A Letter to President Trump (written by my daughter)

January 23, 2017

President Donald J. Trump
1600 Pennsylvania Avenue
Washington D.C. 20003-3228

Dear President Trump,

I hope that you are doing well. My name is Katie. I go to *** Middle School in Missouri, and I am currently in 8th grade. Recently my History teacher, Mrs. Richardson, gave the students an opportunity to write to you about what we want you to accomplish during your term as president. When I first heard about this assignment, I had no idea what to write. But as I started to think about it, I realized there are a number of things I want to address.

I think the people are the most important thing. I want you to reunite people. Right now, our country is tremendously split. People are ready to attack each other without thinking, and that makes me very uncomfortable. I feel like our country does great things when we are working together. I know that is your slogan, “Make America Great Again,” and I think this is agreeable. I hate to see people being left out because they are different, they have a different skin color, or they are a different gender. I fully support gay rights, as multiple friends of mine consider themselves Bisexual or Pansexual. They struggle with figuring out who they are, which people care about them, and if they are ever welcome in this world. I want you to pull them out of this and tell them that it is ok for them to be different. The world wasn’t created for us to all be the same. We all have our quirks, and some people are ok with standing out. Others aren't, and we have to be ok getting pulled out of our comfort zone.

The most meaningful thing out of anything, though, is the people you surround yourself with. I constantly have to make the decision of who I want to spend time with, because sometimes I get stuck in a friendship that is not healthy for me. I think spending time with people I care about and trust is the thing that makes me more successful. Yes, you will make mistakes, and that is what makes you human. My friends are important to me because I can share my struggles with them. Please surround yourself with people who look up to you. Work alongside people who have a good influence on you so that you can make good decisions for America’s future. I want you to be a wise leader who works in agreement with people who have different morals and perspectives.

I dedicate myself to my faith. I don’t know what religion you are, but I live my life for only Jesus. I go to a church that welcomes everyone. There are pastors and associates that care so much about the community. They listen to people when they have a heavy burden, speak about the Bible so passionately, and are there for us all throughout school. I attend my Youth group regularly, and my pastor teaches us new things and digs into the Bible. I’m not saying all these things to influence your religion, but what I do what to do is pray for you. Here is exactly what I’m praying:

God, please help President Trump to become more than just our president. Help him to become someone that people look up to, not someone that people did not wish were president. Help him to accept that people have different opinions, but that different opinions are good. Help President Trump be a discerning leader who is ok with different cultures, races, and genders. I pray he is open to suggestions and respectful around other people. May he show kindness and compassion to people who are suffering, under pressure, or need someone to listen to them. But most of all, I pray for President Trump to be a leader of our country who will earn people’s trust and care for others. Ephesians 6:10 says, “Finally, be strong in the Lord and His mighty power. Put on the full armor of God, so that you are able to stand against the schemes of the devil.” God, please help President Trump to stand strong through his mistakes. Amen.

Thank you so much for taking time to read this letter. This is really important to me. I hope you will consider my ideas. Thank you again.

Sincerely,
Katie

Looking for Lovely (aka One More Reason I Might Get That White Tattoo)

Rejoice, bookworms! We get to welcome a bouncing new book to the world today!

I kinda feel like I should be writing a birth announcement, except it isn't a book I birthed and, really, is it my place to announce it? On the other hand, books aren't birthed solely by their authors. Readers have a role in the birthing process, too. Beside, I got the honor of being on this book's launch team so, here goes!

I'm pleased to announce the arrival of Looking for Lovely by Annie F. Downs! *cue the party horns*

I received my copy of LFL in February, and quickly consumed it: which means I dog-eared pages, underlined, and starred the heck out of it. And then I did what I normally do after I read a book that connected with me.

I collected all my favorite quotes from the book and jotted them down. This time, I added the notes to the back pages of the book so I'll always have them.

This is the second book I've read of Annie's. [Sidebar: through her book Let's All Be Brave, I found out we are from the same hometown in Georgia. I loved her already!] I love her writing style because it flows and doesn't force me to work at comprehending. When I read her words, I feel like she's having a conversation in my head. I like authors who feel like friends (even though the moment I raise my head from the book, reality pummels me and I remember - sadly - that I really don't know this person in real life).

The premise of Looking for Lovely requires language that doesn't force its way into your head: the point of the book is we all have the God-given ability to find lovely even in the starkest circumstances. Annie tells the stories of her life and doesn't shy away from the painful parts. In the foreword, she spends the the very first 88 words of the book unpacking her "massive breakdown" and ends it with seven words of wisdom that came with a price, as most wisdom does:

Transformation and suffering came in a pair.

When Annie throws down a gauntlet by starting the book like that? Whoa, baby. Get your waders on because it's gonna get deep in here.

Annie continued to captivate me in the Introduction when she went just a bit further into the story of her breakdown, and explained the hard place she found herself in the summer of 2012. And then, she went and brought up her white tattoo. And THAT was the hook that pulled me into the boat of Annie's book.

I've been wanting a white tattoo for a while. A few days before my 40th birthday, I even went to the tattoo parlor to discuss the one I wanted with the tattoo artist. When I explained I wanted a white one because I wanted it to be faint so only I could see it, the artist and his buddies argued tattoos are meant to be visible art - so why make it barely visible? Seeing how pale my skin is, he and his buddies advised me NOT to get a white tattoo. I walked away and shelved my idea... until I read Annie's words:

So grace. I needed it. I really wanted it permanently tattooed on my wrist. But, because I didn't want it to be distracting every day for the rest of my existence, I wanted it to be white. I am as pale a shade of human as people come, and I cannot tan. I'm either white or red. Pale or sunburned. So a black ink tattoo would be seen a mile away, while a white tattoo on me doesn't stand out at all. I imagined it would almost look like a brand. And that is the feel I wanted. I wanted it literally burned into my skin because I wanted to BE grace. I wanted those five letters to be stuck to me. And I wanted it, then in August 2012, to mark some important shifts of season.

Annie asked a lifelong friend to write the word "grace" with her great penmanship, and the tattoo artist inked it in the friend's handwriting. My word isn't grace. It's something else I've written on myself countless times already, using pens and Sharpies and tubes of henna. It's a word that defines who I am because it reminds me WHOSE I am. After reading Looking for Lovely, I haven't bolted out to get my tattoo quite yet. However, it's something I'm still pondering.

I turned the page and moved from the white tattoo story into the next topic on Annie's mind: fitted sheets. Yep... fitted sheets!

Aaaannndd... this is where I stop. I'm not going to unpack the book blow by blow for you. You don't need a "helicopter parent" book review! You need to go pick up the book yourself, and dive in. You're going to love the short chapters and the way Annie ends some of them with a tip on looking for your own lovely.

But before you do that, I'll leave you with two things:

First, I know it's hard to find lovely in the shattered pieces of your life. I've lived days full of such grief and loss when I couldn't get out of bed, much less look for something worth finding. There are still days I feel looking is a waste of time. If you relate to this, would you consider reaching out to me or someone you trust? And as a way to encourage you (and myself), I'm going to post photo art for the next few Mondays (because Mondays can be hard days, which means looking for lovely can be a hard task). I'll use my photos or art, plus and Annie's Looking for Lovely words in hopes of reminding you to keep looking.

Second, I thought it best to end this post where Annie's book ends (and I promise this isn't a spoiler). In the last chapter, she talks about her love for God and music and wanting to sing a song for Him. It's a lovely tune! Wanna sing along with us?

I would sing that He is a miracle worker, even when you aren't seeing it. I'd sing that His love is unmatched, and you can see that best in the darkness. I'd sing that my life is only because of Jesus and only for Jesus and the mess of an Annie I would be without Him is almost too painful for me to imagine. I'd sing over and over again that He knows me better than I know myself, and for all the hard days and all the confusing moments and all the pain I have faced, I wouldn't trade a minute of it because of how I know Him now. I'd share a verse about how He can be trusted, how God is your Father and Jesus is your best Friend and the Holy Spirit is here to comfort you.
I would sing that I know no greater joy than living life with Jesus, and I lack absolutely nothing because I have Him.

Both and Neither

Almost a week ago, I wrote that this season of my life (and specifically this past year) has been difficult and dry. I’m parched and weary, even when the rain is pouring around me. I am in the middle of a flood and dying of thirst. How is that even possible? I am in what should be one of the most joyful, fulfilling chapters of my life: in a covenant marriage, raising children I longed for, working at a job I prayed for, and being used by a merciful God to speak love to others. And yet, I’m thirsty.

One of the areas of my life where I struggle most right now is parenting. Specifically, it’s in parenting Jackson. I won’t go into all those reasons, because at the end of the day he’s my son and he is loved and wanted. He is a good boy, which I – literally – have to say out loud to him because sometimes he believes he isn’t.

There have been a few blogs I’ve read recently (and will link at the end of this post) that encouraged me and breathed fresh air into my gasping lungs. One I read this morning made me stop and immediately feel the need to write my own thoughts about my role as a mother. One day, Jackson will read this and I want him to understand the WHYs behind the WHATs that he remembers from his childhood. So, this is for him.

I’m your mother, and I live in the tension of opposing roles in your life. I am a blend of those roles: some days I’m 92.3% generous and 7.7% selfish, and also 64.8% irritated while being 35.2% gracious and forgiving. I can also be 12% giggly and 88% exhausted. (Dude, this math thing is hard!) Tomorrow, the math may be completely different as the pendulum swings a different way. Sometimes even I don’t know which way the pendulum will swing, and that’s because you keep me on my toes. I am the buffer between you and a harsh world, and some days require more buff than others.

I’m your defender, but also your accuser. I know your heart so well that when I come across a mess, I jump to conclusions accusations that you probably did it. But in that same breath, I defend your actions because – again – I know your heart so well. I know you likely didn’t make the mess on purpose. You were excited and exuberant about making Daddy a Christmas gift. Or building a fort to surprise Katie when she arrived home from choir. Or making a LEGO creation that can zoom and shoot real! rockets!

I am your friend and your foe. I am both and neither. I am your defense. I will go to the mat for you. I’m your mom, which means I am every opposite rolled into one: defender and accuser. A safe place and a challenger. Soft arms that envelop you while also keeping you at arm’s length when boundaries are needed. The wall you push mightily against for freedom, and the wall you tremble behind for protection. Proactive and reactive. All at the same time.

I do this because I love you. Because it’s good for you (and for me, too). Because it’s my job. And because it was done for me.

 

Blogs for encouragement:

Finding Joy’s Why Being Mom is Enough: They don’t see you stand in the bathroom and gather your resolve every morning. They don’t see those of you who mother alone without much support. They don’t see the trips to the car back and forth and back and forth. They don’t see you counting to ten a dozen times before noon. They don’t see you look at the bank account and sigh and try to figure out how to make three meals with what’s left in your pantry. They don’t see you walking into the principals office, doctor’s office, friend’s house and defending your child. They don’t see bandages placed on knees. Kisses on foreheads at night. Pillows pushed just the right way and blankets tucked to the perfect demands. Laundry folded and folded and folded. Tears that sting your eyes as your keep going. Dinners prepped over the stove. Times of laughter over silly things. Hair brushed and pulled back into pony tails. Prayers over wandering teens. Prayers over little babes. Nights spent sleeping in a chair holding a sick child. Days where the house is a wreck but you’re reading books. The brave smile on your face when you’re weary. Those things matter. Those things are the little things that add up and and up and up. I say those things are enough. (See also Dear Sweet Mom Who Feels Like She Is Failing)

Jen Hatmaker’s Relational Repair for the Difficult: I will settle something: This cannot be about making her change; this is entirely on me. If I’m waiting for my awesome prayer vigil to slow down the hourly interrogation tsunami, I’ve missed the point. This isn’t about behavior modification, because the second she regresses or holds me hostage in her bizarro time-clock-calendar-countdown-schedule lair, I’ll despair. The only person I can change here is me. I cannot pin my emotional burden on her behavior; that is unfair. Are you tormented waiting for your person to change? That is a fool’s errand. Imagine your person is never going to change. Not one bit. That thing you hate? It’s forever. Those habits and attitudes you can't stand? Make your peace. NOW, you can deal with you. Take someone else’s reform entirely off the table. Do you want to live angry or frustrated or naggy for the rest of your life? Because the fact is, we cannot change anyone else. We are only in control of our reactions, our emotions, and our perspectives. The ball is in our court, and the only one keeping us in Emotional Prison is ourselves.

Hands Free Mama’s The Bully Too Close to Home: If you think that criticizing, belittling, or critiquing yourself will make you smarter, fitter, or more valuable, please reconsider. If you think badgering, bullying, or constantly correcting your child will make him or her more likable, more confident, or more successful, please reconsider. Because the truth is this: It’s hard to love yourself with a bully breathing down your neck. It’s hard to love yourself when the one person who’s supposed love you unconditionally doesn’t. It’s hard to become the person you’re supposed to be when you aren’t allowed to fall down and get back up. If we want our children to become who they’re meant to be, let’s ease up. “Nobody’s perfect” can be two of the most empowering, healing words when said to oneself or to another human being. Let’s stop the ridicule. Let’s stop the relentless pressure. Let’s stop the impossible pursuit of perfection. Only love today, my friends. Only love today.

Cara Joyner’s The Unfiltered Picture We Already Live In: We know this is reality, but occasionally, we forget that everyone else is living in the same reality as us. And when we forget how real everyone else’s lives actually are, we become disillusioned with our own stories. Somehow our lives begin to feel unusually ordinary, and we may buy into this idea that others are living a pinterest board life we dream of but cannot attain. As if they exist in some sort of instagram utopia, while we scrape by in a world of dirty dishes, backed up toilets, and uncooperative children. And from this place, we become discontent. We are all living in the same unfiltered picture; full of earth, tears, sweat, pain, joy, fear, and mystery. Their life is just as gritty and bland as yours. And your life is just as beautiful, complex and exciting as theirs.

Andrea Nair’s Seven Steps to Being Less Hard on Our Kids: One of my mentors the other day asked, “What radio station are you emitting over the air waves? Stop-Annoying-Me? I-don't-have-time-for-this? Life-sucks? or J O Y?” People can feel what we are giving off. It seems to me that children can really pick up the vibes their parents give off. When we are aware of the station our head and body are on, and have a plan to alter that, connections improve all around. (And her tips for Calming Down When Our Kids Are Ramping Up are convicting too.)

Bread and Wine by Shauna Niequist

One of my favorite books from this summer was a book called Bread and Wine by Shauna Niequist. My friend Mary P gave it to me because it has gluten-free recipes in it. At first, I wasn’t sure I’d like it very much because I am incredibly inept in the kitchen, and recipes just do NOT interest me at all. I’m so glad Mary gave it to me, because otherwise I wouldn’t have read it. And I’m so glad I did!

This book is much more than a recipe book. It is a devotional, a memoir, and recipes. It inspired me to cultivate hospitality in my home (which I don’t do very much or very well), and it also inspired me to be a better friend. And the book has the added bonus of providing recipes that are EASY and tasty.

The first chapter of the book is a description of Shauna’s childhood, and she references a blueberry crisp recipe that brings her childhood to life. It seemed easy enough to make, so I tried it with peaches. Oh, man! What a great dessert!

My other favorite recipe from the book is the one for breakfast cookies. Katie didn’t like them very much, because the base is mashed bananas. She is anti-bananas these days, but that meant more breakfast cookies for me and Jackson. Yippee! These were really good... AND easy... and I froze a bunch too, which was another kind of awesome.

I’ve also made a white chicken chili recipe from the book, which Dan and I really enjoyed too. And if I’ve made three recipes from ANY book, that should tell you how great of a book it is! Another clue: I have already decided to buy a few copies of this book for two friends for Christmas because it is THAT good of a book. If you read it or try any recipes from it, let me know.

For My Sister

A month or so ago, my sister Mary found out about a book signing in St. Louis. Mary doesn’t live in St. Louis, so she wrote on my Facebook wall that I should go to the book signing for her. Since I’m such a generous sister (I wanted to go anyway), I made plans to attend.

If you’re a big blogger, you may recognize this man.
If not, here’s the scoop: his name is Matt Logelin and he wrote a book called Two Kisses for Maddy. It’s a memoir of his life with and without his wife, who died the day after she gave birth to their daughter. Matt blogged here (and still does) about the experience, and then wrote his first book which was released last month. But this loss hasn’t been just a woe-is-me-poor-guy story. In becoming a widower, Matt found out how little support there is for widows and widowers raising kids on their own. He started a foundation to help others in similar situations, and he’s passionate about promoting it.

I was 20 minutes late to the book signing because I went to the wrong library in downtown St. Louis. (Y’all should NEVER let me go downtown by myself. It’s really not safe for me OR other drivers and pedestrians!) After a phone call to my sister who was having dinner in North Carolina, I finally found the right place and listened to Matt finish reading a portion of his book. He took questions from the audience, which ranged from questions on photography to grief to infant fashion fails-turned-victories, and talked openly and honestly about his bittersweet journey.

When the Q&A was over, everyone got in line to meet Matt and have their books autographed. Lucky me, I found my friend Gina in the room. (We had no idea the other one was going; we should have carpooled and MAYBE I wouldn’t have been late! And then maybe she wouldn’t have had her near-death experience on the way home!) I should have known she would be going to meet Matt. Gina is starstruck AND she blogs, so getting to meet a blogger who has written such an emotionally moving book is right up her alley!

We waited in line and finally met Matt, and I didn’t make a complete idiot of myself. (For once!) I told Matt how my sister really wanted me to meet him and was wondering what his voice sounds like, so he was kind enough to record a message to her.

I got Matt’s autograph (he signed my book: “To Elizabeth, I hope you don’t hate this!”), then he posed for a photo with me.
It was an honor to meet Matt, not just because he’s a real-live author (swoon!), but because he bears such unbearable scars of grief. Our situations differ greatly, but I know how tremendously hard grief can be and I have the utmost respect for him because of that.

Praying in Color

My friend Cindy let me borrow a book that I absolutely LOVE now. It’s called Praying in Color and it is now a favorite book of mine because of the way it’s affected my prayers.

The author of the book, Sybil MacBeth, says “We can listen and concentrate best when we are seemingly distracted by other activity – in other words, when we are allowed to play. The fact that our hands are busy does not mean we aren’t paying attention.” MacBeth describes the way she uses drawing to enhance her prayer time, and she discusses different tools you can use (different papers, pens, etc.).

The first few chapters spoke deeply to me. Before I even finished the book, I grabbed some fun pens, black paper, and set to work  illustrating my prayers. I started with God in the center of my art, then drew names of people I’m praying for. Names that carried extra gravity for me – or people I prayed about for a longer period of time – were drawn bigger or in a different writing style. I was amazed at how my prayer time went from worrying to just raising that person up to God’s will and presence. Here’s the first Icon (as the author calls them) that I completed. I lost a few names when I scanned the page, since my paper was bigger than my scanner’s bed. But you get the idea…

The author writes, “The entire prayer time was silent and wordless. I felt no need to supply a pious or pleading monologue. The feeling of despair and discouragement and my usual urgency to flee from the sickness and distress of others were absent. I had thought ‘of’ each person as I drew, but not ‘about’ each person. The details of their prayer needs were spared, and I could just sit with them in a variation on stillness.”

I do believe she was writing that about ME and my prayer time!

I completed my third Icon this afternoon. I started it a few days ago, and slowly added to it as I read my Bible. I started with Psalm 103, then went backwards page by page to Psalm 78. As I went, I jotted down all the names and words that describe God – either in my mind or in the Psalms I read. I ended up with this art, plus a heart full of praise for Someone who is so steadfast and yet so changing to me.

I tried a different technique for my second Icon, which is a little too personal for me to share here. The technique wasn’t mentioned in the book. I took a pen and piece of paper and just started writing a prayer in cursive handwriting. I didn’t allow myself to use spaces between my words, so the prayer looks like one REALLY long  word. This technique was interesting because in cursive, you have to know what letter or word comes next so you’ll know what shape to make with your pen. The result was I had to turn my brain off and stop overthinking the prayer, and just let the words come through my brain without a filter. It was pretty cool.

The book has chapters explaining different prayers and subject matter to use (praying the Scriptures, using Lectio Divina, using a calendar, and even using a computer). There are all kinds of examples throughout the book, drawn by the author and other people she knows. It’s a really great book! (Thank you, Cindy!)

Praying in color has refreshed my prayer time by letting the analytical side of my brain focus on specifics while the meandering, creative side of my brain filters those thoughts into something tangible. I can’t wait to spend more time with God and my colorful prayers!

Good Writing: A Million Miles in a Thousand Years

Wow. Oh, wow! Thursday night, I finished a book that I love love LOVE. And then? On Friday night I got to hear the author speak at Windsor Crossing and then we met him! ! ! ! (I want to add about 20 exclamation points there.)

You have to understand that for me (an aspiring writer), that was pretty awesome. I was totally geeking out. He even autographed my book. (I wish you could see my geeky face as I type that.)

So, let me back up. The book is called A Million Miles in a Thousand Years. It was written by Donald Miller, who also wrote Blue Like Jazz. (I read Jazz first, back in September. There will be a movie about it too.) I liked Jazz a lot, but Million Miles completely blew me away. Maybe for the sole reason that I am an aspiring writer and Miller talks a lot about the elements of story and how to write a better story.

But, honestly, I would love this book even if I hated writing. Because Miller calls us all into the bigger picture, and compels each of us to write a better story for our lives. In the Author's Note section before the book even starts, he writes, "The truth is, if what we choose to do with our lives won't make a story meaningful, it won't make a life meaningful either." The rest of the book spells out that premise with inspiring stories, tasks that he takes on himself (a hike on the Inca trail, a cross-country bike ride), and amazingly ALIVE people that Miller meets.

In the book and in his lecture on Friday night, Miller says that you can't have a meaningful story without conflict. He said, "If you see conflict, dive into it. It might create tragedy and it might create beauty, but it always ends in meaning."

Through his idea that you can write a better story for your life, Miller also touches on topics that I am so hungry for: consumerism, parenting, and even a bit about obeying God and letting Him be the writer of your life. "I believe there is a writer outside ourselves, plotting a better story for us, interacting with us, even, and whispering a better story into our consciousness."

I love this part too, on page 58:
"...the realization that I was alive would startle me, as though it had come up from behind and slammed two books together. We get robbed of the glory of life because we aren't capable of remembering how we got here. When you are born, you wake slowly to everything. Your brain doesn't stop growing until you turn twenty-six, so from birth to twenty-six, God is slowly turning the lights on, and you're groggy and pointing at things saying circle and blue and car and then sex and job and health care. The experience is so slow you could easily come to believe life isn't that big of a deal, that life isn't staggering. What I'm saying is I think life is staggering and we're just used to it. We all are like spoiled children no longer impressed with the gifts we're given - it's just another sunset, just another rainstorm moving in over the mountain, just another child being born, just another funeral."

Does that resonate with anyone else out there? How can you not feel compelled to get off your tookus and START LIVING after reading that? Life IS a big deal. And sometimes it hurts and has conflict and "might create tragedy but it always ends in meaning."

Miller also writes about a man he met by chance named Bob Goff. Bob's family starts a tradition in their neighborhood with a New Year's Day parade. The catch is that no one is allowed to sit and watch the parade. You have to jump in and participate. (This Bob Goff guy totally inspires me too.) I love that analogy for our lives: stop sitting and watching and jump in and LIVE.

I can't say enough great things about this book. Please PLEASE go buy a copy and read it for yourself. It is inspiring, uplifting, and some truly good writing. Trust me, y'all!

P.S. Wanna read another take on the book? Go here to see what Anne Jackson has to say. Now you have two good opinions telling you to go read it. So GO!!!

Book photo found here.

Joy and Sorrow

Last night, I went looking for my next book to read. I pulled open the drawer in my bedside table and looked at a stack of books I had put there. They were on my "Next To Read" list.

I saw The Prophet by Kahlil Gibran and thought to myself, "Oh. I've been meaning to read that."

I lay down in bed, and held the book. I noticed there was a piece of paper stuck inside it. I opened the book and then opened the piece of paper. My breath caught in my throat when I realized what it was.

On a piece of yellow paper were the notes I jotted after my last true conversation with Dad. Here's what I wrote:
~fading, slipping away
~told him to let go when time
~asked if funeral plans, burial
~I love you, miss you, thank you
~see Mom, Jackson, ask God your questions
~blooming flowers
~not afraid
~promised to stay to end, take care of Maureen
~come back to me if you can

On the other side of the paper is a list of visitors he had those last few days of his life. I was dumbfounded by this scrap of paper, and then I looked at the book, and saw the page these notes were marking. That was enough to make me whimper out loud. The paper was marking the passage in The Prophet that is "...of Joy and Sorrow." Have you ever read this?

"Your joy is your sorrow unmasked.
And the selfsame well from which your laughter rises was oftentimes filled with your tears.
And how else can it be?
The deeper that sorrow carves into your being, the more joy you can contain.
Is not the cup that holds your wine the very cup that was burned in the potter's oven?
And is not the lute that soothes your spirit, the very wood that was hollowed with knives?
When you are joyous, look deep into your heart and you shall find it is only that which has given you sorrow that is giving you joy.
When you are sorrowful look again in your heart, and you shall see that in truth you are weeping for that which has been your delight.
Some of you say, ‘Joy is greater than sorrow,’ and others say, ‘Nay, sorrow is the greater.’
But I say unto you, they are inseparable.
Together they come, and when one sits, alone with you at your board, remember that the other is asleep upon your bed.
Verily you are suspended like scales between your sorrow and your joy.
Only when you are empty are you at standstill and balanced.
When the treasure-keeper lifts you to weigh his gold and his silver, needs must your joy or your sorrow rise or fall.”

Letters From a Skeptic

On Tuesday, I finished a book called Letters from a Skeptic by Dr. Gregory A. Boyd and Edward K. Boyd. It is a book of 29 correspondences, spanning three years. Those letters were to and from Greg's father, Ed.

Greg himself was a former atheist turned pastor, and invited his dad to ask any and all questions about religion. So Ed did, and they are some very in-depth and thought-provoking questions. Ones that I myself still wonder about, like evil and pain and natural disasters and the validity of the Bible and how exactly Jesus' death can logically pardon our sins. Greg's answers are so straightforward, and the book really captivated me.

I won't ruin the ending for you, but I will say that this book will change your way of thinking. If you've read it, leave me a comment and let me know what you thought of it. If you haven't read it, go get yourself a copy!

Good Writing

I just finished two books and had to share bits of them with you. Honestly, these are two books that completely spoke to me and are so truthful and raw for me.

The first is The Middle Place by Kelly Corrigan. Yes, I have already promised to lend it to two people. (One is my sister, one is Danielle. Did I promise it to anyone else? If so, you'll have to remind me.) But those two people are going to have to deal with the TONS of underlining that I did in the book. That's how you can tell if a book really moved me - I underline and star things that I.Must.Not.Forget. Such as:

• "He defined me first, as parents do. Those early characterizations can become the shimmering self-image we embrace or the limited, stifling perception we rail against for a lifetime. In my case, he sees me as I would like to be seen. In fact, I’m not even sure what’s true about me, since I have always chosen to believe his version."
• "When I called Jen to check on her [after her mom’s death], she told me that people were swarming around doing what people do: flowers, food, cards, call, favors. She said just about everyone said something like, 'Your mom had a good life. She had a lot of happiness. She was so uncomfortable. Now she’s at peace.' Well, yeah, okay, good for your mom. But what about you? What about your peace? Your comfort? Who’s gonna remember what you were for Halloween that year or the name of your fifth grade teacher? Who’s gonna loan you money to buy your first house or cry when your baby is born? Who’s gonna sit in the front row of your play? Look, Mom! This is the scene where we get engaged! Oh! You’re gonna love this part! Look at me in my white dress, Dad! How about this one – Edward and Dad play golf together! And in this next scene, we get pregnant! Hey look, Dad! Edward reads Sports Illustrated cover to cover JUSTLIKEYOU! Isn’t this a good play? Don’t you love it? Wait! There’s more! Edward gets promoted in the third act! Don’t go yet! Georgia is going to kindergarten next year! Wait ‘til you see her first swim meet! Her tiger goggles! Please stay. We bought Claire tap shoes! This part coming up ––! Claire plays the harmonica! She’s applying to Yale! Don’t LEAVE–– it gets so good!"
• "If my mom had died young, I wouldn’t have a single memory of her. That’s why I take so many pictures and keep old art projects and pull the video camera off the top of the fridge and turn it around on myself to report on the day’s events. …I was here, girls. Every day. Helping you draw smiley faces in the condensation on the shower door, showing you how to hold scissors and twirl a pipe cleaner and play Keep It Up with a party balloon. This is my graffiti. This is me spray painting on every wall and etching in every headboard: I WAS HERE."
• "Someday, some later day, I’ll find out what it is to be an adult – to bury someone essential, someone you don’t think you can live without, someone attached in so many places you almost fall in after them."

Oh, God. Just reading those four passages makes my heart ache all over again. I can't tell you how much this book spoke to me. It was like an answered prayer to have someone verbalize things I hadn't even acknowledged I felt. Now I have to admit I'm afraid to visit Kelly Corrigan's website because I think I might find bad news. Anyway, go get this book, y'all. And say a prayer that maybe one day I can write like Kelly Corrigan. It's a new aspiration of mine.

The second book I read also moved me as equally as the first. The funny thing is this is the second time I've read it, and it moved me just as much as the first time. That in itself is remarkable - I don't often read books twice because I already know the ending. But this book is worth it. It is Feathers From My Nest by Beth Moore. Again, she's another writer I aspire to be like. She is a Christian writer, and this book is about her story as a mother. It is so honest and real, and inspires me to be a better mother. And not just the type of mom who does crafts with her kids and teaches them the ABCs, but the type of mother who teaches her children about God's love and passion for us. Wow. This book is a challenge for me to know God better and to help Katie and Jackson know Him better too. Here are some of my favorite quotes:

• "Homes shattered by loss can echo once again with laughter. Peace can replace chaos... but you must promise not to confuse peace with quiet. The goal is not building a monastery. Remember, God's peace is like a river, not a pond. In other words, a sense of health and well-being, both of which are expressions of the Hebrew shalom, can permeate our homes even when we're in white-water rapids."
• "The goal of life is not the absence of pain. It's the presence of glory. God's glory. And sometimes that comes most vividly with pain."
• "Oh, what we forfeit when we deny our hearts the right to feel. Sometimes we protect ourselves from the most precious moments in life."
• "I think deep down inside all of us, we are absolutely terrified of placing our hopes and dreams in something that we'll discover is not even real. Masses of people out there are scared to death that God may be little more than the wizard of Oz. All volume and no action. That Jesus was a good man. A prophet perhaps, but the Son of God? Couldn't it all just be make-believe? You and I know better. The God behind this curtain is real, huge, and omnipotent. Far beyond our wildest imaginations. If the veil were drawn back while we were still mortals, we wouldn't survive the shock of His greatness. He has left us here to bear witness to what we know of Him. We were never called to explain God. We were called to be witnesses of what we've seen and experienced of Him." [emphasis mine]

Honestly, I could type dozens of quotes from this book. (I underlined LOTS.) She touches on so many areas that I am struggling with as a mother: my daughter's perception of beauty, my stress in trying to "do it all," my commitment to my marriage, my hope in my children's future. Go buy this book too, y'all. I was lucky enough that it was gifted to me (thanks, Celia!), and I'm now loaning it out to yet another friend.

Let me know if you have any Good Writing that you'd like to share!

A Celebrity Comment!

Oh my gosh, oh my gosh, oh my gosh! I am thrilled beyond thrilled. You won't believe this! I just checked my in box and I GOT A COMMENT on my last post by a real, honest-to-God published author, Kelly Corrigan. I am giddy! And what's even cooler is that I. Am. Reading. Her. Book. Right. Now. Can you stand it?! Yes, this is the book I stayed up way too late reading last night, and the book that is talking directly to me in almost every chapter. (I about fell out of bed when I read that her dad used to recite The Cremation of Sam McGee too!!! Did he also recite Casey at the Bat like mine too?) This is the same book I was buying at the mall today to send to my sister, but I forgot my coupon. (Don't worry, I'll go back!)

Now it will take some major willpower for me to do the tasks on my To Do List that I already had planned for naptime (clean the kitchen, refresh my memory on Lost before it starts tomorrow, watch the Inauguration on Tivo, log Girl Scout cookie orders, make phone calls, update my mom's club roster, check my sister's Facebook account like I promised), instead of going and sitting down and finishing her book, The Middle Place. I am just thrilled. (Did I already say that?!) How did she find me? Oh, wow. Please tell me I'm not a dork for being so excited about this. Y'all would be too, right? I swear, it's made my day now. Maybe she'll come back again? Maybe she'll start lurking at my blog? Woo hoo! Okay, it's official. I have crossed over into Dorkdom.

On Children by Kahlil Gibran

My "cousin-in-law" Marti emailed this to me yesterday. She read it and was so touched by it that she typed it up and hung it on her wall. To help her remember her job as a mom. To keep her focused on the big picture. To remind her to have a relationship with her son, "to nurture and hold and then release to the world."

It's been hanging on her wall for 36 years. I guess the job is never done, is it?

Thank you for sending me such inspiration, Marti!

Words of Wisdom

I just came across a quote that resonated with me. I wanted to share it with you all, as we dive into a crazy busy holiday season that's full of financial worries and stress. This was written by Nell B. Nichols in 1924. That's 84 years ago, and yet it is still true for today. Take it to heart!

"Just one word more--please steal time every day, if you cannot find it in any other way, to lie on the grass, or a hammock, under a huge tree this lovely month…and relax. What a tonic this is for the soul! What a rest for the weary nerves! Our husbands, children, friends--yes, and the nation--will profit by our relaxation. The greatest need today is for calmer homes, and no fireside can be calm unless its guardian is at peace with the world."

You are the guardian of your home. But even more than that... you are the guardian of your soul. Vow to find peace and wonder during the holidays. May you replenish your soul!

Painting by Herman Pekel

The Writer's Almanac

Lord, have mercy. I have a new daily delight, courtesy of my long-lost relative Marti. She tipped me off to a great email service from NPR. It's called The Writer's Almanac, and I subscribed to a daily email that includes a poem and a bit on notable birthdays for that day.

I just subscribed to the email this week, and have had two amazing poems sent to my in box. I have taken such joy and pleasure in reading them. Please go read the one for today, and here's a copy of the poem from November 3:

Lessons by Pat Schneider
I have learned
that life goes on,
or doesn't.
That days are measured out
in tiny increments
as a woman in a kitchen
measures teaspoons
of cinnamon, vanilla,
or half a cup of sugar
into a bowl.

I have learned
that moments are as precious as nutmeg,
and it has occurred to me
that busy interruptions
are like tiny grain moths,
or mice.
They nibble, pee, and poop,
or make their little worms and webs
until you have to throw out the good stuff
with the bad.

It took two deaths
and coming close myself
for me to learn
that there is not an infinite supply
of good things in the pantry.

I'm Invisible

My friend Susan left a comment on my post this past Sunday, and it made me think of a story I was emailed about a year ago. I'm not sure who wrote it, but it's one of my favorites. I am pasting it into the post to inspire Susan and the rest of you, including me. Remember we're all building a cathedral, and our true Boss notices every piece of stone we put into place. Happy reading!

I’m invisible.
It all began to make sense, the blank stares, the lack of response, the way one of the kids will walk into the room while I’m on the phone and ask to be taken to the store. Inside I’m thinking, “Can’t you see I’m on the phone?” Obviously not. No one can see if I’m on the phone, or cooking, or sweeping the floor, or even standing on my head in the corner, because no one can see me at all. I’m invisible.
Some days I am only a pair of hands, nothing more: Can you fix this? Can you tie this? Can you open this? Some days I’m not a pair of hands; I’m not even a human being. I’m a clock to ask, “What time is it?” I’m a satellite guide to answer, “What number is the Disney Channel?” I’m a car to order, “Right around 5:30, please.” I was certain that these were the hands that once held books and the eyes that studied history and the mind that graduated summa cum laude - but now they had disappeared into the peanut butter, never to be seen again. She’s going … she’s going … she’s gone!
One night, a group of us were having dinner, celebrating the return of a friend from England. Janice had just gotten back from a fabulous trip, and she was going on and on about the hotel she stayed in. I was sitting there, looking around at the others all put together so well. It was hard not to compare and feel sorry for myself as I looked down at my out-of-style dress; it was the only thing I could find that was clean. My unwashed hair was pulled up in a banana clip and I was afraid I could actually smell peanut butter in it. I was feeling pretty pathetic, when Janice turned to me with a beautifully wrapped package, and said, “I brought you this.” It was a book on the great cathedrals of Europe. I wasn’t exactly sure why she’d given it to me until I read her inscription: “To Charlotte, with admiration for the greatness of what you are building when no one sees.”
In the days ahead I would read - no, devour - the book. And I would discover what would become for me, four life-changing truths, after which I could pattern my work:
· No one can say who built the great cathedrals - we have no record of their names.
· These builders gave their whole lives for a work they would never see finished.
· They made great sacrifices and expected no credit.
· The passion of their building was fueled by their faith that the eyes of God saw everything.
A legendary story in the book told of a rich man who came to visit the cathedral while it was being built, and he saw a workman carving a tiny bird on the inside of a beam. He was puzzled and asked the man, “Why are you spending so much time carving that bird into a beam that will be covered by the roof? No one will ever see it.” And the workman replied, “Because God sees.”
I closed the book, feeling the missing piece fall into place. It was almost as if I heard God whispering to me, “I see you, Charlotte. I see the sacrifices you make every day, even when no one around you does. No act of kindness you’ve done, no sequin you’ve sewn on, no cupcake you’ve baked, is too small for me to notice and smile over. You are building a great cathedral, but you can’t see right now what it will become.” At times, my invisibility feels like an affliction. But it is not a disease that is erasing my life. It is the cure for the disease of my own self-centeredness. It is the antidote to my strong, stubborn pride. I keep the right perspective when I see myself as a great builder. As one of the people who show up at a job that they will never see finished, to work on something that their name will never be on. The writer of the book went so far as to say that no cathedrals could ever be built in our lifetime because there are so few people willing to sacrifice to that degree.
When I really think about it, I don’t want my son to tell the friend he’s bringing home from college for Thanksgiving, “My mom gets up at 4 in the morning and bakes homemade pies, and then she hand bastes a turkey for three hours and presses all the linens for the table.” That would mean I’d built a shrine or a monument to myself. I just want him to want to come home. And then, if there is anything more to say to his friend, to add, “You’re gonna love it there.”
As mothers, we are building great cathedrals. We cannot be seen if we’re doing it right. And one day, it is very possible that the world will marvel, not only at what we have built, but at the beauty that has been added to the world by the sacrifices of invisible women.

Good Writing

I found another example of Good Writing. Last night, I finished The Book of Lost Things by John Connolly. It's an odd tale, and I can't even explain it to you without writing a really long post and giving away some of the story. Just suffice it to say it's tied together beautifully at the end. I heard about it in the September 28 issue of Parade magazine. There was a blurb on author Nicholas Sparks. He named this as one of five novels that moved him most. The other four are: The Shadow of the Wind by Carlos Ruiz Safon, Heart-Shaped Box by Joe Hill, City of Thieves by David Benioff, and Gates of Fire by Stephen Pressfield. Not sure I'll read all of them (although Gretchen might like Heart-Shaped Box because the review says, "The rarest of novels-a fresh and original horror story that's frightening, not gory."), but Shadow of the Wind has been on my list for a while.

Anyhoo, here are my favorite quotes from The Book of Lost Things:

“Rules and routines are good, but they must give you satisfaction… Find routines that allow you to feel secure when they are done. You told me you have a new brother: look to him each morning. Look to your father, and your stepmother. Tend to the flowers in the garden, or in the pots upon the windowsill. Seek others who are weaker than you are, and try to give them comfort where you can. Let these be your routines, and the rules that govern your life.”

"We are not meant to know the time or the nature of our deaths (for all of us secretly hope that we may be immortal). Those who were given that knowledge found that they could not sleep or eat or enjoy any of the pleasures life had to offer them, so tormented were they by what they had seen. Their lives became a kind of living death, devoid of joy, and all that was left to them was fear and sadness, so that when at last the end came they were almost grateful for it."

And my favorite: "...for a lifetime was but a moment in that place, and each man dreams his own heaven."

Good Writing

There are some things in this world that I absolutely love. Things that will make my heart hum like a tuning fork. One of them is a great choir. How can you not help being caught up in dozens of voices singing different parts of one song? Another of those things is good writing. And I mean GOOD writing. The kind of writing that makes me say, "Man! That is so true! I feel those words, and they were put together exactly right without wasting even one tiny letter." The kind of writing that pleases even the anal-retentive English teacher hidden in my heart.

This anal-retentive English teacher is the reason I have a little compulsion I'd like to admit. Whenever I read a book, sometimes I come across a sentence that is GW (Good Writing). I mark that sentence, either with an indentation of my fingernail or one of these handy Book Darts. After I finish the book, I sit down at my computer and type the sentence into a Quote Library that I keep in an Excel spreadsheet. (The spreadsheet currently has 1,197 quotes in it, but they're not all from books. Some of them are ones I fell in love with through Reader's Digest or elsewhere.) If a book had several pieces of GW, then I open a Word document dedicated to that book, and type up the multiple examples of GW there. (I currently have 102 files like this on my computer.)

I felt compelled to confess my odd little habit after I just finished typing some great quotes from the book Nineteen Minutes by Jodi Picoult. She has a way with words. For example:

"Like always, he made her head swim with seasons – his hair was all the colors of autumn; his eyes the bright blue of a winter sky; his smile as wide as any summer sun."

"She thought of Sam, how she’d left him sleeping this morning in his crib. During the night he’d kicked off a sock; his toes were plump as early peas; it was all she could do not to taste his caramel skin. So much of the language of love was like that: you devoured someone with your eyes, you drank in the sight of him, you swallowed him whole. Love was sustenance, broken down and beating through your bloodstream."

"Alex thought of all the parties she’d ever gone to where the first question she was asked was What do you do? as if that were enough to define you. Nobody ever asked you who you really were, because that changed. You might be a judge or a mother or a dreamer. You might be a loner or a visionary or a pessimist. You might be the victim, and you might be the bully. You could be the parent, and also the child. You might wound one day and heal the next. I’m not perfect, Alex thought, and maybe that was the first step toward becoming that way."

"Everyone would remember Peter [a high school shooter] for nineteen minutes of his life, but what about the other nine million? Lacy [his mother] would have to be the keeper of those, because it was the only way for that part of Peter to stay alive. For every recollection of him that involved a bullet or a scream, she would have a hundred others: of a little boy splashing in a pond, or riding a bicycle for the first time, or waving from the top of a jungle gym. Of a kiss good night, or a crayoned Mother’s Day card, or a voice off-key in the shower. She would string them together – the moments when her child had been just like other people’s. She would wear them, precious pearls, every day of her life; because if she lost them, then the boy she had loved and raised and known would really be gone."

Wow. Sometimes I tell myself that the reason I keep these samples of GW is in the hope that one day I might be a writer, and can use them to help school myself on what GW should look like. Maybe I'll re-read these quotes to help my creativity flow and crash through some yet unknown writer's block. Or, maybe I'm just kidding myself and the truth is I really do have OCD. I guess it could be both!