This Crazy World

I watch her run out of the car each morning - hair flying, backpack bouncing.  I call out to her, "See you!  Would always want to be you!"  She turns back, huge grin, and says, "I wouldn't want to be you!"  I laugh.

Of course not.

She can only be uniquely HER.  Black shorts, worn t-shirt, messy hair but she doesn't care.   She knows her beauty.

I watch her run around the corner to the school and I sit for just a moment, in awe.  I'm in awe of this girl who loves freely and only expects the best of people.  I'm in awe of her enthusiasm and certainty of her place in this crazy world. 



I watch him walk into the building - slow and steady, never too eager or too excited but he keeps on walking.  I wait a moment longer than perhaps I should.  I wonder.....will he have fun?  Will he find friends?  Will he be ok?

I hold my breath......this one a bit more complicated than the last. 

He's proud and cautious, careful with his words and actions.  He's a fierce competitor and doesn't often allow for mistakes - his own or others.  But oh how he makes me laugh and how my heart swells when he discusses with us his feelings, his day, his observations about life. 

I watch him disappear into the doors and I sit for just a moment, in awe.  I'm in awe of this boy who willing walks into the unknown and only expects the best of himself.  I'm in awe of his awareness of who he is and who he isn't as he navigates his place in this crazy world.



I watch her walk onstage - poised and graceful in her black leotard and pink tights.   Her smile is easy and her steps assured.  This usually shy and mostly quiet girl comes alive with feet encased in pointe shoes and a light shining her way.  My eyes follow her every practiced move.

I cry.  I always do.   

She's beauty and freedom as she dances across the stage. 

I watch her dance and I sit for just a moment, in awe.  I'm in awe of this girl who finds peace on a stage in front of so many.   I'm in awe of the respect that she garners from so many through her willingness to work hard and always, always choosing kindness.  She's one to watch, this girl of ours, as she dances through this crazy world.



And with the not so little ones gone, I walk into my own building.....always finishing a call with a friend.  A way to start the day with a smile and most often a laugh.  I call out a hello to Nancy and make my way up the stairs. 

It's a new day......in so many ways. 

And I can't help but wonder.......what does He see?

I sit for just a moment and let His awe and wonder wash over me.  His approval chasing away my fear and doubts.  His love gently covering over my hurt and wounds.  His grace uncovering the age old lies that creep in and I let His truth settle upon my heart.  And I begin to see myself as He sees me - a beloved daughter walking, running and dancing through this crazy world.


As you walk in to buildings, schools and homes.......sometimes dancing, sometimes running or walking slowly towards the life you lead........allow for a moment to sit in awe.  In awe of the One who created you, who loves you, who watches you each moment of the day.  Allow yourself to be seen, to be known by the One who loves you best, who sees in you strength and beauty, courage and tenacity, perseverance and faithfulness as you make your way in this crazy world.

I Know

I know.

I know who.

I know who I......AM.

I am the little girl who dreamed of becoming the first woman president; reading books of Geraldine Ferraro and passionately advocating for women everything.

I am the little girl grown who fell in love - not only with the little boy grown - but with the idea of marriage and babies and lifelong love.

I am the grown girl with a shattered heart, broken into a million pieces only to be gathered up and stitched together to beat stronger and louder than before. 

I am the grown up girl finding her voice - away from what she's known and who she's been - becoming her own.

I am the young woman falling in love with life, with love, with herself - running free and imagining a life lived, children loved, ideas free-flowing and space to run.

I am the wife learning to love another - one who is different, one who is challenge and encouragement and love unconditional all in one......learning and loving, two in one.

I am the mom who discovers depth and freedom and heartache and mourning all in the space of one cry - the tears of the mother and the child running together in the dark of night leading to the joy of the morning.

I am the woman who stands and shouts and cries out for FREEDOM AND LOVE for all - the empowered woman who discovers SHE CAN.

And then..............I stumble.  I fall.  And that woman, that mom, that wife, that young woman, that grown up girl, that grown girl, that little girl grown, that little girl..........she stops.

She stops loving freely.

She stops discovering.

She stops dreaming.

She stops running.

She stops learning.

She stops thinking SHE CAN.

She stops.

And ever so gently He comes.

He kneels down.

He lifts her up in His arms and He carries her.

His love for her is almost painful as it touches the wounds and the pain and the scars that she carries with her.  Her shattered heart has become used to the fear and the shame and guilt that have become friends to her along the way. 

And yet......He is stronger.

He carries her a bit farther along and she begins to talk and dream - finding her voice, finding her first loves recognizing the ones who are with her and for her and she begins to cry out in her excitement for FREEDOM and LOVE for all and what about this and that and the other things and what if we could do this and what if this were possible and what if this could happen......do you think? 

And before she even realizes she's off and running once more...........this little girl grown.

Her Father?

He shakes His head and wonders at His creation. 

His approval and love always there should she stumble and fall again.

The Child

The child ran through the park - moving from swings to slide to monkey bars.  The sun was shining, the sky was blue.  It was the type of day that only exists in childhood memories.

A shot ripped through the perfect canvas of that day.

The child froze. 

Another shot.

The adults came running.

Another shot.

They checked the child.

No physical harm had been done.

Where were the shots coming from?

The adults ran throughout the park, trying to identify and isolate the cause of the shots.  The child remained rooted in one spot.  Each adult would return to the child to check in, to reassure, to hold onto.......more for themselves than for the child.  Then back out they would go.

As the sun began to lower in the sky the adults returned - one by one - to gather around the child.  Out of their fear, they began to argue.  Their shouts filled the park and rose above the child.  Their protective circle turning into boxing ring where they began to throw punches with their words, turning on one another rather than towards one another.

Blame was cast everywhere - the hope being that it would land furtherest from where they were standing.  Anywhere but upon themselves. 

On and on it raged while the child cowered below them.

The arguing continued for quite some time. 

And then..........there appeared a man. 

He weaved his way through the angry adults who by now had organized and had picket signs and the media had come and was filming the adults as they shouted and protested and argued with one another.  He seemed to create space all around him as he moved that allowed him to find the child in the midst of all the anger, fear and confusion.  He knelt down next to the child and drew a tic tac toe board and a big "X" in the middle square.  This man was kind but he was not dumb, he knew the best place to start.

The child looked up and grinned.  He knew this game.  He drew an "O" in the top left corner.  The man drew an "X" at the top in the middle.  The child drew an "O" in the bottom middle in order to stop the man from winning.............but then the man drew an "X" in the top right corner.  Victory was his.

They played again and again while the adults continued to shout and rage.  Each time the man won the game.  Soon the child became bored of the game and looked at the man with questioning eyes.  The man simply nodded.  He turned to write a few words in the ground with his finger, then he grabbed the child's hand and led him through the crowd until they were free of the throng of people.

It had turned dark by now and so the man turned towards the child and offered him his hand, beckoning him to follow him.  The child grabbed ahold of the man's hand and allowed him to be led towards the lights at the far end of the park.  There beneath the lights the man and the child sat on the swings - seeing who could go higher, who could twist the most times and taking turns pushing one another when their legs grew tired from pumping. 

The shouts and the anger born out of fear seemed to grow more and more distant as the man and the child played.  The child began to tell the man about his family, his life, his school.  The man just listened.  The more quiet the man was, the more animated the child.  Soon he began to share his own fears and worries........and the man listened.  It seemed that no matter what the child said there was no reaction from the man.  He just continued to listen. 

Then another child appeared.

And another.

And another.

And another.

They began to swing and play and have contests.  There was a bit of fighting for attention, fighting for swings, fighting for "the win" but eventually it would get sorted out in the presence of the man who listened and loved well. 

The children began to tire and yawns began to multiply and soon it was time to leave............but there appeared one more child.

The child's head drooped down, their chin touching their chest.  Big tears dropped from their face and yet this child's fist was clenched and when they raised their head, their eyes burned in their face.  There was such rage in those eyes. 

The child's other hand held a gun.

The children froze.

The man stepped forward, shielding the children.  Slowly but without hesitation - his eyes filled with love and his arms open wide - he walked towards the child.............








 

The Bricklayer

The bricklayer shaded his eyes and looked up at the sun.  The temperature continued to rise.  He should have started his work earlier but there were too many things to move - all the possessions he had collected over the years had taken longer to move than he had expected.  

He had started early in the morning and moved his treasures to just outside the city limits.  He stacked them carefully, one on top of the other.  He lovingly wiped off every speck of dust, polished every surface and placed each thing just so.  They would finally be safe.

He got to work.....one brick at a time.

He had spent his life laying brick and could work quickly.  This would be his final job, the pinnacle of his life as a bricklayer.  He was building a tower which would hold him and all his possessions.  He laid each brick with conviction - conviction that he was a success, that he was right, that he would be safe, that.......well, that he was better.

"Whatcha doin', mister?"

Huh?  Who was that?  The bricklayer looked down.  There stood a small boy with dirt on his face and a worn out teddy bear with one eye dangling from his hands. 

"I'm building a tower."

"Whatcha doin' that for?", he asked as he wiped his nose with the back of the hand not holding the teddy bear.

"Kid.  You need to go home.  It's not safe here and it's hot and I need to get this done today.  Go."  That's the problem with the world today....no one taking care of these kids.  Where are this kid's parents?  Who would let him out on this hot day by himself and without any water........HMMPH.

The bricklayer grabbed a bottle of water from his cooler, took a long drink and got back to work.  Just a little while longer now and his tower would be built and he would be safe and his treasures would be safe.

"Hey mister.  I got something for you."

Not again.  Sigh.  The bricklayer looked down.  Both of the boy's hands were now filled - one with the sad-looking teddy bear and the other with a raggedy-looking bouquet of dandelions.  "Kid.  I told you.  GO HOME."

"I just thought you might like these for your fancy dinner table you have in that tower.  It looks kind of empty.....kind of, I don't know.....plain?"

"Sure, kid.  Dandelions.  That's what I need on my table.  Thanks.  Now go on.  Get out of here."  The bricklayer tossed the flowers aside as the boy turned his back and wiped an invisible speck of dirt off of his prized-possession - the Tufft Table.  No dandelions would grace this fine table.  Kids nowadays have no respect, no appreciation for beauty.  He walked back to his work, stepping on the dandelions in his eagerness to get finish his tasks for the day.

Brick after brick was laid.

The tower grew higher as the sun sank lower.  

The bricklayer arched his back and wiped his brow as he stepped back to take a look at his work.

Just another layer and he would be done.  

"Hey, mister.  Looks like you're almost done.......wanna play?"

The bricklayer looked down once more and once more the small boy was back with both hands filled - one with the teddy bear, the other filled with small rocks.

"We can play tic tac toe or throw these to see how far they can go.....there's lots you can do with rocks......so you wanna play after you're done?"

Sigh.  This.  This is what drove the bricklayer to build this tower.  Isn't this kid supposed to be in school?  Where are the parents?  What are these schools doing, anyway? All this kid wants to do is goof around.....hasn't anyone taught his to work or to not talk to strangers?  It's all seemed to be getting out of control and the only thing he could do is to protect what he had.  Once more he waved the boy away and kept building.

The last brick was held in place.  His task was accomplished.  He pulled the cigar out that he bought  the day he started as a bricklayer.  He had dreams even back then  - dreams of proving that he could, he would and now he did.  He had saved it for the day he would lay his last brick and today was that day.      

He allowed himself a moment to sit back and look upon all the accomplishments of his life - all that he had built, all that he had become.  He struck a match and held it to his cigar.   He flicked the burning match to the ground and was about to stamp it out when the flame caught on a dry leaf and then another and another - the heat of the day making everything so very dry....the flames made their way to the tower.  He scrambled from his sitting position but it had been a long day and the bricklayer was older now, his reflexes not so quick.....

The tower door was open......and it seemed to take but a moment.

His brick tower had become a brick oven.......what was meant to keep out, also kept in.

There was nothing to do but to watch his life's work go up in flames.  

He sat back down, tears streaming down his face making tracks in the dirt on his cheeks.  He looked around just wanting to throw something, to hit something, for somewhere to place his rage and anger and sadness and frustration......he scrambled to grab as many rocks as he could to fling at that tower.

"Hey mister. You ok?"

He looked into the eyes of the dirty-faced boy with a hand full of rocks and a teddy bear dangling from the other.

It was as if he was looking in a mirror........a mirror to the past.  And he remembered.  He remembered being that kid.  He remembered the yearning, the discarded gifts, the lonely days, being made to feel small and insignificant.  He remembered that day......buying that cigar and burying that boy deep inside.   That day he became the bricklayer.

He lowered his hand that was full of rocks and wiped the tears from his face.

And as the flames continued to burn and the sun sank in the sky, he asked the small boy:

"Do you want to learn how to build?  I used to do this all the time when I was a kid."

And so by the light of all his possessions the bricklayer and the boy began to build castles and towers as they created a whole other world with their rocks.......just as the bricklayer had done so many times as a small boy.

Only this time he was not alone.

Two Sides of a Coin

I used to be THAT teacher.......

The one who brushed the knotted hair in the morning, putting in a ponytail or simply letting it lay flat.

The one who sighed over missed homework, unsigned papers and full bookbags.

The one who brought in extra snacks and even extra clothes at times.

The one who gave big hugs and sneaked in a kiss on the head.

The one who reassured parents that it would be OKAY......don't worry quite so much.

The one who came early and left late.

The one who always brought her students home with her - telling stories and hurting for them, loving them and praying for them.

The one who saw the ones left out, the ones taking over, the ones who needed extra love, the ornery ones, the I WANT TO DO EVERYTHING PERFECT ones, the hurt ones, the needy ones, the better keep an eye on them ones.

The one who planned and prepped and graded and researched and created.

And now, well, I am THAT parent........

The one who sends the child in with knotted hair.

The one who misses homework and loses permission slips.

The one forgets a snack for testing day.

The one who trusts the teacher to love her children well while they are away from her.

The one who worries that is SO WON'T BE OKAY.

The one who rises with the kids just in time to get them to school fully clothed and fed....sometimes rushing to get there at the last minute.

The one who has 3 students and no more - asking about their favorite part of the day.

The one who tells her children to look for the ones left out, the ones taking over, the ones who needed extra love, the ornery ones, the I WANT TO DO EVERYTHING PERFECT ones, the hurt ones, the needy ones, the better keep an eye on them ones.

The one who leaves the planning and prep and grading and research and creating to the professionals.

The one who is so thankful for ALL THE ONES who through the years have filled in the gaps, who have wiped away tears, who saw in my little ones kindness and generosity, intrinsic motivation and intelligence, love and bravery, confidence and care when all I could see was my own fear that perhaps they were NOT OK.

Mrs. B.  Mrs. Frantum.  Mrs. Case.  Miss D.  Mrs. Cook.  Mrs. Mongiardo.  Mrs. Mitchell.  Mr. Frederick.  Mrs. Roth. Mrs. Burchfield.

Thank you.

You are so much more than just teachers.

You are our gap-fillers and dream makers, identity shapers and every day protectors.

My Unexpected Dreamer

I saw you today - singing, a look of pure joy and love on your face.

Oh my.  You are so beautiful.

Truly.

It occurred to me today that you are my dreamer.

The one that sees things as better, brighter, more beautiful than they might be at the time.  Yes, you are practical and sensible and a rule follower like daddy but you, my darling, are a dreamer, too.  I see it when you dance, when you sing, when you sigh big sighs because your heart is full.

I see it in how you are always encouraging us to love others and in how you love us so well.

I've seen you wrap yourself in a blanket on the couch and scrawl private words into journals, notebooks and on scraps of paper.  You pour your heart out through your written words and actions.  You love and dreams seep into our every day and we are so lucky to know you and have you in our lives.

I see glimpses every day of who you are becoming.

I am unbelievably proud and astonished and in awe of who you are becoming.

It is such a privilege that for this time, for these years that I get a front row seat to all that you are and all that you are becoming.

In you I see glimpses of me, glimpses of daddy but so much more than that I see glimpses of Him.

I see your care for others.

I see the genuine joy that is derived from walking in step with someone, leading them but leading them in a way that empowers them to be successful in their own right.

I see kindness.

I see gratitude.

I see beauty.

I see precision.

I see an desire for excellence that comes not from ambition or recognition but that comes from genuinely desiring to do the best you can.

I see poetry and dreams and that you are so good with words, in all ways.

I see that you are careful without being scared.

I see wisdom.

I see silliness.

I see respect.

I see so much in you and for you as you grow even more into who He created you to be.

Today I am so grateful for the glimpses that I get of you.

And well..........as for me?  My dreams?

There are many but you, in so many ways, have been a dream come true for me.

You continue to be my heart.

But now I know that it's not a heart to be broken nor to be tossed about or weakened.

You are my strong and steady and sure heart.

I love you Fia.

14 Hours

14 hours ago I sat on a darkened porch lit by white lights and lamps............there was praise music playing and the atmosphere was one of peace and joy and God present.

14 hours ago I scrawled colorful words on a canvas that spoke of a good and gracious and loving God.  Words that pointed me to Him and reminded me that He is FOR me and WITH me.

14 hours ago I was with God and with others as we sang and prayed and laughed and talked on a rainy night while our children slept.

14 hours ago I was restored and ready and knew that compassion and love and mercy and forgiveness and grace was mine.

That was 14 hours ago.

Then I came home.

And I remembered that the next day was picture day.

But, listen, I was RESTORED, people.  I was filled and I felt at peace.

Yes, I came home and there were no lunches packed and clothes weren't laid out and folders not gathered and, yes, the eldest needed to take a shower in the morning but NO MATTER.  It could be done tomorrow.  For God is good and gracious and compassionate and loving and I can reflect that in my life especially to my darling children.

It's like I completely forgot every other picture day EVER.  It's as if I forgot who I was.

Fast forward to this morning.

7:30am:  I arise refreshed and looking beautiful (It's my story, it can go however I want it to.) I float out to the living room as if walking on clouds and carrying sunshine with me.  Nico is perched on the couch covered in a blanket and playing on the Kindle.  Girls are still asleep.

7:40am:  My coffee is made and pancakes are cooking.  I begin to make lunches and gather folders - still in the fog of goodness from last night, confident that this day will be a beautiful one.  Francesca comes out, mumbling and whining, as she grabs me around the waist.

7:50am:  Fia comes out and we sit down to eat breakfast.  The pancakes are hot and fluffy and delicious.  The day is still on track.  We talk about the day ahead, everyone is pleasant.

7:55am:  The first crack appears.  I look over at my eldest.  The need for a shower is real.  I say you have to get a shower as soon as you are done eating.  "WHY?!?"  This is always the most ridiculous question to me.  Why?  Why do you have to clean your body?  Why?  It's PICTURE DAY.  "So?" she says.  Your hair is greasy I reply.  Nico agrees and to prove his point reaches out and touches it.  The compassion is waning all around the table......................

7:56am: Fia begins to chew her pancakes VERY SLOWLY.  She knows all the passive-aggressive moves.  I tell her she better get chewing and get in that shower NOW.

7:59am:  Fia is in the shower and now it's time to tackle the outfits.  I start out confident.  we have eaten, folders are ready, lunches halfway packed and we still have about 55 minutes til we have to leave.  WE GOT THIS.

8:04am:  WHY DO NONE OF THESE CLOTHES MATCH?!?!  WHERE ARE ALL THE CUTE OUTFITS THEY WORE THE FIRST 3 WEEKS OF SCHOOL?!?!  Clothes are all over the floor.  Nico is sitting on his bed REFUSING to wear the one pair of non-athletic shorts he has and now it is a thing and this is a thing that I WILL WIN.    "I AM NOT GOING TO SCHOOL."  Ok, I say.  Fine with me.  "I AM NOT LEAVING THIS BED.  I AM GOING TO SIT HERE."  Ok.  Fine with me.

8:10am:  I find a dress for Francesca.  It looks adorable.  She hates it.  I give in on this one because it's pretty fluffy and fancy and I get it.  I pick out another one that's sparkly and pink and has comfy material and looks awesome.  Plus she can wear her new dark pink sweater with it.  She looks beautiful.  EXCEPT FOR ALL THE TEARS AND SNOT STREAMING DOWN HER FACE.  "WHY DO I HAVE TO WEAR THIS?  It's TOO fancy!  I DON'T WANT TO WEAR THIS.  MOM.  MOM."  Then from Nico in the other room "Just sit on your bed and refuse to go to school, Francesca."

8:11am:  Francesca is still crying and screaming.  Nico is sitting on his bed.  Fia gets out of the shower and is standing there dripping wet.  There is still no outfit picked out for her.

8:12am:  You are both going to wear those clothes.  If you choose to stay home THAT IS FINE BY ME.  ONE DAY A YEAR I ASK YOU TO WEAR SOMETHING NICE.  The compassion is gone.

8:13am:  FRANCESCA YOU NEED TO STOP CRYING.  YOU CAN, TOO, RUN IN THAT.  NO IT IS NOT TOO SMALL OR TIGHT.  YOU LOOK BEAUTIFUL.  The calm and patient voice is gone.

8:14am:  WELL, FRANCESCA IF YOU KEEP CRYING THEN YOU CAN JUST VOMIT ALL OVER YOUR DRESS AND THEN YOU WON'T HAVE TO WEAR IT.

8:15am:  Nico decides to just wear the shorts and an Ohio State jersey.  He decides it's not too bad.  The kid is smart.  He knows when the ship is going down.

8:20am:  Francesca is more resilient and keeps up the crying and snot.  I ask her ever so politely to leave the room because I CANNOT TAKE ONE MORE MINUTE.  I offer her the space of my room and ask her to SHUT THE DOOR.  She leaves.

8:23am:  We have 20 minutes til we have to leave.  Lunches aren't all the way packed.  Fia is still not dressed with hair wet and Francesca is a screaming basket case.

8:26am:  We pick out an outfit for Fia.  It's wrinkled beyond belief.  Out comes the iron.  I realize Francesca's sweater is a bit wrinkled and so I enter into the room of sadness and despair to get the sweater.

8:29am:  She is still crying.  To which I responded with compassion and goodness and mercy and kindness and said FINE.  FINE.  YOU WANT TO WEAR SOME WRINKLED, STAINED, NOT MATCHING OUTFIT.  FINE.  LET'S GO.  She nods her head.  I go to her room and throw out two random pieces of clothing and say HERE.  HERE.  WEAR THIS.  YOU CAN SHOW ALL YOUR PICTURES TO EVERYONE WITH THIS OUTFIT.  At this point Francesca's eyes are opened to the fact that mama HAS LOST IT.  She thinks that she will just wear the outfit she has on and take clothes to change into.

8:35am:  Ironing a sweater, dress and jean shirt.  Nico tells everyone to get in the car, he's ready.  How quickly he moved from the bed to getting into the car.  If you have ever met his teacher Miss D you might understand the motivation.  I don't think she has ever spoken above a whisper yet maintains complete authority.  I imagine she is looking pretty good to Nico at this point.

8:40am:  The girls are almost all dressed...........and now shoes.  OH MY WORD.  SHOES.  It's tennis shoes every day for my girls.  PLEASE LORD IN HEAVEN LET THIS NOT BE A BATTLE, TOO.

8:43am:  Apparently the crazy had hit a level that they were not willing to push.  Out came wedding shoes with tennis shoes and socks packed for later.

8:45am:  Fia's hair is still wet and lunches need to be finished.  We have to leave in 10 minutes.  WE CAN DO IT.

8:53am:  WE ARE OUT THE DOOR.  Everyone looks amazing.  Hair is shining, clothes unwrinkled, THE CLOTHES MATCH, Francesca's eyes have died down to a slight pink rather than angry red, we survived.

8:54am:  Everyone is buckled.  The radio is turned on and "Because I"m happy, clap along if you feel like a room without a roof, Because I'm happy, clap along if you feel like happiness is the truth, Because I'm happy clap along if you know what happiness is to you.............."  And we clap and sing and dance and smile and jam.

14 hours later I sit in a van..............with praise music playing and the atmosphere one of having survived and joy and God present.

14 hours later we sing loud and sigh with relief over getting through the morning and I apologize and we laugh.  And I am reminded that we are FAMILY - FOR each other and WITH each other.

14 hours later the van is filled with screaming as we pull in and Fia says SEE MOM not everyone is dressed and I scream and make exaggerated sounds of horror as I imagine a whole slew of kids showing up not dressed and everyone dissolves into giggles and shouts.

14 hours later I am restored and ready and KNOW compassion and love and mercy and forgiveness and grace is mine.