Non-Post

Been too far away too long.

Not feeling the hallelujah I seek as my refuge on this platform.

Only the broken.

Completely uncertain if my words matter.

Overwhelmed.

Had two tough discussion with my mother today.

Our Mommy-daughter issues won’t be over until we’re both dead a century.

Got in a traffic snarl so big and congested I seriously considered urinating in a coffee cup.

It wasn’t shame that stopped me either, it was the horrified look on my daughter’s face who rode shot gun.

Agog at the divide of social hierarchy and how agelessly it chaffs… it’s only equal opportunity element.

Had a fight with The Husband big enough for the Banned Word List Committee of 2010 to reconsider the term epic.

Feel far away from what I know.

Sound far away from Truth.

As I recall again it’s Holy Thursday, I reconsider that garden.

Those prayers.

Big shoes.

And so,  if I really believe in Resurrection, I must surrender anew.

Thy will be done.

Nothing that is asked of me compares or is beyond my strength Through Him that gave all.

We can trust Him.

Let no one caught in sin remain
inside the lie of inward shame.

Hallelujah, Hallelujah,
Hallelujah, Hallelujah
Hallelujah, Hallelujah!

Reply All Button Invites Discord

Don’t do it.

If you’re mad, don’t do it.

If you’re uncertain it’s necessary, don’t do it.

If you feel intensely that you must send the message RIGHT NOW, don’t do it.

Just don’t.

Generally speaking, the number one best rule of thumb for professional email etiquette in regard to the REPLY ALL button is to not use it.

In the best of times, email is a flat and tricky communication stage.

Email communication is easy to misinterpret and rife with potential for conflict in team dynamics.

The most effective email communications are:

• Timely
• Appropriate
• Necessary
• Productive

Many teams find it helpful to establish communication protocols for email. An example of a commonly used model is:

Email messages will be

• Private
• Productive
• Professional
• Positive

Another more annotated model asserts:

Email communications will speak:

• Abundantly
• Accurately
• Appropriately
• Aptly
• Advisedly
• Anointedly

It is often helpful for teams and families come to consensus on how they agree to communicate with each other.

Professionally, I plan to fast the REPLY ALL button at every opportunity.

Personally, as a Mamma, I am convicted to prayerfully contemplate the challenge to communicate anointedly.

Imagine how much more access my children would have to The Face of Love were every word I spoke earnestly considered and intended to bless.

The idea humbles and inspires me.

There was a time you let me know
What’s really going on below
But now you never show it to me, do you?
And remember when I moved in with you
The holy dove was moving too
And every breath we drew was Hallelujah
Hallelujah,
Hallelujah
Hallelujah,
Hallelujah!

Rain Day!

Saturday mornings in our house usually entail an obstacle course that rivals Quantico. This morning, however, I awoke to a still darkened room and house. It took me a moment to orient, as the digital data of the alarm clock did not match the house’s stillness. Gradually, my ears woke up enough to register the pattering of rain on the roof.

Rain Day!
All fields closed!

I sunk back into the still-warm dumpling of our duvet. I sighed with enough breath that it made my nose whistle.

A Rain Day is the parental equivalent of a Snow Day. The difference between the two is infinite. On a Snow Day, the kids’ plans go on hiatus, but parents must still work, triage care for the children, and brave treacherous road conditions.

On Rain Days, conversely, the entire family’s plans go on hiatus. Like a precious pearl on the shore, a Rain Day is not just a found treasure, but a day that the family calendar is free. I know you’re busy too and appreciate a free day on the family calendar is more rare than a blue moon.

Children’s literature heralds the magical properties of the blue moon. On such days unicorns can be freed from captivity, princesses can be awoken from spells, gardens can bloom healing plants, and peace can arc like a rainbow against a dark sky.

Do you know what my girls are doing right now?

Ask me.
Come on, I know that you want to know.

All three of them, and a BFF, are snuggled under a blanket watching Tangled and eating Jelly Belly jellybeans.

Before you call a dentist or go all legalistic on my Mamma logic, I want to testify that they are doing this thrills me.

Like so many, too many children of this modern age, my children are over booked and under rested.

Being under rested is different from being sleep deprived. Generally speaking, my children get enough sleep. They do not, however, get enough rest. Just like you and me; the extra-curricular activities portion my children’s time into pieces. They desire and have chosen how their time is metered, but they are constantly on the go.

This rest is a blessed Sabbath.

Today, in addition to Jelly Belly jelly beans we have planned:

4 haircuts.
(The kids have not had hair cuts since November, and, as they are novel, enjoy them as a treat)
Family Home Movie.
Ruffles & Dean’s Dip.
Smartfood Popcorn.

The kids will enjoy egg pizza for dinner, and the husband has been delightedly musing over a shrimp creaole recipe for hours. It’s almost as fussy as is he, and his delight is more poignant than the cayenne pepper in the air.

I would write more, but this fruit is time gifted from a bonus day and the wine decants to fill my cup.

Well there was a time when you let me know
What’s really going on below
But now you never show that to me do you?
And remember when I moved in you?
And the holy dove was moving too
And every breath we drew was Hallelujah
Hallelujah
Hallelujah
Hallelujah
Hallelujah!

Home

Being away from home last week allowed me to appreciate things about our home that I don’t always attend to during the normal rhythm.

We stayed at The Husband’s brother’s house for 8 nights.

He and his family could not have been more accommodating or welcoming.

In fact, The Boy wanted to take Auntie D home.

Their gracious hospitality aside, what I missed most about our home being in our own space.

I missed being able to go to the ‘frig in the middle of the night in my underwear and drink from the milk carton.

I missed having room to spread out my toothbrush and face lotion.

I missed the kids knowing where find things without help.

I missed missed wiping the kitchen counters.

I missed eating as little or as often as I liked.

I missed my laminator.

I missed The Husband being able to sleep through the night.

I missed decompressing the day with the kids while setting the table and boiling pasta.

I missed shoes in cubbies or closets.

I missed the simple routines that makes our house a home.

I missed our night-night song.

I missed the simple comfort of comfort.

I missed the hills of Charlottesville enshrouded by our blanket of community.

I missed home.

I love our home.

I love our babies.

I love our babies in our home.

I love being in our bed in The Husband’s arms.

I am so grateful to be home.

I did my best, it wasn’t much
I couldn’t feel, so I tried to touch
I’ve told the truth, I didn’t come to fool you
And even though
It all went wrong
I’ll stand before the Lord of Song
With nothing on my tongue but Hallelujah!

The Original! Blizzard Flavour Treats

I picked up my niece from school today, a treat as rare as a holiday as we live more than 1000 miles apart.

The encounter grafted the familiar, sitting in a car in a Mommy pick-up circle, with the novel, picking up L Girl, and conjured the idea of fruit hybrids sometimes seen at Sam’s Club. The Grapple, for example, a mix of grape and apple never conceived in The Garden, was unanimously vetoed by even the most experimental of produce consumers in our family, The Husband. This is a man who will buy anything in the produce section that is unfamiliar for the cullinary literacy of our children. He practices this rite as faithfully as he extends love to them every weekend with some handmade carbohydrate that demands maple syrup.

All this food nostalgia prompted a whimsy seed, and by the time L Girl got into the car, I had confections on the brain. I asked my niece if she wanted to surprise her cousins with an unexpected after-school treat and its was game on.

When I asked her what might sound good, she said, “Dairy Queen,” in a tone of hushed adoration that teenage girls generally exclusively reserve to describe teenage boys.

We ordered Blizzards, “(c)reamy smooth DQ soft serve blended with your favourite candy, cookies, or fruit add up to one irresistible taste sensation,” and headed home.

Eager voices heralded our return with synchronized cries of, “Dairy Queen!” as if it were the generational ring tone for yum.

We arrived to find 11 eager faces and held only 5 Blizzards. Of course we shared, pouring out cup after cup the precious exlihar into Chinet Kirkland Signature Red Cups. Like the loaves and fishes, those Blizzards multiplied to satisfy grandparents, aunts, cousins and babies.

Oreo-mustached children giggled and swapped bites on spoons, a-forever-on-her-feet-granmother sat down with a cup, and our family simply sat together and chatted. The moment was as sweet and unexpected as the treat.

Love was spoken audibly enough to taste.

I learned that Oreos are magical, soft serve ice-cream transcends generations, and sometimes, Our Daily Bread is served by Dairy Queen.

And it’s not a cry that you hear at night
It’s not somebody who’s seen in the light
It’s a cold and it’s a broken Hallelujah
Hallelujah
Hallelujah
Hallelujah
Hallelujah

Hallelujah
Hallelujah
Hallelujah
Hallelujah

Hallelujah
Hallelujah
Hallelujah
Hallelujah
Hallelujah!

April Showers

bring May flowers,

Spring Breaks,

and the end-of-the-school-year-chase.

International Day.
Grandparent’s Day.
3-D extra-credit projects.
Soccer games.
Circulatory System Brochures.
Curtain Please!
Plays, plays and more plays!
Dances.
Field Trips.
Wax Museums.
Soccer games.
Character Lunch.
Junior Proms.
Teacher Appreciation Week.
Book Reports.
Science Projects.
More soccer games.
Spring Fling.

May’s forecasts even more densely packed calendar items…

(And, yes, we are still expected to grocery shop and do the laundry. Gotta keep those soccer uniforms clean.)

Time to grab your track shoes,
take your vitamins,
maintain a sense of humor,
safeguard the kids’ rest,
(They get so mean when they are sleep deprived…)
and hug each other.
Often.

It’s too easy to forget the reason we run this obstacle course in the first place is for the kids.

Our kids are hardworking and talented.
They are eager and beautiful.

The next couple months can be a festival of stress, or a time to soak in their childhoods and invest in family relationships.

God grant me the wisdom to celebrate this time of year and dance with my children in a festival of Thanksgiving.

Well Your faith was strong but you needed proof
You saw her bathing on the roof
Her beauty and the moonlight overthrew you
she tied you to her kitchen chair
And she broke your throne and she cut your hair
And from your lips she drew the Hallelujah
Hallelujah
Hallelujah
Hallelujah
Hallelujah!

User Error

I. AM. SO. MAD.

It happened two days ago.

I. AM. STILL. NOT. OVER. IT.

I wrote you a post.

It was beautiful.

Generational.

Poignant.

Lovely.

Sentimental.

But, not saccharine.

It was a post that wrote itself.

I wrote it by the pool as my kids swam in their uncle’s pool in Florida.

It was fun to write and its results pleased me.

As I finished I went to hit “Save Draft,” and the computer sent an error message.

“Your computer is not connected to the Internet.”

I’m sure you anticipate the punch line.

The computer ate my post like a hungry Early Bird dinner at Golden Corral gobbles up fresh brownies when the dessert bell rings.

I couldn’t back arrow to it.

I couldn’t find it.

The husband, usually my ace-in-the-hole Help Desk rescue, couldn’t retrieve it.

It was gone.

User Error.

I think the phrase User Error frustrates me more than parking tickets.

At least with parking tickets, I know what I did to earn the penalty. With parking tickets, it’s pretty simple: I either parked in the wrong place, or I stayed in the legal space too long. My bad all the way with parking tickets.

User Error however, maddens me, because I often don’t know what I did wrong, but still have to pay the price. In this case, a pretty lovely and feel-good post that captured a sweet, family moment.

User Error puts all the blame on me without apology or explanation.

User Error creates paranoia and suspicion.

When will WordPress next fail me?
What does the computer have against me?
What did I do wrong?
I didn’t mean to hurt you, Internet Connection!
I’m sorry!

Aren’t relationships like this sometimes?

Do you ever feel that seizure of confidence with a person during an interaction, that toggle that signals something’s amiss?

At least computers tell you upfront, User Error.

I wonder what it would be like if people came with User Error messages.

What would it be like if we knew immediately that a behavior or comment had hurt another?

I wonder if it would make us more careful and forgiving.

What would my days look like if my family and friend’s foreheads came equipped with User Error screens.

It’s loss enough to have the computer eat a good post,  I don’t want my User Errors to blister my relationships.

May I seek the Face of Grace in all my interactions to avoid User Errors and forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us.

I did my best, it wasn’t much
I couldn’t feel, so I tried to touch
I’ve told the truth, I didn’t come to fool you
And even though
It all went wrong
I’ll stand before the Lord of Song
With nothing on my tongue but Hallelujah!

Panic Attack

I had deeply humbling experience at church Sunday morning.

The family and I decided to visit the local Assembly of God church in Fort Meyers.  The Baby and The Oldest girls were especially excited to attend as they hoped to see Dan & Louie of the Dan & Louie Bible Stories CDs they so enjoy.

The Baby got the complete set of Dan & Louie stories for Christmas from her Mamma S, and she had remembered that the church that produced them was in Fort Meyers.

I sensed that the building was large when we drove up, but dismissed it from my attention when The Husband pulled up into a “First Time Visitor Parking” space.

As we entered the church, I asked the greeter what services they had available for children, and he offered to escort us to the children’s registration desk.

That sounded as benign as vanilla pudding, so I agreed to follow him.

Along the trek, I began to notice the scope of the building after we had passed a cafe, Christian bookstore, and several information desks and kiosk booths.

Apprehension began its prowl when the greeter indicated that the children were served in another building.

The kids’ space we entered was banked by a wall of computers where parents registered their children.

The Husband and I approached the Help Desk to get information about how to sign up the girls.

The volunteer was pleasant enough. He dutifully explained the process of how we could sync a beeper to the children in case we needed to be contacted during the service in regard to their needs.

Though helpful, he did not engage us with us personally, smile or offer a reassuring look.

I began to feel my chest tighten as I realized that I did not feel able to put my kids into this program like logs-floating-down-river-for-transport- assembly-line.

So I signaled to The Husband that I didn’t want to leave them, and maybe I should stay with them in kids’ church, and that he and The Boy should go hear the message in the sanctuary.

I headed around the corner with the girls into a space almost as large as the sanctuary of our church at home. The walls were painted royal blue and red. The room was filled with bleacher-style seating like a stadium.

All around us people milled about in activity. Groups of children without adults were playing in stations on gaming equipment, with play dough cups and a tag game. Youths with microphones attached to their heads talked to each other in preparation for the lesson or Worship.

No one looked at us or greeted us.

I realized my temperature had risen and that I was over heated and uncomfortable, and decided to go find The Husband and The Boy in the sanctuary.

We made toward the door as a kind man held it open for us when my lips began to tremble.

In an instant, I  felt enveloped in a compressed sleeve of fear.

The fear constricted my chest and I could not breathe.

There was enough pain that I wondered if it was my heart.

The oxygen starvation inspired desperation.

I hazarded a step or two out of the doorway and faced the wall for privacy.

My only focus was to catch my breath so I could escape, and get us out of there, but I couldn’t find my center.

It seemed like I stood with my face pressed into the corner of that wall for 40 years.

Eventually, the siege passed.

My chest opened up, and I could wipe my face and tend to my girls.

We left to find The Husband and The Boy.

I took his sunglasses off his face and shifted gears.

More than any other thing, I wanted to get in our car and drive away.

I was embarrassed, and tired and felt so far away from my Savior.

However, I didn’t want my girls to associate my response to the church, or to think there was something wrong with their program.

The husband plugged the girls into kids’ church while The Boy and I found seats in the sanctuary.

We stayed for the message, ironically about courage, encouragement and discouragement.

I opened my heart to Praise and tried to press the rest away.

My home church never seemed so precious or far away.

And even though
It all went wrong
I’ll stand before the Lord of Song
With nothing on my tongue but Hallelujah!

Extended Family Lens

My family safely arrived in Florida despite tornado-related flight delays.

As I previously mentioned the postponement, I offer the tornado context with humility.

I wonder if I would have been able to hang on to my happy Zen with the same gracious grip had I known we were flying into tornado warnings.

There were enough generational allusions to the Wizard of Oz that we had to agree to, “Stop it already, my little pretty.”

We hit Fort Meyers late with a robust agenda for the evening and next day, so our initial entry into the area felt more like work than vacation.

Today we slept in and woke up to sunshine and vacation.

It was a pancake morning and afterward the kids poured into the pool like maple syrup.

They swam like giggling porpoises in an eighty-degree pool, jumping from the steaming hot tub back to the pool as I left for a long run.

The time alone gave me time to filter recent experience.

It occurred to me that this visit with extended family is much like going to the ophthalmologist.

You know that part of the exam when the doctor puts that big, metal mask in front of your face and each time he adjusts the lens she asks you, “Which is better, 1 or 2?”

The beauty of family, of course, is that there is no exact prescription. You don’t have to walk out the door with one pair of glasses.

Like the best of buffets, we get to love and be loved by everyone.

The versatility of our family allows us to benefit from seeing our children from the unique lens of their love.

Each of the family members who love our babies helps us see them in a different way:

D: Their D honors this season in our lives. Her children are now grown, and when her eyes light our babies, they magnify the honor we have been given to have this season with these little people and be their parents.

Uncle T: The Baby couldn’t wait to get to Uncle T’s house, because his eyes sees each of our children as individuals of incredible potential. His perspective helps us appreciate the enormity of their futures, an easy thing for us to lose sight of when buried in laundry and bills.

G: One of D’s adult daughters, I see The Oldest Girl’s face when she looks at my girls. Her lens of love for her mother is entirely unconditional, and I am filled with wonder to imagine what our relationships with our children will be when they are adults.

Pappaw: Pappaw’s eyes have the steady gaze of a patriarch. They are our earthly lens of yesterday, today and tomorrow.

Mamma-in-Law: Her eyes are like baptism. Her gaze renews our sense of wonderi.

Tia: Tia’s love endures and stands watch over our babies like a sentry. She helps us guard what is most important.

L: L’s eyes connect us to the simple delight of reunion. As much one of us as one of our own, she helps us see who we are as a family.

The members of our extended family help us see the gifts of our nuclear family more clearly and we are grateful for their lenses.

Well baby I’ve been here before
I’ve seen this room and I’ve walked this floor
I used to live alone before I knew ya
I’ve seen your flag on the marble arch
Love is not a victory march
It’s a cold and it’s a broken Hallelujah
Hallelujah
Hallelujah
Hallelujah
Hallelujah!

Flight Delayed

Flight delayed.

Normally this would challenge my patience. However, as so many of the people around me have already ditched their cool, the theater of their responses offers experience enough.

I do not delight in their frustration. I’m just happy that in this one moment, I have declined the invitation to throw a temper tantrum. So as I look across me at the frustrated mother that tosses anger grenades on her children like a pitching machine, I know that has been me. I know that could be me. No finger pointing, simply grateful for this reprieve for my own family.

Flight delayed sets the table for an unexpected repast, a welcome opportunity to sit still as my thoughts go ambulatory.

For instance, I realize that I have not been at an airport since my recent binge of the entire six seasons of Lost on Netflix. I admit that I miss Hurly and still wonder why Ben Linus wouldn’t go into the church, what work he felt called to finish. Lost was a festival of brokenness, broken people, broken island, broken relationships. As I look around me, I marvel how intact people appear outwardly in their Ralph Lauren shirts and Reef flip flops that comfortably stage caramel-apple-brown pedicures while inwardly, we’re all like Jack and Kate. Or Libby, I’d rather be a Libby than a Kate, tragic end notwithstanding.

If you were a character on Lost, which character would you be and why?

The Baby just asked if she could peel off with The Husband to help him find lunch. She skipped into his open arms with a giggle joy like you hear in a family neighborhood when the ice-cream truck lets rip its siren song that promises Dreamsicles. She leapt into her father’s arms and knew she was perfectly happy and completely loved. It struck me as she did that she really had no idea where they were going. She was in the harbor of her father’s arms and trusted its safety and his direction. It was one of those Abba moments when I drank in the presence of my Father’s arms that cradle me in every day. Would that I trust His Direction with the purity that my daughter just found in her papa’s embrace.

Flight delayed.

Just the phrase tags associations like kids call “You’re It!” at the park.

Developmental delay.

Delayed satisfaction.

There’s been a slight delay.

Don’t delay, buy today.

Delayed payment.

Traffic delays.

I’ve been delayed.

Running late.

Late fees.

Late payment penalties.

I’m late. (tardy)

I’m late. (preggers)

Regardless of the spin, I’m socially wired to abhor delays.

Oh so, Verruca, “I want it now!”

I want to be on time!

I’m Bard-bent to participate on my own terms, “Hold me not, let me go!”

Delay quickens stress that spins the balance of my over-scheduled paces like the Tea Cups at Disney Land.

As I sit here with a boarding pass that won’t let me go anywhere any time soon and front row tickets to the anxiety antics of the would-be passengers all around me, I realize how ridiculously I strive to drive my agenda on my own strength.

I am not freaking out, because this delay has absolutely nothing to do with the work that I do for others. It’s just an inconvenience, not a hardship to those who count on me. In this blessed context, not one person waits for me to arrive on the other end. I am not late to pick up a child. I am not late for a meeting. I am not late to teach a lesson. I am not late to carry a meal.

No one is disappointed.

I’m not missing anything.

I’m just delayed.

This makes me reconsider how The Baby jumped into her papa’s arms. His embrace captured her delight even though she did not know where they were going or what they might find once they got there.

I need to trust the One that made not only me, but Time itself. I want to jump into the arms of He who breathed Life into the Universe and delight even though I don’t know where I am going or what I will find when I get there.

As her papa carried The Baby down the concourse in search of a chicken sandwich, she looked ahead and smiled confidently.

Flight delayed.

Trust My timing.

I am going to snuggle up in the arms of Love, sit in this chair and smile.

I am not one minute late.

His Love lets me go.

His Love sets me free.

I did my best, it wasn’t much
I couldn’t feel, so I tried to touch
I’ve told the truth, I didn’t come to fool you
And even though
It all went wrong
I’ll stand before the Lord of Song
With nothing on my tongue but Hallelujah!