What is Our World Coming To?

I awoke today to disturbing headlines, my expectations of a peaceful morning suddenly shattered. Another senseless act of violence has rocked the nation. Before I even bow my head in silent prayer for all those involved, I shake my head in disgust and wonder, What is our world coming to?

Then I pause. I rethink my question. Our world. If it is ours, then it is partly mine. And if our world is coming to something bad, then it is our responsibility to fix it. And if the responsibility is ours, isn't it also mine?

My immediate reaction to my own thought is one of resistance. Yeah, but what can I do? I am bound by my insignificance in a world so big with forces so strong. What action of mine could possibly make a difference in places so far away full of people I am unlikely to ever meet face to face? Besides, I’m one of the good ones. I’m part of the solution. The problem lies in others.

With that attitude, I am likely to respond with my typical reaction to news of violence: lock my doors, watch my back, and live in fear. That fear turns to suspicion. The suspicion turns to anger - anger toward those whose deliberate acts of violence rob me of my peace. I start to find faults, point fingers, place blame. Suddenly, I am living in fear of the very world I helped create. A part of the problem now lies in me. My actions, my words, my attitude, my choices, they all matter. They all send an energy floating through the air, an energy that has the ability to affect people I may never meet face to face in places far away. Suddenly, I realize that I am not insignificant at all.

I am not insignificant because I believe in the interconnectedness of every person on earth by the power of the life-giving energy that flows through each of us simultaneously. Good or bad. Rich or poor. Family member or total stranger. That’s why no event can occur in isolation. That’s why our problems are referred to as “global issues” no matter the country from which they originate. That’s why we shed tears for people we don’t know in circumstances we’ve never experienced first-hand. That’s why something you do or say today can impact a place you’ve never seen full of people you’ve never met. It really is a small, small world.

 We all carry a responsibility to be part of the solution. That responsibility doesn’t always have to be carried out in mission work, worldwide travel, or hefty donations to have a significant impact. Don’t ever underestimate the power of love shown through the simplest gesture - a smile, a kind word, a helping hand. Don’t ever believe that the negative energy emitted by angry words, disrespectful comments, and sour attitudes doesn’t penetrate deep into the heart of society. And don’t ever say, what is our world coming to, while looking out the window. Say it while looking in the mirror.

Lessons from a Summer Drought

The air was dry and humid, almost too thick to breathe. Reese and I were less than halfway through our morning walk around the lake. As I panted along, I felt as tired as the withered vegetation surrounding me. I am twenty-five weeks pregnant and although we were armed with ice cold water and sunscreen, my better judgments warned me to turn back. The lush green grass of early spring looked more like desert sand. A steady stream of crisp brown leaves trickled down from the trees above as they began to prepare for an early death. The plants drooped in despair, giving up hope for the much-needed moisture that still hasn’t come. Sweat rolled down my back - another warning sign. Go home. Reluctantly, I headed for the shortcut that leads to our backyard.

As I trudged back, my feet crunched through dead leaves and grass and I started to think about the many times I cursed the rain – when outdoor events were marred by its presence; when family outings had to be rescheduled; when simple trips to the grocery store became a major inconvenience. Even on days when I didn’t curse it, I certainly didn’t welcome it. Sunny days induce happiness. The gray skies of an impending storm have the opposite effect. Rain is sad, depressing, negative. “Rain, rain, go away…”

And “go away” it did. Only recently have I begun to check each week’s forecast eagerly hoping for a wet, muddy day. A thunder roll in the distance now produces excitement rather than dread as I think of the many life forms that would benefit from a good hard rain. In the midst of a sudden downpour, I would gladly stand with outstretched arms and embrace its life-giving power rather than cover my head and run toward the nearest shelter. Until the rain stopped and the world around me began to wither and die, I had never thought beyond the inconvenience of a wet shopping cart or the disappointment of a cancelled picnic. Now, as I walk through the dying landscape, I absorb a new appreciation for the rain and the lessons I’ve learned in its absence… 

1. Look beyond yourself. I am often guilty of living in my own little world. How will this event affect my day, my space, my life? On a rainy Sunday morning, I don’t stop to thank God for the life-saving water that nourishes our crops and restores our trees because I’m focused on the inconvenience of hauling a wet umbrella into church. When I widen my focus to the bigger picture, I see the true insignificance of my little complaints. Sometimes life seems to rain on my parade, but maybe that rain has a much higher purpose.

2. It's easier to see the good in something once it's taken away. I overhear people everywhere saying, “maybe it will rain today,” with an oddly upbeat, excited tone. These are probably the same people who, like me, have cursed rainy days in the past. I suppose it’s true that we don’t know what we have until it is lost. When I think about how I miss the rain, I am reminded of so many other events in my life that I didn’t cherish until it was too late. I remained focused on the negative, never thinking that I would someday wish for another day in those circumstances just so I could fully appreciate the positives to which I had somehow been oblivious before.

3. Sometimes positive events wear a negative disguise. When I look out at the rain, I tend to focus on the depressing gray clouds looming overhead, murky mud puddles pooling in the driveway, water droplets falling like tears. I forget that under the earth, the roots of our plants dance with glee as they absorb the moisture and that all around me a happier, greener world will ultimately result from this seemingly “depressing” day. How often do people emerge from a rainy season of life only to discover a rainbow that wouldn’t otherwise exist? Dark days often seem to have no purpose, but when rain falls on the branches of our hearts, courage grows in the roots of our souls.

Someday the rain will return, the drought will clear, and the many facebook statuses that begged for rain last week will no doubt complain about it next week. I hope I always remember this dry season when I inevitably begin to curse the rain again. I hope that as the thunder rolls in and the first drops begin to fall, I will look out the window and smile because the rain brings so much of the world to life and so many reasons to be thankful.

The Road to Gratitude

Something happened to me recently that I have not yet shared – mostly out of embarrassment because it violates so many lessons I thought I had already learned. The few people who know the story have attempted to reassure me with the “it happens to everyone” consolation speech. That may be true, but it didn’t eliminate the sporadic, intrusive, unforgiving thoughts about what almost became the worst day of my life. I’m sharing it now because I have finally started seeing it not as a mark against my parenting skills but as a window to stronger faith and deeper gratitude.

Back in May, we discovered that some mice were living in our garage. We ended up catching them, but not before they left a trail of droppings around the perimeter of the floor. Reese’s birthday party was scheduled for that weekend, and we use our garage as the main entrance to our house so I decided that it needed to be cleaned up before the party. I never do anything without a predetermined schedule, so I picked a day (Thursday) and decided to clean the garage during naptime. Of course, Reese took a short nap that day and I was in the middle of my project when I heard her voice over the baby monitor. A more flexible, laid back person would probably have realized that vacuuming the garage while watching a toddler is not a good idea, but I have neither of those qualities so I hauled Reese outside and fired up the shop vac.

She made several attempts to get my attention, but I was bound and determined to finish the job. On her fourth attempt, she asked me to take her for a walk. Instead, I roller her toy stroller toward her and said, “Mommy’s busy right now. Why don’t you take your doll for a walk?” She seemed content with that idea and I returned my focus to the never ending trail of what I pretended were black rice pellets.

When I finally looked up, I couldn’t see her. Every parent knows how immediately the panic rises from your gut to your throat when your child is out of sight for even a second. My eyes darted around the front half of our two-acre yard thinking that she couldn’t possibly have gone that far in under a minute. I widened my gaze beyond what I thought was a reasonable distance and that’s when I saw her at the end of our driveway pushing her stroller off of the gravel and onto street.

Our house sits at the bottom of a hill on a country road, and I knew an oncoming car would never see her in time. I screamed, “Reese Margaret, stop!” and took off in a full sprint, but our driveway is long and it took almost 10 seconds for me to reach her. My eyes were immediately blinded by tears as I repeated, “Please let me get there,” down the full length of the driveway. I tackled her in the middle of the street and my screams startled her into a fit of sobs that mirrored my own. Her toy stroller went sailing into the ditch leaving her Minnie Mouse doll sprawled on the pavement. We cried in unison as I scooped her up and headed back toward the house.

We were less than halfway up the drive when a car flew over the hill and barreled through the empty air where Reese stood just moments before. I fell to my knees in the gravel, not noticing the pain of the rocks digging into my skin. I cradled my baby in my arms, looked up at the sky, and thanked God out loud between sobs. The car continued on into the distance, its driver completely oblivious to what might have been if he had left his previous destination just one minute sooner.

By the time we returned to the house Reese was already calm. She grabbed her pink teapot and poured me a fake cup of tea as if the events of the past five minutes had suddenly been erased from existence. My recovery was not quite so immediate. For the rest of the day and through that night I struggled to keep my thoughts from wading through horrifying alternative outcomes. Two days later our friends and family came to celebrate Reese’s second birthday, and the possibility that we could all be gathered for a very different reason stewed on the back burner of my mind.

As the saying goes, “When you know better, you do better,” only that’s not what happened. I know better than to take my eyes off a toddler. I know we live on a dangerous road. I know it wasn’t necessary to clean the garage according to my preferred timetable. But my actions on that day didn’t reflect what I know. Instead, they reflected a deep-seated, subconscious belief that I am somehow immune to the life-altering, split-second tragedies that seem to only affect “other people.” I never stopped to think that to everyone else in the world, I am “other people” and I am not immune to anything.

I’m not sure that vowing for greater attentiveness, higher awareness, or better future decisions wouldn’t just reinforce the belief that I can somehow safeguard my life against the tragedies of fate. Instead, I am humbled by the realization that no amount of preparedness can do that. Of course, I will never repeat the same incident again, but that doesn’t mean she will never wander away from me at the mall or choke on a nickel while I’m in bathroom. 

As moms, we feel as though we should be able to protect our children from all of the world’s dangers, and the guilt that results from our inability to foresee every accident and evade every mistake can be deeply painful, whatever the outcome. I believe the events of that Thursday afternoon were not the result of anything I did or didn’t do as a mother. They happened because I am human, as human as every other parent who can’t possibly lead an infallible life.

Now, every time we walk through a parking lot or see cars passing on a nearby road, Reese repeats the lesson she learned on that day, “Mommy, me not walk in the street. Cars go really fast.” Each time she says it, I can’t escape the stinging reminder of my susceptibility to human error or the stabbing guilt over what might have been. But something else happens to me in those moments, too. As scary as it is to admit that I am not invincible, the fear is overshadowed by the comfort of knowing that my life is in the hands of a God who is. The guilt over what could have been gives way to deep gratitude for what is and I am reminded that life is precious and too often taken for granted. 

None of us is guaranteed a completely safe passage through life, and the events that lie ahead can never be known. Instead of using that knowledge as a reason to be imprisoned by guilt from the past or worry for the future, use it as a reason to cherish the blessings that come with each single day and to be overwhelmed with gratitude because, in this very moment, life is good.

Searching for Serenity: Why Not Now?

Not long ago I was reading a book that included a list of life regrets written by Erma Bombeck, a popular newspaper columnist, after she was diagnosed with terminal cancer. There are actually multiple versions of this list circulating on the internet (some of which are attributed to different writers), but the overall message is the same. Here is an excerpt from one version:

“If I Had My Life to Live Over”

“If I had my life to live over, I would have talked less and listened more.
I would have invited friends over to dinner even if the carpet was stained and the sofa faded.
I would never have insisted the car windows be rolled up on a summer day because my hair had just been teased and sprayed.
I would have burned the pink candle sculpted like a rose before it melted in storage.
I would have sat on the lawn with my children and not worried about grass stains.
I would have cried and laughed less while watching television - and more while watching life.
I would have gone to bed when I was sick instead of pretending the earth would go into a holding pattern if I weren't there for the day.
Instead of wishing away nine months of pregnancy, I'd have cherished every moment and realized that the wonderment growing inside me was the only chance in life to assist God in a miracle.
There would have been more "I love you's".. More "I'm sorrys" ...
But mostly, given another shot at life, I would seize every minute... look at it and really see it ... live it...and never give it back.” -- Erma Bombeck

Things like this really make me think – not because they are oh-so-true or because they remind to take my own life a little less seriously, but because I find it sad that so few people ever find themselves in a truly carefree, regret-free, loving-every-minute-of-every-day place in their lives. Instead, we tend to plow through life complaining about the weather or the traffic or gas prices. We worry about what other people think of the condition of our homes or the size of our butts. We stand in judgment of others’ political views, religious beliefs, and life choices while turning blind eyes and deaf ears to our own contributions to the world’s problems. We choose anger and resentment over forgiveness and compassion, and we fear uncertainty more than we trust life. Then one day a terminal illness or tragic loss stops us in our tracks and the only thing we can do is look back and say, “I wish I would have…”

Unfortunately, by the time we get to “I wish I would have,” wishing is all we’ll ever be able to do about it. I don’t want that to be me. I don’t want my wake up call to come at the end of my life, and I certainly don’t want to sit down one day and write a list of all the things I wish I had done. That’s why I’m doing this. That’s why I’m putting so much effort into reprioritizing my life and growing a more positive mind. And that’s why I’m willing to talk about it so openly. I hope it holds me accountable to my commitment to this change and I hope it inspires someone, anyone, to join me on the journey.

It’s never too late to change your perspective on life, and you don’t need a personal tragedy to kickstart your desire to do it. Every day is a new opportunity to banish the underlying worries, fears, judgments, and frustrations that undermine your ability to live fully in the present moment.

So why not start today? Try to worry less about stained clothes and messy hair, even if you’re out in public. Support your child’s goals, even if they’re not what you had in mind. Sing your way through a traffic jam, even if you’re running late. Let your kids play with fingerpaints and play-doh, even if the table is oak and the carpet is white. Forgive your brother, even if you think he was wrong. Let your guard down, even if you’re afraid. Dance in the rain, even if it’s your wedding day. And start taking your life from “I wish I would have…” to “I’m glad I did…”

Related Posts:

Searching for Serenity: The Beginning

Searching for Serenity: Peel the Onion

Beautiful Innocence

My favorite part of every evening is when Reese and I sit down together to read books before bed. It is one of few rituals that has remained constant since her birth, and I cherish the rush of memories from past months when we would sit in this very chair doing this very thing. Last night as we read through her selections, I laughed out loud as she interrupted me to finish the sentences. I thought about how much has changed since the days when my request for an “oink” or a “moo” was met only with a blank stare. I marveled at what a beautiful blessing she has been to our lives and how wonderfully perfect she is. At that very moment, almost as if on cue, she turned toward me, raised her little hand, and smacked me right in the face.

The incident led to an immediate time out and, thus, and abrupt end to story time. Afterwards I finished helping her get ready for bed and as I tip-toed away from her dark room, a single tear fell onto my shirt. All parents (and many non-parents) are aware that the toddler years are a stereotypically tough time. Reese turned two exactly one month ago, and defiance and destruction occur with increasing frequency around our house. The challenges of motherhood have reduced me to tears before, but last night was different. I wasn’t crying because I was exhausted or frustrated or because she hurt my feelings (ok, that was part of it), or because I was worried that I was doing something wrong as a mom. Last night was about confronting the realization that my relationship with Reese has entered a big transition.

Until recently, my primary role with her has been purely nurturing. My main responsibilities were to provide her with constant love and help her build a sense of trust and security. Even in her second year when I started guiding her behavior and telling her no, it was always more of a gentle reminder than a firm demand. As her investigative nature and destructive curiosity progress, the need for more and more guidance has altered the nature of many of our interactions.


It saddens me to think that we have entered a realm where the ebb and flow of conflict and harmony is now a permanent fixture. I experienced similar feelings the last time I felt her kick me from inside, the last time I nursed her, the last time she fit into each clothing size – each transition serving as another reminder that every part of our lives exist in the present only for a brief moment in time.

That realization, although sad at times, motivates me to cherish even seemingly negative moments. Someday “the time Reese smacked me during story time” will be a fond memory of the beautiful innocence I will someday miss very much. It is the same innocence that causes the six-month-old to eat a dust bunny, the twelve-month-old to overturn a bowl of applesauce, the eighteen-month-old to dip her watermelon in ketchup, and the two-year-old to test mom’s reaction to a sudden smack.

As we venture deeper into the age of the “terrible two’s” over the next few years, I hope I remember all the other phases of life I swore I would never miss until the day I realized they were over. I hope I don’t fall into the common mindset of thinking of this as a terrible time, but as a time of tremendous growth for Reese and for us as parents – growth in self-control, patience, understanding, compassion, and grace. Even on the difficult days - when the walls are covered in crayon or the floor is covered with applesauce or you’ve been jolted from a peaceful moment by a swift slap in the face, remember that it will make for a funny story and a fond memory of a time of undeniably beautiful innocence.

Searching for Serenity: Peel the Onion

It has been over a year since I first came to the full realization that something in my life has been completely amiss. It all began when I started this blog, which kick-started an introspective journey involving intense self-reflection, analysis, and discovery. That journey is now resulting in a slow shift of consciousness and re-examination of purpose that are beginning to change the way I perceive life and its events, alter my perspective on religious and political matters, and raise my awareness of the binding thought patterns that clutter our human minds. I believe these seemingly uncontrollable thought patterns of worry, doubt, and judgment sit at the very core of many of our fears, addictions, personality flaws, internal conflicts, troubled relationships, and life challenges. The answer to combating those patterns lies in the ability to recognize, challenge, and ultimately control them. Here is the process through which I came to this realization...

In early 2011, I finally admitted to myself that have a problem with being in control. I am uncomfortable in unfamiliar settings, especially when I consider a situation to be chaotic or poorly managed. My life is highly structured and overly organized. I like to be right; I like to be in charge; I can even be a bit of a brat when it comes to getting my way. I have been aware of those things for years, but I always did what most people with personality flaws do – I justified it, made light of it, created excuses to defend it, and accepted it as an unchangeable part of who I am. I lived in complete denial of its true impact on my ability to have a fully harmonious marriage and a truly peaceful life. Never before had I been honest enough with myself to look in the mirror and say, “This is a problem.”

Once I did that, I expected overnight success. I thought the increased awareness of my problem was enough to enact a change. Not so fast. It was more like the “diet starts Monday” mentality. Every day I resolved to go with the flow, to trust the natural order of the world, to worry about myself and let everyone else be and do as they wish. Every day I failed miserably. I started trying less and less and I fell back into my old mentality, “This is who I am.” Along the way, various incidents would refuel my efforts to change, but it was always temporary. This went on until I discovered the next layer.

It turns out that I had been addressing the wrong problem. Instead of trying to stop controlling life, I needed to go a step further and ask myself, “What compels me to be in control of the world around me?” The answer (which did not come to me as immediately as it seems here) was anxiety caused by constant worry and fear. Subconsciously, I had come to believe that if I can make life predictable, then I’ll never get hurt or blindsided, and I’ll be prepared if my worries ever do come to fruition. This resulted in a lifestyle marked by rigidity, inflexibility, an unwillingness to trust others, constant suspicion of the possible danger lurking in the future, and (not surprisingly) an inability to relax, enjoy simple moments, and truly believe that “life is good.”

I quickly abandoned my efforts to magically stop controlling the circumstances of my life, and I started focusing on addressing my anxiety. Since I had already discovered an underlying cause for my compulsion to be in control, I assumed there must also be a deeper cause for my anxiety. I started with what I could already admit: I am distracted and preoccupied all the time. But why? My inability to answer that question led me to prayer, and my prayers guided me toward various resources through which I discovered a completely foreign but very intriguing concept. Spiritual writers describe it in various ways, but it basically boils down to developing the ability to live in the present moment without the distraction of any unnecessary or irrelevant thoughts.

There it is, I thought. That is the core; the center of the onion. I am constantly preoccupied because my head is cluttered with thoughts – second-guessing the past, worrying about the future, and entertaining a host of other irrelevant why’s and what-if’s that swim through my mind disrupting my stream of consciousness and affecting my ability to fully enjoy life. My disruptive thoughts fuel my anxiety and my anxiety compels me to control the world around me. The answer lies in learning how to live in the moment, surrender to the present, block negative and irrelevant thoughts, and trust the natural order of the world. Given that this is still a new concept in my life, my ability to do those things is certainly in its infancy, but I believe the achievement of those skills is a real possibility for everyone willing to try.

This is where my real journey begins and your journey can begin here too. I believe that any of life challenges – and we all have them – can be inserted in place of my compulsion to control and can be understood and processed on a deeper level by confronting the thought patterns that fuel them and learning what it means to be truly present in each moment of this beautiful life. I hope you continue to follow along and share your comments as we continue the search for serenity.

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Searching for Serenity: The Beginning

Daddy's Little Girl

Most people who know Matt would agree that he is definitely a man’s man – a deer hunting, Harley riding, sports watching, no whining, man’s man. In the nearly seven years we’ve been together, I’ve seen very little of his sensitive side (but I swear, it really does exist). His straightforward personality and rugged nature work for me (most of the time, anyway), but I sometimes wondered how that would work for us when we had children. I wasn’t sure if he would be interested in diaper changes, baby talk, and pretend tea parties. There were times when he wasn’t sure either, but that was before we had a daughter.

Nothing softens a man’s heart like the birth of his baby girl. The moment the doctor handed Reese over to Matt in the delivery room, a new kind of tenderness surfaced in him. Her little body looked even smaller in his big hands, and it was an amazing sight to watch him hold her, change her, and dress her in those first few months. It didn’t take long for her to recognize his voice, his face, and his touch; and she quickly became his biggest fan. Some of my favorite parenting moments are watching the two of them together as she chases him around the kitchen, bounces down the hall on his shoulders, or runs for a hug when he comes home from work.

In my heart I always knew Matt would be a great dad, and my instinct is confirmed every time he changes the channel from ESPN to Disney, every time I see him wearing a pink headband and holding a yellow tea cup, and every time I see the look on his face when Reese says, “Good night, Daddy. Me love you.” It’s moments like these that inspired me to write this poem for all of the little girls whose hero will always be named “Daddy.” Happy Father’s Day!!

Daddy’s Little Girl

The very first man to take my hand

The first to kiss my cheek.

The first to hold me in his arms;

A bundle wrapped in pink.

The first to say, “I love you”

And promise me the world.

I feel safe and loved because

I’m Daddy’s Little Girl.

I’ve become his everything.

There’s nothing he won’t do.

He’ll wear pink bows and paint my toes

If I just ask him to.

He’ll dress up like a princess

And pour a cup of tea

Just because he always knows

How much it means to me.

He teaches me my manners

And reminds me to behave.

He tells me I should give and share.

He makes me strong and brave.

He shows me how to say my prayers

And walk proud in my faith.

He makes sure I always know

The path a good man takes.

And each night when he tucks me in,

He knows someday I’ll go.

But as I make my way into the world,

I hope he always knows

That no matter where life takes me,

There’s no man in the world

Who could ever take his place because

I’m Daddy’s Little Girl.

This One's for the Girls

On Tuesday night I went out to dinner with my Bible study girls. My girls nights these days are too far and definitely too few between, and the settings in which I find myself on such occasions have changed dramatically over the past few years. Loud bars have become quiet corner booths and an extra round of shots has become an extra round of garlic bread. My personal dress code changed from “show it off” to “cover it up,” and 9:30pm went from "time to head out" to "time to head home." I’m not even sure I remember what there was to talk about before I had children. Some of Tuesday’s conversation topics included toddler vomit, diaper blowouts, rashes, fevers, and a very creative use for disposable nursing pads. (Don’t worry, Holly. I won’t tell the story). By the way, only a table full of moms can talk about toddler vomit and diaper blowouts during dinner without anyone wincing in disgust.

Ok, so it’s undeniable that motherhood brought some drastic changes to my social life, and possibly the biggest one is that I actually have to put in some real effort to maintain it. I quickly realized how easy it is to give up on that part of life after having children. I find it so much easier to stay home every night. After a long day of cooking, cleaning, and chasing a toddler, a hot shower, a good book, and an early bedtime are often my only interests. I seem to have much less time for my girlfriends these days, and I’ve seen many of my old friendships fade over the past two years. Luckily, last year I got connected with a few other moms like me and I’ve rediscovered the important role friends play in personal growth and sanity maintenance. It’s been a long time since I’ve had a group of girl friends in the same stage of life to share fears, triumphs, struggles, and laughs. Words cannot express how blessed I feel to have these ladies in my life.

Possibly the best part of our little circle is that each of us is so wonderfully imperfect. We share our weaknesses with candor and humor and we welcome the comfort that comes along with someone else jumping in to say, “I do that too!” We also share our strengths with a passion that inspires each of us to be proud of who we are and at the same time encourages us to be more like each other. Each of these women fuels my constant desire to become the best wife and mother I can be. Sometimes I wonder if they are even aware of their individual contributions to my life...

Everyone needs a friend like Kristin, whose commitment to a healthy lifestyle inspires me to exercise more, take better care of myself, and treat my body like a temple of God. I read food labels more carefully and Reese eats a more balanced diet because Kristin is my friend. Everyone needs a friend like Holly, whose passion for serving others inspires me to reach out to those in need. I volunteer my time more freely and donate more generously because Holly is my friend. Everyone needs a friend like Sarah, whose sense of humor inspires me to see that every situation is an opportunity for fun. I laugh at myself more frequently and find enjoyment in difficult moments because Sarah is my friend.

My journey through motherhood would be infinitely tougher without a circle of friends with whom I could share all of the ups and downs. If you have friends like these, I hope you fully realize what an enormous blessing it is. If you need friends like these, I hope you take steps to make those connections. Join a play group or Bible study; hang out at the park; reconnect with a forgotten friend. Most importantly, if you have never told your friends how they inspire you, take a minute to thank them for the very important roles they play in your life.

“Two are better than one because they have a good return for their labor. For if either of them falls, the one will lift up his companion. But woe to the one who falls when there is not another to lift him up.” - Ecclesiastes 4:9-10

My Tiny Teacher

Reese turns two this weekend, and it's amazing to think about all the changes her life has been through since last year. Last May she took her first steps and her vocabulary was limited to just three words. Now she is running, climbing, and talking in full sentences. It has been quite a journey watching her explore the ever-changing world around her as she learns more and more each day. But what's even more incredible is everything she has taught me this year. I never expected to learn so much from such a tiny teacher who is completely unaware of the many life lessons she teaches her mom every day. In honor of Reese’s second birthday, here are some of my favorite life lessons through a toddler’s eyes: 

1. Control your energy. I'm talking about the invisible, emotional energy that surrounds the space around us. If I am aggravated or over-scheduled, it changes the air in my home. I have noticed that Reese is crabby when I'm crabby, tense when I'm tense, and relaxed when I'm relaxed. She has shown me how much my attitude affects the space and the people around me. Being more conscious of my energy helps me stay focused on the positive and makes for a happier mom and a happier home.

2. Be who you are. I love how toddlers are so incredibly carefree. Reese doesn’t care about being judged by others, nor does she have the ability to judge. In Reese’s world, everyone is completely free to be themselves. Her carefree nature reminds me to be less concerned about society’s standards and expectations, especially because I want to keep that ability alive in her for as long as possible.

3. Resilience is key. I’m amazed at how easily Reese can bounce back from negative emotions and physical pain. Whether she’s upset over a bump on the head or mad at me for derailing her plans to color on the wall, the devastation always ends as quickly as it begins. She gets some comfort from mommy and moves on to a new task. Suddenly the original problem is completely forgotten, and she leaves me with yet another example of what it means to “just get over it.”  

4. Sometimes you just need to have a tantrum. Adults have tantrums too. We just have a different way of channeling them. I’ve learned that as long as we develop appropriate ways to handle an occasional flood of emotion, there’s no reason to feel guilty about our tantrums. If Reese needs to flail on the floor for a minute after being told that we’re not watching another episode of Mickey Mouse, I can’t exactly say I don’t understand. I often have that same urge when I get off the phone with Verizon’s customer service line.  

5. Life is fascinating. Sometimes I wonder how long it has been since I sat in complete awe of nature’s beauty. Somewhere along the way I became desensitized to my surroundings and consumed by my routine and I forgot how marvelous the world really is. Reese’s excitement over simple things in nature – a squirrel in the yard, a purple flower, a really tall tree – reminds me there are so many reasons to look at the world and say, “Wow!” 

Searching for Serenity: The Beginning

I’m sitting on my patio, lemonade in hand, watching my new waterfall fountain, a mother’s day gift, pouring steady streams of water into the basin below. On my left, our hammock swings gracefully between two trees. The air is filled with peaceful silence interrupted only by the chirping of birds and the steady trickle of the fountain. Yet, somehow, among all of this beauty surrounding a home and a life beyond my wildest dreams, I am troubled.
 

I should start at the beginning. I have always led a stressful life. I was a straight A student all the way through grad school. Then I was planning a wedding; then I switched jobs; then I got pregnant; then I quit my job against my better financial judgment; then our family started to outgrow our tiny house. I always believed my stress was warranted, my worries were real. I was plagued by terrifying “What if’s,” many of which were neither foreseeable nor preventable.

Beginning exactly one year ago, a series of amazing blessings propelled me into the life of my dreams. Matt was promoted to a job that would allow me to stay home indefinitely and six months later we bought our dream house. Finally, all of my problems are solved, I told myself, and I truly believed it. A month after the move, I sat alone on my couch staring across the room at our stone fireplace with tears soaking the front of my shirt.  All of the worry, doubt, and anxiety had followed me right into my new life, and a whole new set of “what if’s” forced their way into my daily thoughts. My mind instantly entered guilt mode, “How can I not be happy with all of this? Am I really that ungrateful? Don’t I realize how blessed I am?”  Once I realized that a verbal self-beating wasn’t going to help me, I pulled myself together and resolved to find the root of my sadness.

Over the next few weeks, I came to a troubling conclusion. I imagine it is the same conclusion reached by those who find themselves in an endless series of bad relationships: It’s me. My worries were never about the external circumstances in my life. Rather, they were generated from an unsettled place deep inside me, and my ability to calm them relied not on solving my problems but on tapping into the internal sense of peace that calms the storm regardless of the problems in its wake.


Possibly the most bothersome aspect of my plight is that the concept of internal peace is not new to me (although the pursuit of it certainly is). I’m familiar with all the famous quotes about how money can’t buy happiness and moments that take your breath away. Live, Laugh, Love, right? For some reason, though, I always thought my situation was an exception. I believed peace was waiting right around the corner if only I could reach this goal, solve that problem, survive this busy week. It wasn’t until I had it all on the outside that I realized how much was missing on the inside. That’s what I should have been pursuing the whole time. Imagine my devastation as I thought back on all the years of my life that weren’t enjoyed to their fullest because I was plagued by worry, doubt, and a million what-if’s that never came to fruition.

Although it has taken me a long time to give my problem a name and a voice, I am now in the beginning stages of what I believe will be a life-changing journey. If you are bothered by worry, doubt, or anxiety; if you feel lost in your life and confused about your purpose; if your faith has been shaken by your inability to find true peace; then I invite you to join me. I don’t know that I will find definitive answers to all of those uncertainties, but I’m determined to try.

Today, as I sit on my patio and sip my lemonade, I am still troubled but I am filled with a new hope. I still worry and my anxieties still take over more than I would like to admit, but I am slowly working to change the way I process their presence. Each day is a miniature journey toward the ultimate goal – complete peace and serenity despite the many uncertainties of life. Many people say it isn’t possible. I say, let’s see.

Look for future posts titled “Searching for Serenity” for updates on the realizations, challenges, and discoveries that come my way as I work to grow a more positive mind and create a more peaceful life.

25 Ways Motherhood Changes Us Forever

It’s Third Thursday Blog Hop time again, which is just one of many reminders in my life that the months go by too fast. The topic for May is, “How has motherhood changed you?” Becoming a mom tops the list of life events that resulted in permanent changes to my identity, attitude, world views, and outlook on life. Today’s challenge is finding a way to sum up those changes while doing justice to the topic and keeping my long-standing commitment to brevity. So without any drawn out explanations (which I shouldn’t need anyway because I know you all get it), here is a randomly ordered list of 25 ways motherhood has changed me forever…

1.      I will never again underestimate my ability to do anything.

2.      I actually want to exercise, eat right, and recycle.

3.      I believe in fairies, magic, and Santa Claus again.

4.      I can’t watch news stories where children are the victims of crimes, tragedies, or terminal illnesses without shedding a tear.

5.      I no longer need an alarm clock.

6.      I found greater joy in simple moments.

7.      I learned that when moms say they would walk through fire for their kids, it’s absolutely true.

8.      I am less afraid to die and more afraid to die for different reasons.

9.      I am fearless where I was once afraid and afraid where I was once fearless.

10.  I can say, “look, honey, a butterfly!” with genuine fascination.

11.  I discovered that I am still beautiful without mascara, heels, and push-up bras.

12.  I finally choose comfort over style when picking out shoes.

13.  I discovered that mommy’s kisses really are magical.

14.  I look at those perfectly formed fingers and toes and I know there is a God.

15.  I care less about reaching my personal goals and more about helping my kids reach theirs.

16.  I have more patience than I ever thought possible.

17.  I don’t feel like a loser when I go to bed early on the weekends.

18.  I stopped judging other parents based on their children’s public tantrums.

19.  I’d rather shop for baby clothes and toys than new purses and shoes.

20.  I cherish every minute of my alone time.

21.  I learned that very few areas of parenting have true right answers and trying to find them will drive you crazy.

22.  I appreciate simple things like showers and hot meals.

23.  I discovered that life really is too short and time really does go too fast.

24.  I lost friends I didn’t really need and reconnected with ones I never should have lost.

25. I finally understand the concept of unconditional love.  

The Pursuit of Balance

It’s Third Thursday Blog Hop time! This month all of the Hearts at Home bloggers are writing a piece on balance - where to find it, how to keep it, why we never seem to fully master it. I’ve written about balance before, but it was mostly just a confession that I, too, lack the peace of a fully balanced life. And don’t we all to some extent? Maybe that’s because there simply aren’t enough hours in the day; or maybe it’s because we aren’t defining balance in a way that brings it within our grasp.

The concept of balance is often centered on time management and our ability (or inability) to find enough time to maintain our kids, homes, jobs, and relationships without losing sight of our own needs and personal identities. But what if we could disconnect ourselves from the belief that balance depends on our time management skills? What if the opposite is true, and the way we manage our time simply flows from our sense of internal balance?

Simply put, you can’t have a well-balanced life in terms of time spent on personal activities, work hours, and relationships until you first achieve a well-balanced mind. Having a well-balanced mind means taking control of your thoughts, getting in tune with your priorities, and making honest self-appraisals about where you are in relation to where you want to be. Once you achieve that internal balance, the allocation of time toward things that maintain that balance will follow.

Unfortunately, there isn’t a magic formula for achieving that internal balance because balance is not a permanent state. It’s a constant ebb and flow of calm and storm. It’s fully present on some days and completely absent on others. Like other loaded concepts such as faith and education, the quest for balance is a life-long journey involving deep personal reflection, a willingness to acknowledge the gaps between our values and our actions, and the ability to distinguish what we have the power to change from the life circumstances we must learn to accept.

If you are searching for that ever-elusive balance, try to stop thinking that it has anything to do with how much time you spend on a treadmill or your storage room’s perpetual state of disarray. Instead, spend some quiet time figuring out why those things bother you; where the pressure comes from; and how to accept yourself in spite of your imperfect exercise schedule or cleaning habits. Balance isn’t just about finding time to work out, cook healthy meals, read to our kids, and make love to husbands. Instead of working on balancing our time, we should be working on balancing ourselves. Time is a constant. We’ll never have more of it tomorrow than we did yesterday. Balance doesn’t come from time. Balance comes from peace, and greater peace is always within reach.

How Can I Do That?

Have you ever seen someone who maintains incredible faith despite difficult circumstances and wondered, How can they do that? When we see people facing life-changing challenges and personal losses, it’s natural to wonder where they find the strength to rebuild their lives and the courage to continue fighting amid so many struggles. Sometimes when I see someone rebuilding after a natural disaster, battling a terminal illness, or living with a physical impairment, I can’t help wondering how I would handle such a challenge.
 
Sometimes I find myself praying that God will continue to provide me with the life of comfort to which I have grown so accustomed. I do this out of the fear that I could not rise to the occasion and face the challenges in my future with grace and humility. I wonder if I would surrender to God’s plan or continue to demand that He follow my plan. Most of all I wonder if I could accept my struggles with a thankful heart and praise God through my suffering.

During the Easter season I am reminded that this time of year is about more than the joyful celebration surrounding Jesus’ resurrection and the fulfillment of God’s promise that everlasting life awaits His faithful   followers. Easter is also about recognizing Jesus’ sacrifice and acknowledging His ability to understand our pain because He has walked among us. He endured a human death and all of the physical and emotional pain that surrounds human suffering. In Him lies all the strength and courage we could ever need.

I believe God brings us all to our knees at various points in our lives. Although none of us is exempt from bearing our own crosses someday, we don’t have to fear the challenge. We don’t have to fear it because we are loved by a Savior who has experienced our pain; a Savior who has the ability to provide us with abundant grace and tremendous strength. As much as I believe God gives us each a cross, I also believe that He can grant us the grace to bear it if we choose to let Him embrace us with His love and walk with us on a journey that He knows all too well.

So I guess I don’t need to pray for safety, health, or financial security nearly as often as I need to pray for the ability to maintain unwavering faith despite the presence or absence of any of those things in my life. It is incredibly comforting to know that He is willing to walk with me through everything from flat tires and bee stings to cancer and death. I guess that’s the answer. That’s how they do it. And the rest of us can do it too if we acknowledge His constant presence within us. Draw on His strength, celebrate His mercy, praise Him in good times and bad, and when the unexpected strikes your life you’ll never have to wonder, How can I do that?

Today and every day, He walks with you. Take comfort in His presence, honor His sacrifice, celebrate His promise, and have a very happy Easter!

Lessons from a Personal Legacy

Last week my dad’s cousin, Paul, passed away suddenly at the age of fifty-nine. On March 15, he collapsed in his home and spent a week in the hospital. He remained in a coma and never regained consciousness.  During that time, his kids posted regular updates in a blog where they kept family and friends informed about his condition and expressed their gratitude for the outpouring of love and prayers.

Although I never actually met Paul (or if I did I was young enough that I don’t remember), I was saddened to hear his story. I started following the blog the day after he entered the hospital and the words of his family moved and inspired me as they expressed their unwavering faith in God’s plan and celebrated their father’s entrance into the Lord’s kingdom. One recent blog entry includes a series of audio clips from a 2009 estate planning meeting in which Paul completed a personal legacy interview. Knowing that he was a faith-driven man, I was curious to hear his perspective on his greatest challenges, personal fulfillment, and life lessons. Not only was I inspired and encouraged to make greater strides in my own faith journey, but in just 25 short minutes I received a full snapshot of who this man was, what he valued, and what he wanted people to know about him as a person and as a follower of Jesus. Even after his death, his hopes, dreams, and legacy can live on because he took the time to ponder these questions and record his answers.

As I listened, I kept thinking about the beautiful gift this short interview now presents to Paul's children. I am fortunate enough to have my parents alive today, but when I inevitably find myself in the world without them, there is nothing I wouldn’t give to have access to such a recording. I sometimes find myself confronted with the realization that Reese will never remember me if I am torn from her life even in the next few years. Although I don’t like to think about it, the knowledge of that possibility gives me the encouragement to capture as many memories as possible and makes me wonder if I shouldn’t be sitting down across from a recording device every few years to answer questions that she might someday want to hear from my own mouth and my own heart.

In the last question of the interview Paul was asked, “If you knew you had only 30 days to live and health and money weren’t an obstacle, what would you do?” His answer included sharing his testimony of faith with as many people as possible. I’d like to help him do that, so the link to Paul’s interview is below.

I would also like to encourage everyone to ponder that question every day. Don’t think of it as a hypothetical because for some us, it may not be and for all of us, it won’t always be. If you find something in your heart’s desires that you’re not doing today, start doing it. If you’ve been putting off a dream, start chasing it. And if you’ve never made a recording of your personal legacy to leave behind for your children, start thinking about how they will remember you when you’re gone. Never forget that we are all here on borrowed time and tomorrow is not a guarantee. If today is your last day, how will you be remembered? Who will share your legacy? What do you want your kids to know? Write it. Record it. Videotape it. It will be the greatest gift you could give them.

http://paulsweas.wordpress.com/

Here We Go Again

After Reese was born, I went through a short period of time where I didn’t know if I wanted any more children. That period started after a serious hemorrhage had me fearing for my life in the delivery room. It continued with a blistery, nightmarish introduction to breastfeeding, and it culminated in an episode of postpartum anxiety during which I spent several weeks trying to convince myself that diving out the window and running to Mexico in my pajamas was actually not a good idea. As I sat on my toilet fighting off another panic attack with my squirt bottle in one hand and a jar of Tucks pads in the other, I promised myself that I was never going to do this again.

Almost two years later, that time seems light years behind me. Eventually, the blisters healed, the anxiety faded, the stitches dissolved, and I finally started to look back and say, “I guess that wasn’t so bad.” Then Reese started to smile and coo and each milestone pushed the negative memories deeper into the recesses of my mind.

As I watched the most beautiful baby I had ever seen grow into the most beautiful toddler, I fell deeper in love each day. All of the “I’m never doing this again” moments like teething, whining, tantrums, and public embarrassment pale in comparison to kisses, cuddles, first words, and baby belly laughs. But I still experience plenty of both feelings, often in the same breath. As I make my third attempt to figure out why she’s crying while our dinner burns on the stove, I wonder, how could I possibly do this again? And then I sneeze and Reese says, “Bess you, Mommy” and I think, how could I not?

Last month, as I sat in our bathroom holding a positive pregnancy test, my excitement was interrupted by a brief resurgence of memories… the labor pains, the sleepless nights, the squirt bottle. Dear God, not the squirt bottle! Do I really want to do this all over again?

Suddenly, Reese emerged from our closet wearing my shoes and Matt's tie. “Bye-bye, Mommy. I go work,” she said as if she actually had somewhere to be. As I started to laugh and cry at the same time, she walked over to me and touched my cheek saying, “Mommy sad?”

“No, honey,” I answered. “Mommy’s happy. Mommy’s very happy.”

October 28, 2012… Here we go again!

Amazing Love

After a short hiatus surrounding our move, I finally joined back up with the Hearts at Home Third Thursday Blog Hop. The topic for March is, “if you could have one super power to help you in your role as a mother, what would it be?” Just one, huh? I can think of quite a few things that would make my life easier – like a couple extra hands to help me get everything to the car in one trip, or enough brain power to keep me from forgetting at least one essential item on every outing. Maybe I’d like an endless supply of energy so I never have to choose between late-night relaxation and early morning workouts. Or what about the ability to make things appear out of thin air? I always thought that would be pretty awesome. Oh, we’re out of cheese? No problem. Poof! Maybe I’d like to have a clone – someone to work out while I sleep or to cook while I clean or to sing Old McDonald’s farm (again!) while I scream into a pillow. 


As I went through the list of possibilities, I started to (in typical Lisa fashion) over-analyze each one as if I would actually walk away from this blog post with my chosen power. Like if I could make anything appear, would that be the same as stealing? Wouldn’t I inevitably become greedy? What if I actually had extra arms? That would be weird. Where would I buy shirts? And a clone? Let’s not even go there. Would Matt love us both? (I said, let’s not go there). Maybe all the super powers that seem so great in our imaginations would actually make our lives more complicated in the long run. Maybe it’s better to accept the occasional forgetfulness, to leave a dirty toilet here and there, and to just take stuff to the car in two trips. Better yet, maybe instead of wishing for unrealistic super powers I’ll never have, I should focus instead on the one I’ve already been granted.


The chorus of my all-time favorite Christian song goes, “Amazing love, how can it be / That you my king would die for me?” The song ponders the great mystery of Christ’s love and the difficulty we might sometimes face in wrapping our minds around the possibility that He would suffer and die to give life to each of us.


The Lord’s unending, unconditional, all-powerful love seems to be a super power beyond comprehension… unless you have children. Not all parents have it – rather, not all parents recognize and accept it as a gift they possess. Here’s how you know if you do: if you feel immeasurable pain when your children suffer; if you are enveloped by pure terror when they disappear from your sight for even a second; if your heart soars with joy every time they smile; if you can sleep in peace knowing they are happy, healthy, and safe; if you know that you would go to the ends of the earth to love, support, protect, and comfort them; and if you would not think twice about giving your life in exchange for theirs, then God has granted you this gift of amazing love. Of course, our human version of amazing love represents only a fraction of God’s true divine love, but it does help us understand on the tiniest level why Jesus might have been willing to die for His people.


I was reminded of the depths of a mother’s love just last week after an outbreak of tornadoes destroyed parts of the Midwest. A mother of two sat huddled in the basement of her Indiana home with her children wrapped in a blanket underneath her. Using her body as a shield to protect them, she listened as her home crumbled around her. Debris pummeled her body from every angle, and she prepared herself to die so her children could live.


Both children emerged from the rubble without a scratch, and thankfully, their mother survived as well although she lost parts of both legs. As I followed this story in the news, it always brought me to tears to think that this mother had the strength and courage to put herself in between her children and the forces of nature. Amazing love, how can it be? And yet, I have that love. I have that ability. I could, and would, do the exact same thing for my child without skipping a beat. If that isn’t a super power, I don’t know what is.

Doing Something Right

Sometimes I wonder how well I fit the “good mom” profile. I don’t even know who this mythical perfect mother is, but I compare myself to her a lot. I wonder if I’m giving Reese the right kinds of foods, letting her watch too much TV, or spending enough one-on-one time with her throughout the day. Am I patient enough? Consistent enough? Loving enough? Is she smart enough? Are her social, motor, and vocabulary skills up to par with other kids her age?

I question myself the most in the moments that make me feel like a “bad mom” – when I forget to turn on the baby monitor until I hear a faint cry from the other end of the house; when I realize that she’s been walking around with a poopie diaper for who-knows-how-long; or when I get bored during our play time. When she catches a cold, develops a diaper rash, or falls and gets hurt, I always feel at least a small sting of guilt. Even though the realistic side of me knows I can’t prevent everything, sometimes it’s still hard not to wonder if I wiped her well enough, washed her hands often enough, or watched her carefully enough. 

To a certain extent, I think all moms do this at least a little bit. We wonder if any of the decisions we make will someday affect our kids’ health, intelligence, or social skills. We want to do what’s best for them, and we equate that desire with the need to be perfect. Because of this need, we tend to judge ourselves for what we do wrong way more often than we take pride in what we do right.

Reese recently reminded me that the most important parts of being a good mom are often the little things that I don’t notice becuase I’m too busy worrying about whether I’ve taken the right approach to potty training. We were playing in her room when she walked over to me, put her little arms around my neck, and said, “love you, honey.” Actually, it sounded more like, “Zuh-vee, Honey” but I knew what she meant, and my heart soared.

In that moment, I remembered that it doesn’t matter how many words she can say or whether her diet is perfectly balanced. All of my little day-to-day decisions don’t matter nearly as much as the fact that everything I do comes from a place of pure, unconditional love for my daughter and more importantly, she knows it. She hugs me and says, “love you, honey” because she hears Matt and I say that to her and to each other so often. Whether she is consciously aware of it or not, she knows that she comes from a house full of love.

I may not make the right decisions 100% of the time and I don’t always measure up to the mythical perfect mother, but every time Reese hugs me and says, “Zuh-vee, honey,” I remember that the small things I do wrong don’t matter nearly as much a big thing done right. 

Living in a Fish Bowl

I used to work for University Housing Services at ISU, and many of us lived in the same building in which we worked. Our supervisors often reminded us that we lived in a fish bowl, meaning that the students were always watching us so we had to constantly work to set a positive example whether we were officially “on duty” or not. I suppose the same concept can be applied to any professional who lives among those they serve including teachers, police officers, church leaders. I used to think of this concept only on a professional level, and I never thought to include parents. Having a toddler is a quick way to learn just how deeply that concept applies to parenting. Here's how I realized it:

Reese and I were in the bathroom getting ready for her bath. The tub filled with water as I removed her clothes. When I pulled her sweatshirt over head, it got stuck and she started to cry. We got it off after just a few seconds and I said in a silly voice, “Whoops! Sorry, baby. Your big head got stuck.”

She turned her innocent face toward me and repeated, “Big head.”

I could almost hear my former supervisors reminding our whole staff, “You live in a fish bowl now so choose your words and actions wisely.”

That incident happened weeks ago and since that day, every time I pull her shirt on or off she says, “Big head.”

I always respond apologetically, “Honey, mommy is sorry for saying that you have a big head. You have a very beautiful head.”  Now she says, “Beau-ful, big head,” which is at least an improvement.

As silly as it sounds, I feel really guilty about this. With just one spur of the moment comment, I made my daughter believe that she has a big head. I wish I could just brush it off and say that she doesn’t really understand what she’s saying anyway, but (as I’m learning more and more lately) it’s never safe to assume that a baby doesn’t understand a concept.

I’ve always known that kids absorb information like sponges absorb water, but I never really stopped to think about the responsibility that puts on us as parents. Our kids are listening to everything we say and watching everything we do. It’s easy to assume that babies aren’t tuned into our conversations or TV shows, but they are taking in more than they let on. I have learned to never underestimate Reese's ability to pick up on what I say, remember my words and actions, and apply them at a later point in time. Whether I’m watching the news, arguing with Matt, talking on the phone, or getting her ready for a bath, she is listening and watching and learning. She will repeat my words and pick up my habits. She will follow my lead and be affected by my choices.

Whether we acknowledge it or not, we all live in a fish bowl. The bowl is tiny and the audience is impressionable. Choose your words wisely. Choose your actions carefully. And never tell your 20-month-old daughter that she has a big head.