Things I learned in March … hello upcoming sabbatical month

There’s an opportune time to do things, a right time for everything on the earth:
A right time for birth and another for death,
A right time to plant and another to reap,
A right time to kill and another to heal,
A right time to destroy and another to construct,
A right time to cry and another to laugh,
A right time to lament and another to cheer,
A right time to make love and another to abstain,
A right time to embrace and another to part,
A right time to search and another to count your losses,
A right time to hold on and another to let go,
A right time to rip out and another to mend,
A right time to shut up and another to speak up,
A right time to love and another to hate,
A right time to wage war and another to make peace.
Ecclesiastes 3:1-8

I love this reminder from the wisdom of Ecclesiastes that there is a time for everything. I’ve been thinking about the timing of things for several long weeks now as I’ve been thinking about my writing. I’ve not been satisfied. I’ve been feeling reactionary and unoriginal. As if too much was flowing in and what was coming out wasn’t quite hitting the mark. I’ve been feeling as if I’m not quite meeting the purpose for which I was called in this little space and so I need to let you know that I’m taking a break. It’s one of the things that I learned in March.

1.    It’s okay to take a break from writing, blogging, and being active on social media. I have a terrific group of women that I write with. Many of them are also involved with an actual online writers group, and when I posed the question about taking a writing sabbatical to them, they were so knowledgeable, supportive, and encouraging, that I knew I was on the right path.

2.    Skylanders is kind of a cool game – very addictive – and not just for kids. I didn’t realize how crazy my daughter was about the whole Skylanders phenomenon (I may have just been blocking it, honestly), but after speaking with the daughter of a co-worker, decided to go for it and bought the starter kit for her birthday. Oh boy. I should have known. She is exactly as crazy about the game and the characters as I would have imagined. Unfortunately, so is her dad. So am I.  Now her dad is actually playing with her. Me on the other hand, I’ve played about half an hour (not a fan of console games), but love taking the characters into unusual places to take their picture. Go figure.
  

3.    Ash Wednesday is always new for me. Although our church does not celebrate Ash Wednesday, I have been coming back to a church we went to briefly for at least seven years now for their quiet, sacred evening service. It is essentially the same every year. And every year it is a new, holy, renewing experience for me. We sing. We hear the word of God. We confess our sins (privately written) and literally nail them to a cross. Those sins are burned and their ashes are mixed with oil to become the marks on our heads in commemoration. We pray. We are in repentance.

4.    I can’t resist a new pen. It’s an addiction. Albeit a fairly benign one – it’s still an addiction. I love pens. Frankly, I love office supplies of all kinds, but I’m really crazy about pens. And even after finding how deep the random pen alcove went and disposing of many of them, I couldn’t resist a new one (that I didn’t have – hadn’t had before) when I came across it. Like I said ….

5.    Sometimes it’s okay to act like an extrovert. Yeah. I said that out loud. And it happened. Briefly. In public. I got to go to my very first writers’ conference earlier this month, and it was an incredible experience. So much so that although I’ve promised to, I have yet to write about it. What I can say though, is that one of the best parts was getting to meet some of my online friends in real life. Women with whom I’ve written on a weekly basis for over a year and a half. We have real friendships fueled by conversations over email, twitter, Facebook, Instagram, and more. But had never met. Until the Faith and Culture conference. Then there was so much love, bonding, and running across the room (yes, I did that), that it was a little surreal. And cementing. These friendships grew a mile that weekend. And even more new ones were born. So blessed.

But now it’s time for me to take a break. 

Time for me to reflect, read, and really dig in and listen. I have a pile of terrific reading material, specific areas of the Word where I’m prepared to camp out, friends who are praying, and one amazing friend who has volunteered to cheer and coach me through this sabbatical. This is my time to rest.

I have a few commitments to keep on the blog (like tomorrow – you really need to come back tomorrow because Lisa Jo Baker’s book is launching and you don’t want to miss that!), but other than that, this space will be quiet until May. And I’m pretty excited because I was invited to be part of another book launch (on May 1) that segues so beautifully with all the reasons that I’m taking this sabbatical that it truly feels like a nod from the Lord.

If you think of me in the month of April, I hope you might pray that I remain open to the Lord’s leading and His spirit as I lay myself out before Him and look for direction in my writing and (gulp) my life. My desire is more of Him, less of me; to be poured out for His purpose and to discover what that purpose is; and to have the courage to step out into that purpose with intent, integrity, and insight.

Grace and blessings. See you in May!







I'm joining Emily Freeman at Chatting At the Sky for her
What We Learned link up. Love this one!

I'd love to connect with you some more - stop on by the Three Bees Facebook Page or connect with me on Twitter @3BeesBlueBonnet. Let's continue the conversation!

Five Minute Friday - Mighty

On Fridays a bunch of brave writers gather here to all spend 5 collective minutes writing on a single prompt. It’s here that fear falls away, because scared is the new brave. There is safety in this community that rallies ‘round you – whether you’re having an utter confidence meltdown and are sure you can’t write anymore, a catastrophic parenting meltdown and are sure you can’t mother anymore, or just an epic almost Friday breakdown and are just not sure. These women – they’ve got you. This blessed, beautiful place where we open our hearts and let words and tears and the inner workings of our lives bleed and flow and dance across the virtual pages. Yes, this community opens wide and invites you in to share. Come and visit and read. You will be blessed.

This week: Mighty

Go

It is a white-river raft of twittering; lighting up my phone that suddenly just can’t keep up anymore. Don’t worry little guy – I know just how you feel. Of course, I’m in the car when I join up – so even more with the not keeping up. But despite that the spotty WiFi (don’t tell me 4G if it’s not even 1.5G – please) and the long day where I tried not to cry or yell or both – and failed epically on both counts – the warmth of home and belonging washes over me because I have to tell you: these people, these women in this community – even the ones I don’t know yet – they are my people.

Tonight we’re raising coffee cups and chunks of chocolate to toast the almost-birthed joy that will be Lisa-Jo Baker’s debut book, Surprised By Motherhood. It’s out in four days and it’s going to be amazing. I say this, having only read the first three chapters over and over while I wait impatiently for the real deal to show up on my doorstep. I thought maybe there wouldn’t be anything for me in there. Thought maybe I was too old and that my one girl wasn’t little enough to find something for me. What was I thinking? This is not a “how to” book for mothers. This is “why we do what we do” book about how we do what we do. But I have to stop short here or I’ll be writing my post that I’m been planning for the actual release. Can’t have that now, can we?

And I want to get back to the people. The women. The community of 300+ writers who gather faithfully online each week for a glimpse of the one-word prompt that turns into a sacred cathedral of sharing space and confessional and redemptionary circle. This community is a mighty force – and I did not know how great when I first tiptoed in from the sidelines; lingering scared and hesitant in the shadows. I had no way of knowing that the first two women to fling their arms around me via Twitter would be ones I would write with in an online group and be two of my best compatriots – had no idea that I would be wrapping arms around them in real life and continuing conversations with none of the usual hello, how are you, welcome to this awkward greeting moment.

No. In this space, that just doesn’t seem to happen. We dive in and share hearts and warm, war-torn stories about battles with our children and rip us to the core, we hang on to each other and hold fast when tears flow online and over Voxer, we join hands and lift one another up – forming an impenetrable walls of prayer to cover one of our own when she goes out to the mission field. We laugh. Debate the merits of Nutella. Compare notes on what we’re reading (everything) and what we want to read (everything else). And never cease to be amazed for one moment at the wonder that God works along the fast moving lines of Ethernet cables and fiber-optic lines.

I am grateful and blessed to have the life-saving, life-giving gift of these friends (even the ones I haven’t met yet), and pray that others will take a chance and step in from the sides to join. Because this kind of fellowship is only best when it’s shared again, and again, and again.  As the mighty wave of love, grace, and friendship rolls on.

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How to Join 
Want to know about Lisa Jo Baker, how Five Minute Friday got started, and how to participate? All the details are here. No editing or second guessing. And then absolutely, no ifs, ands or buts about it, you need to visit the person who linked up before you & encourage them in their comments. Seriously. That is the rule. And the fun. And the heart of this community.

I'd love to connect with you some more - stop on by the Three Bees Facebook Page or connect with me on Twitter @3BeesBlueBonnet. Let's continue the conversation!

Five Minute Friday - Joy

On Fridays a bunch of brave writers gather here to all spend 5 collective minutes writing on a single prompt. It’s here that fear falls away, because scared is the new brave. There is safety in this community that rallies ‘round you – whether you’re having an utter confidence meltdown and are sure you can’t write anymore, a catastrophic parenting meltdown and are sure you can’t mother anymore, or just an epic almost Friday breakdown and are just not sure. These women – they’ve got you. This blessed, beautiful place where we open our hearts and let words and tears and the inner workings of our lives bleed and flow and dance across the virtual pages. Yes, this community opens wide and invites you in to share. Come and visit and read. You will be blessed.

This week: Joy

Go

When the thought first came down – the way it often does when God registers something in my heart – my initial reaction was, “really?” I supposed it should have been “yes!” Immediately, unhesitatingly yes. With all that I’ve been reading and learning and digesting and declaring. Declaring that I am ready and able to stand and do things for Him. But instead, I felt myself shrink inside a little. Hop to the side like a chickadee who has been disturbed in mid-peck. You want me to do what, Lord?

It may not seem like a large thing at all. Pray. Ask. Invite. And I was going to be praying anyway. Because He’d laid her on my heart and despite not really knowing her, I felt like I knew something, and it was Haiti after all so yes, I was going to be praying. But inviting? Asking? I don’t do that.

Because I’m not anyone at all. No big name. No platform to speak of. And I have always been a behind the scenes girl. I’ve got that part going on: stage manager, makeup artist, photographer, speechwriter, even coordinator. But no one was going to jump on board just because I invited them to join up and pray. And there it was: fear. Fear of being alone. Fear of someone laughing. Fear of someone thinking I was trying to be something I’m not. Fear of disappointing. Fear.

But fear does not come from above. It is not a gift from God. It is not a gift at all. Fear is a scene stealer, a soul quasher, a light banisher, and a dream exiler. And I knew deep down that I wasn’t supposed to be giving into it. At all.

So before I could change my mind, rethink it, justify it away, or allow the thought to drift, I threw the idea out to my online writing group: 192 Hours of Prayer for our friend and sister in Christ who was going on a mission.

I sat back after I hit enter and listened to the silence echo. I think we sometimes call that crickets. And then I wrote it again somewhere else. And then tweeted it. Figuring in all honesty that it I was going to fail at this, I might as go down as epically as possible.

Kaitlyn - who blogs at It Just Takes One

But then I heard it. That musical chime and buzz of my phone that lets me know a message has arrived. Then again. Then again. Because I put the fleece out and God responded. And I cried. Quiet tears of joy, but I cried. His call resonated through the hearts of the women I know and they started signing up. And sharing. And signing up. And getting more people involved. And then my mom. And my mother-in-law. And my auntie. And people who don’t even know her.

The Lord is doing this to bless her, cover her, and anoint her mission to Haiti with her team. But He’s also doing this so show me that He shows up. When you answer even the smallest thing; when you step out – even when you are afraid – and follow His lead, He will be there. And there is no greater joy than to be a vessel in His hands.

There is still room to sign up and pray.
Kaitlyn blogs at It Just Takes One and works at (in)courage while finishing up college in Alabama. She writes with the Five Minute Friday crew and is the organizer of the #fmfpartysnailmail - a growing group of Five Minute Friday writers who stay connected via encouraging cards and letters to each other. To learn more about Kaitlyn her journey to Haiti, click here. If you would like to sign up for a one-hour time slot to pray for her, please leave me a message in the comments. Right now, we have times from Saturday, March 22 through Thursday, March 27. Midnight to 5:00am and 2:00pm through 8:00pm. This is #192HoursofPrayer

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How to Join 
Want to know about Lisa Jo Baker, how Five Minute Friday got started, and how to participate? All the details are here. No editing or second guessing. And then absolutely, no ifs, ands or buts about it, you need to visit the person who linked up before you & encourage them in their comments. Seriously. That is the rule. And the fun. And the heart of this community.

I'd love to connect with you some more - stop on by the Three Bees Facebook Page or connect with me on Twitter @3BeesBlueBonnet. Let's continue the conversation!

Five Minute Friday - Crowd

On Fridays a bunch of brave writers gather here to all spend 5 collective minutes writing on a single prompt. It’s a great way to catch your breath at the end of a long week. This blessed, beautiful place where we open our hearts and let words and tears and the inner workings of our lives bleed and flow and dance across the virtual pages. Yes, this community opens wide and invites you in to share. Come and visit and read. You will be blessed.

This week: Crowd

Go

Hi. My name is Rebekah. I’m an INFJ.

I’m going to lead with that – especially the “I” part, because I’ve had it mentioned to me on more than one occasion that I may appear more social, conversational, and dare I say – extroverted – in print than I am in real life. The “I” in that string – for those not familiar with the ubiquitous Meyers-Briggs personality test – stands for introvert. Contrary to a sometimes popular belief, introverts are not always shy. We often are, but on a very simple level, being an introvert has much more to do with where you draw your energy from: being alone, or being with people.

Crowds stress me out. They suck the life out of me. They do anything but give me energy. And by crowd, I can sometimes mean: company in my home, more than three people – even if I have invited them there. On purpose.

Over the years, I’ve learned to balance this part of my personality. I function just fine in the world – I move in and out of crowded spaces – and unless you really, really (really) know me, you probably won’t notice when I start to fray a little around the edges. But I don’t generally put myself in really crowded spaces, full of new people, with unknown layouts, where lots of surprises can occur – if it all possible.

Except for this past weekend where I did.

A couple of months ago while chatting with friends on Twitter, I threw it out there that we should get our One Word necklaces together for a photo. That led to the discovery that several of them were planning on attending the third annual Faith and Culture Writers conference in Oregon in March. It was really too good of a deal. The price was right and it was close to home. I was in.

And then I realized what “in” was going to mean. I was going to see people. They were going to see me. That’s when I started having a moment of panic. I’d like to be able to say that I’ve moved past the point where appearances mean nothing to me; that I look purely at the inside; that it’s inner beauty that counts. Generally, I think I can say that for anyone else that I meet. I just can’t say that for myself.

It’s an odd paradox – mainly because I don’t acknowledge it or think about it if I can help it. I feel well loved by my God, my family, and my husband. I know I have talents to offer and things that I’m good at. I’m comfortable and confident in who I am as a person. As long as we’re not talking about what I look like.  Let’s just not talk about that at all. Ever. *

You don’t look in the mirror and see your inner beauty. You don’t see the things you’re good at. So I don’t see a reflection of a good writer, a designer with a sense of color and space. I don’t see a computer technician who can banish viruses and malware off computers and make people’s lives easier. I don’t see a creative gardener, good cook, or gentle mother. I don’t see anything of these things that I know I am.

I just see a mess. The size I don’t want to be. The face I’m afraid to bring into full view in selfies. The hair that I hate because it’s too thin. The swollen joints and perpetual limp now that chronic disease has set in. There is nothing here that I want to see twice. And I usually convince myself that no one else does either. Never mind that I have kind souls for friends who are so quick, sincere, and adamant to tell me otherwise. I don’t know how to hear them. I just see an ugly mess.

But that’s all I had to take to the conference. Just me. No time for diet, surgery, or a miracle visit from Tim Gunn.  So when I walked into the crowded church on Friday night – full to the brim with amazing, interesting people I couldn’t wait to hear and meet – I was both excited and terrified out of my mind. This crowd was supposed to be my tribe. Writers. Faith chasers. Truth tellers. But what if they took one look at me and laughed? What if they turned away and didn’t see me?

In some ways, this past weekend was an exercise in redemption for me. No one in the crowd laughed. No one turned away. Friends I had written with online for over a year-and-a-half saved seats and drifted down staircases to say hello. Warm hugs enveloped me. My Twitter feed exploded with demands of “where are you? I can’t wait to see you?” In one instance – one of my favorite memories – my friend Marcy and I (who, again, had ever met) connected via Twitter in the main room, looked up eagerly scanning for each other, and then raced through the crowded tables to fling ourselves into each other’s arms in a long hug. I need you to hear me say that this happened over, and over, and over again. I got to connect with a speaker and author who had impressed me so much on Friday night – I finally worked up the nerve to say hello. And he chatted with me so freely and generously as though he had all the time in the world. Even the one author that I missed – and had wanted to desperately to see – she sent me a Tweet saying, “I had an eye out for you. Sorry I missed you.” I was seen. From the inside out.

This crowd of creative and fellow writers enveloped me this past weekend. They encouraged me, uplifted me, and inspired me. I made brand new friends, and connected in real life with ones that I had been waiting to meet for months.

Sometimes the crowd can be an exhausting drain. But the right one? The right mix of people, interest, and intention? And it’s like a long, healing soak in a hot spring.  I’m not running off to another crowded convention any time soon, but for the right one? You bet I’m going to be there.

Stay tuned for more reflections from the Faith and Culture 2014 Writing Conference

Stop

*To be fair and stick with the rules, I need to add this here. I’m trying to be better about timing myself on these writes. So this is where five minutes ended tonight. But this post has been percolating for a while, so I’m gonna keep going. I hope you’ll read the whole thing.







How to Join 
Want to know about Lisa Jo Baker, how Five Minute Friday got started, and how to participate? All the details are here. No editing or second guessing. And then absolutely, no ifs, ands or buts about it, you need to visit the person who linked up before you & encourage them in their comments. Seriously. That is the rule. And the fun. And the heart of this community.

I'd love to connect with you some more - stop on by the Three Bees Facebook Page or connect with me on Twitter @3BeesBlueBonnet. Let's continue the conversation!

To My Daughter As She Turns Ten + Phase Two of the Maubane Community Center in South Africa

Dearest Faith Hunter:

Today you turn ten. You’re ready to change the world. You’re flipping over the leaf of your first completed decade and I am both inconceivably delighted and utterly terrified. There is no turning back. This is double digits. In some marketing demographic circles you are now officially a tween. Pardon me while I pause now and gag a little at that term.

I have a hard time comprehending how we got here to ten. I feel as if it’s been barely a blink since I was being bossy-pantsed into an ER for an emergency C-section; strapped down to a table barely able to breathe (why do they strap you down then they’ve just dosed you with the meds that render you immovable – why?); and then gasping unbelieving as they lifted you over and above the drape for your daddy to nestle you next to my cheek. Remember how I stayed up for forty-eight hours straight just looking at you? Remember how I worried about your ears – wondering if they would ever unfold – or if I would have to tape them to your head when you started school (birthing drugs and no sleep – I’m telling you). Remember when we had those first couple of years together? Where I got to be there all the time – when I got to be the one?  I could go on and on in my memories and it will still feel like a flash, but it’s been a decade. Ten years. And we’ll celebrate today.

It will be the traditional breakfast – doughnut and strawberries. The weeks leading up are full of planning and sneaking about as we order presents into the house and drive home with a backseat of helium balloons and zero visibility. All fun memories. All things that make you smile.

But as the years have gone on and I have grown as a woman, as a mother, as a person, I find myself praying that there will be more that you remember than my crazy ideas about ears that won’t unfold and an annual doughnut. I want so much more for you.

I want you to remember my passion for writing, words, and language. And I want you to adopt it as your own. I know I’m supposed to let you pursue your own dreams, and I will, don’t worry. But like I’ve told you before, writing and words – they’re impressed into your DNA – and I’m going to do my best to give you the most they have to offer.

I want you to remember the relationships that I’ve learned to cultivate – how to have good, strong, supportive, meaningful relationships with women who love the Lord and share similar appetites and aspirations. I want you to remember what can happen when women pray, and how small groups of women who step out in faith and trust God and dream big – how we can move mountains in His name.

I want you to remember how I learned to see the world differently after walking with Him in the desert. That losing what I thought was important led me to find out what really was and how I discovered that being broken is only a pathway to being made whole.

Bella, as I think about the books that I’m wrapping up for you, the necklace with the verse that you’ll be wearing, and oh mercy, the Skylanders that you will be screaming over soon, I also want you to remember how incredibly blessed you to be born into this family in this place I this time. Not because we’re a family of wealth and influence (we’re not), but because in this time and in this space, you have the opportunity and the freedom to grow, be, and become exactly who God has in mind for you to be.

As I write this on your birthday, a special group of writer friends and I are launching Phase Two of the dream that is the Maubane Community Center in South Africa. 150 adults and about 250 orphans and vulnerable children meet in this open space for church, for meals, and for play. Lisa-Jo Baker – with whom we write the Five Minute Fridays – she had this dream to raise the money for a center for them – complete with garden, kitchen, playground, outreach hall, and classrooms.

It’s time to fund the kitchen.
(Click here to go straight to the Pure Charity site)

Bella-girl, remember how much fun we have when we’re in the kitchen together? Cooking up stir-fry? Making chili? Or frying up your favorite toad in the hole? Can you imagine trying to do that without a real kitchen? In the midst of dry dust and no running water? These people do – and it’s time to help them have something a little more.

These kids do not have piles of books or video games. These kids don’t have to worry about picking up tons of clothes the way you hate to because they might have one or two outfits. Period. They don’t have trampolines in their back yard or iPods or laptops. But they have love. And they have Jesus. I want you to remember that.

Because I want you to remember that love is best when it is a verb. And that sometimes, you can change the world one carrot, one brick, one classroom, one mom at a time (says the indomitable Lisa Jo). I want you to remember that we love because He loved us first. And that love asks – requires really – that we love back. That we give back. That we not stay comfortable with our piles of good books and great laptops and cool games. We need to be uncomfortable because that it when change happens.

I want you to remember that your Mama grew into a woman who wanted to live in the margins – a little on the outside – a little uncomfortable. I want you to remember that I pushed – that I always tried to push for the voice of those who didn’t have one. I want you to remember that I did these things with my trust fully planted in the God of the universe whose overwhelming power and abundance causes me to believe in things I have no business believing on my own, but that I can believe completely while resting in Him. I want you to remember that I taught you to do the same thing.

And baby girl, I want you to remember that if you do these things in Him, you too, can change the world.








To learn more about this project and this community and how you can get involved, visit the Pure Charity website for the Maubane Community Center in South Africa. Every bit that is donated and shared makes a difference. Jump in with us and change the world.

Click here to visit Lisa Jo Baker's site and read about five fun ways you can change the world.

Five Minute Friday - Willing

On Fridays a bunch of brave writers gather here to all spend 5 collective minutes writing on a single prompt. It’s a great way to catch your breath at the end of a long week. This blessed, beautiful place where we open our hearts and let words and tears and the inner workings of our lives bleed and flow and dance across the virtual pages. Yes, this community opens wide and invites you in to share. Come and visit and read. You will be blessed.

This week: Willing

Go

I often write about life’s deserts here; trying to find grace and joy in them. There are times lately I feel that this stretch of parenting is my desert. I am confronted by long stretches of dryness that seem to have no relief. There is a hot sun that beats down relentlessly – exposing every inch of my inadequacies and abundant failures while creating a pressure cooker of expectation and the dry heat of longing. I’m beginning to feel as if I’ve walked on this road with no oasis in sight for a long, long time.

One of the most difficult things I’ve found on this parenting road – in this parenting desert – is how very much my daughter looks up to me. It is a blessing and a bane. A bittersweet honor that I love and fear, all at the same time. I very often wish she didn’t.

You see, my daughter has been entrusted to a woman who struggles. Who is fiercely independent (often called stubborn); who sometimes hasn’t figured out that her teenage rebellion days are over; who still bucks the system and struggles not to pick every hill to plant a flag on. This woman – this person I see reflected in the mirror – she still wants to smack everyone who makes her angry; says too many of the wrong things when her temper breaks (and it breaks often and well, trust me); she desires a gentle spirit, but has hard, hard time bending her knee.

Though I know it is often the right thing to do, I am often found in tears demanding how much of myself I will have to give up in order for my daughter to have the right model set before her. It’s silly – because why do I want to hang on to some of these things? These things that do not edify; encourage; or enhance. What would be the point in hanging on to them? And that’s just it – there is no point. Just the idea that I could. Theoretically. Just because.

Albert Einstein wisely said,

I must be willing to give up what I am in order to become what I will be.

This is a road of truth that I need to take on my desert path through parenting and motherhood.

The things I am willing to give up, will not only make me a better person, they will help my daughter become a better person as well. What could be better than that? And I need to do this in the true spirit of willingness: humbly, softly, eagerly, without hesitation. Striving for the best so that she will have that to look up to. Christ is my guide, my North Star, my way. Anything I give up in exchange for a life in Him is nothing given up at all. Anything I gain as I become more like Him is everything I could possibly imagine. For me, as well as for my little one who is watching my every move.

Stop







How to Join
Want to know about Lisa Jo Baker, how Five Minute Friday got started, and how to participate? All the details are here. No editing or second guessing. And then absolutely, no ifs, ands or buts about it, you need to visit the person who linked up before you & encourage them in their comments. Seriously. That is the rule. And the fun. And the heart of this community.

I'd love to connect with you some more - stop on by the Three Bees Facebook Page or connect with me on Twitter @3BeesBlueBonnet. Let's continue the conversation!

A Lenten Meditation

I'd love to connect with you some more - stop on by the Three Bees Facebook Page or connect with me on Twitter @3BeesBlueBonnet. Let's continue the conversation!

Find Him There

The calendar turns. The promise of Spring is around the corner. The season of Lent is upon us. Tonight is Fat Tuesday. Mardi Gras. The ritual chowing down and stuffing oneself silly before the lean giving up times of the forty days before Easter. So we had fake Chinese take-out tonight, because nothing says overindulgence and chow like a pile of noodles from Panda.

There are times I miss being in a liturgical church. I love the body that we fellowship with now, but during the high holy seasons, I often long for the slower pace and solemn quiet of a service that echoes with Kyrie Eleison and flickers with meditative candles.

I have not always celebrated Lent. Growing up Southern Baptist, we didn’t do kyrie or candles much less a season of fasting and giving up. What would happen to the pot luck supper? It wasn’t until later in early adulthood, after a break with the church ultimately resulted in a reuniting with God in spite of the church that I found another way to worship that moved a deeper spirit in me.

Temple or tabernacle; nave or narthex; God will be found where He will – and He will be found in all of them. He is in these places and others too – waiting for us to turn to Him in acknowledgement of that thing that saves us: His love, His sacrifice, His grace, His mercy.

So tomorrow I will find my way to the still, quiet halls of a church where I visit only once a year. A place that I return to like a pilgrimage at the tide of every Lenten season. There will be soft songs and gentle words of encouragement. An urging to consider real penitence and make it real in our lives. To consider the cost – the cost that was paid, and the cost that is asked of us. We will make a note of our transgressions and nail them; folded, on to a hard wooden cross. In the silence, our names will be read and consecrated with our prayers of contrition as they are placed in a copper bowl and consumed by fire. The ash, mixed with oil, becomes the mark we bear, as we hear the words “You are dust, and to dust you shall return.” Selah. Pause. And think on this.

So it begins again. The walk into the desert. The desert again. Having been there, I find I am unable to truly leave. Reading Sarah Bessey recently, I found a quote from Jonathan Miller that leapt off the page at me:

Far from being a punishment, judgment, or a curse, the wilderness is a gift. It’s where we can experience the primal delight of being full known and delighted in by God.

Yes, and yes again. That was my desert journey. And the Lenten journey I will take again this year. In A Praying Life, Paul Miller writes:

God takes everyone he loves through a desert. It is his cure for our wandering hearts, restlessly searching for a new Eden.

Perhaps you celebrate Lent. Perhaps you don’t. If you don’t want to give up something for this season, is there something you would consider adding? Something that would make your life richer, fuller, more meaningful. I saw a friend share that intent and appreciated it.

If nothing else, find some time in these weeks leading up to Easter. Find your way into the gospels to see with fresh eyes where Jesus walked, what He said, what He did. Find an encouraging book that translates His words into actions for today: how can you make Him real in your world today?

Whatever you do, take time to find Him.
This is the season friend. Find Him there.

I'd love to connect with you some more - stop on by the Three Bees Facebook Page or connect with me on Twitter @3BeesBlueBonnet. Let's continue the conversation!

I'm joining Simply Beth for her Three Word Wednesday link up and am looking forward to getting to know this circle of writers. For this link up, choose three words; share a post, photo, or scripture that highlights those three words; link up here; and share some encouragement and blog love with other writers.

Behind the Scenes :: Good Job

 I always knew I would be a mother. There was never any doubt. It was as much a part of my make up as brown eyes, a love of books and writing, and the need to put colored pens in rainbow color order.

What I didn’t always know is how much being a mother would change me – rather – keep me in a constant state of being changed. Changed. Wrung out. Exhilarated. Exhausted. Overwhelmed. Over the moon. There are times it feels as if I am on evolutionary fast forward: being asked to alter and adapt to circumstances and situations that overlap and intertwine with the seamlessness of a bird’s feathers – just one smooth, shimmering coat of “I can’t keep up” and we’re off in flight on the next adventure.

As an oldest child and type-A to boot, I have grueling expectations of myself, and am often awake at night replaying the scenarios; analyzing (overanalyzing?) everything to the enth degree to wonder how to do it better. I worry about the fine line between an overwhelming love that satisfies and an overbearing obsession that stifles. I fear that I am letting too much go and yet still fight against letting too much in. I aim to instill confidence and self-reliance, while balancing that with the ultimate reliance on a God who knows best and sees all. I pray that I am living a message with my life that illustrates everything I hope and dream for my daughter.

I pray.

I also cry. A lot. Often. With a vengeance and a fury. Because I am constantly of the mind that I am not getting it done. Despite all the books and blogs, adages and advice, wisdom and winnowing of the things in my life that must go, I am certain that I am not doing it right.

I think every mother who loves their child sincerely and passionately spends an inordinate amount of time thinking they’re not getting it done right. Despite evidence to the contrary: the lunches we make, the projects we help on, the homework we support and encourage through, the lessons we chauffer to, the laundry we do (and do, and do, and do), the meals we make, the tears we dry – surely all of that counts for something?

When do we know that we’ve got it – that we’ve done it right? What kind of affirmation does it take to let us pause for a moment and release a long-delayed exhale?

For me, it came the other morning on my daughter’s door. She has a small white board double-taped there. It often reads “danger” or “keep out” or posts other warnings of serious intent. Every once in a while, I remember to doodle something encouraging on there. Not about danger.

After a good night of staying focused and getting her work done, I spent a few moments the following morning doodling vines, flowers, spirals, and hearts around the bubbly words “Good Job on your homework.” Nothing fancy. I just wanted her to know that I knew what an effort she’d made.

She loved it and let me know; her smile warming its way into my heart the way it always does. A couple of mornings later, the smile was back as she bounced into my room and asked: “Mama, have you seen the sign yet?” I blinked guiltily and had to admit I hadn’t looked at it since I left her the note the other morning. She hugged me and pulled me down the hall. “I wanted you to see this,” she announced with a grin.

I had to blink for a minute – there I go – crying again. She had modified the note that I’d left her. The vines and flowers were gone. The ubiquitous “Do Not Enter” was back in the corner. But “Good Job” was still there in large bubble letters. And below, in her best imitation of the way I’d written to her, she’d added “on parenting.”

I paused.
I exhaled.






I'm linking up with Crystal Stine and company again today; joining the Behind the Scenes link up (now on the first Tuesday of each month) – where we show those photos – but tell the real story behind them. The sneak peek behind the scenes, a look past the edges of the photo to the real life behind it.

I'd love to connect with you some more - stop on by the Three Bees Facebook Page or connect with me on Twitter @3BeesBlueBonnet. Let's continue the conversation!