Reinventing leftovers

So, I'm completely plagiarizing this title from my friend 

who is starting a new food blog, The Present Moment.  

What a great title, eh?  

As I was reading about her suggestions to transform leftovers 

from meatloaf to shepherd's pie,

I realized that my life as a mother is a lot like this.

On a daily basis. 

I am the queen of reinventing.  

Getting my picky four year old to eat another meal...

Dressing my two year old with a bit more variety...

as a parent, each day brings new takes on the same challenges.  

Yet as a parent,

at the end of the day,

I often wonder about the leftovers. 

Because after it is all said and done, 

there usually isn't much left. 

If any.

Bone tired might be the word. 

Giving, giving, giving. 

And then when you think you've given it your all,

someone pukes. 

But somewhere, the strength comes to give again.

It's a mystery that where there seems to be none,

bounty overflows.  

The disciples, just coming off of an intense journey,

trying to find space,

a break,

a retreat,

were being hounded by more.

And more.

And more. 

Then Jesus said, 

"You feed them." 

Feed them all.

Woah. 

The "crowds"in my life hem in. 

Little boys,

writing assignments, 

marriage,

friends,

family,

home,

etc...

Haven't they taken enough already?

Feed them more?

With what?!?

The question resounds,

"How much bread do you have?" 

Jesus doesn't ask for a lot.

He just asks for what I have.

And even at the end of the day,

where there are only crumbs in my pocket,

I hear,

"That's enough." 

Because it really isn't about me.

It really isn't about what I have.

It is about what I offer. 

Because the mystery of enough,

the mystery of provision comes 

not in what I have,

but in what I give.

No matter how much 

or how little.

And it was Jesus who blessed it.

It was Jesus who broke it.

Who used those five small loaves,

and the two smelly fish,

and multiplied the offering.

And to the disciples amazement,

at the end of the meal,

there were twelve baskets of leftovers.

Twelve baskets for twelve disciples.

Hungry and tired,

overworked and underpaid.

And they were satisfied. 

Jesus, take my crumbs. 

Transform these leftovers,

into something that not only feeds my crowds,

but my soul.

The burning heart

This morning wasn't been one of the best.
I was up way too late last night exercising,
making it much too difficult to settle down to sleep.

Lack of sleep
(whom I really have no one to blame but myself)
coupled with two grouchy boys,
freezing rain,
and realization that Shawn is on-call yet again...
didn't make me the best mama this morning.

As I was about to rage on the world,
trying to maneuver slow munchkins out the door,
with not nearly enough caffeine in the veins,

Rush, rush, rush.

Push, shove,

move, jostle, 

hurry, hurry, 

come on! 

the phrase, "Life is not an emergency,"
sang to my heart.

When I took pause and really considered my life,
when I looked at my immediate need at hand,
it was apparent.

My life right now, is not an emergency.

Being 2 minutes late to preschool
will not make much of a difference in the grand scheme of life.
And that is the truth.

What is it then that rages?
What is it then within me that makes me think that emergencies are everywhere?
The laundry pile.
The spilled milk.
The getting out of bed.
Again.
And again.

Annoying, yes.
Emergency, no.
Let's be real.

There is not much in life that is a true emergency.

So, what is it then?
Perhaps it is buying into scarcity.
That things are quickly slipping away.
That my control is fading.
That there will not be enough
time,
energy,
effort,
resources.
There is never enough.

But what is the truth?
The real truth?
Can I handle the truth? (insert joke here.)

The truth is,
is that God has given us all we need.
God is a God of abundance,
not scarcity.
Everything is in God's hands.
And I'm being invited to notice it.
To slow down enough,
to see these moments for what they really are.
And they are not emergencies.

And so, when things get really ramped up,
both in boys,
chores,
and in soul;
I breath in again Jehovah-jirah,
and say,

"I have been given all I need."

And my eyes are opened.
For there is abundance here.

Lots of arms (big and small) to pick up toys.
Luxury and convenience of having a dishwasher.
Sunshine peaking out from the clouds during rush hour traffic.

Perhaps this is how those two felt
when they walked the long road towards Emmaus.
Panic,
confusion,
bewilderment,
was their journey.
But it was in the breaking of bread,
in the mystery shared,
they saw that they had all they needed.
From the very beginning.

"Were not our hearts burning within us 
as he was talking with us along the road?"

Luke 24:32

May your emergencies be transformed into Emmaus' today.

Much bread for the journey for you today.

And always.

Con-man

A picture to get your week off to a good start...

I'm a lucky Mama.
And a procrastinating Mama.
(But I did manage to get his 2yr. pictures taken just shy of two and a half.
It counts, right?)

Yes, look at those eyes and smile...you can tell I have my hands full.

But full they also are of:
laughter,
trucks,
books,
hugs,
and
jokes.

A G-man original coming to a Second City near you:
Knock, knock.
Who's there?
Cookie.
Cookie who?
Cookie monster!
Yummmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm
(In a very realistic Cookie Monster voice, I might add.)

Connor, my heart smiles looking into your dark brown eyes.
You. are. a. gift.
Even when I know those brown eyes are saying much more...

...like, "Where's the Kleenex?"

Play is the name of the game

How many times do I hear this phrase a day?


"Mom will you play with me?"


Like, somewhere in the ballpark of a hundred-million-gazillion times.
Give or take a few.

Lately, Owen, who still loves his safari escapades, begs me to play animals with him each and every afternoon...or basketball...or hockey...or Master Mind...or his made-up games like "ball-catch" where we roll small balls on the ground and try to catch it with a teacup from the play kitchen.

...during the time when Connor is sleeping and laundry needs to be folded, lunch dishes need to be cleared and washed, and/or sitting down with a drink and book really looks appealing.  He generally is pretty good about playing by himself for awhile, as I get some of the above done or rest.

Which is completely fine.
And appropriate.
He needs to learn to play by himself and have some alone quiet time.
And so do I.

But in the midst of doing my now fine-tuned crocodile-hunter Steve Irwin voice, during a recent mid-afternoon safari, I realized again in a new way that the simple question of, "Mom will you play with me?" is just another way of Owen wanting connection.  Of me completely paying full-attention to him without distraction of his brother or father.  Because let's be real.  My full attention to him or anyone doesn't come by too often.

And so answering in the affirmative is not only a way of me tangibly showing him my love,
that I value him and his creativity,
and want to spend time with him,
above the things that can wait;

but also, that this is his 4-year old way of sharing his love for me.

That he values me so much,
that he is choosing me to play.
He wants me.
He enjoys spending time with me.

For play is his love language.

And so I will play.
Because I do love him.
More than he will ever know.
And that by accepting his play,
I am also accepting the love he offers to me.

I'm sure this phrase will change over the years,
"Can I have some money?"
"Can I take the car?"
Perhaps even,
"Leave me alone."
But I pray that I have the ears to hear underneath it all,
his longings of love,
and accept what he offers.

But for now....even right-now as I finish up this post...
"Will you play with me?" reigns.
And so he crawls up on my lap, and we play.

On death, Love, and living life

Quiet moments don't come by me real often in this house full of testosterone. Because I know, it if is too quiet...there is a reason. And it is often not good.  And if often involves a mess.  Usually a large one.  So no, quiet moments don't come by often.

But I need them.
The quiet, not necessarily the mess (although it comes with the turf)!

I need them to think, to reflect, to just...be.

It's how I stay focused, keep mindful, fill my patience tank.
Being in the quiet reorients me to what these days are all about.

In the quiet, I am reminded that the messes,
the games,
the food,
the diapers,
the errands...,
is really just love disguised in different packages.

Giving myself out of love to those I've been entrusted with.
Offering Love and the best of me.

Although I fail often...
fall short way too much of the time,
because love is self-sacrifice...
which is hard.

But I hope that at the end of the day,
at the end of my life,
that my boys will gather around me,
and give thanks.

Not for what I did,
not for what I accomplished,
but for the Love that they felt,
experienced,
came to know.

And I pray that with them,
I will release my soul into the hands of Love,
the Source that holds everything together.

I am realizing more and more,

that I can only offer Love 

and truly live life,

when I am able to face death.

And as I look at death in the face,

holding its gaze squarely in the eye,

I realize that it no longer holds fear over me.

Because Love holds me still.  

And will not let go. 

Facing death I find,

that there is really nothing to fear at all,

for life will go on...

and on...

and on.......

Love gives us, then, 

the ability to live.

To truly live.

And to live well.

Because as I know Love,
I am able to offer Love,
and this Love moves,
breathes,
and enlivens my being.
And living like this,
enwrapped in Love,
is the best way to live.

On this Valentine's Day,
may you experience Love like no other,
this Love which is offered to each of us,
candles or not,
roses or not,
lover or not,
for truly the source of all that is Sweet,
holds you close.

May you feel this embrace today,
and hold on tight.

True love

This afternoon had all the hopes and expectations that a mother needed.

A break.
A respite.
An afternoon getting her haircut and colored.
By herself.

However, when your hairstylist who washes out your color (for the second-time around to correct the first blunder) says, "Well, I don't love it...it's not perfect...but it will do," you can just throw expectation and hope out the window.

(Note:  why is finding the right hairstylist in a new town just about as difficult as finding the pair for the leftover sock that is always left after all of the laundry is done.)

Then to top it off, she took my layers just a bit too short, while leaving the bottom long.
Cue the she-mullet.

Needless to say, as immature as it sounds,
as hard as I tried not to,
tears rolled.
Rolling like a river.

My poor, dear husband.
What he deals with...

Ding!
My inbox message alert goes off.
I open to read the text from my ICE:

"You are so beautiful to me even if you are a copper colored business on top, party in the back woman!"

I am blessed to have this guy.
I'm choosing to rock the mullet with my main squeeze on my arm,
knowing that my hair will grow out,
but thank God he won't.

Making the list

Lately, I've felt really demanding.

Demanding of my husband.

The one who already gives so much,

to his family,

to the ones who sit in darkness of pain and suffering. 

Demanding of my boys--

why can't they do more?

why can't they listen?

why can't they (for the love of all things holy) be quiet. for. one. minute?

Even demanding of myself--

to do more,

to be more.

It is exhausting to live like this.  

Each morning I wake up feeling like I am on a treadmill.

Run, run, run.

But where am I going?

What do I really want? 

I have felt convicted today to see my life through the lens of gratitude. 

Because gratitude warms the cold demands. 

Gratitude deepens the soul.

Gratitude sees all life as a gift.

Every moment is holy--it is to be honored, 

not rushed,

imposed upon,

demanded. 

This is love.

Gratitude--to be grateful,

to be full of grace,

that which is given as gift. 

To see that which is gift.

God, grant me eyes to see.

But this can only be learned through practice. 

I need to do gratitude. 

I can't just hope it will come.

I can't just wish it here.

I need to do it. 

And so I write these daily glimpses of grace,

life given as gift,

to silence the demands,

the demons that try to steal my life,

my joy,

my love.

1. A warm bed that grew 4 additional legs and arms overnight.

2. Quiet, slow afternoons.

3. The smell of the clean dishes.

4. The squeals of chase. 

5. Sister-in-laws that are like sisters.

It is working...

my soul smiles deep within. 

Peace nudges the dark.

Life is blessed.

And so, I will continue to write.  

I will continue to make my list.

For as I do, the demands of my soul...

the places of darkness within that call out discontent,

are hushed. 

And grace rushes in.