You're Invited to the Table

Have you ever experienced a time of being the odd man out? Going to a new school, a new job or church or eating lunch by yourself? The feeling of walking into a cafeteria or social event and having no idea where you will sit or if the person you choose to sit by would prefer you weren't there. Isn't it the greatest relief to see a familiar face or just hear someone say, "Hey! Come sit here!"

Last week in Sunday School we learned about Mephibosheth. He was the crippled son of King David's friend, Jonathan. But he was the grandson of King David's arch enemy, Saul. We are told in Scripture that he was lame in both feet. He had been accidentally dropped as his family was fleeing a dangerous situation. He would later live isolated and alone, by his own choice. The part of the story we picked up in was the part when David asked, "“Is there anyone still left of the house of Saul to whom I can show kindness for Jonathan’s sake?” 2 Samuel 9:1

David desired to show kindness to Mephibosheth, not because of anything he did, but because of his love for Jonathan. My favorite part of the story is when we read, "So Mephibosheth dwelt in Jerusalem, for he ate continually at the king’s table." 2 Samuel 9:13.

All week I have remained in awe of what this story represents. First, I had the opportunity to meet some of the foster families I will be working with and see real life versions of people who have invited weak, vulnerable strangers to join them at their table. It's beautiful and breathtaking and life giving. More importantly, as we approach Easter Sunday my heart swells, overwhelmed that, not because of anything I've done, but solely based on my relationship with Jesus, I've been invited to sit at the King's table. 

It never gets old. It never stops rocking my world. The idea that the King looked down, He saw me broken, lame, crippled. With sin and heartache. And He showed me kindness for Jesus' sake. He invited me to the table.

Wherever you are tonight, whatever your struggle, no matter how broken-you're invited, too.

"And if Christ is in you, the body is dead because of sin, but the Spirit is life because of righteousness. 11 But if the Spirit of Him who raised Jesus from the dead dwells in you, He who raised Christ from the dead will also give life to your mortal bodies through His Spirit who dwells in you."

Romans 8:10-11

His Handwriting

My favorite part of reading books is getting to know the characters. I love stories where you have to read and read and read to get to the heart of the person and their motivations and their history. Where it is unveiled one piece at a time, even sometimes agonizingly slow at times. Of course, that's how a good writer tells a story because who wants to keep reading when the whole thing is laid out in the first chapter, right? As I write this I feel stunningly aware of what a brilliant author our Heavenly Father is. He keeps me on my toes, keeps me wanting to know more, to dig more, to turn the next page. I used to feel confident that I knew it all, but now I am confident that He knows it all, and sometimes He allows us to see the pages of our lives unfold like a beautifully, well laid out manuscript full of His handwriting and plot lines.

Maybe it is just me, but I have moments in my life in which the memories play like the protagonist's  flashback. One such memory takes me back a couple of years ago. When we first moved to the community we are in now I was blessed with a new friend I met through an old friend. This friend had been college roommates with one of my dearest long time friends and when she found out I was moving to the same town she decided we had to meet. I'm so thankful we did. She became a fast friend and encourager.She also had 3 kids close to the same ages and instantly hit it off. Sadly, not too long after that her family moved out of town. It was sad for us, but a great opportunity for their family. And later I would realize, it would be important for me, too. 

Soon after they moved something big happened in their lives. They became foster parents. It started with twin boys who eventually were adopted by another family. Then, they would take in two sisters. They would also provide a loving home for another little boy in transition. Did I mention all of these children were under the age of 2??? They brought their expanding family to visit us one night and we all went to the park for the kids to play. While there, pushing babies in swings, she shared that they found out the mom of the two sisters was expecting again and the decision had already been made that the baby would be taken away. Their options were either to also take in the baby or set up scheduled appointments for the girls to see their sister. Of course, they began preparing for another baby. Even as we shared that night there was already a tugging at my heart. Of course I admired my friend. Of course I knew that what she was doing was absolutely needed. And even as we shared that night they got word that the baby was on the way and their trip was cut short to head home and prepare to add a newborn to their family.

I was in awe. I can honestly say that I had never considered fostering. Never. Josh and I had talked about adoption one night when he came home from an event he had been at where they talked about orphan babies in China who don't cry anymore because they've resigned themselves to the fact that no one will answer them. So Josh and I cried for them that night. But we knew that if it was something for us, it would be far in the future. I knew I could not foster. How could you let yourself care for a child knowing that they would most likely be taken away from you? Even as a social worker I said from the days I was in school that I could not work with kids. I knew my heart would not be strong enough.  And yet, now I was seeing it in real life, and I was looking at children and they were real people and I was being told that they had lived in more homes in their 2 years of life than most people live in a lifetime. And not just different houses, but with different families.  And they were real people. 

Slowly fostering came onto my radar and I couldn't get it to leave. Not too long after that visit a neighborhood boy who, for all intensive purposes lived at my house, became involved in a child abuse case. I panicked wondering what would happen to him and where he would go. And it hit me, maybe he could stay with us. The case was resolved before it got to that point, but again the issue of fostering was brought before me. The need. The real people. 

Around this time the decision was made for me to go back to work full-time and that it would definitely not be the time to foster. I can't lie. I was not thrilled about going back to work. I loved teaching dance. I loved being able to go to my kid's class parties and take them to the park on days they were out of school. It was going to be a big adjustment. Then, it took what felt like forever to find a job. And my confidence was low. Re-entering the workforce after a 4 year break, during a time of economic hardship is not easy or confidence boosting. My heart became set on a social work position at the hospital that is 10 minutes from my house and 5 minutes from the school. I had it all planned in my head. My experience was in medical social work. It was going to be perfect. I made it to the final interview believing I had the job. I didn't. I was bummed and I hung out in my pj's for a few days, and then I went to the workforce center and applied for another job. And I got it. And it was working with kids. And it was new and different and a lot to learn and a lot  for our family to adjust to. And sometimes it has been sad and stressful and I've seen things I wish I could unsee and handled situations I never knew I would be tough enough to handle. And two things happened. My confidence grew. Confidence that if God calls you to do something, He will equip you to do it. And my burden grew. My burden for children who do not have healthy, functioning parents to care for them. Children who've known abuse and instability and fear. And I've wished with all my heart that some hugs and smiles could fix it, but they can't. I learned that I have a  passion for these kids that has created a boldness and bravery in me that I had never experienced. 

The thoughts about foster care continued to creep in and out of my mind only to be chased away by fear or doubts. Then, a few weeks ago, I was overcome by them. I could not stop thinking about it. I received an e-mail about an upcoming meeting and a month full of classes to be certified. Josh and I had continually talked about it being something we might do in the future, but there are some things we felt like we needed to get taken care of before we could. Even though we had that conversation and I knew those things were not done yet, I became an emotional wreck over the whole thing. I couldn't explain it. I cried every time I talked to Josh. We had long, deep talks. I kept asking him what was wrong with me. I'm sure he was asking himself the same thing! What I felt was urgency. That I needed to do something about this now. My prayer all along had been that I would know it was time when Josh was ready and that he knew it was time. So I couldn't figure out why I felt this way and he wasn't there yet.

Out of the kindness of his heart (and probably the fear of my insanity) he agreed to go to the orientation meeting with me to get some information. Then, the day came. It was a snow day. Polar Vortex and all that stuff. Craziness. Anyway, I wasn't sure if they would still be having the meeting because of the weather. I wasn't able to get ahold of anyone at the church where it was supposed to be held. Normally I probably would have just been relieved to feel like that was a sign I wasn't supposed to go and I could hang out in my pajamas and read a book, but I still had that feeling. Josh could tell. I'm sure I had the crazy eyes going on. He offered to get on the webpage of the organization offering the classes and see if it said anything. It didn't say anything about the classes. But what he did find was a job opening. A job opening for someone with my degree who also had experience building relationships with churches. Wow. Who knew being a preacher's wife might have a perk. :) A job whose responsibilities include recruiting, training and supporting foster families. 

Now you might think that I had a moment of "OH! This is what the urgency was about!" But I honestly didn't think I had a chance of getting the job. I e-mailed an application just to see. I got an e-mail back saying it didn't go through. Things were really busy and crazy at work when I got back so I didn't even think any more of it. Then, the next Monday I was home with Sarah because she was sick. I decided I would try to send my application one more time. Just to see. Within 30 minutes I had a phone call and an interview scheduled for that Wednesday afternoon. My head was spinning. I couldn't even fathom it. I am someone who had waited months during my last job search to hear back from people and this happened this fast! I wasn't even sure that I really wanted this job or that I wanted to leave my job. But I couldn't help but be a little excited about the possibilities. Cautiously excited. 

I scheduled a last minute hair appointment with my SIL and bought a new outfit. You know, the important stuff. Wednesday morning it occurred to me that perhaps I should have spent as much time preparing for interview questions as I had getting my hair colored. :) The interview was going to be in Tallahassee so I planned to leave work after lunch. However, there would be other plans. It hit me that my wallet had been stolen a couple of weeks before and I still had not replaced my driver's license. What if they needed it at my interview? So, I was going to just go in to work late. Turned out the DL place opened even later than I thought. Didn't matter. While I was waiting for it to open the school nurse called to tell me that it looked like the scrape on Kate's knee from where she had fallen off her scooter over the weekend was infected now. And her eye looked infected to. And I remembered asking one of Kate's friends who stopped by to play at the house what happened to her eye and she said, "Oh, it's just infected."  Awesome. :) So, I went to the school and Josh and I decided to take her to the dr. We hung out there for 2 1/2 hours. At that point I knew I would have to leave straight from there to get to my interview and I still didn't have my license. During this time my supervisor sent an e-mail saying she was going out of town so she needed my timesheet a day early. I could only do it at my office. 30 minutes away. She also sent another e-mail saying we needed to bring 32 files to our meeting that week. I thought the dr. was going to have to treat me for a panic attack. Thankfully, she corrected herself that it was only supposed to be 3. Whew! 

I felt torn about leaving Kate so pitiful, but Josh assured me he could handle it. I took off for my office praying I could run up to my office without seeing anybody or having to answer the phone. I did my timesheet and headed out as fast as I could. It finally hit me that I was going to interview for another job. And that I was not going to have time to stop for lunch on the way so  my stomach would probably be growling uncontrollably during it. :)  

During the interview they asked why I wanted to work in that field. I told them about my friend and the impact her family has had on me. I shared my crazy story of the urgency and the website and knew that if they hired me after that it would be a God thing. When we finished the interview they said they would be praying for the person the LORD had for the position and I could honestly say, "Me, too" even if that person wasn't me.

I didn't let myself feel confident. I felt like the interview went well, but I have known the disappointment of hopes set high. I also was overcome with the importance of this job and the responsibility. It would be a challenge. For me. For my family. I prayed that if I wasn't supposed to have it that God would close every door. He certainly had on jobs in the past. 

To wrap up this long story, I was offered the job. I am both thrilled and terrified. I have no doubt this will be a job that will require God's strength being made perfect in my weakness everyday. I have so much to learn. I am bracing for the challenges and longing for the rewards.  I feel blessed to be entrusted with the job of supporting and training everyday heroes and I feel dependent on my Savior to give me strength and wisdom and faith. Mostly, I am just living in awe of the author and perfecter of my faith! He was writing some chapters I didn't see coming. :)

Parenting Is An Endurance Sport

Hello there! My name is Emily and I use to blog here. :)

I wish I could give you a really awesome, exciting reason that I've not been blogging. That I've been off traveling the world, or writing a book or somethin' like that. But the truth is that in place of what use to be my "blogging time" you will now find me sprawled on the couch trying to keep my eyes open and wondering if I should fix a pot of coffee at 8:30 pm because, life. Because I want to read one more chapter in my book or have a coherent conversation with my husband or actually do the night before routine the night before. 

But that would require energy so I just drag myself to bed instead. These last few months have been a struggle for me. I don't do winter well. And y'all, we've had a real winter. Like, I've actually had a reason to wear my scarves and not just for fashion purposes. Over the last couple of months I've had some hard conversations, made some hard decisions, watched people I love deal with hard things, had my wallet stolen, and right now my new vehicle is waiting to have it's first parts replaced. On top of it all the Fidler 5 has done a marvelous job of sharing. Sharing germs, that is. It honestly feels like someone has been sick at my house every week since November. All of these are little things and I constantly remind myself how blessed I am and how good things really are, but sometimes the little things add up and seem bigger. It's those times when you feel like you can't catch a breath before something else happens. 

The other night I was watching the Olympics and there was some event where guys were skiing cross country, but occasionally they would stop and shoot at a target. So weird. I'm still convinced 13 year old boys came up  with all of the winter sports. Except ice dancing. Anyway, it is almost painful to me to watch these cross country skiers. I've never been skiing, but I've walked uphill in the sand at the beach carrying coolers and chairs and children and it.is.torture. to me. And I imagine that is what cross country skiing must feel like. I always feel relieved for them when they can pick up their arms and just glide downhill for a minute. Makes me feel better. :)  But soon they are going uphill again and I think, 'Isn't it enough that they are skiing for 94 miles?'  But nope, they gotta go uphill. And they have to shoot a target. And does it ever end? And then it does and these people, these Olympians who spend every day of their life training for this, fall out on the ground. And I'm so happy for them that it is over that I want to lay in the snow with them and make snow angels.

Because that sport, is an endurance sport. It's not like the "Flying Squirrel" event where these guys go flying off of a slope and land a minute later. This goes on. and on. and on. 

Endurance is hard for me. I'm good with now. Impulse. Crisis. Hostage situation. Whatever. As long as it is quick. As long as I know the pain/fatigue/embarrassment/fear/heartache/whatever will be over soon. But it's when those things last. When there is no end in sight. When you know there will not come a time to neatly put a sticker on a chart or mark a check in a box that it is completed. The hard stuff. The never ending stuff. 

That's why I've decided parenting is an endurance sport. I think it is best if we just call it what it is. Because I think we become disheartened and disillusioned when we prepare for a 40 yard dash and then we realize it is a cross country event. We tell ourselves "as soon as they sleep through the night", "as soon as they're potty trained", "as soon as they can get themselves ready". We totally envision ourselves leisurely lounging, sipping on coffee, finishing complete thoughts. Just recently we've been looking at new couches and I seriously started considering a light colored fabric like I don't have 3 children + 50 more who hang out at our house and 2 dogs. I had drifted into the dream world where my kids are all completely self-sufficient, never spill a drink (good luck with that since their adult parents are the worst offenders with that) and never drop a permanent marker on the furniture. 

Now, before I go any further, please do not feel that I am saying my children are a huge chore that I'm just trying to survive. I know that is how it sounds. I love my children dearly and raising them is the greatest blessing and responsibility I've ever been given. But what I'm saying is that some roles and responsibilities are for a season, but parenthood is for a lifetime. 

For those in the potty training, spaghetti throwing, never sleeping phase-I want to give you hope. That season does come to a close. Your house and your mental state will hold up better than you think. :)  But, then you move into a new season. We are currently in the season of teaching children to do things for themselves and to be happy for their friends when they win contests you really wanted to win and trying to avoid the hospital as bikes and scooters and skates seem to be extremely dangerous for the Fidkids. For me this season has meant balancing work and motherhood and church responsibilities. And some days it honestly does feel so much easier than those early days of diapers and babies being in.to.everything. And then I have a day like I had this last Saturday and I am reminded that I have not reached my destination. I am still on the course and sometimes it feels like going uphill in the snow.

On Valetine's day my MIL kindly asked if the kids could spend the night with her. So, we got a date. I think it is the first time we went out on Valentine's Day as a married couple ever. For real. But Saturday morning I got a text that Kate was throwing up. I loaded up in the church van (because remember my vehicle is waiting on a car part. :)  and headed to pick up the kids. Kate got sick again before we left and PRAISE GOD for my MIL who had the forethought to give me several plastic bags to take with me. My mom had goodies for the kids she wanted to give them and she was willing to brave the germs so went by her house. After sharing germs  visiting with her and my brother and his fiance and my niece,  Kate got sick again. I got her changed and cleaned up and we took that as our cue to leave. My poor brother, who used to have his own bout with motion sickness, was standing at the van holding the bag for Kate while I loaded myself and all of our stuff up.

 I went as fast as I could go in a 1990's 15 passenger van and we made it to Mexico Beach where traffic came to standstill. A gumbo festival was happening and apparently that meant no one could drive above 1.5 mph through there. I think you know what happened. We're stuck in traffic. Kate starts puking. Sarah and Eli are throwing plastic bags at her like they are bombs set to explode at any moment. Kate finished puking and kindly placed the used bag on Sarah's arm rest. Sarah proceeded to flip out. I began laughing. Hysterically. Like the hyena laugh people do when the men in the white jackets are coming to get them. There was literally nothing else to do at that point. I had a flashback to a time when my brother had gotten sick on a trip and my Dad, who had the weakest stomach ever (and who I inherited it from) also freaked out and pulled into an Applebee's parking lot and threw the bag in a bush and drove off. I couldn't even get to a bush, y'all! 

I felt so guilty because my baby was so sick and I could NOT stop laughing. I knew that it was just another version of sobbing, but my poor child will grow up talking about the time she was puking her guts up and her mother was laughing hysterically. 

But the point is- I did not jump out of the van and run away. I did not say ugly words. I did not join in the puking. And that might not count for much to others, but for me it was progress.  I remembered my Dad with the weak stomach and was reminded that I also have a somewhat weak stomach, and yet here I was, accepting a bag of puke as my daughter flung it at me. And I thought of a time when my marriage was new and we had just adopted our first child, our cocker spaniel Abby. And Abby ate Fruit Loops and proceeded to throw up little mounds of rainbows all over our 25 square foot apartment. And I called my husband at work and told him he would have to come home to deal with this situation because me and my weak stomach certainly could not. And in that moment I realized that just like those cross country skiers I have been training for over a decade now, often going uphill and having to stop occasionally to shoot at targets. I have come a long way. But that's the point. It didn't happen overnight. It's an endurance sport. Things that felt absolutely impossible with my firstborn I could do now on 2 hours of sleep walking backwards in heels. (Or something like that.) 

This job is not for the faint of heart. Or weak of stomach. I've found that there are two camps of people you talk to. The ones who idealize parenthood and only remember tea parties and bed time stories. And those who warn you of the impending doom of parenthood. I prefer to see parenthood as a lifetime in training with occasional falls and losses and frequent, though sometimes small, victories. It's not necessarily a race to be won, just one you are trying to finish. You are trying to get these little people who've been entrusted into your care from Point A to Point B and the plan is that you will all be stronger, more capable when it is over. It is easy to become overwhelmed by all you don't know, all you mess up, all you don't have. Sometimes we just have to breathe and pray and trust God to equip us in the moment. As He equips us in each moment we become a little stronger, a little wiser, a little more capable. And as our kids begin their own journeys through life maybe what they need to see is not that we are perfect, but that we can endure. That even in the not so wonderful moments of life, we will still be there to comfort their heart and hold their hands or bags of puke, or whatever. :)

A Boy and His Team

I grew up in a house that celebrated football. My Dad was the.biggest.fan ever. He was a Saints fan when people were embarrassed to admit such a thing. And then, he was just a fan. He watched it ALL. It never occurred to me during football season that I might get to watch a TV show. We watched football. I still remember my first year living in a dorm room and the realization that I went through an entire football season without a game playing on the TV. It was surreal.

Despite my exposure to football, it's never really been my thing. I went to every game in high school because I danced with the band at halftime. I cried in the stands when our team lost the state game. I played in a powder puff game during Homecoming week and desperately wanted to play the position of Center, because that is the person who hikes the ball and that was all I knew how to do. 

My husband has tried to pick up where my Dad left off in educating me on the game. He's done his best, but my attention span is about 4.5 seconds when it comes to stuff I'm really in to, so yeah, it's less for football. I just make chili and boil peanuts and enjoy dressing in our team colors.

Our team colors are garnet and gold. Josh grew up an FSU fan and Florida State is my Alma Mater. It was just an extra blessing that they happen to have my favorite colors. :)  What I lack in football knowledge and skills, I make up for in outfit choices.....

What I didn't know, what I wasn't really prepared for, was how it would feel to watch my son become a football fan. My baby boy. I mean, of course his Daddy changed him into a onesie covered in baseballs and footballs while I napped in the hospital, hours after giving birth. Of course, my Dad, his Pappy, put a football in his hands as soon as he could hold one. And Josh's Dad, his Dandy, he took Eli to his first FSU game. And a fan was born. A real, honest to goodness, screaming and shouting fan. While his sisters and I walked marathons to the concession stand and filled our game time with funnel cakes and selfies, he watched the game and knew what was going on.

I watched as every year, he fell more and more in love with a team. His team. And I came to learn that there is something special about a boy and his team. A bond, a hope, a loyalty. An awe for those who fill the team's roster.

And this year, y'all this year it's getting good.

Winning every.single.game. Winning big. Watching my boys watch their team and yell excitedly and look nervous even though we all know they are going to win big time.

And, then, bad news comes. Because all of this winning, all of this excitement, it comes literally on the heels of a 19 year old kid, who while gaining hero status in the eyes of many, is a mere mortal after all. Jameis Winston. Famous Jameis. He's not just a football star, we watched him play baseball last year at FSU when we took Eli for his birthday. He is that all American athlete, known for his smile and humility. And now news has come out, accusations made, and an exciting, winning season is tarnished. 

And for as long as I've been alive there have been accusations and scandals and rumors. And for as long as I can remember I've gone on my merry way, completely unaffected. So, what causes me to talk about this now? What is the difference? This is the difference.... 

I'm a Mama and for the first time, a scandal involving a sports star hurts my heart. It hurts my heart because as much as I've done my best to discourage my children from idolizing celebrities (I saw the Miley Cyrus situation coming years ago. Bless it), it is hard at times to distinguish between the game and the team and the people that make up that team that my sweet boy loves so much. 

I've seen football through eyes of innocence. It's really just a game to him. He doesn't know about scandals or money  or controversy. He just knows that he loves sports and he loves to watch this team play the best. 

And as I brace myself for what may be brought to light in weeks to come, as I contemplate how I will discuss this with my 8 year old, there are no easy answers. It is definitely a situation with no winners. And I'm not here to give my opinion on what happened. I wasn't there. I'm not here to condemn or comment on the situation. I won't pretend to know about something I don't. 

I will say it is disappointing. I don't know when I became such a grown up, but I like to pretend that ball players my son looks up to are fine upstanding citizens who spend their free time studying in the library and volunteering at the hospital. It is eye opening. As the mom of girls I have often thought about keeping them safe and out of those kinds of situations. For the first time it has dawned on me how my son could possibly be put in a terrible situation on the other side of the coin. And it is discouraging. Sometimes it feels like in this life you can never just be excited and have fun. Someone or some thing is going to rain on your parade. Everybody has a secret.

And that's the thing. I guess everybody does. Maybe not something criminal or something that has the power to affect your entire future, whether it is true or not. But, we are all human. Fallible. Imperfect. 

We want a hero. We want someone to be bigger than life for us. We want someone to be everything we want to be. We want to think that because someone is incredibly athletic or extremely talented or exceptionally beautiful that they don't also have the same struggles of the heart or weakness of the mind we struggle with. But they do. 

As a Mom, I guess I could use this to teach how important it is to avoid situations where accusations like this could be made. I guess I could really drive home the point that one unwise decision could ruin your future. Or, I can use this to teach the very valuable lesson that we must choose wisely the people we give our admiration to. I can teach that there isn't enough talent or success in the world to keep you from falls and failures. I can teach that it is fun to cheer on a team and the athletes who take the field and run the ball, but it is important to understand that they are people, just like you. I can teach that only God will never let us down.

And I can be thankful for the real life people who, while not perfect, take to heart the influence they have, the role they play. And while I will encourage my son's fan hood and respect what a boy's team means to him, I will secretly rejoice over the coaches who will have the greatest impact on him. The ones who will teach him more than how to throw a ball. The ones who will teach him how to be a man. 

What's That Smell?

I got glasses in the 3rd grade and  I'm pretty sure when I go to get new contacts I'm going to need a stronger prescription. And my hearing is not so great. Josh knows that exactly 4.6 minutes into a movie I'm going to ask him to turn up the volume. But, let me tell you, where my senses really excel is in my sense of smell. It is amazing, if I do say so myself. And when I was pregnant, y'all, I could smell unpopped popcorn when I walked in the door of the grocery store. I could also smell ravioli in the can and maybe one time bought an entire case and then only ate 1 can and got sick and Josh had to eat the rest and will never eat ravioli again. But, I digress. So, yes, I was blessed with a big nose and a strong sense of smell. Which also has it's downside when you live with boys and dogs. Yes, boys are stinkier. My son could knock out an army of trained men with the removal of his shoes, I am not kidding. And bless his heart, he got my sense of smell. We're like a couple of basset hounds. We walk in somewhere and immediately start sniffing, asking, "What's that smell?"

Anyway, I tell you all of that because  I read a verse that I know I've read before, but it really stuck with me today. It was one of those times where I read the verse and the words spoke to me in a new way. 2 Corinthians 2:14 says, "Now thanks be to God who always leads us in triumph in Christ, and through us diffuses the fragrance of His knowledge in every place." I think fragrance is a pretty word, do you? Like faith, hope, love, joy, peace. Those words just look pretty to me, I guess because they represent such beautiful things. So, I decided to look up what that word meant. In the Old Testament Hebrew the word is Reyach and it is defined as: scent, fragrance, aroma, odour.. I don't think odor is a pretty word. Ya know? It immediately makes me think of locker rooms and foot fungus. But the last part of the definition is: odour of soothing (technical term for sacrifice to God). [Brown, Driver, Briggs, Gesenius, "Hebrew Lexicon entry for Reyach". "The NAS Old Testament Hebrew Lexicon".]

Odour of soothing. Soothing is another word I like. And I'm no Bible or Hebrew scholar and would normally never bust out anything on this blog that requires citation, but this today, it got my attention. You see, we have a couple of friends who are big believers in essential oils. Are y'all familiar with them? Apparently they are good for EVERYTHING and they are especially good for soothing. Over the last few weeks it has been like an infirmary in my house. This time of year always is. Weather changes. The viruses come. Sometimes I wish we could all just hibernate through the month of October. But, we can't. And there are fevers and aches and runny noses. This year really hasn't been as bad as years past, mostly I'm sure because we have built up an immune system of greatness after Kate went to pre-school with 53 other children and I started working at a daycare. But, still enough sickness to miss church and school and work. And our sweet friends have wanted us to benefit from the oils. So, they've brought us samples. They have been incredibly generous and we've tried it all. There is one called "Serenity" and it has lavender which is good for fevers and calming you and making you sleepy. I am not even kidding there was a night I was rubbing that stuff on my kids and throwing it in their baths and tossing it around like it was holy water at an exorcism. (You may have to be a mom in a house with sick kids to understand that.) And it really did help. But then my friend had a talk with me and explained it only takes a very little drop. :)  Anyway, my friend also loaned us a diffuser to put some oils in to help with Kate's allergies and it was AMAZING. My house smelled like peppermint and we toted that thing all over the house, wherever we were going to be until Kate went to bed. The smell filled the bedroom and even overflowed into the hallway. It made me happy.

So, when I read that verse today about us being the diffusers of the fragrance of Christ, I couldn't help but think about our experience recently. I thought about how when I applied the oil to the bottom of one of my children's feet, it helped that child. But, when I had the diffuser, we all benefited. Anyone who walked into the room the diffuser was in immediately absorbed the benefits of lavender and peppermint. And I can't help but think of what a beautiful illustration that is for us as God's children. When we have the Holy Spirit, it should change us. It should heal our hearts and change our thoughts. But it is never just for us. We are the diffusers, carrying the knowledge of Jesus. And sometimes it seems easy for some to let that knowledge be like a foul odor of anger, hatred and judgment. But right there, in 2 Corinthians, it tells us that it should be a soothing fragrance. Whether we are offering love and encouragement to those who already know Him, or if we are offering hope for a new life for those who don't. Either way, we should remember that we are being used to diffuse His fragrance. And it should be a soothing one to those around us. 

At the Table

You sit at her table and breathe in the moment. Your friendship began during the days of zits and braces and unfortunate wardrobe choices. Through the years you grew to idolize her beauty and sense of fashion, and some things never change. Her home is perfectly decorated, warm and inviting. She just got a new haircut, and as always, she is gorgeous. Life has carried you both in different directions for many years and with 7 children between the two of you, time for phone calls or in person visits have been limited and chaotic at best. And it seems that in these many years with all of their BIG changes and hard roads that this moment, this sitting down at the table together, could be so awkward, so strained. But somehow, with the exception of the coffee brewing nearby, years disappear and you are both 14 again.

You share french fries and pretend they won't go straight to your hips. You talk about crisis moments that happened in AP English, remember your middle school principal who always wore tennis shoes with her dresses, and laugh at your naivete in all things relationship related. You talk about this person and that person and where they are now and what they meant to you then. And you cherish that there is another person on the planet who fills almost every memory you have of middle and high school, and that you shared sweet, innocent, coming of age moments together. 

All of the "firsts", you experienced together. You rode around in each other's first cars with all of their quirks, and listened to Jewel and cried about boys. She tried to teach you how to do your make-up and you taught her dance routines. You memorized Bible verses together and wrote speeches that you both listened to until you could quote each other's, word for word. You shared clothes and dreams and fears. You went to concerts together, camps together, on mission trips together. You ran laps together at band camp and poured gallons of water on your heads to survive the summer heat. You prayed together, confessed your sins to each other, and fell in love with Jesus together. You planned your futures together, from the early days of MASH to the more serious senior year decisions of college and onto careers and families.

She was the one on your wedding day who stopped by to check on you as you had your hair done and asked if you needed anything. And you remembered that you did not pack any underwear for your weekend. And most people would ask "who forgets that?", but she just went and bought you underwear. She stood in your wedding as a bridesmaid and smiled as you married the boy she sat next to in French class. She had put in a lot of good words for him when you weren't all that interested, but she knew. She knew he could be the right one for you. And a few short months later you traveled with another longtime friend to attend her wedding. You were tired and felt sick and she asked if you could be pregnant, but that still didn't even seem possible. You rejoiced to see her radiant on her wedding day, a beautiful bride, and you were excited to welcome her to the married club. And not too long after she returned from her honeymoon you shared with her what had seemed impossible to you-you were pregnant. Of course, she knew.

Life after that would become crazy and hard. You would no longer fill each other's memories in a constant way, but you would touch base in a way that reminded you there are some bonds that can't be broken by time or distance. You would reach out and share and comfort in that way that you can only do when there is enough history that no explanations are needed. No background stories to tell, you know them already. 

And now, you would sit at the table with her. Your paths have finally come within a more reasonable driving distance and you both are child free for the night. And for the first time in over a decade you have uninterrupted, one on one time with this precious friend whose life is so intertwined with yours you feel as if you can't remember which memories are hers or yours. And yet as that familiarity overwhelms you, you also realize what has been missed in these years. You no longer know her favorite drink or what movies she's recently watched. And while the 14 year old girl in you begins to reveal herself in giggles and memories, there is no doubt that those girls have grown into women. Women whose lives look decidedly different than the lives those 14 year old girls envisioned. Sometimes that is heartbreaking and challenging. Sometimes that is amazing and beyond what they could have known to want. Ten years ago you called and gave updates and exchanged pictures of your babies. You couldn't quite share all of the truth because neither of you were quite ready to face it yourself; that this grown up stuff was way harder than you were prepared for and everything didn't quite work out the way you had planned on lazy days lounging on the trampoline eating Taco Bell and dreaming about your future. 

But now, now you can face the truth. You've both walked through days that have made you stronger than you ever thought possible and more vulnerable than you could have imagined. And now, instead of baby pictures, you exchange your hearts and lay it on the line. And after all these years you still like each other's purses and clothes and now you have funny stories to tell about your kids.You still share a love for the Savior who originally brought you together and a love for words and writing.  But you also share the stress of being working moms and she listens and nods understandingly as you share your frustrations. You've both been hurt in ways you  never expected and you find healing has worked and is still working, a similar path in both of your lives. You have different burdens, but share a mutual concern and love for one another. Once upon a time you would have given sage advice that only 17 year olds who know everything can give. But now, you both just share and listen and let each other know, "I'm here."  

And as you leave she tells you that if you get lost to just call, and if you're in her radius, or even if your're not, she will come find you. And you thank her and drive off. And on a cool, fall night driving down the highway along the gulf, you can't help but be grateful that you are in each other's radius again. Because at that table you were nourished by more than french fries. You were nourished with the understanding that you've been given one of life's greatest blessings-a forever friend. And you laugh and cry over memories you had forgotten until she reminded you and you look forward to making new ones. And although just about everything has changed, nothing really has.

Photo Courtesy of Google Images

It Takes All Kinds

I have often said that God has given me the most unique cast of characters in my life. Honestly, I have been blessed to grow up and live and walk through life with all kinds of people. All kinds of backgrounds, personality types, life experiences, political views, religious denominations and of every kind of ethnicity. Maybe it's because I love a good story so much, but my life is full of people who have the most amazing stories. Life transforming stories. Inspiring stories. Hurt your heart stories. Make you see the world differently stories.

It has only been more recently than I would care to admit that I can fully appreciate what the diverse cast of my life story has given me. Because what it has given me is a kaleidoscope of  beauty, growth, perspective, and support. Not too long ago, I couldn't grasp that. I didn't see beauty or growth or support. I saw people whose boldness or passion trampled me. People whose beliefs made me question mine. People who I felt like I was supposed to compete with. I saw differences as a challenge. And don't we all? Let's face it, to live in a day and time where tolerance and diversity are supposedly prized, we get all kinds of bent out of shape when we have to deal with people who are different than us, don't we?

One of the best things that ever happened to me was being handed a book to read called, "Why You Act the Way You Do" by Tim LaHaye. My college roommate, who has introduced me to every favorite book I've ever read, told me about this jewel. Since reading it I've read many, many books on personality types, leadership styles, and temperaments. But this was my first time reading about personality types and as I turned every page I was saying, "This is me!" "This is so and so!" "That's why that person drives me crazy!" And it was life changing. Because after years of trying to squeeze myself into a box I thought I should fit in, I realized it was the wrong box for me. And after years of wanting others to squeeze into a similar box or even the same one as me, it dawned on me that we couldn't all fit.

As I've shared my heart on this blog over the years, you may have noticed a recurring issue I struggle with-other people's expectations. Or my own. Just expectations in general. Some come from watching too much TV or reading too many fashion magazines. Some come from ideals within the church. Some come from seeing how other people do things and wanting to be like them. Some come from those unspoken expectations we all somehow learn along the way. The looks we get. The stares. The nods of approval or disapproval. We learn, even when no one is consciously teaching.

I was a quiet, shy child. The type that was content to play Barbies alone and read books for fun. I hid behind my mom in social situations and never felt like I knew the right thing to say. I thought A LOT. My brain was an unending play of theatrical brilliance, and in my mind, I was the star. I always knew the witty thing to say and how to act. As I got older I had some special people who encouraged me and pushed me and helped build my confidence. I became more outgoing, but I still preferred to read books and daydream. I never seemed to figure out how to become the amazingly fun, life of the party person I was in my head. In my teenage years I gave it my best shot, but always felt like I fell short of what I was "supposed to be". Because let's face it, in high school, outgoing is THE.WAY.TO.BE. And I can be outgoing. But then I need like 45 hours to be alone and decompress and process all of that social activity. I need to think about all of the conversations and analyze them and make sure I said the right thing. 

I share this because I am now able to understand that that is just my personality. It's not good or bad or right or wrong, it's just what it is. But I spent many years feeling like it was "bad" or "wrong" or that it just wasn't who I wanted to be. Over the years it has been easier to compile a list of all the ways I wish I was different or all the skills, temperaments, or qualities I wish I had. People with stronger personalities scared or intimidated me. I was convinced their way was the "right" way and I needed to get on board. People who think logically or in an organized fashion amaze me because I have all the feelings and my mind is often as cluttered as my desk is right now. I used to see that as a conflict. Who is right? Now, I am learning to see it as beautiful puzzle pieces that God created for us to work together, our pieces fitting seamlessly to create the overall masterpiece. 

I am in awe of people who can take charge of a situation and be a leader and organize and rally the troops. That's not my thing. I feel most comfortable on the sidelines comforting and encouraging the troops and working through their thoughts and feelings. Have we gathered that I'm a "feelings" person? :)  The point is that it is all necessary and needed. Not better or worse or more important or less important. 

We need bold, passionate people to lead the way. We need quiet, gentle people to tend our hearts. We need creative people to come up with ideas and we need organized people to make them come to life. We need people of all walks of life, with all experiences and all opinions. Instead of looking at each other with big less than or greater than signs over our heads, we should look to see what we can equal together. Ideally, we become a synchronized marching band, made up of all kinds of instruments, but being led by the same  person, playing the same song.

Photo Courtesy of Google Images

And at the end of the day when the whole stinkin' bunch of us is tired and frustrated and worn out and we've stepped on each others toes trying to march to the beat of a different drummer, we can take comfort in this:

9 And He said to me, “My grace is sufficient for you, for My strength is made perfect in weakness.” Therefore most gladly I will rather boast in my infirmities, that the power of Christ may rest upon me. 10 Therefore I take pleasure in infirmities, in reproaches, in needs, in persecutions, in distresses, for Christ’s sake. For when I am weak, then I am strong."

~2 Corinthians 12:9-10