Assault with a deadly pair of socks.

 

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I’m not sure if it’s a blessing, or a curse. Maybe it’s both.

I’ll just come straight out and say it. I have an unusually good sense of smell.

I hate to brag. But, yes. I’ve got a good sniffer.

Case in point, I have called the city gas company on several occasions alerting them of a specific address or intersection where I smell a potential gas leak. Do you know how many of those times I have later seen a crew repairing said gas leaks in the exact spot that I’ve reported? Every single time. I’m not saying the city should hire me as a “gas sniffing unit” just yet, but they might want to keep the idea in the back of their minds.

Anyway, this sense of smell can come in handy, but it can also lead to suffering. Suffering in the form of extreme awareness of foul odors.

And let me tell you, I have I met some foul odors in my day. But just this past weekend, I experienced a new level of one particularly rancid odor.

And it wasn’t it a gas leak.

It was my son’s socks.

Granted, the poor kid has been hearing complaints from me for years about his socks. They’ve never smelled like roses. In fact, roses are probably now offended that I even dared make the comparison. Please forgive me.

Anyway, one time, in a hotel room, our family decided to put Karson’s socks and shoes in the hallway overnight because none of us could stand the odor with them in the room. We figured if anyone dare steal them, then bless their hearts. And noses. We’d buy new ones. But, his socks and shoes were there in the hallway the next morning, and my son’s pride remained in tact. Karson owns up to it. He’s just thirteen, but he’s a true man when it comes to owning his stinky feet. He’s not ashamed.

So, this past weekend, my husband and I “divided and conquered” with the kids. I took two of the kids to Michigan for my son’s basketball team to play in a tournament, and my husband stayed home to coach our third child’s game. We all had fun. It was a wonderful weekend of friends and basketball, and my son’s team got to play in seven basketball games over the course of two days. And bonus, they won them all! What great memories!

But here’s the problem. Minutes after getting into our van to drive the two hours home Sunday evening, I smelled trouble. I did not even have to turn around to verify my suspicion. Karson had taken his shoes off.

And I was about to pass out.

And then I find out why it’s this bad. This whole new level of awful. This “my eyes are burning” odor that is now assaulting me from the back seat.

He wore the same socks for all seven basketball games.

Yeah. You heard me. All seven basketball games. Same pair of socks. No washing machine. No spray deodorizer. No “airing them out outside.”

No comprendo. 

So… the conversation went like this.

“Karson. Something has to happen right now with your socks. I can not make it the rest of the way home in this condition. This situation is not going to work.”

Deep breath. Hold it. 

Exhale.

I continue. “I don’t care if you like those socks or that they’re Under Armor socks. Do we need to pull over and throw them away?”

“Hmm.” Karson thinks. Karson shrugs. Karson barely notices the odor and doesn’t understand why wearing socks seven games in a row without washing them is bad.

I exhale and reload. 

“Okay,” I add. “I have an idea. Why don’t we find a bag and you can put your socks in it and wrap them up SUPER tight to try and stifle the odor.”

Karson thinks. Karson shrugs. Karson slowly wraps the socks of death in a trash bag that we miraculously found in the van.

And we made it home.

Who knows, we may have passed several gas leaks on our way and I was not able to sniff them out and call them in because of the sock situation.  I guess I may never know.

But this I do know.

Seventh grade boys aren’t always going to smell great. Or even acceptable.

And they don’t care.

But, if you can hold your breath for awhile, and remember how much you love them, stink and all, you’re in for a great ride!

 

 

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Temporary Regret.

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Regret. She was feeling it.

Karly had wanted to go to the butterfly exhibit at the local Botanical Gardens. The colors and delicate flapping wings had put smiles on all of our faces. We read the informational packets and tried to identify the different types of the beautiful creatures. How fun.

And then a butterfly landed on Karly’s head.

She wasn’t thrilled. Let’s just say that.

I get it. She inherited the “freak out when an animal touches you” gene from her mother. You might remember my tale of fish touching my legs in the lake where I was swimming (how DARE they!) that I wrote about here. https://christycabe.com/2012/08/13/do-as-i-say-not-as-i-swim/ Need I say more?

So, Karly’s reaction to the creature on her head spoke clearly to me. I read her nonverbal clues and knew exactly how she felt. And I did what any mom would do.

I took a picture.

I’m happy to report that Karly did survive the “landing” and she now looks back at the day with fondness.

Her regret was only temporary.

I get that too. I have moments of temporary regret. But, looking back, the regret dissolved. It fades into something else. Gratitude. I feel thankfulness for the moments I pressed on and through the temporary regret in order to get to the goodness on the other side.

The temporary regret that accompanied my pounding heart and shaking knees as I stood in front of 700 college students at my alma mater and chose to share my vulnerable story in their chapel service turned into gratitude that maybe I encouraged one heart that was needing hope.

The temporary regret of my aching back muscles from hours spent on bleachers watching my children compete dissolves into gratitude for the friendships and the lessons gained on the court.

The temporary regret of sleepless nights and swollen ankles during the late weeks of pregnancy led to a gratitude I can barley contain now that I have those babies who have grown into young people I adore.

The temporary regret of burning muscles and screaming lungs as I excercise turns to health and happy endorphins.

The temporary regret of choosing not to watch that television show and instead having a face to face conversation with my husband leads to a real life romance that beats any that would play out on the screen.

Temporary regret. I get it. I’ve felt it. I don’t love it.

But I do love the beauty it produces in its aftermath.

The delicate and fleeting moments of temporary regret are soon gone, like the butterfly wings that fly away and leave behind something beautiful.

 


This post is part of the Five Minute Friday community where bloggers are encouraged to write for about 5 minutes about a topic based on a one-word prompt. This week’s word: REGRET

 

I Care About How My Kids Look During Their Sporting Events.

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When we were kids, my younger brother owned a sweatshirt with words on the front that read,

“It’s not whether you win or lose, it’s how you look playing the game.”

Oddly enough, this statement was accompanied by a cartoon penguin wearing a baseball cap. Apparently this image was to help convey the message that we too could look as cool as an athletic penguin while competing in sports. Built-in tuxedo not included.

Regardless of the marketing scheme, I remember the motto. “…it’s how you look playing the game.”

I never really bought into the sentiment.

I’m more for playing the game with determination and grit than winning any style points. But, as I’ve gotten older, and have become a mother to young athletes of my own, I’ve changed my mind a little.

The sentiment has taken on a new meaning to me.

Don’t get me wrong; I care very little about my kids’ appearance on the court or field when it comes to their fashion. The cartoon penguin may have them beat in the “cool” department.

But, I do care about how my children look during their sporting events.

How they look in the manner of what they do.

Because what they do is an overflow of who they are.

For example, if my son accidently collides with an opponent at first base, I’m concerned about what his next actions look like. Will he get up and brush himself off and argue with the umpire over the call? Or will he get up and reach out his hand to help his opponent to his feet? No matter the umpire’s call.

If my daughter is called for a travel on the basketball court, will she slam the ball down and roll her eyes, or toss the ball to the referee and continue to play the game to the best of her ability? Even if she knows in her heart she didn’t travel in the first place.

If my son’s team wins on a buzz beater will he still line up to give the other team high fives and congratulate them for a game well played?

If my son’s team loses a heartbreaker, and he’s the one to miss the game-deciding free throw, will he still believe his life is no less valuable than it was twenty minutes before?

You see, how my kids look during their athletic competitions is the indicator of who they are that I can see as their mother. Their actions are an overflow of their heart. Their responses and reactions to the game show me their character.

And as their mom, I care deeply about their character.

Matthew 12:34b says, “For out of the overflow of the heart the mouth speaks.”

I want them to be children who value kindness more than victory. Empathy more than points. Integrity more than statistics. Sportsmanship more than sports.

I want them to look their coaches in the eye and truly listen to their instruction. I want them to be respectful to the referees, as well as to their own teammates, and opponents. In victory, or in defeat.

Don’t get me wrong. I want them to win. They get their competitive nature from both their dad and me. And it’s a pretty strong one at that! But, as much as I want them to win, I care about their character even more.

The games will end. The scoreboard lights will be turned off. But who my kids are, as a result of what they learn on the court, will remain. And that’s how I ultimately define winning now.

I guess how they look playing the game is pretty important to me now.

Too bad I don’t have one of those penguin sweatshirts to wear to their games.


This article originally appeared as a guest post on the Winning Women website: “Connecting and Equipping the Female in Sport.”

17 Things I Learned During the Christmas Season of 2017

Each year for the past several, I have taken the time to sit down and write out my thoughts and ponderings at the end of the Christmas season. Granted, by the end of Christmas break (yes, it’s January 6th, but my kids haven’t been back to school yet) my “thoughts and ponderings” have been boiled down to bullet points. No deep philosophical quotes are being conjured up here. Even that last sentence took longer to write than I’d like to admit. But regardless, I like to summarize what I’ve observed during the month of December.

And so, I give you:

17 Things I Learned During the Christmas Season of 2017

  1. If you’re losing to your son in a game of Checkers while on a date with him at Cracker Barrel, you can get out of the loss by claiming probable victory when your food arrives before he takes your last piece.

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  1. Just because the candy/icing/sprinkles say they are edible doesn’t necessarily mean they should be eaten.

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  1. You are never without holiday entertainment when you have two daughters ages seven and nine. Show times and themes vary.

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  1. If you invite a group of fifth graders over to your house for a Christmas party, you might as well take the mistletoe down before they arrive. The shrieking, pointing, and giggles will be quite disruptive until you do.
  1. Handmade cards with misspellings are my favorite. (Unless they’re from my husband. He should be able to spell correctly by now.)

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  1. If, due to sickness in the family, you all binge watch an entire season of a Hallmark show in a matter of two days, the sappiness in the acting and script may in fact lead to more feelings of illness.
  1. Sometimes your husband gives you three flashlights in your stocking with no explanation. Go with it.

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  1. Children love to shop at the school “Holiday Shop” and surprise their parents with “real gifts” on Christmas morning. They also like to hide said gifts in their shirts.

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  1. Pretzel rods dipped in chocolate > pretzel rods. This should really go without saying.

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  1. Eaves dropping on two sisters playing a strategy game at the table is well worth your time.

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  1. Store bought cut-out cookies don’t taste as good as homemade sugar cookies. However, the fact you don’t have to make them from scratch brings their taste level up to “rather delicious.”

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  1. You’re never too big to sit on Santa’s lap.

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  1. There’s something hopeful and fresh about the blank page of a calendar.

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  1. Candlelight services are beautiful and meaningful. Hot wax that drips from said candle onto your youngest child’s hand causing weeping during Silent Night seems to steal a bit of sanctity from the moment.
  1. When you are used to calling your son’s basketball compression shorts his “special undies,” and you need to take some back to the store and exchange them for another size, don’t ask the male sales clerk if he has “special undies.” Instead, stare at him for an uncomfortably long amount of time while trying to think of the words “compression shorts.”
  1. There’s nothing that will put a spring in your step quite like when you’re in what is literally the world’s largest high school fieldhouse and you’re sitting three rows from the bottom and have at least 50 steps to climb to get to the restroom, and your youngest child looks you in the eye and says, “I think I’m going to throw up.”
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  1. Sharing with groups of women during the Christmas season about the “Light of the World,” Jesus, and why you have chosen to live in His light instead of darkness is quite possibly as special as it gets.

 

3 Things I Expected and 3 Things That Surprised Me About Releasing A Book.

IMG_0757My latte not only tasted delightful, but it looked good too. How accomplished it must have felt to bring joy to my senses of sight, smell, taste, and touch all wrapped in one warm ceramic mug. That is, if a caffeinated beverage can feel accomplished.

My remaining sense, my sense of hearing, was also being satisfied by the voice of a dear friend who sat across the table. Terri and I don’t get together often anymore, but when we do, we make it count. When I sat down in my chair, the steam from my latte had barely risen to my nose before she asked the question.

“So, it’s been about a year since we’ve really been able to chat. I want to know this. In the last year, as you’ve released your book, what has it been like? Do this. Tell me three things that have gone as you expected they would, and three things that have been a surprise to you.”

Terri doesn’t mince words.

There was no, “How was your Thanksgiving?” or “It’s unseasonably warm today.” No, we got right down to it. And I like that. I find it the mark of a true friend who is able to take you to the heart of things before your coffee is cool enough to sip. I believe it’s an accomplishment. A decaffeinated one at that.

“Hmm.” I said. “Let me think.” And I did. I thought it over for a few moments as I reflected on the previous seven months since the release of my book, Brownie Crumbs and Other Life Morsels. And here is what I said.

Three things that have gone as I expected with the release of my book.

  1. It has been a lot of work. I am not complaining when I say this. Like I said, I expected a book release to be a lot of work, and I was mostly prepared for it. Writing a book takes a lot of time and effort. Releasing it to the world does too, only you have to add courage, money, time, hopes, dreams, logistics, public scrutiny, a speaking tour, and the cost of shipping. It’s not for the faint of heart, or the faint of public speaking. Thankfully, I’ve enjoyed the work my book release has brought, and as I told Terri, I mostly expected it to be as it has been.
  2. It has been brought me a lot of joy! I had a feeling that writing and speaking would be would right up my alley. Not that I had never done either before the release of this book, but since the birth of this book baby, I’ve definitely done more writing and speaking than ever before. And I’ve loved it. It has been so much fun, and I’ve found that there is such a joy and peace in serving God and others in what you feel is your God-given purpose (at least for the season of life you’re in). And, my joy has been almost immeasurable at times, like when my own children have read my book and talked to me about it. My conversations with my son about his cancer (‘That was a sad chapter, Mom.’ ‘Yes, Karson. It sure was.’) and with my nine-year-old daughter about how her Daddy and I met and dated (‘Daddy said he liked your legs!’ My face turns red.) have been beyond special. What great joy there is in seeing the fruits of your labors, even when the labor is plentiful.
  3. It has complicated the family life vs. work balance. I figured this would be an issue, and it has been. The delicate balance of knowing when it’s okay to say yes to an oppuntuntiy that takes me away from home, and husband, and kids is a tough one. Overall, I feel like we’ve been blessed with our family schedule and my speaking and travel schedule working together pretty well. But, there have been occasions when I’ve missed events and/or when I’m home, but busy and distracted with preparations and such. This is tough. In the near future, I’m traveling and will miss a band concert, at least three basketball games, and more. I hate that. But, it’s been a growing experience. It has taught me, and it has taught my family. My kids don’t need me to be involved in everything they do. My life doesn’t actually revolve around them and which set of bleachers I’m sitting on (though sometimes it feels like it does)! My kids know I am present at their events most of the time, and it’s proven healthy for them to see me work hard and share the message of hope and faith with others when I’m not in the stands. They are excited for me and the opportunities I’ve had, and so far, they haven’t seemed to resent it (it would break my heart and cause a lot of revaluation if they did.) We’ve been open about this family life vs. work balance as a family. We’ve prayed together over opportunities, and talked honestly about how it makes us feel. Has it been all bad? No. Has it complicated the issue. Yes. Did I expect it to become complicated. You bet. But just because you expect something doesn’t necessarily make it any less difficult when it arises. 

Three things that have surprised me with the release of my book.

  1. The amount of speaking I’ve done in past 7 months. I know that I just said above that I expected it to be a lot of work. Yes. And I did expect to do some speaking in relation to the book. However, the opportunities that I’ve been given to speak and share have been far more than I ever dreamed! It has taken a lot preparation (think Power Point, handouts, outlines, discussion questions, travel, logistics, book tables, business cards, credit card readers, etc.) but it has been SO much fun! I’ve had the opportunity to speak to groups of women, senior groups, MOPS (Mothers of Preschoolers) groups, my alma mater’s student body chapel (Huntington University), a corporate chapel, podcasts, radio interviews, a parenting seminar, private home book parties, my denomination’s national conference, and even as a keynote speaker at a church’s women’s retreat. It has grown me and pushed me and sometimes worn me out (at the women’s retreat where I spoke three times in three days, I feel asleep in the middle of the day on the bed during free time with all the lights on and with my shoes on – and woke up two hours later!) Yesterday someone asked if I now call myself a communicator, or a speaker. I said I don’t call myself anything! But, I sure have enjoyed these opportunities.
  2. The fact that people actually read and care about my story. This sounds like a really stupid thing for an author to say. If you’re going to put a book out there, you shouldn’t be surprised when people read it. But I have been. I’ve been surprised that people care about my life story. I mean, I figured my parents would read it. And maybe my husband. But the rest of you? Bonus! And, the comments you’ve made to me, sent to me in cards, messages, etc. have absolutely humbled me. It has been special (and surprising) to hear how the stories or Life Morsels have touched many readers in very meaningful ways. As I was sharing this with Terri, I speficially mentioned how many comments I’ve gotten about Kraig and my love story. Terri said, “I still count it as one of the diamonds in my necklace of life that I was able to actually live that out with you all those years ago.” How can you not like a friend how feels that way? Or who says “necklace of life”? Anyway, the various ways the book has impacted its readers has been humbling. I still can’t get over it.
  3. The amount of work… and joy… and complicated schedules it has brought me. I know. I know. I’m cheating here. I’m basically taking all three points from above that I said I expected, and now I’m putting them down here in the surprise section. Deal with it. I’m serious. They go both ways. I expected to be busy and for it to be complicated and for it to bring my joy, but it has all surprised me at the same time. You know how that is. Things can feel both ways. I’m sorry I told you to deal with it. What I mean is, thank you for understanding.

For those of you who follow me on social media, you’ve probably seen these photos as you’ve followed along with my speaking over the last seven months. For those of you who are not on social media (What’s a Instagram and why does someone want to request my friendship?)  I will post some photos below.

Thanks for reading and for your support in this journey. I wish I could share a chat and a latte with each and every one of you. But then again, that would be an awfully lot of caffeine.

Cheers.

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My turn signal pinged its rhythmic song. I heard it, but wasn’t really listening. I watched the oncoming traffic, and waited for my chance to make a right turn.

My thoughts were ringing in my head, playing the harmony to the accompanying noise around me. I was trying to give my thoughts my full attention in hopes I could corral them into orderly conduct.

“You, over there. Yes, I know I have laundry in the washer that’s been sitting there wet for three days. I’ll run that load again when we get home. And yes, I’ll add detergent again. I know it stinks.”

“Excuse me, what? I have to write two checks to the school when I get home? One for a lunch account and then I have to order that sports gear. Oh, and the photograph form. Got it. I’ll try to get that done before picking up Karson from practice. Wait, is his jersey in the washer? What time is his game Sunday afternoon?”

“What’s that, Mr. Stomach? I haven’t made dinner plans yet for this evening? Give me a break. I’ve barely even been home this afternoon. You’ll just have to wait.”

My own mental conversation was not the only one echoing in my ears. In the backseat of the van, my daughters, ages seven and nine, were having one of their own.

I could hear them, but I wasn’t really listening.

“Let’s make up our own cheers, Kenzie.” My oldest daughter was saying.

“Okay. Let’s use letters and then think of words that they stand for,” Kenzie replied.

I tuned them out again.

Where did I put the checkbook?

“I know. For the letter ‘O’ we can make it stand for ‘Honesty!’ ‘O’ says ‘Ahh’ so honesty is a good word! I like honesty!”

“Yeah! ‘O’ for ‘Honesty’. Good idea Kenzie!” Karly responded to her little sister.

“Honesty actually starts with an ‘H,’” I chimed in. “How about ‘Octopus,’ instead?”

“No way, Mom!” Kenzie said. “I like ‘honesty’ better.”

I looked back at the road. I never was a cheerleader. What do I know?

“Okay, now for the letter ‘C.’ Kenzie continued, “Let’s use the word “Kind!” I looked in the rearview mirror. She was smiling and enthusiastic.

Once again I broke in to the conversation.

“Kind actually starts with a ‘K’ not a ‘C.’” I informed.

“No, it doesn’t.”

“Yes, it does.”

“No, it’ doesn’t”

“Yes, it does.”

The turn signal kept the beat.

“Well, we don’t really care. We like honesty and kindness so we’re going to use them.” Kenzie said.

I thought about it.

Whose team mascot is an Octopus, anyway?

“You know what?” I said in my best Mom Authority voice. “I like honesty and kindness too. Go for it!”

And they did. They completed their homemade cheer and happily chatted the rest of the drive home.

They may not be winning the spelling bee anytime soon. But, I’ll tell you what, I don’t really care.

Honesty and kindness trump winning in my book, anyway.

Hip. Hip. Hooray! You go girls! Let honesty and kindness be traits you always cheer about.

And who knows. Maybe I could have been a cheerleader, after all.

Fruit•it•ta•tion

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I turned my back to the class of fifth graders in order to write their responses on the marker board. The chatter continued behind me.

I had placed the students from my midweek church class into groups and had asked each to read from Genesis in their Bibles to discover what God made during each of the six days of creation.

“I have day 3! We know it!” one of the boys shouted.

“Go ahead. What did you find in Genesis chapter one?”

“On the third day, God made land and vegetation.”

I nodded and wrote with the smelly dry-erase marker again.

Day 3 – Land and Vegetation.

“That’s right.” I confirmed. “Now, can you tell me in your own words what vegetation is?”

“Oh sure! Vegetation is what vegetables grow on, and fruititation is what fruit grows on.”

I should have turned my back again, because I laughed out loud – right to his young, eager face. A technique surely not recommended in the teacher handbook.

“You’re right about the vegetation, but fruititation is not a word. Fruit grows on vegetation as well.” I said, bursting his bubble and maybe wounding his pride.

But, I’ve got to admit, I like the word.

Fruititation.

It’s really growing on me.

Lately, I’ve been thinking about fruit. The kind of fruit that we bear in our lives, and how it’s seasonal, just like the kind of fruit we pick, whether from trees or the produce department.

Recently, I walked through the hallway at church, on a Sunday morning, and was stopped by a friend. She told me she’s in a small group Bible study, and they are currently using my book, Brownie Crumbs and Other Life Morsels, as their study guide. I was shocked and humbled.

Really?

She went on to tell me that they’d been having such great conversations within the group and were learning so much. I thanked her and walked away in a daze.

My mind wandered back to the hours I sat in my home office with tight shoulders and an exhausted brain. It took me three years to write that book! I literally spent days in front of a blinking cursor pouring my heart onto the page. I devoted time, tears, and cash preparing for the book launch.

One specific night, I stayed up well past midnight adjusting margins and headers, section by section, in my manuscript. It was tedious, boring, and frustrating work. I did not enjoy it. I remember being tired and annoyed.

I came back to the present and walked up the stairwell in the church that leads to and from the childrens’ classrooms. I had just dropped my own children off, and was now heading back up the steps. I passed two kids carrying their Bibles and curriculum. I wrote the curriculum they carried. The kids had their arms wrapped around it as they walked past me on the steps.

Again, my mind flashed back to the season before that curriculum was finished. I spent months writing the content, years teaching it and fine-tuning it, a solid year giving it a “makeover” and learning graphic design tricks and tools to make that possible. I put a lot of sweat equity into that curriculum.

And now, preteens, whom I don’t even know, are carrying it with them to class on a Sunday morning and unknowingly passing the author on the steps on their way.

Could this be the culmination of fruititation?

Is this the wonderful cycle of bearing fruit?

Those tedious and seemingly wasteful hours of mundane and difficult work are important. In fact, they are more than important.

They are a vital part of the fruititation cycle.

Vital how? Vital because during those tedious tasks, the not-yet fruit was being tended. It wasn’t time for the fruit to be picked, but time for it to be watered, cultivated, lovingly pruned, and painstakingly nurtured.

The fruit wasn’t yet ripe. It was out of season. And being out of season usually means it can’t be seen. It’s not ready.

But that doesn’t mean it isn’t growing.

David, the psalmist, wrote about this in Psalm 1.

Blessed is the one who does not walk in step with the wicked or stand in the way that sinners take or sit in the company of mockers, but whose delight is in the law of the Lord, and who meditates on his law day and night. That person is like a tree planted by streams of water, which yields its fruit in season and whose leaf does not wither—whatever they do prospers.

David mentions the tree that is planted and prosperous. But, he also mentions that the tree yields its fruit in season.

In season.

Not always. Sometimes the tree does not have visible hanging fruit. But it’s still a fruit tree.

Sometimes my efforts are not publically visible either. They are margin moving, cursor crunching, photo editing, head gripping, tear rendering, heart stirring moments of cultivation.

And sometimes, the fruititation cycle in my life has nothing to do with writing, but with raising kids, cultivating my marriage, planting seeds of deep and meaningful friendships, and tending the soil of my own heart. It looks like difficult, honest conversations that would be easier to avoid, midnight touches of warm foreheads and beeps of the thermometer, tough love and deliberate discipline that wrings your heart into a knot, intentional time set aside for listening and truly seeing the needs of a friend, and daily surrender to selfish desires.

It’s a struggle. A daily toil.

But the cultivation leads to the culmination of fruititation.

The fruit becomes visible. But only for a time. It won’t last forever. It’s just ripe for a bit.

But oh, how fun it is to see others enjoy it!

I am thankful for the moments when the fruit of my life is juicy, and ripe, and ready. But I’m also thankful for the reminder to press on in my daily, mundane, unnoticed, and often frustrating cultivating efforts.

Because they are vital.

Without them, fruititation is just a made-up word.

If it ain’t broke.

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It’s one of our families’ favorite “home videos.” Our middle child, then two-year-old Karly, attempting to drive a small motorized golf cart.

Attempting is the best word for this scenario.

She pushes the gas pedal with her little purple shoe, and the cart lunges forward. Karly’s hands are resting down by her sides. She moving, but not controlling where she’s going.

At the prompt of her big brother yelling “Stop!”, she lifts her foot off the gas and narrowly misses driving into a row of bushes.

“It’s not working!” She claims as she climbs out of the cart (the cuteness of it all multiplied by the fact that she can’t pronounce her ‘r’s’ and rhymes the word ‘working’ with ‘looking.’)

Oh, but it is working, sweetheart. To drive you must steer. To steer, you must put your hands on the steering wheel.

It ain’t broke.

You ain’t doin’ it right.

I’m guilty of it too. No, not driving with my hands by my sides (Geesh! Give me some credit!) but of getting off course.

I wish to get somewhere. To head in a new direction.

Toward better conversations with friends. Talk that is rich and uplifiting, not gossipy and self-focused.

Toward better understanding of who I am in Christ. Life that is lived free from worry and fear.

Toward a healthier body. One that makes wise decisions to eat well and exercise regularly.

But, sometimes I end up in a row of bushes.

“It’s not working!”

Oh, but it is working, sweetheart. To drive you must steer. To steer, you must put your hands on the steering wheel.

I can’t just wish to be somewhere. If I really want to get there, I must steer myself in that direction.

Steering rarely requires large movements. It’s tiny corrections and changes that put you on a different trajectory. 

Little changes, small tweaks, tiny adjustments. They can add up to big change, and put you in a whole new place.

You just need to keep your hands on the steering wheel and your foot on the gas.


This post was inspired by the Five Minute Friday community where bloggers are encouraged to write for five minutes based on a one-word prompt. This week’s word: WORK

 

Neighbor Day Weekend

Happy Neighbor Day

My youngest daughter snuggled into me this morning on the recliner. She had just gotten out of bed for the day and carried her seemingly ever-present-when-she-first-wakes-up purple blanket down with her. She rubbed it against her face.

She’s in first grade, so I delight in these moments. They are becoming increasingly rare.

“I’m excited about today.” She said softly.

“Why?” I asked, expecting her to tell me she likes the fact it’s picture day at school, or something she is planning to play at recess.

“It’s Neighbor Day weekend!”

I laughed, and before I could correct her, her big sister chimed in.

“Not Neighbor Day, Kenzie! LABOR day.” Karly said as she shook her know-it-all third grade head.

“Then when is Neighbor Day?” Kenzie asked.

Karly told her there was no such thing.

I corrected her.

“Actually,” I said, “EVERY day is Neighbor Day. Jesus told us to love our neighbors as ourselves, and he didn’t say just one certain day of the year. He meant every day.”

Karly gave me an eye roll. And then she grinned.

“Yeah. I guess you’re right.” She said.

If only we were given a three-day weekend to celebrate Neighbor Day every week.

Sigh.

But nonetheless, I hope to celebrate today.

And every day.

Happy Neighbor Day to you! Today, and always.


This blog was inspired by the Five Minute Friday community where bloggers are encouraged to spend 5 minute blogging based on a one-word prompt. This week’s word: NEIGHBOR.

 

That’s How We Roll.

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The grass felt damp and cold under me. The late summer sun was setting and the warm day was giving way to a crisp evening. I wasn’t prepared. My jacket was in car. I guess I’d need to adjust my thinking now that fall was fast approaching. It’s jacket season, Christy. Like it, or not.

I turned and looked over my left shoulder. My kids were standing on a small hill. Each had a golf putter in hand and a pile of golf balls at their feet. They were playing around on the putting green and I was enjoying the show. Mostly, I liked the commentary.

“Which of those three flags on the putting green are you aiming for?” I asked.

My middle child, the one who just turned nine, answered quickly.

“Whichever one the ball rolls closest to when I hit it.”

I smiled and shrugged my cold shoulders. I guess sometimes we all adjust. Our mindsets, our golf swings, our wardrobes.

Earlier in the week, that same child sat and sobbed at the thought of making a decision. It wasn’t even a bad set of options she was choosing between, she just felt overwhelmed and fearful that she’d pick the wrong one.

“There is no wrong answer here, Karly.” My husband said. “These are both good choices. Mommy and I understand that it’s sometimes hard to make a decision, but what we have learned to do is to just pick one — to the best of our knowledge, and then later, if we need to adjust, we do.” I stood there nodding my head in agreement.

Sometimes we just have to swing the putter, hit the ball, and watch where it rolls.

And then we adjust.

We learn. We think about how we hit the ball and what it felt like, and we decide if that’s how we want to do it again. Or, do we want to try something different next time? Should we try to aim at something else?

Life is full of adjustments. Full of surprises. Confusion. Change. Clarifications.

And that’s okay. We truly live and learn every. single. day.

Sometimes we guide our decisions, and other times our decisions guide us.

Either way, we’ll never be succesful if we don’t swing the putter, hit the ball, and watch it roll.


This post was inspired by the Five Minute Friday community where bloggers are encouraged to write for about 5 minutes based on a one-word prompt. This week’s prompt: GUIDE