Because sometimes, learning is messy.

I am not the mom I always assumed I would be.

One of the best ways for me to explain what I mean is to show you this picture:

That is my daughter’s PlayDoh. Four colors of it, to be precise….in only three blobs. With specks and flakes and pieces of different colors scattered throughout. Plus, what you can’t see, is that this is my kitchen counter….and that this scene continues unto the floor and the breakfast stools.

I never, ever thought I would be okay with that, but somehow I am. Somehow, God has done something in my heart that makes me okay with the everyday messes and hundreds of inevitable cleanups that come each day. Something in my Type A, obsessive, “everything must be just so” heart is okay with this.

I think, really, that I’ve realized since my daughter was born that sometimes, learning is messy. It just is, and if I want her to learn, she’s going to have to have the opportunity to make a mess here and there…or all around. If she’s going to learn to make elaborate PlayDoh shapes and discover what different colors do when they mix, she’s going to have to make a mess.

If she’s going to learn to help me with supper and set the table and pour things into the mixing bowls for me, she’s going to make a mess sometimes. The table may not look perfect, but she’s learning. (And really, I think she does a pretty terrific job for a two year old.)

If she’s going to learn to use the big girl potty all on her own, there are going to be times when I find inordinate amounts of toilet paper unwound across the bathroom floor, with her standing nearby saying, “I got too much, Mommy. Made a mess, too.” That’s okay. I’ll just wind it back up and congratulate her on her progress…because today, maybe, she doesn’t use quite as much as yesterday, and anyway…she made it to the bathroom in time. Mess or no mess, she’s learning.

And that’s okay.

I always imagined somehow that I’d be a mom who cringed with every mess, dying a little inside with every piece of strawberry that landed on the carpet or every spoonful of banana bread batter that splattered on the counter or every pile of tiny toys that littered my kitchen floor. I really thought I wouldn’t be able to handle it, and that somehow, I’d have the one child in the world who never, ever made a mess.

I don’t know how the change was made in me, but I’m thankful that it did. I don’t have the neatest, cleanest child in the world (though she’s far from being the messiest, I’m sure), and I’m able to love (nearly) every moment of her mess-making as she grows and learns. I’ve come to understand, too, that if I obsessively clung to the cleanliness of my home, I would miss a pretty amazing illustration of how God “parents” me.

You see, now that I’m a mom and this change has happened in my heart, I understand that sometimes, learning is messy. Sometimes a child has to mess things up a little in order to figure it out. Sometimes it’s the mess itself that teaches her something, and from dealing with it – whatever it is – she might be better off.

God knows that’s true with me, too. He knows that in the mistakes and the crashes and the ungraceful stumbles of my life, that has been where I’ve grown the most. Every time I have messed up, there has been a part of Him that cringed because He didn’t like to see me fall….but a part of Him knows full well how necessary those bruising calamities are in teaching me and helping me to grow.

No, the messes I make don’t usually involve spilled food, but are usually of a more serious nature. A harsh word spoken to a family member, perhaps, or a responsibility that I have shirked in favor of my own leisure. They look different than the typical messes of a curious and exploratory toddler, but are no less important in my development into the woman I was created to be.

My own relationship and walk with the Lord, for example, began as a result of one of the biggest stumbles of my life. The incident hurt….tore my inside up….brought on more tears than I’ve ever cried before….nearly took everything from me….but from where I’m sitting, I’m thankful for it. I am sincerely thankful that God allowed me to make that mistake, crashing into an ugly pile of wreckage on the inside of my heart. Without the debris from that calamity…without that mess…I definitely would not be the woman I am today.

God knows that sometimes, learning is messy. He could have made life clean and neat and easy (and originally, He did….but we messed it up and that’s an entirely different blog post). He could have made the lessons easier to learn and less painful as they healed, but He knew that sometimes, learning is just messy.

It has to be, and it needs to be okay. It needs to be okay with us, because it is okay with Him.

So, no. I am most definitely not the mom I always thought I would be, and I’m grateful that I’m not. I think this mom is better than that one would have been. It’s more fun, anyway, and I think there’s some pretty good stuff in it for my daughter, too.

“Dreaming in Chinese,” by Deborah Fallows

This book…… It was great. (I feel like I say that about every book I read, and I probably do enjoy most books more than most people do, but I’m just being honest. Read back into some of my reviews and I promise you’ll find some that weren’t raving.)

It’s not like most of the books I read. My dad suggested it to me, knowing how I love culture and language and the adjustments required when someone is transplanted into a world very much unlike their own. I studied in Spain for a semester in college, and the culture shock (and reverse culture shock, but that’s another story) that I experienced surrounding that experience stick with me still today. The language challenges of entering a culture before being fluent in the language…well, that’s not something you forget, nor is it something you can experience without growing and changing exponentially.

(Side note: I remember emailing my parents at one point during my tenure in Spain and telling them that I had “made it.” I had dreamed in Spanish the night before, and that – as any serious language student knows – is a terrific indication that a language has shifted from being vocabulary lists on a page to being a living, breathing language. It’s pretty neat, and made the title of this book hit home.)

If you, too, have an interest in culture and language, you’re bound to love this book. It’s a memoir, of sorts, of a woman who moved to China with her husband and, subsequently, struggled for several years to gain a working, functioning knowledge of the Chinese language. She pairs her strategies for learning the language with her observations of Chinese people and culture, making for a fascinating study of the expatriate experience. Going into this book, I didn’t know much about either Chinese culture or languages; when I finished, I felt like I had enjoyed a cup of coffee with someone who had just lived the experience and passionately shared their stories. Really, there’s no better way to learn……as the author, who knows more than she did but still admits limited knowledge, will tell you.

Anchored and Dancing

Several months ago, my husband took me on a little overnight getaway to the lake. We stayed in some friends’ lake house, lounged on the dock, kayaked at sunset… It was pretty amazing. Early on Saturday morning, I got up and sat on the dock, enjoying the utter silence and solitude of the morning. As I did so, bobbing on the floating dock and staring into the water, I was struck by the strength of an anchor tied nearby.

At the time, I thought about the strength of that rope. The boat, tied tightly to the dock, was able to move. It bobbed and moved and was even allowed to drift a little. At times, it was quite a good distance from the dock, drifting with the current and the wake of passing motorboats. At other times, though, it moved closer, nestling up to the dock as though there were no slack in the rope at all. The boat was free to move….but never so far that it was on its own.

I think that’s kind of how God is. If we’re grounded in Him, living with His Spirit deep in our hearts, we’re like a boat anchored…moored…tied to a dock. We can only go so far. He’s always there, holding us and drawing us back when we begin to drift. He never holds us so tightly that we can’t live – can’t move or make choices or think for ourselves – but He holds us, nonetheless, so that when He needs to bring us closer, He can. The waves and the current and the wind of life – all of those things in life that try to pull us away – will constantly be at work on us, but with Him as our anchor, we can’t go far. Those things can’t do much to us – can’t pull us very far – if we just stay connected. We are held somehow, and we can feel it. We know it.

What’s more….I think that’s all kind of the way God asks us to be as parents. We have to teach our children about Him, giving them the information and the background and the heritage to keep them grounded as they grow, but we cannot control them. We cannot make decisions for them or treat their lives as our own. We can only give them an anchor – connect them to Him – so that when life moves in and the waves get taller and rougher and scarier, they can grab hold and know that they won’t be taken away. They are held, and they know it.

I was reminded of this idea recently, strangely, while watching “Mary Poppins” with my daughter. She loves the movie, and I love the scene with the chimney sweeps dancing and singing on the rooftops of London. As I watched that song and dance routine, I noticed for the first time how, when fired upon by Admiral Boom’s cannon next door, panic ensued with everyone….but Mary Poppins. The chimney sweeps and the children all hit the deck, running and scrambling for safety. Meanwhile, Mary Poppins barely moves. She stands, posture erect, watching the chaos and hullabaloo with apparent wonderment. Her face almost seems to say, “Whatever is the matter? Everything is going to be just fine. Calm down, all of you.”

And how appropriate! Mary Poppins was used to strange things happening all around her, like hysterical laughter carrying sensible people to the ceiling and children disappearing into sidewalk drawings. She knew that life is characterized by the unexpected and even the scary, but she also knew that her reaction to those things in life will sometimes make little difference… She seemed to know something the others in the scene didn’t know, and her reaction is eye-catching and almost humorous. No panic…no fear…no turmoil. Just calm in the midst of the storm.

I think God wants us to live that way. Drifting, yes, and floating through life, connected to what comes and really experiencing what it is to live…..but never being rocked or taken or swept away. I think, too, that we are to equip our children to live that way. The Lord gives us an anchor – a sure place to hold on when things get bumpy – and we have to introduce our children to that peace.

Direct your children onto the right path, and when they are older, they will not leave it. (Proverbs 22:6)

We can drift…we can live…but we can always hold on and come right back.

They can live….they can make mistakes and experience pain….but they have something to hold onto, and can always come back.

And, when the waves get higher and higher, frightening everyone around them and carrying even the most sensible people away, we can all stand firm.

I have told you all this so that you may have peace in me. Here on earth you will have many trials and sorrows. But take heart, because I have overcome the world. (John 16:33)

Everything will be fine. There is nothing to worry about. We can all continue to sing and dance, on the rooftops or in the rain, because we know something others might not.

Then he got into the boat and his disciples followed him. Suddenly a furious storm came up on the lake, so that the waves swept over the boat. But Jesus was sleeping. The disciples went and woke him, saying, “Lord, save us! We’re going to drown!” He replied, “You of little faith, why are you so afraid?” Then he got up and rebuked the winds and the waves, and it was completely calm. The men were amazed and asked, “What kind of man is this? Even the winds and the waves obey him!” (Matthew 8:23 – 27)

How much more fun would it be, though, if everyone knew? How much more fun would it be if everyone could sing and dance with us, laughing at the storms and fearlessly dodging the attacks?

Something to think about. It’s something that’s challenging me.

Everyone who calls on the name of the Lord will be saved. How, then, can they call on the one they have not believed in? And how can they believe in the one of whom they have not heard? And how can they hear without someone preaching to them? And how can anyone preach unless they are sent? As it is written: “How beautiful are the feet of those who bring good news!” (Romans 10:13-15)

A tree is just a tree.

I think that I shall never see a poem lovely as a tree. ~Joyce Kilmer

I don’t think it’s any secret that I have a soft spot in my heart for trees. I could spend an inordinate amount of time sitting and watching them – the sun casting through the leaves, the branches dancing in a breeze, the colors changing with the seasons. We were in North Carolina recently, spending a weekend in a cabin; the time there was perfect for an avid tree-watcher like myself.

One morning, as I sat on the porch of the cabin and enjoying the silence that is pretty uncharacteristic of life at home, the trees caught my attention (as they always do). From where I was sitting, I could lean back and really watch the trees – and nothing but the trees, unobstructed by anything else around. As I watched them, with things from home on my mind and my usual introspection at work, I was struck by a thought.

Trees don’t worry or care about anything.

They just are.

Trees don’t worry about what everyone else is doing. If a breeze catches one, it doesn’t hesitate to dance…even if no one else is. If the leaves on one begin to change, a tree doesn’t feel self-conscious about its vibrant colors, afraid to stand out. If one reaches new heights and stands taller than the rest, it doesn’t slouch down to look more like the others. If a dead branch falls off a tree, the tree doesn’t move all of the other branches around, attempting to cover its imperfections.

No. A tree just is.

A tree stands up tall and straight (or bends crookedly, or leans to one side), and keeps on doing what it does.

It is what it is, and that is okay.

I realize how silly this all sounds, since no, trees don’t think…and what else would a tree do, really, but stand there? For me, though – having struggled with brutal self-comparison and bitter self-loathing for much of my life – it was a revelation. A tree is just a tree…..a compilation of roots and branches and leaves…..but it has something to teach me.

A tree…..just a tree…….nothing more………

….and yet here am I, the pinnacle of God’s creation (His Word says so….I didn’t make that up, I assure you)……here am I, insecure in who I am and unhappy so much of the time with my place in this vast world.

I long for something I am not, when I am created in God’s own image…..from His own heart……out of His love for me.

If the trees….just big plants, really…..are confident with their place in the world, how much more should I be? If a tree is okay with its particular characteristics that set it apart from the others, how much more should I be, having been carved and sculpted and knit together in my mother’s womb?

Creation was not complete until woman entered the scene. There is a scene in this world that is not complete without me, yet I spend a lot of my time wishing I were different….wishing for a different calling in my life…..wishing somehow that my life looked more like others I see around me.

The trees, though, never think that way….and neither should I. If God declared the trees to be good…..how marvelous and beautiful must I be in his eyes? And who am I, really, to question what He thinks of me?

The Reality of Journeying

We’ve all been there.

Some people feel it more on Monday mornings….or idle Thursday afternoons….or only following big spiritual events like a retreat or a vacation. Personally, I call it the “Sunday afternoon slump.”

It’s that sense of wonderment….and wonderment lost. It’s the feeling of remembering, with distinct clarity, the peace of worship in community. Remembering the undeniable presence of God. Remembering the tug on one’s heart that couldn’t possibly come from anyone outside….but only from the One who is inside ourselves and all around, all at once.

It’s that feeling of wanting the world to fall away. It’s the desire for the meetings on the calendar, the dishes in the sink, the laundry in the basket…the desire for all of those things to simply wait.

It’s the realization that though we wish and dream and long for the mountaintop of worship and closeness with God to last forever, it simply cannot.

And then, we slump.

Life will go on…the noise will again crowd in…and we’ll again long for that closeness…the peace…the quiet…the intimacy of time spent with our Creator. We’ll long for it until it comes again. However long it takes, we’ll go on longing. Whatever comes in the meantime, we’ll never cease our longing.

As the deer pants for streams of water, so my soul pants for you, O God. My soul thirsts for God, for the living God. When can I go and meet with God? My tears have been my food day and night, while men say to me all day long, “Where is your God?” These things I remember as I pour out my soul: how I used to go with the multitude, leading the procession to the house of God, with shouts of joy and thanksgiving among the festive throng. (Psalm 42:1-4)

Sometimes, the recollection of worship seems otherworldly, and placing ourselves in that memory seems impossible. With the way we feel right now, in this moment, it is hard to imagine having ever felt the way we did then.

That was the mountain, and here, on Sunday afternoon or Monday morning, we find ourselves in the valley.

The high has passed, and here we are, once again, in the harsh reality of life. The mountaintop cannot last…

…and really, if it were possible, I wonder if I would want it to. It has been in the valleys that I have grown. It has been in those places of panic attacks and tear-soaked pillows that I have seen God most clearly and felt His hand on me. It has been in those moments of utter desperation that I have reached the end of myself and entered, finally, into the bliss of allowing Him to take over.

That can only happen in the valley, whenever and wherever it may come. So if that mountaintop could last, would I want it to? I know myself. I know that given time and space, I will lose my appreciation for the things that at first swept me off my feet. I know that given time, my wonderment would cease. I’d like to think it wouldn’t, but I know myself.

So no….the mountaintop cannot last forever, and I will inevitably plunge into a valley as a result. The valley will be cold and harsh and dark, but I wouldn’t have it any other way. If all I knew was sunlight, I wouldn’t appreciate its warmth when it peeks from behind a storm cloud. The valleys, in truth, help me to see God more clearly and to understand His heart.

It’s about the journey. How much of a journey, really, can one make on top of a mountain? There isn’t much space to move around up there. At best, I could turn in a small circle, barely shifting my feet as I pivoted slowly around. That, friends, is no journey. And in doing that I would be no pilgrim.

The journey takes me to the valleys more often than it takes me to the mountaintops. Sunday morning is but a small portion of my week. The rest of the time, I must continue my sojourn through life.

Blessed are those whose strength is in you, who have set their hearts on pilgrimage. (Psalm 84:5)

I’ll wait….you’ll wait….and when He sees fit, He’ll escort us back to the mountaintop. Meanwhile, I’m setting my heart on pilgrimage knowing full well that this pilgrim will descend into the valleys. The journey will take me to the low places, and when it does, it will be okay. It will not be fun, but it will be okay.

All photos were taken by me on our recent vacation to North Carolina.

“God Loves Ugly,” by Christa Black

I saw Christa Black at a Michael W. Smith concert recently, and her book and CD caught my eye as soon as I walked up to the merchandise table in the lobby. The words “God Loves Ugly” jumped off the table at me, and I thought, “Yeah…….I’m probably buying that book.” I flipped it open to see a little of what it held inside, and this sentence jumped off the page at me:

“Fear keeps me from doing things I want to do.”

At that, I got in line and bought the book and accompanying CD. They had to come home with me.

I plowed through the book (and meanwhile listened to the CD nearly non-stop) in less than a week. It was amazing.

Christa (I call her by her first name because I feel like we’re friends) talks in the book about her own struggles with self esteem and ghosts in her closet, and how she went on a very real, very raw journey to wholeness and a realization of who she is in God’s eyes. The end of each chapter has a section called “Your Turn,” which gives the reader a chance to reflect on what they’ve read and to answer (pretty challenging) questions. My favorite of these sections asked me to write out, in as much detail as I could, who God is to me. Very, very powerful. (Even if you don’t get the book, I encourage you to tackle that assignment. It could change your life.)

The CD is beautiful, too, and if you visit Christa on her Facebook page, you can listen to it there. Highly recommended.

My copy of this book is already promised out to several women who, like me, were drawn in by Christa’s story. If you want to read it, I’d be happy to loan you mine when they’re done….but you can always get a copy of your own. It’s worth it.

“A Million Miles in a Thousand Years,” by Donald Miller

After reading my enthusiastic review of Blue Like Jazz, a friend generously let me borrow her copy of another of Donald Miller’s books. A Million Miles in a Thousand Years was to be my vacation read, but I never dreamed I would finish it (yes, FINISH IT) in three days. The writer in me loved it. The introspective analyst in me loved it. The word nerd in me…yes. Loved it.

It was so, so good.

In this one of his books, Miller writes about a period of aimless wandering in his life. This was a period that, for all outward appearances, should have been one of the best in his life but, for different reasons, left him feeling depressed and lost. As his memoir was being made into a movie, he was forced to look at his life in a new way, and to make a decision about how he wanted the rest of his story to play out.

With relevant examples and stories that make you want to invite him over for coffee, Miller describes his journey from meaninglessness to living a provocative story. Reading about his story – or, as he puts it, his lack of story – cannot help but make you look closely at your own life and the story it tells. I haven’t stopped thinking about it since I finished it the other day.

My only complaint? That I didn’t read a copy of my own, so I could scribble and write in the margins at will. I’ll probably be getting my own copy, and reading it again. And again.

And probably again.

It’s just that good.