a hand full of shells...

Theoretically, has settled down for us.

Theoretically.

The actuality is somewhat different.

We may have downshifted, but the RPM are just as high. We've traded in the freeway for off-roading. So while we cover ground more slowly the climb is more intense and it requires more skill in the assent. The slower speed lets me be intentional about the things in which I involve myself. And so many things vie for my attention. Good things. Really good things. Excellent even.

But my energies need to be focused.

I like missions statements. I get geeked about stuff like that, so I'm trying to develop my own.

Here is what I know: When I try to grab hold of life by living for myself...I end up chasing after the wind. I arrive with handfuls of hard won... nothing, and I am empty for all my chasing.

2 Corinthians 5 talks about being compelled by Christ's love to be a part of the ministry of reconcilliation. I know that sounds like a bunch of churchified mumbo-jumbo. Still, it speeks to me because there is nothing so compelling as the love of Christ. Nothing so motivating.
There is a song we sing at church that says " if His love is an ocean then we're all drowning" and it is true. After experiencing the radical, crazy love of Christ there is no going back. Nothing else feels like life...nothing else satisfies. His love engulfs and it changes; it compels me to action.

'Cause when you walk with God the things he cares about become the things you care about. His passions become your passions, and his heartbreak your own.

"Thy kingdom come, thy will be done", becomes an authentic thing.

The particulars for me center around orphan care, issues like fatherlessness, and poverty. They center around engaging the comatose Church in America with the heart of God. For God so loves the American church, now enslaved and chained to the things we have long pursued, that he gave his only son that whosoever believes in him should be disentangled from the consumerism that so easily entangles and experience life, both here and in eternity.

Still working on that missions statement.

The Business of With

Near is not with. It's near.
With is near on steroids.
With has power.
Near is about proximity.

God said, "I will be with you always..." It's a God thing this with business; more than the sum of its parts. Exponential. Transformational. Important.

For this season I need to be with my kids.
We're reading together. I'm actually listen to them.
I see my daughter healing up.

Sunshine and roses.
Sunburn and thorns.

It's flippin' exhausting this with business.

But good.

Except for when it's crummy.

Remind Me: Its a Season

So I haven't blogged in forever. I've been busy. Uber, ultra, insanely busy. And loving it. I hung up my home school hat and pulled on a new elementary school teacher one. I rocked it, if I do say so myself, for one whole calendar year. It was totally energizing. Unfortunately, it was also unsustainable. The thing is, I have 4 little kids, and a very busy husband. And while I was off teaching my closets got cluttered, my hubs got a smidge neglected, and my kids went along for the roller-coaster ride. For while I had as near a perfect set up as any working mom could hope for but I had forgotten an important thing:

Near is not With.

Somewhere in the business I lost touch with my childrens' hearts, at least to a degree. Eddie was feeling like I didn't like him. I dig my husband. I didn't have time to call my sisters, or my friends, or my mom or dad. People became tasks. And that, my friends, is a problem. I was near my family, but my heart was not with them, and they suffered for it. My girls, in particular, are walking with a bit of an emotional limp these days. It needs to be addressed.

So I quit.

Ouch. That stings. Oh, how that stings. It feels like a little bit of death. I LOVED my job. I was really GOOD at my job.

But remind me this is a season. It is a season, right?

There is an old cliche that says, "When God closes a door he always opens a window?" I think that might be crap. Like God sends us scrambling out the escape hatch because He somehow screwed up Plan A. It does, however, feel like God has asked me to walk right over and close a door. He didn't close it; he asked me if I would trust him enough to close it myself. So I'm left here asking, "God why did I close the door? I know you love me. I know you have good for me. But closing that door cost me." And he understands that. He knows what it cost me. And I am waiting to see what door he opens before me. I am looking for a door, not some measly escape hatch. A door. Plan A. And maybe it's just living in this season, at home, with my 4 little kids. Maybe it is the chance to be WITH, and not just near.

Peter Peter Pumpkin Eater

What do you do with people who drive you berserk? Peter Peter Pumpkin Eater might have been on to something; shoving the offending person into an over-sized veggie seems like it might just do the trick.

But then there is that whole being Christlike thing. Those WWJD bracelets might be passe, but my guess is that Jesus would never lock irritating people away in gigantic veggies.

Back to square one.

What to do?

Here's the thing: nothing makes me want to beat the living snot out of someone like when they mess with my kids. But I discovering that retaliation is rarely the way to go. It feels good, but it's not diplomatic. It does not heal; it does not restore; it does not help. Dang.

I tell my kids: life isn't fair. The mistakes of others will hurt you. Forgive; choose to forgive. Forgiveness is the only way to be free. And right now, the taste of my own medicine is bitter.

He is six and I am old

I've decided if I have to catch up on all I've missed blogging about I will never ever blog again.

So I'll jump right in to life.

Today was Bub's 6th birthday party. We bowled with a whole passel of 5 and 6 year olds. It was fun in a sort-of "pop an extra Valium" way. Babycakes face planted into her cupcake with the relish of one who has never had to worry about her calorie intake. It made for cute pictures, at least. I decided I'm pro-bumper bowling even for adults. Who needs those blasted gutters anyway?

In other news....Friday was cow-eye dissection day for 5th and 6th graders. My students LOVED it and, surprisingly, I did too. Eyeballs are fascinating, and miraculous. Plus they're not even that gross.

Since going back to work full time I've discovered something about myself: I am a good teachers. Sure, in some ways I'm a novice. And I have plenty to learn. I'm not perfect, but I am good. It's my thing, my sweet spot. I am a good teacher. This is somehow important in those moments when I really royally screw up other things. Like, ah say, cooking, or ahemm...remembering to return library books, or charging my cell phone. I might be a space cadet, but at least I am a smart, well-intentioned space case.

When Peace Like a River...

Yesterday a thing happened.

It was a thing among many, globally speaking. But on a personal basis it was big, and sad.

My cousin died.

I don't have a lot of facts about what happended yet, and it doesn't really matter how many facts I get in the end. Because, facts or no facts her story never got the "happily ever after" of the fairy tales.

My cousin was bright; brilliant even. She was funny, and quirky and, did I mention she was quirky. She had beautiful brown eyes, and a sweet face. She was a voracious reader with an appetite for knowledge that I have rarely seen equaled.

But my cousin's life was filled with pain, and sorrow, and brokenness, and disease. Her's is a sad story...incomplete, and too quickly ended.

It makes no sense.

So tonight, when it doesn't make sense to me I'll trust that it does make sense to HIM. Just because I can't see the "happily ever after", doesn't mean the prince forgot to come.
He did.
He will.
He is.

And my cousin knows that better than anyone this side of gloryland.

Season's Change

I am atrociously horriblish at blogging these days, and that makes me sad. Blogging has been my therapy and solace for the last couple of years. It's the journal that I used to keep and the photo album that I never do. I know I will likely post infrequently in the coming months, but I'm not quite ready to retire my pseudonym; Curlyjo is not hanging up her hat just yet.

Summer has been a frenzy of good and bad. We evicted tenants. Bad - in case you were wondering. We finished our basement into an apartment, and rented it to our new favorite childcare provider/friend. Good! Good! Good! We (as in Eddie) launched a new business venture. We (as in me) signed a contract to work full time as a teacher after spending the better part of a decade as a stay at home mom.

And time keeps on tickin' tickin' tickin'.

Monday is my first official day back to school. Inservice, and back-to-school night kept me busy this last week. There were moments of feeling overwhelmed. There were moments of "mom guilt" over being away from my kids for so many hours, and not missing them a bit. But for the most part I am super duper excited about this new gig. I love my job. I love my co-workers. I am ready for this new season, and I think my family is too.

New topic:

I am working on forgiveness these days. We were well and truly screwed by the short time tenants in our rental property. They lied, they stole, they destroyed, and they were generally without remorse.

It's my Pollyanna slash Leave it to Beaver outlook in life that was primarily responsible for this fix we're in. I sort of assume people are telling me the truth. HA!

Big fat liar meany heads!!!!!

Part of me wants to make them pay; I want to sue their sorry butts
for the time and money we've lost. It's a lot, and ah...we deserve it.

BUT...the grown-up me knows bitterness and cynicism are NOT the things I want to define me. I know that if I hold on to my right inflict justice I give those crummy lying people influence in my life, and my heart. Those people trashed my house and gunked up my summer; they will not have my fall, or my winter, or my spring. I forgive them, because I want to be free of them...

after I slash their tires....

and superglue their fingers together...

and deliver them a dinner of salmonella infected fried chicken.

THEN I'LL FORGIVE...

Or maybe I'll forgive today...

maybe right now...

maybe for the 3rd time in 24 hours.