Dear Mary

Dear Mary,

Was it a night like this?  

Was the sky filled with twinkling stars or was it dark?

Was the weather warm or were your arms covered with goosebumps?

When did you first know you were in labor?  Were you still sitting on the donkey, trying to tell Joseph you needed to stop for a bathroom break?  Or were you already settled into the barn when your contractions started?

Was it daylight when you stopped?  Were you able to see your surroundings? 

Did you have Braxton hicks?  Did you wonder if this baby would ever be born?

Was Joseph patient?  Did the sight of blood make him woozy? Did he help deliver our Savior or did he leave you to your own?  Was the inn-keeper's wife there to help? Did you feel alone?

Did you question God?  Did you wonder why He would let His Son be born in a feeding trough?  

Was it a barn like this?  

How many animals were in there with you?  Did the smell gag you?  Did you worry about your baby catching something since He wasn't born in a sterile environment?

Did He cry?  

Did He immediately latch on to nursing or was it hard?  How did you do it without a Boppy pillow?

Had you ever seen another birth?  Did Joseph cut the umbilical cord?  Did he deliver the afterbirth?

Did you hear the angels singing?  Were you just so utterly exhausted or were you hyped up and not able to sleep?

Did Jesus sleep?  Did He smile?  Did He snuggle up to you?

Did you know Herod wanted to kill your Son?  

How long did you stay in the barn?  Were you able to find a place to sleep the next night or did you have to stay there for several days?  Did you have to travel very far?  Were you sore?

Were you scared or relieved?

From one mama to another, how did you do it?  

Just Let Go of the Dang Cup!

We have our routine every morning.  

Once Granny is up, she takes her meds, eats her breakfast (always a cup of fruit, 1 piece of bacon cut in half, a fried egg--runny--and a piece of toast, buttered and cut in triangles) and drinks her coffee.  She eats and drinks in the exact same order every day: finishes her fruit first, then cuts the white of the egg and eats it, saving the yolk to dip her toast in. Last, but certainly not least, she eats her bacon and usually remarks on what a good piece of bacon that is.  She drinks her coffee throughout her meal, but typically has half her cup left to finish after her food is all gone.

Every morning she hands me her empty cup when she is finished.  And by hand, I mean that she holds it out to me, but won't let go.  I grab ahold of it and almost have to yank it out of her hand.  She is so concerned I will not have it and it will drop that SHE JUST WONT LET GO! 

This drives me crazy.  In the 4 months I have lived with her, I  have not dropped it yet.  I have hurt her fingers because I didn't realize she still had them curled around the handle, but never have I let it fall to the floor.  

But she holds onto it the same way every day.  

I've told her many times, "Granny, I have it, you can let go," but it still takes her a few seconds to do that.  And even when she does let go, her other hand is right there, underneath mine, waiting to catch it.  

Sometimes we hold onto something, not because we want it anymore, but because we are worried about it shattering on the floor.  We become so cautious that we work ourselves up into worst case scenarios, instead of letting go and forgetting about it.  

Once Gran gives me the cup, I rinse it, put it in the dishwasher, and she never has to worry about it.  

Until the next day, when we go through the exact same scenario again.

Lord, thank you for always having my cup and not letting it break.  Thank you for not losing your patience with me when I hold onto it too tightly every day.  May I let go without holding on--trusting that you will take care of it.  

Joy Doesn’t get Wiped Away by Someone’s Butt Prints

I almost trashed this photo today.  

But the irony of it stopped me.  

I had this idea in my head to arrange the cute pillow I received as a gift on the swing.  I could imagine how picturesque it would look--the perfect peaceful farm scene.  I would post it and friends would tell me that it looked like a Christmas card photo. I could caption it "Joy comes in the morning" and spend the day thinking back on what a great shot it was.  

Then I got closer and cropped out the part of the swing where the snow was wiped away by Caroline's booty yesterday and the ugly brown ground peeking through the melting snow.  

Those things didn't make the picture look quite as idyllic as I wanted.  I definitely liked that look better and started to delete the first one.

But the irony stopped my finger mid-air from the trashcan icon.  

Doesn't true joy happens in spite of the environment around it?  

Joy doesn't change--even when the snow isn't pristine or gets wiped away by someone's butt.  We can crop out the ugly, but those things are still there.

Joy is in spite of those things.

PS You'll never regret getting bundled up early to go outside and catch the sunrise! Joy really DOES come in the morning...

Word of the Year in Review

This is the time of year when I start thinking and praying about my word for the upcoming year.  Do you choose a word or phrase?  You may hate the idea and roll your eyes every time someone talks about it.  I get it.  I've heard all the pros and cons about having a word and have decided it works for me so I'll keep doing it.  

This time last year, I had a word, but just didn't want that to be it, so I put off naming it until January.  Funny thing, it ended up being the perfect word for the year.  

No, it wasn't dumpster fire. lol.  

My word last year was "TRIBES."  My hope was to spend more time with the people in my circle, showing how much I love them.

Well, Covid, made that a reality.  I worried at the beginning--with all 4 of us home, would we be at each other's throats every day?  Reality was we had dinner together more often than we had in previous years.  We did a couple of projects together--like cleaning out my office and adopting Hunter and 8 more chickens.  We took a family vacation and spent some quality time in the Ozark mountains of Branson.  

And then--just when I thought things were getting back to "normal"--we made a HUGE decision to move our family to Oklahoma.  The hard part of this is that we are still not all together, but I probably talk to my family as much, if not more, than when we were (FaceTime is just the best invention ever).  The added bonus is that in the middle of this pandemic, we have seen our extended family more.  Not to mention Granny.  If you'd have told me this time last year I was going to be caring for her 24/7, I would NOT have believed you.   

The other thing 2020 has done is re-define my tribes and what I am willing to give to them.  I was hoping my circle would widen when I chose the word--that I would make a few really close friends that I talk to on a daily basis.  That didn't really happen.  In fact, I have lost several friends throughout the year.  People I thought were in my tribe proved they were not when my circumstances changed, but some old friendships I had, grew stronger.  And while my #adventureswithgranny posts show the fun side of living here at the farm, they don't show the hard battle of dementia and aging.  So while I give less now to friends, I definitely give much more to my family and my "few" who have loved me well through this crazy year.

I still have no idea what my word for 2021 will be, but I'm praying and trying not to jump ahead and figure out the outcome from each word (being an enneagram 6 this is TOUGH!).  I'm confident God will give me the perfect one at the perfect time--like He always does. 

How about you?  Do you have a word yet?  

Enjoying the View You Have

It's a cold Friday morning and I would like to snuggle under my blankets for a while, reading and writing, and even reflecting.  But THIS DARN CAT, Y'ALL!!!

Since he likes to look at the birds, I thought I would clear the little table in the corner off and move it in front of the window.  The normal window where we see a ton of birds is pretty quiet (Looks like someone forgot to put birdseed on her Walmart pick up list this week *SIGH*).

So I moved the table to the other window--where there ARE birds flying around.  And I put him on top of it so he could see outside.

But, now that the view is convenient, he doesn't want it.  

 He tried to jump up to the top of the window.

He gave himself a bath.

He even contemplated climbing the curtain (which I quickly nixed--can you imagine Granny's face if he ripped her curtains?  NOT something I want to see right now).

The view outside that window is perfect for birdwatching this morning.  There are 3 trees and the birds are flittering to and fro between each of them.  The ground is covered with frost so there are a bunch up there, chasing each other and looking for food to take back to their nests.

But Flynn is too busy looking at all the distractions around him and missing the view right smack in front of him.  

I'm glad I never do that--get caught up in looking at everything around me except the big picture window with the perfect and best views.  I'm glad I always focus on the important stuff and ignore all the other piddly things around me.

Or maybe I don't and need to learn from Flynn's oversight.

Falling Branches

We are getting our first freeze here in Ok today.  It's currently 32 and will be dropping to 29 before the morning.  It's been raining and sleeting (depending on the temp) since early today.  I made it to the store for some ice melt, kleenexes, marshmallows and Redi Whip (because...HOT CHOCOLATE), so we I'm just fine staying inside for the next few days.

Caroline and I were in my bedroom looking at my new bird feeder a few hours ago and heard a large CRACK as a tree branch fell by the barn.  As we started surveying the yard, we found most of the branches on our trees are bent close to the ground--including the 70 year old pecan trees out front.  

Technically it's still fall so our trees are full of leaves.  The trees have been caught unaware and not ready for winter yet.  They haven't shed their leaves yet, so the weather is causing more damage than it normally would when their limbs are bare.

I, of course, could not help but see the analogy to us.  

We all have our things we hold on too.  For trees, their leaves are the things that bring them beauty.  Whether they are budding bright green in the spring or turning yellow and red in the fall.  We judge a tree by its leaves.  It's how we know what type it is.  The leaves are what provide shade in the midst of the summer.  I wonder if the tree feels like those leaves define it...

When winter comes and a tree decides not to give up her leaves, the weight of the ice cause whole branches to crack and break off of her.  It's a horrible sound--I've heard it 3 times this afternoon and my heart drops every time.  

If the tree had given up her leaves before the storm, she would've probably kept all her limbs.  The branches would be bare and able to withstand the weight of the ice clinging to them. And let's face it, it's just beautiful watching multi-colored leaves float to the ground when they aren't covered in ice. 

Are we like those trees?  

How many times do we head into a new season, but refuse to let go of our "leaves?"  How often do we hold tightly thinking we can handle it and pull through?  How many times do we think we are strong enough, yet we are bent so far down under the weight? How many times do we let the leaves define us instead of us?

Instead of letting go so we are upright and whole and can fully embrace the new.

Lord, please give me the wisdom to let go of the old and not only embrace the new season, but to do so with hope and expectancy

 

...and maybe even joy

The Potential Through the Rust

 

Most days I feel like this rusty old chair.  

I found it last week in a pile of weeds.  It was turned upside down and half buried in the mess.  I pulled it out and dusted the dirt off, but, as you can see, there is still a lot of rust.  And the paint has faded so much that it's hard to see the original color.  

As I've been trying to figure out what to do with it, I have noticed a few more things.  It's still very sturdy--the legs that support the chair are barely rusted.  The rust on the seat may actually work to my advantage because it's already released the paint--making it easier to re-finish.  And, let's face it--this chair is a classic--almost everybody's grandma had a few of them.

It also brings back memories of my childhood I had forgotten.  Thoughts of sitting in one like it, with my legs swinging back and forth because they were too short to touch the ground, waiting for my grandpa to finish churning the homemade ice cream.  And getting a taste of what hell felt like as I sat on down on a hot summer day, and burned the backs of my legs--forgetting the sun had warmed it to an ungodly temp.  Those red marks lasted a few days!  And while I can't recall the conversations, I remember aunts and uncles and cousins sitting around in these chairs and feeling very safe as a kid with that many adults around.

You may look at this chair and see a hunk of metal that needs to be tossed.  I get it.  It's old and it might be easier to buy a new one that already has a pretty, shiny coat on it. It will take a lot of hard work to get at that rust and paint that's been baked on.

You might look at it and see the beauty in the natural patina--the colors that show through the rust stains.  You may think it just needs a clear coat on it, allowing it to stay the same color, but protecting it from future elements.

Or, you may not see the chair as it it, but what it can be.  The color it can be after it's sanded down, primed and re-painted.  You may envision the perfect spot for it on a porch with a pillow and some other seating around it.  

All three perspectives are true.  

I've gone back and forth on what to do with it for over a week now.  I have easily narrowed it down to the last two--I will NOT be throwing it out.  If you know me, you know I have a *little* bit of hoarding tendencies so this won't surprise you.

As much as I like the patina and kinda camo vibe it's giving off in this moment, I don't think that is the right look for our family right now.  I can envision it on the porch of the girls' house with a chippy farmhouse sign and bright bowl of flowers next to it--a fun spot to sit and watch the sunset while talking on the phone to friends back in Texas.

But here's the thing.  No matter what I do to it, the bones are good.  If I left it as is, it would eventually break down in the weather and become worthless.  It needs some TLC-which will also entail some steel wool and lots of scrubbing.  It might get a little uglier before it gets prettier, but once I get the top coat off and take it down to the metal, I have a new canvas.  

And this chair can literally become almost ANYTHING!

Kinda like you and me.  We can choose to let the effects of the weather (aka all the HARD stuff we've been dealt without our consent) continue to erode us and make us useless.  We can protect ourselves and not change.  Or, we can allow the scrubbing and scraping and become raw...so that we can be made new.  

The possibilities are endless.

 

Growing Up in the Sticks

We have lots of trees on the farm and just about every day, limbs--some big, some small--fall into the yard and driveway.  Eventually, we pick them up and burn them, but for now, they are in a big pile that used to be a flowerbed.  

As I was walking by the pile last night, I noticed this pretty pink zinnia standing tall in the midst of it. It was the only one.  I don't know if zinnias used to live in this bed before all the random sticks or if the seed blew into the bed from somewhere else, but it got me to thinking...

Pinky (as she will now be referred to--can't beat my originality) is on her own.  There are no other flowers to keep her company.  The only thing around her are weeds and sticks and some unwanted grass.  Yet she grows anyway.  She finds the nutrients she needs and soaks them in. She doesn't depend on someone else to get it for her--she knows she is responsible for her own health.

The sticks and weeds may actually help her.  They create a cover over her roots, helping to trap water into her soil so she doesn't go thirsty.  Sometimes the things that look like a big ol mess around us actually serve to protect and help us.  

She has a choice every day whether to wither or whether to reach for the sky.  As sticks get thrown in the pile, they aren't necessarily avoiding her, so she has to make her way around things she didn't plan for.  Sometimes our circumstances seem bleak and when we think we finally have a handle on it, someone dumps another pile of sticks or flings a lone one at us that hits us square in the face.  We can choose whether to let that stop us.  We have the option to stretch a bit further or hunch back down and hide.

I think Granny is a lot like Pinky.  She has worked hard her whole life.  She has lost 2 husbands, most of her friends and her parents.  She's lived alone for a lot of her life.  Yet, she has chosen to continue growing--even at the ripe age of 102.  Part of that spunky-ness has made her scrappy and while that makes her hard to handle some days, it's also what has kept her alive so long.

I don't know about you, but I hope I'm like Granny and Pinky.  

 

In a Bed of Pink Flowers, Be an Orange

Walking back from taking the trash out tonight, I spotted this orange flower.  There's not really anything unique about it.  

Except that it's in the middle of a bed of only pink ones.  

It caught my eye and made me stop to look at it further.  I double checked to make sure there weren't any other colors in the flower bed.  

Nope.  

It was the only one different from the others.

Now, I love me some orange--it's my favorite color. 

And not the pale peach  or burnt/rust colors--the vibrant, obnoxious orange.  The one you can see from a distance.  The one who does its own thing, not necessarily asking you to look at it, but doesn't mind if you do.

Which was fitting since that's what that orange flower is doing.  

It is not ashamed of being different from the others.  It's still growing tall and proud.  It is not intimidated or insecure or even apologetic for its differences. It wears them proudly and doesn't allow itself to be overshadowed or cower from the others.  

It stands proudly on it's own merit and doesn't let the sea of pinkness overshadow it or chase it out.  It stretches up and lifts its face toward the sun, soaking in all that it has to offer and responding by unfurling its petals. 

It's really kinda courageous.

Don't we all want to be like that orange flower?

I know I do.

Moving On Up

Big changes are happening in the Royal house!

As most of you know, my job was eliminated at the beginning of August.  After 2 days of wallowing and feeling like a huge loser I went to Oklahoma to stay with Granny.  My plan was to help care for her for 2 weeks and allow myself to grieve while I started putting out feelers for a job in the non-profit world.  

In case you've been under a rock and haven't seen any of the billions of posts I've made about her, Gran is 102.  When her assisted living place had their 3rd case of Covid, Brian's cousin Connie took Gran to live with her. Gran was there for a month, but really wanted to stay in her own home.  The family hired a home health care person that ended up falling through.  We found out about that wrinkle the day after I lost my job. The timing "coincidentally" worked out for me to come.

Gran has lived on the family farm most of her life.  She was born here.  Grandpa John built her little stone house by hand.  She loves this place.  She doesn't even like going to her daughter or grandson's house (both on the same land)--she wants everyone at her house.  She knows when every tree was planted and what species each is.  And she knows if you move any little thing in any of her overcrowded rooms (don't ask me how I know that).

Well, 2 weeks turned into 3.  The plan was for her to go back to the assisted living place on Aug 26th. Less than a week before that, Brian called me and said, "I want to throw an idea at you, but don't say No until you pray about it."  His next question was, "What would you think about us moving to the farm so Granny could stay in her house?"

Seriously? I did not need to pray about it, because I had been trying to figure out a way for her to be able to stay, too.  It made my heart skip a beat.  Would this REALLY be doable?

We talked details for the next couple of days, I made a pro/con list and even started looking in the OKC area for non-profit jobs.  We then ran the idea past the rest of the family.   The last step was Granny.  While we thought she would like the idea, we were worried she might decide she didn't want to share her house and would rather go back to assisted living.  

Well...Gran said, "YES!" and we started making solid plans.  Brian is currently remodeling the "little house" in Granny's backyard.  Caroline (and maybe Hope) will move in there while Brian and I stay down the hall from Granny in the main house.  As spry as she is for 102, she can't be on her own.  

Brian's business can really be done anywhere.  He will still drive to Texas for meetings every couple of weeks and as of yesterday, Granny's house has internet! My job will be to care for Granny.

If you know us, you've probably heard us talking about building a house up here.  I thought we would wait a few years until the girls moved out before we started the process.  Plus, I had a really good job and it would be stupid to quit that, right?

God took that one out of our hands-HA! When I first lost my job, I kept saying "God is not surprised and He wants good for me."  In the beginning, I was repeating it so I would believe it--I knew it was true, I just didn't know if it was true for ME.  Gradually, I realized my thoughts and beliefs changed.  I truly believed what I had been saying aloud.  He was NOT surprised and He DID want good for me.  

I have basically already moved.  I went home a few weeks ago and got all my clothes and packed my books.  I will head back again in October to finish packing the rest of the stuff, get Caroline moved up here and help Brian with the house.  He will probably not come up until November after he finishes some install jobs he already has on the calendar.  

There are so many other things that have been going on behind the scenes to get us to this point, but this post has already been a long one.  I'll hopefully be blogging more consistently--being at the farm has given me words again for writing--something I just have not had the desire to do in the last several years.  What I will say is that the farm has been a place of peace for me these past 6 weeks and God has reminded me of all He put in me.

There's a quote by Mother Teresa I've seen a thousand times that has spoken to me in this season: : "If you want to change the world, go home and love your family."

You've probably deduced that I'm a bit of an activist.  I'm passionate about causes--esp. childhood hunger--and love a good non-profit with a compelling mission.  I am at my best when I am serving others.  

But, I haven't always been great about serving my family.  

This new chapter is going to allow that in a way that I could never have orchestrated or even dreamed of on my own. 

And that makes me smile.

Too Much of a Good Thing

I only meant to sprinkle the pepper, not dump it on my egg.  I was cooking breakfast the other day and tried to add a little seasoning to my egg--instead, I had a little egg with my seasoning.  I thought it would be okay--I'd just eat it with a piece of toast and that would even it out.

It didn't.  

A little pepper adds a kick to an over-easy egg, but a bunch, overpowers the egg--hiding the taste of it altogether.

That pepper reminded me of my spiritual life.

I often find myself in an all or nothing mode when it comes to my relationship with Jesus.  I am either reading 2-3 devotionals or books or bible studies or I'm doing nothing.  I try to tell myself I would enjoy doing just one at a time, but when I'm into something, I'm all in.  I don't lack for passion.  

You might think there's no such thing as too much Jesus.  And you are right.  

BUT...

How much better would it be if I soaked in 1 thing at a time instead of bouncing from thing to thing and getting oversaturated?  If I savored my little bit for today instead of overpowering myself with so much?  If I let the study/book/devo season and enhance me in my true personality instead of hiding my true self with all the things around me?

Being at the farm has been teaching me to keep things simple.  To do 1 thing a day instead of 7 things in an hour.  I would have thought I would feel guilty for being lazy, but it does not feel that way.  I'm learning to be all in but in a different way.  To be in the moment and not worry about what else needs to get done.  To sit and stare at the bird feeder.  To just BE instead of DO.  

How about you?  Are you an all-or-nothing person or do you have a good rhythm figured out?

And the real question...

Do you put pepper on your eggs?

*full disclosure--I stole this pic from the internets--I didn't put THAT much on my egg.

Beauty in the Boring

 

I was walking around this morning at my favorite time on the farm--@30 minutes after the sun has risen.  At that point, it's high enough in the eastern sky, for it's light to cast shadows on the farm, creating a budding photographer's dream canvas.  

I'm confined to the yard since Granny is in the house sleeping.  At first, I thought I had taken all the pictures I could. There's only so many angles of the swing (and believe me, I have taken a few hundred of them in the last month!).

But I'm finding something different...

Being "trapped" in one place is causing me to look deeper every morning and evening.  To take the pic of the flower that bloomed or died since yesterday.  To notice the berries hidden among the tree branches.  To watch the light cast new shadows on the pecan trees.  

It reminds me of a class at Dallas Theological School that Dr. Howard Hendricks used to teach.  He asked his students to take a verse and find a certain number of observations about it.  Then the next day, he asked them to do it again--finding different ones.  Then the following day, he did it again.  I don't remember the specifics of how many observations he asked them to find and how many days he did it.  This all came to me second hand through a bible study leader who had taken the class and shared what she had learned--and asked our group to take on the challenge, too.

It was hard!  After finishing the first day, I felt like I had wrung out the verse and gotten everything I could.  There was no possible way to find more.

But I did.  

And I continued to look at it from different angles to soak in everything I could from it.

That's how I feel about Granny's yard.  

I come out to the back porch every morning as the sun comes up.  I watch the fog lift.  At first, I'm chilly and feel like I might need to go inside and grab a sweatshirt, but less than an hour later, I'm moving my chair so the sun's rays don't hit me anymore because it's too warm.

I walk the yard and take pics with my phone.  Somedays, I delete everything I shoot. Others, I capture something new--even though I think I've taken that pic before.  

Often in the past, I have found myself caught up in the same-o/same-o.  Days that look alike.  Tasks that vary so little that I can do them in my sleep.  And it has felt like that is what I've done--just gone through the motions to get through it for the day.

But here on the farm, I'm learning to embrace the ordinary.  To look deeper in everything--from the sunlight casting shadows to the eggs, bacon and toast I make Granny every morning.  To REALLY observe my surroundings and not miss the subtle changes.  To see the life.  And death.  

To find beauty in the things I would have otherwise considered boring.

Watching Ice Melt

This morning I turned the kitchen faucet onto the hottest setting and dumped the ice out of the freezer into the sink to let the water do it's thing.

Why, you ask?

Well, for some reason, the ice maker has decided to drip water as it makes ice.  This means that the ice freezes into one big chunk and is worthless.  So, every few days, I dump the chunk and start over.

It should be irritating and I have all kinds of analogies about band-aiding the problem instead of fixing the cause.

But, watching the ice melt is therapeutic.

I move the faucet over it and let it concentrate in one area.  After it's created a hole, I move it to another spot.  Eventually, I have to move the block of ice to a different position so the faucet can do its thing.  I even like to be strategic on where I place the faucet so that the water will create a hole that divides the ice into pieces instead of a big chunk.

Probably sounds silly.  In fact, I KNOW it's silly.  But it's also a reminder to me that if I allow the hot water to do it's thing, then I can start fresh.  The big chunk of ice does nobody any good, but the pieces of ice make make happy on a hot day.

And seeing the hot water melt away the useless ice reminds me that hot water has it's purpose.  It's okay to dump the whole thing and start over every now and then.

The ice certainly tastes fresher.

What if we were not afraid of the hot water and we let it do its thing in our life?  What if we were not scared of starting over every now and then?  

So every so often, I dump the ice and begin anew.  

Bare Windows

Granny's house is what you think of when "grandma's house" comes to mind.  A lot of 1980's pale blue, floral wallpaper, dark curtains and lace sheers on every window.  In Granny's house, we have the added benefit of her decor reflecting that she is 100% Polish and Catholic.

Earlier in the week I went away for a few days.  When I came back, I walked in the house and was amazed at the difference!  First of all, Brian's cousin Connie cleaned all the windows and more.  The house sparkled (something that doesn't happen when I'm in charge...unless it means I've left glitter everywhere...which *might* actually happen).

After looking around and talking to Connie, I realized there was more.  She had not only opened all the curtains, she pushed back the sheers and opened the blinds--or even lifted them all the way up in some places.  The difference was astounding!  The dark, cramped spaces became bright and inviting. It gave the house a whole new personality--one that made me want to dance and twirl!

Connie left a few days ago, but I have continued to open the curtains, lift the blinds and hide the sheers.  Don't tell Granny, but I actually took the sheers down in my room! *GASP* Mornings at the farm have always been my favorite, but now they compete with the afternoon and evenings because of the gorgeous light coming in all the windows.

Not to be too cheesy, but it's got me thinking...

How many times do we close the curtains of our life and even when we open them, we have blinds and sheers underneath.  The sheers feel inviting--who doesn't like a little bit of lace?  But the fact is, the lace is one more layer--albeit a pretty one--to keep people from seeing the whole picture our window shows.  

Sometimes, the view isn't always pretty--I see an electrical box that survived a fire outside of my bedroom window--something that scares me when I think of how close we came to losing the whole farm.  And the overgrowth across the street where a house used to be makes me sad.  In the same way, we all have things that are not pretty.  We can continue to cover them up, but we miss letting others share the view and see the things around those not-so-pretty pictures.  

The windmill and old barn to the right of the electrical box.

The beautiful bushes that have sprung up across the street (that btw, I've had to tell Granny over and over we can't dig up and put in her yard--but she keeps asking).

Have you opened the curtains of your life but kept the sheers in place?  What would it take for each of us to push those to the side or even take them down?  

I believe in the depths of my soul that the view you (and others) will get will far outweigh the fear of the ugly.  I'm willing to risk it, are you?

Life is a Highway...or Jesus Take the Wheel--you Decide

I know a certain 16 year old who doesn't have her driver's license.  She's had her permit for a long time, but--until tonight--has refused to drive on the highway.  The other night, we even had to back up on a skinny road two different times, drove to Sonic where we made it between the yellow poles without touching them, AND dodged a golf cart.  Yet, she still refused to take the highway.

But tonight, she did it!  She conquered her fear and drove on the smooth highway that was a straight shot and 5 mins faster to get home.  As we were cruising along, I had a thought...

How many times is the path in front of me very easy and yet, I take the long way around?  Maybe because I'm scared of the other cars on the road.  Maybe because I've gotten used to taking it slow and am afraid of going fast.  Maybe just because it's unfamiliar.  So I continue to drive the road that curves and winds, dodge the kids on bikes and families with strollers.  I'm even even willing to deal with the stop signs every 1/4 mile.

Just so I can avoid the highway.

But when I do and the music is blaring and the windows are down (unless it's summer in Texas--then it's much better for the AC to be crankin), there's a freedom that envelops my whole body.  A joy that comes with the speed. A feeling of being untethered.

And it IS worth tackling my fear.

So if you happen to wave at me when we are out and about on the road, I may not see you because I'll be  singing "Life is a Highway" at the top of my lungs. 

A Royal Conversation

Me:  We need to close the baby chickens door.

Him: It's raining and lightning.

Me:  I'm going anyway--lightning won't strike me.

Him: SIGH...I'll go.

Me: I don't mind.

Him: (As he buttons his raincoat) Remember, I want to be cremated, not buried.

Me: Where do you want me to throw your ashes? The farm?

Him: I don't care--you can throw me in the toilet.

Me: I'll scatter you at the farm at dead dog hill over Bubba and Callie and Hank.

Him: Well, that's better than Dead Chicken Hill.

Me: True

#itsaroyallife

Getting out of my Funk

I went to bed last night in a funk and woke up the same way today.  Nothing major happened to cause it.  Nobody in my family has the virus.  We have plenty of food and toilet paper. We will be able to pay all our bills this month. 

But, the reality that this probably won't be over in a few more days hit me and sent me in a downward spiral of worry and unrest. 

When I start to feel sorry for myself, I know I need to find ways to look outside of myself--not to escape, but to remind me that my fears are small in the big picture of life.  So, with that in mind, this morning I decided to sign up to help pass out food to families at our church's ministry center. 

Y'ALL!  We fed 280 kids tonight!  Most of what I did was sorting and packing--which, if you know me, you know how much of that I've done the last 9 years with Lovepacs!  It brought me life!  I can't buy food for all those kids, but I can help put together a box that has a variety of food in it and pray over it as I pack it!  I can invite a friend to help pack with me.  I can tell others of the needs for food. 

And, tonight, I am going to bed with a smile on my face and joy in my heart.  I made a difference today by doing something small, but something  I am good at. 

If you are looking for a way to make a difference, they are passing out food to families from 5-6pm each night until Friday. You can donate food at the Argyle campus (there are bins outside the main entrance of Cross Timbers Church) or, if you live in Aubrey, you can leave food on my porch and I will get it there.  We needed LOTS more canned veggies and fruit, kid-friendly soups, canned tuna/chicken, and chef boyardee-type meals  tonight. There were plenty of snack items, but things like spaghetti would have been a great addition to the boxes we handed out to families. 

You can also sign up to pass out the food.  Here is the link:  https://crosstimberschurch.org/hopecenter/?fbclid=IwAR0omi4aOmcITV7nMow-MASa8Bta_M-O7xZJDIN0YN532hT0cJvOS2XlKCs

If you know of a family in need, send them to Cross Timbers Church in Denton btwn 5-6pm.  They will need to bring their kids with them.  They will stay in the car and volunteers will bring the boxes to them. 

Finally, would you pray with me--for enough food for every family who comes this week?  For enough volunteers to sort and pack?  For this ministry center staff who is planning and organizing all the moving parts of this behind the scenes?

Praying for all of us tonight--that we each find a way to get out of ourselves and serve others in a way that not only brings hope to them, but brings us life too! 

#givehope

Defining Today

I dread the scale at the dr's office.  I cringe when I step on it because I know a one-time look at the scale does not tell the story of my progress.  The nurse writing on my chart doesn't know that while the number shown is still not ideal, it's SO much better than 6 months ago.

As I was contemplating this and suppressing the need to defend my weight, I had another thought.  This medical staff has never seen me before today.  They don't know who I was--they only see who I am at this moment.  They don't know that yesterday I had a milestone.  (I officially hit the 50 lb weight loss mark--yay me!)  But they don't know that (unless I tell them).  They look at today's numbers and make their assessment based on it.

How often do we let what we failed at yesterday define us today?  Most days, I still see that 50 lbs when I look in the mirror.  Or the yelling I did at my girls.  Or the task that once again did not get marked off my list.  Or the lack of compassion I showed to a co-worker.  I could go on and on here--I'm an expert at failing.

Please hear me--I believe in the value of looking back and realize how that helps us take the correct steps forward. 
BUT...
How different would today be if I took it at face value?  If I looked at the facts and not the history.  What would change?