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.