Under the Water
Treading, fast and furious, I feel the water ever higher on my neck.
So tired of this hamster wheel we’re on, every day, a monotonous yet frenetic running routine. Wake, eat, clean, worry, clean, work, work, work, worry, home, clean, eat, clean, homework, howework, homework, worry, clean, worry, sleep, worry, worry, worry.
Repeat.
There is no time. We must find time, we cry, but there is no time to find. There is nothing that can be cut, or removed, to provide white space or room to breathe.
And the water creeps ever higher on my neck. Treading, tiring, tired.
Jumping out of the boat, Peter walked on the water to Jesus. But when he looked down at the waves churning beneath his feet, he lost his nerve and started to sink. He cried, “Master, save me!”
Jesus didn’t hesitate. He reached down and grabbed his hand. Then he said, “Faint-heart, what got into you?”
Matthew 14:29-31
Don’t look down. The voice echoes in my head as I try to pray, begging for breathing space, relief, respite.
Don’t look down. The wind and the waves aren’t going anywhere. This is it, this is the life we lead.
Here am I, sinking under the waves, slipping under the water, and the answer is holding out a hand right in front of me.
Don’t look down. Look at Me.
It doesn’t make sense. The wind and waves will continue to churn, but if Peter can walk across the real thing, then I can walk across the metaphorical storm as long as I remember…
Don’t look down.
May you find the strength and courage today to look up to the Light, not down into the dark.
Grace and peace be yours in abundance,
The conversation continues over on Facebook. Follow my author page for more insights and resources about living a shiny, abundant and beautiful life.
For The Teachers: Thank You
“It wasn’t heroism, it was survival,” Lowe said. “I just wanted to keep them all safe. It was my responsibility when they’re in my classroom and that’s where we were.”
“Your child is my child. All day long and all year long, from August to May,” Bittle said. “And I will do anything to take care of them.”
Terrified Children Asked Oklahoma Teacher, ‘Is This Really Happening?’ ABCNews.com
This is not the first time a teacher has made the news for sheltering – physically and emotionally – her students in a crisis.
We heard about it at Sandy Hook. We’ve heard about it during earthquakes and wars and terrorism, and when the Challenger blew up. We’ve seen teachers risk their lives, sacrifice their comfort, and endure extraordinary circumstances just to protect the children in their care.
I read the quotes above in an article covering the tornadoes in Oklahoma and it stopped me…what she said isn’t anything new or profound. What Sheri Bittle and Cindy Lowe said so eloquently is visible in the actions I see every day at my sons’ school, and all over the world.
I just want to take a moment to say thank you to those who spend every day loving my kids.
Who would put their life on the line for my kids.
Who have chosen teaching instead of so many other things they could have chosen.
To all of you
public and private,
preschool,
elementary,
middle and high
Thank you.
Thank you for doing the hard,
underpaid,
under-recognized work of teaching.
Thank you for doing more, with less.
Thank you for choosing education
instead of retail, or marketing, or finance.
Thank you for choosing long hours,
cranky parents, and whiny kids.
You could have chosen to do something different with your life.
But you chose to be a teacher. You chose to plant seeds, cultivate minds, and grow leaders.
You chose to change the world.
So, thank you. For loving my kids like they were your kids, and all the other kids you have shepherded through childhood…
Thank you.
Meaningless
I treid all day Sunday and Monday to write a blog post.
I pulled up old drafts and looked for new angles. Searching for something worthwhile to say. Something with meaning.
But, for the last two days, everything just felt meaning-less.
My back ached from going to the gym that morning. But the people crawling over rubble and twisted metal all day yesterday, searching, searching, searching…their backs and hands and knees hurt more than mine.
My children bickered over the dinner table. But we had a table to sit down to, and we were, all four of us, together. I was able to kiss both my children goodnight last night.
And there are parents, not just in Oklahoma, but all over the world, who said their last goodbyes to their babes yesterday.
In days like these, hope feels very heavy. I went to my Bible yesterday and I opened to Isaiah 9.
The people walking in darkness have seen a great light;
on those living in the land of deep darkness, a light has dawned.
This is one of those times where we are walking in darkness, waiting for the light.
A young woman spoke at our church Sunday evening of her 9 months in Africa, and her daily search for God’s voice and direction. Nine months to do nothing more than find God. And as it has been promised to all of us, when she searched, she found.
I sat in my seat and I envied her. I envied her the time and clarity to just listen. To wake up and have nothing to do but hear God.
I look around at the busyness of my life, and the chaos and the clutter, and I realized that the darkness I so often find myself in is a darkness of my own making. I cannot hear God because my life is so noisy.
God never shouts. He only whispers.
Everything is meaningless today. But today I will be present in this darkness, and wait and be still. I will wait for the light to dawn, and while I wait I will pray:
Marantha, Lord. Come quickly.
Boy-Mom Mother’s Day
Happy Mother’s Day to all your shiny moms out there! May grace and peace be yours in abundance, and may you find yourself in possession of precisely what you need to get through today.
The conversation continues over on Facebook. Follow my author page for more insights and resources about living a shiny, abundant and beautiful life. And surviving five year old boys – that, too.
I’m an ad gal by trade. 15 years of scrutinizing words, economizing, analyzing…what can be said in the smallest of spaces with the largest of impact? We would spend hours – saying it this way, saying it that way and when it was right, you knew it.
In advertising, “white space” is the portion of the page, or ad, that is left blank. Empty. The space left over when the rest of the message has been placed.
It’s a necessary component of an ad. If there’s not enough white space, the person reading tends to just skip over the page entirely and all of the message is lost. The ad is not read, the message is not conveyed, and all that time and effort is wasted.
Statistically proven, time and again: without white space, they won’t read. It won’t work.
The more white space on a page, the more likely what IS there will be read, and the more impactful the message. It’s just how we’re wired.
Funny how the same goes for the white space in our lives. Without a little white space, all the rest of the “stuff” becomes pointless, doesn’t it?
My friend Susan calls this “Margin” based on the book by Richard Swanson. The leeway between duty and crazy. The smidgen of empty on a full calendar.
It seems like I never have enough white space in my life. Do you?
White space requires that we say “No.” With margin, there is guilt. “No” to things that are worthwhile and important. “No” to birthday parties, baby showers, or important causes. “No” to helping. “No” to leading. “No” to serving.
But, Jesus never said we had to do it all.
Martha, Martha…it might as well be my middle name. Martha, Martha…get it through your head!
Martha, dear Martha, you’re fussing far too much and getting yourself worked up over nothing. One thing only is essential, and Mary has chosen it—it’s the main course, and won’t be taken from her.
Luke 10:41-42 The Message
Oh, don’t I just? Fussing. Getting worked up over the WRONG thing. Only one thing is essential.
So often I find that my margins align with my need for approval. The more I do, the more I will be liked (or so I naively presume).
Cutting back requires risk. Margin requires that I let people down. Someone will always be disappointed in me. Margin means I say no to glorious opportunities, fun parties, play dates, experiences.
But there are a few people, three to be exact, that will never suffer from a little white space in my life. My three boys, one big, two small, and they live in my margin. The time I have left over when the other commitments are met.
Maybe, really, what we think of as white space isn’t margin at all. Maybe white-space is what is leftover when the REAL needs are met – when my children have had enough of me, when my husband has had my full attention. When God has heard my voice, and His words have been heard by my soul – when all that is done, then whatever we do next…that’s the margin.
Working the priority instead of the urgency, I once again flip my focus from outside to inside, to what my boys need of me first, and what I do for others, second.
Guilt-free (or maybe with only a little guilt) I say “no” to others so I can say ”yes” to my highest priorities.
What do you find yourself saying “no” to so that you can say “Yes” to higher priorities?
Epilogue: This is an updated re-post. I needed to re-read my own words this morning. May and December are the two months out of the year where I walk around feeling like a failure every day, that I can never do ENOUGH. In the last week alone I’ve turned down party invitations, weekend trips, ministry events. I’ve forgotten homework due dates, and we left the dadgum 4th grade mission project to the last minute. Not because we’re last-minute people but because it’s the only minute left! As I’m learning as I slowly chew through Brene Brown’s Daring Greatly – scarcity begets scarcity. The busier I am, the more inadequate I feel. !!!
The busier I am, the more inadequate I will feel!
I joked on Facebook last week that at times, my self-worth is directly related to the amount of dirty laundry in front of the washing machine. But it’s not really a joke – it’s true. If I have led a “productive” day, I consider it a good day. I am always doing, doing, doing. I’m not very good and being. Being present. Being in the moment.
Yesterday, Mother’s Day, Gabe took the boys with him to run an errand in the late afternoon and I had 45 whole minutes of daylight time all to myself. So, while there were still weeds to be pulled and plants to put in the ground, I set my iTunes to the Gypsy Kings, poured myself a glass of sangria, and just…
sat there.
I sat there in my yard, and I just listened. Looked. I soaked it in. The blue sky. the roses. The plants that are clamoring for life in this warm, early summer.
I sat there, and then I started to be there, and in being there, I started to feel and the numbness that comes from doing, doing, doing, going, doing, started to wear off and I cried. I cried with gratitude that such a place was ours. I cried for my mom, because she would have loved it, too. I cried about the parties that are yet to be celebrated, birthdays, graduations, maybe even someday…weddings?
I gave myself permission to just be in that moment, all by myself, for no other reason than it was there. It was not a productive use of my time, but it was a worthy one.
And funny, the rest of the day felt the same. Worthy. Enough.
How will you build in some white space for yourself this week?
Something for Saturday: “MOM upside down is WOW”
Number seven made me laugh out loud.
On the occasion of an anniversary. The fifteenth one.
Marriage. It’s not any one thing.
It’s laughter and companionship.
It’s care and comfort.
It’s affection and attraction and lust.
It’s parenthood and side-by-side standing over their bed while they sleep, whispering prayers in the dark for their growth, and health, and bloom.
It’s shared suffering when life gets too big, too hard, too painful, crying together over things we cannot control. It’s compassion, when one of us is hurting and the other isn’t, assuaging the pain when nothing, and no one, else can.
It’s mild and gentle, common routines of the daily mundane. You empty, I load. You mow, I dust. I pour the milk, you get the silverware. Wiping noses, washing hair, folding laundry side-by-side on the floor.
It’s laughter and silly, stealing my pillow, and losing my page in the book. It’s benign and annoying habits, and poke her till she bites. It’s inside jokes and love of food, and the joy of a garden we made.
It’s uncharted territory, bleak and harrowing, vibrant and exciting. Forging new paths, new directions, different from what we both have known, frightening and thrilling all at once. New cities, new jobs, new callings, but together. It’s work and toil and paint, broken pipes and plumbing, Home Depot runs and finding the perfect vanity sink.
It’s also angry, and hurtful at times. Emotions worn raw because our very closeness leaves us vulnerable, one to the other. It’s disappointment and unmet expectations, because we are so different.
It’s also selflessness and letting go, putting wants and sometimes even needs aside, in favor of the greater good of the relationship. It’s a commitment, a choice. It’s giving in, not giving up, relaxing the fist and choosing the harder path of compromise over the alluring, yet always unattainable, win.
It’s John 15 and laying down our life for the other, day after day, year after year. Rain, or shine, good days, bad days, even-when-it-hurts days, days of sunshine, and days of sorrow.
It’s bearing the burden of the other when the burden becomes too heavy. It’s shining hope when the other is too deep in darkness to find it.
It’s gentle leading, hand-holding, side-by-side swinging in the moonlight and wondering what we’ll be doing for the next 15 years.
It’s dreaming of the life we’ve yet to live, of the joys and sorrows yet to come, of the ups and downs and all arounds, a journey never-ending, ever-challenging. Change, our only constant on this adventure.
It’s worth it, every minute. Every tear, every laugh, every moment we’ve had together, of bliss and torment, it’s worth it.
I choose to walk this life with you.
Read more of this love story…
On Falling In Love, Part I
On Falling In Love, Part II (What I Learned From Living in Maine)
On Falling In Love, Part IV (Gabe’s View)
Thanks for reading. Go hug someone you love.
Grace and peace be yours in abundance,
The conversation continues over on Facebook. Follow my author page for more insights and resources about living a shiny, abundant and beautiful life.
