Not so much taking a break

as changing my life.

I’ve taken a big step back from my computer lately and I’m loving it.  I don’t need to be on here more than 30 minutes a day.  

It’s part of a bigger change I think.  And I’m not quite sure how to word it. 

I like to write.  But my desire is to be sure that when I am taking the time to write something on my public journal (here) I am writing about the works that God is doing in my life. 

The less time I spend in the blogging community, or on facebook, the more time I have to spend with Him.  Easy math right?

You know how married couples start to look like eachother after years of marriage? Do you know why? Because when we communicate with someone, we try to mirror their gestures and expressions – as a way to build trust with the person. 

When I spend time gazing  into the face of my heavenly Father, whether it be in my prayer closet, or singing His praises or reading the precious words of life He wrote for me, I will begin to look more like Him.  This is my hope, my passion, my calling.

He is jealous for me.

I will probably see you around here from time to time. And in between those times, know that I’m thinking of you.

 

Leaving the City (part II)

I have so many thoughts about my time here in Detroit proper.  There have been many good times here, and a few not so good times.  This chapter is ending, my time here is over.  This is something I feel deep inside.  But that means a new chapter is about to begin.

When reading a good novel, the end of a chapter is usually the most climactic.  It makes you want to turn the page quickly to see what the next chapter will say.   I am at this point in my story.  It feels very climactic, lots of things coming to a head, and all I want is to turn the page and find out what happens next, to have a little more peace.

There are two major and conflicting thoughts about moving that I’ve been mulling over.  The first is that I am excited to move on.  I cannot wait to live in a safe and comfortable neighborhood, where I can feel good about letting my kids play outside.  More than any other reason, the well-being of my children pulls at me to leave the city.   I want them to have a good school, to live in a neighborhood with other children they can play with.  I want to live in a place where calls to the police are answered the same day.  Are these things bad for me to want? No.

But are they the most noble and good things for me to want?  This is the conflict in my heart.  Above my families comfort, I should want to spread Christ’s love throughout this hurting city. There is a slight feeling that I have failed here.   I am confident that my family has been a beacon of love to a few select neighbors,  and maybe that’s all I was supposed to be.  But perhaps there was supposed to be more. 

I always thought I was going to have a God-conversation with at least one prostitite and maybe even invite her home for dinner, but I never did.  There was always an excuse :  I was on my way here or there, I had the kids with me, or I was not feeling prayed up enough. Yeah, I know: lame excuses.

I drive around in my city, feeling a little of the hurt that I know God must feel when He sees all the people who are hurting or in bondage.  Last week, I drove by a woman half-dressed, her mind clearly off in some chemical dream land.  My heart cries for her, and for the so many forgotten souls like her that live in this city.  It’s easy for people that live in the suburbs of Detroit to forget these hurting ones.  The well-off never have to see any of it.  I see it everyday.  I dont want to forget these people and their intense struggles.  I want to pray, I want to make a difference. 

Have I made enough of a difference? Am I running away, like Jonah?  No. I dont think I am runing away.  I dont feel God is telling me to stay.  But I feel blessed that I have this experience to keep in my heart, that I have this burning for the hurting souls in Detroit that I wouldn’t have otherwise.  And it may be that one day something will come of this.

I am packing my house to leave the city, but the city will always have a place in my heart.

 

St. Nick

My daughter believes in Santa Claus.  A tragedy I’m sure.  I don’t know how this could have happened.   

We were at the mall a few days ago,  and Grace asked to see Santa.  I almost didn’t know what to say, I was so surprised by her question.  

Santa has never been an issue in our house.  I never believed in Santa.  I always have explained to my kids that it is mom and dad who buy them presents because we love them.  No way was I gonna give a big red stranger get the credit.  Of course I’ve explained the tradition behind Santa Claus, but my kids know that its all just a story.  At least I thought they knew.   

Blake has never sat on a Santa’s lap.  But on Monday, Grace did.  She climbed up onto the lap of a stranger dressed in a costume (although his beard was very real and nice) and told him she wanted a Nintendo DS and a hamster. 

Grace walked away from the scene with a big grin and announced that Santa was real afterall.  

Grace last summer on a pony ride with a Santa look-alike. I "forgot" to take any pictures of her on Santa's lap.

My son and I exchanged flabbergasted looks.  For a moment I was tongue tied while Blake gave her a hundered reasons why Santa could not possibly be real.  You know the ususal proof: “What about houses with no fireplaces?”

Yet, she was determined to believe.  I smiled down at her, not wanting to crush her spirit, and told her I’m glad she finally got to meet Santa. 

 

Did you believe in Santa when you were young?  Do your children (current or future) believe in Santa?

 

The Rooster Cup

School starts tomorrow, signaling the end of summer-time fun. 

When I was a kid, one of my family’s summer traditions was to drive four hours north to Burt Lake.  On Burt Lake there used to be a cozy group of cabins called Holiday Homes.  The reddish-cabins were a bit small and outdated, but were cozy all the same and had kitchens and fireplaces.  The huge lake was pristine, shallow and warm.

Me and my older sister, Kelly, on the dock.

Several families always went up with us.  Every year some of my Mom’s sisters and brothers (she is one of ten children) families would fill up the five cabins.  A few times my grandparents would even drive up from Florida to spend the week with us.  It was a week of potlucks, catching crayfish and toads, swinging fast and high on the rope swing, watching my Uncle Kevin eat live minnows (once every year) and singing old church songs in front of one family’s fireplace while Uncle Blake played guitar. 

These are treasured memories.  But some of my favorite Burt Lake memories were planted in my brain while standing around the horseshoe pits.  Every year, we had a horseshoe tournament.  All the adults and kids were invited to try their luck at tossing their horseshoe closest to the stake more times than anyone else.

Now, since I was a kid, and my childhood memories are admittedly a bit foggy, I cannot tell you how long a tournament lasted, but it felt like days. 

The best part: watching my Grandpa play.  He had a fun way of being competitive but not at all mean-spirited.  On his turn, he would stride over to his mark, horseshoe in hand, and get his game face on.  After careful concentration he would release he horseshoe, wait for it to *clank* around the stake and then he would let out a rooster crow!  Not any mamby-pamby rooster crow either, but from the gut and with gusto.  (Think Peter-Pan.) Even now, I can’t help but smile at the thought of grandpa and his rooster crow.

At least once, my grandpa won the tournament, and someone had the idea to make a trophy for him.  The trophy was called The Rooster Cup.  The Rooser cup was passed to several different winners throughout the years.  I’m not sure who has it now – but I hope Grandpa does. 

 

Grandpa and Grandma. My inspirations.

 

My Grandpa is still going strong.  He’s 86 and writing a book.  My grandma looks sweet in this picture, doesn’t she?  She had such a beautiful and loving heart.  She passed a few years ago.   Grandma wrote a book too, called My Lord, My Shepherd.  I am amazed when I read through it and find that some of the pages seem familiar, like they could have been writen by myself.  We must have been at least a little similar.  She was a wise woman, a gentle dove.  Although I grew up many many miles from them, and may not know them as well as I’d like, I am very thankful for them.  Their inheritance is a blessed one.  I pray that my marriage will always be as strong as theirs, and that my life will always shine of Jesus’ love like their lives do.

What is one of your favorite summer tradition memories?

 

time to unload…

i’m all ready for my garage sale (not at my house) i hope to make a few extra bucks over the next couple days to put toward school stuff for me and the kids.

stuff. yeesh. what a word. anyway.

here i sit, sweating. i feel like i’ve been sweating for weeks, but especially these past couple days. dog days like these make me appreciate the other three seasons that much more.

i want to show you something:

this is one of my all time favorite birthday gifts ever. there’s a story here. a few months ago, during the last weeks of school, i drove by a garage sale. i dont stop at garage sales often, but i had time, so i thought ‘why not.’ i saw this dresser/night stand for thirty bucks, and i couldnt think of a reason NOT to buy it. in my purse i had a little birthday money from andrew’s grandparents and my dad, and i have been wanting a new dresser forever. (i’ve had the same hand-me down dresser since i was 15 … and it was my brothers for probably ten years before it was mine.)

i fell in love with these pieces ( the owner said it was from 1970ish, i was thinking late sixties?) it’s solid furniture, dovetailed. i totally acted on impulse and bought it and brought it home. it sat in my garage, sanded and washed and waiting for my crazy month of june to be over. and a few weeks ago my husband gave me such a gift when he sprayed a fresh coat of paint on it, and screwed on some shiny new hardware. anywho – i am thankful for andrew and his hard work and wanted to show it off a bit.

i didn’t intend to write that much about the silly dresser. oh well. out it came, and there it stays.

what i really wanted to write about tonight was something bigger. more grand than i can explain. in my mind are thoughts about faith. what it is – and isn’t. why i’ve been afraid of it. i’ve been hoping for some time now. but i am praying and desiring the step beyond hope which is faith. for instance my hope in knowing that God CAN heal us versus the faith that says he WILL heal us. i have stayed so far away from faith because of situations that turned me off from it. people/doctrines that teach a faith that’s formulaic, manipulative or selfish.

i’ve been thinking. i’ve been praying. i am tired of standing back and letting life happen and hoping for the best, instead of stepping up, getting on my knees and doing something about it. i want to have something better than hope to offer the world. i want to have faith, backed up by deeds, to show others that there is a loving God in our midst – waiting for someone to believe and take hold of what he taught his first disciples so long ago. i want that. i’m still thinking, and praying, and i have nothing figured out. but this is heavy on my heart and exciting to my soul.

xo