When my son Kyle was in kindergarten, I eagerly arranged to share the mommy-chauffeur load with a family down the street. All was well for about six months and then the sabotage began.
It started with a beautiful girl. Doesn’t It always start with a beautiful girl? Little Sofia was glorious. She had long raven locks and a tiny button nose. Even more importantly, she played a mean game of hand-ball. Kyle fell head over heels in love with her.
Unfortunately, our carpool buddy, Christopher, was also smitten with Sofia. And so the war began to fight for the damsel’s affection.
It seemed for a time, Kyle had the upper hand, untill one day, right around Valentines and coinciding with a fancy bracelet adorning Sofia’s arm, Christopher gained her favor. Kyle was bent on revenge.
The next Monday, as I strapped Christopher into his booster seat, I struggled with the buckle. For the life of me, I couldn’t get it to click. Studying the lock more intently I saw something or lots of somethings were jamming it.
One by one, I pulled out french-fries from the buckle insert. Kyle laughed in glee and I knew who the culprit was. After three days of fries mysteriously appearing in the lock, Christopher’s mom was so ticked off she not only refused to let her son in the car, but Kyle and I were mocked by all the kindergarten mom’s as difficult to carpool with.
Almost ten years later, still stinging from kindergarten wounds, I decided to try again. One week in, I lost a kid.
Not dead lost. Lost lost. I couldn’t find the kid in our carpool meet-up area after school.
I found my daughter Faith and her friend Alexa, but the boy was MIA.
We drove up and down the road home. It was the longest two miles of my life and I did it four times. I called his mom(who didn’t answer) and banged on his door (no one home) and besieged the neighbors to help.
I dreaded facing his mom. What the heck would I tell her?
Finally, my neighbor called with the news. The young man had gone home with a friend and forgot to tell anyone
Carpool doesn’t like me. Then again, maybe I just need some french-fries for the boy’s seat?
“What are we going to quit this Thursday?” I posed to my girlfriends as we lingered over a late lunch after church at our favorite Mexican restaurant.
The speaker on Sunday morning, Bob Goff, ignited the church with his infectious love and zeal for people, and had us all thinking about the lack of margin in our lives. We sat and reflected on what we needed to be let go of so we could more available to engage in loving relationships.
My dear friend leaned back in her chair and said, “I need to stop swearing. It’s not what I want to model for my kids.”
And her words startled me because I realized how not that long ago this was a HUGE issue for me.
But without even realizing it, my desire to verbally scrape the filth off the bathroom floor has disappeared.
How did that happen?
It’s certainly not because I’m more Christ-like, although I give it my best shot every day. I look in the mirror and the same old redeemed sinner stares back at me.
But In a moment of clarity I grasped why I’m now different in this area and how I inadvertently gained victory over my covert potty mouth.
I think it’s because I’ve made a HUGE effort to cut out the life draining activities and toxic relationships which perpetually keep me on the edge of an F-bomb leaking out.
If I’m honest, I was so overwhelmed with life (for a time) with the third baby, church plant, being the pastor’s wife, and juggling three jobs that resentment and bitterness were slowly brewing in my belly into a pity party of vulgarity.
Even if I didn’t say the bad word (good pastor’s wife that I am), I was probably thinking it.
But when I made some major life overhauls, thanks to my cranky heart –contentment and MARGIN started to fill in the cess-pool of obscenities. I still don’t know whether to laugh or cry at my heart condition, but more often than not, lately it seems like it might be a hidden blessing.
Now, don’t get me wrong, some people will always be jackholes and I have no qualms about calling them out, but there has been a massive shift in my verbal paradigm and for that I am eternally grateful.
At least my kids won’t remember me as Sailor Sam.
As for me, the thing I want to quit is being afraid. I have a laundry list of fears swirling around finances, my parent’s health, and my kid’s growing up able-bodied and sound; all of which give me chest pain if I dwell on them too long.
So, in light of the magnanimous Bob Goff (author of Love Does), I want to ask you…
What do you need to quit doing to make room in your life for love?
(And no, I wasn’t dying of hunger or thirst or anything remotely stomach related.)
But I was sitting at a red light in my Nissan Xterra, snarfing down a chicken burrito before I turned onto Juanipero Serra to help feed the hordes of J Serra football player’s lunch during hell week.
My car was perched on the freeway off-ramp and visibility limited to the left by the large stone structure of the overpass.
The light turned green and I started to pull out, but just as I hit the gas a large chunk of chicken accompanied by gooey sauce and lettuce launched into my lap. I checked my mirror, realized no one was behind me and paused to scrape sour cream off my thigh.
Defining Moments
And in that split second of hesitation I heard a roar.
A heavy-duty pick-up truck came barreling through the intersection running two back to back red lights and screeched by in front of me.
I gulped and whispered a prayer of thanks –tears and adrenaline spilling out of me.
I would have been a sitting duck and the truck would have hit me dead on the driver’s side of my vehicle.
I like to think Jesus, or a big awesome angel, flicked my chunk of chicken at just the right moment.
Annoyance or Mercy?
And it reminds me that sometimes those little annoying moments are really God’s grace and lavish love.
How often do we get in such a frenzy of emotion that we don’t recognize the financial hardship, or health issue, or even tension in our relationships as a red-flag from the one above?
Instead, we go barreling into the intersection to certain doom and fail to stop, pause, and address the spilled burrito of our life lying in pieces in our lap.
I’m so grateful today for that messy burrito and the hot sauce I squirted all over my wheel.
Where do you need to pause and let God speak to you?
Every morning my son Kyle wakes up at the crack of dawn and stretches for thirty minutes. He also puts in another thirty before bedtime. He does this on top of six to eight hours of daily football practice. So why is my thirteen year-old such a masochist?
It’s might be because my studly boy is determined to play college ball and he knows that in football being inflexible is a deal-breaker.
Now my son takes after my side of the family, the non-Gumby side. My husband jokes I am about as flexible as a two-by-four. So, Kyle doesn’t come by this naturally, it’s a painful and labororious process.
Gumby or Two-By-Four?
I too am getting stretched metaphorically. In the last week, Tim and I submitted a book proposal, which means Tim talks and I write my behind off to catch his brilliance…and then add some thoughts of my own. I also built a website to go along with our book.
(more details to come)
So the writing part wasn’t a big stretch for me, but writing with my husband was! We had to listen and listen some more, and compromise and get endlessly edited and it was hard and wonderful and a true growing experience for our marriage.
There were moments I wanted to punch him and better moments where I was floored at his insight.
And then there was the website construction itself. If you look deep inside my eyes today you might see HTML. Yes, I’ve been that obsessed.
I, Sam, book smart and wordy but often totally clueless, I actually built a website! Are you as astonished as I am?
When I initially set up my blog Scrappy Sam, I blundered through the free WordPress mumbo-jumbo and then when I eventually had to move to a self-hosted version, I paid a web expert to set me up.
This time I paid me.
It feels like I put the big girl panties on, developed some brain muscle and even grew a few inches.
Me. Wow. I can’t believe it. I set up a stinking website with e-commerce, bought and transfered a domain, with video capability, widgets, plug-ins, customized a theme, header and logo.
I’ve been obsessed with both these projects to the detriment of my home, floor, figure and fridge -but gosh darn it I did it!
(I did manage to feed my family and take baby to the pool most days, though we might have watched a lot of Mickey Mouse this week)
Sometimes it feels so good to do something new and big and challenging. And even though my yoga mat was neglected, Kyle and I are on on the same wave-length. God is bending and stretching our muscles and we are growing and developing into the people we long to be.
I expected to see thousands of screaming doe-eyed girls, long lines and expensive parking (a whopping $20) at the boy band concert I sold both my arms and legs to attend with my daughter Faith last night. I knew I would be deaf by the time I drove home, cringe at the over-priced Diet Coke and delight in my little girl swooning over Harry Styles.
I brought an Advil for the headache I anticipated and psyched myself up to be the cool mom for one evening –difficult for me at best.
I laughed at the banners –“Snog Me Harry” and the glittery t-shirts saying “Mrs. Nials to-be.” One clever girl threw a walkie-talkie on stage and got the band to chat with her.
I planned and expected many things for our girl’s night out, but the one thing I didn’t expect to encounter was a strong brush with humility –from the band One Direction of all places.
And even this morning it lingers.
One Direction –the boy band de jour –was surprisingly, one of the more grateful groups of young men I’ve seen in a very long time.
These boys don’t take their success lightly. They weren’t ego-maniacs despite their Beatles-like power to hypnotize little girls. Even while panties and bras were flying on to the stage –they laughed and poked and teased each other with sweet self-deprecation.
And fortunately for all of us parents who chaperoned –these lads had pipes and could dance and wail and brilliantly light up the stage.
But most importantly –they thanked the crowd no fewer than thirty times. Each young man (five in all) took multiple opportunities to dote on their fans, appreciate their fans, encourage, affirm and edify their fans…over and over and over.
In a world of people pushing and striving for the spotlight, it was deeply refreshing to see rock stars who willingly give it away.
And their startling humility made an impact and made me think about my own personal thank-o-meter.
Do I thank people enough?
Probably not.
Maybe it’s time for a tune-up. The truth is I want my life to be less about me and more about others. I want to diminish (my ego) to allow others to flourish. I want to be thankful for every friend, fan, like and reader.
I want it to be less about me and more about you.
So, here we go.
Thank you. Thank you for reading the words I write. Thank you for giving me a chance to pursue my dreams. Thank you for commenting and loving and encouraging me on the overwhelmed days, the achy heart days and all of the ordinary underwhelming days.
Thank you. Thank you. Thank you!
I think One Direction has really figured out the “One Thing” –HUMILITY.
Do you have someone in your life you need to thank today?
“OK Kolby, what does daddy for a job?” I asked my two-year old in an attempt to teach her some basic family information.
“Ummmm…daddy make pants!” Kolby replied earnestly.
“Close sweetie! Daddy’s a pastor.”
“Dat’s wright. Daddy tells people bout Jesus and he fixes hearts.” Kolby said with a smile that could melt butter.
“Mommy, can Da Da fix Muno’s heart?”
“Of course he can baby!” I ran and got Kolby’s red monster doll –Muno from the series Yo Gabba Gabba and we sat him in front of daddy and I told Tim very firmly he needed to tell Muno about Jesus.
Tim looked at me with mirth, shaking his head and laughing, but he played along with us .
“Muno, Jesus loves you very much,” Tim said in his best pastor voice. “He knows sometimes you bite your friends and it makes him sad. Jesus sacrificed his life for you on the cross because he loves Muno so very much. He wants Muno to live an abundant life and have a strong heart. “
I whispered under my breath, “Abundant…seriously? She’s two.”
Daddy frowned at mommy.
Muno then squeaked out, “I do want to follow you Jesus,” only it sounded a bit like daddy on Nitrous Oxide.
So daddy led Muno through a simple prayer.
Kolby sat quietly the entire time taking it all in. Then she picked up Muno, thanked daddy and fell asleep in my arms shortly thereafter.
I woke up this morning clutching Muno’s hand in mine. Seriously. Maybe the little guy was mourning his life of sin and needed some cuddling.
I rolled over and opened one eye sleepily gazing at my husband. “Hey PANTS-tor…what’s up?”
For the last twenty-one months I have been hustling –writing early in the morning, at lunch, during baby’s nap and at all sorts of odd times. I have been jotting down notes in the car, at church, on scraps of paper and sometimes even tapping away on my iPhone to pen some fabulous tale of awesome I might otherwise forget.
And it’s all been for this day.
Today, I am officially a full-time freelance writer.
I wrote a while back about a big decision we were praying over and how Tim asked for fleece from God and God provided the fleece by miraculously placing a white van on the freeway with a “Got Fleece?” license plate right in front of my car.
God is so stinking creative!
Well, this was the big decision –to go all-out for my dream or stick with the safe and secure route. In all honesty, moving from a full-time steady pay-check to a life of an eccentric beret wearing writer/artist just scraping by didn’t sound too appealing to my husband.
But God provided the fleece.
I secured a couple of steady writing gigs and negotiated a deal to do a little contract work for my tech job.
We won’t starve, although I still may wear the beret and start mumbling in French, and read all of the works by F. Scott Fitzgerald and Hemingway and maybe 50 Shades of Gray (if they offer a PG version).
I am pinching myself this morning and blown away by the grace of God and his mercy.
Sometimes our dreams do come true with plenty of hard work and spit and gumption.
And a loving God who provides the fleece and doors of opportunity no man can shut.
What is your dream job? What can you do today to move towards a career that resonates in your spirit and makes you feel alive?
The other night I spoke to a group of gals at Birthchoice –a nonprofit supporting the parents of unplanned pregnancy. It was the usual crew of girls albeit a few new faces.
The topic was pregnancy and exercise and the level of interest was slim to none. I know not every talk I give will raise the roof, but is a small rumble too much to ask for?
One of the new ladies was either mentally disabled or had fried her neurons from excessive drug use. I was warned by the leader that she had been very disruptive the week before and interrupted the speaker constantly. I prayed for Holy Spirit intervention or at the very least, enough humor to keep it light.
Every few sentences I uttered, the woman chimed in. I found out it was her fourth pregnancy and she walked an hour a day and the names of her kids and a thousand other details all while I was supposed to be speaking.
I kept thinking of Henri Nouwen and the lessons Jesus was trying teach me about compassion and empathy but my frustration level subtly rose notch by notch with every interruption.
I asked the girls a few questions to figure out their lifestyle and discern their difficulties in finding balance between exercise and babies, work and education.
How many of you work? None
How many of you are in school? One
And then I realized how my stupid my questions were and I got pissy and a little defeated. One of the girls had been showing off her hair extensions earlier and when I looked up, she flipped her glorious locks over her shoulder.
I think it’s what set off my internal envy switch.
I am standing up speaking and what’s going through my mind is pure evil…This is so unfair! I want hair extensions for my scrawny tresses but they are too expensive and my kids need new shoes. Some days I want to stay at home and not work two jobs to pay the mortgage and all the sports fees and endless activities for my kids; so what gives you the right to be lazy and Welfared and sooooo relaxed while I have heart palpitations and still take more time out to volunteer and share with you how to exercise when you are going to laugh at me and eat Cheetos anyway and then just have another baby? (was that a run-on sentence or what?)
After an exhausting thirty minutes, I finished up and exited quickly. Normally, I hang out and talk with the girls but I needed to sort out my heart and emotions.
Jesus clearly needed to take the wheel back from Satan.
Here is what I discovered once I calmed down and dug into my crusty soul. Like everything in life, nothing is black and white. I admire these women for choosing life and not aborting. I love them as sisters in Christ and I can champion and promote their desire to overcome adversity and grow into responsible citizens and loving mothers.
But I cannot take on their burden if or when they choose to operate with entitled and lazy behavior, nor will I condone it.
I volunteer and give because God called me to encourage and love these women and it’s possible only a few will hear the message and respond. But even if it’s only one or two or even none, they are precious to God and to me. My agenda is love and to come alongside them -not to fix. And in all honesty, at my worst, I am no different. I too want to be coddled and cared for and take the easy road some days.
But at my best, when someone believed in me –even when I didn’t believe in myself, it allowed me to experience a sliver of hope and to dream of a different and courageous life.
A life where God can take a selfish and self-righteous girl –despite her complete and utter unworthiness, and allow her the grace to grow and minister to other women.
I’m in a wistful mood. Nostalgic. Teary. Reflective.
I lost a loved one today. It makes me want to hold onto my babies a little tighter, linger over beauty a bit longer, and enjoy the blessings I have been entrusted with.
A lovely tableau
Like antiqueing with my husband in Carlsbad on a surprise getaway.
Or snapping this shot of my friend Keri in her Halloween costume. (Seriously, she got this at Target and I am in awe. She looks like a regal princess)
Like finding just the right pumpkin.
Kyle's blowing out his birthday candles
And celebrating the best thirteen years of my life with my cherished boy.
Like stopping on the side of a busy road to smell the flowers and look at a bug.
Or watching a beautiful bride float down the aisle toward her beloved.
And then taking a picture with her so I can remember how much it moved me.
Like my first-baby girl turning into a young-woman, despite me wanting to keep her locked in a castle far away from all the ogres, and dragons and eager suitors.
And I’m not even ready to acknowledge how fast the baby is growing up. (Amazing block skills for a 1 yr old, right?)
And then there is romance.
Like my husband who still courts me, despite the busyness of life.
And my Father in heaven who pursues me with His relentless love.
I have Jesus on speed dial. When a monumental crisis is looming or I need directions for the roadmap of life, I just grab my iPhone and hit God. Generally he answers on the first ring, but sometimes I am put on hold due to turmoil in the Mideast or the occasional tsunami. Fortunately, I have a special ringtone, so he generally gets back to me within five minutes – max.
Yeah right! If only hearing God’s voice was that easy. Though we were initially designed for this type of connection, Adam and Eve, bless their sinful hearts, interrupted our ability to walk side by side in the Garden and hear God call out our name. So, until that glorious day, when we will meet him face to face, we are left with a deep desire within to know our Creator. While this yearning is enough to motivate us into action it is often wrapped in confusion. Does God speak to His people today like he used too in Biblical times? What does his voice sound like? Will I recognize it? And ultimately, how do we pursue something so incredibly elusive?
What we often forget in our eagerness for instant gratification and fast answers is that all relationships take time to develop intimacy. Our ability to discern God’s voice is directly related to the depth of our relationship and the journey we have experienced with our Father. Over time, as our spiritual journey matures, our recognition of the myriad ways God communicates will sharpen. And though we may not be able to hear an audible voice on speaker phone, we can learn to quiet our heart, open our eyes and hear God loud and clear.
When Samuel was a young boy, and God called him out of sleep to give him a message, he did not have the ability to recognize God’s voice and needed Eli’s assistance. But as he grew into a man and eventually into the judge that would lead Israel, he trained his ear to hear the Lord. The name Samuel means “listens to God.” It implies action. Samuel was intentional. He paused and…he actually listened! In a world of incessant noise this may be one of the greatest challenges we face as believers.
One of the ways God speaks is through circumstances. Doors open…doors close and opportunity knocks. Relationships develop, sparks fly, and something is created out of nothing. Miracles happen, rescues are made and battles are won. The first step is awareness in what the Spirit might be communicating through daily living
The other day, I had a great opportunity to hear God and it only took a jackhammer for him to get his message across. As a busy mother of three children, time alone is nonexistent, and so I was eager to chaperone my daughter’s cheer squad for a long practice at our church, because I knew I could go off and hide while the coach drilled the girls. I settled down in the nursery with my nine month old baby for a nice quiet afternoon, anticipating that the baby would entertain herself and I could pen about ten thousand words.
My first mistake was thinking the baby could be so easily duped by a few flashy toys and some tasty snacks, but I was determined to be productive. I managed to write a whole paragraph when my laptop suddenly died. Because it was plugged in to the charger, I was baffled. But, it refused to start and I was getting frustrated. Fearing a blue screen, I checked and rechecked, only to realize that I had brought the wrong charger. I have an HP and I was trying to connect it to my husband’s Dell power brick. OK God, I chuckled, you want me to go Old School and use a pen. In a posture of sincere adaptability, I sat on the floor with a journal and a pen, to calm the now fussy baby and continue on my literary quest for greatness.
One sentence in, the baby grabbed my pen and laughed. Every time I attempted to write she batted at the paper, the pen, my face…whatever she could get her little hands on. Then she started crying. In an act of surrender I put down the pen and asked God what he wanted me to hear. I grabbed the bottle and a blanket and reached for the baby. She snuggled close into my arms and I began to rock, rock and rock. Finally we found our rhythm. As the baby relaxed and fell asleep, I knew in my heart that I needed to lean into my Father’s arms the way the baby was resting in mine.
God was giving me a gift. I had hours alone with my sweet angel, without distractions, time to bond, sing worship songs, giggle and play peek-a-boo. Letting go of my agenda was the only way to experience his plan for me. Later on the day, she fell asleep again and I was able to write again…deeply humbled, blessed and cognizant of God’s love.
Ironically, it doesn’t take much for God to communicate a message. I heard him loud and clear through a power cord and a fussy baby. The challenge is to be aware, because God is always moving!
