Now Is The Time To Give Thanks

As a little girl, as a teenager, even as a young adult, I proclaimed Thanksgiving to be my favorite holiday. In the world of children, Christmas reigned as favorite since most could reasonably expect presents. In the world of religious adults, Christmas and Easter held equal sway as the appropriate favorite. But for me it has always been Thanksgiving. I'll just be honest--I think initially food, namely mashed potatoes and pie, relegated that Thursday in November to cherished day of the year in my calendar. I expect too that the relatively relaxed nature of the holiday in comparison to the chaotic Christmas celebrations appealed to my little introvert soul. We wore jeans (unheard of in that holiday dress pageantry world). We watched football. Sometimes we ate in the living room or wherever we could find an empty seat or patch of floor. As I aged, it remained my favorite for those same reasons. But these past few years, as I have grown, I find my reasons changed. As much as I dread the all-ready here and seemingly endless winter, I realized today that these months of November through March also contain my three favorite holiday "seasons:" Thanksgiving, Advent, and Lent.

Thanksgiving a dream combination word for the English-language lover. A word so simple in its make-up that we immediately memorize it and forget what it means. Thanks Giving. Giving Thanks. It's not a noun; it's a verb! An action verb at that! Give thanks! Just do it!
I look forward to this holiday every year, arranging my autumnal decorations in October, eeking my way through Halloween, all in anticipation of this one day where we gather, friends and family, to give thanks. I often feel alone in this anticipation. The day after October 31st, the Christmas candy replaced the Halloween candy on the grocery store shelves. Christmas lights appeared overnight. I passed decorated trees framed in house windows and found the "soft rock" radio station playing non-stop Christmas music, a full 55 days prior to that holiday! With all that has to be done for Christmas, teacher gifts and family gifts and and cleaning and planning (and pondering those dreaded new year's resolutions too), Thanksgiving becomes a deadline we must meet to ensure we're on track for the 25th of December. We rush through it, focusing on those traditional details of turkey and pie.
Or we're encouraged to view it as a conservative "take-it-back" holiday.  Remember the pilgrims and Indians. How they got a long and shared and how all people came to America for religious freedom? (nevermind the sarcasm, I'll get off my soapbox before I even start the lecture.).

The truth is that Thanksgiving is not a holiday of the past. It's a holiday of the present. Right now! This moment! This whole month and especially the 27th of November. Now is the time to Give Thanks! Reflect on these past months, days, hours, minutes. And rejoice. Gather together and give thanks. Share your joy, your gratitude with one another. Care for one another. Lift each other up with hope-filled words.

My challenge to you this November 27 is to Give Thanks. Get together with friends or family or both. Eat whatever you all like most to prepare and devour! Wear your comfortable clothes. And while you talk and laugh, give thanks.

This is the best way to prepare your heart and spirit for the coming seasons of Advent and Christmas. Taking time to remember all your blessings. I know there is pain and hurt and hunger in the world. And we can--we must--get and give help. But first, we have to stop and give thanks.

Happy Thanksgiving!

The Worst Kind

Although this post was written two years ago during our road trip out West to visit my father, I never published it. It's still true though. She's the best kind of girl.

July 2013

"I don't know how I got her" I often stay to friends and family about my girlie-girl daughter. Me, the self-forced tomboy, college feminist, outspoken woman, one time hater of the color pink. I gave birth to this female child who loves pink and purple, almost exclusively wears skirts & dresses, plays Barbies, and wants to be a mommy when she grows up. I find myself scorning her delicate choices and trying to push for non-stereotype options. 

But this same little girlie-girl is the bravest 6 year old I know, crying only twice during an elbow break, with surgery and recovery. Calming herself on the way to the ER by closing her eyes and thinking of what she'd be doing in school instead. She plays in the sand--which I won't touch. She tries new things and keeps up with her brothers. 

And on this camping trip, she has proven me to be the worst kind of woman.

In "When Harry Met Sally," Billy Crystal's character explains to Meg Ryan's character that there are only two kinds of women--"high maintenance and low maintenance." 

"What kind am I?" She inquires. 

"You're the worst kind." He responds. "High maintenance who thinks she's low maintenance." 

Yes, that's me. I'm often all talk but no action. 

Audrey gladly, even eagerly, uses the outhouse at campgrounds, treks around in tall grasses in jeans & DEET, sleeps on the cold, hard ground with no complaints. (This amazes me since as a baby she earned the nickname "Princess & the pea" because she refused to sleep anywhere but in our bed until we discovered a way to make her crib mattress softer.) She hikes up bluffs in pretty skirts and takes her baby dolls into the sand pits to play. She is sensitive to another's pain and brave enough to approach with comfort. 

Truly, she is the real woman I desire to be--one who embraces both her delicate feminine traits and her tough explorer interests. Soft and brave.

Badlands Musings

The following entries were written as my family and I drove west to visit my father and grandfather this summer. While our ultimate destination was mountainous Idaho, these musings are on what turned out to be my favorite terrain of the trip--the Badlands of North Dakota.



7-1-2013North Dakota rolls by revealing the surprise of hills and fields, blue skies and green grass.I didn't expect this. As a child and teenager, I despised the landscape of most prairie states, even the farming states closer to home, like Southern Illinois. Perhaps it is changed, I thought. Or perhaps it is me who has changed, not the landscape.

This consideration is confirmed in the complaints voiced by my own children--"nothing to look at, nothing to do" even while I try to memorize every mile that flies by. every rock pile dotted soybean field. every roaming heard of cattle. every duck delights as do the gulls and geese. cranes, and yes, even pelicans. The yellow, white and red grasses merge into bright green reeds in marshy waysides. Reservoirs overwhelm fence posts. And as you search the distant horizon, your chest expands to inhale this wide world. Here I can breathe. I can think. I can watch and examine. Well, as much as one can while speeding by at 75 mph.

7-2-2013

Just when I think I can't absorb anymore beauty, we pass another dream of scenery. North Dakota wild horses, wild hills, glorious wildflowers, white-clouded studded blue skies. I expand, the cavity in my soul filling up. I am full. I cry in amazement. And I rest as we enter Montana. I am full, I think. No more gasping in awe today. Then halfway through the state, after forests suddenly appeared on the sage hills, the mountains blaze across the horizon. Peaks and snow. shadows and light. The clouds around them seem separate from the skies above us, still in the plains. And tears well up again. I am overflowing. all this. all this is His doing. His. He is too great for me. It is a splendid overwhelming.

Every time you feel in God's creatures something pleasing and attractive, do not let your attention be arrested by them alone, but, passing them by, transfer your thoughts to God and say: O my God, if Thy creations are so full of beauty, delight and joy, how infinitely more full of beauty, delight and joy are Thou Thyself, creator of all! --Nicodemus of the Holy Mountain

An Answer to A Friend Planning Life and Children

A friend thinking of starting a family frankly states, "but I like to do what I want to do." And then optimistically comments that she's sure that'll change once the child arrives.

I hear the sarcastic laugh in my head and the sigh-sob of my heart as I reply "umm, no."

I thought that too at 25, pregnant with my firstborn, working full-time as a technical writer, serving at church on different teams, reading novels late into the nights, sleeping in on Saturdays, eating out frequently, hanging out with my husband when and where we felt like it. I thought that the "mom-gene" would just supplant that "me-gene." I would hold that baby in my arms for the first time and suddenly overwhelmed with maternal affection, I would never think of myself again.

9 years, 3 children, months of postpartum depression later, and a new career title of Stay-at-Home-Mom, I loudly shout "SO NOT SO!!!"

It turns out selfishness is an instinct as great or even greater than the maternal instinct. That "save myself" urge is strong naturally and even stronger the longer if it's been fed and encouraged. Learning then, in the early days of motherhood, I thought I had to be a totally different person. There was the BC me and the AC me, and whenever the two met, chaos and discontent ensued.

Now, after years of praying and weeping and putting Me on a diet, it's more like sloughing off dead skin. You know, when you get a pedicure, the salon technician cleans your feet every time. And she sloughs off the dead skin every time. Because new skin is always growing and to see and feel the health of that new skin, you've got to scrape off the old. And it's like with my selfishness too. Every day, sometimes, every hour, I feel as though God is scraping off a little bit of that old me that always put myself first. Instead of being someone different though (like I tried in the beginning), this is just rubbing off the dead so that the True Life can shine through. And it's a constant changing, an on-going cleaning. When I don't take the time to be still and let God slough the ugly off, I get rough and tough. I don't hear my children's hearts only their noise. I don't see their smiles or tears only their mess. And they don't see Jesus in their Mama. They see a dictator, a tyrant, a crazy woman pulling her hair out trying to maintain control.

So Friend, if you're waiting for the selfishness to die a natural death, forget about it. It has to be premeditated murder by your own hand. Stop feeding self now, and then be prepared to be pumice-d a lot by motherhood. And even if you do not experience motherhood, Friends, you still have to do this. It's the call of Christ to every single one of his followers regardless of season or situation--Deny yourself and take up the Cross of Christ. It is not a denial of who you are, it is an acceptance of who you were meant to be.

Take some time today, and as many days as you can, and sit still for a soul-cure. Sure, it's a little gross and a little painful, but it's so worth it to be cleansed and purified and to shine with the Life of Christ.

Miss Me

Rides home in a cold van on a cold snowy, windy night make me want to move to Georgia. I visited Savannah once in December and loved it. Tonight, I sang "Georgia on my mind" as I drove and shouted to the kids "I am moving to Georgia!" C responds with "but winter is my favorite season" (the little Minnesotan at heart). And I reply, "I said 'I'm moving' not 'we're moving'." And they all shout "but we'll miss you!" And I wonder if their replies will be about missing me or about missing what I do. Is it wrong that I should want for them to be able to distinguish? I can't even distinguish. Tonight, when Tim asked the Jr. high group to think of one thing they were confident they could do well, the only thing I could think of--washing dishes. Sure enough their answers center around my cooking. Dad can cook, I argue. No, he only cooks frozen pizza not "warm" pizza like you make. And then comes the music "and he doesn't know how to cook rice and beans!" And whether they realize it or not, they've said they'll miss me. The reason we eat rice and beans so often that they've learned to like it and even ask for seconds and say they'll miss it....because of who God is growing me to be. I read Kisses from Katie by Katie Davis and as she described her humble home in Uganda, cooking rice and beans for 13 beautiful girls, living out her faith courageously, I looked around at all our stuff, all our space, and all our food. And thought of the first believers in Acts who gathered together and shared their food and belongings and money. Who sold what they had to give to those who did not. I want my children to understand the plight of our brothers and sisters around the world and not just to feel guilty about us having so much and they so little but to wonder "why?" We remind ourselves often around here "God has blessed us so we can be a blessing." We started with simplifying our meals--beans or lentils and rice for several nights a week. And at first they complained. But we kept at it. And now they'd miss me cooking rice & beans for dinner if I ran away to warmer places for the remainder of this winter. They'd miss me. I'm praying about the next step we take to simplify, share and bless. And in the meantime, I encourage you also to...

Keep going. Keep walking the path that God has for you. Make the hard choices. The seemingly ridiculous choices. Ask the hard questions. Ask why. Why you have so much. Why you were born in a free country. Why you can read. write. cook. sew. think. Whatever it is, ask why and then bless somebody else in your gratitude.

Hello Mornings!

So someday I'll take the time to do a real post about the Hello Mornings challenge and maybe even figure how to link it up on here. But in the meantime, here's a real life pic of my morning study nook all ready for tomorrow morning, 5:40 am. Coffee maker set up/timer set. IPOD alarm on the desk OUT of reach from my bed, so I can't hit snooze. Robe ready and waiting to keep me toasty. And my Bible, Abounding Hope study binder, and journal all at the ready...The piles? well, they're holding down the desk, of course. Oh and the bananas--one for me and one for my 3 year old who will inevitably be up at 6 to ask for a "nana." Be prepared!

Psalm 116:12 & 13

What shall I render to the LORD for all His benefits to me?

I want to list out my detailed plans for perfect repayment. For being the patient, put-together, prepared mother. the loving, excited and excitable wife. The eager learner, frequent servant, thoughtful friend, compassionate stranger. The tidy housekeeper and pleasant cook. "I will make you proud," I think, "you won't regret saving me."

But this is not the right answer to the gratitude question. This is pride. Not "Thank you for saving me." But "Thank you for giving me a second chance to save myself."

I will lift up the cup of salvation and call on the Name of the LORD. 

Such utter simplicity, complete humility, grates against my Eve-Independence. But it is the truth, and I know it. I am naked and ashamed, hiding beneath my plans for perfection. In need of my Creator to be my Savior.

Oh God, you are my hope and my salvation. My "habitation of righteousness" (Jeremiah 50:7).

I believe. Help Thou mine unbelief.