Stumbling Around in The Light

My Valentine

We've never had smooth-sailing.

For us it's all adventure, passions, risk.  Mountain-top heights of heart-pounding, all-consuming love.  Earth-shattering moments of God's presence so real we can scarcely breath.  Darkness so deep and vast, there is no light at the end of the tunnel.

And yet we cling to the Hope of things unseen;
we grip the Hand of Grace, if only to avoid slipping completely away from one another. 

Always it is the WE that brings me back to my knees, back to another painful season of pruning, refining.  The way we heal each other, and hurt each other, and force each other to seek the face of our Maker.

I watch couples who seem so steady, so even-keel...curiously coveting their peace, and yet aghast at what seems so apathetically comfortable.

Yes, I'm more comfortable with you, My Love, than any other human on the planet.  And yet, you drive me to discomfort; you drive me to change, and grow, and expand, and shrink, and bend, and break, and heal. 

You drive me to the Only One. 
The Only One who can make me whole: no, not you, My Love.

And in His Presence, face to the sun, filled with the Son,
my heart is drawn back to you, My Love. 
Back to your strength, your vulnerability, your pain, your comfort.

There is no one I'd rather spend time with, talk with, laugh with.  I made a covenant to love you...because I couldn't live without you.  Even now, 20 Valentine's later, I can't help myself from loving you, desiring you.  Even when I don't like you, you're the one I long for.

How do I even define it, this magnetic force that draws us together?
How to analyze, scrutinize, put into words?

Embedded in my very DNA is this magnetic, God-designed, sub-atomic pull to you, My Love.  I can't help myself from loving you.

Not of my will, and beyond all wondering, I trust and believe:
The Only One who created me, created you for me, to be My Love.

My Valentine.

Linking up with Lisa-Jo & Five-Minute Friday

So This Is Love, Again

The following is a repost from last year, cause I need to read it again. And again. And again...
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On the stairs, seven parts-of-my-heart, from final-born cuddle-baby Nekoda, to first-born man-child Caleb.

Eager to see Daddy's Valentine's Day surprises.  Thoughts of roses, chocolates, sweet treats, and matchbox cars. 

"So what are we celebrating?"

A chorus of little and big voices: "Valentine's Day, Daddy!"

"And what is Valentine's Day about?"

Six year-old Ian: "About loving Jesus, Daddy."

Kevin and I stop in our tracks, eyes connecting.  Did you tell him to say that?  No.  Did you?

"And...how do we love Jesus, Ian?"

"By loving each other!"

Roses and chocolates and sweet treats and matchbox cars wait on the table downstairs.  We all stand, staggered in the stairwell, watching, smiling, eyes filling, hearts overflowing.  Even the little ones know:  truth has been spoken, from the mouth of child. 

To such belongs the kingdom of heaven, He tells us.

So this is love:

Loving Jesus.

Loving each other.

Truth spoken, with childlike faith and simplicity.  For Valentine's Day...for the celebration of romantic love...for reflecting His glory in my marriage, it all comes down to this:

Love Jesus.
Love each other.

If I can love Jesus first, then the other will come.  If I can love Jesus, if I can receive His love, if I can let His Love fill the broken places in my soul...then, I can love the one He gave me.

Love is not a feeling.  Love is an action, a choice, an obedience.
We all know this.  But do we know it?  Does my knowing bring that truth into my living?

Love is something I do, something I stop doing, something I put on, something I put off, something I give, something I receive. 

Love is going beyond the natural feeling and pursuing the Holy Spirit for strength to do the unnatural.  To trust a man, when the green-smoke lies of the enemy coalesce to convince me no man is trustworthy.  To submit, when Eve-within wages war against my good intentions. 

Love is a strange and beautiful, rainbow-reflecting, oil-and-water swirl of conflict and resolution. Love is a cheek-aching night of laughter with treasured friends, sharing stories of first kisses and wedding night snafus and cold-in-the-night, cuddling-for-heat confessions.  And love is also wee-morning-hour sobbing and retching and comforting and careening-away and drawing back, and covering it all with love-in-action, fear-ignited fervent prayer.  Love is being held when everything falls.  Love is sticking it out even when the holding has to be Heavenly Hands, and the free-falling is the waking-nightmare of seeing the hole in my soul that leaks black-bottomless-darkness onto the one He gave me. 

Love is consuming, pulling-into-one-another passion of gratitude for the one-given who brings healing to the wounded-raw parts of my heart.  And Love is jaw-clenching, fisted-hands determination to press-into-one-another, even when discovering that same given-one also brings wounding to the healing-raw parts of my heart.

Love is knowing there is pain in this world, and accepting God's truth that He is more concerned with perfecting us through the pain, than protecting us from the pain.

Love is believing through the pain, for the perfecting, and still with compassionate arms of love, protecting.

Loving Jesus.

Loving each other.

So this is Love.
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How's your love life going?

The Want To

I'm grading history pages when you come up behind me.  Snow falls thickly outside, covering the ground in a fresh layer of clean, bright white.  I'm humming the tune we sang in church, only vaguely aware of this present peace.

Sin had left a crimson stain;
He washed it white as snow.

In one swift movement, you peel back the neckline of my t-shirt, and brush your lips against my shoulder.  In that spot.  That one decadent, utterly-intimate, completely non-sexual place on my skin that somehow connects all the way to my soul, tingles down my spine, and warms the most private places of my body.

How is it, after all these years, you can still do that to me?

After all that has come between us; the trials and hurt and failures?
After all I've said? After all I've done?

So much hurt; my words have gashed, gouged, left your wounds gaping. 

And still, you come to me, forgiving, and seeking forgiveness.  Mercy drips from your touch; grace lavished with tender kisses, and gentle hands upon my face.  How is it that you can forgive my attacking, accusing, angry words...dagger poised for revenge at 11pm?

You want to.

Sin had left a crimson stain;
He washed it white as snow.

Somehow, in the debt-paid, nitty-gritty-forgiveness of Jesus,
You want to love me.
You want to forget my slicing, scathing sin.
You want to forgive.

You really want to. 

I look at my ring, and I remember: the ways you rushed ahead, dragging me along, stumbling, scraping, bleeding.  I recall resentments: building, stacking, a towering wall of heavy bricks to come crashing down around me, cutting, bruising.  One false move, and I can taste again the bitter-red, choking brick-dust; expectantly waiting for the familiar implosion of past wrongs.

How do I get past the sting of blood on the knees?  The memory of circumstantial, pushing-me-out, gravity-reality, crash and burn?

I want to.

Sin had left a crimson stain;
He washed it white as snow.

Somehow in the merciful, freely-given presence of Jesus,
I want to love you.
I want to forget the risk, loss, loneliness.
I want to forgive.

I really want to.

And it's even more than that.

'Cause I want to be giddy in love with you.
I want to look across the room at you and see your face light up. I want to be amazed by the way you run your business. I want to look good in jeans for you. I want to love the way you look in jeans. I want to be your fantasy lover. I want you to lead me, to lead this family. I want to memorize scripture with you. I want to do church with you. I want to be the church with you. I want to want you. I want to trust you. I want to be inspired by you. I want to respect you. I want to hear you. I want to spend time with you. I want you to desire my time. I want to plan with you. I want to see the farther-vision with you. I want to regret with you. I want to weep with you. I want to repent with you. I want to forgive you. I want to seek your forgiveness. I want to comfort you. I want to encourage you. I want to love kissing you, long and slow and passionate. I want to seek with you. I want to grow with you. I want to dream with you. I want to parent with you. I want to grandparent with you. I want to get away from the kids, and take date-nights with you. I want to work with you. I want to defer. I want to get over it. I want to reconnect. I want to deal with conflict. I want to seek conflict resolution. I want to serve with you. I want to serve you. I want to graciously receive your serving. I want to inspire you. I want to pray with you. I want to worship with you. I want to see Jesus in you. I want you to see Jesus in me. I want you to be the one, the one, the only one for me. I want to be the only one for you.

Just to name a few.

I want to...
and so I do.

It's more than just loving you.
It's that I want to love you.

For too many years, the want-to was guilt-fueled and all about self-preservation.  I wanted to find fault in you, to expect your failure.  If I could blame you for the pain in my life, then I wasn't culpable.  If the house and the finances and the children and the mess of our life was your fault...then I was innocent, righteous, simply a victim.

Life is hard, there is pain; someone must be to blame.
I wanted to be right.  Which meant, I wanted you to be wrong.
I wanted to be innocent.  Which meant, I wanted to blame you.

Sin had left a crimson stain;
He washed it white as snow.

I'm not sure when my eyes began to see.  Washed clean, one layer at a time, I suppose.  One painful layer at a time.  And even now, lest I speak naive, or proud, I know I still see dimly.  There are so many more layers yet to scrub away.

But for now, I want to see truth, and light, shining; excavating these dark recesses of my soul.  I want to see the best in you, I want to be my best for you, my Kevin. 

I want to love you, not blame you.
I want to respect your successes, not expect your failures.
I want to speak the best of you, knowing the power of my words.
I want to desire the brush of your lips against my shoulder;
I want to feel this tingle of our two-decades love affair, heating up my body and soul.

The grace of Christ has brought us so far, my Kevin, so far.  Washing white-as-snow, the stain of our sin.  Even just since last February, our marriage is so much fitter, stronger.
Changing our want to has made such a difference.

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Linking up with Amber Haines at The RunaMuck for Marriage Letters, and with Lisa-Jo at The Gypsy Mama for 'Five-Minute Friday', even tho I wrote this post over something like FIVE DAYS instead of 5-minutes.  I know I'm a total cheater; but Lisa-Jo is seriously cool, and I grab any chance I can get to link up with her!!!  I promise, LJ, I'll play fair next time...

Any want-to you need to change?  Where do you see His mercy white-as-snow in your life?

 

Learning To Defer (Marital-Fitness 7)

So I’m getting ready for bed.  Mad.

Praying -  y’know, like every good wife does, when there’s been a marital conflict:
Lord help me…
Help me get thru to this thick-headed man!
God, change him!  And give me patience!
Break down his walls, Lord, and open his stinkin' ears...

Somewhere between facewashing and teethbrusing, God breaks through my thick-headedness.

I stop; head hanging down, elbows on the sunflower-glazed tile of my bathroom countertop. 
Quiet, finally.  Still.  Listening.

And He whispers it softly:
Defer.

An image flashes into my mind – in the car, Kevin driving confidently; me beside, at peace, easily deferring to his leadership, to his naturally-strong sense of direction.
This is where you do it right.

And a half-moment later, I see in my mind's-eye, the morning conversation with Kevin, in his office.  Him seeking affirmation & respect from his wife, while I raise an impatient eyebrow with frustrated disdain.
This is where you need to repent.

Before I can even get the toothbrush back into it's holder, everything falls into place. 

"Wives, submit to your husbands...
Husbands, love your wives..."

'Cause I know that I know that I know, I'm supposed to submit to my husband.  But knowing & doing are two different things.  And honestly?  Submit feels like a four-letter-word.

"Submit" conjures up images of a cowering, silent, homely woman in a drab, colorless, bag-dress.  And I just can't make that jive with the image of the passionate, strong, collaborative woman Kevin loves in me.  Yet, then again, I know he also longs for my respect; my submission to his leadership. 

Almost two decades of marriage, and I still don't know how to put submission into practice, in a practical way.

Sometimes Truth comes softly.  When I finally hush-up all my yammering and complaining and prayer-jabber...God speaks, with one simplistic, earth-shatteringly-enormous word of Truth:

Defer.

Defer one to another.

For 19 years, I've read, "Wives, submit to your husbands." 
For 19 years, my wounded-flesh and my willing-heart have been caught in a tug-of-war, control vs. submission, tautly pulling dangerously-thin the lifeline of God's blessing for marriage.

I climb into bed and tell Kevin the truth-word, whispered to me within the butter-yellow walls of our bathroom: 

Defer.

I tell him of how I've done it right.  That he's a directionally-gifted-superman, and since the first year or two of our marriage, I've peacefully & gratefully deferred to his leadership there. 

Then I tell him of how God showed me I've done it all wrong.  That I'm not in the thick of his business-workings, and who am I to think I know best?  That I finally understand what it means to submit; and it doesn't mean I can't have an opinion or input...it means, when it's time to sign on the dotted-line, I can peacefully & gratefully defer to his leadership there.

I can see in his eyes, he's really hearing me.  Iceman begins to thaw.  The icicles blocking his ears melt right out, and the cold-glazed eyes warm to something in the realm of appreciation.  So he actually hears it when I launch into this:

I know you love me. But really, like Christ-loves-the-church? What does that even mean? 'Cause you don't have to go nail yourself to the cross for me or anything...y'know?  But maybe - maybe it means - you could love me enough to defer to me in my little areas of specialty.  'Cause play-doh sometimes feels like a big deal, and the stewardship of tahini can seem like faith, and loving me in the kitchen is as intimate to my soul as sex is to yours.

Defer one to another.

We were smack-in-the-middle of a big-fat-ugly, almost-ready-to-throw-down-dishes play-doh war...and God spoke. 
And we got it.

I laid there next to Kevin, up on my elbow, and literally cried in utter amazement & joy:
We did it, Honey!  Conflict resolution! We actually did it right!  Not just conflict sweep-it-under-the-rug.  Or conflict endurance.  Or conflict maybe-I'll-forget-about-it-in-the-morning.  We actually resolved the conflict!

And he smiled, and agreed...and leaned to kiss me.  And I kissed him right back.  Which led to other things, that I won't mention...tho you can be sure, what followed was another beautiful part of the ol' conflict resolution thing.  No doubt.

It may not always go so well.  But I'm grateful to trade in the tough-to-swallow, four-letter-word "submit" - for the tenderly bestowed, gently-palatable word "defer."

And we're learning.
Learning to defer.

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So be honest, has the word "submit" been a hard one for you too?  Where do you struggle with it the most?  Could the idea to 'defer' make a difference there?

The Play-doh War (Marital-Fitness 6)

Warning: this post contains emotional nudity, which may be inappropriate for young children, or adults with perfect marriages.

It was late. 
We were both overstimulated & overtired. 
Bed was calling, but there was still much to be done. 
Laundry. Lunches. Clean-up.
It started something like this...

Me: "oh, honey, don't forget to use the gluten-free bread for Nekoda..."
Hubby: (silence)
Me: "don't use jelly, 'kay? I've been using just a bit of Agave instead...plenty sweet enough..."
Hubby: (silence)
Me: "oh! do the boys really like the Tahini or something?" (with mild annoyance)
Hubby: "I use it on their sandwiches, 'cause no one else uses it!" (not-so-mild annoyance)
Me: "well, good grief! I get it for making hummus! And it's really expensive! Could you please not use it just for sandwiches?" (outright annoyance, poorly disguised with a smile & sarcastic humor)
Hubby: "do you have to question me like that?!?  You might think this is being collaborative...but I think it feels like you're nit-picking how I make sandwiches! I'm plenty capable of making the kid's lunches!"
Me: "Sorrrreee!  Sheesh, you just obviously didn't realize what I use the Tahini for!"

Tiptoeing and icy interaction for another 15 minutes. 
Then...the actual Play-doh War commenced.
It went down like this:

Me: "gosh, Kevin, don't worry about the play-doh; I'll clean it up." (joining him with the play-doh clean-up)
Hubby: (silence - while tossing play-doh toys into their tub)
Me: "wow, Serene left a ton of it out all afternoon...eww, it's all dried up..."
Hubby: (silence - while packing mostly-dried-up play-doh into containers)
Me: "seriously, honey, let me finish cleaning it up; I need to just throw away the dried-up stuff."
Hubby: (silence - continuing to scoop dried-up play-doh together)
Me: "Kevin? Can we puh-leeeze just throw the dried-up stuff away?" (mild annoyance)
Hubby: "She'll still play with it!" (not-so-mild annoyance)
Me: "She won't play with it! It just gets more dried up! It'll ruin the softer pieces! We need to throw it away!" (total frustration, poorly disguised with a smile & sarcastic humor)
Hubby: "Can I just clean up the play-doh? It's late, and I'm tired, and I just want to clean up the freaking play-doh!" (completely & utterly pissed off)
Me: "I know play-doh! Okay?!? I'm like the play-doh Princess! I've cleaned it up maybe a thousand times in the past 16 years of motherhood, and we need to THROW AWAY THE DRIED UP PLAY-DOH!!!!"  (furious, without any attempt at disguising it)

I'm not absolutely clear about what all was said next...but suffice it to say, the play-doh incident was about WAY more than play-doh, and led to an all-out war-of-words. 
"I feel like you don't respect me!"
"well, you don't respect me!"
"I feel like you don't listen to me!"
"well, you don't listen to me!"
"I feel like you don't care about my input!"
"well, I feel like your input makes me irrelevant!"

To paint a truly accurate picture, I have to include this context:
Earlier in the day, we had some big conversations about Kevin's business.
Where I was just maybe, a teeny-tiny bit not-so-encouraging about certain less-than-speedy time-lines.  Where he was kinda-sorta asking for my input, but actually seeking something-akin-to-affirmation, rather than honest opinion.  And I missed it. That subtle difference, y'know?  The difference between saying what-I-really-think, and saying what-I-think-you-want-me-to-say-I-think. 

Anyway.  Maybe, just maybe...Kevin's significance was a little beat down. And since he responded less-than-lovingly to my honest-opinion-cause-that's-what-I-thought-you-wanted slip-up...my security was a little beat down.

Here's a nugget of truth I've discovered in the Miller house:
When a man is craving significance, and a woman is craving security, the battle for control is on.

But I'm sure nothing like this has ever, ever happened in your house. Right?
Yeah, sure.
Maybe the words come out a little different...but seriously isn't that what we do when we go to battle? 
Don't we vie for control, over our respective areas? 

This war actually has a better-than-truce ending.  Seriously, close to epic.  So stay tuned....

(click here for part two!)

Do you find yourself vying for control in your house?  Even a teeny bit?  On a bad day?  C'mon...share a little something, just so I don't feel so alone???  Thanks...

Grateful For My Beloved

He circled the busy city block, looking for a flat place to park.  The parking brake was out; just one of many quirks on his rust-colored ‘AMC Spirit.’  I didn’t mind tho.  A chance to see Chicago made the rattletrap drive worthwhile. 

I was tasting risk and spontaneity for the first time in my life, and the spice of it was soul-warming, igniting a God-placed ember within my heart.
I had no idea what I was getting myself into...

The miles had flown by, as we talked & laughed & got to know one another.  I'd brought along my cassette tape of ‘Indigo Girls’ and he had ‘James Taylor’s Greatest Hits.’  I sang every word of angst-filled ballads, “Closer to Fine” and “Love’s Recovery;” he serenaded me along with James, “Something In The Way She Moves.”

And now we shyly held hands, crammed in a tiny elevator, riding to the top floor of the Sears Tower.  The view was spectacular, as daylight gave way to a sunset-streaked autumn evening.  City lights twinkled far below us, and I rushed from one side of the building to the next, drinking in the infamous Chicago-sky-line from a dizzyingly-high perspective.

That’s when it happened.  I simply glanced back at him from across the room, and something inexplicably powerful, undeniably eternity-fueled, burst into flame within me.  I couldn’t explain it, or understand it, or begin to put it into words.  I stood there for a moment, heart pounding.  Then rushed across to Kevin, gripped his arms, and looked up into his ever-sincere green-blue eyes; “I like you! I really like you!”

It was chilly and raining by the time we left.  Kevin was mortified when his car wouldn’t start…but I just laughed & shrugged, soaked & shivering, eager to embrace a new life of adventure.

I had no idea….

This morning, 19 years later, Kevin and I drive out of Chicago, rain soaked and smiling.  I cradle an enormous bouquet of red roses, and Kevin squeezes my hand.  He slips ‘Indigo Girls’ into the stereo, and I sing again, with new understanding, the enduring-love-story song of  “Love’s Recovery.”  Heading home to the mountains of Colorado; driving a shiny-pewter-gray, all-wheel-drive, room-enough-for-our-seven-kids, passenger-van.   (Used, but new to us, a fabulous price, and exactly what we’ve been hunting for months!) 

Nineteen years of adventure, miles and miles, thru uncharted paths, deserts, wilderness, storms…and breathtaking vistas beyond all my girlish dreams.

I had no idea.

Thanksgiving 19 years ago?  I was grateful for my fine-lookin’ new boyfriend.  Here was a guy like no one I’d ever met:  spontaneous, unabashedly honest & sincere, funny & fun, deep-thinking & inquisitive, a visionary dreamer, seeking God’s truth with a fervor I had only dreamed of finding.  He was a professional cyclist, world-traveler, toting all his earthly possessions in two road-weary duffel bags.  He brought me love and passion, hunger for life and truth, hope for something bigger than my fear-cramped dreams.

This Thanksgiving?  I’m grateful for my beloved.  He is a man like I’ve never encountered: spontaneous, unabashedly honest & sincere, funny & fun, deep-thinking & inquisitive, a visionary dreamer, seeking God’s truth with an enduring fervor that still amazes me.  The days of professional-cycling are behind him, but he still rides, mostly to clear his head and keep those fine-lookin’ legs buff & strong.  With seven children, he probably won’t be a world-traveler again, except during bedtime stories and geography lessons.  We still have those duffel bags, tho…! 

Kevin has brought me love and passion, life filled-to-overflowing with children & friends & mountains & abundance that constantly surprises me.  

Kevin has brought me to truth; hard-won and painfully learned, thru tears, smashed plates, accusations, and apologies, knit together with faith in God, and a magnetic longing for one another we’ve never been able to deny.  At 42, I’m finally learning to walk worthy of my calling, in hope, for God-nourished dreams, throwing off the fear-monkey on my back.

This thanksgiving - filled with ongoing thousand-gifts - I'm most-thankful for the greatest gift-from-God in my life.

Grateful for my beloved.

"I am my beloved's and my beloved is mine..."  Song of Solomon 6:3

Time Away (Marital Fitness-5)

So, I've been in this marital-rut of being 'the pursuer.'

Y'know, like in conflict, or when things are stressful...I pursue Kevin, pursue discussion, connection, intimacy.  Looks all golden, right?

And he's been in a rut of being 'the distancer.'  When conflict arises, or situations get tense, Kevin tends to isolate, withdraw into himself. 

On the outside, it kinda sounds like I'm doing something good - and he's being a donkey.  But really?  Not so much.

When it plays out, my pursuit often looks more like attack, and less like intimacy.  And I'm starting to realize...his distancing can actually bring peace...by way of time to find perspective.

We've been married for 18 years.  And seriously, I've always had this idea that I was doing the right thing by being 'the pursuer.'

Ooopsie.

Had an eye-opening revelation a couple of days ago:
A little conflict, nothing major, but enough to derail our day.  We were both functioning out of the usual I-hate-mornings guilt.  Both of us cranky, impatient, shame-fueled, and over-tired.  But due to unavoidable scheduling-commitments, we ended up heading separate ways just minutes after flinging angry words.

I drove the kids to cottage school, stewing about how mean & wrong Kevin was.  But it didn't last long.  The undeniable splendor of God's Presence was waving about in the last of the golden Aspens, shimmering atop Pike's Peak snow capped summit, blowing thru the crisp azure-blue-sky morning.







The half-hour to pray and ponder was more than enough to reveal my own selfish sin.  I pulled back up to the house eager to find Kevin, and apologize.  Yet I hesitated...even with a contrite heart, wouldn't I still be doing the same stalking-dance-steps?

Our marriage coach has warned us of how rigidly these dance steps can keep us moving in hurtfully repetitive patterns.  He's shown us the painful truth of just how abysmal those ruts can be...dug way back in childhood, and worn deeper every year of our marriage.  Sometimes breaking out of the ruts can feel grievously impossible.

But I stayed downstairs.  Waiting.  Sweating-it-out, determined to walk a new path, find new steps.

The sound of Kevin's footfall on the stairs made my heartbeat quicken: hope, longing, repentance.

His arms found me at the kitchen counter, circling my waist, pulling my face close to his.
"Can we talk?...I'm sorry..."

"Oh, Kevin; I'm sorrier...!"

And there, after time away, we were suddenly laughing, connected, contrite, tender. 

We sat out on the deck, under God's glorious Colorado-high-mountain blue sky.  We basked in His Presence...each having had time to hear the Love-Maker whisper His gently-convicting message of peaceable, heavenly wisdom.  We confessed, and forgave, listened, and understood.

Time away...distance...gave us perspective, allowed us the space to look up, and seek God's wisdom instead of our own self-perceived-wisdom.

The hard truth is this: 
most of my pursuing is ultimately a self-seeking insistence on speaking my mind, demanding my own way. 
Somehow the 'peace-making' ruts begun in my childhood have become prisons of bitterness and strife.

And I can't see my way out on my own. 
I just. can't. do. it.

How desperately I need time away, to listen, to be silent, to hear the still, small voice of God in the storm.

Who is wise and understanding among you? Let him show by good conduct that his works are done in the meekness of wisdom. But if you have bitter envy and self-seeking in your hearts, do not boast and lie against the truth. This wisdom does not descend from above, but is earthly, sensual, demonic. For where envy and self-seeking exist, confusion and every evil thing are there.  But the wisdom that is from above is first pure, then peaceable, gentle, willing to yield, full of mercy and good fruits, without partiality and without hypocrisy. Now the fruit of righteousness is sown in peace by those who make peace.   -- James 3:13-18

(Speaking of time away...I'm embarking on a journey this weekend, to seek God's face.  All alone, for three days & nights, to pray, rest, read, write, listen.  More on that later...)

Are you the pursuer? Or the distancer? How's that working for you?
Need some time away?

 

Get Over It (Marital Fitness-4)

Conflict happens.

And it will keep happening.  Forever more, until the day I die, conflicts will arise in my relationships. 

No matter how hard I try to please everyone, and keep the peace (I know, I know; still working my way outta this particular rut)...I'll end up hurting someone else's feelings, or get my own feelings tromped on. 

With increased intimacy comes increased possibility of conflict.  Which means - I will likely have more conflict in my marriage, than any other human relationship.

Seems depressing, doesn't it?  The one relationship we so long to be even-keel, steady, secure, safe...will be rife with disappointment, hurt feelings, anger, resentment, conflict.

So - Kevin & I hit a major conflict this past weekend.  We pretty much did everything wrong, and all our marital-workout tools amounted to not much more than aching muscles & hurt feelings.  All the sage advice to think before speaking went right out the window, as did the idea to never let the sun go down on your anger.  Ha.  When the sun went down, our anger was just barely getting warmed up!  We finally hit the boiling point at about four o'clock in the morning.

It. was. ugly.

Monday was ugly,
Tuesday was ugly,
up thru this morning,
and we still couldn't seem to get over it.

Kevin called me this afternoon with a pretty great apology.  Actually, a really great one - right in the midst of my girl's group - which made it even more of a tear-jerker.  Seriously, it was one for the history books, my friends.

And yet - even after the cell-phone-repentance...I've still had trouble getting over it.

In the midst of the frustration, and without some tied-up-with-a-ribbon happy-ending - I decided to share the journey with you all.  Here ya' go...

 

So, I'm discovering a really important lesson.  Way more important than trying to avoid disagreement, and leagues ahead of keeping the peace...
when the inevitable conflict hits, I've gotta be willing to
Get. Over. It.

"So then, my beloved brethren, let everyone be swift to hear, slow to speak, and slow to anger.  For the anger of man does not produce the righteousness of God."  --James 1:19-20

So how are you dealing with those inevitable marital conflicts?  What's happening with your marital fitness this week?

Ask, Don't Accuse (Marital Fitness-2)

We actually got it right today.

Maybe not all day, but in a few great moments, we actually put into practice some 'workout' items our marriage counselor coached us on.

As we stumble through this season of seeking a fitter, stronger marriage, I'll be sharing what we've learned, what we struggle with, where we're learning to love better.  My intent is to post these updates as video blogs - so we'll see how that goes...

In typical homeschooling-mommy-of-seven fashion - the biggest challenge is simply finding the time to blog about it all.  Okay, that's not entirely true.  The biggest challenge is finding the time to actually work outta these marriage ruts at all.  Seriously, I had something like thirty-seven calls back & forth with our marriage coach just to schedule the next appointment.  In between kids & work & home & activities...Kevin & I can hardly fit each other in. 

And that's what happens, isn't it? 
We lose track of one another, in the chaos of family life. 
We forget, this is where it all began;
this marriage, this love, is the core of our family. 
Deeper still, God pulls me to refining, to Christ-like-ness, as I walk worthy of His calling for me to be Kevin's wife.  And refining hurts; it is hard. So.Hard. 

When it comes down to it, am I willing to do the workout? 
Am I willing to do the hard work required of building a strong, fit, healthy marriage? 
Am I willing to change habits, to learn new words, new patterns?

My will says yes.  So the training begins...

 

Does any of that sound familiar?  Do you struggle with accusing, instead of asking?

Marital Fitness

So Kevin & I have been in kind of a marital slump for, umm, well, a long time.

Like, since last Valentine's day.  Seriously.

We had this fun couple's dinner on Valentine's day, and so Kevin created a little questionnaire for us all to do before-hand...y'know, to facilitate conversation & learning more about each other, & all that.  But it kinda backfired.  It personally launched us into weeks, and then months, of conflict, blaming, isolating, arguing...you know; all those relational things we slog thru before finally digging ourselves out of the muddy ruts we've been wallowing in for too long.

The weird thing is, I guess that little Valentine's questionaire didn't really backfire...it just went alot deeper than we anticipated.  Cause all this mud we've been slingin' at each other over the past months, has actually made a huge difference in getting us out of those maddeningly-slippery ruts.

So we've made the leap - like we haven't done in 8 years - to step into an official, intentional, for-however-long-it-takes, Marital Fitness program.  In other words - we're seeing a marriage counselor.  Noooo, we're not on the brink of disaster, or contemplating divorce, or anything like that.  We're just sick & tired of these frustrating patterns, of the suck-you-down-into-the-mirey-pit ruts. 

And we're realizing that we have very little tolerance for marital sluggishness.  We're both pretty passionate, expressive, high-maintenance people.  Settling for a complacent, content, cool&calm&collected relationship just isn't in the cards for us.  I've pretty much always been either madly, passionately in love with my husband...or so furious at him I could push him out the upstairs window. 

Thus the need for a relationship workout.  I'm tired of the flab in our marriage.  We're not feeling maritally fit...and we're realizing there are practical, intentional things we can do to work out our relational-muscles, shape up, and turn this huff-&-puff marriage into something strong, enduring, and powerful.

After a summer of sporadic writing, I'm gonna try to get remotely more organized and actually post something every week, sharing our marital-fitness process. 
Yeah, the good, the bad, & the ugly. 
It might even get embarrassing.  Intimate details & all that....

If you wanna join along, I'll be sharing the books we're reading, insight from our fit-marriage-coach (i.e., marriage counselor), and any other relevant gory-details.

So how's your marriage fitness?  What's one of your top marital-strengthening exercises?

The Father's Day Post

Seventeen years ago I gave him a Father's Day present I'll never be able to top.

His firstborn,

A son;

Our miracle Caleb.

In the excitement and bleary-eyed chaos of leaving the hospital, I remember lamenting, "Oh no, I don't have anything for you, for your first Father's Day..."  Kevin whipped around, with the flush-faced smile of exhaustion, gratitude, & wonder, every new Daddy wears, and reminded me:

"I'm a Daddy! You gave me a son!"

My beloved didn't get celebrated that first Father's Day, seventeen years ago.  He didn't sleep in, no one brought him breakfast in bed, there were no packages to unwrap.  Well, except for those newborn poopy diapers...

But yeah, it was the Father's Day gift of all time, borne out of 13 hours of back labor, no less.  The most excruciating one of the bunch.  (Tho the fourth was a close second...)

That baby is 16 years grown now; standing tall, deep-voiced, a man.  There are moments when he laughs, I can still see the little boy he used to be.  But for the most part, I see the man he is becoming.

And honestly? If I'm not striving to type all those sentimental, mushy-gushy words of mama-love...it makes me feel old.  I do still have a baby on the hip, and a slew of other kiddos in between, so that helps.  But really, to see my husband & son laughing, jostling for keys, checking out the stereo on Caleb's new-used, first-car Jeep Cherokee...I think, "how did I get here? am I really old enough to have a kid who drives?"

In all these years, with all these kids, through the rough times & good times - Kevin has always been the most amazing Daddy.  Despite seasons of 'you can sleep on the couch for the rest of your life for all I care' - when I walked dark days of plotting ways to leave - the one truth I couldn't deny, was his extraordinary daddy-heart.  

So this weekend, I celebrate my firstborn, somehow already turning sixteen, and my beloved, my Kevin, extraordinary Daddy to our seven children. 

---------------------------------

And now the really, truly, naked-soul truth?  Its late, as in almost tomorrow, on Father's Day, and I'm writing this 'cause I feel guilty for not writing some deeply moving post for my oldest's 16th...and 'cause everyone else posted these lovely, moving tributes to their husbands or dads....  So I'm compelled to type up something to honor my husband, my son, my dad, my father-in-law.  And yet when I read the words above, they seem like so much drivel, forced & pathetically uninspired.

I think I'll call it what it is:  a Duty Post.  Which seems so redonkulus, 'cause I truly AM kinda freakin' out that my oldest is now driving, and really DO utterly adore my husband's daddy-heart, and I'm SO thankful to be able to celebrate my dad & father-in-law.

Okay, whatever. I'm getting dangerously close to midnight, and if I don't get this posted my 11:50pm I won't even make the Father's Day weekend cutoff...and somehow this duty-gratitude-guilt-performance-expectation thing is just gonna circle around endlessly...

So I probably should shut-my-finger-tappin-trap, and just say this:

Happy Father's Day.

And Happy Birthday, Caleb.

I love all a' you men in my life.

Even if writing about it, amidst the reality of fullness-of-life, sometimes (sorry), feels shamefully like duty.

Am I the only loser who struggles to find all those poetically pithy words to express the heart?  Anyone you need to just say, 'I love you' to?

Being Fed

I don’t like to be fed.

Do you remember that funny little part of your wedding reception when you cut the wedding cake & fed each other a bite?  And the not-so-funny stories of couples that smeared frosting across each other’s faces?

So I coached Kevin before the wedding:
“Don’t you dare smear that on my face, okay?  It will not be funny. I’m not even remotely kidding.”
And even then, I held his wrist as he offered his small square of sweetness to my lips. 
I didn’t trust him.

I struggle a wee bit with trust.
Okay, maybe more than a wee bit - maybe a whole heckuva lot. 

I won’t bore you with the details, but suffice it to say, history has taught me to be wary, to question the finances, to double-check the medical chart…

The man I married is so trusting, so expecting-the-best of everyone, it’s absolutely disarming.  His natural trust and optimism is one of the first things that charmed me.  And yet, in an unusual character-combo, he’s also a visionary leader, forging new paths, regardless of general opinion, pushing ahead to do what he thinks is best.  Add to that his natural sense of trust, and he expects others to trust him also, without question, believing the best of his intentions just as he optimistically believes of others.

Can you see the storm brewing???

............ read the rest of the story over here ..........
where I'm guest posting for Laura Parker ! 


   Oh, and please, pretty-please,
   would ya' leave a comment on her blog,
   about my post?  So my little story can
   garner as many replies as her usual
   rock-star posts???  Thanks!

.............................

So, got any trust issues in your marriage??
Um, yeah - it's a work in progress here too...

Nitty-Gritty Forgiveness

There's alotta sand at my back door. 

Sprinkled around the snow boots and the flip-flops, ground into the rug, piled in the doorjam - sand.

And I really, really don't like it. Even tho I love seeing the kids out in the sandbox on these sunny Spring days.  Even tho I love the sandbox itself, a huge 9ft by 9ft square, bordered by unfinished, rough-cut Aspen logs from our property.

It's just the sand at the back door that drives me crazy.  Okay, and the sand that gets tracked into the bathroom.  And the sand that ends up trapped in pockets and cuffs and hoods, to spill out like so much irritation on the laundry room floor. 

When we talk about forgiveness, we're always talking about the big stuff.   Forgiving the abusive parent, the unfaithful spouse, the back-stabbing friend.  Or the bully that kicked you on the playground, the sister who stole your boyfriend, the contractor who screwed up your remodeling project. 

And then of course in family, it's always this 3-step process of apology, forgiveness, and reconciliation.  I find myself coaching the little boys thru forgiveness-scripts: 

Mommy:  "Did you hit your little brother?!  You need to go say you're sorry!"
Stinker #1:  "...sorrrrreeeee..."
Mommy:  "Good. So buddy, now you need to say 'I forgive you.'"
Stinker #2:"...I fragive you..."
Mommy:  "Now, give each other a hug..."

That's all good & fine.  But the thing I'm struggling with is forgiving in the nitty-gritty.  Forgiving the stuff where there's really no major thing to forgive.  Like that stinkin' pot-hole in the road that nearly rattled the teeth outta my head last week.  And the brand new jar of stuffed olives gone bad.  And yeah, the sand.

It's not like the kids are out to get me, with the whole sand thing.  I mean, sand happens.  Toddler sits in sandbox, sand gets into capri cuffs, sand goes all over bathroom floor.  I certainly don't blame the maddening grit of sand tracked halfway down the hallway on her. 

And yet I get so mad.

Who am I mad at? 

Who do I need to forgive?

Maybe when Jesus was talking about forgiving seventy times seven, and turning the other cheek, and walking the extra mile...maybe He was talking also about endurance.  About enduring the temptation to grumble and frown and slam the door open and bang the little pink sneakers extra hard on the deck to get all that sand out.  (not that I'd ever do that.  I mean, what kinda mom do you think I am?)

Maybe little irritations like sand are actually some of those trials I'm supposed to consider a gift.  Maybe sand is the opportunity for me to learn patience, and let patience have it perfecting (ouch) work.

And then I think...what about those little things that get me all mad at the big kids?  Breakfast dishes still piled up at dinnertime...overflowing trash cans...paints and beads and fabric scraps scattered across the table.  What about those little things that grind like sand in my shoes, about my husband? 

How quickly...how easily, I get so mad.

And I spew it too: 
"Would you PULeeeze take out the trash already?"
"If this isn't cleaned up in 10 minutes I'm throwing it all out!"
"I have told you a thousand times to have your breakfast chores done by 10am!"
"WHO took my cell phone and didn't put it back?"

But lately, James has been speaking back to me:

"Let patience have its perfecting work.... 
Blessed is the one who endures temptation... 
Do not be deceived, every perfecting gift is from above... 
Let everyone be swift to hear, slow to speak, slow to anger, for the anger of man does not produce the righteousness of God... 
You must be a doer of the Word, and not a forgetful hearer... 
Whoever claims to be religious, and does not bridle her tongue, deceiving herself, this one's religion is useless..."

There are so many things in the nitty-gritty of day-to-day busyness with a family of nine that require patience, and endurance, and listening, and doing, and shutting up...and forgiving.  Forgiving right away, right in the midst of the grit of sand on the rug. 

Isn't that what Jesus taught us?  Isn't that what His crucifixion & resurrection is all about? 

"Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do!"

O God, forgive me.   Teach me Your ways of forgiveness, especially in the nitty-gritty of life.

How do you deal with forgiveness in the nitty-gritty?

My Favorite

Linking up with Lisa-Jo over at The Gypsy Mama; with an exercise she calls Five Minute Friday.
1. Write for only five minutes. Don’t edit. Don’t over think. Don’t stifle your creativity.
2. Link back here and invite others to join in.
3. Go leave some comment love for the five minuter
who linked up before you.

--------------------------------

So, here goes...

Some days I'm all about my kids.  You know what I mean...the baby couldn't be any cuter, the older ones are such great helpers, and everyone in between captures mommy's adoring focus. 

Some days I'm all about myself.  Uh-huh, I bet you get this one too.  Those are the cranky days, where everyone from the humans in my household, to the humans responsible for that #^%*& pothole in the road, are ready recipients of my ire.

Tuesdays I'm usually all about my girlfriends.  That's when we have our girl's-group Bible study, and my soul is filled to overflowing with laughter, compassion, encouragement, conviction...and I generally wish our morning hours together could go on & on.

If I was alot holier than I actually am, I'd say that everyday is all about the Lord...but nope, I'm just not that holy.  Always striving to be, reaching towards that, but honestly at this point, Sundays are pretty much the only day all about God. 

But every few weeks, for about 6 or 7 days out of each month, I'm all about my Kevin.  Yup, since yesterday morning, he's been my favorite.  That's pretty much where I'm at right now...beyond my control, like some instinctive pull, I'm magnetically drawn to my husband.  Every irritation or frustration I sometimes struggle with (who me?) is swept away by the curve of his bottom lip, the craggy smile-crinkles at the corners of his eyes, his laugh, his touch...

We went on a date last night.  Spent 8 hours together, uninterrupted focus on each other.  Nothing fancy, just a few errands, some Goodwill shopping for jeans & shoes, late night split-dinner at Chili's.  But I couldn't get enough of him.  Who am I to have this incredible man?  Funny, sexy, wise, thoughtful, tender.  Best friend, confidant, lover, dreamer, amazing Daddy to our kids...

And I know I should be all about his heart.  Right?  The depth of his soul?  And I am, really!  But also?  Dang, I love his physical presence.  Every. Thing. About. Him.  Kevin's my favorite.

--------------------

Okay, here's what I learned about five minutes in my house.  I can't find five uninterrupted minutes!  Well, at least not this afternoon.  So that was probably more like 12 minutes; in stops & starts, between rescuing Serene from a fall, English Lit questions, Nekoda up from a nap.  You know, the usual.

And yeah, I'm gonna go back now to do some clean-up edits.  And add some pictures.  Of my honey, of course.  Yup, he's my favorite...

Who's your favorite this week?  Or...during those peak-days-of-the-month...who's your favorite then?  Or...who do you need to speak favoritism for...even if he currently irritates the fire out of you?

P.S. True confession, that post took me more like an hour.  I'm such a rule breaker.