Author Archives: abmab01

1-2-3 GO!!

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We bought a camper. It’s been terribly fun to load up on the weekends, drive to the lake and unplug (literally, there’s ZERO wi-fi or cell service where we go). We take the hammocks, a deck of cards, some board games, a set of horseshoes and just veg out. When we get antsy we head to the water and swim. The kids splash and race and giggle and laugh (and fight….let’s not over-glamorize it, there’s always some fighting).

This past weekend we camped with my family. As we were sitting on the sand watching the kids play in the water, my mom commented on what a great swimmer Caleb is….and that he was once NOT a fan of the water at all. It reminded me of this journal entry from three years ago. A great reminder that sometimes really great things require taking that initial scary leap. Don’t be afraid, just count to three and DO IT!!

3/30/13

Ahhhh…..vacation: no alarm clock, no work, no school, no daycare, no schedule, no house to clean, no deadlines: BLISS! Travel: 30+ hours over 7 days in a small car with 2 adults and 3 (yes, 3) kids: TERRIFYING! In our case the benefit outweighed the risk and we went for it. It turned out to be just what we needed. We spent most of our time hanging out in beautiful Colorado mountain country. It was quiet and peaceful and serene. Before we began our journey to CO, we spent a couple of days in St. Louis with some really great friends and their families. Lots of laughs and fun and great fellowship. The hotel that we stay in had a really cool pool. It was an indoor/outdoor pool. The two areas were separated by a “swim under” wall. The kids ventured out one by one and came back reporting how awesome it was. Back and forth. Inside, under the wall, now outside. Outside, under the wall, and back inside. The novelty not wearing off quickly for the kids. Except Caleb. He was afraid. He’s never been a fan of having water in his face, much less completely immersing himself in it but that was exactly what he would have to do to get to the outdoor pool. He wanted to do it so badly but he just couldn’t make himself. He would get ready and get right up next to the wall and then panic at the last second. Knowing how badly he wanted to do it, I formulated a plan to help. Holding him in my arms I used a technique that we learned with our daughter when we took her to swim lessons as an infant: 1-2-3 swim. Simply put, you count to three and then quickly bob their head under water and then pop them back up. I explained to him how to hold his breath on 3 and then *splash* under he went and back up he came marveling at the fact that he was just fine. Again and again we practiced until he was finally ready to try the real deal and go under the wall. He was scared but brave and so incredibly proud of himself when he got to the other side. HE DID IT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! It was scary but he did it. He trusted me when I told him that he would be ok and he did it. Somewhere deep down inside of him he know that he would be alright and he did it! It perfectly parallels this journey that we are on with foster care: it is scary but we are doing it. We are trusting Him that it will be ok and we are doing it. We know somewhere deep down it’s all going to be alright and we are doing it. 1-2-3-GO!

 

Hitting rocks and throwing stones

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We live right across the street from my parents. It has potential to be disastrous but it’s worked out beautifully for us. We help each other out when we can and give each other space to do their own thing. My kids have the benefit of having their grandparents close and they (kids AND grandparents) love it. My folks don’t meddle and they don’t get in my business. With one exception. 

I love to mow. It’s instant gratification. You take a grubby, overgrown lawn and in no time you have a fresh carpet of green. I put on my head phones and jam. And I hit rocks. My husband and I have an unspoken agreement: I mow the lawn and he doesn’t give me grief about hitting rocks and dulling the blades. My dad doesn’t know about this agreement. Or he chooses to ignore it. 

I imagine that when my dad hears our mower fire up he grabs his notebook labeled “number of times Abbie has hit a rock” and goes to town filling up his tally sheet. If that’s not enough, he gives a report when I’m done. Within a day or two he will remark something along the lines of, “I heard you out mowing. You think you’re about to get those rocks chewed up yet?” Or, “I thought you were supposed to pick rocks, not hit them.” It’s innocent and he thinks he’s being funny but honestly, it kind of pisses me off. But you know what? When I know he’s home, listening to me mow, I’m more deliberate about NOT hitting rocks. 

No one wants to hear when they’re screwing up. It’s not fun to hear what you’re not doing right. But. There’s something about being held accountable. It’s not my favorite thing but it’s good for me. 

To be held accountable you must first admit that you’re not perfect. Ah, humility. And vulnerability. Ugly words sometimes, aren’t they? Well, I am not perfect. Far from it. Here’s one of my (many) shortcomings: I have a nasty habit of noticing people’s faults. Embarrassing to admit, but it’s honest. I give way more slack to the world but tend to hold my brothers and sisters in Christ to a much higher standard. And when I don’t think they’re doing what they ought to be, I get a little judgey. 

I need to be held accountable for it. Don’t allow me to engage you in conversation about what others are or are not doing that doesn’t meet my expectations. My expectations are skewed and don’t really matter. Only God’s opinion matters. 

I don’t need you to slay me or lecture me or counsel me. Just a gentle reminder, please. A simple, “watch the rocks, girl” will do just fine. 

I don’t want to be known for hitting rocks or throwing stones. Call me out when I do either, ok? Yes dad, I’m giving you permission too (not that you asked or require it). Just because it pisses me off doesn’t mean I don’t need to hear it. 

Birthday blues

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Have you ever had a zit in your nose? Not on your nose or beside your nose, but INSIDE your nose? If not, you’re lucky. If so, you know they suck. I have one right now. The self conscious side of me is happy that at least the blemish is where no one can see it. The practical side of me is miserable. It’s allergy season so I’m a sneezing, nose wiping mess. Every time I sniffle I’m reminded of that pesky little pimple. Ew. Ow. TMI? Sorry.

Have you ever had a sad day? You don’t really see it coming and you can’t exactly explain it but you also can’t deny it? I’m having one of those. It’s not the soul crushing devastation that I’m unable to cover up. It’s more of a subtle nagging in my heart. A little “sad tug”. I can put on a happy face and count my blessings (I will. I. AM. BLESSED) but deep down, I am sad today.

Today my boy turns 8. When we met him, he was 4. This will be the year that he will have spent more than half his life with our family. It’s not like he will be any more “ours” when the scales tip, but I’ve been waiting for this. Now that it’s here, I’m unexpectedly sad.

When we celebrated his 5th birthday we had known him less than a year. On birthday number 6 the “plan” was so up in the air we didn’t know what was going on. By birthday number 7 he was an offical part of our family. And now we have reached the birthday that will mark half his life in our home. It’s a day to celebrate! We will eat cake and give presents and sing and smile and have fun, but inside I will be kind of a little sad too.

Today I’m reminded of the beautiful tragedy that is adoption. Adoption is redemption and love and grace. It is also grief and loss. I don’t know how you get one with out the other. It’s a package deal. Today I am sad because of all I missed those first four years. The more I get to know this incredible kid, the more I am grieved by what I don’t know. I wasn’t there for the first steps and the first words and the first birthdays. And that makes me sad.

I get the feeling he might be a little sad too. Grieving his own stuff. So tonight, after the wrapping paper has been picked up and the candles have been blown out and the wishes have been made, we might talk a little about our sad. Just because it isn’t visible to the world doesn’t mean it isn’t there. You know, like a zit in your nose.

Celebrating Laundry

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  I’ve lost my touch in the kitchen. To be fair, I’ve never been a great cook. In the last couple of years, the few skills I had have gone completely down the drain. Due to our work schedules, my husband beats me home most nights. Because he’s a great guy, he has taken over dinner duty. Because he’s taken over dinner duty, I’m out of practice. It’s really not a bad gig and I’m certainly not complaining, but on those occasions that I NEED to cook, I struggle. My current repertoire includes spaghetti, taco salad, quesadillas. That’s pretty much it, except for the really desperate nights when I’ve called ramen noodles and grilled cheese “dinner”. 

I am not a great homework mom.  At the end of the day they’re tired, I’m tired and the last thing I want to do is figure out how to do common core math. Did you know you can You Tube “how to do long division”? Siri is also a valuable tool. She can tell your son why vegetables are important when he has to write 4 reasons and the only one you can come up with is, “I think they have fiber.” I pay my daughter to read with her brother so we don’t have to lie on the nightly reading log. 

I do not have a green thumb. Not for lack of effort. I would love to have a big, beautiful garden. I think it’d be really neat to grow our own veggies. I’ve tilled and fertilized and fenced and weeded and hoed. I grow terrific weeds. And the rabbits really enjoy my green beans. I can keep annual potted plants alive until mid-July most years, then they’re goners. 

So, I’m a terrible cook, a rotten teacher and have a black thumb…but you guys, my laundry game is on point. I’ve had a system in place for a couple of years and it’s still working. It’s not perfect (I don’t believe in things like “sorting” or “ironing”) but it works great for our crew. It goes like this: every night (every. single. night) I gather up all the clothes from all the hampers. They all get tossed in the washer together. Brights, whites, denim, towels, all of it, I do not discriminate. I start the load at bedtime and in the morning it goes into the dryer. After the kids are in bed at night I fluff and fold and start that day’s clothes in the washer, starting the magical cycle all over again. Each kid has a basket for their clean clothes and they’re responsible for putting them away. Guys, it’s beautiful.  I mean, look at this magnificent rainbow tower of baskets filled with neatly folded clothes….

 

I could beat myself up over my lack of skills, or I can celebrate my successes. Today I choose to celebrate. Laundry. I will celebrate laundry because I’m nailing it. 

What about you? What are you really owning right now? Are you a master diaper changer? Are you a boss at bath time? Are you a gifted organizer? Go ahead and pat yourself on the back for what you’re great at. It’s better than kicking yourself in the pants for what you’re screwing up.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go match some socks. 

Considering foster parenting?

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We are coming up on our four year anniversary of being licensed foster parents. It feels like just yesterday (and an eternity ago) that we signed the last document, had our final home visit and became OFFICIAL!! It only took a few weeks for us to get “the call”, our first kiddo!! We have figured a few things out during the last four years. For what it’s worth, here are some things I’ve learned.

YOUR FAMILY IS GOING TO GROW. Duh, right? You’re inviting kids to live with you, obviously your family is going to get bigger. But your family is going to grow by more than just a kid or two. Spoiler alert: those kids bring with them parents and grandparents and aunts and uncles and cousins. More than likely you’ll build relationships with those family members along the way. I really hadn’t prepared myself for this new extended family. Honestly, it’s pretty great. A sort of a hidden bonus. Sorry to spoil the surprise.

NEVER SAY NEVER. Because God has a fantastic sense of humor. We were NEVER going to adopt…you know, until the time came that our son was going to live with another family and we declared, “over our dead bodies.” We weren’t going to take a baby because we were NEVER going to do diapers again….then we got a darling 4 year old who wasn’t potty trained. Yes, it is important to establish boundaries and recognize your strengths and your limits but don’t be so committed to your plans that you’re unable to bend a little. Some of our biggest blessings have come from our “nevers”.

OH, THE FEELS. Sure, you’ll experience the expected range of emotions: happy, sad, excited, nervous. Then there’s this whole other subset of feelings that I didn’t even know about. Like when you’ve exercised and wake up the next morning and have sore muscles that you didn’t even know existed. There are these weird combo emotions that I don’t have names for. The celebration of a child being reunited with their family as my heart is absolutely crushed by their departure….what is that even called? How am I able to praise God for the resiliency of a child while being so angry at Him that the same child has lived a life that required such resiliency? Foster parenting brings with it some of the highest highs and the lowest lows. Learn to celebrate the good times and understand that the bad times are only temporary.

READ THE BOOKS BUT TRUST YOUR GUT. If you look, you’ll find a plethora of books. And blogs. And support groups. And opinions. Read them, join them, listen to them…but don’t live by them. You’re smart. You’re equipped to do hard things, do not underestimate youself. If you’re going to lean on something, make sure it’s God. Everything else is just someone’s best guess. It’s awfully easy to trick yourself into thinking you’re not doing it right. Remember that somebody else’s “right” might be all wrong for your family. You know your people best.

REMEMBER WHY YOU’RE DOING IT. Because you’re going to question yourself. Some day when you’re picking nits or cleaning  poop or testifying in court or answering a hotline call (because foster parents get hotlined sometimes) you will say to yourself, “WHAT was I thinking?” When you get a call from the daycare that your kid is sick and you have to sacrifice precious vacation time to take them to the doctor, you’ll wonder why you signed up for this. When we started our journey I wrote an entry in my journal about why I felt compelled to foster. I’ve gone back and re-read it on more occasions that I can count. I’ve needed reminding many, many times.

YOU ARE GOING TO MEET THE TOUGHEST, BRAVEST, MOST AMAZING KIDS. You will wonder why everyone in the world doesn’t foster. Yes, it’s hard. But it is also  incredible. To be able to watch a scared, sad, timid child morph into a confident, happy, silly kid is beautiful. And to know that you got to play a tiny role in that transformation is just one of the best feelings in the world.

I don’t care….because I care?

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In 2005 Jo Dee Messina released a song titled “My Give a Damn’s Busted”. In the song she tells the story of a woman who has been burned by so many men that, try as she might, she just doesn’t give a damn any more when they make advances toward her. While I can’t sympathize with her reason for not being able to care, in the last several months I have echoed her sentiment. I have felt that my own “give a damn” has been in need of repair.

From a young age I’ve been a girl with an opinion. Many opinions, in fact. You could  throw any topic my way and in pretty short order I could come up with not only an opinion, but a pretty good argument to support it. Hair styles, shoes, work stuff, laundry detergent, politics, whatever. Ask me and I could tell you what I thought. Lately however, things that I used to get all fired up about, I just can’t make myself care about. I heard myself saying, “I don’t give a %H*t” far too often and decided it was time for some self reflection.

Ambivalence can be a sign of depression. Could that be it? Could I be in a funk and that’s why I don’t seem to care about things? I don’t think so. Even though I don’t seem to care about some things the way I used to, I feel like I’m in a good place. My marriage is solid, my kids are at an incredible age and although they can make me a little crazy sometimes I really, really love them. I look forward to doing fun things and have a generally positive outlook on life. I sleep fine and haven’t had significant weight gain or loss recently. No, I don’t think I’m depressed.

Could it be that I’m too busy to care? Is my schedule is so cram packed that I’m always run down and exhausted and simply don’t have the energy left to care about simple things? Two years ago the answer might have been yes, but these days I’m pretty deliberate about what I commit myself to. I have worked really hard on telling people “no” (occasionally) and have made an effort to keep my family’s schedule manageable. No, I don’t think the reason I’m unable to give a crap is because of a busy schedule.

Could it possibly be that the things I no longer seem to care about are things I never should have cared about as much as I did? I feel an epiphany brewing here. Is it possible that I have matured to a place of not caring about stuff that, in the overall scheme of things, DOESN’T REALLY MATTER?? Is it possible that my broken “give a damn” is a good thing and not something in need of fixing? I’m beginning to think this could be the case.

My little world has been growing over the last several years. I used to have a fond affection for my comfort zone and rarely dared to step out of it. I liked things neat and tidy and safe and manageable. I liked control. In order to keep that, I needed my opinions. I think God looked down and saw what was going on with me and in His infinite wisdom, laid foster care on my heart to cure me of my chronic caring-about-things-that-don’t-matter. Then, about a year ago, He broke my heart for the homeless in our community. Again, shaking me up and giving me a whole new perspective.

I have heard stories that I would have never imagined to be true in real life. Things I only thought happened in movies. Unspeakable horrors that happen in my town. Neglect, abuse, hunger, loneliness, desperation. I’ve met folks that carry everything they own in a backpack. EVERYTHING THEY OWN. I’ve heard stories of kids being abandoned and sold (yes, you read that right). I know people who have self-medicated to the point that they don’t even recognize themselves. It’s hard, heartbreaking stuff. It is reality.

The real world knowledge that I have gained has been eye-opening. There has been a paradigm shift in my world. My small circle has grown and I don’t even know everyone in it yet. My focus has changed. And it needed to. I was using up my  energy on things that, in view of eternity, simply do not matter. I was straining out gnats and swallowing camels (Matthew 23:34).

I’m learning to be grateful for the fact that I’m able to not give a %H*t about silly things. I’m done trying to diagnose myself and figure out what’s wrong with me. I’m thankful for this new outlook on things. I pray that I am able to continue to focus on things that matter more often than things that don’t. And if I start getting all twisted up about silly stuff, I hope I can take a step back and realign myself with what is truly important.

I thought my “give a damn” was busted but it turns out  my heart was. And I’m better for it.

 

 

Trekking poles and the Holy Spirit

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DSCN0248.JPGI’m a hiker. Correction: I want to be a hiker. I am an amateur hiker. There are expert hikers out there. I admire them and watch them to see what makes an expert hiker an expert. My “gear” is a dead giveaway that I’m not a professional. I recently bought my first pair of hiking boots, their lack of wear is like a neon sign flashing: NOVICE, NOVICE, NOVICE. I carry a boring backpack. I don’t have a Nalgene water bottle or a Patagonia hiking shirt.

As a pro-hiker watcher, I’ve been utterly befuddled by trekking poles. While I’m generally easily impressed with hiking gear, those darn poles have always looked sort of ridiculous to me. It looks like someone is trying to ski where there’s no snow. I couldn’t for the life of me figure out how in the world carrying a couple of sticks through the wilderness would make navigating the trails easier. But the expert hikers use them.

My husband and I planned a weekend of hiking for our 15th anniversary. Yes, we really did that. Some couples celebrate their anniversary in Hawaii or at an all-inclusive resort in Mexico or on a cruise. Not us. We try to kill ourselves. On our way out of town we made a stop at the outlet mall and on a whim I bought a cheap set of trekking poles. Bright yellow ones. After we checked into our cabin and grabbed a quick lunch, I laced up my (brand-spanking) new hiking boots, grabbed my shiny trekking poles and we were off.

As we arrived at the trailhead, I tried to figure out my poles. There are multiple places to adjust the height and convoluted straps for your hands. I felt like a little girl playing dress up, trying to balance in her mom’s heels and keep her purse on her shoulder. “Am I doing it right? Do I look like a moron?” I asked my husband as we hiked along. I would walk with the poles for a while and then fold them up and put them away when I felt like a complete idiot. After a bit I’d get them back out and try them again. The hike took about 2 hours and by the end I was using my poles more than I wasn’t. I passed them to Eli (hubby) for him to try and after just a few seconds I missed them. We were climbing up some rock stairs and I realized that the silly sticks were actually making it easier. When I didn’t have them, I wished I did.

The next day we tackled a 7 mile hike. It was somewhere around 1,600 feet downhill to an impressive waterfall and then something like 10,000,000 feet back up (I don’t even know how that’s possible but I swear that’s what it felt like). On our way down we commented about how difficult it was going to be to get back up. Truthfully, the trip down was no cakewalk…I complained….a lot. Once we reached the destination and admired the waterfall, I decided I was glad we had done it and I determined to NOT COMPLAIN on our way back up. Every time I would feel a gripe brewing I would squash it with a praise. “I’m thankful for my legs. I’m thankful for my feet. I’m thankful I don’t have ingrown toenails. I’m thankful for shade. I’m thankful for the breeze. I’m thankful I don’t have asthma. I’m thankful for my husband. I’m thankful for our kids. I’m thankful we didn’t bring our kids.” And do you know what else? I was thankful for those ridiculous trekking poles.

I still don’t really understand the mechanics of it. I don’t feel like when I’m using trekking poles they are making much of a difference. It doesn’t seem like I’m relying on them or putting much pressure on them. I don’t feel as if they’re pulling me along or lifting me up. Honestly, all I really feel is like I’m not doing it right. But even in my very awkward, incredibly ungraceful way, I was somehow doing something that helped.

As I was hiking, marveling at nature and trying to figure out how the trekking poles were actually helping, I thought about the Holy Spirit. I recently facilitated a 7-week study on the Holy Spirit. God bless the group of women that patiently stuck with me through it. We talked and questioned and discussed and laughed and cried our way through Francis Chan’s ‘Forgotten God’. In the end, I still hadn’t figured it (him) out. How can God be insinde of me? How can He direct my paths but give me free will? How can I know that I am following His will and not my own? I DON’T GET IT. I grew frustrated and then realized that I was missing the whole point.

The Holy Spirit isn’t a puzzle to be solved. It isn’t a hidden treasure to be found. It isn’t a goal to be earned. It is a gift. A GIFT. A gift to be used. It is access to superhuman amounts of love and joy, peace and patience, kindness, goodness and faithfulness, and even self-control. I don’t understand it but I’m trying to live like I own it. I lean on Him when I’m rundown. I think I start each day with 10 pieces of patience and, more often than not, I’ve used them all up by 10:00a.m. But when mine are gone, I dip into the Holy Spirit’s supply. Self-control? I think God shorted me on that when he created me (and gave Eli my share) but when I fail, I can borrow from the Holy Spirit. Joy? Well, even when I’m climbing straight up a 10 million foot slope, I can be thankful for the good stuff.

I still don’t understand it. I still don’t feel like I’m engaging the Holy Spirit correctly. I still feel silly sometimes even talking about the Holy Spirit because I’m such an amateur. I still occasionally ask myself, “Am I doing it right?” I still don’t understand the mechanics of Him. I still don’t feel like I’m really relying on Him or putting much pressure on Him. I don’t always recognize that He is pulling me along and lifting me up. But somehow, even in my very awkward, incredibly ungraceful way, God is helping me along.

Shiny yellow trekking poles and the Holy Spirit. Who knew?

 

Transparency

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“Honesty and transparency make you vulnerable. Be honest and transparent anyway.” -Mother Teresa

We crave authenticity, don’t we? We want people to be REAL. Being able to walk alongside someone who can say, “This is beautiful, but this is freaking hard” can make things seem less scary. When your heart is hurting or you’re rejoicing a minor victory and there’s someone who really GETS it, well, it just makes it so much easier/better.

If transparency is something we all want, why is it such a rare find? Because it’s hard.  It’s hard to put yourself out there and make your thoughts known. To expose your feelings is scary. When you put your heart out there and you’re met with a raised eyebrow and a look of judgement, it can be crushing. Laying my own tender feels on the table makes me cringe sometimes, but I (try) do it anyway. Because I want your honesty, I offer you mine.

I’ve learned a thing or two about honesty and transparency and authenticity over the years. Some lessons were tough so I’m going to share what I’ve learned so that maybe you can avoid some of my mistakes. You’re welcome.

Lesson #1: not everyone wants to know everything. You can free yourself of the pressure to share ALL of your opinions and ALL of your knowledge and ALL of your thoughts with ALL of the people.  Seems crazy, because you’ve spent a lot of time and effort and energy reaching your conclusions and you want to save others the trouble, right? Here’s what I’ve learned: unless someone asks for your honesty, you don’t HAVE to offer it. Liberating, huh?

Lesson #2: not everyone needs to know everything. Sometimes in the foster care world folks will ask me questions that I legally cannot answer. I’m obligated to protect the littles in my care and their stories. I’m pretty much never offended by questions because I know, more often than not, they come from a kind place. That does not necessitate a revealing response though. Sometimes the most honest answer I can give is, “sorry, I’m really not at liberty to share that information”. I’ve learned that most people understand and are completely fine with that response.

Lesson #3: not everyone can handle knowing everything. When my innocent kids ask me questions, I have to be delicate with my answers. I can explain drug use in generalities but I don’t have to go into detail with the facts or my opinions. It’s ok to just leave it at “sometimes people make bad choices” without divulging all the complex parts of those decisions. I need to be gentle and age appropriate with my answers. Sometimes they push for more information but most of the time a simple answer will satisfy their curiousity.

Lesson #4: be gentle with others who are making an effort to be open and honest. Recognize how scary it is to put one’s self out there, even if you don’t agree with their stance or opinion. Acknowledge their bravery. Try to assume the best in people, especially when they’re opening up, because they are tender and vulnerable and need your love and acceptance.

Then there’s stuff I’m still figuring out (“figuring it out as I go” isn’t just a catchy blog title, it’s my life). Sometimes my authenticity is offensive and I’m not sure what to do with that. For example, in the spirit of transparency I’ll admit, I sometimes have a rather colorful vocabulary. I think a well placed 4-letter word can add a certain depth to a conversation on occasion. If that’s news to you, it’s probably because I assume it would be offensive to you so I reign it in. Also, I enjoy an occasional glass of wine. I feel confident this falls into the “all things in moderation” category (see previous post) but I know that some of my friends feel pretty strongly that any amount of alcohol is too much…so I won’t imbibe when I’m around them. Am I being sensitive or am I compromising my authenticity? I honestly don’t know so I guess I’ll just have to keep kicking that around.

Let’s all strive to be authentic and honest, ok? We are all a bit of a mess, aren’t we? Pretending it’s not the case does us no good. Paul wrote this in Ephesians: “each of you must put off falsehood and speak truthfully to your neighbor…” Basically, BE REAL. It’s tough and scary but it’s so good. When you find an authentic person, thank them. And try to be that transparent person yourself. No facade, no mask, no front, just BE YOU.  I’m thanking you in advance. It’s a big deal.

Meth, love and other exceptions

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 You’ve heard it said, and likely quoted it yourself: “all things in moderation”. It’s true. Sunshine is great but too much and you’ll get a sunburn (says the fair skinned lass over here). Coffee is incredible but drink too much and you’ll get the jitters (trust me). Bacon is amazing but overdo it and you’ll clog your arteries (mmmm…bacon). All things in moderation. Yes, but.

I added an addendum years ago. My version has been “all things in moderation, except meth”. I guess I’m always looking for an exception to the rule. I said it as a lame joke but, duh, it’s true. Kids, meth is bad. If you don’t believe me, I know some folks that can convince you. Addiction is a force that can overpower a person and rob them of their happiness, their family, their life. Don’t dabble in it, don’t test it, and don’t think you’re the exception to the rule. Meth is bad. All things in moderation, except meth.

Today I’m amending my addendum. I’m not even sure if that’s legal or allowed but I’m doing it. I now proclaim “all things in moderation, except meth and loving people.” Meth and love. Opposite ends of the spectrum. Meth=not even once. Loving people=all the time. It’s beautiful, isn’t it? You simply cannot overuse love. It won’t get old or tired or used up or tattered or boring. You cannot overdose on love. You don’t have to be moderate with love.

The bible has much to say on the topic. Love with all your heart, soul, mind and strength. Love your enemies. Love your neighbor. Love fulfills the law. Love never fails. Love each other deeply. Love comes from God. Love is made complete in us. There is no fear in love. Love those who are foreigners. Love the Lord your God. By your love you will be known.

You can’t really mess up loving people. It’s never too late to love people. It’s never too early either. You can love people quietly and subtly. You can love people in big, obvious ways. You can love people from a distance. You can love people right in their face. I think the only way you can really screw it up is to not do it.

Other exceptions fall under the love umbrella. Mercy, grace, compassion, forgiveness. We can give them away freely because we have our own unending supply provided by God. No need to be stingy like you’re giving Halloween candy to greedy teenage trick or treaters. No moderation necessary. You can be as generous as you are with the leftovers at the end of a 2 day garage sale in hot, sticky July. You want some grace? Please, take it. Compassion for you? Here, it’s yours. Oh, you’re looking for some mercy, you say? I’ve got some right over here, all yours, no charge. We don’t need to take names or keep count or determine who is worthy (we aren’t really qualified to determine worthiness anyway, are we?) because it’s love and there’s no need to moderate love.

Here’s the other cool thing about love. God doesn’t hold back either. He calls us to love our enemies. The assumption there is that we will have enemies and we need to figure out how to love them anyway. That’s not how he loves us. He loves us like His children. He loves EVERYONE. Even that one guy/gal. You know the one. And even me. Weird, talkative, opinionated, frazzled, nail biting, stubborn, sarcastic, sinful Abbie. And even you, with all your own quirks and strange habits. We can leak love all over the place because God is constantly refilling us.

All things in moderation can apply to so many things. Sun and bacon and coffee and cleaning and shoes and cars and travel and exercise and spouses (one is all my husband can handle). But not loving people. Get out there and love the heck out of people!!!

And stay away from meth. Seriously.

Marveling

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We went marveling this weekend. I hadn’t heard of this activity until a few months ago when it was referenced in a sermon at church. Our preacher told a story about a man who had sweet childhood memories of going marveling with his family on Sunday afternoons. It sounded very idyllic and when my 8 year old leaned over and whispered, “Can we do that someday?” I knew it was a must. So, on Saturday, we went marveling.

If you are unfamiliar with marveling, the concept is simple. Marveling: to marvel. You can do it pretty much anywhere. It really just takes intentionality, a purposeful plan to observe and appreciate what you see. To slow down and engage and notice things that you might otherwise miss.

The weather this weekend was too perfect NOT to appreciate. It was the sort of day that begged to be explored and adventured in. We live an hour and a half from one of the coolest exploring places ever: Ha Ha Tonka State Park. It really is as fun as it sounds! There are ruins from an old castle that burned down and many geological oddities unique to this particular area.

We loaded up with snacks, bottled water and a sense of adventure. Parking was a bit of a nightmare (we weren’t the only ones hoping to soak up some unusually nice February weather) but once we found a spot, we were off! 

 We started at the castle ruins and looked all around what was once a majestic home. You can’t help but imagine what it was like in its glory days. The parties hosted there, the memories made, the stories swapped, the devastation when it all went up in smoke. We tried to “see” where the rooms had been. We imagined the horses pulling carriages up the hill. We admired the view from the front porch.

 We strolled along the sidewalk and admired the old water tower. An incredible structure even by today’s standards. It’s amazing that it was created 100 years ago and is still standing in all its majesty. We talked a little about the science involved in getting the water in there (very little because this momma likes words, not mechanics) and how cool it is that it has windows.

  
We continued on until the boardwalk ended and we were walking on gravel. The trail led us to the top of the natural bridge, and incredible rock formation that is exactly what its name implies. We then backtracked a few steps and took another trail that led us under the same bridge that we were just standing on top of. It was damp and cool.

  After we’d passed under the bridge the big kids trekked up a steep hill by pulling on an exposed root. A beautiful plan until the root came loose and literally left Evan hanging. Their trip down the hill was less than graceful but they all survived. Muddy, but alive.
 We continued along to a huge rock wall. There was water dripping down it, from a source we never found. The kids rinsed their muddy hands and studied the layers of the rock. They peered in the holes of the rock….not too closely though, because who knows what’s living in there!

 As we journeyed along we heard a commotion from behind us, back under the natural bridge. Emma couldn’t control her curiosity and ventured back to see what the ruckus was about. Someone found a snake! And let it go! This was a problem for all of us because we would have to go back under the bridge to get to our car. When the time came the kids bolted through there at lightning speed. No snake was going to get them!

It was a great day, but not as idyllic as the story that was our inspiration. Sprinkled between photo ops was a fair amount of whining. A little bickering. I’m pretty sure someone punched someone else. Maybe twice. We had a poop emergency (two if you count the dog poo Evan stepped in) and at least 2 kids fell. The kids took turns wanting to quit and go home (at least they didn’t all revolt at the same time). It was deemed both “the best day” and “the dumbest hike” at different times. They marveled at nature and I did too. But I also marveled at THEM. These little people that step in poop and fight and argue…..they’re just so cool. The way they process things and see the world, their uniqueness, their similarities, their quirks, their tendencies…….they are simply marvelous.

Marveling was a success for us. I definitely recommend it and can’t wait for our next adventure. There’s a big, beautiful world out there. Get out and marvel in it. You’ll be so glad you did. 

Have you marveled before? What marveling memories have you made?