field guide

September 7, 2009 mother's heart

Coming Home: Labor Day Memories

Happy Labor Day! Last year on this day, I brought my Baby Girl home from the hospital for the first time. It gives new meaning to the celebration no “labor.”  Beyond culminating the discomfort of an August pregnancy in Mississippi, I remember feeling so incredibly overjoyed to actually hold her on the outside, to see and touch her. I remember that feeling with each of my gifts. Those few days in the hospital are necessary, but restless. Whether it’s the physical relief of being able to sit or rise unassisted from overstuffed chairs again or the contentment of finally bringing a little one into the nest you’ve prepared, there’s just something comforting about the soul sigh that comes with bringing a baby home.
I love coming home. I enjoy the feeling of driving up to the place where you lay your head. It gives a tangible spin to that sense of belonging created by family. For my preschoolers, home is the center of their view of the world, their understanding of how life works. Each person expresses it differently, but the comfort and joy of home makes its way into every heart.
For Squiggle, it’s the announcement of our arrival. We choose our left or right turns out of the preschool parking lot. We “wheee” down a few hills and look for elusive tractors and firetrucks, but the last turn with our driveway in view is unmistakable. “There’s OUR house.”
For Little Drummer Boy, it’s opening the door for everyone. We race to get out of the truck with juice cups and favorite friends in hand. We make our way up the walkway with no skinned knees and our armloads in tact. And then, Little Drummer Boy opens the door. Usually a small crack gives a quick peek inside, and then he bursts in with a bang. Bouncing into the big red chair means we are home.
For Quiver, it comes out in more subtle ways. Finally coming home is turning off the lights in his downstairs office and taking off his work boots. It’s closing the safety gate at the top of the steps with Baby Girl smiles greeting him. Sometimes I think it’s the trappings of having a celebration-junkie wife in the house. For grilling out, “Are you gonna get out that blue cloth? ‘Cause that makes it nice.” After furniture rearranging, “This is nice. It’s good to have a change sometimes.” “That smells nice,” from a freshly cleaned bathroom. Often home is the details men don’t do for themselves.
For Baby Girl, it’s my comfort level. In our house I know she can try out her walking virtually free from a constant eye. With a few doors strategically closed and the familiar placement of our toys, she doesn’t necessarily need me to monitor her progress. And let’s not forget the faithful “Mommy!” from Little Drummer Boy or Squiggle should she wander into forbidden territory. That’s just part of home.
Last Labor Day weekend, Baby Girl came unexpectedly. I knew something was a little different when I woke up on August 30th. When my water broke at the breakfast table, it was an unmistakable clue, and we were off to the races. We were only in the hospital room for an hour and a half before Baby Girl made her debut. She was two weeks early, and she’s been pushing the envelope ever since, eager to catch up with her brothers.
This year for Labor Day, we are nursing Baby Girl back to health from a case of the flu and dosing up everyone else to try and prevent it from spreading. The flu changed our Labor Day plans for a weekend on the farm, but we are still enjoying an extra day away from the normal schedule of work. I’m thinking about home and work, and rest from labor. One of Little Drummer Boy’s morning prayer requests filters to the surface.
“Let Mommy not get lost at work.”
It was followed by the request to “not let Squiggle get lost at home,” but it stuck. It’s an admonition I take to heart. As much as I enjoy my job and freelance writing, I don’t want to get lost there. I don’t even want to get lost in blogging. I always want to come home–physically, mentally, and emotionally. I want to offer the best of myself to these gifts in this home, and pay my closest attention here where so much is riding on it. It’s a good reminder for this Labor Day.

Happy Labor Day! Last year on this day, I brought my Baby Girl home from the hospital for the first time. It gives new meaning to the celebration no “labor.”  Beyond culminating the discomfort of an August pregnancy in Mississippi, I remember feeling so incredibly overjoyed to actually hold her on the outside, to see and touch her. I remember that feeling with each of my gifts. Those few days in the hospital are necessary, but restless. Whether it’s the physical relief of being able to sit or rise unassisted from overstuffed chairs again or the contentment of finally bringing a little one into the nest you’ve prepared, there’s just something comforting about the soul sigh that comes with bringing a baby home.

I love coming home. I enjoy the feeling of driving up to the place where you lay your head. It gives a tangible spin to that sense of belonging created by family. For my preschoolers, home is the center of their view of the world, their understanding of how life works. Each person expresses it differently, but the comfort and joy of home makes its way into every heart.

For Squiggle, it’s the announcement of our arrival. We choose our left or right turns out of the preschool parking lot. We “wheee” down a few hills and look for elusive tractors and firetrucks, but the last turn with our driveway in view is unmistakable. “There’s OUR house.”

For Little Drummer Boy, it’s opening the door for everyone. We race to get out of the truck with juice cups and favorite friends in hand. We make our way up the walkway with no skinned knees and our armloads in tact. And then, Little Drummer Boy opens the door. Usually a small crack gives a quick peek inside, and then he bursts in with a bang. Bouncing into the big red chair means we are home.

For Quiver, it comes out in more subtle ways. Finally coming home is turning off the lights in his downstairs office and taking off his work boots. It’s closing the safety gate at the top of the steps with Baby Girl smiles greeting him. Sometimes I think it’s the trappings of having a celebration-junkie wife in the house. For grilling out, “Are you gonna get out that blue cloth? ‘Cause that makes it nice.” After furniture rearranging, “This is nice. It’s good to have a change sometimes.” “That smells nice,” from a freshly cleaned bathroom. Often home is the details men don’t do for themselves.

For Baby Girl, it’s my comfort level. In our house I know she can try out her walking virtually free from a constant eye. With a few doors strategically closed and the familiar placement of our toys, she doesn’t necessarily need me to monitor her progress. And let’s not forget the faithful “Mommy!” from Little Drummer Boy or Squiggle should she wander into forbidden territory. That’s just part of home.

For me, it’s all of the above.

Last Labor Day weekend, Baby Girl came unexpectedly. I knew something was a little different when I woke up on August 30th. When my water broke at the breakfast table, it was an unmistakable clue, and we were off to the races. We were only in the hospital room for an hour and a half before Baby Girl made her debut. She was two weeks early, and she’s been pushing the envelope ever since, eager to catch up with her brothers.

This year for Labor Day, we are nursing Baby Girl back to health from a case of the flu and dosing up everyone else to try and prevent it from spreading. The flu changed our Labor Day plans for a weekend on the farm, but we are still enjoying an extra day away from the normal schedule of work. I’m thinking about home and work, and rest from labor. One of Little Drummer Boy’s morning prayer requests filters to the surface.

“Let Mommy not get lost at work.”

It was followed by the request to “not let Squiggle get lost at home,” but it stuck. It’s an admonition I take to heart. As much as I enjoy my job and freelance writing, I don’t want to get lost there. I don’t even want to get lost in blogging. I always want to come home–physically, mentally, and emotionally. I want to offer the best of myself to these gifts in this home, and pay my closest attention here where so much is riding on it. It’s a good reminder this Labor Day.

September 6, 2009 mother's heart

You’re Mine

I promised Travis something the other night that I really can’t promise him. At least not honestly. I promised that Mama would never let anyone take him from me. Who knows exactly where these thoughts come from? Since I usually can’t trace my own thoughts with complete accuracy, those of my 4 year old are even more elusive. But, this train started with a discussion of how he and his favorite lamb had been separated while we were in our living room reading bedtime stories.
LDB: I don’t like it when my lamb is separated from me.
Mama: I understand. I don’t ever like it when you and Squiggle and Baby Girl are separated from me. I always want you with me.
LDB: Well, we would be separated if a policeman came and took me away. [puzzled about where that came from]
Mama: Sweetie, a policeman will never come and take you from Mommy. You belong with Mommy.
LDB: If someone took me away from you, would you tell them “no?”
Mama: Yes, sweetie. Mama would never let anyone take you from me.
LDB: Not even a mean man. [puzzled about that too]
Mama: No, darlin.’ Nobody is going to take you away from me.
LDB: Well, good. Because I want to be with you.
Mama: You will be, because you belong with Mommy.
LDB: Because I’m yours.
Mama: That’s right. You’re mine. God gave you–and Squiggle and Baby Girl–to Mommy and Daddy. Noone will take you away from me.
There it is. “Noone will take you away from me.” That’s the promise I can’t keep. I’m sometimes haunted by the fact that there is always the possibility that something or someone–some circumstance–could rob me of seeing and knowing and experiencing his blessedness.
I could write this post 6000 times and never feel I’ve actually said it. I can never adequately express just how much the existence of this one human being has changed my life forever. It’s Little Drummer Boy only by virtue of the fact that I was a half a miniscule more accustomed to being turned inside out with Bug and Baby Girl, since they don’t bear the burden of being first. It’s true. Having children rocked my world.
Listening to Little Drummer Boy, it’s amazing to me how even being so brief in this world, he can recognize and sense a place of belonging–and that he wants it. The concern of separation from that place somehow made it’s way into his thoughts from who knows where. And, I must acknowledge that it makes its way into mine more often that I care to admit. When I look into their eyes, I realize without a hint of doubt that all three of my gifts scare me to death. And, in seeing them, I realize the strength of the white-knuckle grip I’ve had on my soul since their birth–frozen in fear that I would have to see them suffer and thus witness my own heart shredded beyond repair.
There. I said it. Out loud (virtually, speaking).
Though I’m not one to give in to fear, in the unflenching grip of the last four years, I’ve also realized that sometimes God scares me to death too. His power is too great to comprehend, and his giving and taking is too complex to predict. I’ve always had a strong sense of confidence in God’s purpose and plans, an ability to believe and trust His actions. But, in the last years of watching the most precious beings I’ve known walk around before me, I have found myself shying away from Him. Afraid that He might take them from me, as if they were mine to lose. I’ve gently shielded my heart from Him, as if that were possible. In that doomed shielding, I’ve resisted the rest found in knowing Him more intimately each day, the joy of yielding to the insistence of His presence. And, though I know in my mind that His love is pure and wise and good, releasing my soul to His full molding has been difficult.
With my Baby Girl now a one-year-old and the prospect of Little Drummer Boy going to “big school” a year from now, the last few weeks have been emotional. I’m realizing more and more each day the brevity of that time when they are so dependent on me. And with the shift to their own independence comes an ever-increasing confrontation with things beyond my control, things outside the walls forming my comfort level. I’ve been slowly, but surely, allowing my spirit to catch up with all the changes, the joys, and yes, the fears of the last four years. Little by little, I’m letting go of the strangle hold I’ve had on my own ability to take an unencumbered deep breath, and relinquishing my spirit again to the wooing of my Creator.  And my children’s Creator.
“Do not fear, for I have redeemed you; I have called you by name; you are Mine.” (isaiah 43:1)
I’m learning again that those words, “you’re mine” are the solution, not the source of fear. Just as saying “you’re mine” to Little Drummer Boy carries with it the full weight of everything I have to give, everything I am willing to give up, everything I would move, everything I would hold fast in order to ensure his abundance; so it is with God.
In hearing the words “you’re Mine,” I can also hear “they’re Mine.” I am released to the blessed rest of His kind intention, the rest of His unfailing, unending and ever-active love.
In my fear I’ve come full circle, realizing that the only hope I have is to throw myself fully upon His love and mercy at each hour. And to throw myself fully into loving my gifts and experiencing them at every stage. To live each day, hour and moment without wishing I had.

I promised Little Drummer Boy something the other night that I really can’t promise him. At least not honestly. I promised that Mama would never let anyone take him from me. Who knows exactly where these thoughts come from? Since I usually can’t trace my own thoughts with complete accuracy, those of my 4 year old are even more elusive. But, this train started with a discussion of how he and his favorite lamb had been separated while we were in our living room reading bedtime stories.

LDB: I don’t like it when my lamb is separated from me.

Mama: I understand. I don’t ever like it when you and Squiggle and Baby Girl are separated from me. I always want you with me.

LDB: Well, we would be separated if a policeman came and took me away. [puzzled about where that came from]

Mama: Sweetie, a policeman will never come and take you from Mommy. You belong with Mommy.

LDB: If someone took me away from you, would you tell them “no?”

Mama: Yes, sweetie. Mama would never let anyone take you from me.

LDB: Not even a mean man. [puzzled about that too]

Mama: No, darlin.’ Nobody is going to take you away from me.

LDB: Well, good. Because I want to be with you.

Mama: You will be, because you belong with Mommy.

LDB: Because I’m yours.

Mama: That’s right. You’re mine. God gave you–and Squiggle and Baby Girl–to Mommy and Daddy. Noone will take you away from me.

There it is. “Noone will take you away from me.” That’s the promise I can’t keep. I’m sometimes haunted by the fact that there is always the possibility that something or someone–some circumstance–could rob me of seeing and knowing and experiencing his blessedness.

I could write this post 6000 times and never feel I’ve actually said it. I can never adequately express just how much the existence of this one human being has changed my life forever. It’s Little Drummer Boy only by virtue of the fact that I was a half a miniscule more accustomed to being turned inside out with Bug and Baby Girl, since they don’t bear the burden of being first. It’s true. Having children rocked my world.

Listening to Little Drummer Boy, it’s amazing to me how even being so brief in this world, he can recognize and sense a place of belonging–and that he wants it. The concern of separation from that place somehow made it’s way into his thoughts from who knows where. And, I must acknowledge that it makes its way into mine more often that I care to admit. When I look into their eyes, I realize without a hint of doubt that all three of my gifts scare me to death. And, in seeing them, I realize the strength of the white-knuckle grip I’ve had on my soul since their birth–frozen in fear that I would have to see them suffer and thus witness my own heart shredded beyond repair.

There. I said it. Out loud (virtually, speaking).

Though I’m not one to give in to fear, in the unflenching grip of the last four years, I’ve also realized that sometimes God scares me to death too. His power is too great to comprehend, and his giving and taking is too complex to predict. I’ve always had a strong sense of confidence in God’s purpose and plans, an ability to believe and trust His actions. But, in the last years of watching the most precious beings I’ve known walk around before me, I have found myself shying away from Him. Afraid that He might take them from me, as if they were mine to lose. I’ve gently shielded my heart from Him, as if that were possible. In that doomed shielding, I’ve resisted the rest found in knowing Him more intimately each day, the joy of yielding to the insistence of His presence. And, though I know in my mind that His love is pure and wise and good, releasing my soul to His full molding has been difficult.

With my Baby Girl now a one-year-old and the prospect of Little Drummer Boy going to “big school” a year from now, the last few weeks have been emotional. I’m realizing more and more each day the brevity of that time when they are so dependent on me. And with the shift to their own independence comes an ever-increasing confrontation with things beyond my control, things outside the walls forming my comfort level. I’ve been slowly, but surely, allowing my spirit to catch up with all the changes, the joys, and yes, the fears of the last four years. Little by little, I’m letting go of the strangle hold I’ve had on my own ability to take an unencumbered deep breath, and relinquishing my spirit again to the wooing of my Creator.  And my children’s Creator.

“Do not fear, for I have redeemed you; I have called you by name; you are Mine.” (isaiah 43:1)

I’m learning again that those words, “you’re mine” are the solution, not the source of fear. Just as saying “you’re mine” to Little Drummer Boy carries with it the full weight of everything I have to give, everything I am willing to give up, everything I would move, everything I would hold fast in order to ensure his abundance; so it is with God. In hearing the words “you’re Mine,” I can also hear “they’re Mine.” I am released to the blessed rest of His kind intention, the rest of His unfailing, unending and ever-active love.

In my fear I’ve come full circle, realizing that the only hope I have is to throw myself fully upon His love and mercy at each hour. And to throw myself fully into loving my gifts and experiencing them at every stage. To live each day, hour and moment without wishing I had.

September 4, 2009 oh happy day!

Oh Happy Day 090409: Here’s to Being Small

Steps. Conversations. Babies (of all sizes). Opportunities. “Undaunted enthusiasm.” Getting unplugged. And, blue skies.
All of those showed up in my (almost) daily lists of 5 “thankful for” things this week. Oh happy day! They represent the birth of a friend’s child, my own baby turning one, my 2 1/2 year-old’s spontaneous dance moves, new and challenging work possibilities for Quiver and I, and September. As is so often the case, my gratitude this week has centered on the three gifts in my house that have so impacted our lives. With Baby Girl’s first birthday on Sunday, I spent the first of the week remembering her arrival a year ago and marveling at how quickly she’s grown.
—————————
It was just about at that point in my train of thoughts about the week that I got the call from daycare this afternoon. One quick trip through football weekend traffic, a walk-in visit to the doctor and five prescriptions later, we’re a statistic. Yes, Baby Girl was diagnosed with the flu, likely H1N1. What’s happy about that?
No, it’s not exactly how I envisioned spending the Labor Day holiday. It’s not what I hoped for Baby Girl’s first full week as a one-year-old. No, this isn’t the post I wrote in my mind–the one about the joy of unplugging Kermit, my trusty laptop, and heading to the farm for a 3-day weekend under the brilliant blue September sky, three gifts, an armload of books and a few dumptrucks in tow. That one’s still in there, just put on hold for a little while. I didn’t want to misplace my gratitude attitude in just the first week of the Oh Happy Day Project, so I was forced to ask myself: Just what am I thankful for now?
Summed up, I’m thankful I live in a small town. I may not have a Gap within a 50-mile radius, but here’s what I do have. I can get to my daughter in 10 minutes–at 4:15 on the Friday afternoon before the first home college football game of the season. I can walk into the doctor’s office at 4:30 and actually see her although they don’t accept walk-ins after 4pm. My doctor remembers seeing Baby Girl just this Monday, as well as the medicines for croup she put her on. She also remembers the names of my other children as she writes them a preventative prescription for Tamiflu. Life in a small town means the owner of the pharmacy takes time to speak with Quiver about our prescriptions, which they are able to fill before closing. And, I’m not really surprised that we can also get a call at home–at 8pm–from the same owner making sure we don’t have any other questions. (Can you say locally owned and operated?) Then, there’s the maroon-clad boys who come running in after enjoying a day of “tailgating parties” at preschool. In a small town, happenings at the university matter to almost everyone, even 4-year-olds.  Of course, the one-hour wait for Friday night pizza delivery is really only 30 minutes. And, The Great Muppet Caper is (almost) always available at the public library to supplement our pizza picnic. Here’s to being small!
—————————
Incidentally, good news… I’ve discovered that gratitude has a no cancellation policy. H1N1 may certainly have a wet blanket effect, but my daily “5 things” don’t lose their gratitude points because of it. As it turns out, I’m still quite thankful that Emily’s baby was born early and small, but strong. The Queen and I still had a great conversation about possible upcoming projects, proving synergy is alive and kicking. The Bug dance is still an undaunted show-stopper.  Quiver is still an incredibly good man. September still offers the promise of cooler weather and more brilliant skies. And though feverish, Baby Girl is still one and stepping out.
Oh Happy Day!

happyday090409

Steps. Conversations. Babies (of all sizes). Opportunities. “Undaunted enthusiasm.” Getting unplugged. And, blue skies.

All of those showed up in my (almost) daily lists of 5 “thankful for” things this week. Oh happy day! They represent the birth of a friend’s child, my own baby turning one, my 2 1/2 year-old’s spontaneous dance moves, new and challenging work possibilities for Quiver and I, and September. As is so often the case, my gratitude this week has centered on the three gifts in my house that have so impacted our lives. With Baby Girl’s first birthday on Sunday, I spent the first of the week remembering her arrival a year ago and marveling at how quickly she’s grown.

—————————

It was just about at that point in my train of thoughts about the week that I got the call from daycare this afternoon. One quick trip through football weekend traffic, a walk-in visit to the doctor and five prescriptions later, we’re a statistic. Yes, Baby Girl was diagnosed with the flu, likely H1N1. What’s happy about that?

No, it’s not exactly how I envisioned spending the Labor Day holiday. It’s not what I hoped for Baby Girl’s first full week as a one-year-old. No, this isn’t the post I wrote in my mind–the one about the joy of unplugging Kermit, my trusty laptop, and heading to the farm for a 3-day weekend under the brilliant blue September sky, three gifts, an armload of books and a few dumptrucks in tow. That one’s still in there, just put on hold for a little while. I didn’t want to misplace my gratitude attitude in just the first week of the Oh Happy Day Project, so I was forced to ask myself: Just what am I thankful for now?

Summed up, I’m thankful I live in a small town. I may not have a Gap within a 50-mile radius, but here’s what I do have. I can get to my daughter in 10 minutes–at 4:15 on the Friday afternoon before the first home college football game of the season. I can walk into the doctor’s office at 4:30 and actually see her although they don’t accept walk-ins after 4pm. My doctor remembers seeing Baby Girl just this Monday, as well as the medicines for croup she put her on. She also remembers the names of my other children as she writes them a preventative prescription for Tamiflu. Life in a small town means the owner of the pharmacy takes time to speak with Quiver about our prescriptions, which they are able to fill before closing. And, I’m not really surprised that we can also get a call at home–at 8pm–from the same owner making sure we don’t have any other questions. (Can you say locally owned and operated?) Then, there’s the maroon-clad boys who come running in after enjoying a day of “tailgating parties” at preschool. In a small town, happenings at the university matter to almost everyone, even 4-year-olds.  Of course, the one-hour wait for Friday night pizza delivery is really only 30 minutes. And, The Great Muppet Caper is (almost) always available at the public library to supplement our pizza picnic. Here’s to being small!

—————————

Incidentally, good news… I’ve discovered that gratitude has a no cancellation policy. H1N1 may certainly have a wet blanket effect, but my daily “5 things” don’t lose their gratitude points because of it. As it turns out, I’m still quite thankful that Emily’s baby was born early and small, but strong. The Queen and I still had a great conversation about possible upcoming projects, proving synergy is alive and kicking. The Bug dance is still an undaunted show-stopper.  September still offers the promise of cooler weather and more brilliant skies. And though feverish, Baby Girl is still one and stepping out.

Oh Happy Day!

August 30, 2009 mother's heart, poetry

S is for Soft

Soft is the smooth touch
of my baby girl’s cheek
against mine, her skin
aglow in unfettered smiles
barely touched by the world.
the brush of eyelashes hovering
over a cloudless blue.
Soft is her sweet breath
against my nose, deepening
my inhale. in and out,
the gentle fluttering
of one thousand hopes and dreams
between her heart
and mine.
Soft is the whisper
of her sleepy fingers
against my shoulder,
the plump and eager toes
too worn with the day.
the patter of steps and moments
as they fly away.

maggie1

Soft is the smooth touch
of my baby girl’s cheek
against mine, her skin
aglow in unfettered smiles
barely touched by the world.
the brush of eyelashes hovering
over a cloudless blue.

Soft is her sweet breath
against my nose, deepening
my inhale. in and out,
the gentle fluttering
of one thousand hopes and dreams
between her heart
and mine.

Soft is the whisper
of her sleepy fingers
against my shoulder,
the plump and eager toes
too worn with the day.
the patter of steps and moments
as they tiptoe away.

Happy 1st Birthday, Baby Girl! Your softness has forever melted my heart.

August 28, 2009 oh happy day!

The Oh Happy Day Project

Thank God it’s Friday! I’m sitting at the computer watching Bug’s version of Dancing with the Stars as the theme song from Winnie the Pooh plays on his movie. Despite a very itchy infection and a yucky tummy from antibiotics, he is undeterred. My Squiggle Bug is a perpetual visual aid for “Thank God it’s Friday!”
TGIF! We’ve all heard it. Most of us have said it. No matter what we’re doing, there’s something about ending the work week (or school week) and the prospect of a weekend that gets our juices flowing. Friday motivates us to get the last details of the week resolved. Friday fills us with the anticipation of free moments, fun activities and a shift from the weekday schedule. Friday lifts our spirits simply by being Friday.
I’ve always thought that it’s not really a good idea to invoke the name of the God of the universe unless you mean it. (Actually, God tells us it’s not a good idea. But, that’s another post.) So, today I’m thinking quite literally about “Thank God it’s Friday.” I’ve learned time and again about the role gratitude plays in attitudes through my own life lessons–mostly from bad attitudes prompted by a complaining spirit. Last year’s 12 Days of Thanksgiving at EyeJunkie really chrystalized that concept for me in so many ways. Just when I’m unhappily ensconced in my own “justified” complaints about circumstances or people or life in general, it never fails. Some news story, or friend’s story, or precious request from my gifts, or some other real life reality interrupts, and I recognize again how truly blessed I am.
“Rejoice always; pray without ceasing; in everything give thanks; for this is God’s will for you in Christ Jesus.” (1 thessalonians 5:16-18)
Well, there it is. For all the times I’ve wondered, “what is God’s will for my life?”, this one offers a clue. I’ve often read those versus with frustration. Look at all the extremes in there–always, without ceasing, everything. Ouch! It looks like that’s going to take a bit of commitment. It looks like I may have to rejoice in some not-so-fun situations. It looks like I may need to give thanks for some things I didn’t really want. It looks like I may actually have to let God out of His 911 emergency service vehicle every once in a while. Hmmm.
It seems to me that God gives us a recipe for happy days in these verses. And by happy, I mean joyful contentment and satisfaction, not the fleeting sugary feel we get during the first few minutes of chewing Bubblicious. If there’s anything I’ve learned from raising toddlers, it is that the Happiness Hotel has a revolving door… the devastation of not getting to play with the exact truck you wanted, followed by the utter bliss of realizing the helicopter is just as fun… the sorrow of not being able to ride with Daddy to the grocery store, followed by the sheer joy found in helping Mommy with the dishwasher. (I’d personally like to bottle that one so I can unleash it again in ten years when I know there will be no parallel happiness universe in which the dishwasher will be fun.) That ever-shifting concept of happiness is surely a normal part of learning about the world as a child, but what an incredibly unfullfilling grown-up lifestyle to endure!
That’s not God’s version of happiness. With the “always,” “without ceasing” and “in everything,” He gives us a glimpse of how constant real happiness can be. The happiness power comes in using those three ideas in tandem–persistently. Giving thanks provides us with something to rejoice about. Rejoicing reminds us of more in which to be grateful. Praying offers us Someone to thank for the joy we’ve seen. And, it gives us a way to get our worries and concerns out of the equation. If I can make those three actions constants in my life, my attitudes and perspectives will have all the checks and balances they need for me to be who and where God wants.
The thing that really convicts me in these verses is the intention that’s required–the deliberateness. I can’t accidentally “rejoice always.” Not with everything this life and the people in it have to offer. I can’t just haphazardly give thanks, or my gratitude will be confined to one Thursday in November. To pray without ceasing? It won’t just happen with a husband, three children, a job, a house and 6000 other things vying for my mental space. Paying attention rears it’s ugly head. Again.
I recently read a blog post where a woman described her habit of being grateful. She made a commitment to herself to stop and write down 5 things she was thankful for at the end of each day. She would not let herself go to bed at night until that task was completed. So each of her days ended with a tangible joy list.
I like that. Hence, the Oh Happy Day Project begins today. It’s my own little “Thank God it’s Friday” experiment reporting on the weekly EyeJunkie gratitude attitude documentation. I’m incorporating the “5 things” idea into my daily routine, and I hope to expound on the best in five-star Montgomery Happiness Hotel occupancy each Fridays. Oh Happy Day!
I’ll keep you posted.

happyday082809

Thank God it’s Friday! I’m sitting at the computer watching Bug’s version of Dancing with the Stars as the theme song from Winnie the Pooh plays on his movie. Despite a very itchy infection and a yucky tummy from antibiotics, he is undeterred. My Squiggle Bug is a perpetual visual aid for “Thank God it’s Friday!”

TGIF! We’ve all heard it. Most of us have said it. No matter what we’re doing, there’s something about ending the work week (or school week) and the prospect of a weekend that gets our juices flowing. Friday motivates us to get the last details of the week resolved. Friday fills us with the anticipation of free moments, fun activities and a shift from the weekday schedule. Friday lifts our spirits simply by being Friday.

I’ve always thought that it’s not really a good idea to invoke the name of the God of the universe unless you mean it. (Actually, God tells us it’s not a good idea. But, that’s another post.) So, today I’m thinking quite literally about “Thank God it’s Friday.” I’ve learned time and again about the role gratitude plays in attitudes through my own life lessons–mostly from bad attitudes prompted by a complaining spirit. Last year’s 12 Days of Thanksgiving at EyeJunkie really chrystalized that concept for me in so many ways. Just when I’m unhappily ensconced in my own “justified” complaints about circumstances or people or life in general, it never fails. Some news story, or friend’s story, or precious request from my gifts, or some other real life reality interrupts, and I recognize again how truly blessed I am.

“Rejoice always; pray without ceasing; in everything give thanks; for this is God’s will for you in Christ Jesus.” (1 thessalonians 5:16-18)

Well, there it is. For all the times I’ve wondered, “what is God’s will for my life?”, this one offers a clue. I’ve often read those versus with frustration. Look at all the extremes in there–always, without ceasing, everything. Ouch! It looks like that’s going to take a bit of commitment. It looks like I may have to rejoice in some not-so-fun situations. It looks like I may need to give thanks for some things I didn’t really want. It looks like I may actually have to let God out of His 911 emergency service vehicle every once in a while. Hmmm.

It seems to me that God gives us a recipe for happy days in these verses. And by happy, I mean joyful contentment and satisfaction, not the fleeting sugary feel we get during the first few minutes of chewing Bubblicious. If there’s anything I’ve learned from raising toddlers, it is that the Happiness Hotel has a revolving door… the devastation of not getting to play with the exact truck you wanted, followed by the utter bliss of realizing the helicopter is just as fun… the sorrow of not being able to ride with Daddy to the grocery store, followed by the sheer joy found in helping Mommy with the dishwasher. (I’d personally like to bottle that one so I can unleash it again in ten years when I know there will be no parallel happiness universe in which the dishwasher will be fun.) That ever-shifting concept of happiness is surely a normal part of learning about the world as a child, but what an incredibly unfullfilling grown-up lifestyle to endure!

That’s not God’s version of happiness. With the “always,” “without ceasing” and “in everything,” He gives us a glimpse of how constant real happiness can be. The happiness power comes in using those three ideas in tandem–persistently. Giving thanks provides us with something to rejoice about. Rejoicing reminds us of more in which to be grateful. Praying offers us Someone to thank for the joy we’ve seen. And, it gives us a way to get our worries and concerns out of the equation. If I can make those three actions constants in my life, my attitudes and perspectives will have all the checks and balances they need for me to be who and where God wants.

The thing that really convicts me in these verses is the intention that’s required–the deliberateness. I can’t accidentally “rejoice always.” Not with everything this life and the people in it have to offer. I can’t just haphazardly give thanks, or my gratitude will be confined to one Thursday in November. To pray without ceasing? It won’t just happen with a husband, three children, a job, a house and 6000 other things vying for my mental space. Paying attention rears it’s ugly head. Again.

I recently read a blog post where a woman described her habit of being grateful. She made a commitment to herself to stop and write down 5 things she was thankful for at the end of each day. She would not let herself go to bed at night until that task was completed. So each of her days ended with a tangible joy list.

I like that. Hence, the Oh Happy Day Project begins today. It’s my own little “Thank God it’s Friday” experiment reporting on the weekly EyeJunkie gratitude attitude documentation. I’m incorporating the “5 things” idea into my daily routine, and I hope to expound on the best in five-star Montgomery Happiness Hotel occupancy each Fridays. Oh Happy Day!

I’ll keep you posted.

[My compliments to the Muppets for their unmistakeable visual of the Happiness Hotel where you can drive a cab through the front door and opt to skip out without paying!]