Intercede

Sometimes life is the worst. Terrible things happen. Then they keep happening. Accidents take lives. We betray each other. We struggle figuring out the best way to communicate with each other. We hurt each other when we really don’t mean to or want to.

Sometimes I have a really hard time figuring out what to do in situations like these. What I am finding is I need space to be angry. I need space to be heartbroken, to feel hopeless. I need space to be disappointed in ways we are treating each other and behaviors I see (and exhibit). Only when I allow myself to enter into these (difficult!) spaces do I see a glimmer of hope or find a foothold.

When you hear the word “tension,” what comes to mind? (It’s okay if at first you think of Chubbs trying to calm Adam Sandler down in Happy Gilmore; I do, too.) How does your body feel? What images do you visualize? For me I think of a tight neck, a tight stomach, and that face you make when you can’t believe someone just made that inappropriate comment and aren’t sure what to say next. It makes me think of conflict, something I have spent a lot of time in my life trying to avoid.

As a parent, my spouse and I spend incessant energy helping our children practice the habit of finding the positive– in people and situations. We talk about what we can control, our “positive controllables” (thoughts, actions, words). Sometimes they do pretty well at this, more often, they exhaust us.

I have been struggling. Struggling during this time of world pandemic, national pre-election anticipation, economic uncertainty and ahh! I struggle. There is a lot of grief. I feel a lot of grief inside myself, and I feel it all around me. I pray constantly about how I can be bold and loving at the same time, within my sphere of influence. I pray for discernment about what my role is, as a beloved child of God, as far as how/when to act and when to talk or not. It feels exhausting.

I remember pulling a laminated pass off the hook by my sixth grade classroom door, entering the creaky wooden hallway, then turning up the ramp leading to the elementary library. I walked across the short brown carpet to the corner in the library where a book tower stood. This was the “big kid books” display. It was the elementary library, but the corner display contained some more intensely-themed content: books by Michael Crichton, Gordon Kormon, Judy Blume, and the like.

My grandma made the best cinnamon rolls. When I was a kid she made them every time we visited. I couldn’t wait to wake up, put one in the microwave, then butter up all the little pieces and, mmm. Fast forward a decade or so, and my own family moved back to the small town where my grandma still lived.

I used to spend a lot of time and energy worrying about the world ending. When I was pretty young I remember seeing some magazine claim on its cover a predicted date of Armageddon. When I was a little older we went through the whole Y2K scare. Through college and into “adulthood” it was the Yellowstone caldera or North Korea’s nukes that kept me from falling asleep. Today we are living through an actual pandemic and wondering what transformations may take place regarding health and human rights.

There are lots of things that threaten and strike fear in us.

What I am realizing is that people’s worlds end.

All. The. Time.

I was wiping down the sink and countertop in our bathroom while my son showered, as he had expressed he wanted me to “Keep me company, Mom!”

He had a stomachache, and he had been pretty negative just before dinner. He was in a good mood now, and I could tell he was feeling calm and contemplative with the hot water refreshingly dripping down over his dirt-caked, busy little boy body.

Whenever we move, I notice two things: 1) that I cry a lot, and 2) that one day suddenly seems equivalent to one week. Not only does it feel this way after we move, but every time I delve into a new endeavor (nice alliteration, if I do say so myself). I always comment on how crazy this phenomenon feels and wonder why. Why does it feel that way?

Fourteen years and three days ago I woke up, took a shower, and put on some Avon liquid foundation titled something like “Ivory” or “Nude” or “Bisque” (like the soup)? This was significant because up until that point, I had only worn foundation when I went to proms in high school

Our daughter Jordan Kate turned twelve today! Somehow she seems like such a mature little lady yet still such a sweet little girl all at the same time! Right around eleven years ago, Jordan had a terrible accident and for a moment we weren’t sure if she would survive.

March 28, 2020

Yesterday I had a most fabulous thirty-sixth birthday. It was wonderful being home with the family all day (unexpected natural consequence of the country’s COVID quarantine). I started my day trudging through the snow with my husband over to the church basement a little after 5:00 a.m. to lead our three day a week (Zoom for now) workout class. When we got back home I enjoyed a glorious hot shower followed by cheesy scrambled eggs as well as piping hot coffee with whipping cream and truffles (courtesy of my sister-in-law, Naomi). And all this before 7:00 a.m.!

Today is my birthday! It seems appropriate on this day for myself to introduce . . . myself (I never pass up a chance to quote “Austin Powers”), to share who I am.

Well I was really excited for this weekend because – up until about a week ago – the plan was for me to co-lead a women’s retreat at beautiful Outlaw Ranch near Custer, SD. This was a big deal for me. I have always known God gave me special gifts to find the best in and encourage others.

March 10, 2020 Blog #4 “Audience”

My first class as an elementary teacher was a group of third graders from Decatur, Illinois. It was reading time, so everyone had their bulky, hardcover reading books open to our story of the week. The first question in this situation was always, “Now looking at the title and the cover, what do you think the genre of this story is?”

A new friend and fellow coach of mine, Barbara, is so great about being intentional in celebrating milestones. The first time I was coaching her, she shared about a block party she and her husband organized. The block party was a celebration not only of the milestone of their family moving, but also to connect and celebrate with new neighbors. I love that! I am a big checklist person, and rarely do I make a point to stop, reflect on, and celebrate accomplishments– no time to stop and celebrate when there is still more on the checklist! (The sneaky truth is, there is always more on the checklist!)

The other night I was checking my email in the Minneapolis/St. Paul airport. My publisher had sent an email (let's pause right there for a minute – do I sound fancy or what?)

“Self promotion” is the phrase currently squirreling around in my mind. Last week I was coached on how to focus on self promotion. I chose that as my coaching topic because an Advance Reading Copy of my book (also getting used to that surreal phrase “my book!”) is being printed today (today!), and now it is time to promote the book. There are basic steps in the process of publishing, none of which are familiar to me. With that, I am praying for confidence, trust, and boldness as I discern each next step.

Blog. The word “blog” makes me giggle. I just like saying it. Blog. I want to write, always have. Apparently in today’s world that means I want to blog. So here I go, a-bloggin’.

When I was in first grade, I wrote my first story. It was called, “A Trip to the Store,” the most clever title of any story ever. The young girl in the story was asked by her mother to trudge to the store for a gallon of milk. This was easy for me to imagine because I grew up in a town of around 1,000 folks and trudged plenty of times to the store for staples like milk. In this story, the girl was kidnapped by a random stranger. Said stranger took the girl to the basement of a home. Luckily, the idiot kidnapper made the mistake of leaving the brilliant child unsupervised. Keeping her composure, she found some scissors, easily reached them, snipped the rope, called her mother (on a rotary phone), and gave her mother the exact address, as it was printed right there on the phone. The girl was rescued and the story ended with the clever quip, “And all this for a gallon of milk.”