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Til Death

July 23, 2012 by Kelli

His bent frame curved low over the chair in which he sat. His head was bald, but a photograph in the corner told me he once sported quite a mop of dark hair. His face bore a perpetual smile and his hands trembled mildly as he passed me a black and white photograph of a young woman dressed all in white.

“We were married 60 years, 4 months and 22 days before she passed away,” he said and he offered a wide smile. “She was the prettiest girl I ever laid eyes on.”

I was in a Waco nursing home on an afternoon service project. On my left hand, the engagement ring sparkled and shined and I wore it with such pride that some days I wondered if my heart would burst. As I sat and spoke with Abe, I couldn’t take my eyes off of the picture of his wife, who had passed away only months earlier.

“Tell me about her,” I said. When he spoke of his wife, his face split in two and his eyes sparkled. Love has a way of preserving youth, doesn’t it? I could see the young man Abe had once been when his eyes danced in the memories.

“She had a lot of spunk,” I remember him saying. “Did you know we were married for 60 years, 4 months and 22 days before she died?” I nodded.

“That’s wonderful,” I told him. “I am getting married in just a few months.”

Leaning forward he looked deep in my eyes. “You enjoy it,” he said very seriously. I nodded and he leaned back, satisfied and content. He was, quite possilby, the most joyful man I have ever had the honor of speaking with. “Did you know,” he asked me again, “that we were married 60 years, 4 months and 22 days before my wife passed away?”

I wish I could remember all that Abe told me that day. He shared at length stories of his life with his beloved wife. Stories of the war, of raising children, of traveling and of growing old. And every other sentence was peppered with the fact that they had been married 60 years, 4 months and 22 days before she died.

When I walked out of that nursing home, I rushed to Lee’s house and told him all about Abe. “That’s what I want for us,” I said, lacing my fingers through his. “I want to be married for 60 years, 4 months and 22 days…plus some!” And that became our mantra. I even had it engraved inside his wedding band, which he lost a year ago. Some day I’ll replace it.

On our wedding day, Lee and I recited vows that we had written ourselves. In the vows we included the line, “I will never divorce you.”

Later, someone made the comment that she thought we were irresponsible for using those words. “How do you know what will happen in the future? How can you say you’ll never divorce someone?”

My first inclination was to react defensively. What do you think ‘Til death do us part’ means? Our vow was not meant to be a holier than thou approach to the institution of marriage. Rather, it was the acknowledgement that marriage is hard and we were in for the fight.

Yesterday we marked twelve years since vowing to spend the next 60 years, 4 months, 22 days plus with one another. I can honestly say it’s been the best twelve years I could have ever imagined. Not the easiest, but the best. Our path hasn’t been smoother than anyone else’s. We’ve had to fight for one another, but it’s been more joy than fight and for that I’m so desperately grateful.

We have been through unemployment, the frustration and discouragement of wanting to be pregnant and not being able to get pregnant, the fear of nearly losing a child, two big moves, a house renovation (oy), the death of loved ones, loss of hair, thickening of waists and the list could go on and on. There have been times when I did not like him much and other times when I was not all that likeable. We are no different from any other couple on the planet.

But in the midst of it all there has been joy so deep that sometimes it takes my breath away. Lee makes me laugh harder than anyone else on this planet and there is no one on this Earth I would rather spend a day with than him. Marriage hasn’t been easy, to be sure.

But it hasn’t been that hard either.

I know how blessed we are. I have seen marriages fall apart and I know that sometimes divorce is the only option. I used to not think that. I used to believe that one should stick it out no matter what, but I know better now. I’ve seen people who were abused in their marriages, emotionally and physically. I’ve seen friends fight tooth and nail for their marriage only to realize that it would be healthier for everyone to just walk away. There is a lot of healing that can take place when someone leaves an unhealthy marriage. Sometimes walking away is necessary and I will never stand in judegement of a failed marriage.

I don’t proclaim immunity to difficulty in our marriage. We are falliable human beings, Lee and I, entirely susceptible to temptation and selfishness and capable of breaking the vows we uttered a dozen years ago. But deep in my heart, I know that there is no one better suited for me than the man I stood before as a fresh faced, naive twenty-two year old.

And with that in mind, I will continue the fight and will keep carving a path toward forever by his side. I will fail, he will fail, but together I believe the two of us are in for quite a journey. One thing I know without a doubt, we’re going to have a good time along the way.

We’ve got 48 years, 4 months and 22 days plus some to keep figuring this thing out.

Image by Avodah Images.com

Edited to add this link to my current favorite song. I love me some Ingrid Michaelson. Listen to it. Download it. Love it. Amen.

Filed Under: Family, Lee, Life, Marriage Tagged With: Life, Love, Marriage

Nine

July 10, 2012 by Kelli

Photo by Avodah Images

I love this child with a ferocity that cannot be strung into words. He is smart, funny, kind, passionate, loving, silly, outgoing and…tall.

Lord Almighty, this kid is tall.

I can’t believe I have a nine-year-old. I learn something new every single day parenting this child. He shocks me with his constant ability to love others deeply and fiercely. He is going to change the world, this one – perhaps for the masses, perhaps for just a few, but I have no doubt he’s going to make an impact wherever he goes.

As we drove home last night, the golden glow of headlights zipping past us, we just talked. The other two were asleep and there was no sound beyond the gentle hum of wheels on the highway.

“What should I be when I grow up?” he asked. “Not what you think I could be, but what do you want me to be when I grow up?”

The questions are getting harder to answer…

“I won’t tell you what you should be,” I answered. “There are just too many possibilities.” I went on to list the many things I think he’d be great at: Missions, Pastoring, Business, News reporting, Sports, Science – really, at nine? The sky is the limit.

“What do you want to be when you grow up?” I asked.

*pause*

“I don’t know,” he said thoughtfully. “I just want to glorify God.”

Even as I type this, the tears prick the corners of my eyes. Nine years ago, I held him in my arms for the first time and I had no clue what I was doing. I just knew, as I looked in his tiny eyes, that I was meant to be his Mom. I didn’t know how hard it would be to be his Mom. I didn’t know the tears I would shed and the inners corners of my own sin and selfishness that would be laid bare before me in his reflection. I didn’t know what this would be like.

I just knew that this kid was something special and he was meant just for me.

God, I’m grateful for that gift.

Avodah Images

Filed Under: Family, Kids, Motherhood, Sloan Tagged With: Getting older, Kids and birthdays, Life, Motherhood

I’m a model, you know what I mean?

June 25, 2012 by Kelli

Before I left for Tanzania, I reached out to several bloggers who had travelled with Compassion in the past. I needed to talk with someone who knew what I was about to walk into, who could tell me it was all going to be okay.

I was scared.

I wasn’t scared for the noble reasons you may think, of course. The travel part thrilled me. There’s nothing I love more than a good adventure. Remember, I was raised by a woman who was placed on a small airplane with strangers when she was ten so she could fly back to the States for boarding school. Neither one of my parents have ever shied away from traveling adventures and they have always encouraged me to explore the world.

That part didn’t scare me.

No, my fears in going on this trip were laced with insecurity – what if I failed? What if I let Compassion down? What if nobody sponsored a child through my blog? What if I was just too small, too insignificant, to make any kind of impact on this ministry?

We all know how that turned out, don’t we?

So I reached out to several past bloggers and they reached back with prayers, scriptures, encouragement and grace. They told me not to worry, not to fear, that God was going to write a story bigger than anything I could imagine. Do you know how true that is? I went back to my posts from Tanzania the other day and I honestly don’t even remember writing some of them. It’s all such a blur.

One of the bloggers who reached out to me was Kristen from We are THAT Family. I have long admired her, I appreciated her words of encouragement and now, after watching the following video, I am in awe of her. Not because of what she’s done, but what she has been willing to allow God to do through her. If you haven’t seen the recent video on the organization Kristen and her husband started called The Mercy House, you should watch it.

It’s the very first lines of that video that have clanged through my head, reverberating off the inner walls of my heart the last couple of days. “I asked God, ‘How can you allow so muh suffering?’ And I really felt like He said to me, “How can you allow it? What are you doing?”

Last night, as we made our way to church, Lee and I began to discuss heaven. “Do you think we’ll be free of the constraints of procrastination in heaven?” I asked Lee. “Because we’ll no longer be bound by time, will we finally be able to accomplish all the tasks before us without dropping the ball?”

Because I feel like I am always one step behind in life. There are one or five tasks that I cannot seem to keep up with on this Earth. Part of that is my fault – I put things off until they build to the point of being too much, then I lose sleep for a week and finally spend an entire day trying to catch up only to fall behind on something else.

We discussed our ideas and thoughts and dreams for all that heaven will be and they are, of course, nothing more than suppositions made on the very little information we have but it left me wishing and hoping for the day when there will be no more strain – no more stress – no more unattainable tasks.

We continued the conversation this morning as I shared with Lee the above video. The idea that heaven will also be free of the horrors of human suffering is hard to wrap my mind around. I believe it and I long for it, but I am here, on this Earth, bound by time and suffering.

And what am I doing about any of it?

“What kind of Christianity are we modeling for the kids?” Lee asked me this morning as we navigated our way through the rainy streets of Tampa to grab some breakfast. “When they’re grown, what will faith look like to them? What are they learning from us that’s going to free them to impact the world?”

It’s overwhelming and frightening if you think about it. Who do they think God is?

Who do I think God is?

Are we modeling a faith based on fear? A faith that says do enough for others to feel good, but not so much that it makes life uncomfortable?

There are things to be done, needs to be met, lives to change – and none of it comes without a price. How much am I willing to sacrifice? What am I doing? What am I teaching my kids, because rest assured, they are watching, they are learning and they will live out the faith that was modeled to them in some way or another.

There will never be enough time to do everything here on Earth. So where do I choose to focus my time and my efforts and what sacrifices am I willing to make to meet the important needs around me?

Someday I will be free from the constraints of this world, but until that time there are tasks to accomplish if I have the courage and the will to go after them. Today, I just want to keep up…

Filed Under: faith, Family, Grace, Kids Tagged With: faith, God, Kids, Life, Living faith, thoughts

Confessions of a chronic overachiever

April 2, 2012 by Kelli

Photo taken my my amazingly talented friend, Sarah, when she was here on Spring Break.

I have a confession to make. It’s not nearly as scandalous as my last confession, so please don’t be worried, but this confession is going to force me to make some changes, some of which might affect this little space I’ve created on the web.

The confession is two-pronged, because I don’t believe in doing anything small. Go big or don’t go at all, that’s how I roll.

First, I have a very nasty habit of biting off more than I can chew. I assume I can handle way more than I actually can and I convince myself that it’s fine, I don’t actually need sleep and Nutella for breakfast, lunch and dinner because I don’t have time to prepare a proper meal is perfectly acceptable.

Which, who am I kidding right? OF COURSE NUTELLA IS ACCEPTABLE AT EVERY MEAL!

Okay – so that’s the first part of the confession. I take on too much and assume I can handle it just fine.

The second part of my confession is I am terribly prone to laziness. It’s true. I am the dog from the movie UP. I can be perfectly engaged in an activity then SQUIRREL!

That’s me. It’s not ADD, though I would LOVE to blame it on that. I’m just easily distracted and I have a hard time pulling myself back.

I’ve struggled with finishing the school year strong with the kids. I imagine every teacher the world over feels this spring time tug when the rigors of a daily schedule must wage battle against the pull of a warm breeze and the call of the outdoors. The fact is, I’m tired. I want to be done and so do the kids. But we can’t, because learning should never end.

I read this post by Ann Voskamp the other day and it reignited my desire to do this home schooling thing well. Whether this ends up being the only year we teach our children at home or we decide to do it again next year, I want it to count. This requires that I fight the laziness that threatens to invade and dig my heels in.

I’ve lost momentum on my book. It’s a lot, this business of home schooling, maintaining a blog, writing a book, trying to keep a household running smoothly, editing a new manuscript and getting into shape.

SQUIRELL!

I need to finish the book and finish it well. Do you see a theme here?

So first order of business – GET MORE SLEEP!

Do you know how fascinating squirells are when you’re tired? Stunning little creatures…

My goal is to be in bed no later than 10:00 ~~every week night~~ most week nights because the whole stay-up-till-midnight-pretending-to-be-working-but-really-reading-blogs-and-surfing-facebook thing isn’t working for me. I’m tired. I need to sleep. I’m not a night owl and never have been. I’m accepting that and moving forward.

This means I need to be diligent with my time and get my butt out of bed early. In fact, I set up my alarm on my phone so that when it goes off, my screen lights up with the phrase “Get your butt out of bed you lazy A…!”

I firmly believe in tough love.

I am going to be kickin’ it on my book this month and I actually do have a book manuscript to finish editing. I will be here, too, but maybe not every day. And I’m going to add a third confession – that’s scary.

Shaun wrote about it last week. It’s sometimes difficult as a blogger to not blog because we fear the audience we’ve worked to build will go away. And honestly, I can’t afford to lose my audience right now. I’m counting on you guys to help me get the word out about Compassion International’s awesome work when I go to Tanzania next month. I want you right there with me!

So I won’t be far away this month, but I may not be here every day. Because I’ll be a little busier than normal trying to keep my head above —

SQUIRELL!

Filed Under: Blogging, Compassion International, Homeschool, Life, Novel, writing Tagged With: Confessions, I'm Crazy, Life, Squirell, UP

The wind howls and my dog’s possessed

March 5, 2012 by Kelli

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

Filed Under: faith, Florida, funny stuff that happens, Grace, Life, Moving Tagged With: faith, Life, moving, Sadness

Good, Kind, Important

January 10, 2012 by Kelli

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.

Filed Under: faith, Family, Kids, Motherhood, Sloan Tagged With: Discipline, Kids, Life, Motherhood, Motherhood is hard, The Help

What if we all slowed down?

December 7, 2011 by Kelli

We wandered through the brush, the bristled fronds scraping against our bare arms. December 7 and in shorts. This is the things dreams are made of.

We stopped and peered inside the little windows and I let my mind wander. Who were they that lived there then? What sounds filled their homes in a time when the whirring of electronics was not yet realized? When televisions didn’t dictate every thought and movement? Did they, too, feel the rushing passage of time – they who had no option of jumping in the car and buzzing to this meeting or that event?

As the quiet moments ticked away the evening hours and their hands, weary from a long day’s labor, sat still in their laps, were they able to drink the moments in? Or did those mothers, like me, find themselves each night wondering what happened and how did the day blur by in a blink?

One day older.

Did those mothers nestle their babes each night and wish they could freeze time for a brief moment just so they had the opportunity to drink it all in? Did those same mothers also have some nights when the darkness brought a sense of sweet relief as the bustle and the energy finally stopped and they had a few brief moments of peace before it all started up again?

I imagine the mothers were very much like me in this regard. Equal parts sad to see the days fly by and anxious for the peace the nighttime brings. Perhaps even more so as the burden they shouldered was far greater than mine. Their days were filled with much more labor and with far fewer luxeries.

As we walked into the tiny house, the tour guide met us with twinkling eyes, the lines in his face evidence of a life well lived. With a gentle smile, he guided us through each room, his aging voice filled with awe, wonder and appreciation. He understood simpler times and I heard the longing in his words as he pointed out the small tools and toys. The days of quiet are not far removed from his mind.

I love the quiet, too. Not setting up cable has been one of the best decisions we’ve ever made. Evenings are filled with quiet togetherness. Sitting on the floor, rolling the ball to one another. Walks around the block. Ice cream on the lanai. Together without the noise. It’s a step toward the simpler times.

What if we all slowed down just a little bit? What if we all spent a little less time watching the lives of others and living our own? What if we all cut out just a few things so that the precious moments could at least be soaked in a bit before zipping past? What if we just stopped for awhile?

I confess, the stopping and soaking in is hard for me. It’s really, really hard. There is so much to be done and the stopping feels like a halt in progress. But is it? When we stop, sit, listen and wait – does this stagnate us or, perhaps, move us forward still but in a deeper and more fulfilled manner?

As we pulled out of the gravel driveway, I turned off the radio and rolled down the windows. This is a big deal for me. I’m not a “wind in her hair” kind of gal. I find it annoying and loud. But today, instead, I listened to the wind whipping through the car, the echoes of movement passing through. I breathed deep the salty air and glanced at the ocean just across the street. I drove the speed limit, not pushing my speed but instead taking the time to enjoy the journey.

And they enjoyed, too. We talked about the seagulls and the graceful way they danced on the wind. The discussed what we would do if each of us were a bird. How would the world look from the sky?

Even the (smokin’ hot) minivan has the potential to slow down.

What if we all just took the time?

What would life look like and how would it be different?

All photos taken during today’s field trip to Heritage Village in Largo, Florida.

Filed Under: Family, Heritage, Homeschool, Kids, Motherhood Tagged With: Life, Motherhood, slowing down, thoughts

Tales from the Homefront

October 25, 2011 by Kelli

“Mom! Hey, MOM! Lookatthislookatthislookatthis! It’s Ra, the Egyptian Sun god!”

Thus yelled my eight year old across the aisle of Homegoods, as he stood face to face with a life size statue of Ra. It was in the clearance aisle.

Odd. I would think a creepy looking faux Ra would be a hot ticket item...

The gentleman sitting in the arm chair nearest Sloan looked up in surprise. He then looked at me quizzically as I cleared my throat.

“We’ve been studying Egypt,” I said with a smile.

pause

“Why?” he asked.

“We were reading about Moses bringing the Israelites out of Egypt,” Sloan said. “Have you heard that story? Where Moses turned the water to blood and sent tons of frogs and parted the Red Sea and Pharoah and his people sank to the bottom.”

The man looked at Sloan with amusement, then back at me.

“We homeschool,” I said. It’s my only defense. Why else would we be in Homegoods at 1:00 on a Monday afternoon?

“I see,” was his reply, then he leaned back into his chair, presumably to nap since his wife was nowhere to be found. I grabbed Tia’s hand and motioned Sloan to follow us. As we walked away, Tia glanced back at the statue over her shoulder.

“Why would anyone want to worship that little statue?” she asked. “It’s just made of wood. Wood can’t help you like the one twue God.”

And as we walked away, I heard the man let out a hearty laugh.

Homeschooling is an adventure unlike any I’ve ever taken. I’ve got a video to share with you all at some point. I wanted to today, but my computer ate half of it and I don’t have it in me to start over now.

This past week was rough. It was crawl into bed and lay staring comatose at the ceiling rough. A myriad of issues led me to a bit of a low point where smiling felt like a chore and everyday tasks seemed monumental.

Make the bed? Impossible.

Clean the dishes? Painful.

Sweep the floor? Everest.

It was like a marathon just getting through the basic tasks of each day. And I just felt sad. Even a night away generously donated by my husband couldn’t pull me out of my funk and I couldn’t figure it out.

As Lee and I talked, my eyes welling up with tears, I told him how I just feel frustrated. There’s so much to do. So many plates to keep spinning. And I am overwhelmed and feeling very…alone.

It felt good to cry. Yesterday I woke up feeling a little more refreshed and ready to tackle the day with a specific prayer on my heart – Lord, let me see You today.

About half way through my day, I received an email from a company confirming my participation in an event in St. Louis. This company has agreed to not only fly me up to St. Louis, but also the kids. A much needed chance to get away, take a break and be refreshed.

I saw.

Last night I attended a meeting at a local church for homeschooling moms and it did more than give me a couple of new ideas for making our school more fun – it refreshed my heart. I met people my age, in my same boat who get it.

I saw.

The woman sharing was a veteran homeschooling mom with her oldest preparing to graduate high school. “It goes so fast,” she said. “You blink and they’re teenagers and it’s gone.”

I’ve heard this a thousand times, but I needed it again last night. I really needed it.

“Soon the house will be empty,” she continued. “It will be quiet and in order and clean…but I’d rather have the noise.”

I saw.

These were seemingly little things, but they brought a fountain of relief and rest to my soul.

Right now, as I type this, the house is refreshingly quiet. Blissfully so. But I know the noise is coming and I want to greet it with a fresh perspective. It’s hectic and chaotic and my house isn’t decorated how I want it, or painted the right colors, or even organized functionally.

But it’s full. And that’s a good thing. Plus I get the added perk of driving that smokin’ hot minivan for a long time to come, right? Huh? Huh?

I’m going to choose joy this week, because tomorrow they’ll all be one day older. Time isn’t going to slow down so I’m just going to hang on and enjoy the ride that is this current season of my life.

Now, where to put my statue of Ra…

Filed Under: faith, Family, Homeschool, Kids, Kids do the darndest things, Life, Motherhood Tagged With: Homeschool, Kids, Life, Motherhood

Go ahead and be happy

October 13, 2011 by Kelli

I pray this weekend brings you joy, laughter and some much needed rest.

Get outside and enjoy the beautiful fall weather.

Eat, drink and be merry.

And if you haven’t yet seen The Dolphin Tale, I highly recommend you go.

We’ve been coming to visit Winter for years and she is truly a delight. She’s adorable, sweet and loaded with personality.

If, for some reason, you are unable to feel happiness, just take a look at this face and try not to smile.

Blessings.

Filed Under: Family, Florida, Kids Tagged With: Kids, Life, The Dolphin Tale, Weeked Fun, winter

This Week

October 12, 2011 by Kelli

– This week I refinished Tia’s furniture with the help of my St. Louis neighbor turned Florida bestie, Carol. It was brown, now it’s white. I’ll share pictures once I have her room all put together. All I can say is I had tons of fun decorating a little girl’s room for the very first time.

– This week I began a strict eating regiment in an effort to finally kick those last ten baby pounds to the curb.

– This week I drank lots of green tea. Lots and lots of green tea.

– This week I spent less time on the computer and more time just being still.

– This week I prayed some very specific prayers and love the expectation as I await the outcome.

– This week I missed my friends in St. Louis. A lot.

– This week I had dinner with new friends here in Tampa.

– This week I wrote a new post for 5 Minutes for Mom on parenting.

– This week I’ve fallen into more than one of the traps I wrote about in the aforementioned 5 Minutes for Mom post. *sigh*

– This week I got really, really lost.

– This week I was grateful for the GPS on my fancy pants phone.

– This week I was glad I got lost because I passed some really lovely areas that I’d like to go back and visit…if I can find them.

– This week I got my 4 frillion pictures and frame semi-organized. They’re not on the walls, yet, but at least they’re not in the middle of the floor, right?

– This week I realized just how much I love my CoffeeMate Peppermint Mocha creamer when I couldn’t use it in my coffee.

– This week I did not paint Landon’s room like I said I would. It’s still just primed. Poor kid. Has a Mama who’s a craptastic painter.

– This week I cried once.

– This week I laughed a lot.

– This week I took pictures of the moon.