I'm Ba-ack

Hello Mamas.  You thought I forgot about you, didn't you?  Welllll, it turns out I have been here all along, doing what we all do: trying to survive.  I cannot describe to you the intensity of the past couple months, but to sum it up, I will say that Jesus is awesome.  For being Himself, for creating reliable childcare help, and for Diet Coke at 3:30pm.  For this and so many more reasons, I love Him. 

I have been in a place of utter dependence upon Him, and I suppose that was the point.  And what I've realized is that all my silly attempts to "have my act together" are completely in vain, because of the simple Truth that I am not supposed to have my act together.  And neither are you, silly goose.  We are supposed to be completely lost, flailing around like a helpless child, and then we are supposed to land in His arms and remember Him.  However, I recently realized that I was stuck on the flailing part, thinking to myself, "Why can't I keep it all together here?  Everyone else makes this (motherhood) look so easy!"  Then I would think about my patterns of sin and lost-ness and wallow there for awhile.  Then I would talk to my girlfriends, and we would dwell together on how terrible it is to be so lost and what books we should read about being so lost.  Then we would cook each other dinner whilst talking about feeling so inadequate, share a glass of wine over our failures, throw our hands up in the air in despair over our powerlessness , and do it all again the next week. 

Thankfully, Jesus was able to contact me during my complete and total focus on myself and introduce me to a new dear friend.  We have never met, but I swear I would give her a big hug and kiss if I ran into her at Sam's Club.  Because that is the only place I ever go, and I would be thrilled to run into her in the Diet Coke aisle.  Her name is Elyse Fitzpatrick, and she has written many books, but there is one you MUST read.  That is, if you are a mother, and if you have not yet "arrived" to perfection on earth.  It is called "Give Them Grace: Dazzling Your Kids With the Love of Jesus." 

I am warning you.  She shares this incredible Story with you called the Gospel.  It is so eye-opening.  It talks about this man named Jesus who came to Earth, suffered and died for all of our shortcomings, just because of His deep love for us.  Then, just when you thought it couldn't get any better, she points out the key portion of this Story is that nobody who Jesus loves is supposed to have their act together.  I know!!  Incredible!!  The most scandalous part of the Story is that this man, Jesus, prefers that people simply accept their status as complete and total failures, so that He can shine through them and love them no matter what. 

Then she writes this preposterous notion that God is ultimately responsible for the outcomes in this life, and that He alone is the only heart-changer in the world.  For anyone.  Mamas, kids, and husbands who don't take out the trash. 

In case you're not catching my note of sarcasm, I am completely flat-out humbled, convicted, even baffled at my own silliness for, ahem, missing the entire Gospel message when things got hard.  The most basic Truth of Christianity -- Grace -- had gotten lost in a world of achievement, accomplishment, self-focus, and self-reliance.  My apologies, Mamas, I completely don't have my act together.  But isn't it refreshing that we are not supposed to?  Let's quickly shift our focus from wallowing to worshipping the Man who does really have it together.  That's the place to dwell.  And that's the message that Mamas, babies, and every person in the world needs to hear.  He got what we deserved.  Because He loves us. 

So simple.  So Jesus.  I love Him.  The End. 

"For by grace are you saved through faith; and that not of yourselves: it is the gift of God."

~Ephesians 2:8

Vulgar & Scandalous

I've been kind of quiet lately, I know.  I have to be honest.  I've been stuck on this little topic, and I can't seem to move past it.  I hope I never do.  It's called Grace. 

I know, I've talked about it a lot, but this past week I have been meditating on what it really means.  Grace, by definition, is undeserved favor.  The nod from God when we all know we are far from perfect.  Jesus kindly and graciously accepts us, no explanations.  He effortlessly waves the thief into heaven, as he is dying from the torture of undeserved sin.  He washes the feet of people we snub on a daily basis.  And you know what?  I want to have a revelation of it in my own heart, and more than anything, I want to share it with every single soul I meet.  Brennan Manning describes this Grace as "vulgar and scandalous," and I could not agree more. 

I have been meditating on this:  Through what lens does God see us?  I want to understand this, of course, in a fresh way, and not in a rote, what-the-church-taught-me-growing-up kind of way. 

Well, of course his lens is Jesus.  Perfect, clear, rosy-colored Jesus.  Love, wisdom, light, and Truth, the unmistakable image of himself -- that is how he sees us.  Striving and works-based theology mean nothing to him.  My mistakes, my victories, all of it -- ridiculously meaningless.  The time I swore in front of the kids when I spilled hot coffee all over -- forgotten.  Striving in my own strength (again) and ignoring his attempts to connect with me -- actually.... expected.  In this culture of "doing" and accomplishing, I need a fresh revelation of "being" with Jesus and settling in my own heart the question of my worth and value. 

And yet again, the conclusion I have come to is that my story is truly irrelevant.  Because when I surrender my life to him, my story gets swallowed up in his.  I believe this is what Grace really means.  To focus upon my own mistakes or shortcomings and how I can "do better" only takes the focus off of his incredible, life-changing, totally transforming Story and onto my petty and insignificant one.  It's like going from the Ritz-Carlton to Howard Johnson's.  And if I was Jesus, I'd say that isn't fair.  But then again, that's the whole deal here.  He *expects* us to see the HoJo. 

I don't know about you, but I feel once again like the longer I live the Christian life, the more basic my needs become.  I want to know and experience God's love.  I want to understand this completely counter-cultural thing called Grace.  For me, it is still like a vapor I am trying to catch -- I just can't seem to bend my mind around such a concept.  Jesus loves me, this I know.  Or do I? 

For this reason, I have been asking Jesus for a picture of how he sees me.  Something visual that would help me to understand more deeply what Grace really is... a picture to hold onto that captures his love for me just as I am, not as I should be. 

He gave me the most gentle picture of a newborn in his arms.  In fact, I saw myself as a newborn in his arms.  So simple, and yet something we can all relate to as Mamas.  Because what does one expect of a newborn?!  Absolutely nothing.  They are innocent, pure representatives of God's holy art found in human life.  They are admired, cherished, adored, loved, held, and talked about simply for *who* they are, and no one gives a hoot if they ever do a thing.  But gassy smiles are a bonus!  Because simply for who they are, they minister to us.  Their newborn scent, their facial expressions, and their utter dependence upon us makes us all melt and feel forever connected. 

And this, my sweet Mamas, is how Jesus sees YOU. 

So, the next time you screw up, imagine yourself in Jesus' arms and his utter admiration of you.  Remember, he does not see you for who you should be.  He sees you for who you are, snuggled in the warm blanket of his sacrifice.  And he is so happy with you.  And content.  And he does not expect a thing more.  The essence of your purpose and worth and value is simply in being loved by him. 

This is my Sweet Baby boy as a newborn.  Credit given respectfully to Heather Hanson Photography. 

Dinnertime, Jesus & Broadway Showtunes

It seems to happen everyday.  Dinnertime.  Why do these sweet little things ALWAYS need to eat?  I mean, seriously.  Ten minutes after I clean up breakfast, they ask, "Is it snack time yet?"  And they are serious.  And so am I when I say, "No.  You should have eaten more of your breakfast."

I am wondering about something today.  How in the world can I keep my sanity (and Jesus) close at hand during something as daily (try three times daily) as a meal?!  I start off my days and our meals with the same heart:  happy, content, loving the children.  I glance over and admire their cuteness as they attempt to spoon the corn into their mouths, mimicking what they see from an adult.  But then, failing miserably, all the corn goes trickling down into their bibs and onto the floor.  Oh, ha ha, I say, isn't that adorable.  The floors are not important -- this moment is.  Oh yes, treasure this -- it is so darn cute.  I ever-so-softly remind them to say, "May I please," when asking for more fruit.  I don my apron and perfectly coiffed hair and serve up a meal that Martha would be proud of.  Every food group represented.  On a gender-specific divided plate.  Ah, yes.  A proud moment for any Mama.  And this of course would be my delirium speaking.  This is not at ALL how it goes down. 

The real scoop is that we scramble to the table.  My stress level climbs and climbs as Sweet Baby cries louder and louder as his meal is prepared.  I stomp around the kitchen like I'm large and in charge.  I get stuff done.  I plate all the food, neatly arranged on divided plates, and say a prayer for my recently-washed kitchen floors.  The kids whine and scream for more "Dora," to which I always say no, but they still ask and throw a tantrum afterward.  Sweet Baby is at full-force now, mimicking the F-16s in movies.  He grabs a handful of my hair and it comes out because I am still nursing.  It lands in the ravioli.  I take a deep breath.  Kay.  We can do this, Jesus.  I actually remember to remember him.  Get everyone buckled in, and throw the plates down and now the commencement of the shoveling into Sweet Baby's mouth.  I probably have not shared that Sweet Baby is in the 97th percentile for *everything*, and it shows.  I take bites of my own cold food.  One bowl is not enough for Sweet Baby, so I hysterically run to refill his carrots and green beans as he screams and causes the neighbors to consider calling Child Services, whilst the other kids scream for seconds.  I remind them to eat their other food.  Another thing that I say every single time, and yet no one seems to accept I will not budge. 

I am now sweating.  I'm starting to get pissed.  Seriously pissed.  I started off this meal content, happy, and honestly grateful.  Now I am scraping the inner bits of mushy ravioli off of the underside of my kitchen table and wondering what in the heck I was grateful for again?!  This is after hosing down each child and cursing the moment I chose to eat inside rather than outside on the deck.  Brother and Sister are doing the screaming game, you know the one -- to see who can scream more loudly.  Sweet Baby screams and wins.  Mommy thinks it might all be a trick to see how long before she loses it and takes a sweet sabbatical at a locked facility.  Jesus, where are you in this?! 

Then, as massive clean up begins, Sister and Brother begin fighting.  Selfish hearts, unloving hearts, disobedient hearts -- all of these get disciplined, and I come around the corner.  I lovingly tell them the way Jesus would do it, and I encourage them to ask him for help.  They are sorry, I forgive.  I repeat the mantra in our family, "I love you no matter what."  Sweet Baby is still screaming.  Why won't he stop?! What is wrong with him, why does he scream like this, what should I do -- oh man, the dishwasher is hanging open and Brother is crawling inside.  Sister dumps out the laundry that I folded during nap time (yes, during my supposed break from the madness), and then Sweet Baby spits up everything I shoveled into him ten minutes earlier, all over the counter, floor and Bumbo chair.  With that, I am toast. 

I want to crumble in a heap and shout, "Why does this have to be so hard?!!!!  Why is it frowned upon to swear in front of my children?!!!  Where is Jesus when I need him????!!!" 

And yes, this is only dinner.  We actually eat 2 other meals throughout the day.  I don't know about you, Mamas, but I am seriously starting to think I don't have what it takes.  Where are those pristine mothers and their secrets?! I need to know how to keep it together when everything gets so LOUD and messy.  I would also like to know about the memory loss my children seem to have when they ask me the same inane questions and get the same answers every. single. day.  Seriously. 

It all gets topped off when Daddy walks in reading my text warning him I am in a foul mood, and I just need some help here... and that's when I drop Sweet Baby in his hands, retreat to my room and talk to you.  Because this is my Jesus time.  I am lost without him, and apparently with him too. 

I don't know about you, Mamas, but I am unsure of how to "succeed" in these moments.  Success, I think, would be keeping my cool, regardless of my circumstances.  Staying in peace, as they say.  I want to follow after that peace, but I am completely undone by the noise, chaos, demands, and mess that young children bring.  And I might add, there is a LOT of it.  I waffle between thinking I am "normal," to feeling like I really could've done a better job glorifying Jesus.  Then I get all "big picture" with this.  Is it ok to be completely undone by circumstances that are messy, out of control and frankly, annoying?  And what would glorifying Jesus look like exactly?  Well, it turns out I asked him. 

He said something stunning.  He said "success" was simply turning to him in those moments.  Loving him, clinging to him for dear life, sharing my heart with him. 

I glorify him by asking him for help under my breath.  In doing this simple act, I am acknowledging him as God and humbling to his power and might.  That is glory for him. 

I glorify him by approaching each mealtime with a glad heart and a grateful heart for this food and for my kids, even though historical evidence would prove there are daily experiences of how much it sucks for all the reasons listed above.  Like childbirth, I somehow forget how bad it gets and enjoy the beginning of it. 

I glorify him by taking the time to discipline precious hearts that are his, rather than ignoring it and going about my cleaning up.  Eternal over the temporal.  In doing this, I further God's agenda (training my kids to be like Jesus) and let go of my own (cleaning the kitchen in less than 2 hours). 

I glorify him by being honest and real, allowing my kids to see how Mom actually needs God and yes, does have a limit.  They learn that they do, in fact, have a choice and when they exercise some self-control, love, and selflessness, it goes a long way.  I glorify him by allowing that boiling point to be known because otherwise they will think Stepford Wives are the norm. 

I glorify him and please him by accepting his scandalous grace.  It is so undeserved and completely mind-boggling.  He truly loves me just as I am.  Today's special was one pissed-off mother at dinnertime.  I can hardly wrap my mind around it. 

And finally, I glorify him by remembering to use the saving grace of The Sound of Music.  Sounds crazy, right?  It turns out that being a former musical theatre major DOES have its perks, in that I know the words to all sorts of musical numbers that stop the madness in its tracks.  I belt out a chorus of "The hills are alive," and the children stop screaming.  By the time I get to "when the dog bites, when the bee stings," in "My Favorite Things," we are laughing and enjoying each other again.  And sure enough when I sing "How Do I Solve a Problem Like Maria?" and change the words to playfully reflect our horrific dinnertime, I've just sung myself happy.  A miracle in my midst -- amazing.  And that's our Jesus.  Playful.  Unexpected.  Gracious.  Jesus knows dinnertime sucks, and he wants to be right in the thick of it with me, enjoying a Broadway show tune. 

Now I get it, Jesus.  If dinnertime didn't suck, I would never have known that you are secretly a musical theatre buff.  Once again, you've shown me another side of your heart.  See you tonight around 5pm, Jesus.  Maybe we'll try Guys & Dolls this time.

Failure Flash Mob

You know, in the last post, I made failing sound so super great.  And talked about how we value failure in our family because it gives Jesus an opportunity to shine.  Well, the part of failure that I'm experiencing today is how failure.... stinks.  It really is no fun.  Like dating "for fun" in my 20s was also no fun, failure is empty, lifeless and a totally lame way to spend a Friday.

It's like music stuck on one beat, or that endless din of background, annoying noise at suburban restaurants like Ruby Tuesday's.  It's unoriginal, common, dull, and completely unspectacular.  It completely lacks the punch of a fresh palette of spring color, and matches the drab, dreary, non-winter outside.  And today, I failed miserably again.  Which supposedly I believe in and celebrate, according to my previous post.  And it just so happens that today I'm not-so-ok with it, and so I have come to a shocking conclusion:  I fail at failing.  Imagine that!

I will just say that it's been one of those days with the kids where I wonder what happened to those sweet munchkins I tucked in last night.  Where did they go?!  Is this some sort of candid camera experiment to see how long before I lose it and drive myself to a "special place" for mothers like me?  I am holding out hope that what I'm seeing isn't the truth.  Because if it was, it would be pretty damn discouraging. 

I have decided that life is one big "flash mob," really.  This big earth full of billions of people gets together and plays something they call "life."  In defining a flash mob, Wikipedia states that flash mobs are groups of people who assemble together in a public place and perform "an unusual and seemingly meaningless act for a brief time."  That sounds like everyday life to me.  At least my life.  I get up, I get together with these little monkeys, and then we do this thing called family or togetherness which at the moment seems very meaningless and unusual to me.  But then I fail at it.  Again and again.  And so it becomes one day after the next -- a failure flash mob. 

Now before you think I'm being hard on us moms, let me just say this.  We have every right to fail, and it is no wonder we do.  Recently, our children brought my strong, incredibly steady Sweet Husband from playing chase-and-tickle happily for hours with them, to practically rocking himself in the fetal position during their naptime.  I found him laying in bed, and he was groaning, sort of like he was in pain.  You see, Sweet Husband had a hard day. He had my better-than-normal day with the kids. He got up one hour later than I normally do and fed the baby. Then he got the other sweeties up and fed them breakfast and cleaned up. He watched as I dressed them, potty-sat them, and changed their diapers, and then Sweet Husband helped as I made lunch. I went out at naptime and ran 14 errands and then ran out again with my little sweet 2-year-old and had a special date at Home Depot and Sam's Club. While I was gone, Sweet Husband watched movies and ate candy with the sweet 3-year-old. Then I brought home dinner.  Then came this moment where Sweet Husband collapsed, and could barely speak, as he told me how difficult his day was.  I will add that on this particular day the kids were fairly well-behaved and really in a loving, generous place in their hearts. 

Now before you think I'm being hard on Sweet Husband, the truth is, this parenting 3 little monkeys under 3 years old really is like a marathon.  You moms who have more than 3 close together are like those crazy women who do the Iron Woman race.  I don't get you.  But I admire you, and I thank Jesus for the ideas you give me and others on how to parent many kids well.  But just like a marathon, if you don't have your daily training in, it will LEVEL you.  That's what happened to Sweet Husband.  His leisurely drive-to-work-with-a-warm-cup-of coffee kind-of-morning got bitch-slapped by the bring-you-to-your-knees-systematically-with-lots-of-tantrums-and-typical-childlikeness-kind-of-morning.

Now, imagine having a normal day with no Sweet Husband home, and the children channeling Spongebob, or something worse.  I don't even know Spongebob, but what I've gathered is that he fits into the sassy, LOUD, disrespectful, selfish, and un-loving hearts that I saw today.  Demanding, entitled, ungrateful, and unaware of compassion.  Good heavens, it was enough to send me to bed and just start over tomorrow. Because this is a failure flash mob, right? It'll all end, soon? Pretty please, Jesus?  I got hooked.  The sin I saw hooked the sin in me.  My own discomfort with me being a failure extended to them.  There were lectures.  Talks about children who have no homes, no parents, and no divided plates at lunchtime.  It was dramatic.  Even funny now as I write this.  Because the looks on their faces were priceless.  Like, "But, I thought you loved us when we fail, Mommy?"  *Sigh*  And there it was.  Smack-dab in the middle of a Friday, my need for a Savior. 

And this is the *moment* I am writing about on this blog.  But my true confession in this moment is this:  I don't like needing him.  This is why we "play church" and avoid real stuff in our hearts.  This is why we pray AT God but don't listen as much.  We don't want the Real stuff because it hurts.  It hurts because there is no answer except dying to our own wishes of being great, celebrated, recognized, and having what we want.  And nobody likes to die to themselves, especially not those who specialize in failure, like me. 

So, I find myself again hearing Jesus invite me.  He whispered this little thing to me that I just can't get past:

If you don't specialize in failure, Love will never become a headline. 

Because we won't need him.  If we don't fail, we don't get to this desperate place for his fullness and life.  His love and grace washes over me if I will simply get over myself and allow him to have my heart.  All of it.  Not just the little bits I give over.  He wants to occupy all of it, and once again, to have me then go to the Ruby Tuesday's and Chili's of the world and bring my spicy, Jesus-beat to dullness of what we see.  He does NOT want me to go, go, go in my own strength all the time, hit the wall, and then decide I need him.  Oops.

Failure is the entry to Grace.  Grace is him loving us as we are, not as we should be.  Grace revives our hearts with his, and then spreads like wildfire to others who fail too. 

So, I'm challenging myself and you today to think of failure as it truly is.  It is the Answer, the Key, and the Way to Grace.  If we're gonna make Love a headline, we have to experience it ourselves. 

I just love this Jesus, who literally in the past 30 minutes made me feel like a million bucks for failing today, instead of allowing me to sink into discouragement.  I think he's proud, too.  After all, he got to rescue a precious bunny in the Nursery today, and up Love's score in the world by 1 point. 

Now to all the Shabby Mamas, go fail!  Fail miserably in the name of Love and Grace!

Dearest World

Dear World,

I am sending you a gift.  You might picture a beautiful box with a polished, satin red bow, but I need to adjust your expectations.  This gift is likely one you've met and overlooked before.  It is also one that might seem quite ordinary.  But I promise you, it is the best gift you've ever received. 
This gift is my shabby children. 

It's important that you know they won't seem very extraordinary at first.  They won't be especially polished or wear name-brand clothes.  Academic pursuits will be placed below more valuable ones.  Their list of worldly accomplishments will vary from what you hold dear and cherish.  But what will really catch your attention about them is their hearts. 

You see, dear World, I have been grooming them just for you.  What you would consider foolish to pursue, they will spend their lives seeking.  And what you cherish, they will likely reject.  But not because they are judgmental or self-righteous, but because they have been trained through all of their growing-up years to follow after love, servanthood, purity, innocence, and shabbiness. 

Yes, you read that correctly.  My children will seek to be shabby, tattered, and about as imperfect as possible.  We will highlight being shabby as a strength in our family because without it, we fall into the traps of independence and self-sufficiency that you provide.  The trap of "doing it ourselves," which leads to life without God and therefore, misses the point.  We will pledge allegiance to Jesus by being proud of our humanness, rejoicing in our hugest mistakes.  Because it is only here that we really connect to the whole reason behind being human.  That is, finding our true Love.  So that Love can come to you through our itty-bitty hands, feet, and hearts. 

I don't know quite how to tell you this, World, but what you've got going on is not exactly the cat's pajamas.  You need some help.  I don't know if you have noticed, but there is not a whole lot of goodness resulting from your efforts.  I know you haven't exactly asked for help, but I am here to serve you and love you, and so are my kids. 

Would you like to know how I'm going to do it?  I'm so glad you asked.  Well, first I am going to start with being a complete failure myself.  Yes, failing miserably is really the entry point to this kind of living.  Then I am going to fail a whole lot in front of my children.  They are going to know what "human" is, whether they enjoy it or not.  I will hurt their feelings and ask for forgiveness, make embarrassing mistakes in front of them, and let them watch me squirm as I make amends to those I impacted.  I will let them see the ugliness in my own heart and let them listen as I bring it all before Jesus for redemption.  I will narrate my life and heart in front of them.  Especially the part of talking to him.  That is going to be the main skill honed for their lives and careers. 

While other mothers are coaching their children in several foreign languages, I will be coaching mine to hear God's voice to their hearts.  While other families immerse themselves in media and entertainment, we will immerse ourselves in awesome reading about nature, poetry, music, and history.  We will read the classics aloud and dwell on all that represents goodness and Love.  Rather than being fascinated with violence and fear, we will be fascinated with how Jesus shows up in our daily experience.  Amongst the Legos, trains, and Dora blocks.  Or maybe even the Little People farm. 

Now before you go and put me in the category of "those people," and set me neatly on a shelf to be disregarded, let me just say one thing.  We are not going to do ANY of this because we are so great.  We are going to do all of it because we are not-so-great.  We acknowledge that we do not have the answers, and we know Someone who does.  We are willing to embrace a different way of life that counters yours.  We are willing to follow after a life that radically alters you and connects you with the Real Thing.  Like the receptionist or Fed-Ex guy, our job is simply to hook you up. The truth is that we are way too shabby to do this in our own strength, and frankly, we don't have the desire.  We are sooooo over it being about us.  So remember, we are just these shabby bunnies that hope to have very little of ourselves left when He is finished with us. 

Our greatest hope is not to have worldly accolades, but to be transformed by him, to resemble him, in every regard. 

Our excitement each morning is to read about him, sit with him, hear from him, and to have the honor of being used by him to love you. 

Our lives will be marked by a willingness to fail personally, so that you might get to know him.

Our resume will be full of ways we failed at doing all of this, and how he rescued us, just the same.

This is our gift to you.  We love you. 

The Best Love Story. Ever.

Speaking of baths, I had myself one today.  But what you won't believe is that Jesus took me with him into the empty tomb.  Hilarious, symbolic, lovely.  I know, kind of creepy at first.  Until you hear the rest of the story.  I just love how he does things.  Let me explain. 

I have been striving lately.  Working so hard at everything -- all the tasks associated with life & motherhood.  You know the list: meal-making, butt-wiping, diaper-changing, house-cleaning, meal-planning, laundry-washing, playdate-planning, workout-going, discipline-giving, constant-nursing, nap-coordinating, preschool-activity-planning, Bible-storying, airplane-ride-giving, Scripture-learning, special-time-spending, spontaneous-day-planning, regular-routine-planning, hair-combing, teeth-brushing, doctor-appointment-making, bath-giving, potty-training, family-photograph-outfit-coordinating, closet-cleaning, subsequent-clothing-bin-organizing, home-improvement-coordinating, and goodwill-donating -- and don't forget the cheerful attitude amidst it all.  I sigh to Sweet Husband about these tasks and how I feel weighed down somehow.  Sweet Husband reflects.  Then he offers this advice, "Sweetie, maybe there's a way to cut a corner or two?"  I look at him curiously.  Cut a corner?!  What does that even mean?  (You must remember I don't know how to do anything except with intensity).  Sweet Husband mutters something about how if he stayed home with the kids, he would put them in the playroom with the gate up.  Then he would throw a bunch of blankets and fishy crackers in there and call it good.  I don't think he was kidding. 

The thing about the blanket and fishy cracker idea is this.  First of all, child protective services.  I get it.  Ok, next.  I think what I picked up on from Sweet Husband was freedom.  I knew I didn't have any.  While the fishy cracker and blanket idea was preposterous, I could tell Sweet Husband was not bound in the same shackles as me.  That familiar, not-so-friendly-friend named Guilt was there to blame me when I cleaned because I should be spending more time with my kids.  When I spent more time with my kids, Guilt was there to remind me of my very long and ever-growing to-do list.  In the midst of it all, if I wasn't joyful, happy every second, experiencing a blissful utopia in being with my kids constantly, Guilt was there to remind me of how ungrateful I must be, for many mothers don't have the luxury of staying home with their children.  If I left my children with Sweet Husband in the evening to replenish my soul by visiting with a girlfriend or (gasp) browsing through Target without an agenda, Guilt was there to convict me of every purchase, no matter how conservative, and to remind me that a good mother would never want to leave her children, especially in the hands of some fishy cracker-doling dad.  Certainly, a "good" mother would not need a break from a 3-year-old, 2-year-old, and 5-month-old.  She is supposed to be treasuring every moment.  While I deep-down knew that Guilt was there, I had no idea how to be released from its tight shackles. 

Somehow Guilt had snuck into my party uninvited.  Shame too.  Boo.

Well, Shabby Mamas, the day I realized it was when I did not have joy or lightness in approaching my day with the kids.  It all felt heavy, dark, and well, depressing.  This is when we all need to pause and realize, "Wait a minute.  This isn't God."  Precious discernment is often the first casualty in the blur of parenting young children. 

Here's what happened.  I felt God invite me to spend time with him and sort it all out.  It was subtle, and I could have easily missed it.  But I suppose my misery and desperation made me more open or aware of it.  It was unmistakably God, who wanted to meet my heart and help.  Some days are just like this -- easy to find him.  I determined that once all the kids were down for their naps, I would lie on my bed, X-body style.  You know, arms and legs completely extended, flat on my bed.  I always start the time the same way:  "Jesus, show me where to start."  A feeble prayer, but totally a Shabby Mama sort of prayer, and I am confident one of his favorites. 

Instantly, he showed me a powerful picture.  I was in shackles next to horrific figures called Guilt, Shame, Condemnation, Depression, Self-Hatred, and Anxiety.  I looked around in horror to find myself a prisoner to these things.  I was speechless and felt powerless to become free of them. 

In a moment, Jesus reminded me that all I need to do was call upon his Name.  I still felt powerless to do it.  He playfully reminded me, "You can ask me for help."  A-ha.  Yes, that's right.  You're the Savior and defeated all this ugliness 2,000 years ago.  Kay.  Here we go.  I asked for help, and in his name, they were gone.  Just like that.  Instantly, I saw the brightest place you could imagine.  It was like going from the darkest room where you literally see nothing in front of your face, to the glaring sunlight, where you have to shield your face with your hands.  The contrast was staggering.  I was captivated by the BIG-ness of God.  His majesty.  And then, in a flicker, he was back down to normal size, and seated next to me.  Inside the empty tomb.  He looked at me and said, "This is where death became life."  And then, right there, he spoke the words my heart so desperately needed, like the rush of cool water to my parched soul: 

"Dawn, you are ALREADY everything I had ever hoped you would be." 

You have got to be kidding me, Jesus.  You mean, all these years, the striving, the quest for achievement, even for you... all of that means nothing to you?  But what about all that I did for you?  What about the times that I even ministered in your name or got lost in your presence? 

His answer to this was quite simple. 

All that I had ever hoped you would become was Mine. 

He has this way of shutting me up with his grace.  Speechless, dumbfounded, amazed.  The Gospel of Grace is so incredibly un-worldlike that it leaves us confused.  When he says these things to me, I feel like I've been reading the Bible upside-down my entire life.  But here's the thing.  I needed him to say it again.  And again.  And again after that.  Because that's how my heart changes and gets it a little more on this layer of the onion. 

So, he's my precious Valentine.  It's all about him today and everyday, not about my silly attempts to escape his grace.  I keep forgetting.  I am just a Shabby Mama on the shelf.  My ears are disheveled, and the soft, pink satin is wearing through on my tummy.  But what I do like is my reflection.  I think he prefers it, too.  It's starting to look a teensy-weensy more like his. 

Let's all ask Jesus what he thinks of us today.  I can't wait to hear what he says to you, his special Valentine. 

Here's a song to get you started.  xoxo

The First Time

Today I want to share with you the first, real "bath" I experienced with Jesus.  I have much more to say about Shabby Mama spiritual hygiene, but this seems like a good place to start.  :)

It was a dimly-lit retreat center that captured every stereotype of a nunnery that I could pinpoint.  I’ll admit it, I was pretty half-hearted about going.  Ok, I didn’t want to go.  It was a requirement for the seminary I had decided to attend.  It was my first year, and I supposed they wanted me to have some sort of religious experience that qualified me to be holy and smart enough to meddle in people’s lives as a Christian counselor.  I was doubtful that I would connect with these other seminarians, who wore turtlenecks with cross necklaces dangling from the collars.  You see, my history was messy and incomplete.  My heart was wounded, and I didn’t even know then to what degree.  It took every measure of faith that I had to even apply for seminary, much less believe that I would be accepted and allowed to tread on the holy ground of other people’s hearts.  Honestly, it felt like I was for sure faking it.  I mean, I knew Jesus and thought I had a thriving relationship with Him, but it was… average.  Certainly, it was nothing special, and for sure did not compare with these other saintly types next to me. 

What I could never have predicted was that within twenty minutes of my arrival, I had my first experience of what I would call real, true prayer.  Prayer is communion.  It is experiencing the person of God, the heart of who He is.  This moment re-defined my life forever.  Had I gone without this kind of prayer for the remainder of my life, it would be like eating peanut butter sandwiches every day and discovering jelly on my death bed.  I cannot tell you how much I would have missed if God had not approached me that day. 

Simply put, I am troubled by something that appears to be missing in the American church today.  I see a lot of pastors, authors, and speakers talking about God, writing about Him, and preaching Truth about Him and sometimes, even about His heart.  It is all good stuff.  Somehow though, we are largely left unchanged.  In small churches and megachurches alike, I have discovered that few to no Christians know how to experience God and are not on the sweaty, adventurous, and often dangerous ride of intimacy with Christ.  There is something raw and unkempt about someone who is truly on the authentic journey of serving Jesus.  If I had eyes into their soul, they would carry the laugh lines and crow’s feet of a heart that has been given fully to Christ.  These types inspire me with their willingness to wade through their own heart in the name of reckless abandon & obedience to Jesus. 

For some reason, God has impressed upon me to share my prayer visuals with you in an effort to convey his heart to yours.  I am totally unqualified, I’ll be honest.  My humanness is staggering.  I sometimes swear when I spill things.  I forget to call friends back.  I lose my patience with my kids.  I get short with my husband.  I want to workout and spend more time reading my Bible, and yet I find myself at rock-bottom watching The Bachelor while eating Cheetos.  Lord, what on earth do You want to say through me?!  I am not holy.  I am not deserving.  And, thankfully, I am not the star of this Story.

God is inviting you, perhaps even through this blog, to discover your own deep relationship with Him.  This invitation goes beyond the intimacy you have already experienced.  He has a custom way of relating to His people, and somehow through sharing His way of hanging out with me, He has a plan to show you more of who He is and what He thinks of you.  It is not about being in your head and gaining knowledge.  It is about a heart-to-heart meeting with Jesus.  I have come to accept that this is where everything amazing originates.  This is where the flame ignites before it spreads.  

So you’re probably wondering what really happened that day at the seminary retreat.  There was a woman who led us in a guided prayer time.  It was the first time I had heard the word “contemplative.”  I was extremely intrigued as she instructed us to close our eyes and allow God to speak to us.  I had never prayed this way before. 

When I closed my eyes, I immediately had a visual picture in my mind.  The woman’s voice faded into the background, and Jesus took center stage.  I have since learned that this is the special way that Jesus talks with me.  I get pictures, visuals, and images in my mind during prayer.  This time it was a simple picture.  Jesus was sitting in a white-washed rowboat in a body of water.  It was peaceful and calm.  The water was gently lapping onto the sides of the boat.  I was in the boat facing Him, and I could see His face.  It’s hard to describe the difference between how we might imagine something within our minds, and how in prayer I see through the eyes of my heart.  I didn’t necessarily see detailed features, for instance, but I received something of who He is.  It was here that I began to experience Him – His love, His tenderness towards me, His delight in me, how glad He was that I accepted His invitation to experience Him this way, even though I didn’t know what I was doing.  He impressed upon me that He was the one behind this seminary retreat, not some academic requirement.  He had arranged it all, so that we could have this divine moment together.  The purpose of our rendezvous was very clear: He invited me.  To sitting a little longer together.  To knowing Him more.  To experiencing His heart towards me.  It was the easiest invite to respond to.  I felt a wholehearted “yes” within my heart. 

These fleeting moments in His presence were so fulfilling and completed me somehow.  It wasn’t as if He even used words, but He communicated directly to my heart, and my heart recognized Him as so much more than the Savior I met when I received my salvation.  He was the very essence of my life, the answer to questions I didn’t even know I had, the focus of my life forever.  What I didn’t know then was that His invitation was a lifelong one.  We began a journey together in the boat that day, and over time I will detail for you Who I encountered.  In what probably constituted two to five minutes in human time, this simple experience of His heart compelled me to Him forever. 

 Alright, Mamas, you know what I'm going to say next. Go grab your rubber duckies and hop into your baths. Our hearts so desperately need it. I know I do. Oh, by the way, this is the step that leads to Shabby Mamas changing the world. And being fulfilled beyond measure. And Love becoming a headline. And also true happiness originates here. Oh, and victory in our daily lives. Kay. I'm done.  Just can't say enough about him.  More tomorrow....

The Importance of Showers & Baths

One of the most frequent questions I have in my own walk as a Christ-lover is "How?"  What does it look like to love God?  When I talk about encountering Jesus, what does that really mean?  In practical daily terms? 

I will answer this question for myself and, hopefully, you by saying, "Take a shower every day, and occasionally take a long, soaking bath." 

(We might only get to the Part 1 of showering today.)  :)

As fellow Mamas, I am convinced we share something: The ability to shower in 5 minutes or less.  I can whip on my sweats and even put on a shred of make-up in another 5 minutes, and voila!  From frumpy to fabulous in less than 10 minutes,  :)  But seriously, I have never been the kind of Mama that can go without showering.  I just feel off.  I admire those of you who can go without and not stink.  There is something about the perfume of the previous day's spit-up and smeared oatmeal that is oh-so-unbecoming.  So, there you have it.  I stink.  I am glad we got that out there. 

When it comes to matters of the heart and Jesus, I need a shower each and every day (probably more like every few minutes).  When I wake up, my first thought is of him.  (This, by the way, does not come naturally to us.  I had to ask him to remind me to first think of him.)  I heard a wise woman say once that when you awaken, imagine your bed as an altar.  Just lay there, and think about Jesus.  And then, offer yourself, your day, your agenda, your plans, your to-do list, your chores, your children, every single objective and hope you have for the day -- to him.  This is not always easy.  It is what I call a first-fruit surrender... surrendering even that which we hope for or imagine for the day to him, before it even happens.  What this means is that my day is God's from the moment my feet hit the floor.  When my phone rings, or my doorbell rings unexpectedly, or my children seem to need to snuggle, or Playdoh would be messy, but perfect that day for curious little hands... I have to be open to that invitation from God and answer.  We are not our own little bunnies anymore, Mamas; we gave that up when we gave our hearts to him.  That means I need to be available and willing for what he might have planned for me at any given moment.  I also have to remember that his ideas and plans are best, even though in my mind they can be, at times, super annoying.  It truly seems to depend on the posture of my heart on a given day. 

On most days I find it exciting, as it leaves an element of the unexpected, and it also reminds me from moment-to-moment my importance in God's gi-normous web of people and world design.  It connects me to the BIG, eternal picture and my crucial role to play in God's cosmic drama.  It confirms the longing in my heart to matter, to have impact, to be influential for God's kingdom purposes.  It gets my mind away from a me-focused day to a Jesus-focused day.  Working for the King. 

When I find myself more annoyed, clearly it is a matter of the flesh rising up with selfishness.  Plain and simple.  Just today I threw myself a tantrum.  Yes, Mamas, you read that right.  Apparently, big girls have tantrums, too.  And more embarrassing still, it was over poop.  I mean, seriously.  If you are going to have a tantrum, is poop really worth it?  After today's episode, I can say a wholehearted NO.  I won't gross you out with the details.  I will simply say that I found Jesus during this potty tantrum today.  After the incident that shall remain cloaked in mystery, I was dealing with said child and felt my blood boiling.  Doesn't this little one know all I DO as a mother?!  Doesn't this little one appreciate it?!  My goodness, the nerve.  And then, letting out one final "Uggggghhhhh!", the little one looked at me and said, "Mommy, why are you roaring like a lion?"  That was it.  I was toast.  I started to giggle and so did the little one.  Ah, Jesus.  There you are.  In a split-second, I saw the ridiculous-ness of my tantrum.  I saw the rising up of my flesh.  I saw the ugliness of my heart that wanted to be loved and appreciated and understood by... a toddler.  Good heavens.  It seems I've flunked kindergarten and am back to preschool. 

Here's what happened next.  I took a breath.  Had a few minutes to myself as I laid the other little ones down for their naps.  I felt the softness of Jesus as he gently reminded me of the importance to be honest with the little one's heart.  When I sat down, I explained something very simple.  And quite possibly one of my most humbling moments.  Because, you see, this little one and me are on the same journey of learning to love Jesus and resemble him.  However, it appears the blind are leading the blind today.  I took another deep breath.  (I do this often and envision being filled with God while exhaling the YUCK).  I asked Jesus to help me talk to the precious heart he created:  "Honey, it turns out we both had tantrums today.  Remember how you felt earlier when you couldn't get your pajamas on?  You screamed and cried and rolled around?  Well, that is exactly what happened to Mommy.  Mommy got sooooooo frustrated with the poopie situation, and Mommy had a tantrum.  I allowed my flesh to rise up, and I should have asked Jesus to help me.  Here is what I should have done, little one.  I should have said, 'Oh Jesus, I am so frustrated with the poop.  Please help me.'  And then he would have.  I know it.  Mommy did not do things God's way, and I am so very sorry." 

We hugged it out.  Little One totally got it, I asked for forgiveness, and the words in return were amazingly, "I forgive you, Mommy.  Do you know what that's called?  That's called Grace, Mommy."  Oh my.  It appears the student is excelling beyond the teacher. 

We have these exchanges often, this little one and me.  Both passionate, intense, and strong-willed, we are bound to collide.  I have been tempted in the past to go into shame for having blown it, or allowing Guilt to tell me how bad it was and to remind me of the growing list of failures.  But that's the thing.  I don't feel that today.  I feel... relieved.  Relieved of the pressure to reach perfection.  I am absolutely nothing without him.  It is a relief to know that Jesus can handle my humanity.  He can handle me, just as I can handle my children with his help, as I wrote in the previous post.  I am not proud of my mistakes.  But every time I make one, I have this funny little feeling inside that Jesus was perhaps expecting my humanity right then so he could give me an experience of his heart.  In this case -- grace.  As Brennan Manning so aptly says, "God loves us as we are, and not for who we feel we should be."  Amazing.  I had no idea that Jesus would even use poop as a means to transform me. 

I have found it helpful and quite humbling to remember that Jesus himself gave up ALL of his rights.  Every single one.  And it required all of him.  He could've thrown the most God-sized tantrum in history, but he didn't.  I read the Gospels and often think about how difficult it must have been for him to not roll his eyes at how people behaved.  They asked him the most inane questions, did the most ridiculous things, were so transparent in their unholy motives.  But his response, always, was one of compassion and acceptance, even when he addressed them with firmness or bold Truth.  His words stung because they were disruptively honest, but his heart never rejected them.  I believe each one of us Shabby Mamas all need a whole lot more of this Love in our daily life with him.  Then we get to go to Target or Sam's Club and pass it on.  That's what devoted, suburbanite Mamas do anyway. 

There is something really endearing about how people respond when shown this Love.  They cry.  They laugh.  They blush.  It is so cute, really.  It is a brush with our First Crush, the One who first loved us and held us.  God must really love that part.  The part when our hearts get it, and we allow a dusty corner to be filled with his Love.  And then, we return to life.  Into the world we go, armed with his hands and feet.  It is beyond beautiful.  For a split-second, we mirror Eden that was lost so long ago.  Love wins.  Again. 

Time's up.  I think someone just pooped.  :) 

Love Will Save the Day

I have this plaque in my entryway.  There was something about the phrase that captured me, and I just had to hang it somewhere where I could see it daily and have others see it as they enter and leave.    
And now I know why.

Every group with any sort of personality has to have a motto.  So, in joining our community of moms passionate about making Jesus Real, you have to know one thing:  Love will save the day. 
So, repeat after me: 

Love will save the day.  All together now.  Love will save the day. 

Jesus is Love.  He will save the day.  In fact, he already has. 

Every circumstance you face, every trial, every moment of frustration, every heart-wrenching situation, every estranged relationship... the outcome is Jesus.  He has saved the day.  I am having one of those days today, in fact.  That day when you feel as though the incredible investment of time and heart you put into your children's hearts is... not worth it.  The fruit of that eternal labor is seemingly in hiding.  Discouragement enters the scene, and this is when we need a reminder of our motto.  Love will save the day, Love will save the day. 

Can you imagine what we would be like if we truly embraced the victory that Jesus really has in every life situation?  This of course isn't to say that life isn't going to be hard.  Life is hard, and in his trademark honesty, Jesus promises us it will be hard.  But then he says this unbelievable thing.  He says, "But don't worry, because I have overcome the world." 

It's similar to what I say to my sweet Ruby when she spills tomato soup on her pink tutu.  She cries and thrashes around, as most dramatic 3-year-olds do.  But it all stops when I reassure her, "Don't worry, honey.  I have this magical thing called a washing machine.  And Mommy can get everything out."  I've actually heard her tell friends that Mommy can get anything out.  It's sort of funny, but she finds a lot of comfort in my washing ability.  Metaphorically speaking, she is saying, "When things get messy in my life, Mommy can handle it."  And that is true.  This little one's question behind her words and actions is exactly that -- can Mommy handle me?  I can.  Because Jesus has overcome the world.  All I have to do is tap into him.  My brother-in-law used to eat so much Domino's pizza that his college roommates would tease him that he had the "red phone" with a direct connection to the local Domino's in their town.  All he had to do was pick up that phone, and poof!  Pizza.  Well, I gotta pick up that red phone, and poof, invite the Prince who has already come. 

I am passionate about this movement we are starting.  It is desperately needed by all of those around us, and perhaps it is us who need it most.  It is what I think about when I'm stirring the cheese into the mac n' cheese and changing the um-teenth diaper on my little sweet one.  It is always on my mind.  I picture all of us together experiencing Jesus. 

Of course, not just Shabby Mamas, but everyone.  But we will start this new thing.  Because anything new that is birthed comes from Mamas.  I really do think so.  We are all about new beginnings and bringing forth life.  It is in our very nature to bubble over with life, and to nurture it into its full maturity.  God knew what he was doing when he designed mothers.  How we spend our days and minutes must be defined by Jesus, or Love will not get the proper, headlining show.  I am serious, Mamas.  I want to get this thing going.  It is simple. 

I encounter Jesus daily + I am myself in the world = Love rules the world!

And some call me an idealist.  Ha! 

How we spend our days and minutes constitutes the meaning of our lives.  Really.  It's true.  If all I do is get caught up in the mundane of motherhood, how will I ever reflect the Divine?  And here's the thing.  The Divine is in the mundane.  That is the challenge.  And this is what I see missing from "traditional" motherhood -- finding God in the midst of the tedium of motherhood.

What if every single day we woke up and found each other, one Shabby Mama to the other, and shared the ways we found him, saw him, heard him? What if we gave him the first of our thoughts, the first of our attention and let him be the Star of our daily show?  What would happen if we lived one moment to the next, anticipating where we might discover him? 

I can tell you exactly what would happen.  Love would save the day. 

Suddenly, our hearts have been marinated in the juices of Jesus, and just as a grilled steak emanates its sweet and spicy marinade as it cooks, we radiate Love in the world as, ahem, juicy steaks.  Ok...bad metaphor.  We have already established this: We can't give away what we don't have for ourselves.  This is the very purpose for which we are created.  To reflect his glory and likeness, not necessarily in show-stopping ways that make the local news (although I'm not crossing that off the list), but in small, everyday ways that make a difference in one heart at a time.  This is the seed-planting time prior to the big harvest, Mamas.  We each have to do our part.  One heart at a time. 

My friend Harper (Not her real name, but I LOVE it, so Harper it is) got me inspired yesterday.  She absolutely exudes the love of God.  Her beauty is not physical; it is much, much deeper.  It is a soul beauty that develops when one sits in the presence of the God for hours and hours throughout life.  It is timeless, unchanging, and I swear if it had a fragrance, it would be the sweetest-smelling perfume and would fly off the shelves.  But that's precisely the point -- you could never buy it because it comes from within.  And more specifically, it comes from dwelling with the Divine more than the circumstances we live in.  It exudes life because it comes from the One who created life and lavishes it upon us.  Just sitting around her makes you aware of the entirety of the Gospel story -- the mind-bending grace that found us in our dirty puddle.  Washed, whole, and clean.  Unreal.  A true fairy tale.  And all she was doing was being herself. 

So, today I challenge you.  I challenge us.  Let's become a group of mothers with a capital M, who birth this Man called Love into being all around us.  I do want it to be on the news stations every night -- testimonies of the Love that Jesus calls us to be in this world.  I want it to be so radical and so tangible that everyone starts talking about it.  I am not talking about being "religious," I am challenging us to fall deeply in love with him and to simply live out of that Love.  He will do the rest. 

Let's expect him, anticipate him, marvel at his creativity, laugh at his wit, share in his dreams, and become his Best Friend.  Let's invite him to be the focus of our day, our week, our life.  Let's be a community of women who adore him and share how he has been present that day.  From the littlest ways to the biggest.  It starts with us.  One day at a time.  One beating heart at a time.  We will get there.  Because Love will save the day. 

Our Velveteen Selves

I just love this photo. Maybe because the colors are godawful, and the pants are so tight, and the sequins -- egads -- but he is sooo... confident. I love it because he is totally working this outfit, and the sunglasses and wristbands tell me he has put thought into this. I think I love it so much because it says, "I love who I am right now." I love it because, ironically, in the midst of such a dizzying pattern and badass pose, I feel like he's being authentic. It's likely that his mother chose this for him, poor thing, but clearly, he is on board with the choice.

I want to be this kind of Mama. (No, not the kind who dresses her children like this).

The kind of Mama who instead of being confident in triangled, color-blocked ugliness and neon green sequins, am confident in what I feel, think and desire from life, motherhood and God. I have had a revelation recently: In not being Real, we cheat ourselves and the world of loving Jesus.

It turns out that we're all a little bit like the Velveteen Rabbit, in quite a different way than Jesus. The irony is that in becoming Real ourselves -- by acknowledging the shabbiness of our own hearts --is precisely how we invite the Realness of Jesus into our lives. In admitting that my current life is not what I necessarily imagined it to be, or that I totally lost it with my kids today, or that I sometimes struggle with depression, or that I sometimes need a break from my family, or that I just can't say, "Oh, yes, we are so blessed" one more time without using a sticker to plaster the smile on my face, I find Jesus. We strive, strive, strive to present ourselves a certain way, to portray a heart that is deeply in love with the Lord, and to be fulfilled doing it. This is not to say all of our lives are awful and that we only have negative experiences. However, I have yet to find many Mamas who are willing to admit these things when they are a reality. There's this weird taboo in Christian culture about being Real, like there's something wrong with us if we aren't enjoying every single minute of motherhood. Sort of ironic given the fact that we've all accepted Amazing Grace. We are lost, and now found. We are empty, and he fills us! The very premise of Christianity is lost -- the fact that Jesus came to RESCUE our hearts in need -- in our concern over ourselves and our image. In short, it becomes all about us.

For many of us, how we view ourselves and portray our lives is an empty knockoff of the Real thing, like the "Coach" purse hanging in the back of my closet. C'mon Mamas, let's be honest. Picture a recent conversation you had with a friend. Think about all the words we dropped into that conversation to give that friend the indication of what we believe, think or feel. We calculate our words, without realizing it, because we are afraid to show the world the disparaging parts of our hearts. We are afraid to show the world these parts because we haven't shown them to Jesus yet. We haven't shown them to Jesus yet because we haven't invested the time. We haven't invested the time because we are living the craziness and wonderful-ness of raising a family, and we somehow think that Jesus is in a separate category, only to be experienced at 5am, during "quiet time," or randomly here and there. We become ashamed of not having "quiet time" with him, so we hide from him. And then we start the cycle all over again. The problem here is that we have boxed ourselves in, with quite a bit of help from the enemy of our souls. In keeping us on the treadmill of shame, guilt, and condemnation, he robs us of the very purpose of our lives.

I want to wake up in the morning and shout from the mountaintops, "He loves me! You wouldn't believe how dark and hopeless it was, but he is Real!!" I want for everyone to know how he rescued me from woundedness in relationships, eating, trusting others, and parenting my children. And those are only the first few. There are hundreds of ways he has re-tooled my heart -- slowly and patiently peeling my onion, piece by piece. I sometimes get very tired of this particular onion and long for some variety. However, I have accepted this onion and though it makes me cry and get very stinky fingers from handling it, I want him more than I hate those things. I want to be different...recognized by his stamp upon my heart.

Yes, I am talking to you, Shabby {Chic} Mamas. Most of all, I am speaking to myself. I am a Christian. I am not talking about unbelievers or even nominal Christians. I am talking to you and me: the women who have known Christ for decades but still somehow struggle to experience him in a life-changing way each day. I have spent a majority of my life learning about him and knowing him more deeply, but I still feel a void. I don't want it to be sporadic or occasional. I want him everyday. Intimately. While I cook, during storytime, in the midst of discipline, errands, and dance class.

There is a way, and there is more. That is what we are all doing gathering here together each day. Maybe if I continue to use lots of italics, we will all become convinced of it. Sorry about that, I just love emphasizing the things that I'm really passionate about. :) I certainly do know that it's much easier to wrap myself up nicely with a pretty pink, satin bow and pretend that nothing going on in the Nursery is bothering me. Well, my sweet bunnies, it is time to get dirty. The Nursery is going haywire, and we are the only bunnies that know Who can help us.

When we begin admitting what's really going on in our hearts, there's room for Jesus. When we make room for him, he spills his grace lavishly upon us. We are forever changed, and it spills over into our exchanges with other Mamas at Target, the park, and the little sweeties in our own homes. You see, you just can't give away what you don't have. I don't know about you, Mamas, but I am deeply invested in giving away Jesus.

Let's invite him. To reveal. To pull back the curtain of our hearts. Let's take this scary step together because your heart is worth it. The world is worth it. He is worth it.

The Lioness

Good afternoon, Shabby Mamas. 

Well, it's been almost a week of posts to the theme of getting Real and finding Jesus.  Personally, I have been loving every minute of talking to you.   It's a very cheap form of therapy, really.  My interest is piqued as to what Jesus is up to here.  It is certainly delightful to wake up each morning and to carry on a dialogue with him in my mind all day about what I might share with you that particular day.  Well, today's musings with him had an interesting theme.  It's a good thing I love him so much. 

So far, there have been a few responses from some Shabby Mamas I know, but otherwise... crickets.  So, this could mean one of two things: 1) I forgot to turn on the proper comment settings to allow you to interact with me (It's true!), or 2) You have determined I am crazy and are running for the hills.  Before I get insecure about it, I decided to ask Jesus.  The idea that came to me was that I just haven't gotten Real enough with you, to make it safe for you to be Real with me.  To fix that problem, I have decided to post the worst junior-high photo I have of myself, complete with braces, and a perm I have entitled, "The Lioness". 

Does that help?  :) 

Talk to you later, Mamas. 

Holy Matrimony!

“Therefore, I will now allure her, lead her into the desert and speak tenderly to her.  I will give her back her vineyards, and I will replace her valley of troubles with a doorway of hope.  She will sing songs from her youth and will no longer call Me her master, but her Husband.”

-Hosea 2:14

When I met him, I was compelled to him.  Day and night I thought of him, and extended goodbyes immediately brought anticipation of the next time I would be with him.  You see, there was something about being in his presence.  It was thrilling, inspiring, and completed me somehow.  The experience of this relationship was beyond anything I had ever had before and made other boyfriends pale in comparison.  Had I known he was out there, I would not have wasted all that time and energy seeking, worrying, and belaboring what was doomed to fail.  Unbelievably, I was moved to love beyond selfish love.  Suddenly, this man was my true, first priority.  His happiness and fulfillment surpassed my own.  His birthday became my favorite holiday.  I realized that supporting his life and purpose was one of my eternal callings. 

And then, we hit reality: the hard place of wounded hearts colliding, opposing each other with competing traumas from the past.  It was bound to happen.  Previously, this was the time to bail.  It gets too hard, and I assume it is not meant to be.  However, something very different happened – we found ourselves aware of a single truth:  We did not want to be without each other. 

This man was worth it.  The heartache, the tears, the hundreds of tough conversations, and the fear of losing the incredible connection I had tasted for such a short time – every single heart-wrenching moment was worth it for this man.  You see, I had experienced him.  His tenderness, compassion, and incredible, selfless love for me.  He accepted me fully.  I felt no shame or desire to hide from him, but rather, it felt completely safe to be vulnerable in front of him.  No one else had seen me, really seen me.  My heart had been locked away and hidden from human view.  Spending time with this man transformed me by showing me there was beauty within.  Just being with him brought a peace and made it clear that my heart had found its home.  This man is now my husband.  What I want for me and all of us is to have this kind of compelling connection with our true Husband.

***

The above is an excerpt from a book-in-progress, perhaps that will be released about 18-20 years from now.  Who knows?!

The photo was taken on my wedding day.  Oh, the delight!  Oh, the excitement!  I could not contain myself.  I actually jumped up and down throughout the entire ceremony.  I am not kidding!  Many of you were there, and you can vouch for me.  The best part was I was actually being truly authentic and not manufacturing the exuberance!  (Insert Kim Kardashian sarcastic remark.  Ok, delete.  We love her, in Jesus' Name).  My soon-to-be husband and I had truly fought the battle of our lives and hearts to be together.  It was the most incredible moment to experience the harvest of our years of investment through our wedding day.  The truth is, we were married long before it existed on paper.  The Lord had whispered that to me much earlier in my life.... that I'd "be a wife long before I was married."  And now I knew what that meant.  And thank goodness, because we needed that level of devotion as we dusted out the wounded corners of our hearts to create room for each other.  Jesus was there that day in fullness and celebration.  It was the most powerful experience I have ever had of God's "husbandry" of me.  He lovingly protected me after the years and years of YUCK and placed me right in the care of not the perfect man, but the man perfect for me. 

Today, the theme on my heart is this.  Why doesn't my face look this exuberant when I talk of Jesus?  When I anticipate our time together, does my heart skip a beat and my tummy turn over in excitement?  Well, Shabby Mamas, I am here to say that is something I want. In fact, that is what makes the whole darn Nursery come alive and become Real.

Now before we all get ashamed and hide in the corner, let's take it a different direction.  Let's ASK for it from the One who wants it too.  Getting to this place in our relationship with Jesus is exactly what this blog is all about.  Let's do it together, with his help.  Let's ask him together because he's the source of everything.  This is the moment he has been waiting for. 

Jesus, I want to feel with you like I did on the first date with my husband.  I want to get all flushed when I talk about You.  I want to know every line on your face and be able to trace the scars on your hands, as if they are my own.  I have to be honest, Jesus, I have no idea where to start or how to have this with You.  I just know I want it and am asking You to help me.  Thank you, Jesus, for being my Husband.  Fill me with your love, and show me the way to your heart.  Amen.

Until tomorrow, Mamas.  I can hardly wait to see what's next.  

Metaphors, Schmetaphors

“What is REAL?" asked the Velveteen Rabbit one day... "Does it mean having things that buzz inside you and a stick-out handle?"

"Real isn't how you are made," said the Skin Horse. "It's a thing that happens to you. When [someone] loves you for a long, long time, not just to play with, but REALLY loves you, then you become Real."

"Does it hurt?" asked the Rabbit.

"Sometimes," said the Skin Horse, for he was always truthful. "When you are Real you don't mind being hurt."

"I suppose you are real?" said the Rabbit. And then he wished he had not said it, for he thought the Skin Horse might be sensitive.

But the Skin Horse only smiled.

I really do promise not to beat this Velveteen Rabbit metaphor to death, BUT... please do allow me to expand in just one post what I'm really talking about here.  Let's try reading this again, but being a bit more direct about what we're doing here as the Shabby {Chic} Mamas. 

"What is REAL?" asked a Shabby Mama one day.... "Does it mean never losing my temper and talking about my life using only upbeat words like fulfilling, rewarding, perfect, and cherishing every moment?" 

"Real isn't pretending everything on the inside is perfect and whole," said Jesus.  "It's a thing that happens to you.  When you allow Me to love you, truly love you, for a long, long time, not just for yourself and your needs, but even to love Me back, then you become Real." 

"Is it scary?" asked the Shabby Mama. 

"Always," said Jesus, in a way that somehow made all her fear dissipate.  "When you are Real, I will tread upon areas of your heart that need Me, and that is scary and new.  But I am always right there with you." 

"I suppose You are Real?" said the Shabby Mama.  And then she wished she had not said it, for she thought He might think she was silly, or didn't know Him at all.  But Jesus only smiled and said, "I'm about as Real as it gets." 

Well Hello There

So, I'm finally doing it.  After years of prodding from my husband and biggest fan, I'm sitting down to share with you all the things that he is forced to listen to each night.  Yes, we have "talk time," that incredible time that a wife looks forward to all day, especially a stay-at-home-mom of three little monkeys under 3 years old.  Life is sheer insanity at this point, and "talk time" bails me out of the psych ward and reconnects me to reality.  If you are a parent in any form, I am sure you get it.

During these talk times, there is a pesky theme that emerges each and every time.  My desire to touch the world and my longing to feel God's presence.  Then you put the two together, and you have what I think Jesus has called me (and you, by the way) to do:  To touch the world with his presence. 

This is a horrible time to start a blog.  Currently, I am in my sweats listening to my 4-month-old baby "cry it out."  In between obsessing about which sleep method I should follow, I am trying to string a sentence together.  But that's the point here.  I want it to be messy for once. I am coming to you as a recovering perfectionist.  I was that girl in high school who got all the awesome grades and was in every activity.  In seminary, I personally challenged myself to fail a class, and I still got a B+.  When I was 8 months pregnant, I decided my living room needed an accent wall and painted it in 35 minutes while my other two toddlers napped.  I do everything with panache!  I don't know how to do life except in my own crazy, zany way.  It makes absolutely no sense that I'd start writing now, so naturally I've decided that it is the perfect (no pun intended) time. 

You might wonder about me.  Let's see if I can sum up both my dysfunction and my salvation story before naptime is over.  I was lost.  Really lost.  However, like a lot of lost people, I didn't look lost.  I grew up in what seemed like a normal family, and had a happy childhood.  It all fell apart because of choices people made, and I survived.  I tend to take responsibility for everything because some wounded people always wanted me to meet their needs.  I try to look upon them with compassion today.  Then.... Jesus came.  Now, at first he was this lovely, mild Jesus that was "out there," and then he became personal and scary.  Scary because he told me the Truth and showed me there was more.  He even became my Savior.  It was an awesome thing to have his strong arm pull me out of the garbage I was drowning in.  There was drinking, an eating disorder, and decades of working through emotional abuse from my upbringing.  Then there were all those relationships with emotionally unavailable men.  Though I wasn't physically promiscuous, I pimped my heart out to any man that would have me.  The point is, I was in bad shape.  But I looked good.  Good because I became a master of appearing put together because that was my job growing up. 

Today as a mother of three, I can confidently tell you that if you're looking for a way to stop looking good and get authentic and real with your life and Jesus, have kids. There is something about the experience of motherhood that draws us to our knees in desperation. What I've discovered is that the wonderful thing about kids is how they simply don't have room for fake. 

The Good News that the Bible talks about happened to me.  Jesus went from a distant relative to an intimate friend.  He went from a pristine, pretty bunny on the shelf to a ratty, shabby, worn-out, and most of all, well-loved bunny.  The point is, I love him.  I can't get enough of this guy.  And to make matters worse, I hardly know where to begin.  I am astonished to say to God, "Please help me to love you more."  We are so pathetic in our humanness that we even need his help to love him.  There is something beautiful about that. 

You could say that this is when I discovered the Velveteen Jesus. 

At first, He's the soft, cozy Jesus that we curl up with at night.  He's really polite because he never challenges us or forces us to the next step or reveals anything difficult.  In fact, he is perfect because he fits right into the box I have made for him!  This Velveteen Jesus comes in handy for those times when I want something, but am not willing to invest time and heart to get it.  He sure looks pretty and very clean.  It is also quite popular to reference him, his beauty and his wonderful qualities using big words and grand gestures.  He looks so good this way!  Distant, but good.  Fits really well with the part of me I'm most willing to show the world.  In short, this Jesus is not Real.

However, something dangerous happens when we decide that this stuffed Jesus is not going to cut it.  I, for one, am ready for something more.  I am tired of waiting for the "right time" to experience him radically.  I am happy to report that my current encounters with Jesus are raw, disruptive, honest, messy, healing, scary, loving, and surprising.  His way of dealing with me is so refreshing and well, Real.  I have learned to see his heart, his motives, his intentions, and I absolutely looooooove how he turns things around in my heart and reveals Truth in seconds.  I have learned to share his sadness at the direction of humanity and the disinterest of most at what interests him.  My love for him is deep and wide, but I have this little hunch that I have only reached the tip of the iceberg in my relationship with him.

You'll find in talking with me that I often share an image or picture that Jesus gives me.  This is his way of reaching me.  One of those visual types.  Try it yourself.  Close your eyes sometime and ask him to show you where you start.  It's kind of fun.  Like a "Where's Waldo?" game except it's Jesus.  Let's play the game together in our lives.  I am passionate about you finding him today in the midst of sippy cups and laundry.  Just today I found him while carrying my 3-year-old as a koala bear and my 2-year-old chasing after us trying to bite her toes.  Where did Jesus show up in your life today? 

Oh!  And you're probably wondering what sort of beliefs I subscribe to.  Good question.  Important to know who you're talking to.  It's pretty basic.  I love Jesus.  I believe he is the one, true God.  He loves everyone no matter what, and to show that he gave up all of his rights to everything.  Like being safe, honored, or even to eat whatever he wanted.  He went from creating the world to being subject to its cruel ways, just because he is crazy about us.  Now that's amazing. And much more than any stuffed bunny could do.