned that the men were good looking, right? Oh I have? Oh, sorry. My bad…

Au Revoir my bloggy friends. I wonder how you say that in French?

Filed Under: Blogging, Life, Random, Travel Tagged With: Christine Baransky, Family Movie Night, Loren Dean, Montreal, P&G, Robin Lively, Walmart

untitled

April 27, 2011 by Kelli

Today. Despite the endless rain.

Happy

Filed Under: Life, Random Tagged With: happy, Motherhood, Photos, webcam

Scenes from a morning

April 21, 2011 by Kelli

It starts with one.

Then another.

A third stumbles in.

A fourth comes bearing coffee.

All before 7:00. This is what dreams are made of…

Filed Under: Family, funny stuff that happens, Kids, Lee, Life Tagged With: Kids, Life, morning, Photos

The St. Louis Zoo

April 14, 2011 by Kelli

The amazing spring day yesterday made for spontanaity when the younger kiddos and I met up with a friend for a last minute trip to the Zoo. I love our Zoo – it’s big, it’s beautiful, it’s free… In addition to seeing animals, we also got to soak in the Zoo’s beautiful landscaping. I just love tulips, don’t you?

I love taking pictures of my kids looking at the animals. I love how intent and excited they are when they see God’s creation. This picture just makes me think of childhood.

It also makes me think of this post. Oy…

Becke, this one is for you.

Have you ever tried to rangle four squirmy children into one small canoe and then sit and smile for the camera? It’s not possible. But check out my friend Bethany’s little boy. How handsome is he?

Tune in tomorrow to hear about how I didn’t die in my race this past weekend. It included a whole lot of prayer, a bit of will power and the entertainment of a couple of shocking sights.

Riv-e-ting.

Filed Under: Family, Kids, Life Tagged With: Life, Photos, Springtime, St. Louis Zoo, tulips

Back to Life…

March 30, 2011 by Kelli

Lee, my strong, handsome, builtlikeaGreekgod, handy man of a husband, spent the week building and installing a new kitchen counter for us. It looks awesome. He used granite tiles and did a fabulous job.

I was shocked, however, when I walked in the door yesterday to this:

And then the realtor called. She has a client who wants to see our house today at 1:00. Sing it with me, “Let the gooood times roll!”

Four hours later I had the bathrooms scrubbed, the countertops cleared and the floors vaccuumed. Unfortunately in the shuffle and frenzy of cleaning we managed to lose a part to the kitchen faucet and cannot reassemble it so Lee is buying another one today.

And I’m seriously questioning our decision to sell this house…

Filed Under: funny stuff that happens, Life, Random Tagged With: kitchen projects, selling a house, Toto, We're back in Kansas

Sneak Peek

March 28, 2011 by Kelli

I’ve mentioned before that I’m working on a novel. In actuality I have been working on this book for a decade. I have started and stopped more times than I can count. I got 230 pages in the last time I worked on it, but it just didn’t feel right. I was getting close, but I wasn’t there yet.

In the last few weeks, as I’ve stepped back a bit and gathered my thoughts, something exciting happened:

My characters found their voices.

I felt it all beginning to bubble shortly after the holidays. Inspiration, confidence, desire and excitement. All of these formed and gelled and moved into a rhythm that allowed me to sit down and type and suddenly things fell into place. I’ve known these characters for a long time, but I haven’t truly discovered them.

This week, as I’ve stepped away from the computer, I’ve been inspired. How could you not be inspired by these views:

I still have a long way to go on this little book of mine and it will be slow going as my opportunities to write often appear in short bursts. But I feel like I’m finally on the right track (dare I say the “Write” track? *groan*). Here is a sneak peek at what I’ve been working on while I was away.

The setting: It’s June 22, 1941. The Soviet Union was just surprise attacked by the Germans. Each of my characters is loosely based on a true story as I am compiling the stories I heard when I spent a month in Ukraine interviewing veterans. This character, Luda, has elements of truth mixed with elements of imagination.

“Luda!”

I stood in my small bedroom and glanced into my mother’s hand mirror. It was the only piece of her I had left. My father had gotten rid of everything else when she died. I don’t remember anything about her. I don’t know what she looked like, or how she smelled. I don’t know if her laugh sounded like a thousand bells or a babbling brook. I have imagined her so many times. I have no photographs to create her image. There are no grandparents to tell me stories. So I’m left to my imagination. I see her as tall and pretty. Her eyes dance when she talks and her delicate hands feel like silk when she holds me. In my mind, she is the very picture of love. In my mind, she sings softly to me each night as I drift to sleep. In my mind, her voice is a melody and her movements a beat.

But it is only in my mind.

I was two when she died. I don’t even know what happened. Father won’t tell me. The only time he mentions her name is when the vodka bottle is half empty. My father, at half empty, is pleasant, relaxed, almost happy. When the bottle is empty he is sad, mournful and wants only to be alone. Most of my nights are spent wrapping a blanket around the shaking shoulders of my empty bottled father.

My father with a full bottle of vodka is frightening. This means he’s sober and my full bottled father is filled with dashed dreams and self loathing. He is the father I fear most. The full bottled papa is why I keep pouring.

“Luda!”

I jump and look in the mirror again. Is this the same reflection she saw when she looked in it? Large brown eyes, thick brown hair and a small red mouth? Today I don’t have time to wonder. I quickly hide my precious mirror, protecting it from a potential rage of the full bottled father. Rushing out the door, I smooth my tattered skirt. My father stands by the front door of our flat, his hand wrapped around a nearly empty bottle of cheap vodka.

I haven’t eaten for two days so he could have his poison.

©Kelli Stuart 2011

Thanks for taking this journey into my imagination with me. I’m really excited to share it with you all. Happy Monday!

Filed Under: Life, Random, shameless self-promotion Tagged With: Imagination, Novel, writing

Not My Finest Moment

March 17, 2011 by Kelli

His face was pock marked, the divets in his cheeks glinting in the moonlight. He wore skinny jeans before skinny jeans were in and his dark windbreaker hung loosely on his gaunt frame. His frizzy hair was cut into a mullet after mullets were in style.

Were mullets ever in style?

He sauntered up to us and we froze. The still night air thickened and for the first time we questioned our decision for coming out. It was 1:00 am and our group was comprised of eighteen year olds, all of us wearing our newfound freedom like a superpower.

We were in college, man. Why wouldn’t we go out at 1:00 am?

We were standing right in the middle of a field where history and tragedy had met only three years earlier. Where crazy met the FBI. We were standing on David Koresh’s burned down Branch Davidian compound, a group of 8 or 9 college freshman who decided at the last minute to tour the compound…in the middle of the freaking night.

As we walked through what was mostly an overgrown field we saw him walking toward us and we froze. “What the BEEP are you kids doing out here?” he asked, the butt of the cigarette stuck between his lips dancing in the dark like a firefly.

We didn’t answer because we didn’t have a good answer. What the BEEP were we doing out there?

Finally someone spoke. “What are you doing out here?” he inquired.

“Aw, I was a reporter when everything went down here a few years ago.” And that’s it. That was his explanation for visiting this site of horror at 1:00 am. His reason was worse than ours.

“C’mon,” he offered, puffing smoke into the already thick Waco air, “I’ll show you around.” And with that we followed him. Why didn’t we decline and turn away? I don’t know. Why were we there in the first place?

For the next 30-45 minutes we were taken on a fascinating tour of David Koresh’s compound complete with the most colorful tour guide I’ve ever known. His name was Michael. I don’t think he was a reporter. My first clue was when he took us to what looked like a fox hole in the ground and regaled us with tales of David himself hiding there. He showed us bullet holes in the back of a burned out bus and told us about the children and wives hiding throughout the compound.

He knew more than what an average news reporter should have known. And suddenly I knew more than an average eighteen year old should have known.

There were a couple of voices of reason who were persistently trying to convince us to leave. Girls who were uncomfortable with this man’s in depth knowledge and offensive language. Maybe we should have listened to their reasoning and left, but the rest of us were so intrigued that we squelched wisdom and followed curiosity.

We all know what happened to the cat who did the same, right?

At one point, one of these voices of reason spoke up as Michael set forth an obsenity filled rant on what went down on the land on which we stood.

“Um, sir?” she said, her voice small but defiant. “Could you please watch your language? I find it very offensive.”

Insert very awkward pause.

And on we went, Michael not toning down his color and no one else daring to say another word. Finally we were back where we started and we stood huddled together, a group of foolish youth who had just had an unexpected adventure.

“It would probably be best if you kids didn’t come out here in the middle of the night again,” Michael said. “Sometimes people come out here to defend the land and the people in the house over there have guns.”

He gestured to a house a few meters from the property. For the first time it dawned on me that maybe we weren’t even supposed to be here in the middle of the night. I do believe we all suffered from freshman brain – you know where common sense flees for a period of time and that which once seemed crazy now seemed perfectly normal.

We nodded, thanked him for showing us around and quickly drove back to the Baylor campus, all of us talking a mile a minute. Was he really a reporter? Was he a Branch Davidian? How did he know all of that?

I never visited Koresh’s compound again. I’ve never seen it in the daylight. I’ve heard that they have since built a museum on the grounds and that it is better protected than it was back then.

But I saw all I needed to see that sticky Texas night. It was night that I can honestly say was not one of my finest life moments…

But what an adventure, huh?!

Filed Under: blast from the past, funny stuff that happens, Kids do the darndest things, Life, Random, things I don't need to hear Tagged With: Branch Davidians, David Koresh, things you shouldn't do

Digging Down Deep

March 3, 2011 by Kelli

Today is one of those days when I feel like I’m done. I have nothing left. I gave so much of myself last week and I used every bit of my reserve energy to survive and get through that I have little left this week. Lee is home now, which helps, but unfortunately work is such that I’m still alone a lot, with sick children, a house to pack (we’re hoping to put it on the market in a few weeks) and a long list of other responsibilities staring me in the face.

And I am exhausted. So tired that my eyes actually ache. And given the fact that I have a three year old who refuses to nap, afternoon rest is likely not in my forecast. *sad face*

This is one of those days/weeks that I am going to need to dig down deep. One of those days/weeks when I have nothing left of my own to offer. One of those days/weeks when my time with my Bible is like lapping from the sweet stream waters after an arduous hike.

I’m digging down deep. I am in survival mode. In this fog I honestly don’t see an end in sight, but I know there is one. In three weeks I’ll be in Florida. The Beach is waiting for me. And my mom will be there. Ah! Suddenly there is a small light at the end of the tunnel.

It’s called Spring Break.

What do you all do when you have to dig deep? What gets you through those longs days/weeks/months/years when life is overwhelmingly full?

Filed Under: Family, Life, Motherhood, Travel Tagged With: digging deep, mommy fatigue, Spring Break

The Art

February 24, 2011 by Kelli

A ten year old girl sits intently over her metal framed desk, her tongue sticking out of the corner of her mouth as her pencil scratches furiously across the lined paper. She sighs, erases, then places pencil to paper again. An adventure is spilling from her fingertips. It involves a hot air balloon and a chicken.

She knows it’s brilliant.

With a modicum of flair, the girl hands it to her teacher looking much like the Cheshire Cat. Two days later, her story come back with a bright red smiley face and the words GREAT JOB! The teacher pulls her aside later and tells the girl to never be afraid to use her imagination and to keep telling stories.

So the girl does.

A thirteen year old girl sits in her bedroom with the blank pages of a journal on her lap. It is the place where the angst of teendom spills forth in childlike poetry. She pours out her heart with emotion and gives full expression to every hurt, every confusion, every fear, every joy.

She lays the journal down and immediately feels the need to write some more.

So she does.

A sixteen year old girl sees a younger classmate hurting and wants to help. She’s not good with words unless she is able to put them on paper so she decides to write a devotional. With great fervor, she writes a seven day devotional in which she hopes to convey God’s love in a way that replaces the pain with hope. She never found out if she succeeded, but she begins to wonder if her passion could be used for good.

So she continues to dream.

A nineteen year old girl is called into her professor’s office. She sees her paper on his desk and suddenly fears she has made a grave error in her writing. She listens in awe as he instead praises her paper and asks if he can submit it to a local writing contest. “You know we have a Professional Writing Major here, don’t you?” he asks. “You should think about that.”

She thinks, she decides, she declares.

A twenty year old sits on a train from Prague to Ukraine. She is alone with a box of Cinnamon Toast Crunch and a copy of Jane Eyre. She puts down her book and looks out at the changing leaves and rolling hills of a foreign land. She picks up her pen and journal and writes. She uses “Thee” and “Thou” and feels like Charlotte Bronte on a grand adventure.

She feels romantic and poetic.

A twenty three year old girl is newly married and sitting in her empty apartment, her eyes glued to the computer screen before her. She has her first big break. A book. And she is terrified. So she does the only thing she really knows how to do, she writes. Most of it isn’t fit for publication, but she works out the kinks through the melodic clicking of her keyboard.

Her dream is coming true.

A cough cough year old girl gets up long before the sun to make use of the few brief moments she’s allotted with her thoughts. She pulls out her dusty journal and for the first time in years touches pen to paper. It’s as if her first love has been there waiting for her all along. Life flows from her fingertips and she quickly puts her pen back down, almost breathless.

She forgot how much she loved the art.

This same girl is digging back into the recesses of her imagination and letting it run free again. Hot air balloons and chickens suddenly don’t seem that strange. In fact, it feels like a fantastic adventure.

Today I am speaking at a local career fair on the art and craft of writing. What will I say to them? Perhaps, chase your dreams. Or maybe, don’t be afraid to use your imagination. Should I include have a back up plan?

What advice would you give young minds eager to jump into their own futures?

Filed Under: Blogging, Life, Random, School Tagged With: career fair, education, writing, Youth