Tag: Encouragement

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Party Pooper

I wanted to help a new friend.  So I broke my own cardinal rule and hosted a jewelry party for her at my home. 

It’s never a good idea to stray from core values and it didn’t go well for me.

There may be something to picking a bad event date.  Note to self  *Nov. 7th SUCKS!  Most of my good friends were previously engaged with kid’s activities and work and board meetings. I should have canceled the event or picked a new date.

I get it.  We are busy, busy people. But almost a dozen ladies agreed to join me, so I went ahead and forged on with the party. 

Some cancellations are explainable.  My sweet neighbor has a three day old baby.  She gets a pass.  Another dear friend is moving –she fell asleep accidentally early in the evening.  I hate moving.  I understand.

But the other ten people who RSVP’d to my party and didn’t show… I need a note from your teacher.

Because I felt like a BIG loser. 

It’s like waiting for your date to show and waiting and waiting and waiting.  And then you take off your makeup and try not to look in the mirror to see your sad face.

I did however have three of my daughters friend’s over.  We played Just Dance and ate all the food I prepared.

We ate a lot.  Hey ladies…the appetizers were awesome.

I sat on my barstool next to my jewelry friend and tried not to panic.  But we both knew by 8:30pm the party was a disaster.  My cheeks burned with embarrassment.

It stinks to feel unwanted and discarded for the “Voice” or something better that came along.

My pride prickled.  I wanted to cry but I honestly didn’t have it in me.  I was too exhausted from cooking and cleaning. 

It was a great opportunity to be reminded of my true worth and value which is not dependent on a room full of women purchasing jewelry.  I spent some time in Psalms this morning refreshing my wounded spirit.

“Although you and your circumstances may change dramatically, I remain the same throughout time and eternity.  This is the basis of your confidence.  In my presence you live and move and have your being.”*

I’m guesing Jesus had some parties that didn’t go over too well either.  It brought back my smile.

Next party…no jewelry. And just so you know, if you no-showed, I still love you.  A lot!

Have you ever had a party where no one came? 

 

*(Taken from Acts 17:28 Jesus Calling)

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Dreading the Evil Christmas Card Photo

I went cold-turkey for a while.

I just couldn’t take the pressure.  I didn’t want to play the suburban game of my kids are cuter than your kids.  I didn’t want the pressure of feeling inadequate as a single mom.  So I just said “to heck with it” and stopped taking the dreaded picture altogether.

What dreaded picture you ask? 

Oh right…I’m referring to the DREADED Christmas card picture!

The one that gives a mommy shingles just thinking about it.

Now that I am married and added another munchkin into the mix it seems like the card thing is necessary again.  Our extended family wants to see images of the kids and it’s expected that I make the effort.

The truth is, I shudder with anxiety just thinking about trying to get my family to match. 

My son wants to spike his hair up in a faux-hawk and look edgy, my tween girl wants to wear lip gloss and roll her shorts, and all my two-year old wants to wear is her lion costume.

Help!

When I try to get some love from daddy he’s already ticked because I booked the picture on Sunday afternoon (his only day off) and he is missing his favorite Seahawks game. 

Everyone is grumpy when I bark out orders and turn into Scrooge Mom for the perfect picture.

Look happy or mommy will have a MELTDOWN!

Seriously, Pinterest has screwed us all when it comes to photos, parties and crafts.  No one just schleps anything together anymore.  Every kid’s party is a cutout tribute to graphic design.  Every sepia card and Martha Stewart wannabe has upped the stakes. 

I just can’t engage in this virtual game of crafty awesomeness anymore.

For crying out loud, I’m still six months out on my thank you notes.

Man I miss the easy days of ice-cream and cake and Polaroid’s.  A few balloons, a dash of streamers and we were rocking.  I bought my pre-made Christmas cards at Target and threw in a few school pics. 

But then the game changed and everyone’s cards got really cool.  My pride prickled at my measly offering.  So I bought the Pinterest lie to be more creative than I really am.

So how do I wrangle my family to look joyful, be hip and cool and wow my friends?

I think I don’t. 

I think I might let my family wear whatever they want to. 

I’ll just let them be themselves and maybe their smiles will be genuine instead of fake like some poster child for Stepford-ville.  

Maybe we won’t match. 

Maybe one of us will be a LION.

Rebellious?  Possibly…

Then again, Kolby was the only lion this year for Halloween in a sea of princesses.  Maybe she gets it from me.

 

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A Soppy Dog Day

A long time ago I made a list of how God sees me.  I read and re-read the list over and over for years until I memorized and internalized certain truths about my identity.  When a bad day hits, I go back to the verses and remind myself of whom I am in Christ.

It gets me through THOSE kinds of mommy days. 

Like yesterday, when I pulled out all the fixings for dinner and discovered I had purchased hot dog buns for Sloppy Joes instead of hamburger buns.  My kids looked at me like I had been smoking crack and even though I tried to explain it was an accident, they gave me the LOOK like I was losing my marbles. 

“Mom, hot-dogs and hamburgers are very different,” my daughter Faith explained in her snotty Jr. High voice.

Ya think?

Even little Kolby gave me a hard time and refused to eat her “sloppy dog” (except she called it a “soppy dog” because she struggles with her “L’s”).

Then there are the days like Monday when I set up a princess tea-party for my girls with home-made chocolate chip cookies and sweets and crisp white linen cloths with an elegant tray.  Kolby and Faith donned their fanciest gowns as I carried the lovely china bursting with yummies outside to our front porch.

The clouds were supposed to part and the harps were supposed to sing…right?

But just as I placed the feast down on the table, we were accosted by the roar of a Carpet Cleaning Van parked in our neighbor’s driveway and a hot wind blowing an inferno in our face.

COME ON!  Princesses aren’t supposed to sweat profusely in mid-October or have to shout over rumbles.  I wanted serenity and girl-time, but instead I got sweaty pits and a migraine.

These are the days I try to remember my God affirmations.  I have to repeat over and over, “I am a good mom and a loved child of God, even when I screw up Sloppy Joes and my princess party fails,” instead of berating myself for the mishaps. 

I want to think about things that are good and true and noble instead of focusing on the bad. 

But geez…it’s so dang easy to complain. 

Lately, God has been nudging me to stop focusing on the little irritants and keep my eyes focused solely on him.  I wish I could say it was effortless, but the truth is, it’s a hard road for me to navigate. 

I am a woman after all. We like to complain. It bonds us.

Most days I feel like Peter walking on the water, eyes squared on the BIG man and then suddenly I drop off into oblivion when a gripe seeps out.

Walk, drop, swim…walk, drop, swim…

Over and over I play this game. 

Sometimes it feel s like I doggie-paddle more in the deep than I walk on top of the water, but I am determined to keep paddling towards the only one who can lift my soppy dog head out of the water again.

Do you ever struggle with complaining?  How do you keep your thoughts positive on a bad day?

 

 Photo Credit: From nowserveme.wordpress.com

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Traveling Light

This might sound crazy to some, but I was slightly depressed the day I couldn’t fit all of my stuff in the trunk of my car.  Renting a U-Haul to schlep all my junk was so…emotionally draining.

Did I really need all this STUFF? 

Need or Want?

It’s a question I battle every time I go to Target.  I fill up my cart and then before I check out, I stop and go through each item asking myself, “Is this a need or a want?”

Need: Toilet Paper   Want: Hunger Games DVD

When I saw this article on Nicolas Berggruen, “The Homeless Billionaire” something within my spirit resonated. 

I strongly believe in simple abundance and I found a billionaire who follows my ethos!

What is Simple Abundance?

Here is what simple abundance entails: It’s the idea of not being tied down to stuff or allowing THINGS to control me.  Simple abundance knows that every new thing carries a cost of maintenance and it only allows the truly important things to define me.

Nicolas sold both of his homes and his personal island, now traveling the world with “what little he owns in storage and travels light, carrying just his iPhone, a few pairs of jeans, a fancy suit or two, and some white monogrammed shirts he wears until they are threadbare.”

Now, I am not as extreme as Nicholas.  I have a mortgage and I deeply value both home and family.  I want to create a safe haven for my loved ones, but Nicholas reminds me I don’t need to collect and hoard things.

In the words of Pastor Kenton Beshore, “It all goes back in the box someday and you can’t take it with you.”

What defines you?

So instead of buying boats and clothes and more STUFF, I want to collect relationships and experiences with people.

I think Jesus would have been a simple abundance kind of guy. He traveled light. 

How about you?  What do you collect?

For a great fashion blog on this concept, check out The Twenty Pieces Project-Life With Less.

Photo Credit: From isleofviewblog.tumblr.com

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A Visit to Abundance

We live in a world of have and have-nots. 

I wish I could say it’s different in the Christian realm, but if anything it seems more pronounced.  It might not be a competition for wealth but the struggle for power seems to rise in the absence of financial incentive.

When I tell people I am a Christian writer they want to know if I’m legitimate or a hack. When Tim and I share we planted a church, “how big?” is inevitably the next question, and when I mention the young ladies I speak to and encourage, people seem disappointed that it’s the broken teen mom crowd I address and not the momentous “Women of Faith” tribe.

If I look to find my approval by the world’s standards of more, more, more…I will always be left wanting. 

But I don’t think Jesus would use the same measuring stick.

Typically, when I attend a Christian conference there are unspoken but tangible lines between the attendees and the speakers.  It’s like the hip bar in town and you only get to cross the rope if you are a serious VIP.  The egos are big, the fans are in awe and the competitive, “scarcity mentality” reigns supreme. 

Everyone is angling and ogling –playing the image management game and jockeying from their perceived position into the next strata of awesomeness.

I’m not a good player in this game.  Maybe I’m a bit too rebellious?  Or maybe I just care way more about what God thinks of me then the crowd.

But this last weekend I encountered something radically different – Christian superstars who were willing to pour into the peons with freedom and abandonment.

Now maybe it was the setting –a small conference over three days with serious heavy hitters and a group of writers enthralled and willing to absorb every minutia of wisdom shared, but despite the unique setting, I was amazed at the willingness of these twenty million plus best-selling authors to engage and love lavishly.

It was surreal.

When Paul Young, author of The Shack, entered the room, tears ensued.  I’m not kidding.  I witnessed it on more than one occasion.  Paul will describe an insight or a way God has revealed himself to him and bamm…someone in the crowd or at the breakfast table breaks down in big gulpy sobs of release.

Love changes the game.

Peter Strople, the most “connected man in America” is also the most humble man in the world.  When God looks to and fro for a worthy man, I imagine he sighs in satisfaction and claps with glee at Peter. 

Humility trumps power.

I could go on and on.  Mary DeMuth, George Barna, Ken Blanchard, Joel Clark, Mark Batterson, Jim Henderson, and literary agent Esther Fedorkevich…all willingly moved towards relationship despite the normal barriers of celebrity and power.

Relationship changes people.

I learned an invaluable lesson this weekend.  When someone believes in you, maybe someone further down the road you are traveling (maybe a few global best-selling authors perhaps?) and they tell you they loved reading your book proposal and they gave it their vote, paradigms change. 

Actually, my paradigm exploded.  And I want these fireworks to never end.

I am so tired of living in a world of scarcity.  My new home is in ABUNDANCE. 

I know why these authors give and give and give some more…and why their generosity flows like an endless stream.  It’s because they are connected to the river of all creativity from the author of life itself.  God’s river is lavish and deep and wide and these authors recognize the source of the river will never run dry.

Where are you living –in scarcity or abundance? 

 

Photo Credit: http://pinterest.com/themodstitch/

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The Honey-do List

I struggle with certain forms of communication with my hubby –namely how to ASK for anything on the honey-do list.

It’s a lose/lose scenario for me. 

I know my man works hard.  As a pastor he puts in six days a week and on top of that goes to seminary on his day off.  When he is home, the kids vie for his attention along with their demanding sports and activities schedule. He doesn’t have much time off and I feel guilty asking for more, but there are just certain things around the house only a MAN can do.

So I wait and wait and wait.  Then I try to do it all and burn out.  The frustration builds and builds.  By the time I get around to asking him for help, it never comes out right.

I can’t even pin-point where I go wrong, but according to my sweetie every time I say, “Hey Tim, can you please clean the garage or put away your clothes that have been sitting out on the dresser for a month?” it comes out whiny, nagging, or a like a guilt-trip. 

I hear sunshine, he hears bi—yatch.

I think I’m being diplomatic –cautious even, but it comes across as something completely different.  He says it’s my tone.

What tone? 

I tell him my tone is rooted in fear that I will never have a clean garage.  My tone is the sound of a mommy martyr who carries the weight of the world.  My tone is “do you see me slaving away over here while you kick back and watch football?”

Per our normal routine, I asked the wrong way for him to clean the garage.  But this time, I lost it –big time.  I threw a tantrum…over the garage.

(Not my finest moment)

I ended up on my bed sobbing like a child who lost her blankie.  And then I realized it wasn’t about the garage.  It’s never about the “thing” you fight over.  It’s always ten layers deep.

This meltdown was about my dad and his waning health and the reality that my time with his is limited.  This is about surrender and God and trusting him despite my fear.  This fight was about my heart full of aching emotions seeping out.

My husband held me, quieted my tears, and then went downstairs and started cleaning the garage. 

And I think this is what marriage is like.  We bumble things like “tone” and “communication” but we know innately when the other is hurting.  We know when to be an anchor and to hold on tight to our beloved in the midst of a storm.

I love how my husband KNOWS me. 

Marriage is like best friends with benefits, only better, because it is true and intimate and mysteriously interconnected.  It is a naked and unashamed love. It’s love that sees past the dragons and still climbs into the castle window to rescue the wounded princess.

I will probably always screw up the ASK on the honey-do list, although I imagine if I put on the lingerie he bought me for my birthday I might get a different response?

 

 

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Confessions of a Carpool Failure

I’ve never had good luck with carpool.

When my son Kyle was in kindergarten, I eagerly arranged to share the mommy-chauffeur load with a family down the street.  All was well for about six months and then the sabotage began.

It started with a beautiful girl.  Doesn’t It always start with a beautiful girl?  Little Sofia was glorious.  She had long raven locks and a tiny button nose.  Even more importantly, she played a mean game of hand-ball.  Kyle fell head over heels in love with her.

Unfortunately, our carpool buddy, Christopher, was also smitten with Sofia.  And so the war began to fight for the damsel’s affection.

It seemed for a time, Kyle had the upper hand, untill one day, right around Valentines and coinciding with a fancy bracelet adorning Sofia’s arm, Christopher gained her favor.  Kyle was bent on revenge.

The next Monday, as I strapped Christopher into his booster seat, I struggled with the buckle.  For the life of me, I couldn’t get it to click.  Studying the lock more intently I saw something or lots of somethings were jamming it.

One by one, I pulled out french-fries from the buckle insert.  Kyle laughed in glee and I knew who the culprit was.  After three days of fries mysteriously appearing in the lock, Christopher’s mom was so ticked off she not only refused to let her son in the car, but Kyle and I were mocked by all the kindergarten mom’s as difficult to carpool with.

Almost ten years later, still stinging from kindergarten wounds, I decided to try again.  One week in, I lost a kid.

Not dead lost.  Lost lost.  I couldn’t find the kid in our carpool meet-up area after school.

I found my daughter Faith and her friend Alexa, but the boy was MIA.

We drove up and down the road home.  It was the longest two miles of my life and I did it four times.  I called his mom(who didn’t answer) and banged on his door (no one home) and besieged the neighbors to help.

I dreaded facing his mom.  What the heck would I tell her?

Finally, my neighbor called with the news.  The young man had gone home with a friend and forgot to tell anyone

Carpool doesn’t like me. Then again, maybe I just need some french-fries for the boy’s seat?

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So Long Sailor…

“What are we going to quit this Thursday?” I posed to my girlfriends as we lingered over a late lunch after church at our favorite Mexican restaurant.

The speaker on Sunday morning, Bob Goff, ignited the church with his infectious love and zeal for people, and had us all thinking about the lack of margin in our lives. We sat and reflected on what we needed to be let go of so we could more available to engage in loving relationships.

My dear friend leaned back in her chair and said, “I need to stop swearing. It’s not what I want to model for my kids.”

And her words startled me because I realized how not that long ago this was a HUGE issue for me.

But without even realizing it, my desire to verbally scrape the filth off the bathroom floor has disappeared.

How did that happen?

It’s certainly not because I’m more Christ-like, although I give it my best shot every day. I look in the mirror and the same old redeemed sinner stares back at me.

But In a moment of clarity I grasped why I’m now different in this area and how I inadvertently gained victory over my covert potty mouth.

I think it’s because I’ve made a HUGE effort to cut out the life draining activities and toxic relationships which perpetually keep me on the edge of an F-bomb leaking out.

If I’m honest, I was so overwhelmed with life (for a time) with the third baby, church plant, being the pastor’s wife, and juggling three jobs that resentment and bitterness were slowly brewing in my belly into a pity party of vulgarity.

Even if I didn’t say the bad word (good pastor’s wife that I am), I was probably thinking it.

But when I made some major life overhauls, thanks to my cranky heart –contentment and MARGIN started to fill in the cess-pool of obscenities. I still don’t know whether to laugh or cry at my heart condition, but more often than not, lately it seems like it might be a hidden blessing.

Now, don’t get me wrong, some people will always be jackholes and I have no qualms about calling them out, but there has been a massive shift in my verbal paradigm and for that I am eternally grateful.

At least my kids won’t remember me as Sailor Sam.

As for me, the thing I want to quit is being afraid. I have a laundry list of fears swirling around finances, my parent’s health, and my kid’s growing up able-bodied and sound; all of which give me chest pain if I dwell on them too long.

So, in light of the magnanimous Bob Goff (author of Love Does), I want to ask you…

What do you need to quit doing to make room in your life for love?

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Burritos and Grace

Del Taco saved my life.

(And no, I wasn’t dying of hunger or thirst or anything remotely stomach related.)

But I was sitting at a red light in my Nissan Xterra, snarfing down a chicken burrito before I turned onto Juanipero Serra to help feed the hordes of J Serra football player’s lunch during hell week.

My car was perched on the freeway off-ramp and visibility limited to the left by the large stone structure of the overpass.

The light turned green and I started to pull out, but just as I hit the gas a large chunk of chicken accompanied by gooey sauce and lettuce launched into my lap. I checked my mirror, realized no one was behind me and paused to scrape sour cream off my thigh.

Defining Moments

And in that split second of hesitation I heard a roar.

A heavy-duty pick-up truck came barreling through the intersection running two back to back red lights and screeched by in front of me.

I gulped and whispered a prayer of thanks –tears and adrenaline spilling out of me.

I would have been a sitting duck and the truck would have hit me dead on the driver’s side of my vehicle.

I like to think Jesus, or a big awesome angel, flicked my chunk of chicken at just the right moment.

Annoyance or Mercy?

And it reminds me that sometimes those little annoying moments are really God’s grace and lavish love.

How often do we get in such a frenzy of emotion that we don’t recognize the financial hardship, or health issue, or even tension in our relationships as a red-flag from the one above?

Instead, we go barreling into the intersection to certain doom and fail to stop, pause, and address the spilled burrito of our life lying in pieces in our lap.

I’m so grateful today for that messy burrito and the hot sauce I squirted all over my wheel.

Where do you need to pause and let God speak to you?

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Stretching

Flexibility

Every morning my son Kyle wakes up at the crack of dawn and stretches for thirty minutes. He also puts in another thirty before bedtime. He does this on top of six to eight hours of daily football practice. So why is my thirteen year-old such a masochist?

It’s might be because my studly boy is determined to play college ball and he knows that in football being inflexible is a deal-breaker.

Now my son takes after my side of the family, the non-Gumby side. My husband jokes I am about as flexible as a two-by-four. So, Kyle doesn’t come by this naturally, it’s a painful and labororious process.

Gumby or Two-By-Four?

I too am getting stretched metaphorically. In the last week, Tim and I submitted a book proposal, which means Tim talks and I write my behind off to catch his brilliance…and then add some thoughts of my own. I also built a website to go along with our book.

(more details to come)

So the writing part wasn’t a big stretch for me, but writing with my husband was! We had to listen and listen some more, and compromise and get endlessly edited and it was hard and wonderful and a true growing experience for our marriage.

There were moments I wanted to punch him and better moments where I was floored at his insight.

And then there was the website construction itself. If you look deep inside my eyes today you might see HTML. Yes, I’ve been that obsessed.

I, Sam, book smart and wordy but often totally clueless, I actually built a website! Are you as astonished as I am?

When I initially set up my blog Scrappy Sam, I blundered through the free WordPress mumbo-jumbo and then when I eventually had to move to a self-hosted version, I paid a web expert to set me up.

This time I paid me.

It feels like I put the big girl panties on, developed some brain muscle and even grew a few inches.

Me. Wow. I can’t believe it. I set up a stinking website with e-commerce, bought and transfered a domain, with video capability, widgets, plug-ins, customized a theme, header and logo.

I’ve been obsessed with both these projects to the detriment of my home, floor, figure and fridge -but gosh darn it I did it!

(I did manage to feed my family and take baby to the pool most days, though we might have watched a lot of Mickey Mouse this week)

Sometimes it feels so good to do something new and big and challenging. And even though my yoga mat was neglected, Kyle and I are on on the same wave-length. God is bending and stretching our muscles and we are growing and developing into the people we long to be.

What area is God stretching you in?

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