Friday, August 25, 2017
I don't believe in Coincidences (Part II)
The Back to School Bash itself was only an hour and a half. But it felt like forever. The worst part of parenting might be the knowledge that your kids will face heartbreak, and sadness and loneliness and there is nothing you can do to prevent them from feeling those things. The only knowledge that's semi-comforting is that you can help them weather it.
As I pulled up to the school for pick up, I could see my eager girl bouncing up and down on the curb. I couldn't tell if she was happy to be leaving, or happy about how the night went. She bounced into the van and pronounced "I MET A FRIEND! And her name is RYLEE TOO!!"
Relief swept over me. "Tell me all about it. How did you meet her?"
"Well, I was sitting by myself eating pizza. That part was really sad. I mean, it's so sad to eat by yourself."
Me, still smiling, barely able to keep my heartbreak from rolling down my cheeks "And then what happened?"
"Well, I saw this girl sitting by herself too. So I inched down there until I was sitting next to her and I said hi and then we took pictures with the principal and now we're friends and we have the same name!!!"
She was gone an hour and a half, of which I cried for 45 minutes. She's come back with a brand new friend and a triumphant victory in being brave. And with all of that, she had one run-on sentence of details to fill me in with. That's it. That's all I got. But it was enough.
With a week to go until the start of school, she had two friends. Things were shaping up. And, in the meantime, we had a BF playdate. The playdate (aka, BF's little sister's birthday party) was a success. It was a beach party and there is no better setting for Rylee to be her best self than when there is sand and water.
As we were driving there, I came to my senses and realized that I would be staying for the duration of this event. Immediately, I got sweaty armpits. Partly because it's summer in South Carolina, and partly because I had been so focused on Ry and her exciting day that I forgot to brush my hair or put on a clean shirt. The good news is that what I lacked in hygiene I totally made up for in charm. And for that reason alone, I am taking credit for Rylee's invitation to BF's back to school slumber party!
(This is the part in any story I tell where Troy starts to wonder why I've said anything about Coincidences and how long it's going to take to get there. That's when I roll my eyes and tell him to calm down, I'm getting there.)
So Joy Joy Joy! we still have one more event at school and a slumber party!! Two more chances to meet kids before the first day of school. We just might be able to breathe the first day of classes.
The last pre-season event was Meet the Teacher / Parent Orientation night. The kids were dropped off in their homerooms with their other classmates while all the mom's and dad's got a the low down on things like "how to not be a moron in the drop off line" and other assorted threats...I mean information.
We dropped off Ry with her class and I got a sharp elbow in the rib cage. "Mom. That girl next to my teacher is also in my Sunday school class." I tried to not to vomit glee all over her.
"Oh cool. Try to find out her name, ok?" And off we went to find out about truancy.
(Ok, Troy. It's finally time.)
Fast forward now one night. It's time for the slumber party. I am a jumble of nerves. But I've met the parents and they are solid people, so I'm not worried about any freaky business. I just have your run of the mill nerves. You know, where you send your kid off into a new friend situation and hope to high heaven that she remembers your advice about not singing made up songs about nipples this soon in a friendship. (Seriously, you gotta find out if your crazy is the same as other people's crazy before you start sharing some of your talents- i.e.: operatic style lyrics about body parts.)
Anyway. I walk up to the door and there in the entryway is BF and a girl I recognize. I try to keep cool again, but on the inside I'm screaming like a 12 year old at a Bieber concert.
"Hey. Are you in Rylee's class?"
"Yeah. Just so you know, we don't have to bring backpacks the first day."
"Good to know. Aren't you in her Sunday School class too?"
"Uh. Yeah."
"Sweet. Have a fun night!"
I walked back to the car like a normal person. But again, on the inside, I'm 12 and The Biebs just touched my hand.
See. I don't believe in coincidences. I don't believe that one kid showing up in the same church group, then school class and then a random slumber party is a coincidence. I believe that months ago God heard our pleas for friends in this new place. I believe that He orchestrated the meetings of these girls. I don't know if they'll all be friends in six months. But I do know this- God will send me reminders that He hears us, that He provides for us and that even though there will be sad and hard days ahead, He is preparing and orchestrating situations for our good.
In the end, the first day of school was a success. I asked Ry if she ate lunch with anyone she knew and she said "Yeah. Church Girl." So I breathed a little easier. Now we just need to work on getting that kid's actual name.
Much Love
Nikki
Wednesday, August 23, 2017
I don't believe in Coincidences (Part I)
Today is the first day of school here in South Carolina. Our Tazmanian Princess is less tazmanian and more princess than when I was writing last. She's headed into 5th grade today. She's complex, but not complicated. She's so grown up, but still a little girl. She loves having her hair and makeup done, but she won't suffer for fashion. If it itches, it's out. She's fearless on a bike or a tube, but has to be reminded of her bravery when meeting new people.
That's why I've had people praying for her for months. We are in a new city, and her fourth school in her 10 short years. I knew this move would be her hardest (but Lord willing, our last). Here in our new city, 5th and 6th grade are in an intermediate school. It's like prep for middle school. She'll have three different teachers throughout the day and rotate on a schedule different from her homeroom classmates. I've been the new kid in a small town where everyone already seemed to know each other going into middle school. It may have been 100 years ago, but I still remember the jumble of fear and anxiety. So I had people pray.
A few weeks ago, my outlook for our Ry was very bright. We had just finished a week of gymnastics camp where Rylee came home claiming she had met a BF. (I think she may have been leery about adding the last F as she's had a handful of BFF's that haven't lasted the Forever she promised because her parents are gypsies.) I knew it was for real because Ry had gotten her actual name (instead of a made up one like "Bun Bun" because she wasn't brave enough to have a conversation with the person but really enjoyed playing with them sans words.) AND! She brought home her phone number! Huzzah!
I texted the mother and asked if new BF was going to the Back to School Bash for 5th graders. It was a drop off situation and so far, BF was the only face Ry would recognize. Sadly, no. BF would not be going. I was confident this was must attend event prior to the start of school, so off we went anyway. And we went with great attitudes because BF's mom invited Ry to BF's little sister's birthday party. It would be all about the sister, so Ry would be the only friend BF's age to paly with. WIN!
As we pulled up to school the night of the Bash, I watched as groups of children clustered together. Little girls in groups of 3 and 4 piled into the gym. Ry's grip on my hand was sweaty and tight and there was no masking that both of us wanted to turn around and run back to the van. But neither of us wanted to let the other one down, so we walked in. I tried staying close, but she was whisked away and I couldn't get to her. The 5th grade class has close to 400 students (the entire size of her last school) and suddenly I was pushed to the parent line being told about pick up.
I got my chin to stop quivering long enough to tell a volunteer that the kid in blue is new and doesn't know anyone and could she make sure she wasn't alone. I was given on over confident reassurance that she'd be fine. But my whole heart was crushed and I cursed myself for not finding a way to stay.
I did the only thing I could do next, and that was to pray. "Lord, don't let her be alone. Be by her side. Help her be brave. Bring her a friend." Then I called my mom and cried.
To Be Continued.....
That's why I've had people praying for her for months. We are in a new city, and her fourth school in her 10 short years. I knew this move would be her hardest (but Lord willing, our last). Here in our new city, 5th and 6th grade are in an intermediate school. It's like prep for middle school. She'll have three different teachers throughout the day and rotate on a schedule different from her homeroom classmates. I've been the new kid in a small town where everyone already seemed to know each other going into middle school. It may have been 100 years ago, but I still remember the jumble of fear and anxiety. So I had people pray.
A few weeks ago, my outlook for our Ry was very bright. We had just finished a week of gymnastics camp where Rylee came home claiming she had met a BF. (I think she may have been leery about adding the last F as she's had a handful of BFF's that haven't lasted the Forever she promised because her parents are gypsies.) I knew it was for real because Ry had gotten her actual name (instead of a made up one like "Bun Bun" because she wasn't brave enough to have a conversation with the person but really enjoyed playing with them sans words.) AND! She brought home her phone number! Huzzah!
I texted the mother and asked if new BF was going to the Back to School Bash for 5th graders. It was a drop off situation and so far, BF was the only face Ry would recognize. Sadly, no. BF would not be going. I was confident this was must attend event prior to the start of school, so off we went anyway. And we went with great attitudes because BF's mom invited Ry to BF's little sister's birthday party. It would be all about the sister, so Ry would be the only friend BF's age to paly with. WIN!
As we pulled up to school the night of the Bash, I watched as groups of children clustered together. Little girls in groups of 3 and 4 piled into the gym. Ry's grip on my hand was sweaty and tight and there was no masking that both of us wanted to turn around and run back to the van. But neither of us wanted to let the other one down, so we walked in. I tried staying close, but she was whisked away and I couldn't get to her. The 5th grade class has close to 400 students (the entire size of her last school) and suddenly I was pushed to the parent line being told about pick up.
I got my chin to stop quivering long enough to tell a volunteer that the kid in blue is new and doesn't know anyone and could she make sure she wasn't alone. I was given on over confident reassurance that she'd be fine. But my whole heart was crushed and I cursed myself for not finding a way to stay.
I did the only thing I could do next, and that was to pray. "Lord, don't let her be alone. Be by her side. Help her be brave. Bring her a friend." Then I called my mom and cried.
To Be Continued.....
My Prayer for Maggie before the start of 3rd grade
At the end of this past school year, my girls asked me to visit them for lunch. I love eating at the cafeteria with them. It makes them feel special, and I get a not-so-subtle opportunity to grill their known associates.
In the months leading up to this particular lunch, we were hearing more and more about a boy named Jason.
"Jason thinks I look like the blonde girl on Girl Meets World."
"Jason likes the Vikings."
"Jason and Vianne and I played this game on the swings today."
"Jason got his hair cut really short. He looks very fast."
After the likes of Emilio, I was ready to set my sights on this Jason fellow. I arrived a few minutes early and sat down at the lunch table with a big bag of Subway and waited for the looks of envy from the stream of 2nd graders that were about to flow through the doors.
In bounced my happy little lady. Her hair that started out smooth and pulled back into a ponytail now looked like she'd been in a cage fight with her sister; it was full evidence that she'd just finished a successful recess. She plopped down at the bench while the rest of her classmates got in line for a hot lunch. It was the end of the year so Mommas across the country had raised the white flag with regards to sending in organic, non-processed lunch.
Apparently the hot topic this day was a new joke.
"Mom. George Washington called."
"He did?"
"He wants to know if your refrigerator is running."
"He did?"
"Yeah. Is it?"
"I suppose it is, yes."
"Well, you better go catch it. Bbbwwwwahahahahah."
One by one, students started filling up the table. Each time, sweet Maggie would say to the them "Hey, George Washington called." And each time her joke would be returned with blank stares or a blatant change of subject. This didn't stop her. 18 students passed her by, each one giving her renewed joy at retelling her ill received joke. She gets that from me.
There was an open spot on the other side of my Fozzie Bear leaving her with one last opportunity to grace someone with her stand-up routine. The final victim, err, I mean classmate, fell clumsily into the last space.
"Hey. George Washington called!"
"Ring Ring. George Washington here!!"
"Is your refrigerator running?"
Simultaneously, they started gut laughing. Suddenly, I was on the outside looking in. I asked the girl across from me what that boy's name was.
"Jason" she replied.
Chicken nuggets and sandwich bits were flying out of their mouths as they roared. It was the most disgusting display of pure joy I have ever witnessed. Two 7 year old idiots, gasping for breath in between glugs of chocolate milk because of a joke that was worn out and lame.
But I will admit, my heart swelled because their joy was contagious and there is just nothing like seeing your child with Their Person. Your person is someone who gets you. If you're as lucky as me, you collect a bunch of Persons along the way and all of a sudden you have My People. And if you are really lucky, you'll have My People In Florida and My People in Minnesota and My People in Kansas.
So my prayer for Maggie, on her very first day of 3rd grade, is that she finds Her Person right away. That she doesn't have to go very long before plopping down to lunch, all sweaty and disheveled, with someone she shoots milk out her nose with because "Knock Knock, George Washington called."
In the months leading up to this particular lunch, we were hearing more and more about a boy named Jason.
"Jason thinks I look like the blonde girl on Girl Meets World."
"Jason likes the Vikings."
"Jason and Vianne and I played this game on the swings today."
"Jason got his hair cut really short. He looks very fast."
After the likes of Emilio, I was ready to set my sights on this Jason fellow. I arrived a few minutes early and sat down at the lunch table with a big bag of Subway and waited for the looks of envy from the stream of 2nd graders that were about to flow through the doors.
In bounced my happy little lady. Her hair that started out smooth and pulled back into a ponytail now looked like she'd been in a cage fight with her sister; it was full evidence that she'd just finished a successful recess. She plopped down at the bench while the rest of her classmates got in line for a hot lunch. It was the end of the year so Mommas across the country had raised the white flag with regards to sending in organic, non-processed lunch.
Apparently the hot topic this day was a new joke.
"Mom. George Washington called."
"He did?"
"He wants to know if your refrigerator is running."
"He did?"
"Yeah. Is it?"
"I suppose it is, yes."
"Well, you better go catch it. Bbbwwwwahahahahah."
One by one, students started filling up the table. Each time, sweet Maggie would say to the them "Hey, George Washington called." And each time her joke would be returned with blank stares or a blatant change of subject. This didn't stop her. 18 students passed her by, each one giving her renewed joy at retelling her ill received joke. She gets that from me.
There was an open spot on the other side of my Fozzie Bear leaving her with one last opportunity to grace someone with her stand-up routine. The final victim, err, I mean classmate, fell clumsily into the last space.
"Hey. George Washington called!"
"Ring Ring. George Washington here!!"
"Is your refrigerator running?"
Simultaneously, they started gut laughing. Suddenly, I was on the outside looking in. I asked the girl across from me what that boy's name was.
"Jason" she replied.
Chicken nuggets and sandwich bits were flying out of their mouths as they roared. It was the most disgusting display of pure joy I have ever witnessed. Two 7 year old idiots, gasping for breath in between glugs of chocolate milk because of a joke that was worn out and lame.
But I will admit, my heart swelled because their joy was contagious and there is just nothing like seeing your child with Their Person. Your person is someone who gets you. If you're as lucky as me, you collect a bunch of Persons along the way and all of a sudden you have My People. And if you are really lucky, you'll have My People In Florida and My People in Minnesota and My People in Kansas.
So my prayer for Maggie, on her very first day of 3rd grade, is that she finds Her Person right away. That she doesn't have to go very long before plopping down to lunch, all sweaty and disheveled, with someone she shoots milk out her nose with because "Knock Knock, George Washington called."
Emilio
The First Incident:
"Mom. Today at recess at boy came up to me and Ms. Dorso and he told her I was his baby."
"What did you do?"
"I ran away. I don't enen know that guy."
The Second Incident:
"Mom. Today at recess Emilio put his arm around me and called me his bae."
"Is that so?"
"Yeah. But I don't enen know him."
One Week Later:
"Mom. Emilio kissed me at recess today!!"
Being all too aware that as a mother of daughters, this is a teaching moment, I calmly say: "Did you like that he kissed you?"
"Noooo." (As in ick, boys have cooties)
"Well, just know that if you do not want him to kiss you, you say STOP or NO. And if he persists in trying to kiss you, you run to tell a teacher. No one has the right to kiss you if you don't want them to." After this statement, I probably beat the horse carcass until everyone in earshot was blue in the face.
Then Maggie says "I just ran away from that guy."
"Do you want me to talk to your teacher about this boy?"
Maggie: "Well, I don't want him to stop chasing me!"
Unwanted comment from the peanut gallery (aka Troy): "Sounds like your mother."
One More Week Later: (After what I gather was a week of Emilio chasing Maggie, but never actually catching her.)
Crying on my bed one morning: "Mom. Emilio told me that I'm not a Vikings fan because my snow pants are blue. And I tried to tell him that just because my snow pants aren't purple doesn't mean that I don't like the Vikings. I wish I never enen met that guy."
I just consoled her and told her she can like whatever football team she likes.
Troy (finally chiming in with solid advice): "Practice this saying with me Mags: Whatever Emilio."
Friday, August 18, 2017
The Lifeguard
She stands about 5 foot 11 inches. Her tan is bronze. She likes the golden shimmer of her skin because it makes her look skinnier than when she's pasty. Of course she's not "fat", she's only 22. But she is "thicker" than most of her friends and won't truly appreciate the shape she's in until she's let it all go at the ripe old age of 36. That's when places like Weight Watchers and The YMCA will take her money like candy from a baby.
She walks around the edge of the pool with her arms swinging out from her body like she has on an invisible utility belt worn by State Patrol's finest. You can sense the power she has with her seniority. She's been working this municipal facility for 2 seasons longer than any of her co-workers and she likes to remind them of it often. "Back when I started..." was your cue to leave if you didn't want to hear a story about how the bureaucracy of city management has made it so easy to get your whistle and red flotation device.
Secretly, the children call her The Pool Nazi. Her whistle sounds long and loud right before she points out the offender for all to see. "No Running!" she bellows in a voice that is unmatched by prison guards manning The Yard. Her chest puffs out each time she makes an infraction public.
She seems invincible, but her reign of terror is about to end.
I watched as my tiny 5 year old climbed the stairs to the slide. She has knock-knees and pigeon toes so when she walks her booty sashays left to right. It only accentuates her youth and her very squishy tooshey. In her frilly bikini she reminds me of a puppy with a belly full of milk.
The Lifeguard is at the top ensuring that no one is under the height requirement. Her tool of choice is a metal pole that swings out from the handrail. If it clears your head, you're too short and get shamed into taking the stairs back down. My baby knows she's tall enough, this isn't her first rodeo.
The Lifeguard lowered her mirrored aviators as my baby approaches. "Feet against the post" she barks. She swings the metal post out, positive that she's judged her height correctly. Only she was wrong and that metal post swung into my puppy's head like a wrecking ball. I consoled my baby until her sobs subsided and then I sent that brave little thing down the slide.
The Lifeguard tried to apologize, but I wasn't having it. Any tender emotion I had went down the slide with my baby. I wasn't going to need words for her to understand that she was about to be demoted. She took her sunglasses off to look me in the eye and I held her gaze. I cocked my head slightly as if to say "you've been warned." I could see her shoulders slump and her chest deflate.
No other lifeguard was watching, they were too busy doing their jobs. But in her lofty tower she felt exposed and on display for all to see. She was not perfect, and now she would have to act accordingly.
She walks around the edge of the pool with her arms swinging out from her body like she has on an invisible utility belt worn by State Patrol's finest. You can sense the power she has with her seniority. She's been working this municipal facility for 2 seasons longer than any of her co-workers and she likes to remind them of it often. "Back when I started..." was your cue to leave if you didn't want to hear a story about how the bureaucracy of city management has made it so easy to get your whistle and red flotation device.
Secretly, the children call her The Pool Nazi. Her whistle sounds long and loud right before she points out the offender for all to see. "No Running!" she bellows in a voice that is unmatched by prison guards manning The Yard. Her chest puffs out each time she makes an infraction public.
She seems invincible, but her reign of terror is about to end.
I watched as my tiny 5 year old climbed the stairs to the slide. She has knock-knees and pigeon toes so when she walks her booty sashays left to right. It only accentuates her youth and her very squishy tooshey. In her frilly bikini she reminds me of a puppy with a belly full of milk.
The Lifeguard is at the top ensuring that no one is under the height requirement. Her tool of choice is a metal pole that swings out from the handrail. If it clears your head, you're too short and get shamed into taking the stairs back down. My baby knows she's tall enough, this isn't her first rodeo.
The Lifeguard lowered her mirrored aviators as my baby approaches. "Feet against the post" she barks. She swings the metal post out, positive that she's judged her height correctly. Only she was wrong and that metal post swung into my puppy's head like a wrecking ball. I consoled my baby until her sobs subsided and then I sent that brave little thing down the slide.
The Lifeguard tried to apologize, but I wasn't having it. Any tender emotion I had went down the slide with my baby. I wasn't going to need words for her to understand that she was about to be demoted. She took her sunglasses off to look me in the eye and I held her gaze. I cocked my head slightly as if to say "you've been warned." I could see her shoulders slump and her chest deflate.
No other lifeguard was watching, they were too busy doing their jobs. But in her lofty tower she felt exposed and on display for all to see. She was not perfect, and now she would have to act accordingly.
Wednesday, January 27, 2016
Prepared to Serve
It was my turn to volunteer for child care at my local Bible
study. I only joined this study a few
weeks ago, so I don’t really know any of the mammas or the kids. When the sign-up sheet came around, I thought
about where my strengths are. I spent last year serving in the Kindergarten
room at our old church so I thought that would be a natural fit. Turns out,
that spot was taken. I filled my name in the next available space and didn’t
give any more thought to it.
But guess who was working His way into my thoughts? Yep. Him.
He was tugging at my heart every time I saw a baby commercial. I could
feel the weight of that baby in my own arms.
When I would pick up my own girls from school, there would be other
mommas holding their babies and a yearning would rise up in my stomach. But I don’t want a new baby of my own. Why was I having these longings?
The answer is simple. When God calls you to serve, he
prepares your heart. He was preparing my
heart for someone very particular today.
I checked into the volunteer table and saw that I had signed
up for the “crawlers” room. Oh good, I thought. I entered the room and of course there were a
one or two Little Bits that were having a hard time with the separation from
mom. After about 10 minutes all the tiny
people were adjusting and playing with toys. All, but one. A sweet woman was
rocking a very upset boy. I could see that he had some weight to him; solid
like my babies were. And his head was so round and beautiful. But I stood at a
distance, knowing I might make it worse if I came too close.
Eventually I sat on the floor and a little red headed kitten
saddled up on my lap. We purred at each other and I told her how much Jesus
loves her. As we were cooing, the woman
holding Cabby Pants walked by. She was still trying to console him when for
some reason he reached for me.
He felt just like my babies did; heavy and hot. He let me rock him and hold him and sing to
him and cup the back of his down-covered head.
The swaying came natural but nothing seemed to calm him for very
long. Apparently he didn’t have his Nuk
today, which added insult to injury. However, his binkie usually only gets them
about 15 minutes of quiet.
The Head Lady said she was going to call Cabby’s mom. 10 more
minutes, I pleaded. We rocked some
more. Then we moved our chair so he couldn’t see the door and remember exactly
where mom left him. Head Lady turned on a water faucet and the whimpering
settled. I told him I get it, water calms
me down too.
Eventually, Crabby Pants turned to face me. He seemed like
he was getting bored even. So we
practiced standing up. I knew it was OK then to start playing and being happy.
I blew zerburts in his neck and he started to giggle. We played the tickle
version of the Itsy Bitsy Spider. Crabby Pants was crabby no longer. And it
only took 1 hour and 45 minutes.
With ten minutes left to play, he let me set him on the
floor so he could roam and touch and lick all the toys within reach. He was on his own and happy. What a success.
Thank you Lord for giving me the chance to serve you through
loving on babies today. Thank you for
the yearning and the gifts to follow through on that calling today. Give me
eyes to see where you want me tomorrow.
Thursday, December 3, 2015
Laws and Prayer
I've been sitting in my comfortable living room this last month thinking about the events of the world. We just moved to Minnesota for a job promotion my husband received. While I was waiting for new furniture to arrive (because the old stuff was just....old), people in Paris were waiting to hear if loved ones were alive. I read about the people in Beirut suffering the same brutality while I was taking a break from unwrapping the plastic off our new mattresses. I am fully aware of my comforts. I thank God for them. I am also fully aware that as a wife and mother of young children, I am limited in my response to those in pain on the other side of the world. I know Someone who is not limited, though. So I vow to talk to Him on their behalf.
Then yesterday, yet another attack, a little closer to home to home this time. On American soil. I'm heartbroken for the people whose holidays will forever be marked by fear and grief. Yet, in my comfortable living room, I roll my eyes at the thought of what is coming. Screams from one side demanding gun control. Screams from the other side defending their right to protect themselves. It didn't take long. I saw my first headline this morning.
A few years ago, I was listening to a pastor talk about the Jewish laws. The Old Testament outlines 613 laws the Jewish people had to follow. I was thinking about how exhausting that must have been to remember them all. 613 rules about how to go about life. If you broke just one of those laws, you were guilty of breaking all of them. How absurd. I thanked God that I didn't live then. It's so much easier living with the two simple ones Jesus left. "Love God, Love others." Easy Peasy (kind of).
All of this outrage about gun control had me wondering how many laws there are in America. I couldn't find an answer. I found some article that said in 2010 over 40,000 NEW laws were being put into effect that year. That's over 800 per state. In one year!
I'm not saying that we don't need gun control laws. God gave the Jewish people laws to protect them and to set them apart from the world. But in that loving restriction, He was also showing them how much they needed a Savior. The laws of today, no matter how well intended or necessary, merely underline how incapable man is of fixing what is wrong in this world. But as the New York Magazine so boldly states "God isn't fixing this." I agree. I'm a Christian and I agree. Why? Because God said so Himself.
In Romans, Paul talks about the wickedness of man. This isn't anything new in 2015. In chapter 1:28 he says "And just as they did not see fit to acknowledge God any longer, God gave them over to a depraved mind, to do those things which are not proper, being filled with all unrighteousness, wickedness, greed, evil; full of envy, murder, strife, deceit, malice; they are....INVENTORS OF EVIL...UNLOVING....UNMERCIFUL..."
God gave them over to their depraved minds. His wrath will come in full force to the inventors of evil. Psalm 11:6 is a promise. "Upon the wicked He will rain snares, Fire and brimstone and burning wind will be the portion of their cup." God isn't fixing evil. He already has.
But what about us? The people who not only acknowledge God, but love Him and trust Him. What does He tell us? This is where I think about the Israelites in exile in the book of Jeremiah chapter 29. God told them they were going to be in exile for 70 years. That's a lifetime. But He also told them to "build houses and live in them; and plant gardens and eat their produce.....take welfare in the city I have sent you into exile, and pray to the Lord on it's behalf; for in its welfare, you will have welfare."
He told His people to live and build lives. He told them to pray to and to keep care of each other. He told them I'll be back to bring you home, but in the meantime, trust Me. Then He says in verse 11 "For I know the plans I have for you, declares the Lord; plans for welfare and not for calamity to give you a future and a hope."
Right now seems pretty hopeless with 355 mass shootings in the last year in America alone. But my hope is not man's ability to fix the world with laws. My hope is in a Creator larger than this who has promised to wipe away every tear. And I will continue to pray for the welfare of my people, because God has said to do so.
Then yesterday, yet another attack, a little closer to home to home this time. On American soil. I'm heartbroken for the people whose holidays will forever be marked by fear and grief. Yet, in my comfortable living room, I roll my eyes at the thought of what is coming. Screams from one side demanding gun control. Screams from the other side defending their right to protect themselves. It didn't take long. I saw my first headline this morning.
A few years ago, I was listening to a pastor talk about the Jewish laws. The Old Testament outlines 613 laws the Jewish people had to follow. I was thinking about how exhausting that must have been to remember them all. 613 rules about how to go about life. If you broke just one of those laws, you were guilty of breaking all of them. How absurd. I thanked God that I didn't live then. It's so much easier living with the two simple ones Jesus left. "Love God, Love others." Easy Peasy (kind of).
All of this outrage about gun control had me wondering how many laws there are in America. I couldn't find an answer. I found some article that said in 2010 over 40,000 NEW laws were being put into effect that year. That's over 800 per state. In one year!
I'm not saying that we don't need gun control laws. God gave the Jewish people laws to protect them and to set them apart from the world. But in that loving restriction, He was also showing them how much they needed a Savior. The laws of today, no matter how well intended or necessary, merely underline how incapable man is of fixing what is wrong in this world. But as the New York Magazine so boldly states "God isn't fixing this." I agree. I'm a Christian and I agree. Why? Because God said so Himself.
In Romans, Paul talks about the wickedness of man. This isn't anything new in 2015. In chapter 1:28 he says "And just as they did not see fit to acknowledge God any longer, God gave them over to a depraved mind, to do those things which are not proper, being filled with all unrighteousness, wickedness, greed, evil; full of envy, murder, strife, deceit, malice; they are....INVENTORS OF EVIL...UNLOVING....UNMERCIFUL..."
God gave them over to their depraved minds. His wrath will come in full force to the inventors of evil. Psalm 11:6 is a promise. "Upon the wicked He will rain snares, Fire and brimstone and burning wind will be the portion of their cup." God isn't fixing evil. He already has.
But what about us? The people who not only acknowledge God, but love Him and trust Him. What does He tell us? This is where I think about the Israelites in exile in the book of Jeremiah chapter 29. God told them they were going to be in exile for 70 years. That's a lifetime. But He also told them to "build houses and live in them; and plant gardens and eat their produce.....take welfare in the city I have sent you into exile, and pray to the Lord on it's behalf; for in its welfare, you will have welfare."
He told His people to live and build lives. He told them to pray to and to keep care of each other. He told them I'll be back to bring you home, but in the meantime, trust Me. Then He says in verse 11 "For I know the plans I have for you, declares the Lord; plans for welfare and not for calamity to give you a future and a hope."
Right now seems pretty hopeless with 355 mass shootings in the last year in America alone. But my hope is not man's ability to fix the world with laws. My hope is in a Creator larger than this who has promised to wipe away every tear. And I will continue to pray for the welfare of my people, because God has said to do so.
Tuesday, October 21, 2014
Fear and Dread and Love and Hope
I had lunch with a dear friend last week whose husband has stage 4 cancer. My normal reaction to helping someone with a terminal disease (or really scary, hard stuff that I can't fix) is to pray. Prayer is powerful and I believe in it with all my heart. But that's where my help ends.
I'm learning that we are called to do more than that. I'm learning that just because something is scary that it doesn't mean it has to be unapproachable. I've never known how to act around someone who is this sick; it's not a skill we learn in school. I want to give them a hug, say I understand, then keep my distance until everything in their world is easy again. And it's just laughable, because my own father died of cancer when I was 20. I should know how to act, right?
Turns out, I'm not supposed to act at all. I haven't been called to audition for the role of supportive, serious, counselor in great time of distress. God created me, goofy-comic-relief Nikki, to act in love. He created me with a loud laugh and a memory for inappropriate stories and scatter brained ideas to love on those around me. Right now, one of those people around me is facing the loss of her husband, and I have been called to love on her in the way I know how; with smoothies, lunch, story telling, and loud laughing.
But she's loving on me too. She's shown me what real hope looks like. During our last lunch, she talked about her husband and his love of God and His word. She talked about how she wants to help him enjoy his last days. The sadness in her voice isn't about the impending loss, but of his current pain and lack of energy. She expresses gratitude for a full, blessed life together. She seeks strength to support him to her fullest. Not once has she told me she's scared about what is going to happen. She knows the promises of the Lord and she is living in them. And that is real hope.
Psalm 71:1: But as for me, I will hope continually, and will praise You yet more and more.
I'm learning that we are called to do more than that. I'm learning that just because something is scary that it doesn't mean it has to be unapproachable. I've never known how to act around someone who is this sick; it's not a skill we learn in school. I want to give them a hug, say I understand, then keep my distance until everything in their world is easy again. And it's just laughable, because my own father died of cancer when I was 20. I should know how to act, right?
Turns out, I'm not supposed to act at all. I haven't been called to audition for the role of supportive, serious, counselor in great time of distress. God created me, goofy-comic-relief Nikki, to act in love. He created me with a loud laugh and a memory for inappropriate stories and scatter brained ideas to love on those around me. Right now, one of those people around me is facing the loss of her husband, and I have been called to love on her in the way I know how; with smoothies, lunch, story telling, and loud laughing.
But she's loving on me too. She's shown me what real hope looks like. During our last lunch, she talked about her husband and his love of God and His word. She talked about how she wants to help him enjoy his last days. The sadness in her voice isn't about the impending loss, but of his current pain and lack of energy. She expresses gratitude for a full, blessed life together. She seeks strength to support him to her fullest. Not once has she told me she's scared about what is going to happen. She knows the promises of the Lord and she is living in them. And that is real hope.
Psalm 71:1: But as for me, I will hope continually, and will praise You yet more and more.
Wednesday, February 5, 2014
Super Powers
A week ago a friend of mine asked on Facebook "If you could have one super power, what would it be." I've been thinking about that. All of the super powers I could think of seemed like too great of a burden. The power to see the future, the power to heal, the power to turn back time, the power to leap tall buildings in a single bound. Nope, none of them seemed quite right for me. Looking at all the possibilities of what you could do with those powers gave me an unsettling feeling that I would be competing for roles that only God should have. Who do you heal? Who do you save? Who?
Ahh, but then God told me He gave me the power to LOVE; and that love is a super power. Then God gave me a chance to use my super power.
I talked with a woman this week who told me how times are hard. I sympathetically nodded my head and said "I know." She told me about how she was looking for another job because the job she does have only pays $7.35 and hour and she only gets 20 hours a week. She told me how she had to split one hamburger for dinner the night before between her children who are 7, 5 and 18months. It was a Monday and payday was on Wednesday and they thought they could make it. She grew more and more comfortable with me and told me how she and her partner of 13 years are calling it quits. She told me they are waiting for their tax return to come back so they can afford it. She told me how she spent her night praying for a job so she could feed her children.
My heart burst right open, but I held back from picking her up right there and hugging her. (She's very little, if we did hug, most likely I would lift her off the floor.) She told me how it's embarrassing to have to live off the backpack program and that her family wouldn't make it some through the weekend sometimes if it weren't for those programs. I just kept listening and nodding my head.
She doesn't know me very well. We see each other every day, but on a very superficial level. But yesterday she needed someone to talk to, and God put me in that place. Then He told me to help. Galatians 6:9-10a "Let us not lose heart in doing good, for in due time we will reap if we do not grow weary. So then, while we have the opportunity, let us do good to all people,"
So I did. And I know in that moment, she felt love.
But here's the thing. The groceries and gift cards I gave her won't last. They'll eat this week, maybe next week, and still need provisions. And she's not the only momma who is hungry. My heart is so heavy because there will always be a mouth that I cannot feed.
And even as I type this God is whispering "love like Me, I'll take care of the rest." Maybe you'll whisper back with me- "Show me how."
Ahh, but then God told me He gave me the power to LOVE; and that love is a super power. Then God gave me a chance to use my super power.
I talked with a woman this week who told me how times are hard. I sympathetically nodded my head and said "I know." She told me about how she was looking for another job because the job she does have only pays $7.35 and hour and she only gets 20 hours a week. She told me how she had to split one hamburger for dinner the night before between her children who are 7, 5 and 18months. It was a Monday and payday was on Wednesday and they thought they could make it. She grew more and more comfortable with me and told me how she and her partner of 13 years are calling it quits. She told me they are waiting for their tax return to come back so they can afford it. She told me how she spent her night praying for a job so she could feed her children.
My heart burst right open, but I held back from picking her up right there and hugging her. (She's very little, if we did hug, most likely I would lift her off the floor.) She told me how it's embarrassing to have to live off the backpack program and that her family wouldn't make it some through the weekend sometimes if it weren't for those programs. I just kept listening and nodding my head.
She doesn't know me very well. We see each other every day, but on a very superficial level. But yesterday she needed someone to talk to, and God put me in that place. Then He told me to help. Galatians 6:9-10a "Let us not lose heart in doing good, for in due time we will reap if we do not grow weary. So then, while we have the opportunity, let us do good to all people,"
So I did. And I know in that moment, she felt love.
But here's the thing. The groceries and gift cards I gave her won't last. They'll eat this week, maybe next week, and still need provisions. And she's not the only momma who is hungry. My heart is so heavy because there will always be a mouth that I cannot feed.
And even as I type this God is whispering "love like Me, I'll take care of the rest." Maybe you'll whisper back with me- "Show me how."
Monday, October 7, 2013
Waxing Poetic
Sometimes my baby's breath is like fruit
on an Earl Grey English Morning
Fresh and Sweet and
full of promise
that spring gives with early life
Wednesday, October 2, 2013
Thieves Row - It's Biblical!
I had a flashback today.
I was in the car with my college roommate, whose name would be changed if she were innocent, but she wasn't...neither was I, but that's not the point. Her name was Kelcey. We were driving back to school, I'm not sure from where, but my guess is that we were just visiting her hometown. We attended the University of Kansas. Anyone who drives back to school from their hometown in Kansas is likely to drive by farm fields. Like...100% likely.
Kelcey was full of helpful Kansas knowledge. Like how the longest curved road (as of 1994) in the US could be found on the way to Iola (not to be confused with Iowa). On this particular trip, I learned about how farmers planted an extra row around the perimeter of their fields knowing that the outer edges were prone to theft. Hence Thieves Row.
It's odd how some things, like that memory, will stick with you. When driving by a ripe field of oranges, my husband and I will look longingly and say with drool on our lips "mmmm...thieves row...."
Anyway, I got this flashback as I was reading Leviticus 19:9-10:
9 “‘When you reap the harvest of your land, do not reap to the very edges of your field or gather the gleanings of your harvest. 10 Do not go over your vineyard a second time or pick up the grapes that have fallen. Leave them for the poor and the foreigner. I am the Lord your God."
Of course, then I had some other thoughts. My first was how God's word can get so convoluted. God told us to leave some of our harvest for the poor. There's such a stark difference in seeing something as "prone to theft" versus "planted with the intent to feed those in need".
Then I thought of how I could apply that to myself. Am I the farmer that plants knowing that some of my "fruits" might not end up in my harvest? Or am I intentionally planting extra in anticipation of feeding those in need?
Lord, keep me from greed, so that your harvest is plentiful.
I was in the car with my college roommate, whose name would be changed if she were innocent, but she wasn't...neither was I, but that's not the point. Her name was Kelcey. We were driving back to school, I'm not sure from where, but my guess is that we were just visiting her hometown. We attended the University of Kansas. Anyone who drives back to school from their hometown in Kansas is likely to drive by farm fields. Like...100% likely.
Kelcey was full of helpful Kansas knowledge. Like how the longest curved road (as of 1994) in the US could be found on the way to Iola (not to be confused with Iowa). On this particular trip, I learned about how farmers planted an extra row around the perimeter of their fields knowing that the outer edges were prone to theft. Hence Thieves Row.
It's odd how some things, like that memory, will stick with you. When driving by a ripe field of oranges, my husband and I will look longingly and say with drool on our lips "mmmm...thieves row...."
Anyway, I got this flashback as I was reading Leviticus 19:9-10:
9 “‘When you reap the harvest of your land, do not reap to the very edges of your field or gather the gleanings of your harvest. 10 Do not go over your vineyard a second time or pick up the grapes that have fallen. Leave them for the poor and the foreigner. I am the Lord your God."
Of course, then I had some other thoughts. My first was how God's word can get so convoluted. God told us to leave some of our harvest for the poor. There's such a stark difference in seeing something as "prone to theft" versus "planted with the intent to feed those in need".
Then I thought of how I could apply that to myself. Am I the farmer that plants knowing that some of my "fruits" might not end up in my harvest? Or am I intentionally planting extra in anticipation of feeding those in need?
Lord, keep me from greed, so that your harvest is plentiful.
Thursday, April 25, 2013
Sassy Pants and The LIttle Swimmer
Two of my favorite things this week:
The swim cap
and
The funny kid
Mom, is this hat for swimming?
Yes.
Oh.
(slightly deflated, but not deterred)
Rylee: Hey Angelica, did you know I have a boyfriend?
(non-chalantly bragging)
Angelica: You do?
Rylee: Yeah. Do you wanna know who he is?
(teasing)
Angelica: Yeah. Who is he?
Rylee: HE'S YOUR DAD!
(both of us - Bwaaa haa haaa haa haaa)
The Grand PooBah of The Pool
Tuesday, April 16, 2013
Not only the neighbors...but the whole neighborhood.
So, a few hours after Close Encounters Of The Gator Kind, I was due to pick up The Taz from school. Maggie and I rolled up to school and a mother from the neighborhood shouts "Hey Nikki, Heard you spent some time on top of your car today!" And she doesn't even know about this blog. (Hard to believe, I know.)
For sure this made me giggle, because now I am famous. And people for blocks and blocks will know me. Sure it's not really cool like "oh she's the mom that always makes the coolest treats for the kids at school." Or being referred to as "you know, that mom that runs behind her kids to school, and have you seen her arms, she must do cross fit." But it's something. "Yeah. That Mom who was on the roof of her car because she saw a baby gator."
Anyway, thanks to my kind neighbor (whose husband made sure the gator was not under my car, so I could climb down) I now have better pictures to show you of the beast.
For sure this made me giggle, because now I am famous. And people for blocks and blocks will know me. Sure it's not really cool like "oh she's the mom that always makes the coolest treats for the kids at school." Or being referred to as "you know, that mom that runs behind her kids to school, and have you seen her arms, she must do cross fit." But it's something. "Yeah. That Mom who was on the roof of her car because she saw a baby gator."
Anyway, thanks to my kind neighbor (whose husband made sure the gator was not under my car, so I could climb down) I now have better pictures to show you of the beast.
Here she comes just a walking down the street.
Singin' "Doo wha diddy, it's your dog that I will eat."
Seriously. This isn't right.
The neighbor thinks I'm crazy
Picture this.
There's me. In the garage. Minding my own business. I'm cleaning up my work space. I'm sanding. I'm sweating.
Then I hear something strange. Like a small animal. I see something out of the corner of my eye.
Let me zoom in to show you what I was looking at.
That's right. It's a gator. Only about 4 feet long. Only my baby is just about 4 feet long. Luckily she was at school when this went down.
So I did what anyone would do, and I turned around, grabbed my phone and then jumped on the hood of the car to call my husband (right after I got a couple of photos, of course). Upon viewing the phone photos, and getting no answer from Troy, I did what anyone else would do next. I ran inside to grab my real camera. I did have the wherewithal to lock the door behind me...just in case gators grew opposable thumbs since last I studied them. After grabbing the good camera, I ran back outside and jumped back on the hood of the car.
That's when the neighbor saw me. On the hood of the car. Crouching kind of weird like; trying not to leave a dent in my go-getter. He had a weed whip, so I shouted to him "THERE'S A GATOR IN MY YARD!" As a disclaimer, I did not actually see if the gator came into our yard. because by the time I got back into position, it was gone. Lucky for me, said neighbor had seen the gator cross the street before it got to our house. So I only looked kind of crazy, and not straight-up-heat-has-fried-her-brain crazy.
The story is really anti-climactic from here. The neighbor and I did a hot lap around our house- he carrying the weed whip and a brick from a different neighbor's house; and I with my camera - and we found no trace of the gator. All in all, a very exciting thirteen minutes.
There's me. In the garage. Minding my own business. I'm cleaning up my work space. I'm sanding. I'm sweating.
Then I hear something strange. Like a small animal. I see something out of the corner of my eye.
Let me zoom in to show you what I was looking at.
That's right. It's a gator. Only about 4 feet long. Only my baby is just about 4 feet long. Luckily she was at school when this went down.
So I did what anyone would do, and I turned around, grabbed my phone and then jumped on the hood of the car to call my husband (right after I got a couple of photos, of course). Upon viewing the phone photos, and getting no answer from Troy, I did what anyone else would do next. I ran inside to grab my real camera. I did have the wherewithal to lock the door behind me...just in case gators grew opposable thumbs since last I studied them. After grabbing the good camera, I ran back outside and jumped back on the hood of the car.
That's when the neighbor saw me. On the hood of the car. Crouching kind of weird like; trying not to leave a dent in my go-getter. He had a weed whip, so I shouted to him "THERE'S A GATOR IN MY YARD!" As a disclaimer, I did not actually see if the gator came into our yard. because by the time I got back into position, it was gone. Lucky for me, said neighbor had seen the gator cross the street before it got to our house. So I only looked kind of crazy, and not straight-up-heat-has-fried-her-brain crazy.
The story is really anti-climactic from here. The neighbor and I did a hot lap around our house- he carrying the weed whip and a brick from a different neighbor's house; and I with my camera - and we found no trace of the gator. All in all, a very exciting thirteen minutes.
Wednesday, March 20, 2013
Re-fabulous
Last weekend I was perusing Craigslist for nothing in particular when I saw a post for a solid wood hutch. It was advertised as being a fun "project" or tool storage for your garage. I already had "the bug" to re-do more furniture after my last project. So, I quickly snatch that hutch up.
The owner before me had gotten this from her parents. A momma, just like me, with hopes of restoring it to it's natural beauty. I got my power sander out right away. I hadn't done a project this big before, so I was nervous about messing it up; especially knowing it had come from someone who was hoping to see it restored. I knew I was going to learn a lesson with this piece. What I didn't know, was that the lesson wouldn't be about furniture, and sandpaper, and stain.
Recently, I have been wondering about what my "gifts" are. "Lord, open my eyes to what you would have me do when both my babies are in school. Lord, once the laundry has been folded, and the kitchen cleaned, what would I do to fulfill both our heart's desires." As I loaded the paper on my sander, I remembered Ephesians 2:10 "For we are God's handiwork, Created in Christ Jesus, to do good works, which God prepared in advance for us to do."
Someone one explained that verse to me like this: It's like a chef's kitchen. All of the mixing bowls, and spoons, and spices and ingredients are there. God's given you the tools, you just have to use them. Start cooking.
I looked at my actual tools. A sander. Sandpaper. Sanding block. Some paint brushes. A can of stain. And the most important tool - the desire. And I started cooking....errr....sanding.
When I started sanding this piece, I realized that God was going to talk some more. He told me that even when I was this dark, scratched up piece, He wanted me. He knows my beauty. He knows my worth. He also told me I needed some work.
At times there were spots that were very hard to get the paint, and stain and varnish off. When it would get too hard, I would put on a fresh piece of sandpaper. God told me that I had to use the right tools. And to keep them sharp. My tools are my faith, my desire, and the word of God. I kept on sanding. The more I got rid of the old, the more beautiful this piece became.
I ended up finishing the hutch first and putting it on Craigslist to sell. The woman who picked it up said she was going to use it to display art work that kids complete at her summer camp. My heart swelled. If you know me, you know I have a soft spot for the arts.
And when I finished the dresser, I was once again reminded of 2 Corinthians 5:17 which says "Therefore if anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation, the old things passed away, new things have come."
So my prayer is no longer - Open my eyes Lord; rather, Sand me, stain me, prepare me that I might be ready to display Your artwork.
The owner before me had gotten this from her parents. A momma, just like me, with hopes of restoring it to it's natural beauty. I got my power sander out right away. I hadn't done a project this big before, so I was nervous about messing it up; especially knowing it had come from someone who was hoping to see it restored. I knew I was going to learn a lesson with this piece. What I didn't know, was that the lesson wouldn't be about furniture, and sandpaper, and stain.
Recently, I have been wondering about what my "gifts" are. "Lord, open my eyes to what you would have me do when both my babies are in school. Lord, once the laundry has been folded, and the kitchen cleaned, what would I do to fulfill both our heart's desires." As I loaded the paper on my sander, I remembered Ephesians 2:10 "For we are God's handiwork, Created in Christ Jesus, to do good works, which God prepared in advance for us to do."
Someone one explained that verse to me like this: It's like a chef's kitchen. All of the mixing bowls, and spoons, and spices and ingredients are there. God's given you the tools, you just have to use them. Start cooking.
I looked at my actual tools. A sander. Sandpaper. Sanding block. Some paint brushes. A can of stain. And the most important tool - the desire. And I started cooking....errr....sanding.
When I finished sanding, I was in awe of what was under the gumpy residue of being a tool storage bench in a garage for 15 years.
About the same time, Troy found a dresser at his storage unit. It was just sitting out, waiting for someone to take it home.
When I started sanding this piece, I realized that God was going to talk some more. He told me that even when I was this dark, scratched up piece, He wanted me. He knows my beauty. He knows my worth. He also told me I needed some work.
At times there were spots that were very hard to get the paint, and stain and varnish off. When it would get too hard, I would put on a fresh piece of sandpaper. God told me that I had to use the right tools. And to keep them sharp. My tools are my faith, my desire, and the word of God. I kept on sanding. The more I got rid of the old, the more beautiful this piece became.
I ended up finishing the hutch first and putting it on Craigslist to sell. The woman who picked it up said she was going to use it to display art work that kids complete at her summer camp. My heart swelled. If you know me, you know I have a soft spot for the arts.
And when I finished the dresser, I was once again reminded of 2 Corinthians 5:17 which says "Therefore if anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation, the old things passed away, new things have come."
So my prayer is no longer - Open my eyes Lord; rather, Sand me, stain me, prepare me that I might be ready to display Your artwork.
Monday, February 25, 2013
Furniture Face Lift
Last week I spent all of my free time giving some of our furniture a face lift. I was inspired by a headboard that we found. A small little secret - some storage facilities have an area for people to leave things that other people might want. You can find some sweet treasures. So, as My Chef and I were on a very romantic trip to his work's storage unit last Valentine's Day, we happened upon this beauty:
Now that I have a little confidence that I can successfully paint furniture, my next project is to find a free piece that I can clean up during Lentsgiving and donate to a local organization that serve people getting back on their feet and need furniture.
It had some stickers on it, a few scratches, and didn't really match the other furniture.
But that was fine by me, because I had two things on my side: a can of primer, and a can of paint.
In fact, they had been burning a hole in my proverbial pocket; waiting for the perfect project.
I was going to take the lead from my friend over at White Butterfly who snazzes things up
with new hardware. But I was on the cheap. So I picked up myself some metallic silver spray paint for the trim pieces and, if you're asking me, I made a pretty good choice.
Now that I have a little confidence that I can successfully paint furniture, my next project is to find a free piece that I can clean up during Lentsgiving and donate to a local organization that serve people getting back on their feet and need furniture.
Sunday, February 17, 2013
10K Talk with the Big Man
Today was the day of my 10k run, and boy, was it a good one. I started the race with my friend, who is a strong runner, at the back of the pack because she was pushing her two chitlin's in a stroller. About a quarter mile into the race she said she was going to peel off. After I ate a bit of her dust, I was left to my own thoughts.
The sun was just rising at the start of this race; so naturally a camp song came to mind. "So, rise, and shine and give God the glory, glory..." In that moment, I knew that He and I were going to spend the next 6 miles talking.
I thanked Him for the cool weather, for the able body, for my loving family tucked in their beds. He sent some birds to sing in reply. I gave Him praise for the beauty around me.
I told Him about my friends- How LJ was having surgery again for breast cancer - How my Cousin Lisa (who isn't really my cousin) just had surgery again for cancer cells in her brain - About my mom's complex body - About Kim's foot - About my friend John who bid farewell to his wife so she could be with Him. I spoke at length about their fears, their pains, and their sadness. I thanked Him for the comfort He sends them each by way of doctors and medicine and people to love on them.
Then He reminded me that he knit each of them together while they were still in their mother's bellies (Psalms 139:13). That He knows every inch of them. He knows every ailment, every worry, every need. That He will provide for them, carry them, heal them and make them new again. He reminded me that He works all things for the good of those who love Him. (Romans 8:28)
We ran together like this- me lifting up my loved ones, and He answering with scripture. "Those who wait on the Lord will gain new strength, they will mount up with wings like eagles, they will run and not get tired, they will walk and not grow weary."
I was beaming when I rounded the last corner to see the balloon-arch finish line. I had not walked once. And God reminded me to "run with perseverance the race that has been marked" for me. (Hebrews something something). And I told Him I would. Then we high fived.
Then as I was crossing the finish line, there was my friend, with her two beautiful children that she pushed in the stroller, waiting to cheer me on. (Never mind that the three of them finished 17 minutes faster than me.) I got my medal, three Gatorades, a banana, two bagels and a granola bar and set off for home with a huge smile on my face and joy in my heart.
The sun was just rising at the start of this race; so naturally a camp song came to mind. "So, rise, and shine and give God the glory, glory..." In that moment, I knew that He and I were going to spend the next 6 miles talking.
I thanked Him for the cool weather, for the able body, for my loving family tucked in their beds. He sent some birds to sing in reply. I gave Him praise for the beauty around me.
I told Him about my friends- How LJ was having surgery again for breast cancer - How my Cousin Lisa (who isn't really my cousin) just had surgery again for cancer cells in her brain - About my mom's complex body - About Kim's foot - About my friend John who bid farewell to his wife so she could be with Him. I spoke at length about their fears, their pains, and their sadness. I thanked Him for the comfort He sends them each by way of doctors and medicine and people to love on them.
Then He reminded me that he knit each of them together while they were still in their mother's bellies (Psalms 139:13). That He knows every inch of them. He knows every ailment, every worry, every need. That He will provide for them, carry them, heal them and make them new again. He reminded me that He works all things for the good of those who love Him. (Romans 8:28)
We ran together like this- me lifting up my loved ones, and He answering with scripture. "Those who wait on the Lord will gain new strength, they will mount up with wings like eagles, they will run and not get tired, they will walk and not grow weary."
I was beaming when I rounded the last corner to see the balloon-arch finish line. I had not walked once. And God reminded me to "run with perseverance the race that has been marked" for me. (Hebrews something something). And I told Him I would. Then we high fived.
Then as I was crossing the finish line, there was my friend, with her two beautiful children that she pushed in the stroller, waiting to cheer me on. (Never mind that the three of them finished 17 minutes faster than me.) I got my medal, three Gatorades, a banana, two bagels and a granola bar and set off for home with a huge smile on my face and joy in my heart.
Wednesday, February 13, 2013
Lentsgiving
I just made up that word. Lentsgiving. It's like Thanksgiving. Only in the spring. And instead of giving thanks, you give something up. Last year one of my friends commented that he didn't even know what Lent was. So, in case that's you, I'll start with a short explanation.
You could Google the word Lent and come up with all sorts of history and articles. But let's skip that and go straight to what it means to me. Lent is a time that I have recently started to appreciate as a way to prepare my heart for Easter. For the 40+ days before the celebration of Christ's Resurrection, I like to reflect on my own life. One year I gave up Facebook, intending to replace my time giving thanks to God for all his grace. One year I gave up pop. Last year, instead of giving something up, I wrote letters to people. As I wrote, I took stock in the the blessings I'd been provided by way of those I was writing to.
Looking back, all of those seasons were about me. This year, I want to do something different. Since Lent is a season to prepare for the celebration of Salvation, which has nothing to do with me or my actions, but all about God's sacrifice and grace, then maybe I should be spending this time giving Him mad props. Maybe, my actions shouldn't be something that I can pat myself on the back for, rather something that will glorify God. So how then, would I glorify God? This is when I dug deep for a cliche, and asked What Would Jesus Do?
He'd probably do what He does best and SERVE people. I've been making a list of ways I can serve others, not for my recognition, but so that God would get the credit. My list is simple. It consists of things I try to do regularly anyway, and things I can continue to do throughout the year. In the past, it has been a time to discipline myself, but then I always go back to my old habits. This year, I want to train myself to look for opportunities to love on other people. I don't want this season to be marked by an End Date; rather turn it into a six week kick off event to what I pray will be a year of blessings.
You're probably curious about my list. I started it by thinking of ways that I could give of my time, talents and resources. My very first act of service will be to replace my neighbors mailbox. It is one good rain storm away from just being a post in the ground. I see this guy trying to re-attach his flag every time he has outgoing mail. I know it's a small thing, but it's on my heart, so there you have it. The list also consists of bringing meals to families in need, donating to the food shelf at school, volunteering (I read somewhere that a local retirement home needs Bingo Callers! It's a win-win!), and prayer.
There are so many people looking for, and in need of, prayer. If you would like, I'd be honored to pray for any of you. You can leave a comment below, or feel free to email me at nicoledhunter@yahoo.com. My heart would be, if you celebrate Lent or not, that God might bless you and show you ways to love on those around you. Happy Lentsgiving.
You could Google the word Lent and come up with all sorts of history and articles. But let's skip that and go straight to what it means to me. Lent is a time that I have recently started to appreciate as a way to prepare my heart for Easter. For the 40+ days before the celebration of Christ's Resurrection, I like to reflect on my own life. One year I gave up Facebook, intending to replace my time giving thanks to God for all his grace. One year I gave up pop. Last year, instead of giving something up, I wrote letters to people. As I wrote, I took stock in the the blessings I'd been provided by way of those I was writing to.
Looking back, all of those seasons were about me. This year, I want to do something different. Since Lent is a season to prepare for the celebration of Salvation, which has nothing to do with me or my actions, but all about God's sacrifice and grace, then maybe I should be spending this time giving Him mad props. Maybe, my actions shouldn't be something that I can pat myself on the back for, rather something that will glorify God. So how then, would I glorify God? This is when I dug deep for a cliche, and asked What Would Jesus Do?
He'd probably do what He does best and SERVE people. I've been making a list of ways I can serve others, not for my recognition, but so that God would get the credit. My list is simple. It consists of things I try to do regularly anyway, and things I can continue to do throughout the year. In the past, it has been a time to discipline myself, but then I always go back to my old habits. This year, I want to train myself to look for opportunities to love on other people. I don't want this season to be marked by an End Date; rather turn it into a six week kick off event to what I pray will be a year of blessings.
You're probably curious about my list. I started it by thinking of ways that I could give of my time, talents and resources. My very first act of service will be to replace my neighbors mailbox. It is one good rain storm away from just being a post in the ground. I see this guy trying to re-attach his flag every time he has outgoing mail. I know it's a small thing, but it's on my heart, so there you have it. The list also consists of bringing meals to families in need, donating to the food shelf at school, volunteering (I read somewhere that a local retirement home needs Bingo Callers! It's a win-win!), and prayer.
There are so many people looking for, and in need of, prayer. If you would like, I'd be honored to pray for any of you. You can leave a comment below, or feel free to email me at nicoledhunter@yahoo.com. My heart would be, if you celebrate Lent or not, that God might bless you and show you ways to love on those around you. Happy Lentsgiving.
Tuesday, February 5, 2013
Easy on,not so easy off
It finally occurred to me why it is so easy to gain weight and so HARD to lose it.
My girlfriend and I were having True Confessions on the treadmill yesterday. She told me about a 410 calorie donut. I told her about an empty bag of chocolate treats. When we were done sweating, I did some math.
If we're being honest, one Nikki-Sized serving of chocolate treats takes 5-7 minutes to consume. In that 5-7 minutes, I could potentially eat 500 calories. (yikes!) It takes about 45 minutes for me to burn off 500 calories.
So if over the course of one week, a gal hypothetically had one serving a day (and twice on Sunday) that's just under an hour of indulgence versus 6 hours on a treadmill.
Who has six hours for a treadmill?
I wish I hadn't typed the word chocolates so many times because now all I can think about is chocolates, chocolates, chocolates.
My girlfriend and I were having True Confessions on the treadmill yesterday. She told me about a 410 calorie donut. I told her about an empty bag of chocolate treats. When we were done sweating, I did some math.
If we're being honest, one Nikki-Sized serving of chocolate treats takes 5-7 minutes to consume. In that 5-7 minutes, I could potentially eat 500 calories. (yikes!) It takes about 45 minutes for me to burn off 500 calories.
So if over the course of one week, a gal hypothetically had one serving a day (and twice on Sunday) that's just under an hour of indulgence versus 6 hours on a treadmill.
Who has six hours for a treadmill?
I wish I hadn't typed the word chocolates so many times because now all I can think about is chocolates, chocolates, chocolates.
Tuesday, January 29, 2013
Some kind of crazy
This morning was "Muffins with Mom" at The Taz's school. As we ate, she waved to every third person who passed by, saying hello, presenting the pastry that she chose like she just won first place in a blueberry muffin picking contest. I kept urging her to eat so that she'd have half a chance at being focused for the day. When she does not eat, she gets into trouble. Take yesterday for instance when her teacher pulled me aside to inform me that The Taz told another teacher "You're not the boss of me." After we got home and wrote two "Sorry I was disrespectful" letters, I unpacked her backpack to find only half of her lunch eaten. So I begged; "please honey, eat your beautiful muffin."
Two tiny jugs of orange juice and half a muffin later, The Taz was headed to her class and the wee one and I made our trek home. With Bear Cub riding her bike, stopping every so often to pickweeds flowers, it is a leisurely stroll home that I cherish. It won't be long before she will join the ranks of her sister and these un-rushed moments will be a distant memory.
Just as we turn the corner onto our street, I saw a woman running down the middle of the road. She was in workout clothes, so I only thought she was a little nuts because there was a line of cars, two blocks long, behind her. She started shouting something about a white suburban. I went into panic mode thinking someone stole her car and her baby must be in it. But why was she yelling at me? I'm on foot with a 3 year old. She got closer; her yelling was clearer. "Stop that White Suburban. My 18 year old son is driving it." Now I really think she's nuts.
Our house is on the main street into the development, which, if you ask me, was planned poorly with narrow streets. Add to that the traffic coming into the elementary school and the cars that do not park in the driveways, it can take a bit of time to weave yourself out to the major thoroughfare. I could see this woman's vehicle at the stop sign a block away and would have given her 80% odds that she would have caught up to him. I stood there, secretly hoping to see it happen.
My guess is that the boy must have seen his mother in the rear view mirror because the car turned off the main street and the woman crossed over to the sidewalk and slowed to a walk. I got the giggles at the whole scene. Bear Cub asked me what was so funny, so we had a one-sided conversation about who must be crazier - the woman running down the middle of a busy street, or her son for taking the car, knowing full well his mother is a wild card.
I let my mind wonder on what the conversation would look like for that kid when he returned home. That's when I stopped laughing. Because I saw myself, sitting my 18 year old red-headed Tazmanian Princess down at the kitchen table, after chasing her on foot through a busy neighborhood, because she took the car without eating the blueberry muffin I made her for breakfast. I would be telling her that I didn't care if her friends saw me looking like a stark raving lunatic, that I loved her enough to make sure she has what she needs for a successful day. Then, after breakfast was over, instead of a "swear jar" we would each put a dollar into our very large, almost full, "therapy jar".
Two tiny jugs of orange juice and half a muffin later, The Taz was headed to her class and the wee one and I made our trek home. With Bear Cub riding her bike, stopping every so often to pick
Just as we turn the corner onto our street, I saw a woman running down the middle of the road. She was in workout clothes, so I only thought she was a little nuts because there was a line of cars, two blocks long, behind her. She started shouting something about a white suburban. I went into panic mode thinking someone stole her car and her baby must be in it. But why was she yelling at me? I'm on foot with a 3 year old. She got closer; her yelling was clearer. "Stop that White Suburban. My 18 year old son is driving it." Now I really think she's nuts.
Our house is on the main street into the development, which, if you ask me, was planned poorly with narrow streets. Add to that the traffic coming into the elementary school and the cars that do not park in the driveways, it can take a bit of time to weave yourself out to the major thoroughfare. I could see this woman's vehicle at the stop sign a block away and would have given her 80% odds that she would have caught up to him. I stood there, secretly hoping to see it happen.
My guess is that the boy must have seen his mother in the rear view mirror because the car turned off the main street and the woman crossed over to the sidewalk and slowed to a walk. I got the giggles at the whole scene. Bear Cub asked me what was so funny, so we had a one-sided conversation about who must be crazier - the woman running down the middle of a busy street, or her son for taking the car, knowing full well his mother is a wild card.
I let my mind wonder on what the conversation would look like for that kid when he returned home. That's when I stopped laughing. Because I saw myself, sitting my 18 year old red-headed Tazmanian Princess down at the kitchen table, after chasing her on foot through a busy neighborhood, because she took the car without eating the blueberry muffin I made her for breakfast. I would be telling her that I didn't care if her friends saw me looking like a stark raving lunatic, that I loved her enough to make sure she has what she needs for a successful day. Then, after breakfast was over, instead of a "swear jar" we would each put a dollar into our very large, almost full, "therapy jar".
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