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What I Didn’t Write on Mother’s Day

I didn’t write on mother’s day. I didn’t write anything about my mom.

I didn’t write about all the things I love about her or the many ways she’s blessed me.

I didn’t tell her that she is the most faithful woman I know. She had to be, to put up with us kids and my dad.

I didn’t tell her that the prayers she prayed for me during the years when I was lost and angry and wandering were heard and answered. I didn’t tell her that her time in prayer and on her knees have shaken the heavens even though she seems timid and meek.

I didn’t tell her that my heart and world view will always be skewed because of her love for third world missions and the way she raised us to think and question and live out our convictions. I didn’t tell her that she taught me to love well and fully by humbly serving. I didn’t tell her that if we move to Africa some day, she’s coming with us, because if anyone can handle huge change and foreign soil it’s her.

I didn’t tell her that I still stink at laundry and she really should have been on me more in my teen years because I am such a lousy housekeeper now, but oh well, I’m learning. Not laundry, but other stuff, kind of.

I didn’t tell her that she is brave and fierce, even though she followed God’s call in so many areas from taking her babies to Nepal in the early eighties with $75 and no commitment for more support, to facing the terrifying reality her child may die, to losing her husband.

I didn’t tell her that since my dad’s death, her living with us is the biggest blessing, even if she still bossed me around sometimes or tells me to clean my room.

I didn’t tell her that I am a writer because I am a reader and that my love of books was born in the crook of her arm, nestled onto her lap while her melodic voice danced over me, creating worlds and imagery that would still stir me at 33 as I read them to my children.

I didn’t tell her that she has always had my back, from the times when the mean girls would leave me crying into my pillow, to the depressions that would follow the birthing of my babies, to the insecurities and fears that mock me.

I didn’t tell her that there is no one who knows me better or loves me more. I didn’t tell her that she is my BFF, my go to gal when I have a funny story, and the one who will tell it like it is when I need to be put in my place.

I didn’t tell her that she is the only one I will let in the dressing room with me when I am shopping for a swimsuit because she’s honest and everyone can use a good laugh now and again.

We don't always laugh, but when we do, we laugh like donkeys.

I didn’t tell her that she always gives the best gifts because she really listens and sees people.

I didn’t write any of that before mother’s day because I got to hang out with her ALONE, (meaning no kids), for the weekend and being with her is always better than sitting at my keyboard writing about her. And did I mention a weekend with no kids?

We got to hang out and lay around and read and go to Goodwill, garage sales, and the fabric store with no kids. Can you tell I don’t get out much?

Plus, she reads to me to fall asleep when my kindle is out of batteries. That’s dedication, plus I think she wanted me to go to sleep and stop yakking all night, but still.

That’s love.

To my mom: The woman I would pick as my best friend even if she weren’t my mom. I love you.

I linked up with 1000 Moms Project

Comments: 15 Comments Category: Family, Love Letters, Parenting Tags: daughters, friends, moms

Five Minute Friday: Real

It’s that time of the week again, when we let our words fly and take shape for the fun of it.

1. Write for 5 minutes flat – no editing, no over thinking, no backtracking

2. Link back to The Gypsy Mama and invite others to join in.

3. Please visit the person who linked up before you & encourage them in their comments.

OK, are you ready? Give me your best five minutes on:

Real…

God never place us in any position in which we can not grow. We may fancy that He does. We may fear we are so impeded by fretting, petty cares that we are gaining nothing; but when we are not sending any branches upward, we may be sending roots downward. Perhaps in the time of our humiliation, when everything seems a failure, we are making the best kind of progress.- Elizabeth Prentiss

Sometimes I feel stuck. The days seem to repeat endlessly and each trial continues and each step feels as though I am retracing a path with tracks from my drifting heart . Sometimes I find myself in familiar surroundings and I wonder at how I have allowed myself to come back here. To this place that I thought I had moved beyond.

We talk of getting real. Of letting each other lean in close and see us as we are, the no makeup greasy ponytail girl staring into a full closet of clothes that no longer fit and deciding it’s not worth going out today.

The weight watchers name tag, Hello My Name is Alia sticker you found on the back of your jeans when you undressed at night and you realize you ran all of your errands since your meeting that morning with it stuck to your butt. And that one of those errands was buying ice cream and cake mix because you weighed in and the scale was mocking your hard work and you give up so easily.

Your toddler saying “Put me down you idiot,” at a homeschool ceremony while he struggles to get free of your grasp and you know he learned that word from you and your road rage. And you wonder how these kids of yours will ever turn out alright when they copy you so readily. And the worst parts always seem to come out.

And you feel like a failure. Again.

Some days you feel the draw of depression pulling you down. The invitation to stop caring. To stop trying and just close your eyes and your bed is calling you, it is pleading for you to stay. It would be so much easier. And you find yourself there again. In this place you’ve moved beyond and you know you don’t want to stay here. You know that this is where your heart goes to die. To be alone.

You want to be real but you also want to be loved. And sometimes you don’t feel the real is lovable. Sometimes the real is messy and pitiful or weak and broken.

Sometimes your real feels whiny and complaining and you know you should choose joy but what comes out sounds fake and syrupy and you don’t want to be that girl. The one who never seems real, with the platitudes and life lessons wrapped up neatly. The one who never lets the messy bits show.

So you choose to keep silent and alone and settle into this familiar place. Or you may choose to tell it all. To let the messy bits show and hope for the best, to set out on the path even if you’re not sure where you’ll end up.

Sometimes it is enough to say that I am a failing in these areas. And that God is at work. And that is good enough. The best, really. God knows our real, our ruts in the road from life’s ordeals, why would we try to hide them from the ones He’s put in our lives to help us find the way back? Our friends.

To all of my friends who cover my messy parts and still love me, I’m so blessed by each of you.

Comments: 14 Comments Category: Blogging, Decluttering, Depression, Relationship Tags: blogging, fat, five minute Fridays, friends, God, mom fail, self image

Getting Real (in)RL

Incourage inRL In the interest of being “real,” I must say that my meetup was not what I expected. I thought my follow-up post would be different than this. But this is real, and so here goes.

I wish I could say that it was life changing and I forged ahead with new friendships that would carry on and someday we would look back at that exact moment in time when we first clicked the meetup link and know that is where our bosom friendship began but in all honesty I highly doubt that will be the case. Although, you never know.

Sometimes, there are pivotal moments only seen in retrospect.

But sometimes life is just, life. Sometimes people come and go and they don’t connect on a super deep intimate level. Sometimes there is an instant attraction and bond and people go on to form those friendships and sometimes they don’t. Some of the attendees I’ve known for years, and some I’m just beginning to know, some I just met. But that’s ok.

If I’ve learned anything over the years after being in varying degrees of relationship with other women it’s this, we’re not all meant to be BFF’s. There are numerous women I admire, I enjoy, or I have things in common with that will never be my BFF by no fault on anyone’s part.

Jesus had 12. And out of those, he had three who he was the closest to. He didn’t exclude others and he obviously reached out to community, everywhere he went he was drawing people but he walked with those 12. He served with those 12.

I have a small handful that I am walking with.

That’s ok. As women, we’re all still part of the body of Christ. We may not all be exchanging friendship bracelets and learning super secret handshakes but we all need to know that we belong. And we do, we all belong. Because of who binds us.

Whether we blog or not. Whether we homeschool our children or work outside of the home. Whether we are married or single. Old or young. We are His people. As Anne Voskamp says, the Jesus women. And I’m here, fully in. Fully open to whatever He brings. But sometimes what he brings is a process.

I faced some discouragement as the number of attendees dwindled due to scheduling conflicts and I wondered why I was bothering with all of this. I would’ve been just as happy to tune in alone in my pj’s. So why did I feel this conviction to host when it’s the last thing I enjoy?

When my router broke the day before the meetup and I couldn’t get the wireless signal to broadcast without glitching out the video every few seconds, I was near tears.

The only computer working was the one connected to the modem upstairs. Short of us all gathering on my bed in my room, the video was not going to work. And with the state my room was in, I wasn’t willing to be that real. There are limits, people.

It was a Friday and we couldn’t get it fixed until Monday. I had a meetup at my house in less than 24 hours.

Why God? This isn’t how it’s supposed to go. I’m trying to be obedient here and you are not helping me out, Lord!

I sent out a tweet for prayer and I know it was heard. Dayspring contacted me immediately and offered to overnight the videos so the show could go on. To me, it was God saying, “I’ve got this.”

I am open to new friendships and I want to be available for anything God wants me to do, like hosting this meetup. But I have to leave the results of anything I do in his hands. I’ve learned from blogging and from this event that I can’t manufacture movement. If no one shows up, if no one reads my words, if no one tunes in, that’s ok. Because he’s got it. I just show up.

I can’t speak for the other attendees but in many ways, this meetup was a testing of my obedience and willingness to step out in faith in an area where I am weak. Hospitality and cleaning. I think I succeeded in the hospitality, and failed miserably in the cleaning but hey, no one can do it all, remember? Lisa Jo said so.

So while my meetup downstairs looked like that, my upstairs looked like this. Keepin it real, gals. Can you see why hosting from my room was out of the question?

Messy room

Was it worth it? Yes. The content spoke deeply to my heart and my desire to serve all out, to choose joy, to reach beyond myself, to minister with my whole life. To use my voice no matter how small. And we did laugh. And eat yummy treats.

It may or may not have touched others in the same way or at the same place, but I leave all of it in His trusted care.

He’s the one who meets us in real life. He always shows up.