"Hi mama"

The text simply said two words: "hi mama." When I opened it up on my phone, it was as if I could breath a deep sigh of relief. It was from Sawyer, who has been away at teen camp since Friday. Not that I am one of those parents who stays up all night worrying about how my child is doing when they are not in my presence or anything. Because I am not. But I could tell that Sawyer was a little nervous as the bus pulled away, this being his first time at teen camp. Excited, but nervous. His last words to me as I said my goodbyes were, "mom, I am not so sure about this." I assured him that he was going to have a blast with all of his friends, and that there was nothing to worry about.

Still, I couldn't get those puppy dog eyes out of my head as I pulled away.

Watching your child grow up is one of those things that you will never get quite used to. Sure, there may be times where you find yourself celebrating graduations, engagements, marriages, grandkids, etc, but if you are anything like I am, you will think back to the first day you brought them home. Or the first time they took their first steps. Or the first time they came home talking about falling in love. We delight in seeing our kids grow up but a part of us will always remember them as our babies.

I knew that Sawyer was having these last minute reservations because it was something that he had never done before. Instead of being the big man on campus, he was now the minnow in the sea and that is a scary place to be for the first time. Think of it as kindergarten.  I wish I could have assured him that this would be the only time that he would be nervous about venturing into an unknown place but the truth is that he was just getting started. As he grows into the man that God has created him to be, there will be lots of times where his feet would take him where his mind is unsure of, but that's the beauty of faith, isn't it?

As I ponder this getting old business, I thought about the times that God led me to the edge of uncertainty. How many times had He assured me that everything would be ok if only I would trust him. And how he has proved to me over and over that he knows what is best for my life, and continues to go with me into the unknown and bring me out on the other side refined? The times are too many to count. Each time I take that step of faith, I know that I am being carried on the wings of angels who are under the command of an Almighty Father who is already waiting on the other side. He assures the growth that comes from the step of faith that I must boldly take and is always waiting around when I get to the other side and send him a message much like I received from Sawyer: "Hi daddy."

I realize that I have many friends that are burdened by a step that God wants them to take. Friends, be bold. Don't look back. Seek God first in all things, and He will make your paths straight. You need only to trust him. What will you lose if you never take that step? Maybe nothing. But what will you gain if you do? Perhaps everything.








.

The One

Laundry in my house is tricky business. Because of crazy busy schedules, I would like to officially label myself  a "binge launderer," or someone who waits until every laundry basket in the house is full of dirty clothes before she starts her day-long trek of restoring the empty dressers and closets to their original, well-stocked, functional selves. My laundry day is usually a Saturday, and usually on this day, the thought, " I wonder how much it would cost to pay someone to do this?" enters my mind. But this is real life, and I have to squeeze laundry detergent into my already-tightly squeezed grocery budget, so paying someone to do it is out of the question. Plus, I fear judgment, so there's that. It's one thing to admit my struggles with the laundry horde on a blog entry, but a whole other story for a real life person to deal with the dirty underwear that my children can produce. Judgment duly noted.

My husband is the greatest person known to man. Well, besides Jesus. And since Jesus is actually no longer a man, my husband wins the award. He is the "in-between-laundry-handler" and when a request is made for something specific to be washed during the dirty-laundry-day-purge, he sweeps in and saves the day. He is my ever-after Prince: my king of football jerseys and soccer clothes cleaner; the clothes that we get one pair of, yet have to be washed sometimes sixty times a week during those specific seasons. He is my hero and I have been known to dish out extra doses of lovin's when I can see he is having a busy laundry day because it is not my busy laundry day. Bless him. 

The kids know when it is my laundry day and usually avoid me like the plague. At any time, my regular calls of "Kids, come here!" can be met with eye rolls, grunts, complaining, and sloth-like movement upon exiting their locations of isolation where they are sure my pleas to go put up their laundry won't be heard and enter into whatever location I am working from. 

Nice try, kids. Be thankful. You have clean underwear. You're welcome. 

Maybe it is because I just woke up from a 3 and a half hour nap and am feeling like a reborn person who needs to do laundry and actually has some motivation to do it, but this topic of  laundry is not really what is on my heart. A million thoughts were going through my mind as I fell asleep and I just knew that when I woke up, I would produce a piece of literary art that would send  PR team to my door begging for my employment for one of their publications, but alas, here I am writing about laundry. 

So now is where I try to make a connection between my laundry wars and what has really been stirred in my heart. Previously I mentioned my children's response to my "Kids come here!" plea. It can be met with less-than-jolly attitudes as I have them transport their newly cleaned wardrobe into its designated spots and even though I am doing something to help them (who doesn't like clean underwear?), they are less than optimistic to rush in and take hold of what I have done for them, or why I am calling them.

Let's put the laundry away for a sec (see what I did there?) and get real for a moment. If you are reading this, you probably know a little bit about me. To say that I am a prodigal daughter is very much an understatement. I am sorry to assume that if you are reading this, you know what I mean when I call myself that, so let me explain. In the Bible, specifically Luke 15:11-32, there was a man who had two sons. One son was level-headed and responsible and the other was not; the prodigal son took the inheritance that his dad gave him and squandered it while the responsible son stayed behind to take care of his dad and the land, yada yada. Two very different types of personalities: one good, one bad. When the father learned that the son who has gone through his inheritance by being irresponsible was coming home, he didn't think twice about judging his son, rather embraced the fact that his son was coming home where he could be safe. The "bad" son had done so many things to mess up his life, yet the father welcomed him home for no other reason than he loved him unconditionally.

 Much like God, our eternal Father. He loves us. He longs for us to know that and to quit convincing ourselves that we have to do something to prove that we are worthy of His love. We are not worthy, but He still loves. 

When I turned my life back to God, a fire was lit. My focus became about  God and how He could love a prodigal daughter  like me, but I realized that it wasn't because of myself but rather of the perfect love that He had bestowed upon me. It has been roughly ten years since that fire stirred in my heart and I am so thankful that it did. My identity changed and while I will never be perfect, or even close, I am redeemed by God's power in my life. 

This girl (me) is a prayer warrior. Not just a "I'll pray for you" kind of girl, but more like a "I'm going to cry out to God on your behalf, things are going to get messy, things are going to get ugly, I am crawling to the Almighty throne on your behalf and I will encounter the Holy Spirit," kind of girl. Don't get me wrong: the world needs "I'll pray for you" pray-ers. (As in people, not the act) The fervent, steadfast, and always-reliable pray-ers have upheld the kingdom of God on so many occasions. James 5:16 tells us that the effective, fervent prayers of a righteous man has great power! Power that comes from God, not from whichever way we choose to pray because He hears them all. I love seeing prayers manifest and used to run around like a schoolgirl asking with anticipation (to the person I had prayed for) how God had chosen  to respond to my prayer. Like I somehow had a direct line to the Father or something. At what point did that stop and did I start responding to the Father in the same way that my kids respond to me on laundry day? "Don't they know that I have what they need? Don't they know that instead of worrying about the small details, I've got them covered?"

(Cue dramatic drum sound indicating a sad twist in the story.)

 Once upon a time, there was a girl who had a very giving heart that caused her to want to do so much for the kingdom of God that she would never turn a man away that needed help.  She lived by the credo, "Never walk away from someone who deserves help; your hand is God's hand for that person." (Proverbs 3:27) She volunteered in her community, her church, her kids' school, anywhere where there was a possibility that she could be the hands or feet of Jesus. She felt called in many directions and every time she would respond "yes" to a new calling, she felt her relationship strengthen with God. But then life got complicated. Instead of responding to the things of her heart, she found herself operating out of the necessary instead of the calling. She found herself getting so caught up with the "must-haves" that she forgot WHO the real must-have was. One day, she woke up to find that although she had not backslid by any means, she was no longer seeking the one who put the callings in her heart. As she sit and listened to her pastor deliver a message on one Sunday morning, she became emotional thinking about how close to God she once felt and regretted taking her eyes off of the One whom had been calling her all along. It wasn't necessarily about where she had been called before, or what her life looked like now, it was about the One who had been calling her and how she had allowed her own management of her life to take over God's direction for her life.

There's good news, though. We change, but God stays the same. Yesterday, today, and tomorrow. Maybe you are like me and don't remember what you are called to do. Maybe you once knew, but lost sight of it trying to keep up with the busyness of life. Maybe you are still waiting to be called somewhere specifically. Maybe you know your calling yet haven't taken that step of faith. Whatever the case, know the one who calls you. Stay connected with Him. Don't allow the circumstances of life interrupt you from the One who really matters. Don't allow satan to convince you that you are so far away from  God that getting back is impossible. That is a lie.

Whether you are a prodigal child who has gone far from Christ or an anointed child of God who is involved in a lukewarm relationship, seek Him and you will find Him. Open your Bible.( 1 Peter 2:9) Don't have one? Let me know. Pray, however it looks. But most importantly, worry less about your calling but more about the one who calls. The rest will fall into place.

 

What if kids make fun of me?

This is a question we have heard so many times from our oldest son. He is in the 5th grade and with his weight and height, he towers above all the other kids. He has been made fun of all of his life, and while we have been mindful of his food intake  since  he was in kindergarten and always made sure he led an active lifestyle, we have come to realize that he will never be "regular sized."

When he came home and mentioned to us that he wanted to play football, we were supportive. I suppressed the idea that there would be that kid who would make fun of my sons' athletic ability because of his size and told him that if he really wanted to, we could go check it out.

My son. His face shined when he ran through the preliminary obstacle course and kept up with the other kid he was racing against. He was so proud of himself and I began to get excited about his future in football.

I walked onto those bleachers as the mom of a 5th grader:

 I walked off as a proud mom to a football player. 

My footballer went to hang out with a friend later that day and it was during that time that I received a call from his coach concerning practice and game times. During this conversation, coach told me that he saw my son come onto the field and immediately told the other coaches that "this kid is mine." His enthusiasm for recruiting his future defensive linebacker was evident in the tone of his voice and my mama pride swelled with each sentence that he spoke. 

Later after I picked up my son from his buddies' house, I was about to break out the good news about his new team when he started to say something. He hesitated, but then managed to utter the words, "Mom, do I need to climb on a treadmill?" It appeared we had encountered that kid. I sidestepped the crying fest that I have dealt with before by only asking minimal questions so as not to give it much emphasis, and told him about the conversation I had with his coach. 

"Coach saw you on the field. He told the other recruiters that he wanted you, and he got you. He said you would be a big part of the team."

His concern about fitting in and not being made fun of because of his size were escorted away because of his newfound acceptance by his coach. As parents, all we want is for him to know that he is an incredible kid with a huge heart and more smarts than we ever had. But for a total stranger to seek him out and say "Come be on my team. We need you," well, it was a game changer, no pun intended.

At the beginning of the school year, I told our son how proud I was of him. No matter what. I also told him to always look for the kid who needs a friend, and found them he has; but on this particular day, it was someone else who found him and I thank God for that. 

As I sit back and think about the days' activities, I can't help but think about how we would all function if we put on that daily armor that lets us know that we are accepted. Today, my sons' confidence rose because he found acceptance in a place where the unknown was scary.

 His fear was replaced with confidence. 

His worry was replaced with certainty. 

His worth was confirmed through the words of an eager coach. 

The Bible tells us in John to "Take heart, for I have overcome the world!"(16:33) Yes, we will have concerns. Yes, we will have insecure moments. Yes, we will be let down. But no, we will not be shaken because our foundation is not built on us, it is built on the belief in Christ. He has sought us out, He has chosen us, and He has said "You belong with me." 

Maybe you are the encourager, like coach: Keep encouraging, because you never know how God is using you to reach someone in a dark place. Maybe you are the insecure 5th grader, seeking acceptance in a world that has dealt you some pretty hard blows: know that you have been handpicked by God to be brave and bold and embrace your acceptance even when it is hard. 

Father God,

I pray for the one who is reading this and wondering if the kind words they said to someone in passing, and if those words matter; let them know that they do. I pray for the one that is seeking you out and trying to find their identity in you and role in your kingdom: place in their heart the knowledge of acceptance you have for them, and the pride you take in them. I pray for the mom's, dad's, grandparents, teachers, ministry workers, coaches,and anyone else that I missed; give us the discernment to know when to speak, when to listen, and how to pray.  

In the name of Jesus, Amen.

Terrible Tuesday's.

I always hear so many people say that Monday's are their least favorite days of the week.

Mine are Tuesday's.

Somehow, something traumatic has to happen every.single.Tuesday. that throws a wrench at my seemingly normal routine.

Maybe my nine-year old realizes that he stuck something in his backpack (in the non-designated homework section of his folder) that "has to be turned in today." Maybe my preschooler decides that he needs to have a bowel movement at the precise moment that I call everyone to the front door to leave, only to sit on the "throne" for fifteen minutes without any production. Or maybe he spills milk on his outfit and to avoid a meltdown, I allow him to wear the green Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles shirt with the grey and red striped shorts (an ensemble that has the potential to be featured on "What Not To Wear"), thus setting us back 4.5 minutes because, of course, we have to change underwear and socks too.

Ya know, because you can't not wear Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle socks and underwear if you are wearing a TMNT shirt.

I thought today might be a little bit different. I was shocked when I looked at my phone to see what time it was and it said 6:35. What?! I'm five minutes ahead of schedule? On a Tuesday? Somebody knock on wood and start anointing  the walls with essential oils in the name of Jesus because a miracle has occurred.

But then.

The celebration of my early defeat against father time came to a screeching halt as my four-year old crashed into a doorknob while "hugging" (aka:attacking) his older brother. The scream could be heard for miles and while it was a short lived episode,the Tuesday curse reared its ugly head and I was behind schedule. With child in arms, clothed in an icepack on his bruised shoulder, I managed to get me and my coffee to the car. (And the kid, too.)

By the time I dropped him off at the babysitter's house, sprinted to school, and  managed to walk in on time, I had the  aroma of defeat surrounding me. It followed me all day long and I struggled through the day, forcing a smile on my face several times but wanting to crawl into a cave instead.

I know that I haven't held much back when it comes to some pretty major stuff that God has carried me through. I have always credited with what my life is now compared to what it could have been. I have seen miracles. Real ones. I believe that God is capable of changing hearts, reshaping people's lives, restoring health to the sick, raising the dead to life, etc.

But what about the little stuff? What if I get a flat tire? What if my dryer breaks? What if I yell at my child? Does that stuff matter to God?

I believe the answer is yes. As I attempted to regain some sense of a normal day, I went to the break room and started scrolling facebook. I clicked on a link that took me to a beautiful voice, and she was sitting in the exact seat that I was sitting in. It was another teacher, and she had been in the same spot on the couch that I was now sitting on just fifteen minutes prior to my arrival. In the video, she sang, "Sometimes you have to speak victory during the test." God had prompted her to post this video, and I don't want to sound egotistical, but I don't serve a god of coincidences, and I think He knew I would be sitting in that very spot and did that just for me. Well, others too. :)

Some time went by and I was still trying to regain my usual disposition. Another friend noticed that I wasn't my "usual Sarah" and all I could do was look at her and say, " Sister, I feel so defeated today." It was then that my sister, whom battles physical pain on a regular basis and has seen some real trials in her life, looked at me and said, "No ma'am. You are not defeated. You are a conquerer. You are a daughter of the King, and sometimes you just have to remember what He has brought you through."

Oh yeah. What the Great I Am has brought me through.

And yet, here I am crying over spilt milk and mismatched clothes.

God does care about the small stuff. He is powerful enough to give the prodigal son (or daughter) a restored life as well as keep her from running over a nail in the road on a Tuesday morning.  He is the same God that formed an invisible dam in the middle of a river while people fled through. And He is the same God that made roses smell like they do. He is over everything, big and small, and everything in between.

And I. Am His. (Breathe)


Dear God,
Thank you for sweating the small stuff for me. Thank you for placing me exactly where you want me to be. Continue to open my eyes to the things you are arranging for my sake, and anoint all future Tuesday's as if they were Friday's.

Love,
Sarah, your always-anointed, sometimes-struggling, no-believing-in-coincidences, Tuesday-hating, daughter of the One True King

So I reminisce, gladly.

I remember it like it was yesterday. I was about to become a mom. I walked up to the front doors of the hospital knowing that when I walked away, my body would be my own again. Well, sortive.

Becoming a mom was a turning point in my life; one in which God truly transformed my mind. He gave me strength I never knew I had; a heart that had once been hardened; and the true understanding of what it really meant to love someone in the most purest of ways.

Four years later, my mini-me arrived. Figuring out that juggle was one that God still helps me with every day. Our family dynamic changed and where I once could cry from being separated for more than a few hours from my eldest baby, my heart now swelled from immense proportions at the thought of hearing my five year old ask his infant brother (whom was not even crawling yet) if he wanted to play with hot wheels together.

Ironic that now they are capable of full blown fights over the thought of  who gets to play with a forgotten Furby and control of the wii controller. Still, I treasure the memories of a less-dramatic conversation between a big brother and his teething baby brother.

So what has me reminiscing tonight?

Now that I am stationed at the preschool that my youngest attends, sending him off into "big boy land" is not as traumatic as it was five years ago when it was his brother. I get to see him throughout the day, and if he is sick, out of almond milk, or even being disruptive, I know about it. Mommy to the rescue, or pep talk if he needs it. It's a far cry from the ball fest I had in the parking lot when his older brother entered preschool.

But in two weeks, this "beginning of the school year" will be the last of its kind. Why stress about the future? It's not so much a stress as an awareness. Aware that this first day of preschool will be replaced with a first day of kindergarten in a year. Aware that my now-fourth grader will be finishing out his elementary school stint and moving on to a land of lockers, seven periods, and girls in training bras.

So I reminisce, gladly.

If you have young children, you have probably heard about "how fast time goes," or "just wait until they go to college." So instead of traditionally nodding my head in agreement and wondering if my children with survive with me as their mom until they make it to age eighteen, I will stop.

Sawyer was born nine years ago. In nine years to come, we will be discussing the next stage of his life. Whether it is to go to college, trade school, become a missionary, or a race car driver like he aspires to do, he will always be the baby that changed my life.

I will remember the way he giggles when I tickle under his chin and arms. I will remember him dreaming of building a go-cart and entering it into a contest like he saw in the "Little Rascals." I will remember him asking Jesus into his heart, as we sat on the floor of an itty-bitty bathroom (and then asking me if he could walk on water like Jesus did, now that he was saved.) I will remember him ordering me to pull over the car to help a man on the side of the road with a sign (and offering to give the man his happy meal). His heart is pure gold, and he is a carbon copy of his daddy.

Paxton is 4 1/2. In 4.5 years, he will be the age that his brother is now. He will be going into the fourth grade, and will hopefully still be a goofy kid. His dreams may be unknown, but I will remember him as he is now.

He refuses to keep clothes on his body. He randomly wipes snot and licks people constantly. He is my little entertainer, and keeping him off a stage where his mommy or daddy are can only be accomplished with a bouncer. He will not sit still, and he has never finished a meal in his life; he grazes and then claims to starve all the time, especially when he is sleepy. He crawls into bed with mommy and daddy every night (usually between midnight and 5am...who knows?). His smile lights up a room. He is the funniest kid I have ever been around.

I will remember these things fondly, and thank God for giving me the chance to be their mommy.

Jet-lagged summer blues

Hello summer. We have been together for a couple of months now, and I sure do appreciate the unstructured nature that you offer.

Being in a classroom now offers me the awesome "adventure" of having the hot months to spend with my children. It also gives me the freedom to slack off on a few things:

Bedtime:10pm
 (applies to children only, specifically the four year old who tends to get violent after 9pm)
Showers/bathing: every other day
(applies to children only; varies if we visited the pool)
Rise and shine: before lunch
(only applies to the nine-year-old)
Cleaning: only when my hubby starts noticing the mess.
(Which means it HAS to be bad.)
Laundry:When people start asking me to smell something to determine if it is clean.
(Then I binge wash for two days straight.)

Before I digusted you all with my summer time routine, I should have added a disclaimer that I am ordinarily a very "kept" person. No, I usually don't wash my baseboards or clean my ceiling fans, but I would rate my home  management skills a B+ ordinarily.

Except in the summer time.

This week I went back to work for a few hours to set up the classroom. Realizing that in just three short weeks my life would regain some of the structure that it previously had [in May], I decided to start easing back into the old Sarah. The hygienic Sarah.  The "I'm not just going to spray some cleaner and wipe up the sweet tea mess my child poured on the floor--I'm going to actually get out the mop this time" Sarah. My how I missed her.

As I happily reclaimed my kitchen, it happened. I had just mopped in the dining room and as far as my children were concerned, the wet floor might as well had a sign on it that said "Exclusion Zone." Unless you could float, the wet floor was off limits. So here's what "it" is: my sweet son (the little guy) came and yelled at me "Mama, I have a coffee cup for you to wash." So I jumped on my towel and started wading across the wet floor as if it were a canoe and I was floating the Nile river and made my way over to him, when... He dropped it.

Let me elaborate a little further. A full urn size coffee cup, probably 1/4 Splenda, 1/4 chocolate raspberry flavored International Delight creamer, and 1/2 coffee, fell two feet to the ground, soaking atleast half of the dining room floor, including two walls. Picture a coffee explosion, if you will.

Did I panic? Internally, yes. Did I yell? I wouldn't call it a yell, more a firm affirmation. I don't want to traumatize the little guy for helping me.

Then what did I do after I had finished mopping? I decided it would be fun to knock over my mop water onto the opposite side of the room. (yes, I had only intended to mop  up the coffee mess, not the whole floor; I wasn't back in full 'Sarah mode' yet, obviously.) After my own mishap, my disposition changed a little. I cleaned it up but was not in a happy place.

So we retreated and headed for the pool.

This morning as I read from the Word of God, I realized that my summer time schedule had affected my routine in more ways than just maintaining my house; it had affected my personal time with God. I could fill up a list with ways that I stay plugged in to the church, the will of God, the journey I am on, the praise I have in my heart, the worship songs I sing all the live long day, the ways God reminds me that I am where I should be, but even with all that, I have to get real with Him.

Alone, While the kids are asleep. In a messy home, full of worries, but praise, too; just me and Him.

I wept this morning. Nothing can replace my time with my Father and I knew that and felt like I had cheated myself of the peace that I needed to get through the days where I was worried about things. The things that I worried about yesterday are still there today, but the difference is that I am no longer worried. Psalms 28:7 says, "The Lord is my strength and my shield. My heart trusts in him and he helps me. My heart leaps for joy, and with my song I praise  him."

My heart leaps for joy!

Looking back, maybe I was the four year old spilling the cup of coffee all over the floor. My intentions are always good, but sometimes I drop the ball (or cup) too.

Thank you, God; for not getting mad at me for spilling the coffee.