Winnowing Woman

what I might tell you on a wednesday in march

2017-03-01T21:27:00.001-05:00

You are loved.

You just are. Your friends love you. You have family that love you. Where you find your tribe, you find love. But far more than that - and when those other loves fall short - is a CreatorGod that loves you. I could never outdo the words of a man named Paul who had his life utterly ruined for good by Jesus when he said, "I pray that you, being rooted and established in love, may have power to grasp how wide and long and high and deep is the love of Christ, and to know this love that surpasses knowledge - that you may be filled to the measure of all the fullness of God." You're so loved.

You are wanted.

You won't feel it a lot of days, but you are. You're the reason for the smile that crosses someone's face or the motivation someone has to be a better man or woman today than they were yesterday. And even when this isn't the case, you're still so very wanted. An ancient song writer once said of God, "you knit me together in my mother's womb." I've never accidentally knitted anything; there is always want and intention behind it. He goes on to say, "how precious to me are your thoughts, O God! How vast is the sum of them! Were I to count them, they would outnumber the grains of sand." As much as a particular desire may consume you, do you think of anything that much? You - you are wanted.

You have a voice people need to hear.

It's unique. It's important. It's worthwhile. Your story and the voice you use to tell it deserve a birth and a raising. Don't waste a minute comparing it to anyone else's. That is theirs, this is yours. They both belong. Your voice is liberated; it only is not if you believe it not to be. Maybe your voice is in your writing or your art. Maybe you are a conversationalist. Maybe your voice is in how you decorate or accessorize. Maybe it's in the way you rock a budget sheet or sew a garment or take a photograph. Maybe the way you listen speaks volumes. From the measure you've been given, use your God-given voice. People need to hear it. It vibrates with the power of life and death.

You're so much better at what you do than you think you are . . .

Nobody can rock what's in front of you to do like you can. You are uniquely designed and then placed where you can best be you: in this day. You're so much better at you than you think you are some days. You "are God's workmanship" - his poema, his poetry, his work of art - created to do good works that were prepared in advance just for you. I could never be you as well as you. You are so much better at it than I or anyone could ever be.

. . . except sometimes you're not as good at what you do as you should be.

You'll fumble and fail. You will drive this thing off in the ditch eventually. You'll coast along thinking you're owning the joint one day or on another day be the queen or king of the humble cats proudly deflecting appearances of pride. Then smack; your face meets the pavement. You're just simply going to get it wrong, but never lose hope on the chance to course-correct or recalculate a misstep. The correction and redirection won't feel good every time. You'll be tempted to take on shame. Friend, fight that temptation. Don't waste the strength in that spiral. Even this CreatorGod, when he corrects our ditch-diving, does it "as a father [disciplines] the son he delights in." So maybe you need some accountability, a friend or family to ask the hard questions to keep you on course. Maybe there are apologies to be made. Certainly, you'll need to wake up in the morning and put one foot in front of the other. But no shame - NEVER shame - because . . .

You are loved.

That's what I might tell you on a Wednesday in March.

busted big ideas

2015-08-05T13:43:00.002-04:00

I had big ideas for the summer. I mean big ideas. We were going to have daily routines that included time for structured play, free play, home-cooked meals, snacks, reading and keeping on top of what they learned in school. There was going to be a schedule that included specified weekdays for playing in water, going to the free library events, seeing all the reduced-price summer movies, and for visiting friends and family. I was going to figure out the perfect balanced system to manage their screen time every day: just enough, but not too much. There were going to be mom-and-kid interactive activities we could do together; everything from art to outings to cooking. Within all of that I was going to be sure I got to the gym on a regular schedule. I was pretty sure I could keep the house up while all of this was going on, and maybe have people over for dinner regularly. Oh, and have some sort of decent relationship with my husband.

Seriously. I had big ideas.

What is going on in my head when I think up stuff like this? I mean, what part of my logic do I have to willingly or unconsciously turn off to make incredibly detailed mental lists like these? By now I know myself pretty well. Me, myself, and I have been together close to four decades. I don't know this ol' gal completely yet, but way better than I once did. Yet I still find myself capable of the most outlandish self-expectations. I wish the part of me that knows me a little better could've talked some sense to the one making the lists. "Come on, girl. Don't do this to us. I know you mean well. I know you like a list or thinking up a system with uber structure and maximum organization...in theory. But that's not where we live. Remember? Remember how given you are to flights of fancy? Remember how you like to get a feel for the day and let it unfold within a more basic structure? Remember how much you want to learn to live fully in moments and not always be trying to anticipate the next one? Remember, girl?"

I didn't remember. I had big ideas. And I wouldn't have listened to me because something about all those lists and ideas felt like the "right thing to do", the responsible mom thing to do. They also felt like the way to head off conflict or stress or boredom or laziness or squandered time or distraction. If I could just put up the right framework then we would build the Best Summer Ever. Blech. Yuck. Holy perfectionist streak, Batman.

In a late-night summer coffee date my friend Donna and I were talking about trying to "get out in front of" things (her well-chosen words, not mine). It's the idea that we could outrun a thing - especially a hard thing - and hopefully get to the point of impact first to either stop the collision or brace ourselves and somehow buffer the crash. We were talking about it in reference to much more serious situations in our lives than summer schedules, but I realize now that all of my big ideas were a whole lot less about having the Best Summer Ever and a whole lot more about getting out in front of a potentially hard summer; less fueled by love and more by fear.

I think summertime is tough. The kids being home all day everyday is tricky for me. Their ages span eight years, from kindergarten to high school. There's rarely a moment that the three kids all want to do or watch or eat the same things. What works in scheduling the youngest two doesn't always work for the oldest. The middle child feels himself shape shifting between identifying with the youngest and wanting to identify with the oldest. They're all so different, and rightfully so as little individuals with their own design. I'm an empathizer, very often trying to read beyond words and body language into the mood of a person or room full of people and then make the necessary adjustments to increase the comfort level. That's not always a wise goal and doesn't bear out so great in my own person, but it is what it is. That's hard work with the four of us home each day together. My goal is peace and love. Six-, eight-, and fourteen-year-olds have slightly different goals. I find that hard to balance. So my big idea was to outrun conflict. If I structured us just right, maybe I could do it. Maybe I could get out in front of fights and irritations and yelling and whining and boredom and hunger...within me...and possibly even the kids.

Yeah. It didn't work. Or it didn't happen, I should say. Schedules are great tools. They really are. And in the hands of someone else, all my big ideas might've been phenomenal and yielded huge, happy days. But for me those ideas, those schedules, were just a shield up to not accidentally fall into feeling anything but complete joy, contentment, and gratitude for every moment of everyday. I wanted to leave no room for the unpredictable. My big ideas weren't about planning ahead as much as they were about outrunning the unplanned. Boy, that sounds realistic, doesn't it? And exhausting.

We did find a rhythm. It was a whole lot different than what I expected and happened in a far more grounded, collaborative way than my frenetic, solitary idea-storming in May. The summer was good, really full of goodness. And, not without irony, we sort of hit our groove about three weeks before school started on August 3rd. Ain't that the way sometimes?

I'm trying to grasp the takeaway from the Summer of the Busted Big Ideas. I think it's this: stop trying to outrun the day-to-day living for fear of the unknown, or even the known hard thing. Yeah, it's a live-in-the-now kind of lesson. Sometimes it's hard to plan ahead, and sometimes it's a lot harder to stay in the moment. I don't always know how to decipher which instance is a better-plan-ahead moment or which is a stay-in-this-moment-or-you'll-miss-something one. It feels a little like a riddle. But I know I don't want to live the days grasping for control because I don't like feeling out of control or afraid. I don't want to be bracing myself or others for potential pain. I've just got to live today, and try to help my husband and kids to. I need that as much in the school year as I do in the summer. Summers can be tough, but so can school years.

This school year, I don't want to try to outrun:
a bad day
somebody hurting my kid's feelings
my kid making a wrong choice
a low grade
too much homework
a busy extracurricular schedule
dissolving friendships
a broken heart...

...because if I do I may miss:
the really good days
teachable moments
mercy, forgiveness, grace
setting personal goals and reaching them
accountability and growth
excitement and fun
friendships deepened and new friendships-in-the-making
hearts full of love.

So note to self: make a plan if it fosters freedom, but not out of fear. Run in fields like a liberated soul, but don't run ahead lobbying for control. Let's just see what today brings...

Give your entire attention to what God is doing right now, and don’t get worked up about what may or may not happen tomorrow. God will help you deal with whatever hard things come up when the time comes. - Matthew 6:34

the season

2014-11-12T12:06:00.002-05:00

Our little family has been in a season of change. In the past four months the last of our kids started school, ending my thirteen years of having a little person at home with me all day...I realized unexpectedly I was pregnant...I found out the unexpected but much-wanted baby died...and Anthony transitioned out of his job of the last eleven years. A quarter of our 2014 has been about adjusting to new realities, and not without a touch of whiplash.

It's interesting to me how it has all coincided with this year's transition from summer to fall. Summertime has a feel of brightness and care-freedom and the unscheduled. Then comes autumn where calendars fill back in, all the colors refashion, growing things have to be harvested before they decline, and leaves show their truest colors just before they fall. Our summer seemed to end abruptly and our autumn came fast. I didn't know it would be so. But just weeks before I remember having the thought of how "comfortable" our life was...and it unsettled me.

When had we last dared greatly for something? What was the last thing we had outrageously hoped for? Where had we put the courage to risk an adventure or push towards a dream?

Summertime, with its long days and warm sun and challenge to stay cool, had bemused us into forgetfulness. We'd forgotten what we had planted. We hadn't remembered that time advances - as it should - to the place of allowing our children to learn giving and receiving within community around them; that we can't just hold them to ourselves. We'd tuned out the whisper of always wanting a fourth child because years have passed since our last baby and our lives are so full of the three we have. We'd blocked out how unavoidable grief is, how undeniably a part of life and of loving it is, that it must be gone through. We'd become inattentive to the throb of dreams and passions that still pound within us, and settled for a lot of what-is instead of risking what-could-be.

We'd overlooked that life is all about seasons, and not one of them is here to stay. I imagine in the ground where roots have grown down and become established, nutrients have been gathered, and life has been sustained is probably a pretty warm and comfortable place. But still, there's a choice that must be made in this season: wither and rot or be harvested.

I see through a glass darkly about a lot of life. I don't have answers in the place of so many of my questions, and some days I'd rather that I did. But on this fall day I'm settled into the realities of change, the absolute imperative of it. There's a time for alteration in the landscape, and a necessity to move into the stage of harvesting what's been planted in the garden beds. I turn myself over like a leaf and am thankful that the season-shifting has brought to light our truest colors, even that which has been hard to look at. Because of the season change, where we've been lackadaisical we'd now rather dare. When it would be safer to not take a chance we'd now rather hope. And even if we have to unearth it from down deep we'd rather risk courage.

We can't be afraid of the unknown of what a season will bring. Well, we can be afraid, but we should walk through it anyway, stooping to pick up remembrances - a leaf, a rock, a blade of grass - at every place of discovery. Before we know it, our body temperature has adjusted and we've acclimated to the change. Then we may even realize there's a lot to behold in wonder about the new realities.

And likely just in time for a new season to begin its unfolding...

Thanks, BS.

moving ahead

2014-07-10T10:35:00.002-04:00

I've been thinking about what's next for me as I try to build healthy personal and family habits with balance. Since last June I've been making changes and there's definitely desire in me to keep forward momentum. The other day I caught myself looking up a trending "healthy eating plan" (I'm pretty sure we used to call those "diets"). Looking over what I could find out about it (without having to buy the book), my head started to spin and my eyes started to bulge seeing the new language I would have to learn, the new math I would need to cipher with, and the litany of guidelines I'd have to shift into living within. It felt like one giant step into a sort of bondage and away from the freedom I've felt through the process of the last twelve months. Thankfully I had a moment of sobriety and remembered I've made seriously good strides in my eating habits - mostly in learning to really listen to my body and crowd out the junk and replace it with better, both thought and food - and don't feel like I need another "plan" to follow.

So what next, then? What's a forward step? Anthony and I took a bike ride yesterday morning which rounded out thirty miles of biking for me in the last three weeks. (Mostly) I didn't hate it and enjoyed those miles. Thinking on that brought me the spark of inspiration to realize that for this year ahead of healthy-habit-building (which runs from June to June for me), I want to start moving my body (I think we used to call that "exercise"). In the same ways I learned about a healthier way of eating, how my body responds, what it craves, and all of the thought patterns associated with it I want to learn myself as a mover. I have always been sedentary as habit. I mean I'm tough and I'm strong and I don't shy away from hard work, but there's this deeply ingrained aversion to exercise. Maybe it's the chubby girl in me from grade school that huffed and puffed behind almost everyone else running laps in gym class that still hangs out in my head and equates all exercise as being that kind of experience. Whatever it is, I want this year to find ways I like to move (I think that's crucial...if I don't like it, I ain't gonna do it), and then carve out a place for it in my thinking, intentions, and schedule.

I'm asking myself some questions and trying to build a plan on the "right now" answers. I've lived enough life to know change happens and answers to questions we ask ourselves can begin to shift. But how I answer in the now is what I'm basing the NOW plan on:
-What exercise do I already know I like to do? (riding bikes, Wii Fit, dancing with the kids)
-What exercise do I already know I DON'T like to do? (running, walking anywhere without a destination)
-What exercise am I genuinely interested in trying? (yoga, weight training)
-Do I like people to be with me? Or do I prefer to be alone?
-When are realistic times of the week that I will exercise?
-What do I need to move or shift over in my schedule to make the space for it to happen?

We are these amazing creations; spirit, body, mind, and soul. Our whole integrated self needs care. It would be so nice if there were one or two things we could do that cures what ails us, but that's never so. I'd love it if all I needed for health and wellness could be reduced to whether I ate a carrot or a doughnut today, but it can't be. So I'm going to give it the ol' college try of adding consistent exercise into my life these next eleven months. Some days I'll love it. I've loved riding bikes. Some days I'll hate it. Even yesterday, biking the same route for the third time in three weeks, it was HARD for me, like I hadn't done it at all before. But I can do hard things. I can build consistency. Heck, I'm consistently a lot of things I don't necessarily prefer. Now I know, though, that I can also make changes, that I can change.

We'll see what happens.

learning rest

2014-06-18T20:46:00.001-04:00

We're learning to rest. Yes we are. That's not the same as the natural function of sleeping, so you have to learn it. It's not automatic, and even less so these days in this world and culture. It's also not escapism. It isn't Candy Crush-ing, Netflix-watching, or facebook-scrolling withdrawal from reality we're practicing. We're learning to rest, to be rest-ored; or to be re-stored, having the most valuable depleted stock on our shelves replenished.

Seriously. We're learning. It's important enough a lesson that we are finally willing to practice it and carve out entire days for it, grasp it, cling onto it; like something of life depends on it.

Some days have looked like us going nowhere, seeing no one, turning nothing but music on and a lamp at dusk. It has looked like sleeping-in, books read and games played, like braided hair and whispered dreams, like prayers uttered and worries put off. It has meant a post-it note left out so that distracting thoughts of to-dos can be thrown down in a drive-by fashion and left for later, out-of-sight-out-of-mind for at least This Day. It's entailed nearly effortless foods so that even meals require little labor. It's meant late-night emptying of the sink and straightening of the living room Yesterday so Today the spaces are inviting and wooing us towards rest.

Everyday that we attempt rest means we willfully stay in Today, don't stew over Yesterday or borrow from Tomorrow. We're resting. We're learning how.

Sometimes the rest keeps us locked in and the world locked out. But sometimes we find it on the outside of our doors. It looks like secret spots and flowing water. It's hidden in shoals and slides made of slippery rock and imaginary miniature worlds built of moss and stone.

In or out, we're learning to rest. In and out, we rest.

We're learning.

a change'll do you good

2014-06-10T15:00:00.000-04:00

June 1st, 2013 is a sort of birthday for me. Er, maybe it's a burial day. Well, while I'm at the business of analyzing it, maybe I should just consider it an inauguration day. I don't know. Whatever moniker I can or can't settle on, the day is evermore significant.

I recently posted this to facebook:

On June 1, 2013 I decided to try one more time to get healthy. I had almost no hope, but just enough desperation. Today is Tuesday June 3, 2014. Tuesdays are the only day I step on a scale, if at all. Today, there are 40 pounds less of me than a year ago, and I am so grateful. I know the stuff I am made of more than ever before.

I live in health now. But I also know my life was happy and joyful and rich beyond measure 40 pounds ago. My husband loved me, I birthed my babies, I had the best of friends and family, I accomplished goals. This thought from a blog I've read and reread for years is at the forefront of my thoughts on this momentous occasion:

"The matter is that, fat or thin, big or bitty, I’ll always be both. No, I won’t look in the mirror and see the other. No, I won’t praise one too highly. Because they’re all I know.

Each is valuable.

When you’re big for twenty years, the only twenty you’ve ever known, you’ll kindly not frown upon two decades. You’ll know that who you are was formed in there, and that’s beautiful.

Hear me.

Beautiful."

True story. It's a good day, a good life, and an incredible journey.

I got genuine and life-bringing encouragement from friends when I cracked this door open, letting people know this is a journey I've been on for a year. Up to now it's been mostly private as I deal with what are some of the most intimate things of my person, of my psyche, and of my physiology. From the facebook comments the question that surfaced was, "How? What did you do? Did you follow a plan?" Because there is no short answer to that question based on my experiences of the past year I said, "I'll write about it." And so, here I am. My initial impulse is to methodically detail the changes to my diet and behavior that I've tried and incorporated - or discarded - this year. The list would be sort of longish and I'd find it hard to leave off tedious descriptions for whys and how-longs and the like. Thinking it through, I was okay with that because I like to be open about details of my life if I think it would benefit someone in any way. It wasn't until listening to a conference call for work last week that epiphany struck. I could tell you what "rules" I followed or broke, but it wouldn't adequately explain the changes. Hindsight has taught me that. The teaching in the conference call afforded me the opportunity to reflect with that hindsight.

The epiphany: I had everything I needed to change, and so I got to the business of changing.

That sounds reductive or vague or nebulous and I don't mean for it to be, so I'll explain. There are things that stood - sometimes still stand - in the way of me and change. They're the same things that stand between anyone and change. The barriers are:
- a stuck mindset - it's been this way for so long, how could it actually be different? It's the only normal I've ever had. I can't even envision a different reality.
- lack of clarity on what to change - I know I have this thing going on in my life, but what exactly do I need to change? How do I know what's the most important thing to change?
- lack of understanding about how to change - there are a thousand options about a thousand things everyday. What the heck is the "right" way?!
- lack of a compelling reason to change - surprisingly, even when faced with death, only one out of nine people make necessary changes. We have our comfort zones and they're comfortable. If they weren't, we could unstick ourselves much more easily.
- no real accountability to the people who love me - I don't know if I'm willing to open myself up to somebody else, to let them have access to questioning me about my choices and my behavior, my successes and my failings.

As Sam Bracken went through these barriers to change on the conference call, my hindsight came into focus. I looked at that list and realized that on May 31st, 2013, the day before the Year of Big Change began, I had reached my fill of all of the above. I had gotten to a weight that was equal to my top pregnancy weight. I was sick and sedentary. I had pretty regular heart palpitations. I was 36 and had let another year pass being my unhealthiest self. I had once again stared into the reality of a family history of diabetes and heart disease and turned my nose up at it. I had taken one more beach vacation more self-conscious than courageous to play on the beach and in the waves with my all-too-quickly growing children.

When I got back in town from that beach trip my sister told me about a documentary she had just watched, Fat, Sick, and Nearly Dead. The whole time she talked I felt equal impulses to shout, "Shut up! Shut up! Don't tell me about another thing to fail at!" and "Wait, tell me EVERYTHING!" Within a day or so, I watched the documentary and in the smallest measure let Joe Cross' story of hope seep in. He had a big-change story and a big vision for other people to experience the same. In all my weariness and brokenness I know now there was just enough left in me to believe...one more time.

There was a perfect collision of three things: the belief that people - including me - can still change (even if I was mostly having to borrow this belief off of Joe Cross), the pain of not changing, and getting some re-education through the documentary. Once again the conference call this past week pointed out the colliding of these three things as being the impetus for change: big vision, the gain of changing or the pain of not, and receiving key information. Armed with desperation (which has a root word of "despair" for a reason), the broken vulnerability to let my husband and our two best friends into my yuck, and a $29 juicer from Aldi, June 1st was the first stepping stone on the new path.

So I juiced for nearly a month. From there I moved to adding back whole foods. Later I took another thirty days to do an anti-inflammation diet called Whole 30. I read books about bodies and what they need, how they process food, what they do when you make them "diet". I learned all the time, not just from books or food labels, but my own body. I paid attention to it. I decided when I was willing to weigh and when I wasn't. I stayed accountable to Anthony and to Kathryn and Barry (in fact, above just sharing my own junk with them, they have walked it with me and joined me in juicing and Whole 30 and so many things in between...mostly HOPE!). As I felt willing I added into my circle of confidants a few family and friends. I prayed and confessed and set goals. I took it an hour, a day, a group of days at a time. I meditated on the truth of my deepest worth and value coming from a place of no forcing and no holding back, put there by a God who doesn't look to the outside of me, but rather my whole created being. I stayed focused except for when it was better to take my gaze and put it somewhere else to not become self-obsessed. I took big actions for set amounts of time, but mostly maintained small, subtle shifts. I constantly course-corrected and still do.

I changed.

Typing that out makes my heart pound, my cheeks flush, and my eyes water.

I changed.

I have changed. I am not the same. I know I've changed in ways that far outweigh 40 pounds lost. I don't fear a "backslide". I have "fallen off the wagon", but even that doesn't look like it used to, it doesn't last as long, and I always readjust back. I don't have obsessive thoughts about my body or my weight or my health. I have decided what is worth this effort and the list is looong, with my own value topping the list and a life of wholeness for as long as possible with my husband and kids.

I have changed.

I could tell you ad nauseum all the changes regarding food and associated behaviors. But in that glorious hindsight I know now that I lost my stuck mindset, my lack of clarity on what to change, my lack of direction on how to change, my lack of a compelling reason to change, and my lack of accountability to the people that love me. I gave those things up. It didn't all happen in an immediate download on June 1st, 2013. It is a constant process. I have changed, but I am changing. The change has helped me lose those "lack"s, and forty+ pounds.

But the gains. Oh my, the gains...

I think you can do it. Whatever the perceived need is, I think you can do it. Today, on this day and after this year's journey, I really believe that. I pray for courage, course-correcting insights, and companions for your journey.

I've changed. Have you? Will you? I know you can. Really, really.

when we remember who we are...even if we forgot

2014-05-03T01:36:00.003-04:00

When we walked in to Exponential on Tuesday morning, I really thought I was going to be sick. At best I was going to sob uncontrollably from the despair that refluxed from my heart to a rancorous taste in my mouth. At worst, I thought I would just give up trying or hoping or believing for "different" or "more" or "best" and just forge a six-sided chamber with a big ol' padlock around my soul, lock it, and toss out the key.

I was in a full-on death spiral of identity crisis.

Exponential is a conference for church planters. Based on that fact alone comes some explanation of why my spiraling began. My husband Anthony and I aren't church planters, but instead are moving into the seventeenth year of him - which means us - in vocational ministry as a staff pastor. We've served at our current church for the last decade, and it is also the church we essentially grew up in and where my father himself served on staff for several years. If you didn't catch it, that makes me both a pastor's wife and a pastor's kid. I ~~might~~ have issues.

We walked into that first building at Exponential and it was full of a hundred booths containing thousands of resources for fresh-faced, vision-driven men and women to avail themselves of, mostly for free. There was everything from curriculum to books to web hosting to fund-raising resources to music to database management. The air was electrified with a palpable and literal buzz while networking took place and words like "planning phase," "pre-launch" and "launched" were on many lips as they told each other their stories. It was such a clear oasis of refreshment for so many who are trekking into and through the great unknown of church-planting. It was phenomenal and like watching parched sponges soaking up so much water.

And all I wanted to do was run. Away. Far, far away.

Our church "launched" a long time ago. We've tried a lot of things. We've been fresh-faced and full of ideas. We've been "the flavor." But we've also been forgotten. We've been the trend-setter, and we've been the outcast. We've been rich, and we've also been broke. We've been the neighborhood church on the main thoroughfare through town, and we've had the neighborhood bought, scraped, the land abandoned, and the traffic diverted away from us towards a bypass.

Sitting at a table in the middle of that building, with so much purpose and potential swirling around me, I felt completely and undeniably out of place. Maybe even lost. If I can get brave enough to say it, I felt abandoned.

I sent a text to my best friend telling her as much in far less thought-out words that were also way more full of panic, and asked her to pray. Trying to say it in a way that wouldn't squelch his excitement, I confessed it - a little - in broken and abbreviated phrases to Anthony. Having been to considerably more big-venue conferences than me, he tried to encourage me about pushing through the "consumer" side of things; the ten-thousand-and-one "BEST IDEAS" for all things ministry that one can sometimes feel like are being presented or vended by the booths. I knew there was truth in what he said and it gave me a little comfort, but mostly not.

When I paused for a moment I realized that I believed this conference, through absolutely no fault of its own, was going to be used as one more moment when someone - this time God - would point out everything we still aren't as a church, everything we aren't doing right, all that we should've been by now but haven't taken the right steps to become. That he would turn to us and say, "you're all wrong." And it would hurt like hell.

The only thing I did right in that moment was not run away, and maybe then only because we were a seven-hour drive from home.

I shuffled into an auditorium, climbed some stairs to a balcony on the periphery of the main seating, and sat down. With all the despair and certainty of what was to come I went through the motion of pulling out a journal, a pencil, and a laptop, as if prepared to write things down that I heard the speakers say. If nothing else, in my identity crisis I would at least have the notes serve as some sort of reference sheet of what we should be, delivered by men and women from a platform who obviously knew how to "get it right" in all the places we get it wrong. If nothing else, we could at least emulate them and fake knowing who we are in favor of being like someone else.

For twenty hours and through twenty-four speakers, that didn't happen. Not once; not even for a second. Oh, notes happened...nineteen typed pages of them. But with every twenty-minute talk given by another speaker, dread started to literally drain out of me as if someone had pulled the stopper out of a tub. I didn't know what was coming in its place, but I knew despair was leaving.

I wonder why after all these years I still sometimes slip into believing God sees me worthy of being ground to dust. Matthew - a man that walked with Jesus after coming out of a life where he collected the taxes from his own people to pay to the very men that raped and murdered their sisters and brothers - saw things so clearly: "If your child asks you for bread, would any of you give him a stone? Or if your child asks for a fish, would you give him a snake? Even though you’re evil, you know how to give good gifts to your children. So how much more will your Father in heaven give good things to those who ask him?"

Hope would've been a good gift this week. Peace in my tumultuous soul would've made all the difference. I got those things, utterly and miraculously. But more than those, what I believe I got - what we got, what we carry with us like vessels - is this:
Identity.

In a room full of 5,000+ people, getting lost in the crowd is not hard. But he kept whispering, "I see you." When thirty-plus experts in their fields pour out their insights, feeling amateur is almost automatic. But he kept whispering, "You can do it. You ARE doing it." When the pull to compare and contrast threaten to tear off our limbs, he kept whispering, "You are all ONE body." When awe and envy and the desire to imitate bored into our pysche, he kept whispering, "Be you, completely in Me."

Every woman and man that was given an audience during Exponential spoke with such authority. And to the last, each one wound us up, turned us around, and said, "Now go. Tell your part of the world how lavishly and infinitely they are loved by Jesus in everyday ways by being uniquely YOU!" We were not charged to turn our churches into mini models of theirs. We weren't told to scrap the old churches or try to follow some delusion of being trendy by forming a new, cooler community of faith. Simultaneously, they called out courage in the ones who are stepping into forming new churches from the DNA up, and renewed courage in those of us that come home to established churches.

Our church has existed for 30 years. About twenty years ago she had her name changed. She's now been called by her current name longer than she was ever the name that went before. Sometimes, often times, I still hear her called by her old name in the community. I got to thinking about that and her diverted road and the other churches that have grown up in the area, some of which now contain people who formerly attended. Those things are hard and painful sometimes. There's a lot there that can exacerbate an identity crisis. But after a week like that of Exponential, those things start to burn off in the light of truth.

We are a people that loves God, loves others, and serves the nations. We are a people that reaches out to all kinds of people with the message of God's love and forgiveness. We are ambassadors of love, mercy, grace, and truth willing to set ourselves up as embassies, to say to the hurting, the questioning, and the wandering "come and see!" so they can find refuge and warmth.

He has called us by his name and we are his.

I expected a reprimand. I knew there'd be an agenda and a bullet list of all that's wrong. I prepared for a crumpling up and tossing of our current M.O. and some elaborate multi-step plan to change everything. But that's because I forgot how deeply known we are. That's not what we got. There's refocused vision and insight, and certainly some needed correction and some shifting to take place. But more than anything there is a very real sense that from this day forward our church could know who she is and be herself fully.

This is what the Lord says: Forget what happened in the past, and do not dwell on events from long ago. I am going to do something new. It is already happening. Don’t you recognize it? I will clear a way in the desert. I will make rivers on dry ground. - Isaiah 43:18-19

turning a trampoline into a chicken run

2014-03-14T12:18:00.000-04:00

Confession: my once-given status of "crazy chicken lady" has been significantly reduced to "woman that once bought chickens and eventually left it to her husband to be the one who remembers to feed and water them" (clearly that's a conceptual reduction and not one of title, yeesh).

But let's not talk about that.

I built a run for the chickens over a year ago out of some pretty crude materials. I've been amazed it's lasted as long as it has and how sufficient is has been, but two nights ago we had insanely strong winds whipping about our spot on the map. When Ava and I went out yesterday to play in the back yard I discovered that the run had completely collapsed on one side, likely from those strong winds and just being past its prime. Moreover, there was a gaping open space at the top of it so that if the unclaimed treasures pooled their collective brain power they could possibly figure out that one good hop straight up would be their path to freedom and danger. I realized all of this at about 1:45 yesterday afternoon. I'm headed out of town for the weekend today, but I knew the chickens couldn't stay exposed and vulnerable until Monday - and I couldn't leave my husband and kids with the potential of having to chase errant chickens around the back yard - so a quick plan had to be devised.

Here's what we did. The kids had a trampoline that the previous homeowners generously left. We got a lot of mileage out of it, but it has really seen its last day, at least by way of safety measures. I got the idea that if I took the mat off, I could move the frame over to the chicken coop, cover the entire area in chicken wire, and the girls would have a new, sturdier, very weather-proof, bigger run.

Here's how Anthony decided to finish off the destruction of the trampoline mat . . .

This is what had happened to the existing run. It looks like a pile of trash.

"Hey, what the flock is going on here?" - chickens

The only materials I needed to purchase for this project was two new rolls of metal chicken wire. On this previous run I used a combination of metal and plastic wire. What I learned from the experience was that within a year the plastic wire becomes completely brittle and just tears apart if you look at it cross-wise. So again, I purchased only the metal fencing and one spool of cuttable wire so that I could affix all of it together and knit up any gaps. All total it cost me $50.00 and three to four hours of time spread out over yesterday afternoon, evening, and this morning.

Here's the finished product.

I may have been demoted from crazy chicken lady, having lost a little fervor. But this work was so cathartic and a reminder of how much I love being outside, working with my hands...and those silly birds.

backyard happy

2014-03-10T15:10:00.001-04:00

It's beginning to feel like Spring here. We've sprung forward which means mornings are darker making it harder to get going, but afternoons stretch out in sunshine and playtime potential.

I'm happy. So are these three.

letters to my kids - 3rd edition

2014-02-23T12:14:00.002-05:00

My boy,

We’re home together since you’ve been sick. I’m sorry you have felt bad this week, buddy. It’s tough to miss school and church and places we like to be with people we love to be with. But I like to sit here beside you – just you and me – comfy on the couch under our favorite blankets, watching Lord of the Rings. You always notice things I haven’t ever noticed (remember this morning when you found the stone trolls from The Hobbit while we were watching Fellowship of the Ring? I have never noticed them there, but you did). You talk me through what’s happening and ask really interesting questions. Sometimes when you talk, I sort of feel like I can see your brain working like a machine or growing like the strong roots of a tree. It’s amazing.

You know something I like about you? You have a heart for the epic. That word means big adventure, seeing life in a big way. You like to hear about, read about, watch, play, and live epic adventures. And because of you, my little big man, my heart for the epic grows bigger, too. Every day has adventure, doesn’t it, if we look for it.

But even in the adventure that is your story, some times there are going to be sick days or tired days or bored days. You might be too sleepy or your body may feel too weak. Some times you just might not want to go adventuring, you might not be in the mood. Yep, even for the most adventurous, there are just days like this. Today is one of those days and because of it we sort of have to watch or talk or dream about epic things a little more than we can go out and do them. Today, I’m glad to be beside you; to have a chance to be slow and still and quiet. We climb under warmest and favorite blankets, rest our bodies and minds and our epic hearts.

I’m sorry you’ve been sick, my boy. Relax and get well. The days after this one will have plenty of epic things in them. Tomorrow we will adventure. Today we rest.

Yours,
Mama

letters to my kids - 2nd edition

2014-02-19T23:41:00.002-05:00

My sweet girl,
Do you remember what we did today?

Let's make a list.

-We had a yummy breakfast, but then later Daddy made cheesy eggs just for you and him. Remember that he said he may be a hobbit because he loves to eat "second breakfast" so much? Maybe he's right!
-You took a long, extra bubbly bath in my big tub all to yourself. And did you even notice that when it was time for me to wash your hair you didn't fuss or cry? Nope, you just scooched on over, lifted your head back, and got your hair washed like a big kid. Thank you for that. It made the job so easy for me. And when you're still like that no soap gets in your eyes!
-I cut your bangs and trimmed all the nails on your toesies and fingers. You stayed so still for all of that. Wow! Then you laid out aaaalll of the nail polishes and picked out the color you wanted. Now you have silver fingers and toes.
-Daddy took us to each pizza for lunch. Delicious. You called it a "Daddy/Mommy/Ava date". I like that.
-Remember when we came home from lunch and you felt tired? Remember how you laid on the couch and watched "Wreck It Ralph" all snug under a blanket?
-In the afternoon we picked the big kids up from school just like every other day. It's always so nice when they come back home. It makes you and me both very happy, doesn't it?

I like to spend my days with you, sweet girl. When I look at you now I am so surprised at how grown up you are. I say to myself, "Oh, is THIS my little baby?! Well, she's not a baby at all anymore! She's so big and smart and hilarious!" But you will always, always really be my baby, even when you are as grown up as you can be.

I like to spend my days with you. Do you know sometimes I forget that? Yep, sometimes I don't pay attention the way I should. Maybe I look at my phone too much or I type on my computer more than I sit and talk or play with you. I forget sometimes to read you a book or to pull out the paint so we can paint a picture or to watch you dance and sing. I'm sorry I forget those things that make our days together even more great.

I like that we try to remember to say, "I'm sorry" when we do something wrong. It takes practice to remember that. I want to practice now: my sweet girl, I'm sorry I don't remember every day how much I like to spend my days with you and how special they are. Will you forgive me?

We feel lots of things every day, don't we? We feel happy and excited and bored and frustrated and funny and silly and quiet and serious. I'm thankful we can feel lots of things, even all in one day. And just like we can make a list of what we did today, I can make a list of the things I feel when I think about you:
-full of laughter because you are funny
-warm because you bring me hugs and snuggles all day
-excited because you love to tell stories and explore
-proud because you are kind to your brother and sister
-happy because you are my daughter

We did a lot of things today. I'm glad we will do a lot of things tomorrow. But whether we stay at home or go out, we are busy or we are quiet, I am glad that we will be together. And tomorrow we may even forget what we did today, but I'll always remember that I was with you.

I love you, my pretty baby. I always will.

Yours,
Mama

letters to my kids - 1st edition

2014-02-18T23:00:00.000-05:00

My dearest first-born,

I was just doing a bit of counting, some figuring up.

Three days ago we watched together the last episode of Downton Abbey's third season; you shook your fist and yelled dramatically, "Noooooo!!!" at the television when you-know-who got killed off the show (which was probably what the entire western hemisphere wanted to do). Two days ago I found a note from you on my pillow, an "I'm sorry" for choosing to disobey me, with an "I'll always love you" added to the end probably to remind us both that offenses don't make or break our relationship. Yesterday you set up a spa and beauty shop in your room and treated your sister, your brother, and me to special treatments complete with twinkly music and nature soundscapes, smelly lotions, back scratches, and face massages. You even thought about inviting your dad to the spa, but then decided that would be just kind of eww (spoken in our best Jimmy Fallon voice). Today we noticed the sign at the school that said "No smoking in the car rider lane"; then you laughed that laugh of yours - the one where no sound comes out and you just turn into one big convulsion - when I said, "I should use that excuse with your dad: 'Hey A, you'll have to go get the kids from school today. They won't let me in the car rider lane because this outfit is SMOKIN'!'" (You are one of my worldwide favorites to make laugh.)

Our days are so full, aren't they? I mean, I know that within them there's also all of the times we get irritated with each other, the times that our household of five feels not just wild and crazy but too wild and too crazy. You don't listen sometimes and neither do I. I can't figure out what it is about picking up behind yourself you can't seem to grasp. I'm sure you can't figure out why I can't seem to remember to sign your Wednesday school folder until Friday. When you don't do the things I have reasonably asked you to do, sometimes I feel so frustrated and disrespected and even hurt. When I lecture you or have to put in boundaries and discipline, sometimes I see in your eyes and in your face that you feel frustrated or disrespected and even hurt. It can be hard to be a mama and a daughter, to be grown and to be growing.

But the way I figure - when I count up our life and times - you just make me so happy, fill me with such joy. My thoughts of you bubble over like a fizzy drink shaken up too hard. When I think about you, my girl, the least common denominator in those thoughts is the rough spots, our tougher days. When I think about you, my lovely, lovely young lady, the greatest common factor in those thoughts is deep gratitude that you are mine.

I could add up all that I love in you for days and days and never get to the end of counting. At least that's how I figure it.

I just wanted to tell you.

Yours,

Mama

for the record

2014-02-05T23:08:00.000-05:00

I am a writer . . . I am a writer . . . I am a writer.

I forgot or debated or doubted. Now I remember.

I am.
A writer.
I am.

wake up, sleepy head

2014-01-23T15:19:00.001-05:00

Hey, hey, hey! (spoken in my best Dwayne-from-What's-Happening voice)

I decided yesterday that I am going to whip our home into shape these last ten days of this month. We've got some residual mess and clutter left over from the holidays (YES! Even though that was almost a month ago) and everyone being home twenty-four hours a day for so many days. Plus we've got lots of places to go and people to see in February and March, so I don't want to feel buried beneath the house so much so that I feel too tethered to go and see for myself. I'm breaking down the tasks into bite-sized workloads these next several days. It's a happening thing. Then we'll be able to move back into some do-able routines for cleaning and maintenance. So there's that.

As far as writing, I decided I would dampen my feet once more in the waters of this ol' blog by doing a series of "10 things" posts while I'm in these days of spanking an unruly house. My friend and fellow "life-writer" (because, really, I don't know what else to call what we do) Brandy has recently done a couple of 10-things posts - here and here - and I really enjoyed them. Reading her lovely writing spurred me on to - finally - write again after so many days away from it. I'm thankful for her writing, for what it says and the pictures it paints, and just it's very existence. She is uniquely her and I am decidedly me, but her's and my writer-hearts beat in time with each other so often. I love that.

Life gets crazy, or even sometimes overly monotonous. Either way, whether from exhaustion or my own defenses or boredom, I can get lulled to sleep in areas of my life. Sometimes I don't know I've dozed off until I hear the sounds or see the sights of somebody else wide awake and moving around. It's been that way for me with writing lately, and a lot of other things if I'm really honest. But in watching someone else take action or do something well there's potential for good things to manifest within me: if I'll let it, it can foster in me the desire and the motivation to do my own good thing in the best way that I can. If I'll let it. It can be an igniting spark to my too-long-just-smoldering fire. If I'll let it.

It's not all inspirational thoughts and motivational speaking around here. This reawakening within me doesn't come without a sense of friction. It's not easy to wake up and realize there have been missed opportunities or chances not taken, or if nothing else, time elapsing. At least for me, even after the waking up there can be even more time wasted on licking the wounds of the time already wasted. It can be hard to watch life happening, dreams being chased, vision being cast, and stuff getting done when I feel frozen in animation. As uncomfortable as it is though, the burn of that friction - if I'll let it - can start to melt the ice I didn't mean to let form and warm the joints I didn't intend to have atrophy. Then, once again, I can get moving. Every day of the week that is better than feeling defeated or depleted by a missed chance, stifled creativity, meaningless distractions, or a trap of comparison.

It's time to wake up, to get up, and go. I'm thankful for the people in my life that remind me of that even when they have no idea I needed the nudge.

And I'm glad to be writing again.

Tomorrow I'll start with 10 things that have happened since last we met here on the blog.

at the corner of thankful and merry

2013-12-01T20:50:00.002-05:00

This is our Thanksgiving tree. It's lovely and made from our own dirt and willow branches and leaves I drew and then stenciled onto purple, yellow, red, and brown paper. The tree was something I wanted us to do all through November; gathering together taking a moment to each fill out a leaf and hang it from the tree until at the end of the month we would find a tree fairly sagging under the weight of our gratitude.

It's a dear idea, but we didn't do it. I only cut the leaves out of the purple paper. It has about five leaves on it upon which we Brilliant Beauty wrote what ~~we were~~ she was thankful for, and that's all. But I'm refusing to be regretful about it. No, that simply won't do. Instead, as we exit one holiday season and enter the next, our poorly-executed Thanksgiving tree is serving as a prompt moving forward. It reminds me first that whether we put the leaves up or not, we lived active gratitude in November, so much in fact that we were too busy to assemble the tree. That's good to remember, that we're a grateful bunch and know this life of ours is so very rich.

The failed tree secondly delivers a sort of caution to me to not attempt over-achievement at making a holiday special, and that's a prudence I could use stepping into the "most wonderful time of the year" that is Christmas. In a month where it's easy to feel pushed and pulled and tugged to put elves on shelves, choices of advent calendars are numerous and aplenty, parties and parades and events are in every direction, I could use a moment to take heed in stopping, savoring, slowing down. What is special to us about this season? How do we nurture it, help it grow? And all while keeping our whits about us in the flow of busyness . . .

The Thanksgiving tree is down, disassembled and discarded. The leaves are tucked away to maybe try again next year. It's a dear idea. And the Christmas tree isn't up yet. It will be; in fact, we're making a date of it next Sunday because we know then we can slow our pace, make hot chocolate, turn on the music, and enjoy the processing of converting our cottage into its Christmas-time self.

I'm looking forward to it, to savoring the process.

Here are a few final Thanks-givings from the last days of November.

this dear face soaking up some light therapy and reading
across from me at the breakfast table before little ones were awake

Brilliant Beauty learning how to crochet her first chain of stitches

date night...without Pretty Baby even though she's doggone cute

the remnants of our fall mantle pumpkins that Little Big Man
was elated to have the privilege of smashing to bits in the back yard

a sweet girl abandoning dress-up mid-costume change to look at library book after library book

crocheting Christmas secrets

divorcing Wal Mart

2013-11-29T14:40:00.001-05:00

It has been an internet-less, but nonetheless lovely, week around here. Lots of staying up late and sleeping in, slow moving, good eating, and family.

Today on Black Friday 2013, while I sit blissfully unattached to and virtually unaware of all of the shopping happening around town, it reminds me of the time I broke up with Wal Mart. That was nearly eight years ago, and I'm pretty sure the break up is final. Ma Luffin Mayun thought I should repost my original challenge to myself in which I laid down the gauntlet. We both get a laugh out of it, and hopefully you will, too.

Here’s the breakup letter, originally written by me on January 10th, 2006. Enjoy!

I am embarking on a journey. As with all epic adventures, it will require nothing less than the utmost tenacity and fortitude to walk each step of the way. Some days may feel like an amble in the park, as if I were basking in beams of light that radiate from the very challenge itself. As well there will be, without a doubt, obstacles that will cause my steadfast resolve to quake and me to doubt the worth of the expedition. Nevertheless, it is now that I determine with paramount resolve and doggedness to do what I have long threatened to do…to begin this trek…to officially attempt to live my life without Super Wal Mart.

Let me first say, that at this point in this process my decision to boycott Super Wal Mart is absolutely not based on any expose of the company, any of its policies, or its clear monopoly of “one-stop shopping”. The singular reason these factors do not affect my decision to cease shopping at Super Wal Mart is one basic fact: I know almost diddlysquat about the corporation, its dogma, or its cartel. By all accounts, the founder of Wal Mart seemed to be a God-fearing and thoughtful businessman. I am simply instituting a personal embargo because I am…well…fed up.

Wal Mart has been part of my life for a long time, as I am sure most Americans can say. There have been moments in my life that it has brought me joy, elation, relief, and escape, just to walk through its doors and see the commerce and industry at my fingertips. It has been a marvelous distraction from my hectic days or heavy thoughts. What thrill there was in being able to purchase windshield wipers, control top panty hose, fresh eggs, and Englebert Humperdink’s greatest hits CD all in one place. Who else can say that of their store? But those days of euphoria for me have come…and long gone.

Last night my husband, daughter, and I packed into our car and went to the Super Wal Mart less than fifteen miles south of our house. There is another one, our “regular” Super Wal Mart if you will, less than fifteen miles north of us. There is still another Super Wal Mart ten miles north of there, and so forth and so on for miles. In the last week I have visited all three of these branches within a twenty-five mile radius of my house for various reasons. Last night’s trip was for groceries and photo development. As I found myself standing in the house wares department trying to talk my husband into a new comforter set for our bed (bringing the number of comforters for our bed alone up to three), which qualifies as neither groceries nor photo development, I realized that this is how it always ends up. I am supremely distracted, to some degree at odds with my husband or myself over some item I have convinced myself we need in a record minute-and-a-half, and am completely off task, worn out, and too tired to finish my original shopping list. In the checkout line last night I looked around with the comprehension that my joy has been replaced by gloom, elation replaced by depression, relief replaced by drudgery, and escape replaced by enslavement every time I darken the doors of Super Wal Mart. I am simply fed up.

So what shall I do? Well, I have decided to not return to any Super Wal Mart for an entire year. My last visit was last night, January 9th, 2006. We completed our shopping experience at 7:23 P.M. (note: We arrived at 5:35 PM, had a shopping list with 21 items on it, and the intention to print 17 pictures from our digital camera. We purchased 43 items, in addition to our 17 developed pictures, and missed 4 items on our original shopping list.) The clock starts from there. I will not purchase anything, from the smallest pack of gum to the largest electronic device, from Super Wal Mart. Not only will I not purchase anything, I will also not enter the doors of a Super Wal Mart within this year. This will be a huge challenge for me because, again, Wal Mart has been a major part of my life. It will be an even bigger adjustment. But this is an alteration of my life that I want to make. I do not want to purchase twice the items that I should‘ve, and still not have everything I need. I do not want to go in for deodorant and come out with the lost episodes of Mutt and Jeff on DVD just because it was in the $5.50 bin. I do not want to feel “aisle rage” as the other Super Wal Mart shoppers abandon their ability to operate a several-ton vehicle for the haphazard driving they indulge in with their shopping carts. I do not want to end every romantic and memorable evening out with my husband with a trip to Super Wal Mart because our car seems to have a magnet pulling it into the parking lot, riddled with abandoned buggies. I do not need to feel that needy, that desperate, that pathetic.

These are my issues, not Super Wal Mart’s. I take full responsibility for my weaknesses, my actions, my habits. I am not asking Super Wal Mart to change a thing. I just know my limitations, and I’m tired of ignoring them.

So, I bid you “Farewell, Super Wal Mart“. I’m just a drop in your “one-stop shop” bucket, I’m sure, and you’ll never know I’m gone. But I gotta be moving on.

And here are some follow up thoughts I wrote about three years ago.

"do I know you" interview twelve: amy f.

2013-11-22T11:34:00.002-05:00

Oh happy day! It's facebook-friend-interview Friday.

I'm ever so pleased to introduce to you my friend Amy F.

A few words about Amy: Ah, my friend Amy. It's so very nice to call her "friend" after years of us really only knowing of each other via our circle of mutual friends. In the last several months we have had a couple of chances to actually spend time together in the same room (and when you add those two times to all of our previous in-person interactions, I think that brings the count up to a total of four). However few and far between, every time I walk away with deeper affection for Amy. She's a woman, wife, and mama trying to live all of this life out with the sole purpose of knowing Jesus and making him known. She has a musical ability that's like butter, just comforting and rich. I'm fascinated by Amy and who she is by design and the way I see the design unfolding in her. I can count on my fingers the number of times I have ever met in my entire life someone with as strong a resolve and clarity of purpose balanced with an authentic humility and humor that draws you in and makes you want to know more. Recently she shared her heart and vision with me for the very real and raw work she has done, is doing, will do to rescue women out of the warped, twisted, bizarre, surreal, nauseating, devastating, rampant reality that is sex trafficking and modern-day slavery. Amy talked to me from her heart, and I was moved to find it full of countless years of educational and experiential knowledge, as well as her passion and emotion. Because of the fire burning in her to rescue what's been lost to darkness, my heart burns now. Amy is one of the realest real-deals I have the privilege of knowing. I'm in awe that our paths have crossed and our destinies are linked, that we will know each other more in all the time to come.

1. Occupation?

I am a trainer for Out of Darkness (a 24/7 rescue hotline for women being prostituted in Atlanta) and am in the process of opening a long term recovery home for survivors of sex trafficking, ages 11-17 (Sparrow's Nest Ministries)

2. How did we meet/how do we know each other?

In my imagination, we have known each other since you were pregnant with Brilliant Beauty, but in reality you are a FB buddy, the main character in so many Kathryn [our friend] stories, and I have only seen you face-to-face like 3-4 times (?????). It does, however, feel like you've been my friend for a looooong time. In the immortal words of Anne: "We are kindred spirits."

3. Single or married?

Married to Shane for 14 years.

4. What’s the greatest thing about being single or married?

The best and worst things about being married are two sides of the same sword. Marriage is a real flesh-burner. Conflict breeds intimacy and, when marriage is working best and we are allowing the Lord to work in us, we get such a beautiful, working picture of forgiveness and restoration. No (earthly) relationship has more power to wound and more power to heal.

5. What was your first vehicle? Love it or hate it? Why?

My first vehicle was a baby blue 1978 Volkswagen Beetle that was $1200 in 1985. Loved it in theory, but there was tin foil involved in keeping part of my engine together and I think I nearly died from leaded gasoline fumes. My favorite part about it is that (duh) it was my first ticket to freedom and I ADORE the sound the old Beetles make (sounded like a vehicle from the Jetson's).

6. Beach or mountains? Why?

So hard. Mountains for the low temperatures and coziness factor. It would be ideal if I could just HEAR the ocean from the mountains. I really adore both.

7. Darkest time of your life?

Hmmm. There are a few to choose from in that category: A period of about 1.5 years that I lovingly refer to as the "Threshing Floor" season, where my marriage almost did not survive and I, quite literally, lost my best friend. When I was sitting at the altar one Sunday night the Lord said to me, "Will you come with Me to the threshing floor?", to which I quickly responded, "Yes!". He then replied, "Do not answer in haste." (I had never heard Him say anything like that to me before). So, I went home and researched the threshing floor of the Bible for the next week. Then, better informed, came back and answered Him with a little more solemn "yes." Thus began one of the darkest years of my life, even pre-Christ. It was a time of pain, loss and suffering; blessing, increase, and God's favor; costly sacrifice, and ultimately, the presence of God in ways I have rarely experienced. It was a time of GREAT loss and loneliness, but a time where I learned how to authentically lead worship from a seat of grief and how pain is not only an acceptable offering when my hands are empty of anything else to give the Lord, but a beautiful one He much desires from us. I learned that the Lord will stop at nothing to become my One and Only "Source" and that EVERY other human relationship should fall only under the category of "support."

8. Happiest childhood memory?

Playing outside until dark EVERY night of the summer, growing up in Chicago (Wheaton, to be exact). Every memory of those years outside was my happiest memory (ages 4-10).

9. What would people be surprised or shocked to know about you?

That I have always sworn there would never be a firearm in my home and I had not, in fact, touched a gun EVER until 2013. I now own a Glock 19 and know how to use it ... Now, if only it came in pink and sparkly.

10. What work of art (book, music, etc.) has heavily influenced you? Why?

Different ones at different times. Childhood - heavily influenced by "Little House on the Prairie" and longed to live in that era. As an adult - I have been HEAVILY influenced by the lives of three women (in book form): Corrie Ten Boom, Amy Carmichael and Jackie Pullinger Books that altered my walk with the Lord - "Passion for Jesus" (Mike Bickle) "Unto Death" (Dalton Thomas) "Hinds Feet in High Places" (Hannah Hurnard) --- I've read it 7 times and counting.

11. Favorite place you’ve traveled to? Why?

Alaska, without a doubt. I had NO idea there was a place on the planet that looked like that ---- glaciers are BLUE . . . who knew?? Stunning and I can't wait to go back some day.

12. What brought you to the city you live in now?

I married Shane and we needed to live somewhere in the vicinity of Atlanta (suburbs) but wanted to still feel like we were a bit in the country. My best friend and sister lived in Flowery Branch at the time. Why not?

13. What is your favorite trait about yourself? Why?

Well, I can't hold a grudge to save my life which, actually, used to infuriate me growing up. But I have come to be so very grateful that forgiveness comes swiftly (not to be confused with easily). That, and I simply adore people.

14. Vintage or brand new?

Furniture - vintage that has either been restored or brand new that has been weathered. HA!!! I'm a retard!

15. Fill in the blank: It’s quiet and no one is around. I think I will __________.

. . . read or watch a movie. (IF all my dang housework is caught up, that is)

16. What would you describe as one of your biggest triumphs in life?

I don't know that it's "mine," but from a spiritual standpoint when I FINALLY understood - deeply - that Jesus loves me; like, LOVES ME, loves me. That was MAJOR and I can still see where I was sitting (a Marriott in Nashville with my feet propped up on the window sill in my room, reading a book). Total and complete game-changer forEVER. I've never once doubted it since that moment. I don't UNDERSTAND it, but I don't doubt it for a minute.

17. City or country?

Oooo . . . country, but within an hour, driving, of a city. Love 'em BOTH!!

18. If today was your last, what three things would you do?

*WRITE DOWN everything I ever wanted or would want my kids and family to know about how I feel about them and, more importantly, how the Lord feels about them. *WRITE DOWN the "small stuff" and the guidelines for "choosing your battles" -- and how to choose your spouse by checking to see if they are KIND to people, smile easily, love Jesus, and race to out-give each other. Period. *Clean the microwave (Lord knows, I don't think anyone in this house knows that you have to do that!)

19. Fast food or “just say no”?

Hmmmm . . . I despise fast food for the most part, but I love Zaxby's and Chick-Fil-A occasionally. So, mostly "just say no," I guess.

20. If you got a tattoo (or another one) what would it be?

Something to do with my kids. I have scripture and flowers on my wrist now, but I would love to have a small, subtle, indelible nod to my kids' lives somewhere.

Something else about Amy that I want to share . . .
Amy shared with me through this interview process a link to a previous interview she participated in. She did it so that I could know her better. I asked her permission to share it and she granted it to me. Her story to tell is messy and honest and painful and redemptive, like all of us if we would be honest. I hope you'll watch and know her better, too, and that through it you will know hope the most.

Here's a complete list of all the facebook friend interviews.

throwback thursday - why network?

2013-11-21T21:06:00.000-05:00

throwback Thursday photo-op (with absolutely no relevance to the post): March 2011

I'm rarely not thinking about ways to connect with people. I think it's just kind of part of who I am intrinsically. I dig people and their stories, drawing them into sharing who they are. But before I start to sound too philanthropic or altruistic, you should know I think about it way more than I act on it. It takes more effort than I'm willing to put in most days. Adding another layer to this in the interest of full-disclosure, sometimes the desire to make certain connections is fueled by selfish and self-serving reasons. Whether for the benefit of myself or someone else, I think about making connections with folks a lot.

I think we all want to be connected up and sharing life. I'm certainly no different. For Throwback Thursday here today, I'm sharing a post from April 2011 entitled "Why Network?". It reads to me as truly as if I wrote it all right now (I think I may say that on every throwback post, but so far it's true). The more I write and stay involved with this blog, the more thoughts of connecting, networking, building a broader reader base, branding, getting traffic to here all rolls around in my head right alongside trying to remember to write because it's something that fundamentally makes me come to life whether one other person reads it or not. I don't want to twist it and contort it into something marketable but lacking genuine heart, but I confess I want to be read. I think I have things to say; not always brilliant things or life-changing things or posts that go viral. But I have things to say.

Today, I really am thankful for my network, my connections to people I know and love or am learning to know and love. I'm thankful that so far I've shrugged off the magnetic pull towards gimmicks that would diminish the heart of why I write. It's a joy to write here and icing on my big ol' cake that people read and comment.

Why Network?

If you're reading this, chances are more than good that you got invited to this corner of the blogosphere through NetworkedBlogs on facebook. If you're reading this, I'll go ahead and say thanks for that. Really.

Sending out an oodle of requests to my friends asking them to read my blog felt something a little less than comfortable. I mean, self-promotion is not a characteristic I aspire to be known for. It's awkward and mis-readable; it can look like braggadocio and sales-pitch-y. Every time I sent out a batch of requests inviting - well, YOU - to the blog I thought, "Don't send them this. What do they care? Move on already."

Can you tell I'm not a salesman? But that's fine since I've got nothing I'm trying to sell.

Here's the deal; it doesn't get easier to stay connected these days. That's insanely ironic since our ability to connect is huger than ever in so many mediums. But it isn't always easy. If you are here - "networked" into this blog - I am so thankful because this is at least one way for me to "connect" with you in something more than my meager attempts at glib, witty facebook statuses. I don't know if that will be good news to you. You may not give a rip about the things that I have written or will write about here. I get that. I really do. And if you don't and you "un-network" from here, I'll live and love you anyway (I'm not a self-promoter, but I'm also not easily offended). But I have winnowed down my facebook list - numerous times - to consist of the people that mean something to me; you were and are my friends from school, or my teachers; my pastors or my youth leaders; you're extended family or people that I am just getting to know. In some way our lives legitimately connected at some point, and the invitation extended to you is my way of moving that forward a bit.

It's just a blog. Sometimes it's just nonsense or irrelevant or silly or too serious. But it's my life now as I know it. And I want to share it. I don't want to grand-stand or show-boat. I just want to stay connected. I want to hear from you. I want your comments as points of contact and not to stroke an ego.

That's my story, and I'm sticking to it. Thanks for reading.

grace, mercy, and peace

2013-11-20T20:51:00.001-05:00

I've been embroidering this off and on as time permits: grace, mercy, and peace. They're all I can think about tonight . . .

how fast we can find ourselves needing them; their elusiveness when life thrusts circumstances upon us that seem to send them fleeing while we run scared; how easily they're reduced to platitudes when everything in us feels contradictory . . .

how desperately we need our village of compatriots to wave them like banners over us - or maybe hold them over our heads like a tarp in a down-pour - when we can't grasp them in our own grip, or to sound them both in whispers and with bullhorns when our ears can't pick up their frequency, or to bake them into our bread and disperse them in our water for us when our only food and drink is sorrow, pain, and despair.

Grace - getting better than what we deserve. Mercy - not getting the worst of what we do. Peace - tranquility, harmony, the cessation of war.

Oh, to wave their banner, speak their names, and feed them to the starving.

Grace, mercy and peace. They're all I can think about tonight.

He giveth more grace when the burdens grow greater, He sendeth more strength when the labors increase; To added affliction He addeth His mercy, To multiplied trials, His multiplied peace. — Annie Johnson Flint

beating back paper clutter

2013-11-17T21:51:00.002-05:00

A mere 27 days after I said I would (really, you can't possibly be surprised at this point by that kind of procrastination coming from me), I beat the library/office armoire into submission today. Spanked it, I tell ya. Now we have an organized and legit space to keep order in the business-and-paperwork part of our lives.

For the last several weeks in anticipation of ordering this space I've sort of piled paper clutter and bins of miscellaneous office stuff in and around the armoire. I'm a firm a believer that to clean up a mess you may have to make a bigger mess first. Maybe everyone doesn't work like that, but I often times do. That certainly happened today.

Be prepared for hot-mess photos (as if that's new around here . . .).

I first pulled EVERYTHING out of the armoire and emptied all the bins around it. Then all of that stuff ended up in one of three destinations:

a give-away box
the trash
or sorted out to be put back into the armoire.

I was ruthless. I find great delight in throwing away junk or boxing up for Goodwill stuff that nobody is using well around here; winnowing at its finest. Winnow I did, and it yielded a heap of stuff for the thrift store and a packed garbage bag of trash.

Pulling it all out, trashing it or packing it for the thrift store was fast work. Where I intentionally slowed myself down was in deciding what and how things should go back into the armoire. Besides wanting to minimize the clutter, I also wanted to not create some unattainable system of organization that none of us are actually going to use. I'm learning myself more all the time and over-complicated schedules or systems around here don't help anyone. Remembering this made me still myself and really think about it before putting items back in.

Pretty snazzy, huh? Here's a slightly closer tour . . .

The bottom left that was one big tangle of completely outdated and unusable cords and cables now has our bank books, one up-cycled food canister of cords we may actually use, and a box containing an external disk drive and its associated cables.

The bottom drawer now has only a box of stationary (that got cleaned out and reorganized, pictured to the right), some computer disks, a flash drive, and a printer cartridge.

The top drawer has office supplies like a label maker, paper clips, labels, and plastic containers with pens, pencils, scissors, and glue.

Since the piece of furniture I am using is an armoire, the right side is tall without any drawers or shelves, where clothing could be hung. This makes for an awkward space to try and use as a cabinet. To solve that problem I put two crates in to form shelves. Now this side of the armoire holds scrapbook and large craft paper stacked vertically, a bag of old but special video camera tapes, packets of notebook paper, and a plastic box of the kids' markers, crayons, and colored pencils.

We had a super surplus of coloring stuff, including markers that had not been recapped and long ago had dried up. I cleared a ton of them out and left them with only what still works.

My favorite part of the reorganization is this area back to the top left. A while back I started using a six-file fix for our paperwork. Over time I've figured out how to custom fit it to us. In our home the six-file fix has morphed into four file boxes:
incoming mail and bills
papers to read or items to send
time-sensitive material
and papers to be filed.

This is where all the papers will come into the house and be sorted. I've found that pretty much everything falls into one of these categories or can just be trashed or shredded. Rather than manila folders I have come to prefer these boxes for their form, structure, and capacity. I can grab the to-be-filed box, head over to the file cabinet and file away. Pretty convenient.

I've also set up a station to the left of the armoire giving the kids each a bin for their school pages.

So there it is. Today I'm thankful for beating back clutter and a junky mess one afternoon at a time.

I always like to know how other people manage these things we all have in common. How do you stay on top of paper clutter?

connection reset

2013-11-17T00:00:00.002-05:00

One of the magazines my husband subscribes to at the office came in the mail a few weeks back. He brought it home for me to peruse because it had some content he thought I would find interesting. He knows me so I'm sure it does, but I can't seem to get past the impact of the picture on the front.

Three little birdies, like our three kids.

One big, oblivious mama-bird preoccupied with her phone and herself (I mean, is she taking a selfie?!).
Three little birdies overlooked and frustrated.

One simply but well-depicted personification of the disconnect that can happen in relationships when we're too technologically connected.

I love technology. I am impacted by it so positively on a daily basis. Because of it, there are people all over the world that I can talk to as if they were in the room with me and we can genuinely keep up with each other's lives. I can read the profound thoughts, words, and deeds of other people. I can watch stupid-funny videos that elevate my mood and make me laugh. I can learn how to do something new because of the wealth of information the world shares in this collective that is the worldwide web. I can pay bills and transfer money. My faith and doctrine and theology can grow. I can take pictures and send them to my friends and family. I can get thoughts and ideas out of my own pysche, feelings out of my soul, write this blog, and you can read it because of technology. I love that.

You cannot convince me of the inherent evils of technology. But I can love it too much.

When I regularly plop Pretty Baby down with a snack and a second or third video to watch just so I can "socially network", I love it too much. When Brilliant Beauty is talking to me about the high drama that is seventh grade and I sort of nod and grunt in response while still scrolling my phone in hand and glancing it out of the corner of my eye, I love it too much. When I hear myself sigh heavily and seem snappy because Little Big Man has to tell me something he thinks is important while I'm trying to hear a radio program, I love it too much. When I think in status updates, I love it too much. When I get out of bed in the morning and unplug my phone from the charger to look at it before I've even thought to speak to or kiss or hug Ma Luffin Mayun - or God, I love it too much.

I spend a lot of time loving technology too much. This picture reminds me of that. All of this connection through technology is a tool in my hand, in all of our hands. But any tool can be misused, and instead of building, repairing, and fixing could become something that tears, breaks down, and destroys.

So I'm confessing that I've misused it. To myself, and to you.

I have so much more to give my little birdies, and so much more to receive from them. I don't want to look down and see perturbed tiny faces, distressed because they can't gain full access to their mama whose face is buried in a screen. Or worse, to look down and see three faces that don't even try anymore to connect. I don't want to find them today or tomorrow or five years from now modeling some bad behavior, feeling overly connected to media and technology and disjointed from the people they love and need most. They are growing up in a world vastly different than the one I grew up in and technology and social media is an intricate part of it. It's not my desire to raise them in a cave or buried underground, sheltered away from it all. I want them to use it and use it well, to understand and wield its goodness and stand up against the corners of it that have been seized by evil. But I want them to see in me, to learn from my example, how to pick it up and put it back down always in favor of the satisfaction and wholeness that comes only from real relationships, real depth, and real living in three dimensions.

I want to choose to spend the majority of my days in the floor putting together puzzles or playing dolls or cutting paper and finger-painting with a quickly-growing 4-year-old. I want to hear every word and story coming out of the mouth of an ever-maturing 12-year-old who is so willing to talk to me about anything and everything while she still is. I want my one little fella to know at 6-years-old that what he thinks and says matters to me more than anything I could be reading or listening to. These little birdies will never come around again. I have them today, right now. Emails and statuses and viral videos will cycle. They always do. I get these kids once.

I'm so very thankful for technology. And I'm more thankful for learning how to refashion it into a useful tool in hand; to turn it off, walk away from it, and choose to really live and really love. The world is at our fingertips, but all I can think is the verse, "How does a man benefit if he gains the whole world and loses his soul in the process?" The last two or three days have been full of nearly abandoned phones and televisions - and even my blog - in favor of each other. All I want is more of that.

I love these birdies too much to continue to love technology too much.

some days

2013-11-13T17:36:00.001-05:00

Today I'm overly tired.
I'm under-ly motivated.
I emptied into my mouth a bag of jalapeno cheese puffs for lunch and dinner.
I didn't get my run in today, which might've eased the angst over the cheese puffs.
I'm serving pb&j for supper.
I'm not going to do the dishes.
Actually, I don't have big plans to do anything else for today.
I'm cold.
I'm hugely aware of my flaws today.
I'm short-tempered with the kids.
I'm probably putting them to bed as soon as it's dark at 6pm.
I may follow close behind.
My chickens are in the middle of a moult which has slowed their egg production to almost nothing. I read up on it and just realized I think I might be, too, metaphorically speaking.

Some days, I tell ya.

But it's just a day, not all days.

Instead of wallowing and feeling the brunt of all of the above, I'm going to allow grace to fill in the guilty places. Isn't that lovely? My friend said that this week. That's what I'm going to do.

Sometimes the person you need to practice being nice to is yourself.

I'm thankful for grace instead of guilt when some days are just too overly and under-ly.

in favor of men

2013-11-11T18:59:00.002-05:00

It's Veterans Day 2013. That's got me thinking specifically about my father and my grandfathers. Military veterans are a distinct class of individuals. Today people have widely varying opinions about this collective of men and women; some favorable and others not. Some elevate them to near deities while many acknowledge them in no way whatsoever. But whatever distinction you draw in your opinion-maker, it cannot be argued that these persons put themselves on front-lines and submersed in iron fish, in mechanical birds and on warships, upon every terrain and through all elements, and fought - are fighting - battles I will never have to fight which have given me liberty and freedom I would not otherwise have. I think that is empirical fact.

Thank you, Dad. Thank you, veterans.

However, this is not necessarily a Veterans Day post.

Thinking of these men in particular has caused me to reflect on other men in my life that are so important to me, like my husband, father-in-law, brothers-in-law, nephew, leaders, friends. The presence of these men in my life is one of the riches in my treasure trove of ways I have been blessed. I wish in no way to diminish the honor due veterans of foreign wars on this day, but I think of these men - all of them - and I know them each as veterans of battles, whether in literal war or in life. The battles I've seen them fight and see them fighting, the evidence of their strength and their weakness, their resolve and their questioning, the dignity and the vulnerability, their tenderness and their tenacity; these things cannot be replaced or relegated to something less than the powerful commodities they are in my life and in the lives of anyone who knows them.

Maybe this is not necessarily a Veterans Day post, but a pro-man post. I think we could use one of those.

We need men. I need these men. I am so thankful for them.

I wrote this some time ago. Men in my life, I mean it for you.

Stories have always been told of men with great stature, who conquered fierce enemies and built glorious kingdoms. The greatness of these men was attributed to their large structure, numerous victories, and the vastness of their empires. But I have realized that though there may be grandeur found in both their physique and their fortune, something different determines whether a man truly stands in greatness: his heart. And it is not the simple existence of a heart, but rather the condition it is in.

Greatness in a man is found when searching his heart is at the core of every decision; searching, not following blindly. Greatness in a man is found when passion in his heart is behind every victory; passion, not vindication. Greatness in a man is found when the wisdom of his heart molds defeat into learning; wisdom, not mere knowledge. Greatness in a man is found when the hope in his heart presses through sorrows until it finds gladness; trading in the ashes for a crown of beauty. Greatness in a man is found when the love his heart holds cherishes relationships as wealth and not waste; leading with an open hand, not ruling with an iron fist.

Not many can profess that they have known any "great man". Some would say, "He is not grand. He has no magnitude, no trophies of war, no vast kingdom." But i know that all of the prominence a man can stand with, all of the battles he could win, and all of the wealth he could own mean nothing if his heart is cold.

There may be times when grandeur is found in both your physique and fortune. And there may likewise be times when neither is considered note-worthy. But there is something different that determines whether you truly stand in greatness; your heart. If this is the truest measure of a man, you stand the tallest. If your heart determines the battle, you will surely be a victor. If your heart is where fortune is found, you reign the wealthiest. And if I have but a portion of this heart, I stand in humbled awe.

Never question your greatness. I do not.

happy neglect

2013-11-09T20:27:00.000-05:00

So this didn't get done today.

And neither did this.

The kids hauled down a mass of Barbies, Littlest Pet Shop toys, and Lincoln Logs and spent hours spreading them all over the library building "apartments" for all of them. It's all still there, strewn about.

The man crashed in his recliner, deservedly so.

I emptied a bag of yarn, watched some youtube tutorials and made some scarves and stuff.

I'm thankful for a day of neglected dishes and ignored laundry piles, of meticulously-built toy kingdoms in not-so-convenient places, of accidental naps under warm blankets, and impromptu scrap-yarn projects.

It's been a lovely Saturday. Indeed.

"do I know you?" interview eleven: erica & cher s.

2013-11-08T23:26:00.001-05:00

Fridays around here are going to be full of more awesome facebook friend interviews. "Do I Know You?" has been such fun for me, and I hope it has been for everyone else involved. I have gobs more completed interviews to post, so I'm calling Fridays the day for it, with a new interview posted each week. (If you answered the interview and haven't seen your post, don't fret, Babette. It'll be up soon.) If you'd like to see all of the previous interviews, just click here for a complete list. There will always be a tab at the top of the blog just under the title that you can click on to access the list of interviews any time.

One of these two gals was a birthday girl this week. The other gave birth to her. Both of those things are pretty outstanding to me, so this week's interviewees are my niece Erica and my sister Cher S. Of course the purpose of the interviews is to get to know friends from facebook that I might not otherwise know all that well. Obviously I know these two folks pretty darn well to begin with, but just like with each of the interviews before (including my parents'), knowing someone even an entire lifetime still doesn't make you an expert on them. I like the surprise of some of the answers. Cher's and Erica's answers helped even me know them a little better.

Now it's your turn to get to know them . . .

Erica S.

A few words about Erica: When trying to think of things to say about family members, it's a challenge to not swing the words too far into sap and sentimentality or be too silly and snarky. I'm going to try to not even think about any of that. Erica is precious. I mean, just spectacular. She is the only girl in a sibling group of four, and for seventeen years (until only two years ago) she was my one niece. I was there when she was born, sweet "baby E". She's quiet, and that gets confused for meaning a whole bunch of things it doesn't actually mean about her. But she has plenty to say, and I like to hear it. Erica is hilarious and so fast with her whit that you almost never see it coming. She hails from a long line of singers, but when she opens her mouth to sing herself it is uniquely Erica. She's never been one to push her way into limelight, but the tough thing about that is how long it sometimes takes for others to see you can shine. Shine she does. Erica just turned nineteen. She's a woman now. Tears fill my eyes just to type that, but she is. The older she gets the more I want to know her. I love her so, and I really, REALLY like her, too.

fuzzy faces of Erica and me a bazillion days ago

Cher S.

A few words about Cher: Good grief, what can I say? It is absolutely not dispensing of platitudes for me to say there is no other in one's life like a sister; simply no other relationship like it. Cher is my older sister and for a very, very long time she has been a dearest friend. I have always known that she loves me fiercely, that she is for me, that she is there for me. There's enough age difference between us that we were never in school together. We were never in competition with or against each other for anything. We've just always been the "Ross girls", the only daughters of Terry and Susan, and it's a kinship we both adore. She let me tag along (mostly) growing up, and her friends became my friends, too; our friends. We borrowed clothes from each other and still clean out our closets from time to time and take the loot to each other. It's difficult to adequately explain the ease of relationship I have with Cher as we continue to "grow up" and live our adult lives as women, wives, moms, and the thousand other roles in between. Just the other night I got off of the phone with her (which is rare because I loathe the phone and try never to talk on it...I know, I'm weird) and thought to myself how easy a conversation it was. The content is not always easy because life keeps throwing its punches, but the way we talk, the way we listen, is aging so well. We just get to be us. There aren't many places in the world like that, and it's priceless to me. Cher is so talented in countless ways. Some of the talents are right out there for the world to see like singing and acting, but these just scratch the surface of her abilities and giftings. She is funny - especially when telling a story - and smart. She is loyal and thoughtful and kind in so many ways. She has been a good wife to a good man for twenty-four years. She has raised - is raising - three sons and a daughter that are becoming phenomenal people. I could just go on and on, really. But at the end of the day what I think impresses me the most about Cher is that she is mine; my sister. In all of her other roles and titles no one else will ever call her "sister" but me. And I could never ask for one better. I love her.

Without any further ado, their interviews . . .

1. Occupation?

Erica: I am a hostess in the Savannah Room at the Georgia Center.

Cher: It depends on the day. Most of the time I’m a mom and wife, but sometimes I pose as a music minister and a theatre actress.

2. How did we meet/how do we know each other?

Erica: I'm guessin' we met in the hospital after I was born. You're my favourite aunt, duh.

Cher: It was a dark night and all I know is I was whisked away in the middle of the night to go stay with my babysitter while my parents went to the hospital to have a party without me, from which they brought home a prize of a person called a sister.

3. Single or married?

Erica: Not single, not married.

Cher: It depends on the day. Ha! I’m married for almost 24 years.

4. What’s the greatest thing about being single or married?

Erica: Being single is for losers. Kidding. Being married sounds fun but Lord knows I'm not ready for that.

Cher: To know that someone really loves me, that there is somebody there for me, with me along the way.

5. What was your first vehicle? Love it or hate it? Why?

Erica: I may never know. *cries*

Cher: My first vehicle was a 1980s blue Oldsmobile. I got it when I got married. I didn't know any better so at first I loved it. But when the ceiling fell and dust flew and the steering wheel started to smoke, I began to loathe it. It didn't help that “Just Married” was permanently etched into the side of the car where shaving cream had eaten away the enamel on our wedding day.

6. Beach or mountains? Why?

Erica: Beach. It's tradition and there's so much to do.

Cher: Beach because it is a place from our childhood, and because of the generosity of our grandparents allowing us to use their condo I’ve been able to take my children there basically their entire lives. But I prefer the clothes you wear at the mountains.

7. Darkest time of your life?

Erica: The dark times seem to come and go but don't ever really go away. Since high school I've struggled with self harm and self esteem issues. I suppose junior and senior year was the darkest time though. Kids are brutal and going to school just made it harder to cope with what I was already feeling. I also was far from God at that point and dealt with things in ways I shouldn't have. Dark times still surround me sometimes and I feel so depressed and could easily slip back into the way I was in high school, but those times are temporary and God's always there to pick me back up when I fall. He's a constant light that just shines brighter when it gets gloomy.

Cher: I don’t know that I have a darkest time. Yes, I have had a lot of things happen to me in my life. I just think that my darkest times come when I lose focus so that when my head hits the pillow I am beating myself up and thinking negatively about myself or my life.

8. Happiest childhood memory?

Erica: Haha seeing Raven Symone at Six Flags. It was one of the coolest things I ever got to do. But there are many memories from childhood that make me happy.

Cher: Days when we would record songs and radio shows on the little red cassette tape recorder, pile on mom and dad’s bed, stay up late to watch Night Trax, even getting Jessi in trouble. My happiest childhood memories always involve Jessi

9. What would people be surprised or shocked to know about you?

Erica: People that I've opened up to have found it shocking that I was never really happy during high school because I was usually the dork making jokes and laughing. Really though there's nothing shocking about me, I'm usually pretty open.

Cher: That I’m shy. Nobody believes that. And I adore cats.

10. What work of art (book, music, etc.) has heavily influenced you? Why?

Erica: Ellie Goulding and Demi Lovato's music has changed my life. Ellie's music is so positive and just good, it makes me feel better and inspires me. Demi's music usually tells a story, some that I can relate to and it's such a help to know that I'm really not alone in how I feel sometimes and I can sing about my feelings without having to feel like I'm straight out of High School Musical.
Cher: I can’t go a day without music in general. When I feel down or dark music is my go-to. I genuinely feel closest to God when I sing.

11. Favorite place you’ve traveled to? Why?

Erica: South Korea. I love the place and the people. I don't have a specific reason why I love it so much but I would go back in a heartbeat.

Cher: Amsterdam, Holland. Even though it was just for a whirlwind day, it whet my appetite to go back.

12. What brought you to the city you live in now?

Erica: My dad's job and switching to the school he teaches at.
Cher: My husband has taught school there for nearly 30 years, and we finally took the plunge to live there six years ago. We live in the "red light district": down the street with the only red light in our town.

13. What is your favorite trait about yourself? Why?

Erica: I like that I'm funny. I'm usually really insecure but I know sometimes I'm dang funny and I love to make people laugh and laugh myself. I'm a female Jerry Seinfeld.
Cher: It depends on the day, for real. Sometimes I like to pride myself in being intuitive…

14. Vintage or brand new?

Erica: Vintage. I used to be so against it but now I'm like ayyyyy (Fonz voice)

Cher: Vintage, or brand new and then I turn it into vintage.

15. Fill in the blank: It’s quiet and no one is around. I think I will __________.

Erica: . . . walk around the house singing like I'm performing for a huge crowd and/or blast all my embarrassing music that I would otherwise get made fun of for.
Cher: . . . sing.

16. What would you describe as one of your biggest triumphs in life?

Erica: Overcoming self harm and graduating. Two things that no one really thinks twice about were two of the biggest obstacles in my life. I honestly thought I wouldn't make it to graduation because of how dark I thought things were.

Cher: Probably that I have been married as long as I have and that I have four kids that are seemingly great people and don’t need therapy…yet.

17. City or country?

Erica: City.

Cher: I love the city, but I prefer to live in the country.

18. If today was your last, what three things would you do?

Erica: Spend all my money on a plane ticket somewhere with the people I love and eat sushi till I want to vomit.

Cher: I would want to be with ALL of my family. I would want to listen to good music, maybe even family singing together. I would like to hold Eric’s hand while I die.

19. Fast food or “just say no”?

Erica: Sometimes you just need a huge heap of extra salty fries from McDonalds.

Cher: Oh, yeah, I gotta have a little bit of both in my world.

20. If you got a tattoo (or another one) what would it be?

Erica: The next tattoo I want is Micah 7:8. "Though I fall, I shall rise; though I sit in darkness, the Lord shall be my light."

Cher: It would be a big ol’ tramp stamp. No. I could never get a tattoo. I’m afraid of needles.