How to Change Frustration to Thankfulness

Let’s play a game. What do a rock, a magnetic letter “R”, and a fruit snack wrapper have in common?

Can you guess their commonality?

Aww, it may be a trick question since their connecting point is simply that they have all been found in my purse.

Yep, you got it. A rock, an R, and a wrapper lived in my purse for a time.   

Sometimes when I notice such things, I get a ‘burst of love’ and I delight in the children that put them there. But, unfortunately, there are the many other times that I just get frustrated. Often, I sigh, “Why is this in here? Who put a rock in my purse? Why do they think my purse is a garbage can?”

On those days, all I can see is work, inconvenience, and thoughtlessness. Rocks need to go outside. Toys need to be put away. Wrappers need to go in the garbage can. Why am I the only one who cares about such things?

When I first became a mom, it was easier for me to be thankful because there was a time when I thought that I couldn’t have children. Sadly as the years sail on by, I easily forget these words that I penned long ago:

“There are so many hopes and dreams tied up into having a baby that I never fully realized were there. Until now. When we are really trying.  And it’s not happening. I can’t believe how much it is a daily ache within me. Yet, I am still hopeful and know that it’s the Lord who opens and closes the womb. And He can choose to do that for us.”

 Eventually, God granted our hope and dream of children.

About nine months after my firstborn son arrived, I said, “The hardest of days with my child are better than the best of days when the longing was so great.”

I wish I could hang onto those feelings of overwhelming gratitude.

But, to be honest the day-to-day grind takes its toll. I often do not stop to ponder and delight in my children. Nor am I thankful for all things at all times.

However, I recently discovered how to change my frustrated thinking into thankfulness. Angela Thomas, in her book Tender Mercy for the Mother’s Soul, says:

The blessings of motherhood have been honored through the ages. Somewhere inside of us, God has told us that this assignment and these relationships surpass any calling on earth. Somewhere in your soul, you know that to hold your own baby and kiss the back of his neck is a holy privilege. The blessings of motherhood are the kinds of things that take our breath away—the moments you hold in your heart forever.

            One day someone asked me, “What are the three hardest things about having four small children?”

            I quickly responded, “No sleep, the never-all-folded laundry and talking to little people all day.”

            Then he asked, “What are three of the best things?”

            I immediately realized that the blessings came attached to the frustrations. “The best things are having my three-year-old crawl into the middle of our bed around 2 a.m. and hold my hand the rest of the night … clean-footed pajamas on freshly bathed toddlers, scooting around the house until bedtime…and the tender words that come from the pure heart of a child.”

 ‘Blessings come attached to the frustrations.’ To learn how to see the blessing that is tied to the frustrations of life is the key to learn how to give thanks for all things at all times.

So, here, I’ll go first.

What can I be thankful for with this rock? Well, when I ask my children who made the rocks, they gladly shout, “God did.” I am thankful for their tender hearts that so easily claim the truths of Jesus.

What about the letter “R”? When I think of this letter R, I can see my two-year-old handing it to me and saying, “Here go, Mommy.” It is a gift from the hand of a two-year-old just because she loves me.

What about the fruit snack wrapper? I can remember the delighted whoops in the grocery store when I finally said “yes” to one of their repeated demands of ‘Mommy can I have this?” Truly, it takes so little to please them.

I am deeply thankful to have children. Therefore, I am glad that I have a rock, a letter R, and a fruit snack wrapper in my purse. They are reminders that God has fulfilled a deep longing in my heart.

And so you just might find a rock in my purse and wonder why it’s there.

Well, I left it there to remind me to be thankful for the frustrations in life because they are really just reminders of how God has fulfilled a deep longing of my heart.

How about you? 

Can you think of the blessing that is tied to a frustration in your life? 

Please share in the comments.

When good enough IS special

Why is it that when I am asked to bring a dish to share that I want to try something new? Something fancy? Something 'company worthy'? I definitely want to bring something more special than my everyday offerings. This is for company after all.

This realization of my compulsion came one night as several couples were meeting at a home with each of us bringing something for dinner: either the main dish, the salad or the dessert. As I walked in with my side dish, I was interrogated about whether or not this was a new dish or a tried-and-true dish.

It was new. Never before been tried.

Just like the other women. We each brought a new offering. Not our tried-and-true everyday offering.

I dismissed the gentleman who had asked me as he shook his head. He said the men always prepare what they know will get rave reviews -- not something new.  Not something untried.

I dismissed him. I understood the women. There are always new recipes that I want to try and use these sorts of occasions to try them out. Otherwise I just don't have the time to try something new.

This question about new versus known stuck in my brain. The years raced by and we got  a spontaneous Superbowl  party invitation with just one other family. I have even less time than I did years ago to prepare new and special. I am craving chocolate. I don't even have to bring anything to this event.

But I'm craving chocolate so I quickly whip up my home-made blonde brownies. It's quick. It's cheap. It's chocolate. And if I share with others I won't eat too many.

I bring them. This is no big deal. This is my everyday offerings to my family, who get bored with them because I make them so often.

The family raved about these brownies. Well, I should say the dad of the other family raved about the brownies and ate and ate and ate them. I wondered if anyone else was going to be able to get any. I surely grabbed one or two because I made them for my chocolate craving after all.

Honestly, I had no idea they would be raved about. I didn't think they were that good. They are just what I make on ordinary days and serve to my ordinary, lovely family, who sometimes wishes I would make new things.

The incident, though, got me to thinking about that dinner at that couple's house years ago with that man shaking his head. "Why not bring your tried-and-true recipe that you know everyone will rave about?"

Again, I thought of that couple's dinner and realized that I didn't offer my everyday items precisely because I thought that they were ordinary. I don't want to offer ordinary. I want to offer special. Spectacular. Especially to company.

But, here was the great surprise. My day-in and day-out offering to my family was special. It IS special. I am offering special things all the time. 

Sometimes it just takes offering them to company to notice.

 * * *

 Home made Blonde Brownies

from my mother's kitchen, tweaked by how I make them

2 cups brown sugar, packed
2/3 cup butter, melted
2 eggs, beaten
2 tsps vanilla
2 cups flour
1/2 tsp baking powder
1/2 tsp baking soda
1 tsp salt
1 cup semi-sweet chocolate chips

Pre-heat oven to 350 degrees. Melt butter and mix with brown sugar, eggs, and vanilla. In a separate bowl mix flour, baking powder, baking soda, and salt. Gradually add flour mixture to sugar, butter, and vanilla mixture. When completely mixed but not overly, pour into 13x9 pan and spread out. Sprinkle the chocolate chips over the top. Bake for 20 minutes.

A Blank White Wall

I scrubbed the blank white wall tonight.
I scrubbed. I cried. And the Spirit convicted.

I rubbed the wall. I wanted it to be clean. Almost desperate, my strokes were vigorous I didn't want it to be drab, so I scrubbed those stains. Mustering up all my elbow grease to make the wall better.

I really didn't want it to be like her house.

"Why Kathleen?" came nudge of the Spirit's in a thought.

Because I didn't want to be like her.

"Why is that Kathleen? I died for her just as much as I died for you."

And I cried.

Because I knew that the desire not to be like her energized my cleaning.
I didn't want such a run-down place.
I want my house to look like the magazines.

But...instead.. it seems my house is more like hers.
Which might mean that I am more like her than I dare admit.

And that is why I scrub so hard tonight.

I swallow the lump in my throat and continue to scrub.
But not quite as hard.

She does not turn anyone's head when she walks by. Neither do I.
She doe not have recruiters banging down her door to offer her a job. Neither do I.

Her appearance, her life is not together. It is not a life any of us strive for. My life? Well, perhaps it makes for a better appearance but is it truly better? Does it really hinge on a clean white wall?

I might be more like her than I dare to admit.

She is a mom.
Me, too.
She is married.
Yep, I share this too.
She cares about her kids. She's proud of them.
Uh-huh. Of course I share this, too. 

She is the one who invited me to her house and welcomed me in as if I was one of them. She smiles at me. She has brought me shoes when she heard me complaining about the lack of shoes that my children have. She has been kinder to me than I have been to her.

Then these words came to mind:

"The Lord does not look at the things man looks at. Man looks at the outward appearance, but the Lord looks at the heart." I Samuel 16:7b

I am guilty. I look at outward appearances. 

I scrub my walls wishing them to look like designer walls featured in Better Homes and Garden. When in truth, they are downcast and scrubby. More like hers. Perhaps I should admit that I am more like her and actually be more like her: welcoming, inviting, giving.

Forgive me Lord for judging by outward appearances. 
Change my heart, O God. 
Thank you for humbling me through the scrubbing of a white, blank wall.
Amen.

Linking with Jen and the SDG women.

When Hibernation Gives Strength to Face the New Year

It's eleven days into the new year and my calendar is still blank. I am Hibernating and Pretending that nothing is calling my name. The empty boxes declare to me that each day is a new slate to spend the way I want. No one has pre-determined my course for the day. For the month. For the year.

The cold temps of this past week have contributed to the delinquency of catching up my calendar. Colder temperatures have visited Nashville this past week than they have in a couple of decades. This led to Cancellations and Delays, including my continued pretense that I live a non-busy life.

For the past two weeks, I have not been called hither and yon. I've stayed home since the family left-town. It was a beautiful holiday season twinged with sadness, tension, and beauty. Lots of beauty and gifts. Yet, the days following the holidays have been my favorite.

My husband had a few days off from work that we did not squander in travel but spent at home all together. The children rejoiced at just being home altogether with no place to go, no work projects to do. Instead we were just together. Sometimes playing a game. Sometimes reading. Sometimes doing our own creative thing.. We watched several movies. What a treat! We just hung out at home. Then, my husband returned to work, and the kids and I have gradually gotten back to our duties, too.

Due to the cold temps my usual activity whirlwind was suspended just enough longer to hunker down still for the second week of January. I had just enough social contact to keep me sane. Yet, the rest from swirling activities and trying to keep up and not miss anything has been a balm to my soul. It has been like taking a Great. Big. Deep. Breath. Can you hear my soul breathing a sigh of relief from there?

Usually, it is hard for me to stay home because I feel like I am missing out on something. I want to participate! I want to have fun! Therefore these cold-weather cancellations gave permission to plant my feet right here at home where I have wanted to be with no expectation from anyone in the Southern regions to move at all. Hiding and hibernation are exactly what everyone is doing. It's all the rage!

I couldn't find this more than fabulous even though I grew up in Minnesota where they didn't cancel for cold weather!?! Are you crazy? Life would be shut down for half of the year if they did that Up North. But here in the Southland, things shut down in the cold and snow. Or, at the very least slow down for just  a little while, because we can. We simply hunker down with the Southern Natives and wait a few days for it to thaw out. We always hope that our milk and bread supply is sufficient because snow forecasts cause a run on the grocery stores down here. The other great prayer to pray is for one's pipes NOT to  freeze! Insulation grades are not the same Down Here as they are Up There.

I've gladly taken these contributions to my Hibernation Mode. These few days of slowing down, cancellations, and lesser expectations. It's just what I've needed to face the blank slate of the New Year.

And as it warms up, I guess the ink will flow once again onto the January calendar. I can hide and pretend for only so long that the responsibilities, activities, and to-do lists are not yet calling my name.

Soon enough it will be time to write the upcoming events of our beautiful life on the calendar. But for now I tip my black snow hat and raise my cup of Chai tea to the cold. I will trust that this deep soul breath will help strengthen me for the days ahead as I head off into the whirlwind activity that will come in due time but not today. Not yet.

* * *

How about you? How's the start of your January been?

Seeing with new eyes {day 7}

When I was five years old, I often went to the nursing home with my mom to visit my grandmother. Strange, humped over people tried to touch me as we walked to my grandmother's room.

"Why do they do that?" I would ask.

"Because they like children," said my mom.

Her answer confused me. If they liked children, why were they doing something that frightened me? Don't they know that children don't like strangers trying to reach out and grab them? This did not make sense.

Once we arrived at my grandmother's room, I would usually talk with her roommate because grandmother just scowled and fussed. She didn't seem to know me. My mom would tell me that she didn't feel good. On the other hand, her cheerful roommate would  insisted that I take a piece of her candy. I would be excited  but it never tasted good.

"It's sugarless, diabetic candy, "  my mom would tell me. It was a strange place this nursing home.

For years, I stayed away from nursing homes. Those experiences left a bad taste in my mouth except that it cause me to admire friends who worked in them.

Last December, we toured a nursing home/rehab center. We hoped it would be a short-term stay and the last step to enable my father-in-law Clarence togo home.

Emotions flowed through me. Memories, thankfulness, and tension fought for the center stage of my heart.

I was thankful that my husband and mother-in-law were the ones making the decision. I was just with them. We were all thankful that Clarence was finally off the ventilator, laughing, talking, breathing. Yet, a transition to another facility caused us some angst. He had to leave the facility that he was at but he wasn't quite ready to come home. He was still at risk. Would this facility provide the care he needed for him to improve?

In the midst of this, the memories of those early childhood visits to the nursing home came back to me. I realized that I wasn't frightened any longer. The residents no longer seemed like strange, humped over people.

I saw them with new eyes. Even though I didn't know them, I saw them as people with stories, with history, with wisdom. They may not even be able to tell their stories anymore because they've lost the ability to communicate but I know, simply by their age, that they have walked a long path.

I knew this now because I no longer saw Clarence the same way. His outer appearance didn't truly reflect the man of integrity, determination, and faith that he is.

My children cried the first time they visited him because he didn't look like grandpa. It is hard to see a loved one suffer. But as the days wore on, and at times looked less like himself, I admired him more and more. His true character was not in his appearance.

As I walked through the halls of the nursing home last December, I realized that almost daily visits to the hospital for more than three months had changed me. I knew -- in a way that I didn't before -- that appearance does not equal character. 

"Therefore we do not lose heart. Though outwardly we are wasting away, yet inwardly we are being renewed day by day. For our light and momentary troubles are achieving for us an eternal glory that far outweighs them all. So we fix our eyes not on what is seen, but on what is unseen. For what is seen is temporary, but what is unseens is eternal." II Corinthians 4: 17-18

Click here to read {Day 8}

* * *

This is part of the 31 Day series: 
The Clarence Chronicles: Lessons of Faith from the ICU

Click HERE to read Day 1, which links to all the posts in this series.

* * *

Remembering the Right Things

Kip & his dad, June 2012

 For the last six months I have been the keeper of medical information for my husband's family. On September 14 my father-in-law had a brain tumor removed from his brain stem. I have been tracking this and other major medical events that then ensued for him. This has been good. It has been needed. For example, going to my father-in-law's primary care physican to recount the history of the last six months. That was good. That was needed.

Kip's dad & Kip's uncle, Nov. 2012

But... have I been as diligent to write down and think about over and over again how the Lord has meet our needs -- my needs -- these past six months?

Am I recalling how we felt compelled to annoint him with oil after hearing a sermon on James 5? And when his pastor was asked, he said, "Yes" and how peace filled the room. How we were all blessed by obeying the Word?

Am I recounting how on a day when all I could think of was how weary I am, that a friend sent a card in the mail with a verse about being weary along with a Starbucks gift-card?

Do I remember how a friend texted me and made herself available to talk on one of those really hard days? I don't remember which one. But it was one of the ones where we thought we were saying goodbye.

Am I remembering how I arrived at home around 1 o'clock in the afternoon with four hungry children, an empty refrigerator, an empty pocket-book, and a friend called wanting to bring us lunch?

Am I remembering how someone brought a pork roast to my house, someone who had recently been in the hospital herself, that she put in our freezer and the very next night I would need food to feed my family and others?

Am I remembering how a child-less couple of 13 years of marriage found out on the day my father-in-law had surgery that they were expecting? She thought something was wrong. Instead, God gave them a baby after thirteen years of waiting. The news delivered to their ears on THE SAME DAY of the original brain surgery. My father-in-law's tenth grandchild would be delivered while he was still in the hospital fighting to breathe.

Am I remembering how a friend planned a birthday dinner when I had no energy to plan a party and she rarely, if ever, plans such things?Am I remembering how friends have said that I could text in the middle of the night? And how comforting it was to have them praying in the middle of the night when the hospital called again with bad news that they intubated him again? And sometimes they had started praying before I had texted?

Am I remembering how a washing machine came to my front door when our washing machine had been broken for over a week? Reminding me that God is seeing all of my needs. He will watch over me and take care of me.

Am I remembering? Not the intubation and the MRSA and the blood clots and the hard decisions but am I remembering His mercy in it all?

Am I remembering the answered prayers of an 11-year-old grand-daughter who wanted to see her grandpa but wasn't allowed in the ICU? She prayed. He was moved to a regular room for two days. She saw him. He told her, "I love you." He moved back to the ICU, one of many set-backs. But she remembers that God answered the cry of her heart, just for her.

Kip's dad or Papa, and Sophie, Feb. 2013

Am I remembering how he was discharged home on a Friday night? This seemed to be bad timing because everything medical was closed for the weekend. But we had nothing on our calendar. We stayed at their house for three days because my husband had a three day weekend. God worked it out so we could spend the whole weekend helping to get things set-up.

How many more details, important God-has-hand in this kind of details, have I forgotten? Let me not forget. Let me recount the many mercies of God. Let me remember how good and kind He is in the midst of sorrow and suffering.

Let me remember. Let me declare all of the ways He has shown His mercy on me. On us.

*   *    *

Linking with Jen & Emily.

A year ago

Our Christmas 2012 photo: the six of us on vacation this summer. 

A year ago--almost to the day--I slipped on a step, twisted my knee, and needed rehab. No surgery needed, no exciting story to tell, just four months of physical therapy. That was December 27th, 2011.

Then, on the first Sunday of 2012, way back in January but just a few days after my injury, my pastor's wife felt compelled to read a devotional to the congregation. It was about how the Shepherd breaks the leg of  a sheep that wanders so that it learns to stay close to the Shepherd instead of wandering off all of the time.

It struck a chord with me even though I didn't feel like I had been wandering. Yet, my leg was wounded. I had a knee brace, crutches, and was arranging to have an MRI taken. Though I didn't know what it was, I had that sense it was a word from the Lord for me and so I trusted that in time it would be revealed how I had been wandering off.

Now, as I reflect on the year of 2012, I see that the Lord needed to draw me close to His heart for those  months. It wasn't due to sin & rebellion but rather it was preparation for future paths. I would desperately need easy recognition of His voice in the days ahead.

Without any official training, we would become foster parents for nine weeks. For a little over three weeks, we had eight children, for an additional five or so weeks we had five kids. It was an education on many levels. The most important lesson being about the provision of God. He sustains and works through me even when there is nothing left. Truly, that is when His best work usually occurs: when there is nothing left of me. At the very least I recognize it better because I know it definitely isn't me.

In the summertime, we had a small reprieve from unusual circumstances in which we crammed in as much fun as possible. Then, we returned to another crisis -- my father-in-law in the hospital trying to breathe after brain surgery to remove a non-cancerous tumor. It has been 15 weeks, over three months. There has been healing and hope in the midst of many setbacks.

What I didn't know in January is how much I would need the Lord and how drained and empty I would feel by the time October rolled around. That was only six weeks into a still on-going trial. How hard it has been to remain daily in the Word. How hard it has been to remember to pray before meals This is from childhood, folks! I grew up giving thanks before every meal. It's what we do. It's kind of like forgetting to brush your teeth. (Now that I say that I have forgotten that a time or two, as well, but not nearly as often as giving thanks.) How could it be that I have forgotten my way in this?

The Lord is kind, gracious, and forgiving. I'm glad that I have been reminded of where I was in December of last year and all that He has brought my family and I through. He goes before us and behind us. I am so thankful. He gives friends and family to support and some really great memories mixed in with the hard stuff. He loves us. He heals us. He takes us through trials. He grows us.

May I stay close to the Shepherd always, no matter the circumstance.

* * *

How about you? Have you gotten caught up in end-of-year reflections? 

Any insight you want to share?

How a Six-Year-Old Can Change your Perspective

Sometimes it is all about perspective. Is it a weed that makes the neighbors disdain your yard or is it a wishing flower? It depends if it's the perspective of a retired neighbor or a six-year old child.

I have loved this current batch of pictures from my six year old. How often do I miss the nuance of light casting shadows of me? Almost all of the time. But he saw this, captured it. A piece of him. A moment in time. He captured my heart because he captured  a piece of himself.

How often do I miss these memories-- these gifts of love --  in the cozy corner of my bedroom? Even though most of the time, I see these flowers in a can as a mere dust collector, the sentimental pack-rat that I am can't throw it away.

Am I taking the time to see the  reminders of the people who love me: my first-born son so creative making duct tape flowers, a flower hair-clip from good friends at a surprise anniversary celebration while we were camping, plastic flowers from a child to a mommy who loves flowers.

My choice? To see a crowded shelf that doesn't get dusted or a shelf full of memories of people who know me and know that I love flowers.

Sometimes I need to look up. My perspective would change by looking up. If it was me, I would never have looked up & taken a picture. I don't like these lights. To me they symbolize the many things that I wish I would change in my house. Ahhh.

But my six-year-old son looks up and takes a picture. And I like it. It looks cool and artsy. Sometimes looking up changes everything.

Perhaps one day I will ride carefree in a red convertible like this!

A six-year-old taking pictures on my camera caused me to look at the everyday things around me and put a new perspective on them.  

What about you? Has anything caused you to look at things differently?

The Luxury of Choice

At least twice during the past month, I went to the grocery store with eight children. Yep. That's right. Eight kids in the grocery store between the ages of 5 and 13. Sound crazy?

Well... yes. Unless you realize that it is much crazier for the momma to be at home with eight children and no food.

At the end of the trip, my oldest slams the back doors of our big purple van and says, "I don't know if they're exactly how you would put them. But they're in."

They are exactly where I want them. In the van, loaded. Because... you see... the youngest of the eight decided to run away in the store. He was following a couple of older children that had been given an assignment. That I do understand.

But, I called his name. And he didn't come. He didn't answer. He ignored.

I had to go to him. He didn't run fast or far. I caught up to him quickly and held his hand. He flopped on the floor.  He did not want to walk. Which he expressed loudly. I called his name. He still didn't answer me. So I calmly finished the grocery order.

"Get a bag of apples." "Get four cans of tomato soup." I said to the others.

Both instructions were executed smoothly. No delay. No complaint. We were at the end of the list. So the olders walked the cart to the check-out line. I walked with the disobedient to the line. They put the groceries on the conveyor belt.

Meanwhile I held the disobedient's hand. He flopped. I lifted. He sat down. I held on gently but firmly, not letting go of his hand the whole time.  He moved this way and that trying to be released from my hand.

He kept expressing "I don't want to." Rather loudly. Yes, people looked. I didn't raise my voice. I stayed calm.

I handed my wallet to my oldest. "Pay for the food, please." I could trust him to pay correctly and get the right change. I handed my keys to one daughter and asked both of them to walk to the van and have it open and ready. They did.

I held the disobedient's hand. He fussed and wrestled. Even as I type this, my back aches just a little bit as I think about it.

Eventually we are all back at the van. Groceries loaded. A disobedient five-year-old also buckled into his seat. I hold his hand while he screams. And that's when my son had told me that the groceries may not be where I want them but they're in.

Who would care about such a thing? About exactly where all of the groceries were loaded?

Of course they are exactly where I want them. Paid for and loaded. I needed help. Help the other seven gave to me that I am so thankful to have. I had no room to care about how the groceries were loaded into the back of the van.

I did not have the luxury of being so particular.

I needed to discipline. Stay calm. So thankful that they were able to get the groceries paid for and loaded into the car and not to have to abandon them in the store until a later time. So thankful that I would not be a momma at home with eight children and no food.

Who would care about such a thing? About exactly where all of the groceries were loaded?

Oh...it was me. You know, me, the Queen of the Just So. The one that is usually saying, with a big sigh, "Don't you know that you should put the cold stuff by the milk. "And "Why are you putting that there?" Fussing all of my help away.

When I wasn't desparate for help. When I wasn't maxed to the utmost to meet the basic needs of ten people, I had the luxury of choice, of time, of being paricular about the just so.

That day, I really didn't care how the groceries were in. I grasped the bigger vision. I needed their help, however they could give it to me. And I was grateful.

I know that in my head all of the time. It doesn't really matter how.

But...ohhhhh...the luxury of the Just So. The ruining of the offer of help from my children as I sigh and fuss about so many things that are really no big deal.


As things mellow at my house, since there are only five children here now, may I not go back to the land of Just So Sighs....as a mother, I have spent way too much time there.


It took a moment to say yes to a phone call. Yes to four more children in my house. Yes to the help as it was offered. 

Now, no matter how many people live here, may I continue to live in the moment of being grateful that the groceries are loaded, no matter how it is done.

* * *
Linking with Emily at Imperfect Prose. 

Finding a New Groove

One of the groove busters: our MN vacation.
Here are the kids 0n Paul Bunyan's lap in Northern Minnesota.

Somewhere along the way, I lost my schooling groove and my blogging groove. I am looking for them. If you find them --or any of my other good grooves, will you return them to me?

Ahhh, if it could only be that easy.

It's always harder to restart than it is to keep going, isn't it? So, why do I have such trouble remembering that? Sometimes it's a circumstance: a vacation, a sick child, a broken car, or some other time-consuming event. Then my feelings take advantage: I don't feel like it.

Another pic from our groove-busting, memory-filled vacation.

It is just like when I am running along and then... bam... there I am walking. I didn't decide to walk. But I am walking none-the-less. It is best if I take three quick steps as soon as I notice I'm walking or I may walk a long way. And so it is with my habits, I need to take quick action or it may be a long time before I'm grooving again.

Unfortunately, I did not take quick action and so I find myself today in need of lots of gumption to find the grooves of schooling and blogging.

One of the easier grooves to re-establish has been running. It hasn't been as long since I was in the groove as it has been with the others. Also, my oldest is running with me. He woke me up yesterday when I didn't hear my alarm.

So there is that, too: fresh enthusiasm from another. Always very helpful to get over a hump of inertia.

And in the running together, I have passed on a couple of tid-bits: watch your form and it's a mental game. Now, at first they were for him. But, I have found that I need to apply this mental game advice to my every day life.

Our family at our dear friends' wedding.

Most of us can get up and run -- even if it is not your method of getting a work-out. But the big part of learning to run (and a great benefit of running) is to teach your mind to direct and not your body. Decide beforehand how long you will run and how you will run. The work-outs can be slow and easy with no walking or fast and hard run with short walking breaks.

The type of run doesn't matter as much as training the body to do what your mind says and not what it feels like.

And isn't that great advice for tackling the daily details? Determine in advance what you will do in spite of what you feel like doing.

And so, I determined in advance that we will do math this week even though it is birthday week at our house (three birthdays, seven days). We will set our alarms and begin our routines. And instead of reading lots of blogs this morning, I am writing my own blog post. I need to re-establish the blogging groove somehow. Here it is.

Cute, aren't they?
At the end of our three-day camping trip in Northern Minnesota.

What are you determining to do in spite of how you feel?
Are you in a good groove?
Or, are you like me and beginning again?

P.S. Welcome to the Company Girls...I've been gone awhile...thanks for checking in on me...and for my other readers click HERE to get to know some other folks...

A persistent pink petunia

In the potted plants on my patio there lives a persistent pink petunia. It insists on growing and blooming without any assistance from me, a newbie gardener.

I purchased a bunch of flowers late this spring. I potted them. I arranged them all nice and neat and pretty. I placed the pots along the fence where I park the van. Each time I would enter and leave the drive way, I enjoyed the pretty flowers.

Soon I noticed one pot with a pink petunia in it. I thought, "How pretty" and "My how it has grown." Then, I realized that I didn't purchase any pink petunias this year! This one must have grown from last summer's crop.

There were two pots which I didn't use but didn't take the time to empty out last year's dirt. Besides, one of them had some kind of white flowers growing in it. So I set them aside to deal with later-- which turned out to be not at all.

But the code of the seed planted in the dirt worked in spite of me. Now when all the other petunias have died away and there are only vincas left in the pots, there is a pretty pink petunia with several flowers on its stem.

I benefit not only from the beauty of the flower but also from the message of persistence. It follows the code placed inside of it by the Lord. He who began a good work inside the seed of the flower has also begun a good work inside of me that He will complete -- even in spite of me -- if He needs to.

I see it every time I get in and out of my car -- the pretty pink persistent petunia. Thank you Lord.

Inspired from the pages of my journal dated September 4, 2008
and also from Philippians 1:6

Also linking up with Jen at Finding Heaven for the Soli Deo Gloria Sisterhood. Check it out for more inpsiration.

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Have you ever been inspired by a lesson in nature?

My new friend, Morning

I am becoming friends with Morning. There was a time when we were enemies.

For many years, duty demanded that I get up. The alarm went off. I went through the motions and then I took off for the day. Then, the days of little ones surrounded me. Their hungry bellies compelled me to get up and feed them.

But, I have always delighted in the night time hours -- anytime after 9 p.m. During high school, I stayed up late reading. Then came college when I stayed up late talking & talking & talking. Most of my closest friends in college were made during those late night talks.

Over the years of parenting, I have realized that my late night tendencies and my Morning avoidance were a detriment to mothering well. So there has been a lot of angst and push and pull to get up earlier.

There have been bouts of pushing myself to get up earlier, no matter what. I just need to do this. But, after a couple of months of getting up earlier and only rarely going to bed earlier, I would crash and burn, usually punctuated by sickness.

I would feel so much guilt. I began to set up Morning (as in getting-up-early-in-the-morning) as an idol, a cure-all for all of my failings & down-falls. There was too much pressure on Morning to deliver me from all of my short-comings.

Most of the time, I would get rolling slowly in the morning. When the expectations of the day and the reality of the day would come crashing in on me, I would feel guilty for sleeping in. I would lose my temper easily with my children.

Resolved to do better, I would get up early the next day. And lo, and behold, I was still be quick to lose my temper with my children.

Getting up early didn't solve all my problems!

I was in a lose-lose situation.

I had to get out of thinking that Morning would save me. No, Jesus saved me. Getting up early in the morning would not solve all my problems.

So, oddly enough, the first real step in becoming true friends with Morning was avoiding her, ignoring her. Don't look at the clock. Just get up and do your routine. No pressure.

Then, as time went on. I saw the need to get going earlier. The need to lead the children. When I went to bed earlier, sometimes I awoke on my own. Most of the time, I don't.

Finally, Morning and I have made peace.

I am not seeking to save my soul (or my parenting) via Morning. I don't hate Morning anymore. I have even liked Mornings on certain days!

What a shocking thing to say! What? Me, the night owl? Known for keeping crazy, late hours? How could I like Morning!?! (It was just as shocking for me to say: I like cooking but that is another story related to the one HERE.)

Morning and I now have a few wonderful shared moments together. Not a lot. But a few. And I found out that I like her!

This, this Morning that I have hated so long. I like her. She forgives me when I stay away for days and days. Just as happy to see me as if I had been there every day.

She is nice like that.

What does this look like? Probably on the outside about the same as it did before. Some days I get up and get going. Some days I snooze the alarm again and again. There are days I have even slept through my alarm. But, occasionally I wake before the alarm and have a beautiful time with Morning.

I have made peace with Morning.

We're in the early stages of building a friendship. I don't know that Morning & I will ever be kindred spirits. But at least we are becoming friends. And I think I like it.

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How about you? Are you friends with Morning?

Enough?

Is it enough? I keep asking this question.

When I asked it aloud to two of my Teacher Lounge friends, one of them asked, "What else do you think you should be doing?"

What a clarifying moment!


I don't want to do more. I am tired as it is. The to-do list is over-whelming at least it is when I dare to look at it. Most folks I know feel the same way -- busy and tired. Our 21st century American culture breeds stress. I'm not unique in this. But what is it that I'm really trying to ask?

I didn't know. The question kept creeping back in even after the clarifying moment.

"Am I doing enough?"

Most of it comes from homeschooling. Are we doing enough math? English? science? history? Art? Phy Ed?



I needed a better question. A better question will lead to a better answer. I disagree with the adage that there are no bad questions. There are better questions than others.

I remind my children of this often. When I hear from them, I want to know that they have thought about what they need. They need to come up with some possible solutions before they ask me instead of simply relying on me to guide them in everything. I want them to think.


I needed to think. If I am not doing enough, than my solution will be to do more. My time is limited. I can only do so much. I don't want to do more.

So a better question would be: Am I doing the right things? Am I doing the best things with the time that I have?

This leads to other questions, especially in light of homeschooling. What skills do they need to have? Can I assess their math and English skills and make sure that they are at grade level? What skills do they need to be successful adults? What kind of character traits are we building? Am I focusing the bulk of our time on the really important stuff?


One good question has lead me to more questions that help me to make decisions.

The accusatory "Am I doing enough?" question only seemed to stir up the guilt of falling short.

I like this new angle better. "Am I doing the right things?"

Though I don't really have any more answers than when I started (I actually have more questions now!), I am on a more peaceful path. It is a better path because it's headed in a more acheivable direction.

I would love to hear your insight. Have you had a clarifying moment lately? Have you asked a better question? What are some of the guiding principles you apply in your family to decide what activities to participate in or not?

I am linking up with Company Coffee today, join us in the conversation.