Arena Five

Lydia

2016-06-29T11:18:00.001-05:00

A dear friend posted this article from The Mighty and reading it was like reading my own autobiography. A line that especially stood out to me reads, "High-functioning anxiety feels like…Punch-in-the-gut stomach aches, like my body is confusing answering an email with being attacked by a lion."

I got a hard email yesterday. An email that created that precise punch-in-the-gut feeling. Then I spent the next several hours spiraling and being drowned by anxiety until eventually I could only shake and cry. It wasn't the sender's fault and quite frankly, they made some very valid points that alerted me to some decisions I made that should have been done differently. But the stomach-in-my-throat feeling could not be suppressed, the anxiety took control, and I found I was powerless to stop it. 

Friends, none of us are perfect. We are so very far from it. I make mistakes what sometimes feels like every moment of every day. For those of us who feel the weight of anxiety, we keep a record of those mistakes and even add in our presumed thoughts of how others view us. And we convince ourselves that it's true. We are quick to believe the worst in ourselves and even quicker to let it devour us alive. 

I screw up constantly. Never do I intentionally mean to hurt anyone or to say or do things that do not live up to the standard of integrity that is so important to me. But I've done all of these things. If you have been on the receiving end of an injury of my creation, I need you to hear me well. It was not intentional. I sincerely apologize. I want to do all I can to make it right. 

At the end of the day, I'm just a hot mess of a person. Trying to figure out how to encourage others while constantly reminding myself that I have value too. It's a hard line to walk sometimes, especially when there are so many voices trying to convince me otherwise - voices on the Internet, comments on Facebook, statements made in passing from people, even the voices inside my own head. Putting yourself out there comes at a cost. 

This morning, as I hashed this out with God and asked again, "Am I really doing what you want me to be doing? Why did you even put me here? What if I'm screwing it all up?"

Clear as day, I heard a name. 

LYDIA.

Lydia. The Vera Wang of Philippi. The seller of purple. The business owner. The woman who gathered with other women outside the gate of the town and heard Paul speak. The Lord "opened her heart to pay attention to what was said" and she used her position to advance the gospel. She opened her home to Paul and became a key player in the establishment of the church in Philippi. When I read about Lydia in Acts 16 of my ESV Study Bible, there was this note under Acts 16:14 - "The Lord opened her heart" : It is the supernatural work of God, not the wisdom or persuasiveness of the preacher, that ultimately draws people to Christ."

God gave Lydia a platform. She had wealth and means and the opportunity to start a church right in her house. I don't really have wealth like Lydia, but I have a platform. It's a platform that God prepared for me, setting up each and every step along the way so that the only way I would have wound up here was through obedience. God didn't ask Lydia to ditch her business, donate it all to the church, and start making only sandals for disciples. 

Lydia was called to use her platform to the glory of God. 
I'm sure she wasn't perfect. I'm sure she screwed up from time to time. There may have been a customer or two who thought her garments were overpriced or perhaps she was late on a delivery date for a client at some point.

But in Lydia's business, she dealt with a variety of people, from a variety of backgrounds, with a variety of beliefs. She didn't make Christian clothes exclusively for Christians. She sold designer fashion to an eclectic and elite clientele who had good money to pay for her services. And yet, she got to be a point of light for Christ in that environment and make it her ministry. Whoah. What an opportunity. What a challenging assignment. 

Lydia.

You too have been given a platform. No matter where you are, what your situation or circumstances, you have influence. And it looks different for each of us and that's OKAY. What I'm experiencing today is the reassurance that God doesn't write the same story for everyone, nor does he give everyone the same platform or a passion for the same issues or the gifts and skills to excel at one profession over the other. 

But if we are truly attentive to WHERE God has put us, we can work within those parameters to shine like stars, as Paul encourages the Philippians to do in a letter he would later write them.

Last night as my anxiety was unravelling my insides, I texted my friend Lauren and emotionally vomited on her. She sent me what I think was the most profound encouragement I have received since launching MKE Moms Blog: 

"Christians are (at times) very exclusive. That's exactly what we are trying NOT to do. We want to bring people in, share life together, support one another. That's a pretty raw form of the gospel."

Oh Lord. Help me to continue to trust you in this. Teach me to be a Lydia.

Sleep Without Rest

2015-12-16T00:01:00.001-06:00

I tried to go to bed at a reasonable hour tonight.

My kids didn’t get bedtime stories read to them this evening because I was half-asleep on the couch at 7:30. Micah was at the kitchen table practicing writing three digit numbers and Isaiah was sitting on my head reading Harry Potter. Yup, you read that right. He was so determined to get to find out if anyone was going to show up in the Hog’s Head to learn Defense Against the Dark Arts from Harry that he perched himself right atop the pillow I was sleeping on and started to read to himself. I woke up to an exclamation of “Expecto Patronum!” and tried to sit up, but my hair was trapped under his butt. To his credit, he did feel bad about that.

Once they were actually in bed, I went to the kitchen to grab a bowl of carbs and cut of a ginormous hunk of a caramel apple covered in Reece’s Pieces. Computer open and Friday Night Lights rolling on Netflix, it was time to work.

Except I couldn’t think. I tried to write and nothing could materialize. I tried to edit a piece for the website, but I couldn’t remember how commas work. Mostly, I just sat there and got fatter while I tried to decide if I wanted Tami Taylor to be my BFF or if I actually hated her because she is so skinny and has perfect hair.

You see, today was hard.

Even though yesterday was the day Evan was supposed to come home only to discover his kidneys were once again threatening to quit on him, today was harder. Today was our staff Christmas party at the church where I work. One of the other assistants made Jib Jab videos with the faces of every single person on staff, there was a hot chocolate bar complete with raspberry whipped cream, marshmallows and sprinkles. There were carolers.

So many people with good intentions and servant hearts came to ask how Evan was doing. And I told them. Then they asked how I was doing. And I lied to them.

I lied.

I lied to my friends. I lied to my senior pastor.

I said things like, “I’m getting through” and “Well, I’m here!” and “We’re doing okay.”

Perhaps those things aren’t total lies because I guess there certainly is some truth to them. We are getting through, I have been showing up to work, and for the most part we really are okay.

But my senior pastor asked me a question that I hadn’t really considered much.

“Are you sleeping?” he asked.

To be honest, I’m not even sure what kind of jacked-up answer I gave him, but I know whatever speech I gave, it was delivered in kind of a HEY LOOK SOMETHING SHINY fashion that is meant to distract the listener.

So here’s the truth.

Yes, I am sleeping. But I’m not getting rest.

Nothing is restful anymore. Every spare moment feels like it should be spent either working or writing the dozens of thank you notes I am behind on. I feel guilty even claiming to have “spare moments” because there are laundry baskets all over the house filled with clothes that someone else has folded that I haven’t even been able to muster the motivation to put away.

My desk is covered with medical supplies, so my office now makes me think of the hospital. The place where he is. The disease that started this mess. So that space that Evan was so insistent be just MINE? The place where I was supposed to be able to shut the door and just get away? Now that’s gone too, taken over by gauze, medications and a blood pressure cuff.

I let the auto-play feature of Netflix take over until it asks if I’m still alive – Are you STILL watching Gilmore Girls? – and then I realize it’s nearly midnight. I try to write an email, schedule some tweets, do something resembling anything productive to at least trick myself into believing I’m getting through this even half as well as everyone thinks I am, but instead I stare at the blinking cursor and wonder what I’m going to watch tomorrow night because we’ve reached the point in the series where Lorelai and Rory are apart and fighting because Rory quit Yale and moved in with her grandparents and they don’t speak to one another for like eight episodes which is the absolute worst.

I just don’t have the emotional capacity right now to handle the Great Gilmore Estrangement of 2005.

Too close for missiles, switching to guns. Back to Friday Night Lights. I really need someone to give me their Hulu+ password so I can watch the final season of Parenthood. On second thought, I heard that I am going to cry ugly tears at the finale, so maybe it's best that I wait and try something a bit less traumatic like The Walking Dead.

So when I finally fall into bed, I lay there and my mind just spins with all the things I should have done that I didn’t. All the worries about Evan, the fear, the guilt. All the prayers for God to fix this. All the tears because I’m so damn lonely and so damn tired.

Eventually sleep comes. But not rest.

The boys have to nearly drag me out of bed in the morning. I have an entire closet of clothes that don’t fit because I’ve gained so much weight in the last several weeks. Even my yoga pants are threatening to give out, so that’s saying something.

I get my game face on. I get the kids to school. I go to work.

I do the best I can, but I am exhausted.

Emotionally, physically, spiritually.

Spent.

Even as I write these words, I am wrestling with guilt. Guilt that I am taking the time to write instead of trying to sleep. Guilt for even feeling like anyone will care about any of this.

There are people with real problems, the voice whispers. Cancer treatments, deaths in the family, disasters that are way bigger and way more important that anything you could understand. You are being selfish and whiny and you have become nothing but a burden. Your family needs you to be strong and instead you are failing and are relying on everyone else to do everything. How pathetic. Be a grown-up and get over yourself.

I’ve never claimed to have been strong against this kind of attack. But right now, my defenses are weaker than they have ever been and I can feel myself started to break.

So I sleep. I don’t rest.

Bring Me Closer

2015-12-06T22:56:00.000-06:00

Some of you have texted me today looking for an update, so I figure it's probably just easiest to post here because.....WOW. There are a lot of people following Evan's story and it is absolutely a testament to what happens when God get a hold of your life. I'm going to get a little soap boxy here for just a second, so sit tight.

"Church" is not a building, friends. It's not that one lady who didn't choose you to lead the small group when you felt you deserved it and left you hurt. It's not that unexpected leadership change, the worship service with not enough hymns anymore, or the committee that made a decision you didn't like. That is not the Church. At least, not as it should be.

The Church is where love collides with pain. Where the gates of heaven are shaken off their hinges simply from the sound of the prayers banging against them as the children of God hit their knees in intercession. Church is where Jesus is all there is, so everything is counted all as joy. There are challenges and struggles and disagreements because the church is made up of nothing but a bunch of sinners, make no mistake about it. But our family has been carried by our people who have asked their people who have asked their people and so on, until probably into the hundred of voices have been beseeching the Father on our behalf. And to be at the epicenter of it all? You realize just exactly how small you are....and how big this Jesus really is.

It's all true, friends. This Christmas story of a baby born to save a broken world? It's all true. When we see the news and feel the pain happening all around us, I know it sometimes feels like no loving God would allow this to happen. How could he? If it were true, why would people be murdered at a Christmas party? Why would cancer exist? Why would we be unable to watch the news without hearing about yet another senseless tragedy or natural disaster? None of it makes sense, not really. And of course no Facebook post is going to bring an answer.

But I know it to be true. I know it because no matter how much this sucks or how much the earth seems to be flying off its axis, I rest in knowing that none of this is coming as a surprise to Him. I drove home from the hospital recently with hysterical tears coming down my face and I screamed at God. Over and over, I pounded the steering wheel and demanded an answer as to why this was happening to our family. Was it a test? Some sort of refining process to make us closer to Him? Because if that's the case, He could keep it. I had no interest in channeling Job or any other such faithful servant. I just wanted it to stop and to go back to normal.

It was the first time I really remember really wrestling with God. And, like Jacob, I emerged not fully at peace and somewhat worse for wear. My problems were not solved and I had no magic answer. What I did have was the reminder that I was loved and that the One who loves me more than I will ever understand is not surprised, not taken off guard by any of this. In fact, He was pretty clear long ago that this would happen....that our world would destroy itself.

But "take heart," He said. "For I have overcome the world."

That night in Bethlehem, the Overcomer arrived. And right now, in this season as things are falling apart all around me, I need an Overcomer. On my own? I am nothing. I have nothing. I can do nothing.

So instead, I'm choosing to be held in greater hands than my own. I'm learning into my Church, the brothers and sisters who are going to battle on our behalf, many of whom I don't even know.

Church is meant to bring you closer to the cross. And that's exactly what mine is doing.

The Fourth Watch of the Night

2015-10-28T15:03:00.001-05:00

I know it's been nearly three months since I posted something here. In blogger time, that's like ten years.

But today felt like the right time to return to this space, to the one I've held sacred for so many years. This is the place where my words come to rest and breathe and be themselves.

The website is growing, thriving really. It's been every bit as exciting and exhausting as I imagined and I am convinced that I am right where I need to be.

And yet.

It's going to come as no surprise to those who are wise that opposition has been forming since the moment this adventure began. It hasn't been easy.

I've woken as early as my body will allow, gotten the kids off to school and myself off to work. Then I come home and I work until my eyes will stay open not a moment longer. I wake up the next day and do it all again, except this time I go right from the desk to the restaurant where I run up and down the tables, serving. I usually call Evan to "talk me home" so I don't fall asleep at the wheel. Then I sit down and work until my exhaustion takes over. The weekends, where most are finding "family time," are absorbed by double shifts and grocery store trips.

Repeat. Add in a trip to Indianapolis. A week to be horribly ill and still show up to work. Follow up with a trip to Dallas.

Go go go.

Things start to fail under pressure. It's just one of those things that people who know much more than me are always telling me. Not sure if that's what caused my computer to fail in the airport in Dallas, but when you own a website, that's kind of a crucial piece of equipment. So we ended up with credit card debt for the first time since 2011.

But it certainly applies to humans.

I haven't been able to get well since September.

I woke up on a Sunday morning and was too weak to go to church. Evan finally roused me at noon to try to get me to eat something. I managed to get the weekly grocery shopping trip completed, but a co-worker found me in the toiletries aisle staring at all the choices for body wash while my brain struggled to process the difference between the Dove Nutrium Moisture and the Dove Ultra Moisture formulas. I sat on the couch when I got home and didn't wake up for another three hours.

Then a friend of a friend of a friend needed a place to stay for a few days. A total stranger. We said yes.

I suddenly realized my kid's birthday was only two weeks away and I've done ZERO planning for a Harry Potter party. Also, he accidentally invited 30 kids.

Then the bank account ran out. I hadn't stayed on top of it like I should since my attentions have been devoted elsewhere. It's my fault. My husband texted me during a meeting at my church where pastors and leaders from around the world were sharing their stories. I listened to a pastor from Nigeria talk about how his church had been burned to the ground four times and his car bombed. The man from Haiti spoke about watching a building collapse on his wife during the earthquake. A missionary from Peru told the story of seeing a woman die from demon possession. Yet, when the text came in that my husband couldn't buy lunch at Buffalo Wild Wings because the card was declined.....THAT'S when I broke down.

It's so disjointed and so nonsensical.

So as the waves keep crashing - a friend in a painful crisis searching for hope and finding none, a phone call with a difficult diagnosis for someone I love, an empty prescription bottle, an angry email from someone I have hurt and disappointed yet again, the dishwasher died, an urgent care visit followed by a trip to the ER - I am driven once again to this place. Where my words become my prayers and I hang on like hell to keep from drowning.

Praise God for words that become church. And for people who remind me of who Jesus is when the waves prevent me from seeing His glory revealed.

Through the tears today, I write. And thank the Lord for the fourth watch of the night.

And when evening came, the boat was out on the sea, and he was alone on the land. And he saw that they were making headway painfully, for the wind was against them. And about the fourth watch of the night he came to them, walking on the sea. He meant to pass by them, but when they saw him walking on the sea they thought it was a ghost, and cried out, for they all saw him and were terrified. But immediately he spoke to them and said, "Take heart; it is I. Do not be afraid." And he got into the boat with them, and the wind ceased. And they were utterly astounded, for they did not understand about the loaves, but their hearts were hardened. - Mark 6:47-52 (ESV)

Burning the Midnight Oil

2015-08-07T14:08:00.000-05:00

Waving hello in the dark.

Most of my time lately has been spent with my fingers on a keyboard, my eyes fixed on the screen in front of me. Since announcing the beginnings of Milwaukee Moms Blog, pretty much every spare evening has been spent learning how to make things happen in WordPress, corresponding with potential contributors, getting to know the awesome ladies that have already signed on to be part of the team, and pinching myself.

Because it's still hard to believe I am actually doing this.

The opportunity to start this site fell directly in my lap on a silver platter with a bow on it. All the cliches - they all apply. When I was still trying to find a good excuse to bail, I said to Evan "If I walk away from this and don't even try, I will regret it in five years." He was so wise in his response when he clarified that I would regret it in "5 months. Maybe even 5 weeks."

And he was right.

These late nights, the burning eyes, the sore fingers from all the clicking clicking clicking. It's already worth it. I've gone all in and I love it.

Thank you for grace and thank you for understanding that my presence here may need to be a bit more relaxed in the coming months as I pour myself into Milwaukee Moms Blog. We launch on September 21st and I absolutely can't wait to show off my new "baby" to you all.

If you find yourself awake at midnight, wave to me in the dark. I'll be up.

Good Thing Chicks Dig Scars

2015-08-02T15:17:00.000-05:00

My husband never calls me at work. Like, ever.

So when I was interrupted in the middle of my lunch shift with the news that he was waiting on hold for me, my stomach sunk and I already knew it was going to be bad.

I got on the phone and he told me that he was taking Isaiah to Urgent Care because he had split his lip open.

Now, I have three boys and quite frankly I am somewhat amazed that we made it until the oldest was SEVEN before we had to take one of them in to have their face fixed. This stuff is pretty much required in the childhood of a boy though I think that page was left out of the most recent edition of What to Expect When You're Expecting. Still, my gut reaction was to throw my apron on the ground and run out that door to race to be at my baby's side. Evan assured me he had it under control so I asked him to send me periodic updates, but we agreed I could stay at work.

But then he sent me a photo of the damage my boy had done and my Mama Heart immediately jumped up into my throat.

The photo showed what happens when a little boy's face comes flying into contact with the edge of a coffee table while inside a bouncy house. Yup, that's what happened. He threw himself somehow into the side of our bouncy castle in such a way that his face was propelled into a table.

I had to scrub blood out of a bouncy castle when I got home last night.

I'll spare you the photo that made the color drain from my face, but I will show you the text that I got from Evan after the Urgent Care doctor had taken a look at the injury.

Nothing like being told your child is being sent to the emergency room to make you lose focus on your work.

My manger on duty was very understanding and said numerous times that I could leave if I needed to, but Evan said all the boys were doing really well so far and were pretty content just watching TV in the exam room while waiting for the doctor. They were watching Spongebob Squarepants, a show that is strictly forbidden at home, so they were soaking in the contraband stupidity while they could.

The point finally came where I couldn't do it anymore. I was crazy busy, trying to manage seven or eight tables both inside the dining room and outside on the patio, but my brain was at Children's Hospital with my son. A four-top asked me what the desserts were and I think I got as far as Flourless Chocolate Cake before I started stammering, crying, and apologizing. With shaking hands, I explained that I just found out that my son was being treated at Children's and that I was having a really hard time not being there with him. The words were just spilling out and landing there on the table right next to their dirty plates and silverware.

Then the woman to my left put her hand on mine and gently asked, "May we pray for you?"

Friends, how does God do this? How does he orchestrate details so fine as to place that table right in my path at the very second I would need it, when my resolve had broken and I was struggling to find peace on my own?

But He did.

And the five of us approached the throne of grace, right there on the patio while I stood there holding the remnants of mashed potatoes and sauteed collard greens, and prayed for healing for my son and for peace that surpasses all understanding for him and for me. Other tables needed things - drink refills, their credit card to be processed, dishes to be cleared. None of that mattered in those moments because this was a holy moment where the presence of the Holy Spirit had descended and entered into my anxiety, providing a very real intercession to the Father.

I instantly felt more settled, more confident in the care my son would receive at the hospital, and more resolved than ever that I would go to him as soon as possible. In another incredible act of provision and grace, all my remaining tables finished up nearly simultaneously and I was able to drive directly to the hospital.

He was still watching Spongebob when I arrived.
He was also doped up on an anti-anxiety medication that had him acting slightly drunk, which was kind of hilarious.

I sent Evan home with the younger boys so they wouldn't have to watch the stitches going in. It was hard enough for me to watch, even though I knew Isaiah wasn't really feeling any pain. Seven stitches later, my boy was sewed back together and we were on our way to get him a chocolate shake and sit on the couch to watch Harry Potter.

Probably about ten o'clock at night, I finally remembered something.

That table never did get to order dessert.

Here's how Isaiah is looking this morning, a little less than 24 hours after the injury. It's already looking so much better!

Thank you so much for your prayers and messages while we waited in the ER yesterday. I'm so grateful for each and every one of them. I also want to make sure to say thank you to my co-workers and managers for their patience and understanding yesterday. It's never convenient to adjust to losing a server from a shift, but they knew I had to go and they just made it work. Thank you, friends.

Announcing Our Impending Arrival

2015-07-28T09:00:00.000-05:00

So, I've had a little side project going on for a while now. Let's talk about it as if it were a pregnancy. It's of course not a baby at all because #NoMoreBabies, but because it's my blog and because it's more fun, let's just pretend it's a pregnancy.

There was the one time when I was screwing around on Facebook and I discovered a friend posting photos of a baby. I thought, "Oh, what a cute baby!" so I clicked to explore further. Imagine my surprise when I discovered that adorable baby was looking for someone else to have another baby just like her so she could have a sister.

I get it, Baby. I have three boys. I've been there with the whole "we need another baby" thing, but really? Me? I'm way too busy and I can barely get out the door with my sanity and drugstore concealer doesn't stand a chance against the dark circle under my eyes. The last thing I need right now is another baby.

But....what if?

What if that baby was perfect for me?

So I sent an email, just a simple email inquiring about the need for this baby. Before I knew it, I had been on several phone calls and exchanged many emails where I tried to throw out every excuse I had about why I absolutely could NOT have another baby right now.

God just chuckled, shook his head a bit, and smiled as he provided a solution to every single objection I concocted.

And then the stick turned pink. Metaphorically.

Ok, Lord. I guess I'm having a baby.

Only, instead of a baby, it's a WEBSITE.

A website that is part of the City Moms Blog Network, a national network of Sister Sites run by women just like me. It's going to be a resource for Milwaukee area moms to find information on what's going on in the city, but so much more than that. We will have events for moms to get out and have fun, neighborhood groups so women can get together for playdates or coffee (or wine!) with the moms that live near them, and provide resources and encouragement for the moms of our area.

We want to create a real community - both online and in "real life."
We want to inspire the moms of Milwaukee to love on one another, regardless of age, race, economic status, or otherwise.
We want to raise awareness and really talk about the tough issues affecting the mothers of our city - racial tension, human trafficking, poverty, and violence. We want to become part of the solution.

Welcome to the Milwaukee Moms Blog.

To say I'm excited is an understatement.

After several failed attempts in my younger years to start my own business selling things I didn't really care about, I have the opportunity now to go into business for myself, with the essential help of my partner, the owner of the Madison Moms Blog. The difference this time is that this site is a fantastic and terrifying mixture of so many of the things that I love.

A Few Quick Questions:

Does this mean Arena Five is going away?

No way, man. This place is my heart and my home. I've poured out my guts to you all and I'm not going anywhere. Here I can be honest about how tired I am, how I screw up, how I am absolutely terrified about all of this. I will continue to write here as I have always done, hopefully with just as much snark and sarcasm as ever. I just might not be able to post as often as I would like, especially during this launch process as we build this site from the ground up. But I look forward to taking you all along with me on the journey!

When will the site be launching?

Ummmm....I don't know. Soon. Soonish. I have a pre-launch checklist the size of War and Peace sitting on my desk right now and I'm trying not to let it paralyze me and just take one thing at a time. From what people tell me, it should be around 8 weeks or so, which puts us in mid-September. Don't worry - when we nail down the launch date, you will know!

Don't you already have like eight jobs?

Three. I have three. Ok, now I have four. Plus that whole Mom gig, I guess that's kind of important. And then there's that Wife thing too. Do those count?

The hope is that this new direction will lead me toward a career that is more accommodating for spending time with my family and actually going to bed at a decent hour from time to time. In the meantime, I'm just going to not sleep very much. As I said earlier, it's like I'm having a baby!

How can we help?

So kind of you to ask, thank you!!! Actually, I need a lot of help. The whole point of this new site is that it is going to be a team effort. There's no way I could do it on my own and frankly, I don't want to. Here's how you can help:

Connect to Milwaukee Moms Blog on social media and then share the crap out of it. Here we are on Twitter, Facebook, Instagram, and Pinterest. Bear with me as I try to fill these with content without having to stay up all night pinning clothespin crafts.
Pray for me. Seriously. As in, on your knees, sackcloth and ashes, rending of garments, storming the gates. Alternatively, you could just add me to your list of people who are a hot mess and need an extra dose of grace, mercy, stamina, and encouragement in this particular season. That works too.
Spread the word that I'm looking for contributors. As I mentioned, I can't do this by myself and I need a team of writers around me who are ready to use their gifts to bless the women of the Milwaukee area. Do you know someone who would be perfect? You can even steal the graphic below to use it if you want - that's fine by me!

If you're local and you own a business or are connected to one, think about how you would like to partner with MkeMB. Isn't that a cute abbreviation I made up just now? Maybe you are a photographer - I'm going to need at least two or three of those on my team who want to take photos of our team and our events so they can promote the snot out of their business. We're going to need restaurants, dentist offices, play places, medical clinics, you name it! Email me if you have something in mind and let's talk about it!
Cheer me on. Second only to prayer, this is what I need most of all. I need positive feedback, motivation, reassurance that this is going to be successful. I need cheerleaders to keep me out of my own head and looking forward.

Thank you for being here and for joining me in this adventure. Love ya.

5 Adorable Things My Kids Do That are Actually Super-Gross

2015-07-27T09:00:00.000-05:00

My husband and I often joke that God made little kids so cute to keep us from tossing them out the window. I don't know how things go down at your house, but that certainly holds true when I just spent the last 30 minutes cleaning the kitchen and wiping the patio door only to have a kid come dump his bowl of blueberries all over the floor, stomp on them and then go stick their sticky palms all over the door when I ~~holler at them~~ calmly ask them to go outside while I clean it up. That's why I gave up on trying to clean my kitchen. Overrated, if you ask me.

Anyway, when I'm done picking up squished blueberries from the floor and wiping fresh fingerprints off the glass, I look out on the patio and see that little stinker walking around in his "toadies" and using a stick to chase the ants. He follows one around, tries to poke it, then heads off after another, talking to them as if they were his best friends. He catches me watching him, looks up, and gives me a wave and that goofy grin that makes me forget all about the rotten apple core I found in the laundry basket earlier that week.

Cutie patootie. He probably just thought "laundry basket" was a distant cousin of "waste basket." An understandable error.

Come to think of it, there are plenty of cute things that kids do that are actually pretty gross when you really think about it.

1. Announce and describe their bathroom behaviors

One kid has developed a habit of providing play-by-play commentary when he goes to the bathroom. It could be titled "Adventures in Defecation." He will come out of his room at 4:30 in the morning and quietly close the door behind him, only to stand in the hallway and yell at the top of his lungs, "I NEED TO GO POOOOP!" Then after we yell back in our bleary voices to go ahead and go for crying out loud, he waits a couple minutes before announcing, "Mommy! Daddy! I got a LOT of poops! Dat's a BIG poop! Oh boy, dat's a DADDY poop!" Adorable? Yes. Disgusting? Absolutely. Next thing you know, I'm laughing in my sleep.

2. Sneeze

I have three kids who all sneeze in very different, yet very cute ways. Isaiah scrunches up his nose like a bunny with allergies before sneezing with a very textbook "Achoo!" When Thomas sneezes, it's like a kitten snuck up on a chipmunk. But Micah....his sneezes attack him. He will let loose three to five sneezes in a row, each one ripping through his entire body like a lightning bolt and shooting snot and spit all over the place as if someone had stuck their thumb over the opening of a garden hose and suddenly released it. Sometimes he looks like a pirate after he sneezes. There have been times when Micah has sneezed and I have turned around to find him wide-eyed and screaming, panicking as he tries to find a Kleenex to wipe away the snot that is currently hanging down below his chin. Is it wrong that sometimes I just watch the show for my own entertainment instead of pointing out the Kleenex box?

3. Pulling out baby teeth

We all get excited about this, don't we? I remember one particularly stubborn tooth I had as a kid that I could actually spin around in my mouth without it detaching. If I had yanked even just a little bit, the root would have let go, but I took a sick pleasure in spinning that tooth with my tongue. Our oldest has lost four teeth now, the most recent just tonight. At breakfast this morning, he would put his finger on top of it and pull it so far forward that it hung out like a saber-tooth tiger tusk. And he was ecstatic. And when he yanked it out of his mouth later, leaving a gaping bloody hole behind, we all smiled and cheered and high-fived while he soaked up the blood with a tissue. See? Super-cute yet super-gross.

4. Burping and Farting

Admittedly, this one might be more of an issue in my house considering that I have three stinky sons running around. When a belch sneaks up on them in the middle of dinner, it explodes out of their mouth like a cannon and they immediately bust out laughing. We remind them to say "Excuse me," of course, but they don't hear us because they are too busy basking in the afterglow of their gastrointestinal foghorn blast. And then there is the farting. Doggonit, I just can't help it but it's freaking cute when my kid is just trying to pick up his toys and it sounds like the entire tuba section of the Wisconsin Marching Band got drunk and moved into his butt.

5. Naked Time

This part is going to get a little weird because I need to choose my words carefully here so that I don't inadvertently add a bunch of search terms to my content that would attract the super-creepy weirdos to the blog. I've got enough problems, thankyouverymuch. So, again I would like to remind you that I have BOYS. All boys. When they get it in their sweet little heads to go au naturale, there is precisely zero I can do about it....because my husband eggs them on and because their little tushies are just so freaking cute. Once, I got a photo of one of my kids doing a back-bend turned flip over the arm of the couch in this particular state. And then there was the time THIS happened:

Classic and totes adorbs. That is, until they sit on my lap and I smell a little something-something an I realize that a sub-par wipe job from an escapade related to #1 on this list just took place and suddenly I find myself wanting to burn my clothes, get new furniture, and take a nap until my kids are grown-ups.

So, yeah. They're cute little boogers, but they are freaking disgusting. If I hadn't really wanted to get into the living room at a reasonable hour to be able to watch an episode of Friday Night Lights on Netflix, I probably could have come up with more.

But I'd love to hear your stories! Any tales of adorable/grossness to share?

Face Down in the Rain

2015-07-23T09:00:00.000-05:00

There are plenty of good days - days when the sun is shining, patience is generous, laughter is bright. Days when the little things remain little and the blessings loom large.

Many days start out like this and then can change in an instant. Sometimes it feels like the anxiety is waiting right on the other side of the door, crouched and ready to make its move at precisely the perfect moment.

It might be a photograph, a news headline, a text message, an announcement on Facebook. Just a little drop of rain that sets off a storm.

That day, for me it was a song lyric.

"Earth has no sorrow that heaven can't heal."

Sometimes I listen to Spotify while I work and I had been lost in a playlist created by Lauren Daigle. With the notes of Hillsong and Kari Jobe floating through the headphones, I clicked over to Facebook. Not that surprising considering I am in charge of my ministry's social media. There's a good chance I was going to find some funny Buzzfeed quiz and share it on my timeline though. I scrolled quickly down the page and I stopped when I suddenly saw her lovely face.

Have you ever found out something terrible via social media and felt a fresh kind of powerlessness?

On that night in February, I was simply checking Facebook quickly before going to bed. No big deal, same thing I do nearly every night. But there was something very wrong. The posts from my friends and colleagues from the community we last lived in in were laced with grief and disbelief. It took me about 3 minutes to dig a little deeper and find out what had happened.

A former student of mine had committed suicide.

Roxie.

The girl with handwriting that looked like it should be a font, the soft-spoken voice with ambitions and large opinions, a gift for dance, empathy and doing hard things.

She had been my student, yes. But she had also become my friend over the years.

She had become a writer, using a blog to work out her feelings of darkness and depression. Roxie had sent me a Facebook message about a year ago, inviting me to read her words and meet her in that place.

And then it defeated her. And as the truth of the news hit me, my knees buckled and I hit the floor as the cries of "No! No!" started to fly out of my mouth.

So there I was at my desk, more than 5 months after Roxie's death. Scrolling down my timeline once again. Someone had posted a video of her dancing along with a link to this news story that was released after her death.

Reading about Roxie, remembering her and grieving for her once again, I found myself starting to cry. For Roxie, yes. But also for the dark places I have found myself in, sometimes afraid I wouldn’t be able to find my way out.

Then Come as You Are by Crowder began to play in my ears.

Come out of sadness

From wherever you've been

Come broken hearted

Let rescue begin

Come find your mercy

Oh sinner come kneel

Earth has no sorrow

That heaven can't heal

Earth has no sorrow

That heaven can't heal

There are times when I feel so broken and hurting that I wonder if rescue is possible, if it is even worth it. Days when I can't even explain why I'm so sad, so angry, so defeated.

There's hope for the hopeless

And all those who've strayed

Come sit at the table

Come taste the grace

There's rest for the weary

Rest that endures

Earth has no sorrow

That heaven can't cure

Exhaustion weighs on me and I often have to fight the urge to stay in bed and hide for days. It's a tired that goes beyond just needing sleep.

So lay down your burdens

Lay down your shame

All who are broken

Lift up your face

Oh wanderer come home

You're not too far

So lay down your hurt

Lay down your heart

Come as you are

Then come the moments when the ghosts I thought were banished come back to torment me one again, whispering lies to my heart with increasing intensity, convincing me of things my head knows to be false, but yet I somehow keep crawling back to believing them.

Run home, sweet girl.

I often find myself face down in the rain, breathing heavily, tears mixing with the raindrops. My fists pound into the ground and I scream out in frustration, wondering how on earth I wound up here again.

Sometimes I linger there a bit too long and it becomes more difficult to get up.

But if I'm willing to look up, to lift my head up out of the mud and show my face, He is always there. Waiting. And though I am ashamed of my mess, tired and beaten and brought low, I know that I will never be left there in the darkness alone.

And as I think of the mud, the darkness, and Roxie….I find this piece from Ann Voskamp.

The best way to tend to your open wounds is to open your arms.

So this is me, Lord, opening my arms. Coming just as I am, busted and broken.

Ann says "sometimes you just need someone to storm Heaven for you."

I wonder if someone pounded on the gates for Roxie.

It should have been me. She invited me in, reached out to me with what strength she has as she lay there in the darkness.

I saw here there. I met her there. And then I left, expecting her to follow me.

I should have stormed Heaven for her. I should have shook its gates until the hinges broke.

I didn't understand. And I'm so sorry, Roxie.

So very sorry.

On Stall Talkers. Or, the Post Where I Write about Jesus and Poop.

2015-07-21T14:30:00.003-05:00

The way I see it, there are two kinds of women in the world.

Stall Talkers and Stall Sitters.

Everyone knows we ladies like to go to the bathroom in packs. We chat the whole way to the door, chat while we wipe the smudged mascara away from the creases around our eyes and then complain about said creases as we smooth the flyaway hairs down and try to get our bra straps to stay put. We share stories about our kids while we wash our hands or maybe even give feedback on one another's outfits while we pick remnants of spinach out of our teeth.

I don’t know what goes on over in the men's room, but I will tell you this much. Bathroom time is prime social time for ladies. And there are some who choose to take advantage of it to a higher degree than others.

Stall Sitters will talk like crazy right up until the moment their stall door closes and locks. Then they shut up. They like to have a little quiet time to take care of business before commencing social hour upon their emergence from the stall.

Stall Talkers see the walls of bathroom stalls as physical barriers only and will continue their conversation long after the lock has been secured on the door. It doesn't matter that they can no longer actually see their friend's face or that they are now adding inadvertent bodily sounds to their prose, the show MUST go on!

There was a pretty significant phase in my life when I was a Stall Talker. I grew up in a house with only one bathroom and sometimes you had to multi-task a bit. If my mom was in the bathroom but I really needed her to agree to drive my friend and I to the movies because I was on the phone with said friend at that very second which meant I had stretched the spiraled cord (yes….the CORD) out so far that it now looked like a strand of my curly hair when I'm stranded outside on a humid day, I was NOT about to wait until she was done in there and then risk trying to call my friend back and getting the dreaded BUSY SIGNAL.

I'm betting there are kids I work with right now who have never actually heard a busy signal. In other "make you feel old" news, the movie Clueless came out 20 years ago and the twins Chandler and Monica adopted would be turning 11 this year.

I cannot even tell you the number of times growing up that my mom would march right into that bathroom with no concern whatsoever for a closed door or a person on the toilet. If she needed to get something done in there, by golly she was going to do it.

I grew up a Stall Talker.

Then I had kids and I became a Stall Sitter - simply because it was suddenly impossible to be one.

Once I had babies who grew into toddlers who could walk and talk and open door handles, I came to truly appreciate the beauty of a closed bathroom door. There was a solid five year period there where I rarely got to conduct my bathroom business in solitude. I always had some sort of company - the door handle jiggling, shrieking and crying, fingers crawling from underneath the door, a kid who has suddenly become a home invasion prodigy picking the lock and marching in to play with the toothpaste.

I have one particularly vivid memory of a nursing newborn, a clingy toddler and a bladder that couldn't wait. I made it work. One kid ate while the other kid emptied a box of tampons all over the floor.

But now that the boys have mostly moved beyond this stage, I confidently close and LOCK that door. When I'm in public, I prefer to push the pause button on conversation during stall time because I can't help but find it a smidge weird.

It's just that somehow I managed to make friends with a whole gaggle of Stall Talkers! All the time, I find myself awkwardly trapped in a conversation with someone who wants to just keep plugging along while the Tinkle Tune plays and I wind up offering little more than the obligatory "Uh huh" and "Yeah" until I have safely flushed, zipped and emerged. What's even worse is when the Stall Talker waits for you to come out and just keeps on a'talking to you while she and her empty bladder and freshly washed hands wait for you to get 'er done.

And then I come out and she looks at me all like "I know what you did in there."

There are plenty of situations where I work well under pressure.

This is not one of them.

Know what's really fun though? When I, a Stall Sitter, find myself inadvertently sandwiched in a stall in between two Stall Talkers. Suddenly these gals can't just use their normal speaking voice to carry on their conversation anymore and have to kick it up a notch. So now I'm trying to use muscles I didn't even know existed to keep my presence as inconspicuous as possible while the women on either side of me are straight up yelling at one another about the cute striped skirt they found on clearance and the concerns about whether or not it would go with that pink top she got last week and is it too skanky to wear to church this weekend?

Honey, if you have to ask your bathroom buddy if that skirt appropriate for church…..it's not. I can tell you right now from my isolated bathroom stall, it's just not.

So let's agree to disagree on this one. If you are a Stall Talker, I extend to you grace and acceptance.

(Custom suggests I add a "in the name of Jesus" at the end of that last sentence, but I'm not sure what his stance on the issue of toilet talk is because I suspect that must have been recorded by one of the disciples whose work never made the final cut for the Bible. Pretty sure that guy was a Stall Talker who just couldn't get enough grace and gospel talk so he just kept on going and likely wrote down stuff that Jesus said while pooping. I'm sure it was great and all because, hello, he's Jesus. It's just that I think it's kind of a violation of Jesus's privacy to record his bathroom banter. Just my two cents.)

(And yes, I'm positive Jesus pooped. Fully human and all that. Although I might argue that even though it's not explicitly stated in the Bible, it wouldn't surprise me in the slightest if he was the one person EVER who could actually say for real that it didn't stink.)

(If someone actually HAD written down stuff that Jesus said in the bathroom, I'm pretty sure it would be recorded in the Gospel of John.)

5 Instagram Feeds I'm Loving Right Now

2015-07-16T15:43:00.000-05:00

With the numerous social media platforms out there beckoning for our attention, it can be easy to get lost pretty quickly. I'm sure I'm not the only one who has clicked over to "check Facebook real quick" only to come up for air an hour later and wonder what the heck just happened. Wherever my brain goes during that time must be the same setting that kicks in when I see pretty nail polish at Target. Next thing you know I'm snapping back to attention in the checkout lane where I realize I have bug spray, a clearance purse, a candle, mascara, a throw pillow and a pack of pens in my cart and I have zero recollection of the previous hour of my life. Is it possible that Target secretly pumps some sort of hallucinogen through their air ducts?

If my friend who is basically in charge of a Target store is reading this, please know that I am totally joking. Except about the mystery items in my purse - that happens all the time.

What I love about Instagram is that it is a platform that allows for such variety of material - cute photos of my online friends' families, incredible shots of nature at its finest, perfectly lit photographs of food made to look like art, and more selfies than you can shake a Selfie Stick at. Choose who you follow wisely and flipping your thumb across the surface of your phone screen can be a way to cultivate a community, get inspired and be challenged.

Today I'm sharing five Instagram folks who I have come to ADORE. Their photo streams are always lovely in their own unique ways. None of these people have any clue I'm writing this post, so I promise you that my endorsement of them is not coerced in any way.

1. To Find Your Next Favorite Book....

@whatstephreads

Friends, I can't even tell you how many books I have put on my library hold list simply because Stephanie Howell posted them on Instagram. First of all, I'm becoming more and more convinced that Stephanie is secretly some sort of robot or angel because it should not be physically possible to read as many book as she does while also being Mama to FOUR little girls.....and pregnant with a fifth child....while stationed in Italy with her Ranger husband who also travels all the time. It's amazeballs. Second, she has impeccable taste in books. If she doesn't like it within the first couple chapters, she ditches it and moves on quickly. I've both chosen and avoided books specifically because I trust Stephanie's' judgment. Finally, I have yet to encounter anyone else who makes books look this sexy. Stephanie created this Instagram specifically for books because those posts were so popular on her personal feed (which is also GORGEOUS, by the way). She's only posted 26 photos and already has over a thousand followers! Girlfriend knows how to take a beautiful photo. I could gush all day.

That's two for the price of one, for those of you keeping track at home.

2. Make a Smoothie that Looks as Good as it Tastes....

@dearcrissy

Crissy Page is one of those bloggers that apparently everyone but me already knew about. I don't remember how I stumbled across her page, but it has been her Instagram feed that has me hooked. Crissy is working hard at eating clean and while trendy food stuff would usually turn me off, her beautiful photos of her smoothies.....yes, smoothies....have me coming back again and again. She really inspired me to try to get back into eating better and I'm started with smoothies. I pull up her photos nearly every day to see what kind of smoothie I should make for breakfast.

3. Experience the Wonders of the World....

@natgeo

How did it take me this long to start following National Geographic? There is so much here to enjoy - portraits of humanity, striking images of creation, and accidental photos of the inside of an elephant seal's mouth as he prepares to bite the head off the photographer. No, I'm not kidding.

Now, go change your pants and follow this account immediately. This Instagram feed is a can't miss.

4. Revisit our History in a Whole New Way

@historyphotographed

This is one of those feeds that is known for being like a box of chocolates - you never really know what you're going to get. As I'm writing this post, the most recent post shows a waitress from 1950 giving a bear a bowl of honey at the counter of a cafe. From cinema icons like Charlie Chaplin and Audrey Hepburn and sports legends like Muhammad Ali to pop culture figures like Will Smith and Britney Spears, this quirky account loves to share the shots that make you look at history through a whole new lens.

Recent photos include a bikini-clad young woman in Iran prior to the revolution, the original design for Mount Rushmore before the funding ran out and a couple kissing under the mistletoe in 1940....wearing gas masks. WARNING: you're not going to want to stop scrolling!

5. For the Days When You are Just DONE and Want to Sell Your Kids to the Circus

@thrive_moms

There are just some days when you have already HAD IT before your cup of coffee is even halfway gone. Thrive Moms gets it. When I need reassurance that I can totally survive this whole parenthood thing, I come here. When I need to be reminded that I am not defined by the moment when I lost my temper over the LEGO crammed into the DVD player, I bust out the secret chocolate stash. Then I come here while I eat it.....hiding in my closet. This community is encouraging, honest, and unapologetic in they way they always point mothers back to the perfect grace of Christ. LOVE IT.

What are your favorite Instagram destinations? I would love to hear all about them!

While you're scrolling through all this these new lovely photos, be sure to follow me on Instagram and we can bond over photos of my three-year-old working his game at the public pool or name the dinosaur who came to our camp-out. Good times.

Mommy Slumps Now

2015-07-13T09:00:00.000-05:00

Grace and coordination have never been my spiritual gifts. In fact, they swim in the same pool as athleticism, patience, and spontaneity. I can remember people's names and obscure movie titles like a boss, but please do not ask me to overhand serve a volleyball. It's horrifying.

When I was 14, I actually played club volleyball. As in, my mom and dad paid money for me to play on this team, go to practice, compete in matches. You know, the usual. Right before one particular match, my coach came up to me and told me that I was more than welcome to keep practicing and coming along to games, but that I wouldn't be seeing much playing time.

As it turns out, we couldn't even PAY HER TO PLAY ME. I was that bad.

By some miracle, I tried out for the poms squad my senior year and actually made the team. It took me an entire summer to teach myself to do a full split, but that was cake in comparison to having to learn something like a dozen dance routines in about two weeks at a camp. The spinning, the jumping, the high kicking….all on a beat. I worked hard and did my best, but I'm pretty sure I still looked a little like Mary Katherine Gallagher at the end.

At the end of the season, I won the "Most Improved" award. At least it would have been more accurate to just come right out and engrave it with "Fattest Girl on the Team Managed to NOT DIE"

Do not even get me started on the thoughts that race through my head during a Zumba class. Why oh why do gyms insist on putting mirrors on every. Single. Wall?

Now, despite my lack of abilities in this department, I have actually managed to make it this far in my life having only broken one bone - the middle finger on my right hand. Ask me about it some time - I'll be happy to show ya. :)

My sister and I were playing this stupid game where we had to take a running start and then see who could jump highest over a rope. Our fatal mistake was that we set up this game in our living room about two feet from the couch, so when I went high-jumping over the rope, I came crashing down into the leg of the couch, snapping my finger like a twig. To this day, that finger is crooked because I was the 6th grade typing champion at the time and I'll be darned if I was going to let some stupid splint keep me from holding that title in my keyboarding class.

I also remember that the keyboarding teacher's name was Mrs. Seamen and I couldn't help but think that if it were me, I probably would have kept my maiden name. Just my two cents.

Take all this evidence into consideration before I tell you the story of how I managed to break my foot on our very first morning of vacation. (Not the unfortunate reproductive fluid comment, though. That was for free.)

Evan and I were sleeping on an air mattress in the main living area of a cottage, our boys were sleeping in the first bedroom down the hall, two people in the next bedroom, two more people in the far bedroom, and yet another in the room adjacent to us. It was a full house. It was also 5:30 in the morning and we had been up past midnight.

I woke to the sound of an alarm clock, which was strange because the whole definition of vacation in my book is that alarm clocks are not invited. I realized the sound was coming from the boys' room so I climbed out of bed to investigate. Apparently one of my dopey children had been monkeying with the alarm clock in their room the day before and had somehow set an alarm for 5:30 in the flipping morning. Since I was a bit fuzzy and incoherent, what with the not having any coffee in my bloodstream and all, I stumbled into their room to turn the blasted thing off. I slapped at it like a bear pawing at a bee hive until it finally shut off and we all went back to bed.

I shut my eyes and promptly fell back asleep….for 9 minutes.

I had only hit the snooze alarm. The alarm was sounding again.

Our air mattress is awesome - the most comfortable one we have ever slept on. Not a commercial, just a fact. (Yes, that's an affiliate link right there.) It self-inflates and rises to be set pretty high up off the ground. Makes for great sleeping, but it also makes things a little precarious when you are trying to get out of bed quickly because that damn alarm is sounding again, the boys are whining, there still is no coffee in the picture, and husband is not showing any intention of getting involved in this situation.

Yet.

Springing out of bed, I tried to pivot toward the room and take a step at the same time. It did not work as I had hoped.

Instead, I came down with my full weight on the side of my foot and I just crumpled in pain. Evan fully awoke to the sound of my cries of pain combined with the still-beeping alarm clock, and the boys yelling for someone to hurry the heck up and turn the stupid thing off.

By the time he came back from just unplugging the clock, I was still face-down on the futon and still whimpering in pain.

Long story short, I spent the next couple days hobbling around on a bruised swollen foot only when necessary and having to force myself to sit down for long stretches of time with my foot up and a book in my hands. It was rough, but I had to just sit back and let Evan deal with most of the parenting-related situations and bring me a fresh beer from time to time.

Ok, fine. It probably forced me to actually enjoy our vacation a bit. Blessings in disguise and what not.

However, it certainly gave the rest of our trip a little different dynamic. When the caravan and I pulled into my friend Sara's driveway a couple days later, I did my best to help unload the van and schlep all our gear upstairs while somewhat resembling Igor from Young Frankenstein but with more hair. As I returned to the kitchen, my friend was having a conversation with my oldest son.

"Yeah, she fell getting out of bed," he explained, "So Mommy slumps now."

I continued to "slump" for the duration of vacation and because I'm stubborn, a few more days after that. It took me until Day 10 after the initial injury to finally suck it up and realize that perhaps my foot wouldn't still be so swollen and painful if it really wasn't a simple sprain like I had hoped.

One urgent care visit and x-ray later, I texted my husband: I BROKE MY DAMN FOOT.

At least my husband thinks slumping is sexy.

Probably should try to get a pedicure sometime this week. Also, I'm currently accepting submissions for alternative stories to explain how I broke my foot rather than the lame line of truth - "getting out of bed."

Why I'm Glad Someone Stole My Camera

2015-07-09T08:17:00.000-05:00

Eleven years ago, my camera was stolen.

To be precise, my knock-off Prada purse was stolen off the sidewalk where I had set it down and the camera happened to be inside it. You see, this was back in the day when we would buy a small camera that was actually separate from our phone so I was in the unfortunate position of being unable to carry my camera around in my back pocket.

At the time of the theft, I was wearing a white t-shirt riddled with the remnants of half-eaten Lifesavers and I'm pretty sure there was a stain on the back from where someone had spilled a shot of Jägermeister on me. I hate black licorice, so any inkling of keeping that shirt quickly faded after that little mishap.

I remember laying down in the back of someone's car - I honestly don't even know whose it was - and crying because I wouldn't have any photos to remember the night.

As a now 31-year-old mother of three, I have just one thing to say about this incident.

THANK GOD SOMEONE STOLE THAT PURSE.

Yes, I lost all $100 I had "earned" with my Suck-for-a-Buck T-shirt that was going to buy all of us pizza at 3 am and sure, my fake ID was in there and yeah ok, that purse was super-cute. But inside that purse was the photographic evidence of one of the most embarrassing nights of my life -

MY BACHELORETTE PARTY.

Just so we are all on the same page here, let's go over the basics of the evening so you can paint the picture in your mind.

I was 20 years old. As in, NOT 21 years old. As in, I had absolutely no business being in any of the places I went that night. Ahem.
My co-workers threw me the party because my maid-of-honor was only 17 years old at the time. As it turns out, the legal age ladies I worked with didn't really know my particular tastes.
Having any sort of "particular tastes" about anything ceases to matter after 10 Jello shots.

It's going to be really interesting when I have to talk to my sons someday about my college years.

If I actually had any photos from that night, this would be where I would insert one.

So somewhere out there in the world is a memory card that came out of a Canon Powershot camera, plucked from the sidewalk outside a bar (of course I don't remember which one) in Madison, WI on the very same evening in June of 2004 that a tornado destroyed a good chunk of my hometown. While that twister ripped houses and trees to pieces, I was busy putting my liver through the ringer and collecting money from strangers to eat a piece of candy off my shirt.

At some level, I guess I was doing the same thing to myself that the tornado was doing to the good city of Waupun, causing senseless destruction. My husband's aunt and uncle had just finished building their dream home and had lived in it for about a week when they found themselves huddled under the basement steps as the tornado tore away the house from on top of them.

Image Source: http://www.weather.gov/images/mkx/doc-events/tornado/062304/alto2.jpg

Vance and Sheri still came to my wedding a mere 10 days after narrowly escaping with their lives and losing every single possession they had.

And in the back of my mind, I knew that at the exact same time they were huddled in fear under those stairs, I was drowning my fears and insecurities in mixed drinks and carelessness. I still remember greeting our guests after the wedding and absolutely LOSING IT when I hugged Sheri because I was just. so. ashamed.

I can never run for public office because I guarantee you those photos would suddenly show up and I would have to hold them up right next to the photo you see above.

And I'm pretty sure I would want to huddle under my own basement stairs and cry.

There would be blurry photos of a server from Red Lobster dressed like a strange mix of Raging Bull and Tarzan, dancing to a loud bass beat while women squealed. It wouldn't surprise me if there was a photo of me stumbling down the street, my weight supported by a girl named Mimi. My memory is a bit sketchy, but I know that cans of whipped cream made an appearance at some point.

There's more. Much more. But in the name of keeping at least a little slice of my dignity intact, I'm going to stop there. Just trust me when I tell you that it was worse than a "teen" show on ABC Family.

As it stands, my recollection of the evening is sketchy at best.

At that time in my life, I worked hard at trying to tear down the person that my family had built while still maintaining the attractive exterior. I made some bad choices, got a pretty serious case of Pride that I still haven't quite been able to shake, and really did the best I could to destroy what I saw as broken. There were times when I really didn't see much worth saving, actually. Those were the times when I did the worst damage.

Vance and Sheri's rebuilt house is beautiful. In the backyard, countless hours of labor were spent hauling and stacking rocks and pavers to create an environment where family could gather to laugh, cook hot dogs and s'mores, share good food and chase kids around. And the best part is the area where all those stone stack up to create steps that are perfect for setting up a family photo.

Eleven years.

I am passionate about using storytelling, humor, and creativity to bring encouragement to people. Some might call it "misery loves company," but that's splitting hairs from where I'm sitting. Yeah, I write about some of my soul junk on the Internet. And then I share it in the hopes that more people will read it and then share it with others. It's crazy, I know.

I find joy in being along for the ride as God has pushed me to share the more ugly sides of myself and my story because there is always someone out there who needed to hear that they aren't alone, that God can rewrite any story to make it beautiful. Long story short, writing is kind of my ministry. In a twisted, snarky sort of way.

What if someone out there is still deep in the midst of their own destruction, splintering beams and tearing down walls, not realizing that when the storm passes, there is beauty to be found?

Some days will be harder to see than others, but I see that beauty now.

In his blue eyes.

In loving smiles.

In family.

All rebuilt on ground that was once all but destroyed.

I can't say that the rebuilding process is complete in me, but what I can tell you is that there has been so much restoration. I heard Sheri say once that the second house ended up even better than the first because they were able to fix some of the mistakes they had made the first time around.

In my heart, it went way beyond a poorly placed linen closet. There is still so much work yet to be done.

For me, seeing those photos would be like looking at the photos of the wreckage. Instead, I'd rather emerge from under the stairs and get absolutely awestruck by how our amazing God can turn rubble into beauty.

These photos are now 5 years old, but I love seeing baby Micah's chubby smiles held up in front of that resurrected house. And even though it's taking every ounce of restraint I have not to scrutinize the post-baby jiggle I've got going on, I would rather look at these photos any day.

As it turns out, God is in the business of rebuilding what is broken.

For while we were still weak, at the right time Christ died for the ungodly. For one will scarcely die for a righteous person—though perhaps for a good person one would dare even to die— but God shows his love for us in that while we were still sinners, Christ died for us.

Romans 5: 6-8

Vacation Bullet Points

2015-07-07T09:30:00.000-05:00

I owe you a recap post of our recent family vacation, partly because I'm getting old and if I don't blog about it, the odds of me remembering it are pretty slim and also because there's a lot of good stuff to write about.

We arrived home from our travels, emptied out the minivan into piles all over our house, and I collapsed onto the bed. The kids went across the street to play (thank God!) and I got to work putting everything away. I finally got everything either unloaded or in the laundry and, I kid you not, I passed out. I remember laying down on the bed to snuggle with our dog and the next thing I knew, I was waking up hours later.

I feel like I need a solo vacation now that the family vacation is over.

Here are just a few highlights I need to fill you in on:

- The story of how I got out of bed one morning and destroyed my foot. Eight days later, I am still limping.

- How Micah was pretending to be a shark and then I thought he was pretending to be drowning...only, he was maybe kinda sorta actually drowning. A little bit.

- We got lost....a lot. As in, at least four times. Picture me holding my phone, staring at the little navigation triangle like it was some sort of haunted Ouija board piece and screaming/crying because my beloved technology was failing me.

- That time when Micah lost his mind on the train platform in Chicago and we had to grab hold of him to keep him from running in front of an oncoming train while he shrieked bloody murder. We are pretty sure the good citizens of Chicago thought we were trying to kidnap the child.

- When we accidentally walked into the lobby of the Trump International Hotel carrying our Spiderman tote bag and souvenir Rainforest Cafe margarita glasses and felt just a little....out of place.

- I cried like a baby over an animated character named Bing Bong.

- There was the day Isaiah took on his fear of being pulled in an tube behind a speedboat and also the day that Micah took on his fear of giant slides at the carnival. And boats. And water (see earlier). And riding a bike without training wheels. (It was a big week for Micah.)

- A friend of mine and I went out for dinner and I had a sushi roll called Sexy Bacon. It was glorious.

- And then there's the story of Micah doing THIS to his face:

Like I said, lots to talk about. But for now, my foot still hurts and there's a couple baskets of unfolded laundry I need to stare at. Hoping the motivation returns tomorrow!

Holy Mother, Batman!

2015-07-01T09:00:00.000-05:00

A few weeks ago, a co-worker did an impression of me that was SPOT ON. As in, I laughed so hard that there had to me some necessary clenching to keep from wetting my pants just a little bit. Which reminds me, I still need to write that post about how that very embarrassing event actually happened a few months ago. Isn't it horrible that I keep teasing you with that and then I don't write it? It's just that it's a little intimidating to devote an entire post to something like peeing your pants as an adult. I imagine Beth Woolsey went through this same gauntlet of emotions as she sat down to write The Day I Pooped My Closet. That girl has guts for days for hitting Publish on that piece of work. I've said it before and I will say it again. You NEED to read that post. It is the absolutely BEST.

What were we talking about?

The impression of me. Right.

So I have a bunch of pointless exclamatory phrases I use on a regular basis. I recently adopted "Sweet Fancy Moses!" from Glennon Doyle Melton, but long before that one entered my vocabulary I've been known to have the following fly out of my mouth:

"Oh Mylanta!" - It's crucial to pronounce this one with a significant Midwestern accent. It's all in the nose. My-lain-tuh.

"For the Love!" - Used best when something is discovered that is so obviously stupid or frustrating that finding the appropriate words is too difficult. Instead, in true Hatmaker-style, I go with this one. It allows natural sarcasm to shine as the star, which I appreciate.

"Holy Hannah!" - I have no idea who Hannah is or why making an exclamation about her holiness is appropriate when someone comes around the corner unexpectedly and makes me jump out of my shoes, but I still say it all the time.

"Holy ________ Batman!" - Insert whatever surprising thing you would like in the blank. Shrimp, Margaritas, Traffic, Mullet, Dust-bunny, etc. Nothing like using your inner Robin to proclaim something to be incredible to your superhero buddy to give it emphasis.

My friend busted out a whole string of these, complete with my mannerisms, tone of voice, and Wisconsin accent. It was epic.

Obviously, there are whole lot of other phrases that, if we are really being honest, will sometimes come out of my mouth that involve the word "Holy" followed by another word that isn't always quite as complimentary. Why do we do that? At some point, I think we have all heard the phrase "Holier than Thou" and used it to describe someone who is puffed up, prideful, and feeling a bit too superior and perfect for their own good.

Holy.

It's a loaded word.

In 1 Peter 1:14-16, we get some pretty clear instructions about how we are to live our lives in Christ.

As obedient children, do not be conformed to the passions of your former ignorance, but as he who called you is holy, you also be holy in all your conduct, since it is written, 'You shall be holy, for I am holy."

Know what I think? I think motherhood helps make us holy.

When we are entrusted with the life of another human being who is fully dependent on us, we become acutely aware of our shortcomings and inadequacies. I don’t know about you, but when I was standing in the exam room with my son while the doctor described how he had a super-nasty double ear infection that must have been causing him severe pain for several days, I didn't exactly feel "holy" as I was recalling the numerous times I had told that kid that he was just fine and to stop wailing about it.

To be holy is to be set apart or separate. Achieving holiness involves sanctification - a refining process that uses extreme conditions or stress to cause impurities and faults to be brought to the surface so they can be removed, leaving behind something just a little more pure than before.

When I am standing in the kitchen and the anxiety is pressing in on me like a vice and the boys are yelling at one another over Pokemon cards and the dishes aren't done and there's supper to be made and my family is hurt because I don't call enough and then one kid hits another kid so I snap and yell so now all three are crying and I stop and really look around.

My busyness and selfishness.

My pride.

Anger and impatience.

The need for control.

All rising to the surface and put on display for everyone to see.

But it's those purposeful steps down the hall, the gentle opening of the door, the open arms that draw them in for a hug. It's my voice through the tears that whispers "I'm sorry" and asks for forgiveness. That's where it is. That moment when the great Refiner skims away that layer that had risen to the surface, leaving behind something just a bit more pure.

Holiness isn't about being better than someone else, doing more "good deeds," or walking a straighter line.

It's when we recognize our desperate need for a Savior that holiness even becomes possible because, heaven help us, we are absolutely LOST on our own. I don't know how it is in your house, but my kids remind me of that fact every single day. They test my patience, push boundaries, challenge my faith and force me to be courageous.

They push me toward holiness because they are constantly pushing me closer to Jesus.

And hopefully, by faith, the next time all bedlam breaks loose and the battle over the red Popsicle or whose turn it is to pick the show on Netflix is raging around me, I can find just a little more peace and patience than the last time around.

It is a slow and imperfect process, but God has never really been one for being in much of a hurry.

And that's how I write about peeing my pants and holiness in the same post.

*drops mic*

This post was inspired by Kayla Aimee’s new book, Anchored: Finding Hope in the Unexpected. Order your copy of #AnchoredHope today and receive this printable as a free gift by clicking here!

The F-Word

2015-06-25T09:00:00.000-05:00

A few days ago, I used the F-word in front of our senior pastor.

Wait, maybe I should back up a little. Set the scene a bit so you don't think I'm totally a monster. You see, I have a real problem with the F-word. As in, it flies a little too easily out of my mouth. Casual conversations, quick email responses, phone calls, you name it. It's just all too easy to use it.

And the thing is that I know that I shouldn't be throwing the F-word out there all the time like that. Clearly, it is a blatant misuse of language. When I use that word, I am sending a clear message, giving the hearer an impression of me that could be severely misleading.

So, there I was standing at the counter, waiting for my burger with no tomato and extra avocado, and the senior pastor of our church (and my BOSS, I might add) walked up next to me and smiled.

"How are you, Sarah?" he asked.

Without even giving it a moment of thought, the word jumped out of my mouth.

"Fine."

Have you been there? Where that word has been your automatic response when, truth be told, you are NOT fine. In fact, you are far from fine. But when you're standing in the lunch line, checking your kids in for their appointment at the dentist, or when you randomly run into a classmate you haven't seen in fifteen years, it's not like you're just going to go for it and unleash all the not-fine things going on right now, right? And maybe you actually ARE fine. Maybe you are healthy, your kids are healthy, your job is amazing, and there is nothing keeping you up at night right now, nothing causing you to chew your cuticles or hide Oreos in the pantry.

But as I waited for my burger that day, that was not my story. Things were not fine. I used the word anyway because it is safe. It's the response people expect, the polite reply that moves the conversation along without making it awkward. Nobody gets hurt, nobody's schedule is interrupted, and we can all walk away unharmed.

For someone who is always talking about the value of authenticity, vulnerability and honesty, I fully admit to the irony that I chose the safe way out….at least at first. As soon as I had uttered the F-word, I knew I had just lied and I decided to take the risk and be honest.

"Actually, I'm not really all that fine," I stated, "Things are kind of difficult right now. My schedule is a mess, I'm stressed about work, and our marriage is in a really tough place." I went on to elaborate about these things and my pastor was gracious enough to listen.

Now, I'm not saying that every time the cashier at Target asks how we are today we should be blurting out "Ohmygosh I have the WORST cramps today and I'm bleeding like a stuck pig!" There is a fine line between being authentic and TMI.

What I am saying is that when someone who cares about us (who we trust and respect) asks about our well-being, choosing to lie to them and just say "Fine" when it is very much NOT, is harmful to everyone. Wounds go un-healed, frustrations get bottled up, and often we begin to feel very much alone, wondering if anyone would even care about what we are going through anyway. The walls go up and we become determined to defend those boundaries, not allowing anyone to get too close out of fear that they might see the mess we like to keep hidden behind closed doors.

In my experience, the F-word does far more harm than good.

Now, it's not like I expected my pastor to abandon his burger, sit down with me right then and there and invest in a deep conversation about my marital issues, but I can tell you that in the few moments it took to tell him the truth and have him listen without judging, it made me feel a heck of a lot better. Because he had fixed all my troubles and made everything hunky-dory? Of course not! (Do people even use the term hunky-dory anymore?)

What makes all the difference is when we can listen and empathize with someone without judging them or trying to take control. When we take the F-word out of the equation, we are giving others permission to reach toward us and lovingly help us carry the weight that is too heavy for one set of shoulders alone.

In Galatians 6:2, Paul writes about "bearing one another's burdens." I love how The Message translates this passage:

Live creatively, friends. If someone falls into sin, forgivingly restore him, saving your critical comments for yourself. You might be needing forgiveness before the day’s out. Stoop down and reach out to those who are oppressed. Share their burdens, and so complete Christ’s law. If you think you are too good for that, you are badly deceived. (Galatians 6:1-3)

May we do just that. May we live creatively, moving beyond canned responses and apathy to a place where we can keep our mouths shut when necessary and our hearts open as we stoop down, stopping what we are doing to share the burden of someone else. We aren't called to fix it, but by meeting someone in their pain we are doing precisely what Christ called us to do - love our neighbor as ourselves.

By choosing to honest with my language and allowing myself to be authentic about my burdens, I am giving others the opportunity to be more Christ-like.

Can we challenge one another in this? Spouses, friends, family members, brothers & sisters of the Church? Let us not be deceived, we are not too good to admit when we are NOT fine.

How's that for a reason to quit using the F-Word?

June Stitch Fix Review

2015-06-23T09:00:00.000-05:00

Friends, this is a bittersweet moment for me. For the last two years, I have shared with you as my love affair with Stitch Fix has blossomed from infatuation to true love. 22 boxes of clothes delivered to my doorstep, chosen just for me. My closet has never been the same.

But I've realized that I really don't NEED a new box every month anymore, or even every other month. Would it be fun? Of course! I just want to be responsible with my resources, which means less Fixes showing up at my door and less reviews for me to write. In the meantime, I hope you'll enjoy this latest review and look back through some of my recent reviews to find something fabulous to request in your next Fix!

Super Quick Recap of Stitch Fix:

Sign up and get excited because you DON'T have to go to mall to shop for clothes!
Fill out your detailed Style Profile. Be very, VERY honest.
Start a Pinterest board dedicated to your personal style and include a link to it in your Style Profile. This is invaluable information for you stylist to chose the best items for you!
Schedule your first "Fix" and work yourself up into a frenzy as your personal stylist chooses some great clothes for you to try on
Pay your $20 styling fee and wait for the goodies to arrive on your doorstep
Receive a box full of items hand-picked by a personal stylist, just for you, based on your profile and your requests.
Try everything on, keep what you want, send back what you don't. (The $20 styling fee comes off the price of anything you choose to keep and if you buy all 5 items, you get a 25% discount!)

P.S. If you see anything pictured here that you would like your stylist to try out on you, PIN IT to that Pinterest board you share with your stylist. Make notes on the Pin about why you like it - the fit, the style, the color, whatever! The more info, the better your Fix.

Affiliate and referral links are used in this post.

First of all, I loved the colors I saw when I opened up this box. So fresh and fun and SUMMER.

Gilli Alina Mixed Geo Print Maxi Skirt - $58
Skies are Blue Topanga Crochet Detail Flutter Sleeve Blouse - from Fix #21

I love a good maxi skirt and they are my absolute favorite thing to wear in the summer because shorts are the devil. There is nothing worse that wearing a pair of shorts, sitting down, and seeing your thighs flatten and squish together like a couple blobs of flesh-toned Gak. The worst. Skirts are better. It's like wearing socially acceptable pajamas. This skirt was so soft, the length was perfect, and I really liked how it paired with that rockin' top from my last Fix. But....I already have THREE maxi skirts in my closet. And I just got done talking about how I need to be more responsible and mindful. Whose stupid idea was that?? Oh yeah, mine.

Loved it, but reluctantly chose to return it.

Daniel Rainn Bilson Pleated Blouse - $68
Distressed Jeans - from an unknown previous Fix I blogged about here

Funny story about this top. I already have it in a different print! I got this one way back in Fix #6!

Loved it then. Still love it now. And this floral print is so lovely. It is feminine and I love how it covers the areas I want to hide without being too billowy.

As you can see, it can be worn both tucked in and left loose and I really like it both ways.

Definitely a Keeper.

Fun2Fun Preston Open-Back Blouse - $38

Remember last time when I said I asked for something that would show off my tattoo while still being appropriate? My stylist for this Fix, Katelyn, just found it. I love the length of this top, the print, the wide straps, the fit that is just right.....

....and then there is the back.

I'm trying not to freak out about the fact that I just posted a photo of myself from behind on the Internet. Let's focus on this top. Again, the length is just right and covers my booty which I appreciate since I've been spending less time in the gym than I would like. But the open section is just enough to show my tattoo perfectly without being too revealing. And NO BRA STRAPS!

I'm in love. Keeper for sure!

41Hawthorn McAdams Beaded Neckline Blouse - $58

This top just makes me happy. Lovely beading on the neckline, perfect fit, fun color. Exactly my style. It took me all of 5 seconds to know this would be going in my closet.

Keeper.

Liverpool Raphael Denim Jacket - $88

The last item in this Fix was this fun denim jacket that I wish you could feel. The fabric was so smooth and soft, unlike any other denim jacket I had ever encountered. (Like I'm some sort of denim expert or something.) I liked the lighter wash, as it was something different than what I was expecting. However, I wasn't crazy about the way it fit me and I did already have one denim jacket in my closet.

Had to send this one back.

And in case you need proof that shooting these photos is slightly awkward, but still fun...I promised my assistant we would take a goofy photo when we were done, so I had to follow through!

Want to look back through my previous Stitch Fix boxes to get a better idea of what this is all about? Click on over this way, friend. It's my favorite way to not shop for clothes.

Have you seen enough? Ready to get started?

I am a Stitch Fix Affiliate, which means if you purchase anything through Stitch Fix, I do receive a little commission. But I love me some Stitch Fix and have been sharing the love long before I knew what the word "affiliate" meant so I wouldn't be telling you about it if I didn't love it. Thank you for helping me continue my love affair with Stitch Fix and keeping me from having to go back to shopping at the mall. I don't think I would even know how anymore.

5 Promises for My Children

2015-06-18T09:00:00.000-05:00

Dear Kids,

I love you guys so freaking much.

Do you know that? Do you really understand how, even in the moment when it seems like I am coming unhinged and hollering about how you left your dirty underwear on the kitchen table, I still love you like crazy? I mean, it does get a little challenging when I trip over your Beyblade stadium as I blunder into your room in the middle of the night because you woke me up to tell me that your socks came off. It's fine - no big deal. I'm pretty sure you were too sleepy to actually remember the swear word I muttered.

But, can I be totally honest with you for just a second?

Sometimes when you bury your head in my shoulder, hug me as tight as your little arms are able, and declare "I love you, Mommy," I feel the tiniest little pang of guilt rise up in my heart. Not because I don't love you too - because my darling, I love you fiercely. No, that guilt springs up because of a far more terrifying truth.

I have absolutely no idea what I'm doing.

When I send you to Time-Out for punching your brother in the nuts for playing with your new Spiderman LEGOs, I spend the whole time you are crying and yelling and screaming at me behind the closed door praying and breathing, just hoping I will have even an inkling of a clue what to say to you when I come to your room. Half the time, I stand there and rest my forehead on the wood, wondering for just a moment if I'm even cut out for any of this. As my hand reaches for the door handle, I have no Bible verses on my tongue, no firm admonition of the long-term lesson you should be learning from punching your brother in the junk (other than to please NOT punch your brother in the junk), heck….I'm probably using every ounce of energy I have left in me to keep myself from either crying myself or allowing my anger to get the better of me.

When I crumple on the floor with you wrapped in my arms as you beat your fists on my back, I am simultaneously pounding my fists at heaven and demanding why on earth God entrusted me with the lives of tiny humans when I am a disaster and have no clue how to run my own life, let alone how to steward and shepherd and all those other things I am supposed to be doing with your little souls.

Instead, I am left to wipe your tears, hold you tight, and just do the best I can. Even though I have absolutely no clue what I'm doing.

We may be figuring this whole thing out as we go, but there are things you can count on. Things that are non-negotiable that I want you to be able to rely on as sure as the sun will rise in the morning.

1. As long as I draw breath on this earth, you will be loved unconditionally for who you are.

I want you to know this promise as well as you know your own name. As you grow up there are going to be times when you will ask yourself the big "if" questions. The answer to "Will they still love me if _______" is always going to be YES. It doesn't matter what you fill in that blank with. Hard things are coming; I know that. Things that are much tougher to deal with than messy rooms and dirty underwear. It scares me to think about how we are going to navigate those hard times together, but above all else I want you to know that you will be loved through it. Nothing you could ever do in this world will cause me to love you and more or any less than I do right now.

2. We will do the best we know how to show you Jesus.

We are imperfect, broken, messy people. We screw up all the time. Sometimes I get angry and yell, sometimes I lose my patience, sometimes I will say the wrong thing, do the wrong thing, respond the wrong way. Someday, when you are older, I will tell you all about the disastrous choices I have made in my life that caused deep wounds in my soul and in my relationships. But God has this thing about using busted people to lead other busted people toward Him. I promise to do my very best to show you how to give and accept grace, how to love God and love others. My prayer is that the Holy Spirit will pick up my slack when I mess it up.

3. I will never, EVER allow you to have a pet snake.

I get that you think they're cool and I know you think it is hilarious to make me go into the reptile building at the zoo so you can watch me squirm uncomfortably as I imagine the glass disappearing as some unsuspecting child accidentally discovers they're a Parseltongue-speaking wizard and suddenly there's a ginormous boa constrictor slithering across the floor and your mother drops dead of fear and then you have to live with that guilt for the rest of your natural life. No snakes.

4. In this family, we do second chances.

We've already established that I'm a hot mess and I can guarantee you that your dad is too, but I've got a news flash for you kiddo. You're a hot mess too. Your heart is bent and twisted and there will be times that it will lead you in the wrong direction. Your emotions will deceive you and you will find yourself in a very painful place. Part of me wishes I could protect you from this experience. You will want to run and hide, but my prayer is that you will remember all the times I have whispered "I love you" in the dark and you will know that you can come to us. We can't promise to fix it, but we can promise to love you through it and remind you that our God is the god of second chances (Thanks Veggie Tales).

5. Someday all of this will make more sense.

Some of our decisions, rules, and expectations may seem ridiculous. When it seems like all your friends are doing whatever that thing is that kids are doing that seems absolutely essential to your survival and your stupid parents won't let you do it, so your life is OVER and you are convinced we are the worst parents ever….well, someday you will get it. In the moment, all your father and I can do is stand on the other side of the door, pray like crazy, and do the best we can. Because, as we've established, we have no idea what the heck we are doing. But neither did our parents or their parents before them. And someday, if it is God's will to bless you with kids of your own, you will find yourself sitting on the floor outside their room, praying like crazy because you have no idea what you're going to say when you walk in the door, and suddenly it will hit you that all that stuff your Dad and I went through with you - it all makes so much more sense now. But if, in that moment, you are trusting in the Lord to give you the words to speak to your child as you navigate through how to give them a second chance, show them Jesus, and love them unconditionally…..then baby, you've got it.

But I beg of you, don't let my grandbabies get a pet snake until after I'm dead. I would hate for them to live with the trauma of thinking they killed their grandmother.

It's All Fun and Games Until Someone Gets Chopped in the Throat (aka Micah's 4K Graduation)

2015-06-15T09:00:00.000-05:00

This one.

He wants to feel special. He is the middle brother, but certainly he is the outlier of the bunch. He feels it. When his brother introduces them to new people, he will say, "I'm Isaiah. I'm the older brother. This is Micah. He's the bigger brother."

He is always going to stand out from the crowd, I think. He's the one who refuses to wear his graduation cap with the rest of his class, the one who covers his ears because the singing is too loud. He is the one who wails that he is starrrrrving twenty minutes after polishing off a stack of pancakes.

Ok, fine. That's all of my boys. That might just be boys in general.

He's also the one who walks right up to complete strangers, flashes the smile and the dimple, and launches into conversation. In seconds, he will have told his new best friend his name, his age, what he wants for his birthday, and how he has superpowers that allow him to control the weather and fly. But his flying powers are broken right now, so he can't show you.

He is charming, hilarious, infuriating, and intoxicating. All at the same time.

I mean, just look at the photos I took of this boy at his little 4K graduation ceremony.

First of all, can we just all pause for a second and really ask ourselves why a bunch of 4 and 5 year old kids need a ceremony to transition to kindergarten? It's cute and all, but it's pretty clear the whole thing is much more for the parents than for the kids. The only ceremony I got to help me transition to kindergarten was a new backpack and a reminder that nobody likes a know-it-all.

First, our little graduate walked in the room, clutching his little red felt graduation cap in his hand. No matter how we tried to gesture wildly or plead with him in whispers to put it on, he refused. Strong-willed, always.

But then this happened and I pretty much lost it. After the class finished singing their cute little songs, we actually convinced Micah to put the hat on. He kept monkeying with it and ended up pulling it down over his eyes, which the kid next to him clearly thought was the funniest thing he has ever seen in his life.

I just kept snapping photos, trying to hold my phone still while my body shook with laughter.

And then while they handed out the certificates, the two of them launched into an epic ninja battle.

What graduation ceremony is complete without someone getting punched in the throat?

But, at the end of all the fuss and craziness of the ceremony, Micah got his certificate and became an official graduate of 4K. Let me tell you, that was no small feat for this child. He is the oldest kid in his class, clearly the biggest kid in his class, and one of the kids who struggles the most. He was identified as needing some support services early in the year, so I got to attend my very first IEP meeting as a parent rather than as a teacher.

He was identified as having some significant language processing issues that kept him from being able to focus in a large group, understand complex instructions, and process language in an effective way. He started to work with a speech and language teacher and the thing I was most thrilled by was not his progress or improvement in the areas I just mentioned, but rather in his perseverance.

He worked so hard. When something got tough, he kept trying. When his eyes would fill with tears because he didn't write his name exactly right, he would get himself under control and try again. When I would ask him to do three workbook pages of homework in the afternoon, he did not want to do it, but he pushed through and did it anyway.

That tenacity paid huge dividends and it was our sincere joy to take our boy in our arms, look him in the eye and speak the truth into his 5-year-old heart that he desires more than anything else - "We are so proud of you, son."

Not because his test scores went up and not because he improved at sorting things by color or shape. Not because he suddenly leaped up to the top of his class. We are proud of him because he busted his butt at being the best version of himself. What more could we ask?

No Cuts, No Buts, No Coconuts

2015-06-11T12:49:00.000-05:00

I like to listen to sermons while I exercise.

Before anyone goes thinking that this post is going to be about how I'm all holier than thou and what-not, just hear me out because I promise you there is a point that is the exact opposite of all of that.

So, picture with me a packed gym full of sweaty people on treadmills, lifting weights, reading magazines on the elliptical and the whole deal. When I started my workout, I was already halfway through one sermon, so once that one was done I clicked to go right on to the next one.

Ninety pounds on the inclined leg press, my knees bent and pushing up...down...up...down. And then all of a sudden the pastor in my ear buds introduces the title of today's message - No Cuts, No Buts, No Coconuts.

I burst out laughing, my knees buckled, dropped all the weight so it slammed down on the machine, and got a whole bunch of weird looks from the people around me.

That awkward moment when you realize you're listening to a sermon about circumcision in the middle of the gym.

But friends, this message from Pastor Levi Lusko at Fresh Life Church in Kalispell, Montanta....it is ON POINT.

In his message on Galatians 5, Lusko says, "Circumcision is alive and well today. In that, we in the year 2015, in our Christian expression in this cultural context, we still very much have ways that we get pushed away from focusing on the Savior to a system. Away from the relationship to rules, regulations, rituals, fine print, hidden clauses, things you gotta do, monthly payment plans to fulfill what was began at the Cross. Only now, it's not "Have you been circumcised yet?" but now it's "Oh, wow. You listen to secular music? Oh, that's cool. I just listen to Third Day and Mercy Me. I love Jesus.""

He continues on about how all these things we add to our Christian resume are ways we polish our halos and add another merit badge to our collection. Lusko is quick to point out that the works that we do in this life - serving, giving, donating our time and resources, adoption and all kinds of other things that we "do" - must always be done out of love and NEVER as a way to make God be pleased with us because nothing we do will ever cause God to love us any more or less than he does right now because when we are in Christ, He looks upon us and sees his perfect Son, regardless of whether we are in a season where we are struggling or "killing it."

Hearing this message coming into my ears after a day when our church was attacked by someone posting a YouTube video that slammed our church for playing secular music during a recent high school event....well, it's hard not to see that as more than a coincidence.

If you have a spare 45 minutes, whether you are out for a run or driving in your car or just escaping for a bit while the kids finally take a nap, I really encourage you to watch this sermon.

I challenge you to find another message where someone speaks such real truth about the gospel and grace that also incorporates circumcision, drugs, grass-fed butter and Lil Wayne.

Grace is like drugs. Because the power comes from the purity.

Once you do anything to make yourself feel "a cut above," you cut yourself off from the power of Christ. - Levi Lusko

Not joking. This dude can PREACH. Trust me, watch it.

I am so guilty of being the person to say, "Thanks for grace, Jesus, but I'll take it from here." May we always be about Jesus and always about His grace and not about trying to add anything to what is already His perfect plan.

The Lemonade Stand

2015-06-10T09:00:00.000-05:00

"I have to get some work done today," I said. "Two posts. At least. I absolutely MUST write at least two posts today. And I have research I need to do and another project I should get started on. Ok?"

So I went to my office/bedroom and sat down. I could hear the commotion in the kitchen as the four lemons I bought at the grocery store today were sliced, punctured, and squeezed to make homemade lemonade.

Perfect, I thought. The boys will be so busy with their lemonade stand that I can focus and get so much done!

Ah, the best laid plans.

Here's why setting up a lemonade stand didn't exactly work out as I had hoped.

"Mommy can you taste this lemonade to see if it is good?" Sure, honey. It needs more lemon. Tell Daddy it needs more lemon. Lemonade does sound kind of good on a warm day like today. Warm, but cloudy. Wait, are those rain clouds?

I should check to see if it's going to rain. I'd hate to have the kids' entrepreneurial dreams dashed by raindrops right after they open up shop. Check the weather on my phone app. Realize it is worthless so try weather.com instead. Looks like just some cloud cover but no rain in the forecast.

Should I be helping set up?

Do they even have change? I'd better dig through my wallet and find as many quarters as I can.

Hey look, gum!

I need to hide this gum somewhere where the kids won't find it because the last time they were allowed to have gum, I was finding it fossilized to the carpet on the floorboards of my minivan. Except for that one Micah swallowed right in front of us after we specifically told him not to.

I should really set up both computer screens. The most productive people use two screens when they work and I wouldn’t want Evan to think he had gone through all that trouble for nothing.

Better check my email.

Oooo look! New official portraits of Princess Charlotte with her big brother Prince George!!! Posting those to my Facebook wall, for sure.

Wind up watching the video that person from my high school posted of the senior class video she found on VHS in her basement. Cringe. Realize this video is 30 minutes long and I really need to get back to work.

See an image of myself flash across the screen from when I still wore braces. When is the last time I went to the dentist? Ugh, I really need to take care of that and make an appointment. Sounds like a lot of work.

Work. Know what would help me work? A beer.

What's that? The kids have a customer? Cute! I run out there to see as they hand the sweet neighbor girl her lemonade and remind Isaiah to use his manners.

"Isaiah, where are your brothers?"

Find the brothers. Come back in the house to scold Evan only to be interrupted by him reading aloud an article about how an email proved that FIFA and South Africa struck a 10 million dollar deal.

I miss football. How many days until football starts? Google "Green Bay Packers 2015 Schedule."

I wonder how much those tickets to the Bears game where Favre's jersey will be retired are running for folks.

I'm hungry.

It seems like all the successful bloggers are using Buffer or CoSchedule or one of those fancy pants social media schedulers. I really need to be doing that. Maybe just ten minutes researching that and then I'll know what direction I need to go in.

Has One Direction released anything new lately?

Wait, or is it One Republic I'm thinking of? Which one does "Love Runs Out?"

Music! That's what I need! I go grab the wireless speaker only to realize the battery is dead.

Pandora then.

Sure enough, it was One Republic, not One Direction I was thinking of. That's really confusing.

One Republic isn't really good writing music. I should probably do something like Lauren Daigle. I want to buy her whole album.

And "Forever" by Kari Jobe. Gotta have that one. It makes me cry every time.

BOYS WE DO NOT PLAY IN THE ROAD!!!!!!!!!

I have to pee.

These jeans are too tight. I should go to the gym later. And eat a salad for dinner. But Evan was going to grill tonight. Salad tomorrow.

Yoga pants. Yoga pants will help me work! Comfort is everything! Keep Calm and Wear Yoga Pants. Yoga Pants for president.

Where did I set down my beer?

Did anyone get the mail yesterday?

That's what I should do. I should write out five random notes of encouragement to people in my life. I have all this cute stationary that I never use and that's what a good friend/daughter/sister would do.

We are out of stamps. We've been out of stamps for months and I still haven't bought stamps.

Are stamps going the way of the cassette tape pretty soon? Could everyday digital postage be one the horizon?

Overhear from the living room - "Boys, just leave it alone! It's dog poop. You've seen dog poop before." Stand up and walk halfway across the room. I turn around and return to my chair.

Slam the rest of my beer. Open up OneNote.

Looks like I've finally got something to write about.

Hold Her Up

2015-06-08T09:00:00.000-05:00

On Saturdays, I usually work a 12-hour shift. This last Saturday was different. I left the restaurant early, before the afternoon rush had really kicked in, and drove to my church. Still dressed in my server black, I walked in and wandered through the crowd until I found a familiar face. We smiled weakly, greeted one another with quiet hellos. Looking around, I noticed that many of us had come. A small army of women - moms who had come to know one another over hot coffee, conversation, and the shared realization that each and every one of us was a beautiful disaster. Some were already wiping their eyes. Others were engaged in conversation that might, at first glance, appear to be normal.

Together, we walked up the stairs and took our seats in the balcony. I noticed Megan was wearing a suit. I complemented her on it even though Megan looks stunning in everything she wears, even if it's exercise pants and sneakers. We chatted quietly about her husband's new job while people filed into the seats around us and the piano music gently played. She even joked about how her husband brings his business associates out to eat at the restaurant I work at all the time and that she has warned him that he had better make sure to be nice to his server or she will blog about it and the entire church will know. I laughed and promised not to create a scandal.

We looked down at the main floor below us where the casket was draped in a floral arrangement of bright oranges and blue. Nearby, the young woman in the black dress pulled away from a hug, wiped her eyes, and looked up at the balcony. She made eye contact with us, our entire section of her sisters sitting together, and gave us a little wave and as much of a smile as she could muster.

She is so brave.

I did not expect the next hour to be as hard as it was. The friends and family who took the microphone spoke about a man I had only met a few times. I didn't really know him. But I know his wife. She and I would see each other every other week as we gathered with other young moms at our church. When I stood up in front of all those women and told my story, she sought me out and told me how much it resonated with her. Her words reassured me that my story mattered and that God was going to use the broken pieces I held in my heart to build something beautiful.

Her three young children, kids the same age as my boys, fidgeted restlessly next to her as the rest of us sat quietly and listened. My eyes often went to her. I saw her do so many normal things during her husband's funeral - hug her daughter, take a drink of water, scratch an itch on the back of her neck, laugh when the video of her youngest daughter played on the screen.

She is so strong.

The worship leader asked us to stand, but I found I could not sing. The tears had choked out my voice. All I could do was whisper my praise and attach my prayers to the sweet and clear voice of the woman next to me in the cute grey suit.

There in the ground, his body lay, light of the world by darkness slain. Then bursting forth, in glorious day, up from the grave he rose again. And as he stands in victory, sin's curse has lost its grip on me, for I am his and he is mine, bought with the precious blood of Christ.

So I'll stand, with arms high and heart abandoned, in awe of the one who gave it all. I'll stand, my soul Lord to you surrendered, all I have is yours.

I've never had to worship through pain. Not that kind of pain, anyway.

But there she was, her pain immeasurable and her grief bearing down on her. She stood and she sang, her hand raised in the air, palm facing up in surrender to the One who gives and takes away while the tears rolled down her face. Every ounce of bravery, every bit of strength - it was all flowing from the vine.

We all descended the steps together after the service and waited among the throng for our turn to love on our girl. When our time came, in an instant we decided that individual comfort wasn't what she needed. She needed all of us. In one motion, we enveloped her in our embrace.

She crumpled under the weight of her grief. But, she did not fall, for her sisters were there to hold her up.

I drove back to the restaurant with a paper plate of pork and mashed potatoes on my lap, wrecked and grateful to be a part of this group of women who know what it looks like to be the hands and feet of Jesus Christ when the need is great.

For Jamie, in honor of Clay. We love you.

Summer Reading is the BEST.

2015-06-05T09:00:00.000-05:00

The subtitle of this post should probably be "My Overdue Stack of Library Books." I get all excited when I go through my list of books I want to read and then I find myself on our library website pushing buttons that lead down a road of HOLD ALL THE THINGS! And then suddenly there is a stack on my desk, my nightstand, in my purse. It's a great problem to have, I suppose - too many great books to read - but then again the whole free aspect of the library does lose its luster when you keep racking up late charges.

But I digress.

One of the best things about summer is BOOKS. I don't magically find myself with more time to read during the summer or anything, but there is just something about a warm day, a gentle breeze, a cold beverage and a comfy seat in the backyard that makes me want to get lost in a book and never come out. I know I'm not alone in this. Summer is a bookworm's paradise because all the other bookworms come out of hiding and start to go buck-wild with sharing their favorite books that they are also reading by campfire light, or on a beach, or in the car while road tripping.

Summer is prime time for finding your next favorite book.

Here are some of the books currently on my reading list that I am excited to dive into this summer.

The Nightingale by Kristin Hannah - set in WWII France, this is the story of two sisters who are about as different as God ever created two people. I started this one about a week ago and it is really lovely so far. Looking forward to seeing where this one goes!

Traveling Mercies by Anne Lamott - I wish I could remember where I first heard about Anne Lamott. I think it maybe from Glennon Doyle Melton, but I can't say for sure. I read Bird by Bird by Lamott and I absolutely LOVED it. It was like food to my writer's soul. Then I was reading a totally different piece by a totally different writer whose name I also cannot remember (honestly, the kids are ruining my brain) and she talked about how this book was pivotal in her writing career because her favorite writer was writing about faith and all was good and right in the world. I knew I had to read it. (Someone please tell me whose page I was on.)

Do Over by Jon Acuff - A friend of mine who is the kind of friend everyone needs in their life, sat down with me for a chat about the hopes and dreams I have for my career and how I imagine using my gifts in a way that blesses others and allows me to earn a living too. I figured I was nuts to dream such a thing. She showed up to that conversation with a fresh copy of Jon Acuff's new book. I dove in and I am not even kidding you, I need to write a whole other post on the magic of this book. Thinking about a career "do over?" This is your book. And I'm only a few chapters in!

We Are Called to Rise by Laura McBride - Have you ever grabbed a book off the shelf simply because the cover was cool? That's what I did with this one. Unfortunately, I added it to my pile of books only to allow it to slip down the priority list until I had already renewed it twice and had to get it back to the library before I was completely broke. Of course, the very day after I returned it, Stephanie Howell started a new Instagram account devoted specifically to the books she was reading and this one was her very first post. (Check out @whatstephreads on Instagram for her wonderful book suggestions.) Of course, now I absolutely MUST have this book back in my life.

For the Love by Jen Hatmaker - This one doesn't even release until August 18th and I am already chomping at the bit to read it. But first, a little background. A while back, Jen Hatmaker put out a call to her people that she was building a launch team for this book. She would be accepting 500 people onto that team and the applications started to pour in. When all was said and done, the 500 person launch team was chosen and super-sweet emails were sent to the other 4500 applicants to let us down easy. Yup, I'm a proud member of #the4500. Now, because Jen is awesome, that rejection email included four sample chapters from this book in PDF form and OHMYFREAKINGGRACIOUS. All my dreams of ever writing a book went flying out the window because This is the book I have always dreamed of writing. Only, Jen beat me to it. She discusses the rules about wearing Leggings as Pants and about how our kids' homework is rapidly becoming like another job for parents and that we need to stop the madness. I was laughing so hard I was crying and many times I wanted to shout out, "Amen sistah!" August can't come fast enough.

A few others on my Reading Radar:

Where'd You Go, Bernadette by Maria Semple - Seriously. This cover. I can't even.

Me Before You by Jojo Moyes - Because clearly I'm the only one left on the planet who hasn't read it.

All the Light We Cannot See by Anthony Doerr - After the rave reviews this one got from Jessica, it jumped up a few notches on my list.

Searching for Sunday by Rachel Held Evans - People are saying amazing things about this book and considering I work at a church, and the conversations I have had with people about how they have been seriously wounded by the Church, I really want to read it.

Someone Knows My Name by Lawrence Hill - Another one that sat on my nightstand until I ran out of time. Never got to even start it. Sad face.

Texts from Jane Eyre by Mallory Ortberg -The idea of all those famed characters from the classic literary masterpieces texting one another is both ridiculous and genius at the same time. Word on the street is that this one is hilarious and every summer needs a good, light-hearted read.

Make it Happen by Lara Casey - Spoiler Alert: I'm on the brink of a pretty big leap of faith and it's kind of scary when I sit still long enough to think about it and allow doubt to penetrate my mind. The subtitle for this book is "Surrender Your Fear. Take the Leap. Live on Purpose." YES.

By the way, I'm not sure where this has been all my life, but I recently discovered that a lot of my well-read friends were hanging out on an app called Goodreads where they can keep track of the books they are currently reading, create a list of books they want to read next, rate books, and get recommendations from friends. It is fantastic. If you're not already using it (which I doubt), definitely check it out.

Do you have dreams of reading stacks and stacks of books this summer? What would you add to this list? What have you read recently that was so fantastic you just want to shout it from the rooftops? Shout it out in the comments!

Disclosure: Affiliate links used for these books and some screenshots from Instagram. All thoughts, opinions, and book obsession all my own.

5 Things Your Server Wants You to Know

2015-06-03T09:00:00.000-05:00

I've written a lot about serving. In fact, someday when I finally write a book there is going to have to be a whole chapter devoted to my time in the food service industry. So many stories to tell, my friends. Everything from the behind-the-scenes secrets to unexpected encounters, like the time I waited on an MLB All Star catcher whose last name rhymes with Brucroy. Yes, that actually happened.

Recently, I've written about 5 Ways to Bless Your Server and about how The Customer is Not Always Right, so check those out!

One of the coolest things about serving is that every shift is different. I may work with the same group of people each day, but the people I encounter at my tables are always different, which means there is always the potential for the unexpected. Earlier this week, there may or may not have been an incident where I accidentally yanked on a guest's chest hair because I thought it was a loose string.

Ahem.

It's been an interesting couple of weeks at the restaurant, so I've come up with 5 things we servers would like our customers to know. All five of these have affected me or my co-workers in the last week, so they were on my mind to share.

Five Things Your Server Wants You to Know:

1. Writing a scathing Yelp review does not make you a powerful person. Plus, I'm pretty sure the only people using Yelp anymore are the same people who want happy hour specials in the dining room so they can get their glasses of White Zinfandel for half price. We've seen reviews from people who have given our restaurant one star, but have rated TACO BELL with five. *insert wide-eyed emoji here*

2. We probably haven't had a break today. They aren't built into our work days like "normal jobs." We probably haven't eaten, and if we have it was likely stone cold and we slammed it down our throats standing up. Plus, we have to hide somewhere to inhale our food because it's not cool to allow customers to see us eat. It's important that we maintain plausible deniability that we might be robots. Oh, and it's very possible I haven't even had a chance to go to the bathroom. Breaks of any kind don’t really exist to servers. Remind me to tell you about the time I wet my pants at work. True story.

3. If a customer takes both copies of a charge card slip, we get nothing. In fact, we end up paying to serve that table if you take into consideration that we are having to tip out the busser who clears the table, the bartender who made the drinks, and the expo who made sure the food was perfect before it came to the table. Oh, and we also pay taxes. Don't look at me like that; we do! Anyway, can you please do us a favor and double check to make sure you are leaving us a signed copy of that credit card slip so we don't have to chase you into the parking lot and awkwardly ask you to fish it out of your wallet? Thanks a million.

4. We tend to pick up weird side jobs to make a little more money because serving isn't likely to be our lifetime career goal - Sure, some of us have normal day jobs like teaching, office staff, students, or retail. But many of us try to fit one more thing on our plate so we are exploring every legal income avenue possible. Some examples might be nannying, blogging or beard modeling. Yes, I work with a guy who tried to get into beard modeling. This is real life.
(He hasn't given up, by the way. I'll be his agent if you're interested.)

5. When we ask to see your ID, we aren't trying to insult you. We are trying to stay employed and not get sued. - Here's the thing. If you order a drink and I don't card you and it turns out that you are actually only 20 and then somebody who happens to know your mom sees you as she's going to the bathroom and she stops to chat and realizes you are drinking, she might be so inclined to let the manager know or - better yet - make a phone call right to the owner. Next thing you know, the restaurant is subjected to a HUGE fine and I'm fired. Sorry. I would rather risk offending you by carding you than risk my job by not.

Here to help, friends.

Love,
Your friendly neighborhood server

Crack Monkey

2015-06-01T09:00:00.000-05:00

I want to be able to be honest here. I don't try to hide that I struggle with anxiety from the people in my "real life," but I tend not to get into too many of the ugly details either. As it turns out, casual conversation gets a little awkward when you happen to mention that you cried the whole way to work this morning because you couldn't find a clean pair of socks and the scrambled eggs were overcooked. Let's just say it's a real mood-killer. Sure, I have certain people in my life that are well-equipped to handle my particular vintage of emotions, but many have no idea how to deal with it. And I can't say that I blame them. Anxiety doesn't make any sense, but it is so dangerous because in the moment….it makes all the sense in the world.

It is dangerous irrationality masquerading as truth.

But here I can type freely. I know my family reads this, as do many of my friends and co-workers. For all I know, there are neighbors scrolling these pages or maybe even people I went to high school with who are now CONVINCED that I really am the weirdo they always suspected I was.

There are just some times when I have to ignore any impulse to save face and write what is real. And right now - I am tired. I am hurting. And I'm angry.

What really pisses me off about anxiety is how horribly irrational the whole thing is. Hearing a police siren will trigger a fear in me that will compel me to make sure the garage door is closed or that I remembered to empty the lint trap in the dryer. Evan and I will be talking about going out to dinner and I suddenly will be slammed with the fear that we shouldn't go because we might get into a car accident and we haven't even started a college savings account for the boys and suddenly I'm off on a tirade about how we are the most fiscally irresponsible parents in the history of EVER.

Speaking of fiscal irrationality, my favorite thing to do after I have a money-induced Tweak Sesh is to head to Target or TJ Maxx and shop.

So here I sit, hunkered down in my neighborhood coffee shop, sipping on an iced raspberry chai when I probably should be down the street at the gym. I haven't been working out as much as I want to lately so I'm feeling frumpy and frustrated with my body. But, it's too hot to wear pants and I haven't shaved my legs, so it's blogging and raspberry chai instead. Obviously.

When my anxiety is bad, my brain won't shut off. My counselor calls it "monkey minding." I like her analogy well enough, but I think the monkey in my brain must be jacked up on Ritalin or something. I suppose it could just be from all the coffee. It certainly would explain the irrational, erratic and downright jacked up craziness that my thoughts were up to the other night when I wasn't able to fall asleep until after 1 am because I was too worried about my kids getting picked on in high school and whether or not the turkey in the deli drawer was spoiled and doggonit I forgot to buy more notecards again!

Today my son asked me to fill up some water balloons for him and his buddies to play with and when I pulled the first one off the faucet and it exploded all over me, the Crack Monkey went wild. I was yelling, and ranting about how it's not even warm enough for water balloons and that the filtered water cost too much to be using so irresponsibly and then I remembered that the water and sewer bill was probably overdue because I forgot to pay it the last time I did bills so I had to start tearing the counter apart to find it.

If you've ever seen a chimp at the zoo going bonkers in its cage, you'll have a pretty good visual of the situation. Only, there was no throwing of feces, only snot-covered Kleenex that certain toddlers failed to throw in the garbage.

It's stupid and it sucks and I hate that I have to come to the blog and vent about this. There are bloggers I admire so much who never vent about anything because they're too busy making Pinterest-perfect images for their next DIY project or shooting photos of their newly decorated family room that looks like it belongs in the pages of a magazine. There are others who are incredible writers who vent like crazy, who rant and rave with conviction and purpose about the atrocities of ISIS, the grief of losing a child, the struggled of infertility, the injustice of racial inequality. They have real, legitimate, world-altering reasons to vent and they do it with such power.

Meanwhile, I type away about an imaginary crack monkey.

It's actually quite hilarious, the more you think about it! Is it inappropriate for me to make references to illegal drugs and their effects on hypothetical monkeys? I need to know these things because I should probably start preparing now if I'm going to have to deal with a volatile comments section.

Thank you for letting me blog randomly about monkeys sometimes. I'm feeling much better now. :)

P.S. If I was at Hogwarts, my patronus would be a chimpanzee.

P.P.S. I understand that the photo above is NOT a chimpanzee. Thank you for grace.

P.P.P.S. That IS about how hairy my legs were getting to be, which is why I'm sure you understand my decision to sip raspberry chai and type about monkeys rather than subject my fellow gym-goers to my Amazon woman legs.