The Circle

It happened. I knew this day would come.  As I peered through the window, I saw her practicing her chasse’ across the floor.  I was touched by her developing grace, moved by her determination.  And on the other side of the room I saw them.  4-5 little girls gathered in that girl circle, you know the one. The circle that says no one else is allowed.  The circle that marks a territory, that is mean to exclude.  And they had that stance, and the look in their eye.  That look that girls get when in a desperation to make themselves likeable, acceptable, worthy, they must make others feel unlikeable, unaccepted, unworthy.  On their face were the smiles that don’t really reach their eyes, because,  though the smile might be on their lips, it isn’t in their heart.  Even at 30 my heart bristles at the memory of being on the outside of that circle, on the receiving end of that smile, and my gut tightens as I remember the times I was in the circle. And as I watched my daughter finish her chasses she walked over and stood by herself waiting for the next direction.  No one spoke to her.  No one smiled at her.  

What do you do as a mother in this moment?  Do you whisk her away hoping she won’t sense it?  Do you march in and give those girls an earful?  Do you catch their eye and smile a knowing smile that doesn’t reach your eyes but instead sends a clear message that they better not mess with this mama bear’s cub?  Do you do nothing and let it work itself out?  At the moment, I did nothing but watch.

What do you feel in that moment?  Anger, because someone is hurting her?  Heartache, for her little heart?  Relief, that she isn’t the one leaving someone out?  Pride, because she is holding her little head high? Fear, because you know this is just the beginning? At, the moment I felt it all.

She did notice.  She told me in the car sometimes she feels left out.  She thinks it’s because she’s the youngest.  I know that is probably part of it.  I know also she was the one of the only little girls in that room dressed like a little girl.  She was the only one with a bow in her hair, the only one in a pale pink leotard with skirt. I don’t tell her that.  I can’t bring myself to tell her to dress differently to be accepted.  That battle will come on its own.  She is already putting hairbows away for headbands most days.

I don’t know what to say.  I try to talk to her, without overreacting.  She is much calmer than me.  In a selfish moment of weakness I ask her if she wants to continue to dance.  She emphatically says yes.  I’m not surprised and ultimately glad.  After all, how can one be a ballerina missionary without proper training?

She goes back to reading as nothing has happened.  I’m left to reflect.  “ how can one be a ballerina missionary without proper training?”  I realize that this is training.  It’s not just plies or chasses, or whatever French word she happens to be practicing.  This is life. Training to be who she is, to place her identity in the Lord no matter what the circle of little girls says.   Chances are, no Reality is, that should she become that ballerina missionary, or whoever the Lord calls her to be, on her way there, she will be outside of that circle at times.  Others will seek to make her feel unacceptable and unlikeable in order to make themselves feel more accepted and loved.  Reality is that at times she will be tempted to do the same.

Truth is that even at 30 there are still those circles.  Circles you can’t quite break into.  Circles that you form around yourself, to prove something.   I think about how I felt as I watched her.  So what does the Heavenly Father see as he watches me ‘dancing’?  Does his heart hurt with mine?  Yes. Does he whisper to my aching heart that it’s really a blessing not to be in that circle?  Do I turn to him, the ultimate healer, to mend my hurting heart? Or does his heart hurt as I try to change who I am so that I can fit in?  Are his whispers calling me to remember that I am his and all the love and acceptance one could dream of is wrapped up in that simple truth?   Yes and yes.  And the beautiful truth is that no matter what circle I am out of, I am always in is hands.  And just maybe sometimes being out of the circle is the best way to know where you really are.

So I drive home.  We eat dinner. And I watch her, her sparkling eyes, her quick smile. I smile as she excitedly shows off what she has learned.  I wipe her eyes when her tender heart breaks with concern for his sister.  I kiss her head as I tuck her in bed.  And I know.  I know this isn’t the end.  I know this is just the beginning of heartaches of all sorts, circles of all different kinds.  I know that I will want to save her from all these hurts, protect her from ever feeling the ache. But I know also that to try to keep her from the heartache would be to try to keep her from the Heart Healer.  To attempt to keep her from experiencing the circles of life may be to keep her from experiencing the depth of peace and joy found in his hands. So by His grace I will protect her when it right and possible, I will listen to her when she talks, I will dry her tears and maybe shed some with her,I will love and pray for her always, and through Him I will remind her that the ache of where you are not is what reveals the beauty of where you are-dancing in his hands.

Five Minute Friday: Again

One of my favorite blogs to follow hosts a "Five Minute Friday"  You spend 5 minutes writing, no edits, no planning, no perfectionism, and then share with other readers and read theirs. 



So here it goes.....

Theres another warm body in the bed hogging the covers, taking up way to much room again.

The alarm clock is going off...again.

The baby's up before I could do my bible time...again.

The mess from 3 little ones eating breakfast amazes me yet again.

Time to start school again.

Time to chase the baby up the stairs again.

The playroom is a mess, I failed my resolution to keep it clean again.

The baby is up the stairs again

Lunch is glamorous PB& J again.

Quiet Time was all too short again

Cleaning up the house again

Chasing the baby up the stairs again.

I was impatient again. 

Dinner is late again.

There were complaints again.

Bathtime left me all wet again

Bedtime again.

Reflection time again.

Today was full of hugs and giggles again

I was superwoman to three little girls again.

I was forgiven for my impatience again.

God showed me grace again

God was faithful again.

Thank you God that I get to do it all again.



Link on over and join in! Or just take a minute and check out her blog. I don't think you will be sorry you did!

http://lisajobaker.com/five-minute-friday/

A Letter To My Teenage Self

Dear one,

                Yes, you sitting there printing out calendars on the computer so that you can record what you wear every day - I remember you.  I remember how you plan your outfits, being sure to include the occasional day to “bum it,” lest anyone think you too prissy.   Yes, I know it isn’t all about the wardrobes, but also about just the satisfaction of planning.  I also know a little of it is about protection.  Self protection against the rejection or taunts.  I remember the girl standing outside the middle school waiting to be picked up.  I remember how loud the kids’ whispers were as you stood there in your long shorts and perm-rific hair.  They stood there in their Bongo shorts,  scrunchi on the wrist, brush in hand and mockingly  questioned why anyone would wear shorts as long as that. I remember it hurt.  And I remember you, the high-schooler, working to protect yourself from that.  You began to think about what you wore,  about others’ perceptions of you, and began to try to protect yourself from those ugly whispers. 

                You, dear teenage self, are on my mind today.  I thought of you this morning because something happened that would have crumpled you.   Today, I–we--went grocery shopping.  And my outfit wasn’t planned.  We “bummed it,” wearing fleece pants that may  or may not have been worn the day (or two) before.  The hair?  Unwashed and under a baseball cap.  But the cherry on top??  We wore old tennis shoes (tennis shoes that weren’t just for looks-gasp), and do you know what?  They didn’t match.  Yep, we were out and about in public in two completely different shoes.

                There were probably some whispers, some muffled laughter directed my way.  But you know what? I didn’t hear them.  I did hear the laughter and excitement from three little girls who spotted a dog at the Salvation Army kettle.  I heard the sound of their voices as they acted out the Nutcracker throughout the store.  I heard the coos and babbles from the chubby baby as she tore apart my list.

                There may have been some fingers pointing at me today.  But I didn’t see them.  I did see my grocery cart fill with food and supplies that I use to care for this home and family God has given me.  I saw my grocery list carefully mapped out and organized, just like your clothes calendars used to be.  I saw the beautiful faces of three precious daughters ‘helping’ me shop.

                When I was you, I would have done anything to keep people from knowing I had made such a mistake.  But today? Today, I finished grocery shopping.  Today I took a picture.  I sent it to my husband, and I think it made him love me just a little more. I sent it to a friend (and I think she’s still my friend!)   I even posted it on Facebook with the thought that maybe, just maybe, there was someone who needed a laugh—and some did--but not at me, WITH me!

You may not believe me, but this is where you are headed.  You are going to get to a place where you can begin to see the tiniest glimpse of true beauty in yourself.  You are going to get to a place where you see that what matters is not the clothes you shop for and plan to wear but the royal robes the King of Kings has clothed you in and the royal tasks he has prepared you for. How, you ask?   By beginning to learn that you are going to be hurt no matter how hard you plan.  You can’t live life terrified of rejection when you have been accepted, adopted, and adored by the Creator of the Universe.  By letting go of controlling every moment and every decision so that it is ‘perfect’ by your standards.   You are going to make mistakes - some serious, some funny.  You are going to have days were you feel like nothing is easy, fair or right. There will be days you will be overcome by mistakes and should-haves and could-haves.  You can’t live life controlled by the false hope that you hold the control, because believe me, as I look back over the last 15 years or so, I am so glad that you weren’t in control.  I am so thankful that the Lord is and always will be.

But what about the whisperers and the finger pointers?  They will still be there at 30.  Some days their voices are so loud.  Some days it’s just the voices of those in the past screaming at you.  But you will find that more often than not, you can’t hear them.  The Word of God is a fantastic noise eliminator.  And God is going to provide you with people, who are going to live life in all its messiness with you - no matter what you are wearing.  People who won’t whisper, but talk straight to your heart, laugh out loud - not at you but with you.  And if you listen closely, you may even hear some different whispers.  Not whispers mocking you, but whispers of the hearts of those around you longing for the acceptance you did.  Whispers of insecurity, whispers of fear, whispers of exhaustion, and whispers of those who desperately need confidence and encouragement.

So, dear teenage self,   As you look at your clothes calendar, as you look in the mirror, as you scrutinize what you are wearing, relax and take heart.   Relax because no matter what you are wearing, no matter who you wish you could look like, or where you wish you could fit there is no place better than where you are going to end up.   While yes, it will be with unwashed hair some days and even occasionally with mismatched shoes, it is going to be exactly where the sovereign God places. And most importantly, take heart because as you plan and work through your self confidence, he is working in you.  He is shaping and molding you.   He is preparing you for those days, so that you won’t crumple with shame, but laugh with joy and gratitude for where he has brought you and look forward to where is taking you.

In His Grace,

You 15 years later

A Story for N

Today is one of my dearest friends birthday.  In fact I should credit this blog to her as she was one of the first ones to encourage my writing back in high school when we would lay on the beach talking, warm sun on our backs, Tidewater in the cooler....ahhh, good times... But I'm getting carried away.  As I was saying it is her birthday, and while I thought of writing some meaningful story or memory in her honor I instead post this story at her request. It was meant only for her, but oh well, she is the birthday girl.  At least this will shatter any illusion that life around here is serious, orderly, or even grown up.  So Happy Birthday dear N!  Love ya!

 
 To give a little history and context to this story, our classroom is in the lower portion of our house.  And we live in the South.  SOO there are occasions when unwanted creatures make their way into our room.  Spiders and even the unmentionables.  Normally I am alerted by screaming girls ( I've trained them well) and on occasion I catch them myself.  Spiders are no problem.  I squash them with delight.  The others...well I'm ashamed to say that I am too afraid to kill them unless absolutely necessary and with proper protection.  For example, a couple weeks ago there was one and I had to zip up my butt kicking boots and go after it.  No, I'm not kidding I actually zipped up boots with my pajama pants.  I mean why would I risk him escaping my stomp and scurrying across a bare foot? BUT I digress.....The truth is that usually I will either trap the critters or leave them dead under a discarded shoe until my hubby comes home. I'm not proud, but its true. 

So yesterday started out like any other day around our household.  There was a nasty stinky diaper to change, breakfast to fix, hair to brush, etc.  After finishing our morning work we headed down to our classroom to begin school for the day (yes we homeschool and before you judge there will be a post on that, maybe titled the Reluctant Homeschooler or Never say Never??).  And  sure enough as would be fitting for a Monday, A unmentionable lay quietly on his back on the floor under my desk.  I grabbed my handy tupperware and trapped him.  We went on with our day, discussing Language Arts and taking Math tests.  Happily working not allowing the horrible creature to ruin our day.

Enter NK.  Now NK is involved in a campaign to take the title of Master of Disaster away from E. She has a convincing case.  Her speed and agility are quite impressive for a 8 month old.  And her determination and curiosity seem to know bounds.  And this rainy Monday morning seemed to be no different.  I had already fished pieces of leaves and other small objects out of her mouth.  (thanks to fall and children who love to be outside, there seem to be an unending amount of leaves tracked in our house)  But as I sat there writing out Social Studies Vocabulary words, I smiled to myself as A worked quietly, E chattered in the other room, and NK played quietly at my feet. , "Sometimes it just wor.... Wait....MY baby playing QUIETLy??  Um...OH NO"  Yup...as I looked down at my happy little monkey, I saw something black in her pudgy little hands.  Hands that always seem to find there way to her mouth.  I did the only practical thing...I screamed.  And she did the only practical thing to do when someone startles you, she jumped and threw it. Yes.  My sweet baby threw a roach at me.

Well I scooped her up and washed her hands and mouth and hands and mouth.  And then I grew up, I picked up that horrible creature and deposited him in the trash where he belonged....Ok so yes I had about half a roll of papertowels between me and him but still.....

So I'm sure There are many lessons that can be gleaned from this story.  A quiet baby is a dangerous baby for example.  Another might be, that though sin is not taught, fear in some cases must be.  Perhaps another is that sometimes buttkicking boots arent enough, you must also have earplugs and reams and reams of papertowels to pick up the unmentionables lest you want them to become playtoys.  But I reflect on this comical scene, I can't seem to find the deeper meaning, all I can think is....  My baby threw a roach at me.

Heres to Motherhood.

Dear Hannah

Tonight I had the privilege to stand up and speak to a precious sister in Christ  as she wed the man of her dreams in a beautiful Gospel centered ceremony.These are the words I spoke to her, words I long to live out though more often than I'd like I fail....

Beautiful Hannah.  What a joy it is has been to know you and see where God has brought you.  And what a joy it will be to see where God will take you.  You stand here  a character in your own fairy tale.  The beautiful princess who has waited in the moonlight for her handsome prince…  The prince has come and swept her off his feet. Together they will ride off  and live happily ever after.  Yet this fairy tale moment that you have  waited so long for, is not the peak of your love story.  This mountain top is not as good as it gets-believe it or not, your love will only deepen and grow.  As you stand here with your Paul, drink in the moment,  breathe deep, write these memories upon your heart but leave room, for the story is just beginning.  The story of your marriage, written by the Great Author,   is so much more than a simple fairy tale.  It is a picture of God’s love itself.  And while there is a happily ever after, it doesn’t come from simply walking down this aisle with your prince.  When you walk out those doors, you will indeed be walking to many happy moments, times of joy you can’t imagine, exciting adventures to be had , but there will also be times of heartache, of sorrow and frustrations.  Isaiah 26:3 says “You keep him in perfect peace whose mind is stayed on you, because he trusts in you. Trust in the Lord forever, for the Lord God is an everlasting rock” This is my prayer for you Hannah, that you will find perfect peace as you trust in the Lord.  That as you step into the role of wife and all other roles that God’s story for your life brings, that you will be in peace because you trust in the Author of life. Last night as we heard friends share about your love story, it was clear that you and Paul recognize that It is God that is the author of your life and love, that you have endeavored to seek him first.  I pray that you will continue to do so, that you will not try to take over  and  try to write your own story.  I pray also you will not write one another into roles you are not meant to play.  God is your everlasting rock, not Paul, just as God is Paul’s everlasting rock, not you.   Do not put your husband in the role of Christ.   He is your husband,  love him by loving God first.  Respect him and support him by seeking Christ first. Encourage him and listen to him, laugh with him and learn with him, but root these things in the prayer.  Spending time in prayer , spending time humbly at the feet of the Lord, the author of life and love, this is the very best way to love your husband.  This is the way for peace to reign in your life together through all the times of adventure and joy as well as frustration and heartache. Marriage is a great adventure, a beautiful song. It is a story of ups and downs, peaks and valleys, but above all a story and a picture of great love.   When written by God, it is far greater than any fairy tale penned by man.    So as you say your vows, and walk down the aisle to your ‘happily ever after’, abide in the author of your story.  The author of history, the author of the greatest story ever told.  The Author of Love itself.

Writing with Rocks-the story

Here is the one that started me down this path.....

Yesterday, a  friend laughingly asked who decorated our car.  Curious we went outside and on the front of our car were words and swirls etched in the hood of our red minivan.  Yes. Etched.  As our daughter ran skipped by, we questioned her and she said “yes, I did it”…”with a rock”.   Quite honestly,  I had to turn my head and laugh at the shock of it all.  Of my daughters, she was the last one I expected to ‘deface’ property!  . As the details came out, a memory that was blurred with all the other seemingly mundane experiences of life became vividly clear.  We were at a local restaurant that had a large selection of white rocks and brick walls.  As we sat out enjoying the beautiful weather one day our sweet girl discovered that the white rock ‘wrote’ on the brick wall.  In childlike innocence she excitedly proclaimed the rock “magic”.  I remember smiling at her excitement and letting her believe the rock was indeed magic.  Fast forward a few weeks and now, my child who had had such excitement about the magic rock, was devastated at what she had done, discovering ultimately that the rock was just a rock .
I was so proud of her dad and how he handled it.  He was disappointed and frustrated, but he responded with such grace- loving and firm. He wrapped his arms around her and held her. My daughter could not accept this at first.  All she saw was her mistake.  With embarrassment and anger at herself, she ran from her dad.  She hid her face.  She shed tears and said she could not possibly be forgiven.   She did not know what she was doing would have permanent consequences, and could not accept it. She felt she did not deserve his grace, but that’s the thing with grace.  If you deserve it it ceases to be grace.   Truth is that is so me.  I hold myself to impossible standards of perfection,  all too often falling prey to a false idea that I earn the love and grace given to me.  As I watch my daughter it pains me to see my tendencies in her, yet it opens my eyes to the folly of my ways.  When I ‘write with rocks’ my loving Heavenly Father teaches me the error of my ways, but he also loves me and holds me in his arms. He covers  me with grace so that though the scars may last as the words in our car will last   my eyes can see grace in the them.
The gift of grace to  my daughter was the first and most obvious lesson I saw in this situation, but as I dwelled on it further, I began to see  another lesson.   When she first wrote with that rock, I smiled. I knew that there was a scientific explanation to the ‘magic rock’, but why dash her excitement?  I let her continue with the false idea of magical rocks.  Yet the initial excitement of the  magical rock paled in comparison to the devastation and embarrassment of the permanent scars when she took that false idea to far.  As a mother, I honestly never counted the cost, never thought that she might do something like that, I never meant for her to be led into heartache from that simple false idea.  And while it was a mistake and in the grand scheme of things will become unimportant there is a lesson in that. How many times do I know the cost, know the depth of truth that is being ignored and do not say anything because I do not want to spoil the ‘magic’?   Joining in with gossip, repeating a lie, supporting a friend who has a misplaced crush, family who have an idea that is not in line with scripture etc. Its so much easier to smile at their ‘excitement’ and even encourage what may seem small and innocent instead of speaking truth.   I’m helping them ‘write with rocks’.  And sooner or later the truth will come out.  The rock will be revealed for what it is, a rock. The magic will disappear  and the scars may be permanent.  Is the false temporary happiness of calling a rock magic worth the consequences?
Parenting is a wonderful journey full of highs and lows.  There moments that just make  me laugh,  moments that I’m so tired I can’t think straight, and then there are these moments.  The moments where in the craziness of our beautiful family, God speaks and the Rock of Ages writes upon my heart.   Moments where the roles are reversed and you realize that God  didn’t just give her to me to teach her, but that He may teach me. May my daughter’s handiwork  etched on the hood of the car be  not just another problem to deal with but a reminder  to be bold enough to call a rock what it is and to accept grace for all the rocks I have written with in my life.  

Ready, Set, Go

Dear Daughter,

                I see you now and you are fearless.  A: You can be an Olympic Gymnast or a ballerina missionary who  adopts 13 children.  E, You can name your “baby” Frenchie  or “kukukaka” and approach life from painting or ‘cooking’  to bathtime and eating with all the enthusiasm and energy you have.  NK, Your smile is bright, brilliant, uninhibited by the cares of the world, afraid of nothing. 

My heart is full as I watch each of you.  Yet there is a heaviness for I know there  will come a day where the weight of the world will seek to dash this childlike confidence.  A day that your self awareness will be plagued by fears of rejection or embarrassment,  and when your self confidence may begin to be too often measured by others opinions and actions.  Those days touch us all.  I know they have touched your mother.  I have missed opportunities, lived in discontentment and discouragement, and sought to hide myself from others.   By His Grace though I am learning, learning to be me, to be who He has created me to be, not who the world says I should be.  I pray the same for you and pray you will learn it quicker than I.   I pray that you, being grounded in His love, will be able to stand up and be the amazing creation that He has created you to be- without fear.  I pray that you will take steps to humbly put yourself out, even when it is scary, that He may use you.

                So my precious ones, this writing venture is for you.  While  I would much rather fly under the radar than post my heart for all to see, I do it for you. Yes,the stories, the lessons, the memories are for you to hopefully treasure, yet may it be more.  My hope  is that you will also see my effort to ‘practice what I preach’.  It is my attempt to be like you: confident and  secure in the only love that matters.  My attempt to not worry about what others may or may not think about me, but to speak about the truths that God is impressing on my heart.  These writings are not about me, but about what our extraordinary God is doing in these seemingly ordinary days.  So here I am trying to return to those days when I fearlessly dreamed of a wedding dress covered in rainbow colored sequins and writing stories to share with others.  May you live in those days too, rooted in the confidence of He who created and loves you above all else.   

All my love,

Momma