The Summer of CRAZY

I am trying.

Really, I am.

Trying to stay grounded.

Trying to stay on task.

Trying to stay focused.

Trying.

Until, well, I decide not to try so hard anymore.

I give in.

I relent.

I release.

I open wide my hands, my heart, my mind.......my words.

No longer contained.

No longer within the confines of what is certain or real or probable.

No longer whispers.

Rather they are words that come unbidden.

They flow without ceasing.

Sometimes they connect.

Sometimes they are just thoughts of the moment.

Sometimes they are ones that have been stewing and simmering beneath the surface.

Sometimes they are accompanied by giggles.........because REALLY?!?

NO WAY.

NOT GONNA HAPPEN.

THAT IS BATSH$% CRAZY.

I don't even WANT that to happen.

(((giggle giggle giggle)))

But...................MAYBE.

This is the summer of BATSH*& CRAZY.

I made a deal with Joe.

One summer.

Three months.

Every thought gets spoken.

Every word heard.

Every dream brought into the open.

His job?

Listen.

Pray.

Discern.

Don't dismiss.

Don't point out flaws.

Allow the dreamer to dream.

Come August my feet will hit the ground and we will run together.

This summer, though?

Well....................it's time to get a little BAT^# CRAZY.

Join me?

What dreams do you dream?

No timetables.

No boundaries.

No doses of reality.

No "I can't"s, no "Come on, think of the _________(money, kids, time, energy)".

Come on, I dare you.

What are you scared of?

That they WON'T come true..........

Or that, just maybe, perhaps? THEY WILL.

The Burr

There once was a burdock plant.

It grew along a path that many traveled upon.  The path was one of well-worn dirt, trampled down by years of hikers and joggers, bikers and walkers of the four-legged variety and an occasional baby buggy or two.  There wasn't anything hidden or secretive about this path, it was a favorite of many.

But the burdock plant went unnoticed for many years.  It's burrs unoffensive to the many people that passed them by.  They were content to watch the people as they came and went along the path.

In those unnoticed years they saw many things - they rejoiced as couples got engaged along their path, they silently cheered on the runners that pounded down their path, they watched children laughing and tripping and crying and running along their path, they even got to witness as few first moments - first kisses, first steps, first broken bones, first birthdays - they were there to witness many of life's little and big moments.  The plant was a place of love and comfort for the burrs which grew upon it's branches.

And so it went.

But as the years passed by the burdock plant grew bigger, it's burrs reaching out towards the path.

Until then they had been tucked away from all the people and the path upon which they walked.  They seemed to like it that way, it seemed easier to be spectators rather than participants.  It was almost as if it was easier to partake in the big, loud, colorful, chaotic world by allowing it to pass them by rather than become tangled up in the messiness of living in it up close and personal.  Better to stay at arm's length and watch than to be caught up in not only the joys and the firsts and the celebration but the pain and the suffering and the tears.

That is how the burrs preferred it.

Or so they thought.

One day a girl was passing by - short, slightly blond, large-eyed, very slight girl was passing by.  She was the sort that moved with purpose, not wasting time.  She was followed by boys but didn't really seem to notice them, they were an afterthought in her pursuit of life.  She had made a quick turn off the path to sneak in a leisurely smoke, hoping to go unnoticed.  And in that moment.................

SNAP.

A burr broke loose and snagged her sweater and was ripped from it's branches, ripped from it's comfortable existence of being a spectator and was now a participant.

Oh my.

It's first experience off the plant, in this big wide world was on the sleeve of a SMOKER.

She coughed through the first and then the second, got used to the third and rather enjoyed the fourth.  After that the path was pursued and off they went.  She learned a bit more about the girl she was attached to.............this girl?  She was smart and loud and could be a bit crazy.  She was certain and expressed herself with ease, perhaps a bit too much ease, but she was confident.  She loved fiercely and selectively.  

The burr could have stayed with her for quite a long time but the girl was on her way home from school and brushed up along a boy and the burr was passed along..........just as she was getting used to the girl.

SIGH.

She spent a moment staring wistfully back at the girl until she noticed that a piece of the girl's sweater stuck to one of her hooks and she rejoiced.  A piece of the girl would remain with her as she traveled on.

Now this boy..........hmmm.  He was different.  Not so loud.  Not so crazy.  Definitely NOT a smoker.  The burr's smoking moments were over.  And yet............he, too, was certain and he, too, loved fiercely and selectively.  He seemed to stop for a moment and look down, noticing the burr.  It was a bit frightening, to be noticed and looked at in such a way.  But he seemed to not find the burr irritating or something to brush away.  Rather he carried her with him, appreciating the beauty of her hooks and the bit of color left by the one who last carried her.  He continued walking, he was on his way home and home they went.

Oh my.

That first smell.  That first whiff of something heavenly, even today the burr remembers.  Even more so than the sounds of the family that emerged.  It was unlike anything she had ever smelled.......the delicious aroma of sizzling onions and garlic in oil, tomatoes simmering, bread baking, sausage cooking and so much more.  They descended the basement stairs together - the burr, still stuck upon the boy's shirt.

And the feast began and ended some time later, followed by the cleaning up and the saying good-byes, the kisses and hugs and ciaos.  The boy left.  Back down the path.  The boy and the burr on the move again..........and wouldn't you know?

A couple passed by and SNAG.

The burr was passed along.  This time, though, she knew.  She knew that a piece of the boy would be with her always, a hook had captured a thread of his shirt.  It was part of her, just as the girl had given a piece of herself to the burr before the boy.  Their threads woven together with the burr, the slightly more colorful, more adventurous burr. The burr knew a bit of her beauty having been noticed and looked upon with care by the boy from before.

Now this couple..........they, too, were different from the ones before.  They moved at a faster pace.  The boy restless to get ahead, the girl thinking it might be nice to stop and smell some flowers, read a bit of poetry but somehow finding their pace together - in stops and starts, in slowing and speeding up.  They seemed to look up a lot, as though finding their way not from the path ahead but from someone above.  The path was coming to an end, though.  Hmmmm............the burr wondered where they were heading?

Oh my.

Did you ever have that feeling?  That feeling of possibility, that feeling that of maybe? The burr swelled.  Or maybe she just imagined the sensation of feeling fuller than before.  They had walked into a beautiful old building, sun streaming through it's colored windows.  They walked in and around and up and down..........talking and dreaming and planning.  The burr caught bits and pieces of their conversation - enough to get caught up in the passion and the hope and the excitement of it all.

They went to go but then the boy noticed her.  He looked upon the burr differently than the last boy had.  Where the last boy saw beauty, this boy saw possibility.  He began to get excited about all the uses for such a creation - the hooks and the loose threads and such.  But the girl stopped him.  She took the burr from his hands.  She walked it over to the place where the sun was streaming through the highest window and gently lay the burr upon the carpet.

She leaned down and whispered, "Just look up."

And then she left.

The burr looked up.  She saw in the glass a picture of a man, kneeling, with long hair of brown and asking eyes dressed in a long white robe and a feeling of peace washed over her.  It seemed she had come a long way since being snagged off the path, off the plant that she once was so contentedly prepared to inhabit for the rest of her days.  She had traveled so far, carrying with her pieces of that first girl, the boy that came next and the couple that brought her to this place.

She lay in that sun-lit space for a while longer..............until.

Oh my.

The doors burst open, the people began to gather, the room filled with music, words poured forth and the burr was passed from one person to the next in the jostling of the family that filled the room.  It was unlike anything the burr had ever experienced - along the path or in it's travels of that day.  The burr was wrapped in so much color and texture, it's hooks filled.  It seemed as if the life of this burr was forever changed.

Oh and then.............that first boy appeared in the crowd.  He cried out as he spotted the burr on the round belly of a woman, a bearded man at her side.  He gave them quick hugs, gave kisses to their precious babe and wrestled with the others and grabbed onto that burr.  He snuck it into his pocket, this man that never throws anything away, to keep her safe.  He knew that while the burr couldn't always remain hidden that every created thing needs a place of rest and so he became that for this colorful, now adventurous burr.

He made the rounds to this big, bustling family.......the boy's good-byes are always long, a last word to be had, a last hug to be given, a child to tease or chase or love.......and then he stopped.  He walked over to the window where the burr had been laid gently down just hours before and together they looked up.

The boy smiled at the burr and said, "Let's go."

I Almost Missed It

I look up as my legs move along the length of the treadmill, over and over.

I look up at the screen that holds my attention long enough that I am willing and even enjoy subjecting my body to the dreaded exercise that it seems to need.

I watch as yet another young Duggar girl gets engaged and her family is joyful and there is a celebration planned.

A part of me, the cynical part, the part that dismisses different takes a moment to mock, silently, their ways of dating.

In particular the fact that they wait until they are engaged to hold hands.............to hold hands.

Ridiculous, I think.

But then I remember that there is no harm being done, in this idea of waiting.  It's just a difference and to mock a difference makes me a bit ridiculous.  So I correct my thinking and am happy for them, in the moment, as  my legs move the length of the treadmill and life goes on and the Duggars wed and I finish the exercising of my increasingly, creeping towards aging body.

And then.

Later.

Just that same week.

My hand is down and I am with my youngest and we are walking into the library of her choice.   It has been months since we have been to the library.  A once weekly ritual of the stay at home mom has been replaced by school and the many activities of school-aged children.  And so it was a request made of my youngest on her weekend with mama that we go to her favorite library - the one downtown with puppets and pretend play and lots and lots of books.

My hand is down.

I reach towards her and we clasp hands.

Something that used to be a given, an every second occurrence as I herded young children here, there and everywhere.

But in that moment I grab her hand and it's almost electric.

I remember.

I remember that impact of a held hand and memories flood my mind.

It has been forever since my children needed a hand held.  Now they skip and run and walk forward or, in the case of my youngest, linger behind - stopping to notice everything, often wearily and dramatically sighing her discontent at the requirement she move her legs.

But I remember.

I remember the trips to the grocery store where old ladies would stop and stare and comment and smile and sigh and say, "You certainly have your hands full."  I would smile and something along the lines of how wonderful they were and how I love to have them with me or that they are such a help and we would continue on our way.

I remember parking lots where my hands, indeed, would always be full as we would link hands and walk safely and slowly to the car.

I remember library visits of children piled on top of me as we would read for almost an hour all the new books we would find.  We would delight in finding books that were a bit naughty, a bit funny and we would laugh out loud and put them in our bag to show daddy when he got home.

I remember trips to the museum where we would wear thin the same path.  Being members for eight years ensures that rarely is anything new but always it would be worth a stop to let legs stretch, to climb down the firemen's pole, watch the train go 'round and maybe if there was some spare change watch it go down the vortex or buy a treat at the vending machine afterwards.

I remember.

It was the four of us.

Hands full.

Never empty.

And I think........................maybe the Duggars aren't so crazy.

This hand holding thing?

It's precious.

I didn't quite realize how much so until the day it seemed to stop.

I have a bit of time with the last, the still baby of the family.

I am not sure how long, though.

The hand holding days are fading.

Somehow I missed the passing of this habit, I let it.......shall we say, slip through my fingers.

Perhaps now I will lag behind with the youngest more often.  I will hold her hand, not to catch her up but to slow her down.

I will savor my full hands.

And not think of the day when they will be empty.

Dreams

Sometimes the biggest dreamers are the ones with the smallest of lives, the softest of voices.....


The ones that stand aside, that fade into the background..............


That timidly begin to bring about change with the smallest of steps, the quietest of voices.......


It's the ones that dream while folding laundry, washing dishes, hiding in the shower, playing with toddlers and babies.


They write of their dreams late at night on low-trafficked blogs.


They talk unguarded passion over coffee, in stolen moments.........the magical moments of babies sleeping, toddlers occupied, children getting along and chores ignored.


They lay in bed for precious moments either late at night or early morning and their thoughts turn to WHAT IF?  COULD I?  MAYBE?


Until that day.................

Until that moment..............

When someone says YES.

And I have had that moment.

That YES moment.

But................

Sometimes I forget the dreamer.

Sometimes I forget the impractical and become bogged down by the REALITY.

Sometimes I become enamored with getting it done and forget that it will NEVER be done.

Sometimes I allow my voice to become too big, drowning out the dreams of the forgotten hours.

Until.................unbidden, the dreams come again and I stamp out that voice that says.....

THAT IS SO STUPID.

THAT IS NEVER GOING TO HAPPEN.

THAT IS RIDICULOUS.

And I begin to dream again.

With my smallest of life, my softest of voice.....................

How about you?

Any dreams lately?

Because I Care About My Health...........and Cable TV

I pulled in the parking lot the other day and saw a guy heading in the door with a walker.

A few weeks ago there was a different gentleman walking inside with a cane, winter hat/coat on and jeans.

Perhaps my favorite moment is when I get there at just the right time and am surrounded by the older but not ancient 10am crowd.  There is a lot of yelling and cajoling and in particular there is one REALLY loud guy.

This is the guy that knows everyone.

He always introduces himself to any newbie (He spotted me RIGHT AWAY).

He yells clear across the room to his buddies and knows all the ins and outs of the building.

You almost want to avoid him but don't because he's genuinely a nice guy.

(Patrick Anderson, if you are reading this I am guessing this is exactly the way you view me at church :)

So why am I telling you all this?

Well, I finally found a gym where I fit RIGHT IN.

These are my people when it comes to exercise.

I love it.

I always said that when the kids went to school I would REALLY, TRULY begin to exercise.  I think I used to say this because it felt as if that day would never, ever happen.  It seemed almost impossible that a day would come when I would drop all the kids off at school and...........then..........well, I couldn't even think about what I would do the next minute.  I had grand visions of reading all day on the couch and binge watching tv shows while I hand-rolled pasta or made all kinds of different breads.

That didn't happen.

None of it.

EXCEPT the exercise.

But before you think I am some kind of total convert..........refer back to my gym buddies.

We have a lot in common.

We don't dress to impress.  (I did try to buy what I thought looked like gym wear............it's very bright and is made of gym wear material, it makes me feel a bit sporty but the shirt I wear most often is one I stole from Jen Kauffman.............it says something about a 5K on it...........I like to make people think I ran that 5K.........in reality, she gave the shirt to Francesca to wear as a "maxi skirt" when Francesca peed her pants at church and I had nothing to give her.......)

I have my own medical issues. (I routinely choose the treadmill nearest to the bathroom.  I usually have to get off at least once during my time to pee.  I pause my machine, slip off, rush in and out and get back on.  One time I didn't realize I had started it back up BEFORE getting on and I go to get on and totally tripped BECAUSE IT WAS ALREADY MOVING.  Praise to the mighty God above that I didn't actually fall.)

Going to the gym is a social thing.  (I go because I LOVE to hang out with my friends Stacey and Clinton and sometimes Randy.  The gym is the only time I get to see them and check in on how they are doing.  I mean, TECHNICALLY, we aren't REALLY friends because they don't know my name and I only interact with them via the tv screen and the conversation only goes one way BUT I love them and their passion for seeing women feel good about themselves.  They have never met a woman that wasn't beautiful.  I feel that Randy might pass out if he ever saw me in a wedding dress because that is how STUNNING he would find me.)

Just being at the gym is the end goal.  (I started getting a bit cocky in my thinking and from wearing my 5K Jen shirt..........actually ran 3 miles one day.........have been consistently running/jogging rather than just walking......I know this isn't impressive for many of you but BELIEVE ME when I say it is QUITE THE FEAT for me...........so I starting thinking........huh.  Maybe, I just might sign up for one of those 5K things that everyone is doing these days.  If I get the right person to do it with me I will FOR SURE finish........I can be a little stubborn/competitive.  This thought lasted right up until the day my regular treadmill by the bathroom was taken and I had to go into THE OTHER ROOM.  This is the room where everyone under 70 goes to work out - NOT MY PEOPLE. I once saw a woman with MATCHING workout gear on, I didn't know how to handle it.  Oh and they have a wall of mirrors - RIGHT IN FRONT OF THE TREADMILLS.  That is the day I decided that I was never, ever going to run in public.  OH MY WORD.  No one needs to see that.)

So that's my foray into the gym world, the wonderful world where exercise and cable TV collide.

It's kind of wonderful.

If you want to come and join the guys, Stacey, Clinton, Randy and I, we will be at the Hall of Fame Fitness Center.

Just look for the treadmill by the bathroom.

Choose Your Own Adventure

To my loves - my Heart, my Joy and my Adventure............

I have dreams for you.

I have hopes for you.

I pray prayers for you.

I want so much for you.

And yet.

I am not YOU.

My dreams may not be yours.

My hopes may not be yours.

My prayers may not be yours.

But my love is yours - never changing, never based on what you do rather based on who you are - my child - forever and always.

My time is yours - to fill with your stories and your excitement and your pride and your heartaches and your disappointments.......I will listen to it all - forever and always.

My home is yours - for growing up in, decorating, running about in, living in and in the future for visits and stays, a safe place to come home to - forever and always.

My arms are yours - for late night cuddles, early morning snuggles, for soothing hurts and calming fears, for one day welcoming your love and then your little loves, they will be waiting to be filled - forever and always.

For when you were born, my loves.............my life got bigger.

My heart got bigger.

My dreams got bigger.

My hopes got bigger.

My life got bigger.

YOU are my adventure.

And as I watch you grow and love and live........I see glimpses of  YOUR adventure.

I see beauty that finds adventure in the pages of a book, in the helping and loving others.  I see you come alive when you are learning and then teaching.  I see the grace and poise you exhibit in so many situations.  I see how you have awaken to who you are and that your adventure is more of a quiet sort but no less of an adventure.  You dance and glide across a stage, silent but beautiful as you perform in front of so many.   You live, at times, this secret life where you thoughts are hidden and your desires are written...........until you find a quiet time, a safe person, a trusted friend........oh and then the words don't stop and once again it is beauty that pours forth in the guise of silliness and dreams and insight and more.  I love that you choose well and choose with care who you share your heart with.

How my heart swells to see you living a life of adventure - not my adventure but yours.

I am so proud of you, the one I call my HEART.

I see my rough and tumble, always moving, always wanting more and impatient for the next thing boy............you are a bit more obvious in your adventures, my love.  You careen down steep hills, wrestle with friends, tackle your momma and will sacrifice life and limb to block any soccer goal.  It seems soccer is, indeed, a contact sport when you play.  You run head first into life - sometimes thinking, sometimes not.  And yet........you have quiet moments of hearing from God and have a depth of insight that belies the rough and tumble boy you present to the world.  You are attentive and have a respect for those you trust, those in authority.  You are a perfectionist.  What an anomaly you are, my love.............I can't wait to see what it is you do in life.

And how my heart swells to see you living a life of adventure - not my adventure but yours.

I am so proud of you, the one I call my JOY.

And oh my...............that last.  The last, hip-shaking, Jersey-accented, LOOK AT ME, comfort-seeking, always messy, crazy girl.  You have never met a mirror you didn't love.  You sit at my vanity and peer into it, singing and posing and applying whatever it is you can find.  And when you apply make-up or nail polish or glitter or paint or accessories your motto is MORE IS BETTER.  You make us laugh, my love.  You make us shake our heads in wonder.  You make us crazy.  For you are a feeler - everything is FELT and it's felt in a BIG way.  Whether that emotion is love or sadness or hurt or disappointment or joy or excitement.  It's go big or go home with you.

And how my heart swells to see you living a life of adventure - not my adventure but yours.

I am so proud of you, the one I call my ADVENTURE.


So know, my loves, whatever it is you choose to do, whatever adventure you choose.......

My love, my time, my home, my arms..............

They are yours.

But your life?

Well..............it's a choose your OWN adventure kind of story.

I love you.

For Chris.....

For every dreamer...................there is a dream maker.

You know who you are...........

The ones that listen.

The ones that know.

The ones that plan.

The ones that are on alert.

For every dreamer has the ONE that makes it happen.

And yes.

There is a GOD.

And yes.

GOD loves.

GOD plants the seed.

GOD inspires.

GOD believes.

But the dream maker.......well, they LOVE the dreamer.

They SEE the dreamer and their passion is the dreamer.

They are the ones that take care of the kids as the dreamer goes out and does their thing.

They are the one that gives the space to the dreamer.

They are the one that is steady to the dreamer's sporadic.

They are the one that sees with God's eyes.

They see their Love.

They support their Love.

They aren't starry-eyed, they are realist and they realize that they are in love with the dreamer.

And so they dream, too.

And maybe it's reluctantly and with dragging feet and rolled eyes.

But make no mistake............

The dreamer CANNOT happen without the dream maker.

Thank you.

Thank you to all the dream makers out there.

Thank you for LOVING.

Thank you for recognizing BEAUTY.

Thank you for your SERVANTHOOD.

Thank you for loving our children.

Thank you for loving US.

Thank you for making things happen.

For every dreamer needs a dream maker.

Thank you, Chris.

The IF Gathering couldn't have happened without you.

Without you first saying YES to your dreamer.