even the darkness is not dark to You

Most days, I conduct my business under the illusion of control. I make decisions about what to make for dinner and where to send my kids to school and how to juggle my time. For the most part, the days pass in a predictable pattern and there is an underlying sense that I have things under control.

On Monday, my family and I had a nice dinner together. The eighth day. My day of rest. We left the restaurant and loaded up the kids into our car. The Man was teasing me about buying coats for looks rather than warmth. I was teasing him for having 12 fleece pullovers. We laughed as we entered the busy intersection.

And then, another car ran a red light and our safe, warm, family car spun out of control.

Out of control. The illusion was shattered.

A scream escaped without my permission.

Our kids began to cry.

I stared into the distance, confused as to why the view through the windshield was of the restaurant we had just left rather than the opposite side of the street as it should have been. Things were not as they should be.

I heard the familiar sound of my own voice speaking with a calm that didn't reach my heart as I unsuccessfully attempted to convince our girls everything was okay.

Later, we watched as our car was towed away, and I considered the vulnerability of humanity. How, one moment you are laughing with the love of your life - lighthearted, safe, normal. And in the midst of those happy sounds, your life is interrupted with an event that is totally beyond your control.

I am without a car today. I can't tell you how little I care about that. But I was awake until 3am, stricken with worry. About what could have been. It was as though my room was filled up with fear and I was taking it in with deep breaths, allowing the dark gray of uncertainty to swirl within me and settle deep inside. The what if was haunting, pulling against my attempts to trust. What if the other car had been going even faster? What if it had been bigger? What if one of my kids...? What if my husband...?

In the midst of the fear, I sensed the Lord reminding me to rest. I prayed for the anxiety to pass. It didn't. Not for a long time, anyway. So I waited. He waited with me.

He never promises that our families will be safe. Not in the way we think. He does promise His presence, though. And if you don't know Him, you may think that is a bad trade-off. There are times when that is how it feels. I want my children. I want my husband. Today, I have them all. But control? The idea that I actually have a hand in the way things will go? The veil has been lifted on that illusion.

I am learning more about what it means to have the presence of the Creator of the Universe with me wherever I go. It is important to know I'm not alone. Especially in those moments when my life and the lives of those I love are revealed to be vulnerable. My only option is to trust in the One who holds all things together, even when they fall apart.

sweet dreams that leave all worries behind

I want to move with my man and the children we have made to a faraway land and live off the fruit of trees and honey from the hives we tend with our own hands.

I want to walk barefoot in the grass and make sandcastles and read stories and sing.

I want my high school hair back with the corn silk curls, and I want to wear skirts that touch the ground and weave crowns made of sweet smelling flowers for hours with my girls.

I want to laugh for a week without stopping.

I want money and chocolate to grow on trees.

I want to buy a new toilet instead of cleaning my old one.

I want a maid, a hairdresser and a chef. And a milkshake. And world peace.

soaked and smiling

We made it back from the fall retreat in one piece. I did dive in as the last post suggested and got very wet. As in, it rained half the weekend. But I also had a great time with these students and so enjoyed their company. It took me a few hours to transition from mommy to youth leader. I think by midnight of the first night, the transition was complete. And because I cannot process life without photos, here are a few for your viewing pleasure.
These are the girls in my cabin. Y'all. Could they be any cuter? Seriously, I wasn't that cute in high school. Were you? I think people are getting cuter over the years. Survival of the Cutest.
We did a lot of walking this weekend. Lots of hills. And mud. I don't think the students even noticed the walking. And then there was me who was calculating how many days I could skip on the treadmill because of all the exercise I was getting.
There was also lots of silliness which is kind of my favorite. I think this is one reason I like students so much.
In between the silliness, there was serious as well. Each student received a block of wood in which they wrote down a negative word they believed was true about themselves. By the end of the weekend, these blocks were burned in a bonfire. An appropriate thing to do with lies, don't you think?What fall retreat would be complete without a square dance? Not only were there cowboy hats, overalls, pigtails and freckles, we also had a genuine square dance caller guy. You know, the one who tells you exactly what to do: Go-to-the-middle-and-BOW. Now-face-your partner-do-si-do. Now bow to your CORner, not YOUR girl she's the OTHER one. It was so awesome. And look who I got to dance with.
In my haste to capture this moment, I cut off his cowboy booted feet. Isn't he lovely? Don't you want to place the lives of your children in the capable hands of a youth pastor wearing a camouflage Waffle House shirt? Good times.

diving in

The Man has been in youth ministry for over seven years. During the first few, I was with him for nearly every ski trip, small group and sleepover. When the twins were born, it was time for me to shift my main focus from students to babies. But today, the high school students leave for their annual fall retreat. And guess who gets to go with them?

That's right! Chatty Emily will be hopping on one of four buses carrying 170 students out of town for the weekend. I'm looking forward to the opportunity to get to know some of them better. I'm excited about leaving the little ones in the capable hands of my parents so I won't have to worry. But I'm feeling old, y'all. I got an email last night with the minute by minute schedule for the weekend (I love an organized youth ministry). I read it slowly, picturing everything in my head, planning accordingly. It wasn't until I noticed the amused look on the Man's face that I realized I had been studying the schedule for...kind of a long time.

It was then that it hit me: motherhood has slowly sucked the spontaneity right out of my personality. I now have the need to plan, to know, to not be surprised. But anyone who works with teenagers, has teenagers or is a teenager knows that no amount of planning can insure a plan. Life simply doesn't work that way. Especially not in youth ministry.

So I have my bag packed, my phone charged, my camera ready. I'm trying my best to take off my mom-to-three-preschool-students hat and put on my laid-back-friend-to-high-school-students hat. Most importantly, I'm beginning to release my illusion of control and to instead allow Jesus to live through me, love through me and maybe even surprise me.

what I've been doing

These are books on The Man's bedside table. There is always a stack at least this high. I used to remove them everyday and put them back on the shelf. I stopped doing that last year when I began to appreciate what those books say about him. Notice the two different versions of the Bible. He likes to compare things. And the one third from the bottom? That is no book, my friends. That is the 3rd season of The Office. I say all this because The Man has been on my mind even more than usual, as this week we celebrated his birthday. So I've been doing that.
Also, we had around 40 high school students over a few nights ago for a leadership interest meeting. Such a cool bunch, they are.
Today, I've been working on this. Next week is the much anticipated consignment that I sell things in every year. I pulled some things out of the garage and this is what I end up with. I can't wait to see what happens when I actually clean out drawers and closets. We have entirely too much stuff.

back

Believe it or not, last week I really was on vacation. I know my post about what I wasn't doing threw you off because I'm so sneaky like that. I had done most of the babysitting posts before I left town but I did cheat and clean them up a bit while we were gone.
Now that we're back, I promise I'm not going to write a long post about my great vacation to Hilton Head Island in South Carolina.
Don't worry, I won't go on and on about what a blessing was to watch our girls be sweet to their baby brother...
and to have The Man all to ourselves.
I know you don't want to hear about how the twins are big enough to ride their bikes with us now.
Or what a perfectly pleasant date night The Man and I had at the harbor watching the sunset
while we ate our fancy dinner. I certainly won't waste any of your time telling you that I think that flower alone cost $12.50.

So now I've got laundry. And mail. And coupons that need cutting. So I'm gonna go do that. And I most certainly won't be dreaming about going on vacation.

yeah, what she said

I have enjoyed reading all of your comments about your houses and the ways you think about cleaning them. One comment struck me in particular, as I think she says so eloquently what I have been thinking about in my heart:

"When I started thinking of my chores around the house as less of a drudgery and more of a way to provide comfort, ease, health of environment, and pleasure to my family, my whole attitude changed toward those chores. I would LIKE to say that scrubbing toilets became an act of love, but it didn't go quite that far. But I resented it less, and appreciated the home more, and appreciated more what our home provided for our family: shelter, a place for us to be together, to enjoy ourselves, to make memories. I think that viewing it as house KEEPING vs house CLEANING has helped transform our shelter into an abode, from a house into our home."

Well said, Mercy Project. I think this is a major point of Cheryl Mendlesons' book, the difference between keeping house and cleaning house. After all, I could technically hire someone to clean my toilets. But keeping can only be done by me. I am the keeper of my house, the one responsible for making it a safe little society for my family.

I really like that.

housekeeping

What really does work to increase the feeling
of having a home and its comforts is housekeeping.

When I first read this in Cheryl Mendelson's book Home Comforts: The Art and Science of Keeping House, I wasn't sure I liked it. I love coming home, making home, being at home. But cleaning my home?

I had been pondering this concept for a few days, when the following happened: While helping me clean the windows, I heard one of my girls say I love this place as she scrubbed happily away. I think for her, especially being in a new place she is supposed to call home, taking care of it with her own little hands gave her a sense of belonging.

A sense of home.

The man thinks so too, although he explains it differently. Yes, I am married to one of those men who enjoys cleaning. Attention: I did not say he cleans. I said he enjoys cleaning. He is usually too busy hunting in the wild and bringing home the bacon to actually clean. But he recently spent some time at home alone and when I returned, the house was fresh: floors swept, counters wiped, things stacked in general neatness.

I looked at him when I walked in the door and this is what he said: "It's been good to clean this afternoon. I feel like I've spent some time with the house and I'm getting to know it a bit." I was so touched by his sentiment that I didn't have the heart to correct him. Her, I said under my breath...you are getting to know HER a bit. I hope she wasn't offended.

What about you? Do you find that the act of cleaning your house gives you a greater sense of home and comfort? I know that most people would say a clean house does this for them, but what about the actual act of cleaning it?

bye, bye kid. hello man.

Saturday night I had 5 oreos, a bite of chocolate cake and 4 chicken nuggets for dinner. I bought coco puffs for the first time in my life and watched chic movies like 27 Dresses and Christy. I've stayed up way too late with Monica, Rachel and Phoebe and spent hours catching up on all those wonderful blogs I love so much.

But it was time to see the man again. When he is gone, I turn into a kid. During the day, I am mom and grown up for the most part. But once the kids go down, I am so kid. By myself without another grown up, I watch stupid things and read sporadically and flit from one meaningless project to another. I clean the kitchen obsessively but forget to take out the trash. I leave on every outdoor light and forget to turn them off in the morning. I sleep with my cell phone and eat too much chocolate. But I already mentioned that.

Needless to say, nine days is too long to go without him. And I couldn't talk about it here because all the killers who read my blog would have come to get me. Well put your guns away, because He's back now.

I will miss my girl nights with me and myself, but I will not miss the 47 pounds I won't be gaining now that he's returned.

Welcome back real food and reasonable bedtimes. And welcome back to The Man.

We have certainly missed you.

In which I prove I have an addictive personality

Every now and then, my sister asks if we watch Deadliest Catch. If you've never seen it, it's a show that comes on the Discovery Channel about crab fishing. Every time she asks, I say no. But what I'm really saying is: No, we don't watch a show about fishing. An hour long show about fishing. An hour long show about cold, wet men who fish for crab from the deck of a cold, wet boat.

And I stood by that response. Until Big David won American Idol and Jim didn't propose to Pam and I found myself show-less. So one night last week, we watched Deadliest Catch. And now we can't stop. In fact, we spend nearly every commercial break discussing why:

• It comes on every night, multiple times.
• It has suspenseful music in the background that makes crabbing seem exciting and important.
• We have all these cool new words and phrases to use like "picket hook" and "captain's string" and "the crew is back at the rail".
• The bad words are bleeped out. Some sentences are just one long bleep.
• Sometimes really dangerous things happen like someone gets hit in the head by a picket hook or the crane leaks hydraulic fluid all over the deck. Not to mention the hurricane force winds and the blinding rain...but that's like, sissy stuff for these guys.
  

This show has all the makings of a good story: competition, the thrill of victory, the agony of defeat. It is fascinating to watch the way the captains handle failure and success. I keep telling myself I'll stop watching as soon as we see them catch a full pot. And then we did. And we found ourselves wanting to see it again. It more than justifies the high cost of crab legs.

We also got into this:
the man: I bet people are smarter now that we have tv.
me: What do you mean?
the man: Because how would we ever know about stuff like this otherwise?
me: Yeah. How would we ever know? We are like, so smart.

And then we remembered about books. All the books. All the books that aren't being read by us because we can learn it from the Discovery Channel.

Let's be honest. I would never pick up a book about crab fishing. I didn't think I'd ever watch a show about it either. But now I find myself with Deadliest Catch on my dvr and Bon Jovi's "Wanted Dead or Alive" stuck in my head. That's the very appropriate theme song. From the show about crabs that I can't stop watching.

my daily bread

Ever find yourself wishing you could eat a really big lunch and then not have to make dinner? Better yet, let's make our huge breakfast be the only meal we have to eat all day. I do that sometimes, when it's just me. I've yet to convince the rest of the fam what a good plan it is.

Don't get me wrong. I really do like to eat. And I like to cook, too. I just don't like to HAVE to eat. Or cook. It would be so much better if, on those days when we are tired and unmotivated, we could just eat once and have it last.

But we can't. That's just not how it works.

Sometimes I think the same way about time with the Lord. I wish on an exhausting, no-good day, I could pull out a 2 hour bible study I had back in '98. Like a quiet-time filing cabinet that was stocked before I had kids. But that is me trying to be all checklist-y, as if time with the Lord were equivalent to cutting the tomato and roasting the chicken (as if I ever roast a chicken).

In my head, I used to be really great. That is, before I had kids. Even better before I got married. I was patient, sweet, organized and practically perfect in every way. I remember being so depressed those first few months of marriage. Who is this crazy, emotional, needy woman and what did she do with patient, sweet, amazing me? And I was sure my new husband was thinking the same thing. Until I realized there was really never such a thing as patient, sweet me and I had certainly never been amazing. At least not in the way I thought. It's just now that I was married, there was someone always there to reflect the reality of my lack.

And to graciously remind me of my need for a Savior without saying a word. No more hiding. No more faking it.

And so, after a few more years of life under my belt, time with the Lord is looking different now than it used to. I think it is messy, desperate, sweet, frustrating. And sometimes it is dry, quiet, non-existent. But it is more real than it used to be. He is more real than He use to be. And that can't be pulled out of a filing cabinet.

*sigh* Now I gotta go make dinner.

our trip to the mountains

I am not a traveling person these days. I think I was at one time. On personality tests I always end up sounding a lot more spontaneous about things like than I really am. I think I just remember how I was at 19 and answer the questions accordingly. Back then, the idea of jumping in the car or on a plane and going somewhere fun was exhilarating. Not that I really ever did that. But I liked the idea of it. These days, the idea of it just gives me a headache. I think it is the having-three-kids thing.

With this in mind, we took a day trip to the mountains over the weekend. In a day. With three kids. There and back. In a day. To the mountains. Did I mention the three kids? Little ones?

For a lot of people like us who only live a few hours drive from the mountains, the trip is really no big deal. Even with kids. But for me, non-spontaneous-trip girl....it was kind of a deal. It wasn't even technically spontaneous. We have talked about doing it for a while, but didn't plan to do it for sure until a few days ahead. A few days. In my book, that qualifies as spontaneous.

I have to say, I am so glad we went. There were loose plans involving lunch at a place where The Man knows the owner, driving along the parkway, seeing the pretty leaves, playing at the park in Blowing Rock, getting ice cream and driving home. Turns out we got hungry on the way up so we ate at KFC instead. Not exactly quaint. But for the most part, our day was a delight. Beautiful weather, content kids (most of the time), really hot husband.

I enjoyed admiring him from across the park as he followed the baby around and I hung with the girls. I remember driving to the mountains with him the first month we started dating. With just the two of us, it hardly qualified as a trip...I remember wishing the drive was longer so I could just be with him.

Not so on this trip. Not that I didn't enjoy being with him, but I certainly wasn't wishing for the drive to be longer. A lot of change 8 years brings. The company may be different, but the scenery was the same. What a gift to be able to share with our kids their first autumn in the mountains.

a glimpse of him

This is a picture of the books on his bedside table. Usually they are stacked higher than this. Most of the time there is at least one commentary in the mix. The one on the bottom is his journal. And in the morning when I make the bed after he has gone to work, I typically put some of them away, back on the shelf to minimize the clutter.

But not today. Today, I noticed them. Consequently, I noticed him.

He likes stories...stories about Jesus, stories about people he knows in real life. But put a fiction book in front of him and he breaks into a cold sweat. He would much rather read a text book than a novel. My dad is like that, too. I so don't get that. But I have kind of grown to really love that about him. I'm not sure why.

So this is me, remembering just one of the many reasons why I fell in love with him.

Happy birthday, my love.

and so it begins

We have arrived in Hilton Head and are pleasantly surprised to have internet service at the condo (thank you Marriot next door). It has been good to be with my family away from home for a while. It is going to be a good 2 weeks. Good thing I don't believe in bad luck...as the trip began with one twin throwing up in the car after 6 hours of "Mommy, my tummy hurts" and "we need to stop, I have to poo-poo!" We did (stop). She didn't (poo-poo). Thankfully, we were only 5 minutes from the condo...a blessing. So far it has been a very pleasant time, filled with good nights of sleep, playing in the pool and at the beach and ice cream at the harbour. All the things are in place for a great vacation.

10 little big things to surviving these postpartum days

10 Vanilla hazelnut creamer (sorry Kari) for my coffee in the morning. I am taking full advantage of the one cup of caffeine a day that they allow a nursing mommy.

9 The theme song to the show The Office...less because of the show, more because it means for the next 22-26 minutes, The Man and I are going to be together and laugh at random, stupid comedy.

8 My two year old, still in her crib, sweetly singing Happy Birthday to her baby bear...because that makes up for 10,000 times she will scream "NO!" at the top of her lungs today.

7 My select comfort back sleeper pillow...I think I'm in love. For the stop-and-go pattern of sleep that define these early days with a newborn, at least I know I have this perfect pillow to return to.

6 & 5 Netflix and (ok, I'm just gonna say it) People magazine. Yes, I not only read People, I have a subscription. In my defense, it was a gift from my mother-in-law.

4 The potted flowers on our porch...because I planted them and they are still alive (because The Man took pity on them and gives them water).

3 Target. It is my trip to Hawaii, my grand getaway.

2 The FlyLady...because a made bed, clean laundry and a shiny sink go a long way to helping me feel life is normal and organized on those days when I don't leave the house.

And the number one little big thing that has helped me survive the past 4 weeks:

1 Knowing this may be the last time...waking up in the wee hours of the morning and getting the fussy baby from his bassinet, feeding him until he is once again content and cleaning up the spitup that dripped down my leg when I got up to change his diaper all with only one eye slightly open becomes more bearable when I realize that, with each day that passes, this little baby in my arms grows older. And with 3 under 3, we will probably never have another one. And suddenly the draining cycle of sleep deprivation becomes an opportunity to remember that this crazy life routine we are in right now is temporary and fleeting. And just like that, the mundane becomes holy and sweet.

In sickness and in health

It was the night of June 23, 2001 and my husband (of 4 hours) and I had just pulled away from our wedding reception. We sat closely in the way back of the limo somewhat surprised by the silence that greeted us as we watched our familiar town pass by through the window, the smiles and waves of those closest to us still a fresh memory. I remember looking down at my gown all gathered in my lap and then over at this man sitting close beside me with a crooked smile, both satisfied and loving, on his face. And in that moment an overwhelming and unexpected feeling swept fast through me: as a couple in love, we were finally free. Free to love and be loved without boundaries or fear of rejection. The way it was meant to be.

Fast forward five years to last night...sitting with my husband on the floor of our twin toddler's nursery, he holding one and I the other. It was nearly 1 am and he had just cleaned out a crib full of throw up and I, seven months pregnant, was trying to navigate through my cloudy thoughts to decide what to do with a sick little girl in the middle of the night who was sure to throw up again, if not multiple times. It doesn't matter how much time or money you spend when picking out cute bumper pads and pretty cribs for your babies. They all smell the same covered in last nights dinner.

She and I ended up in the living room and daddy took twin number 2 to the guest room with him...but because I couldn't sleep for worrying about my daughter (and for fear of getting sick myself, if I'm completely honest) I began to think about my husband and about the transition from wedding to life. This is real life, I thought to myself. But I also realized something sweet and comforting as I tossed and turned on the couch. There is no place I'd rather be than sharing life with this man and these children in this place.

What a funny choice love can be. Why would I choose throw up and sleeplessness? Because this is life, real life...far removed from the lacy dress gathered in my lap, but no less sweet. It is all wrapped up in perspective. I like the way Paul Colman puts it: Life is where you are. And I choose to love it.