For when you feel like you just can't.

Today I had a bunch of moments when I said inside, "I just can't." The moments seemed to pile up towards the end of day, primarily, when my head was growing fuzzy, my emotions frazzled, and my body weary from the day.

I was cooking, and thinking about something, and hearing my son's voice saying something barely audible over the loud sizzling in my pan. "What?" I said to him, glancing over my shoulder. He held up a large, hard-backed book and its torn off cover in two separate hands, and repeated something I still couldn't make out.

I just can't, I thought. I've heard so many of his words, fixed so many of his problems today. I just can't give my attention to a single additional one right now.

The phone rang and I mistakenly answered it. It was a recording saying my cell phone payment was due. I added to the mistake by trying to enter the payment right then while cooking, while parenting, while juggling the thousand thoughts in my head.

At a pause, I asked my girl to get ready for bed, and then realized I'd stripped her sheets off earlier in the day and forgot it was left unmade.

I just can't, I thought. I don't have it in me to remake her bed right now.

She was thankfully reading quietly, but happened upon a funny part of the book. She begged me to come read it, to share in her delight, and oh, the funny part wasn't that long, she said.

No, I so didn't want to. I just can't, said my head.

And I was irritated because I saw she left her purse on the floor, which attracted our dog. He was halfway through the pack of gum when I caught him, my phone on the counter still talking at me through the speaker. But when I took the gum away, he grabbed the Chapstick.

It's not even food! I thought. I just can't deal with this dumb dog right now. I'm in the middle of cooking dinner, trying to keep up with the automated payment thing on the phone, and....

I tried to quickly pry the Chapstick from his mouth, but he only clamped down harder on it, my thumb in his grip now as well. It hurt so bad I cried.

My kids suddenly got very obedient, startled by my tears.

I just can't. I just can't.... said the voice in my head.


But I did.

By God's grace alone, I did.

A peace settled on the night, somehow. Miraculously. I wrapped my thumb with a cold pack and cooked with my other hand. My call got disconnected from being neglected, but I was sort of relieved. I fed the kids. I made her bed with clean sheets. Then I read the funny pages of the book and chimed along with her. I even patiently asked her to clean off her Chapstick container with soap.

And when I tucked my son in, I took notice of the book lying on his floor with a missing cover. I gently asked what happened. The spine broke, and it was even a Star Wars one, he said. I apologized for being rude to him earlier. He apologized for saying he brushed his teeth when he really didn't.

We prayed together, asking Jesus for forgiveness because we are all broken, all sinners. We all just can't sometimes.

But He can and He does and He wills for us to lean on Him.

Oh, how I need Him every hour, and particularly the late ones in the day.

I'm not quite sure what that word is, that thing that pulls me from "I just can't" to "I can," but I think it's grace.

And the truth is that the phrase I just can't is a lie our enemy speaks to our hearts; he is the one who wants to convince us that there is no hope for us, no strength left, no possible way. Oh, it's an insidious lie, and somehow sparkles just like the truth at times.

"Have mercy on us and help us, if you can.” {said the man with a sick son}

“What do you mean, ‘If I can’?” Jesus asked.

“Anything is possible if a person believes.”

Mark 9:22-23 

Jesus can. How much do you believe it?

He offers grace to cover my sin.

He lifts me up and gives me strength when I can't.

He shows me that grace is what I need to receive and what I need to give, as generously as possible on both accounts.

I believe. I just forget sometimes. And His grace covers that too.

Praying you have a sense of His grace-covering today and that you believe He can when you feel you just can't.

On my kids and heaven and hope

It's Friday.

I have two things on my heart today. One is a conversation. The other is a book I don't yet own. They are related.

A bit of background on the conversation. Last Wednesday, I was having a rough day. It was one of those days when my heart wasn't whole. It felt broken, like the pieces were being held together by thin threads of truth. I was sad, and I was doing all I could to rise above the fray and be the most competent, joyful mother I could for my little ones.

I did a fair job of it, after spending much of the morning when they were away at school reading God's word and talking to Him. But by the evening, I was spent. My husband had a commitment that night, so I knew no reinforcement was on its way. It was all on me.

I sat at the dinner table with them in a quiet house. My brain was tired, my heart still a fragile house of cards. And this is what I do, when I am forced to blend my own personal world with that of my children: I teach them what I'm trying to remind myself. Wednesday night, I was telling myself that one day, maybe soon, Jesus will come for me. Perhaps before my body wears out on this earth, He will pick me up, wipe away every tear, and take my hand for eternity. He will make my heart whole, permanently. It's the best possible, most hope-filled thing I could think of.

And so I told them, quickly realizing I'd never told them this before. My kids have known that when you die, you will go to heaven if you've asked Jesus to be in charge of your life. But I've never explained the possibility that He could come back first, before we die. I said, "Did you know this? He is coming back for us?" They both shook their heads no.

And so we went. I explained what the Bible says, that He will meet us in the air (I Thes 4:17). That He will come on the clouds (Luke 21:27), that no one knows the day or the hour (Matt 24:36). That it will be a big, happy, wonderful surprise, because that's what Jesus likes to do. Surprise us. I told us all what a great hope we have that Jesus is coming for us. And faith is the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things unseen (Heb 11:1)

Of course, I didn't anticipate the mild concern and funny questions, like, "What if I'm afraid of being up high?" and things like that. I had to laugh at the perspectives of my children. They are so pure, literal, and inquisitive. But it's stirred up some great conversations about heaven, and the whole deal.

Which brings me to the book. I've heard this book is a great tool for teaching kids about heaven. And since the topic is on the table at the moment, I thought I'd pick it up.

Have you read it? I'm going to try to find it today at the bookstore. 

And wow. If you want to read an incredible post on hope, read this. Ann Voskamp's words are so powerful to me. She speaks straight to my heart. Or, I should say, the Lord does, through her insights.

So what are you up to this Friday? Any good reads lately?

Contentment Challenge 2011 (a.k.a. Blog Sugar)

This weekend, if you haven't heard, a big west coast blog event is going down. It is so big that some friends are crossing the Mississippi to get there. It's called Blog Sugar (see the pink button on the sidebar??). And I'm finding, for me, it's bringing up issues of contentment. Or lack thereof.

And I expect I'm not alone. I thought I'd just bring this stuff to the surface now, so we all have it sorted by this weekend, and then we can leave the insecure versions of ourselves at home. {Don't you love how I am churning up the junk most everyone else is happy to let lie? You're welcome.}

So my first Contentment Challenge is obvs. I want to buy something new to wear. Somehow, I decided in my head that I wanted something new that was green. I know, specific. And unnecessary.

But guess what. When I'm honestly assessing my closet, I have plenty of lovely things to wear. Blog Sugar is not the inaugural ball. I'm going California Casual. Which means skinny jeans, something girly and perhaps shiny on top, and it's still a toss up between boots and peep toe heels. Also that ensemble is subject to change. I may do some try-ons in my closet.

All that to say, this week, I observed and faced my discontentment with my wardrobe, and decided it left a bad taste in my mouth, akin to the taste I get when I see my kids grab the toy catalogs from the mailbox and fill them with pen circles around all the things they feel they need. Never a thought goes to the mountains of expensive and formerly special toys in their rooms. Yuck. I'm instantly trashing those catalogs this year come Christmas season.

I've also been getting the vibe that some of us are a bit nervous about Blog Sugar. I mean, I COULD spend time worrying about not knowing people, or I COULD spend time worrying about people not knowing ME. I could compare myself and my blog and my necklace to every woman I meet.

But what fun would that be? That would make the whole event miserable, don't you think? So what are we going to do to combat that comparison so likely to sneak into our fragile hearts next Sunday night?

This is what I'm going to do. I'm going to look each beautiful woman in the eye and see her. See her name, and her heart for blogging and sharing her life, and the care she put into her outfit. I'm going to appreciate the woman God made her to be, appreciate her story, and the way she is putting herself out there into the blog world. You know, it is a risky thing, this blogging, particularly in a world of women. It's even riskier to show up to something like Blog Sugar and act like you have it all together (when none of us really do, right?).

Sadly, I know we all know some women who are not that nice. They are envious and gossipy and feel the need all too often to put others down to feel better. God forbid any one of us is caught in those traps this weekend, right? I very much want to be a part of a community of women who bless and encourage one another, and I know the first step is making sure I'm that kind of woman myself.

Because all of us are risking ourselves here. All of us are a tad nervous about being seen. All of us are just doing our best. I'm deciding to do MY best at acknowledging that you are doing a pretty darn good job at all you do. I might even tell you that you look so beautiful. And I'll mean it.

I'm going to say sorry when I don't remember someone's name, and humbly announce that I'm bad at that. I'm going to be humble when I don't recognize someone who recognizes me. I will laugh at myself, and give myself grace when I realize I'm talking too much. And I'll accept myself for not having it all together. For not having enough time to switch to my cute purse, or say Hi to all the right people, or BLOG about Blog Sugar during Blog Sugar (you know some people will be!).

I'm just me, and that's it. Even though you may meet me, and like my outfit, and say, "Wow, your hair is a really unusual color!" don't be fooled. I'll still be broken, messy, me in the middle of my life's journey. And it will be great to meet you in the middle of yours.

And for those of you who aren't coming to Blog Sugar, good job today. Good job pulling the day together, and giving love away. I appreciate you and your heart, and even if I don't know your name, I know the God of heaven does. He sees you, and thinks you're simply beautiful too. Thanks for putting yourself out there into the risky world one more day. It needs you.

Choosing to make it lovely

I was going to write about pillows. I made a really cool pillow out of my husband's old button down shirt. That would have been lovely. I'll show it to you eventually.

But I chose to tell this story for Life Made Lovely Monday instead, because I think for me it better reflects what I try to remember, that I have some ability to make my life lovely, even when it is not.

Not lovely: little boys with double pink eye and tear-inducing ear pain. 
Not lovely: late night trips to urgent care.
Not lovely: the following even later night trip to the pharmacy.

This is where I have to give the glory to God before I go any further. HE is the only one who strengthened me for the night. HE helps mothers do their jobs! He is the source of all my lovely, always, period.

I called ahead to urgent care, asking if they were busy. "Right now, there's no wait!" "Great, I'll be there in five minutes." IN those five minutes, four families came in ahead of us. There was a single doctor on duty. SO we watched a movie, made a little bed in the waiting room on the kid couch, and read a new book about predators. Eeesh, we're talking a lot of large photographs of various open-mouthed, fanged animals. I couldn't even look at the pages with the snakes. And I remained fully enthusiastic, somehow, while comparing piranha to barracuda.

By the time we made it out of the two hour urgent care ordeal, I was already tired. As we reached the pharmacy - the only 24 hour one being another distance away from home - I saw tons of people waiting at the counter. It was obvious we were going to be there a long while. Then and there, I chose to make this yucky night one to remember for good reasons, and turn this frown upside down.

I realized I had my camera. He perked up. "Can I take one of you, mama?"

While waiting for an eternity just to be acknowledged at the pharmacy, I chose to be thankful I didn't need any of these things.

Then, after turning in our prescriptions and realizing it was going to be another long wait to receive them, I made a new rule ('cause moms get to do that): sickly little boys who have to wait in doctors' offices and pharmacies way after bedtime get special things. That alone got a giant smile.

His first choice of places to visit inside the pharmacy: the frozen aisle. Just know that he hates ice cream and chocolate. We found ONE flavor of sorbet. Thank you, Lord.

Yeah, well, I DON'T discriminate as much, especially when it comes to Easter goodness. And part of the rule is that I get treats too.

Here is his pretend sick face that he wanted me to capture.

'Cause he really felt like this. Thank you Jesus for Motrin. It masks the sickness that his eyes still show. Why the black hoodie still on? I don't know. I was too tired to care.

It helped that he is my night owl. Just like his mama.
Next stop: the true meaning of Easter, New American Drug Store Version.
 

 
Know what? This was so good that it deserved more photos.
 

 
Dear fluorescent lighting,
I hate you.
 
Dear marshmallow bunny,
Never leave me.
 

 
Dear Leslie,
I won't, as long as you avoid the gym.
Sincerely,
Marshmallow bunny
 
And then I was persuaded into snack time part 2 for my sweets-hating saltaholic. 'Cause I am a really awful awesome tired mama.
 

 
(He may have told me not to hog them.)
 
I'll leave you with this. Big Binks.
 

 
I bet my wiener dog would try to eat Big Binks and then he would die.
 
My little binks was more interested in pretending it was a guitar.
 

 
I'm not kidding, we had a lot of fun, and on only $4. Sadly, I can't remember the last time I had so much time to look him in his weepy red eyes, talk to him, read with him, treat him like a big kid, and say YES to so much. Irresponsible? Maybe. But we made some memories out of unpleasant circumstances. 
 
And pushing aside my own fatigue (let me tell you, it was there, and I was smooshing it down in a big way), my main feeling was grateful. So grateful I have generally healthy children. So grateful for simple joys, medicine, and resources to care for my family. So grateful for the way God helped me choose to make my life and my son's life lovely, at least for a night.