It Wasn't Supposed To Be This Way

I wrote this over a year ago. Sitting at my parent's house reeling from having just placed Ryan in his first group home after a series of very difficult episodes. Ryan passed away yesterday morning. In his sleep - at his group home. We are indebted to the people that took care of him - namely Brandon and Fonda. They served their Lord faithfully in serving my brother. 

I don't know why I never posted this. I suppose it went from a blog post to more of a journal entry that I felt I should keep private. But now that Ryan's gone, I look back and see that what I wrote here gives me comfort. We always longed that Ryan would be whole. And even last Spring I knew that would only come in Heaven. Now I just need to remind myself that every minute of the day.

It wasn't supposed to be this way. That's what a friend told me on the phone this week when I couldn't explain why I was so upset about winning a court case we'd be fighting for over 2 years. It's because it wasn't supposed to be this way. Life wasn't designed to be lived like this. The garden of Eden wasn't supposed to end. We weren't supposed to be broken. We weren't supposed to eat the apple.

 It wasn't supposed to be this way.

Someone asked me recently how my brother Ryan was doing. But how do you sum up a life in a sentence? How do you puts words to things you don't understand? Things that haven't yet been revealed to you. How do I take everything that's culminated in the last 32 years and speak an answer?

How is Ryan?

He's okay. But, he's not the way he's supposed to be. He's broken. He's hurting. He's lucky. He's so unlucky. He's happy. He's crushed. He's lonely. He has new friends. He has community now. But, he's lonely. He's proud. He's scared. He's excited. He's angry. He's at peace. He's going to be okay. But he's not the way he's supposed to be.

This wasn't supposed to be this way.

My mom gave birth 32 years ago to a 'perfectly healthy' baby boy with perfectly abnormal chromosomes. And yet he has never been perfectly healthy. A slew of problems have followed him his whole life.

It was never a matter of finding the courage to do what was best for Ryan even though it was hard. It was never a matter of knowing what he needed and not being selfless enough to do it for him. It has always been a matter of not knowing what's best. Not knowing what's needed. All the king's horses and all the king's men couldn't put humpty dumpty back together again. No one could fix Ryan. No one has ever known what to do.

He's lived on a farm. He's lived with a family. His family. Not his family. Someone else's family. Another someone else's family. Again another family. Back to his family. He's gone to school. He's stayed home from school. He's gone to an adult day care. He's gone with my mom in the front seat of her car wherever she goes. He's stayed home and slept. He's gone to meetings with my dad. He's come to live with John and me. Nothing has worked. No one can put him back together again.

It hit me last night that Ryan is simply who we all try to hide within ourselves. He doesn't have an uglier heart than we do. He just doesn't know how to disguise his ugliness like we do. He doesn't have more anger than we do. He just doesn't know how to manage it. He doesn't have more insecurities than we do. He just doesn't know how to hide them. He doesn't have sillier longings than we do. He just doesn't know how to put a guard up like we do. He doesn't have more sin than we do. He just doesn't know how to conceal it like we do. And he doesn't deserve less love than we do. He just doesn't know how to ask for it. And sometimes receive it. He doesn't steal more than I do. I just covet with my eyes while he slips things in his pockets. He's slow to get off the couch and I'm slow to forgive. We're both slow. His just looks lazier. But my slowness is a bigger problem. A bigger offense. It's just that my IQ is high enough that I've found ways to hide it. And so have you. But Ryan hasn't.

Sometimes I let myself believe that I'm better than Ryan because I lead a more productive life than he does. Damn me. It's not about that. It's about us all being so imperfect that only Jesus can save us.

You fool me, too. You all fool me. With your perfect hair and your photoshopped pictures. With the car you drive, the husband you married, the kids you have. You fool me with your bright smile and your loud laugh. You fool me with your humor. You are not the problem! It's my problem for being fooled. I'm fooled into thinking you have it made.

Ryan fools no one. No one thinks he has it made. And thank God for that. Thank God that there is someone in my life who exposes my brokenness lest I think I have it made. Lest I think my life is about my house or my husband or my bank account.

Ryan is who I try to hide within myself. I have all the same problems he has - but they're hidden.

And yet there he is. There Ryan is. He's an easy target if you're trying to find someone to look at to make yourself feel better. It's simple to do.

Damn me for thinking Jesus died more for me on the cross than he did for Ryan. It's just not the truth. It's so clearly not the truth.

Anyway, it wasn't supposed to be this way. Ryan wasn't supposed to have extra chromosomes and I wasn't supposed to be so self-righteous. The world wasn't supposed to be so broken. But it is. And so our best-case scenario is still dreadful. There will be no complete satisfaction or complete joy this side of heaven. Just foretastes until Jesus comes back. Or we go to Him.

So maybe that's why after more than a dozen appeals, an attorney, two case managers, a handful of hearings and navigating an enormously defective government system in so far as it relates to mental health and disability, we won our case and still don't feel fully satisfied.

Ryan didn't fit within the mold of the "normal" kid but he didn't fit within the state's mold of a disabled kid either. And so we fought and fought and fought for services despite the State's best efforts to deny Ryan. Sometimes the fighting was so wrapped in red tape that we forgot to feel any emotion relating to Ryan while we were dealing with it. We became so focused on the paperwork and the technicalities, I could have been applying for a credit card instead of applying for a new life for my brother. But then the last documents were typed and scanned and compiled and packaged to be sent to the State. And the doing was done. And all that was left was to feel. For me anyway. To feel what all the words on all those documents meant.

They meant that Ryan wasn't the way he was supposed to be. And more specifically they meant that Ryan couldn't live with my parents anymore. It was too much. The same root sins we all have in common with Ryan were too unbridled in him to be left unchecked. He was too aggressive. Too dependent. Too exhausting. Too demanding. It wasn't working.

The hearing on Monday was a crisis hearing. It was an effort to bypass the 7 year waiting list we were on for Ryan to get residential and day services.

I asked our case manager that morning before we walked in if being emotional before the judges would affect our credibility. He said you're appealing for immediate services based on your desperation so of course you'll be emotional. But no need to cut an onion to make yourself cry, he said. You don't get it, I thought. I'm not worried about feigning sadness. Or how I'll pretend to be upset. I'm worried about holding it together. I'm worried about losing it. I'm worried about staying calm.

The judge had to go and get me a box of kleenex within the first five minutes. But why? This is what we wanted. This is what we worked for. This is what we needed.

I needed those kleenex because I knew that this - this, our best case scenario for Ryan - wasn't going to be enough for him. Or us. All the king's horses and all the king's men couldn't do it. This isn't the way it was supposed to be. We're living in a broken, broken world. And nothing here can fix it. Only Jesus.

I've been thinking a lot about that lately. Longing. I talked about it a few days ago. Wrote out an excerpt from C.S. Lewis. He talked about the beauty we find within things here on Earth. And yet how that beauty is not the thing itself. It's longing. Longing for something beyond what we'll ever find here. He says, For they are not the thing itself; they are only the scent of a flower we have not found, the echo of a tune we have not heard, news from a country we have never yet visited.

I just keep thinking about that with Ryan. About how we've not yet heard the tune, just the echo. Not yet found the flower, just the scent. I happened to be listening to a U2 song on the radio yesterday. I still haven't found what I'm looking for, they sing. And then they say something profoundly important. Bono sings that he believes in Kingdom Come. 

And that's it. That's the key.

This isn't the way things were supposed to be. But there's a kingdom coming where everything is redeemed. And if I don't believe in kingdom come, I have nothing. I can't hang my hopes on this new group home, though I welcome it as a blessing from God. I have to just keep believing that when the new kingdom comes the flower will be found. The song will be heard. I'll visit the country I've only as of now heard stories of. And Ryan will be as he was meant to be. He will be whole. Wholly whole. Wholly redeemed. Wholly in communion with his maker. And so will I. Praise God, so will I. Broken me. Self-righteous me. Confused me. 

I can't believe that only a short year after writing this, Ryan is indeed with his maker. His body is whole. The veil separating him from understanding has been lifted. I have to believe that. Pound that into my head and heart. It's the only thing to stop the bleeding in our home. The only way to dry the tears. Lord, Jesus, make me know it. Make me know your grace and mercy. Give me abounding trust in You. Give me unwavering faith. Give us surpassing peace that he is in your arms. 

Ryan's memorial will be at Christ Community in Brookside at 67th and Wornall. Monday, September 1st at 4pm. A reception will follow at the church. Ryan would have loved you to be there. Actually, HE would have loved to be there! He was a party lover. Please come if you can. And dress casually. Just like Ryan would have.

The Problem With Making Mud Pies

I snap so many pictures of the house project on my phone that there seems to be an unending number of things to focus on with the renovation on this blog. But obviously life as a family continues to march on between the plumbing and the electrical. And nothing about life with a 2 year old is normal. So weaved throughout this post are VERY random iphone pictures of homegirl from the last few weeks.

Anyway, beyond the obvious discussions about paint colors and whatnot there have been a lot of conversations and considerations about balance when it comes to this house remodel. Considerations in the context of finance and considerations in the context of family and considerations in the context of faith.

Financially, we've tried to balance what we can afford with what the house can handle for resale down the road. The last thing we want to do is drown our savings only to never make that money back if we ever decide to move. So figuring out how much the neighborhood can handle has been a huge question mark. If we repave the driveway will we get that money back? But everyone else on the block has a partially unpaved driveway so maybe we're over-investing in that way. Would the kind of family who would want to live that far east care about having marble countertops? Or are the people willing to spend that kind of money wanting to be on the Kansas side anyway? Thoughts like that are constantly being cycled through our minds as we pick between high end and middle of the road finishings. And knowing all the while that to base our decisions off of the unknown person who may or may not ever buy this house in the future would be silly, too. Because, heck, this could be our forever house. Or at least our 10 year house. And even if it's only our 3 year house, don't we want to enjoy it for those 3 years?

But then there's the very big consideration of balancing family in so far as this remodel is concerned. How do we create a lifestyle where we can focus more on our kids and our marriage than on the project happening in the next room? How do we make sure we're not shuffling our kids off to watch a movie so we can finish up the closet we're building or the vanity we're trying and failing to install? How do we manage not to cry when Annie grabs John's roller full of primer and smears it across the living room walls we'd finished painting the day before? Because she didn't ask for this remodel. And her childhood shouldn't be dictated by it. So how do we find that balance? And yes, we could go ahead and replace the garage door to fit 2 cars this fall. But by doing so we'd be ripping up the patio and a lot of the yard. Is 2 cars under 1 roof worth removing the opportunity of playing in the backyard with our kids this fall while the work is being done? Are new curtains worth having to clear off the dining room table of the sewing machine every night in order to have dinner?

Living through remodels is stressful. We've never done it on this large a scale before but I tell you what if I didn't have some sort of painting/tiling/molding project going on every week of the year at our condo last year. And it was trying on our family life.

I'm a big believer in your home needing to be a place where you can breathe. That it ought to be a place of peace for you where you surround yourself with beautiful things that you love. But getting to that point can be messy and chaotic. And it begs the question, is it worth it? There's a balance that John and I wrestle to find. How do we create the home we want to raise our family in and yet not destroy our family in the process of creating it?

And finally, and most importantly, there's this Jesus guy and how he fits into our remodel. I know, you're thinking, what? Kylie, he doesn't fit into your remodel. But, for real, you have no idea. It's a big deal to Jesus what shade of green you pick out for your nursery. And he's not a fan of popcorn ceilings. So get 'em gone, people.

Ok, I'm kidding. Those things are just big deals to me. But Jesus is a big factor in this remodel. Because spending more time on Pinterest and Lonny than in the Word is a problem. Or maybe it's not something you judge by increments of time. But caring more about getting in your design blog fix in than in spending time with the Lord is a problem. A big one. And I do it. Nearly daily.

As basic as the 10 commandments, we're told not to put other gods before Him. And though we may not have wooden statues or golden calves that we bow down to, we easily worship other gods before Him every day. Tim Keller says in his book Counterfeit Gods that an idol is anything more important to you than God, anything that absorbs your heart and imagination more than God, anything you seek to give you what only God can give. It is in such a controlling position in your heart that you can spend most of your passion and energy, your emotion and financial resources on it without a second thought. The true God of your heart is what your thoughts effortlessly go to when there is nothing else demanding your attention.

An idol is a good thing made an ultimate thing. I believe that designing your home is a good thing. But not when you live and die by it more than you live and die by Jesus. Not when it becomes the determining factor of most decisions you make. Not when it's what you turn to get your affirmation, your acceptance and your approval.

And for me, in a remodel like this, it's the greatest threat. The biggest problem of this remodel is not whether the countertops will be installed on time. It's not whether the hardwoods will dry in time. It's whether designing this house will clutch my heart more than Jesus. It's whether I make an idol out of it. It's whether I'm more concerned about creating a beautiful room than I am about my relationship with God. And today, I am. Today and yesterday I focused more on making a statement with the backsplash than I did on Jesus.

Maybe for you it's your job. Or it's your idea of the perfect family that has become your idol - that has consumed your thoughts. Maybe it's your body. Or your income. Maybe your idol is the image you give of yourself on Instagram. Maybe it's all of the above. I have a long list of idols, too. But the house is at the top.

I've never forgotten a lyric I heard Mac Powell sing years and years ago. He said, "Lord, take from me my life when I don't have the strength to give it away to you." That's how I feel. I'm not saying we're pulling the plug on the kitchen remodel. I'm FOR SURE not saying that. Because, by golly a plywood box of a kitchen with no appliances is no way to live!

But God, rip down this house from the highest place in my heart. Put it in its right place. Put it in a good place. A healthy place. And God, create in me a clean heart. One that adores you above all else. One that is more concerned about carving out time with you than about carving out time with a stack of Domino magazines.

So, yes, this remodel has been stressful. There are have been unforeseen construction problems. And financial considerations have weighed heavily. But above all, before all and beyond all, there's the problem of my heart and whom I've given it to. I've given it to a house with chipped brick and patched stucco, creaking hardwoods and uneven ceilings. I love, love, love how C.S. Lewis says it in The Weight of Glory:

<<The books or the music in which we thought the beauty was located will betray us if we trust in them; it was not in them, it only came through them, and what came through them was longing. These things—the beauty, the memory of our own past—are good images of what we really desire; but if they are mistaken for the thing itself they turn into dumb idols, breaking the hearts of their worshippers. For they are not the thing itself; they are only the scent of a flower we have not found, the echo of a tune we have not heard, news from a country we have never yet visited.>>

I think God has placed in me a passion for design. I believe that. I believe it's a good thing. I believe it's something I ought to pursue and develop. But I can't let myself believe in it. And if I did let myself continue to believe in it as I have recently, I would be selling myself short. If I let myself be fooled into thinking it's the ultimate giver of satisfaction and joy, I'd be sorely dismayed.

<<It would seem that Our Lord finds our desires not too strong, but too weak. We are half-hearted creatures, fooling about with drink and sex and ambition when infinite joy is offered us, like an ignorant child who wants to go on making mud pies in a slum because he cannot imagine what is meant by the offer of a holiday at the sea. We are far too easily pleased.>>

Lord, let me not ever again believe that more joy will come from a finished house than from a relationship with you. Let me not be satisfied making mud pies. 

Silly bird.

Silly bird. That's what a friend of mine posted in the comment line when I wrote on Facebook a few weeks ago that we would be renting our condo AND buying a house. Silly bird because in all the ways we shuffled our options moving forward this scenario was never among them. And yet it's clearly the one that God had always intended for us. And everything we did to try to further our own agenda, in the end, worked out for our good and his glory because God redeemed those silly steps we took. And made them better. The mistake we made in refinancing our condo only to decide to sell two weeks later. Well, thank ya kindly, because now that we're keeping the place to rent, we're better than well off. The list goes on. The things we were doing and feeling and sorting through that we thought were bringing about a particular outcome months ago all worked toward better things we could never have foreseen. We were silly birds I suppose.

So here we are. Inspections are Sunday. A house is so close I can almost reach out and grab it. We love the gal who is planning on renting our condo. We love the ugly house we bought. It's perfectly dated and perfectly in need of transformation. I lose sleep at night dreaming of the ways I plan on ripping it apart and putting it back together. But all in time.

The last few months have been anything but quiet. Don't let the lack of posts fool you. I go between having too much to post about to wondering if what I would write about is really worth writing at all. So in the chaos of getting our condo ready to pass on to someone else, finding a new home and raising a child...and growing another (Have I mentioned that? We're pregnant!), I've taken a major hiatus from blogging. And there's the part where in an effort to pinch pennies before moving we haven't had Internet since May. That has made blogging a rather precarious endeavor. All that said, come August and come new house and come Google Fiber, I'll be right back here tracking the every nail hole we hammer. Get excited.

In the meantime I'm going to restrain myself from packing too early and try to enjoy the next few weeks of solace before moving. Moving and then soon thereafter waking up every three hours to nurse a newborn. And wipe the bottom of a toddler. And cook dinner. And tear down wallpaper only to hang new. And rip out crown only to install new. And all the while keep a spirit of gratitude and an abiding sense of longing beyond the material things of this world. A longing for the only thing that fulfills. Not for the paint colors and the new countertops. But a longing for the God above me, before me and beside me.

For now we're at the farm. And if we're not careful Annie is going to wreck a car and break a leg. So,  I'm off.

10,000 Hours

John and I went to a seminar several weeks ago on the Common Good. A guy named Andy Crouch was there and he basically killed it. Everything. The piano. The singing. The speaking. Everything. It was sort of a, 'why doesn't everyone know about you' kind of moment. Like, I would have dragged a lot more people here this weekend if I knew it would be this good. It was fried chicken good. I know I'm pregnant when I hear the word 'good' and think 'mmm, some KFC sounds good.' But I digress.

Andy Crouch wrote a book called Culture Making. A book that I haven't read. Oops. But it's ok. I never actually met him over the weekend so I never had to lie. Who does that? Not me. Anyway. This concept - from how he explained it over the weekend - is the idea that we as people are to be creators of culture, not just consumers, critics, and condemners of it.

Creators.

Scary word. But he talked about how God left major space for us to create. You see sound is good. But, music is very good. Color is good. But, art is very good. The forest is good. Gardens are very good.

Creators. I love this idea. I love the idea that God invites us into partnership with him to take what has been gifted us and make it flourish. Make it sing. Make it beautiful. He lets us make that happen.

I love that golf courses are so stunning. They're these highly manicured, highly man influenced landscapes and yet some of the most incredible manifestations of God's glory. And I love good food. Flavor packed ingredients coming up from God's ground made into succulent meals by human hands. And trees. Tall trees. With shade and blossoms in the Spring. But then houses made of that wood. Detailed carpentry. Gorgeous furniture.The list of ways in which we partner with God to create is endless. And endlessly inspiring.

One of the afternoons, Andy Crouch did a break-out session where he had us brainstorm the similarities and differences between two kinds of play. Playing a CD and playing a violin. The contrast was almost frightening. Consuming vs. creating. Passive vs. active. The restriction to listening vs the ability to collaborate. The concentration needed in playing the violin versus the mindless pressing of the play button. And one of my favorites, the autonomy of playing a CD vs the interaction and apprenticeship needed to learn an instrument. The coming over your shoulder and moving your arm teaching you can only get from another farther along on the road than you.

At the end of it all, he said this. Playing a CD will offer you instant gratification. You will listen to a virtually perfect recorded and mastered piece of music in which you probably had no hand. And playing the violin will offer years of frustration and practice. Obedience and discipline. Money and time. But 10,000 hours in, it will be among the most rewarding things you know.

10,000 hours in to playing the violin, my goodness. What does that even look like? I'm not sure given that I can't even read music and don't know the difference between a violin and a viola. But here's what I do know. I'm a consumer at my core. But I was created to be a creator. It's why I made myself stop reading so many blogs and start one. But I'm terrible at it. I have three pictures in this post. All taken within seconds of each other and yet I can't edit them with any consistency. Or for that matter, excellence. But I'm only a few hundred hours in. And though it's tedious and often disappointing. Though it's often vulnerable and often forgettable, I'm going to keep pushing through. And not just here on this blog. This is far from my deepest passion. But with being a creative mother. And wife. And designer. Creating moments for my kids at the zoo and not just in front of rectangles that glow. Creating. Doing. Digging in the dirt. Working. Making. Thinking. Trying.

I have now and have always had this tendency to think I'm older than I am. That I ought to be farther in life that I am. I ought to have mastered something by now. I ought to be more secure by now. I ought to know more by now. It's a terrible trait to have in a lot of respects. It's impatience breeding. So instead of trying harder to be better, smarter, wiser, I need to focus more on training harder to be all of those things...10,000 hours from now...for God's glory.

Before I sign off let me just say how intensely proud I am of my husband. I see his hands cook dinner and change diapers and type emails and hold me everyday. And then every now and again I get to see him behind the piano doing what he does so well and I have to remember the decades of practice and discipline poured into making it to where he is. The level he's attained.

In fact, the very evening that I wrote this post I went to an elementary school band performance that my mother-in-law is in charge of. I walked in a few minutes late and as I heard the first few notes of sound I sighed in relief and thought, 'Oh, no big deal. I'm not late after all. They're still tuning their instruments.' Oh JK that's just what they sound like. For reals. That first song was b-a-d. And those kids were s-t-r-u-g-g-l-i-n-g to stay afloat.

But I had nothing but a huge grin on my face as I had the enjoyment of watching them just a few hundred (or dozen?!) hours in. And even by the end of the night, the songs were better. FAR better. Good, even. I could actually tell what they were playing! Heavens, what a delight! But it was such sweet encouragement to see them faithfully enduring those early pains for the opportunity to participate in creating music. And it inspired such a deep respect in me for John as I realized what he once most certainly sounded like on piano back in a makeshift recital hall at St. Elizabeth's. And what he sounds like now. Oh, what he sounds like now.

So again, here's to being cloaked in the identity of a Creator God and going out and falling on my face to participate in creating.

But you know, when I think back to almost four weeks ago when I started writing this post before I got side-tracked and never finished, I wonder what was really at the heart of wanting to write it. And I think it maybe wasn't even so much about lighting some fire under my rear to start doing anything. I think it was just because I was so inspired learning from Andy Crouch about this Creator God of ours. God is just never as simple as I think he is.

Who, I ask, in His power, with His majesty, using His imagination would leave it up to us humans to draw things, grow things, make things? A God who is generous; who loves us. Loves to love us. Loves to let us work. Loves to watch us flourish. Loves to let us learn. Loves to accomplish things through us.

So maybe that's all this is. It's just a nod to a magnificently humble, merciful, awe-inspiring God. I've begun to think that my most fulfilling moments in life are the ones I devote to thinking about how beautiful and holy and brilliant and powerful and just and sovereign our God is.

Open Hands

Our condo is up for sale. We've gone back and forth about it so many times that I've begun to question my ability to NOT be fickle in any given situation. How can I so assuredly go to bed with a for sale sign in my mind one night only to wake up with visions of bunk beds and trundles and all the kids we're going to squeeze into this tiny apartment. (First world tiny, by the way. Let's be real. It's plenty big.) The myriad inconsistent conclusions we've come to about what we ought most wisely do with this chunk of square footage is both comical and pathetic. 

The tipping point has been Annie's entering into the terrible two's. Actually, I think it would be more appropriate to name them the entitled two's. I called a friend this morning and just sort of sighed when I mentioned Annie. Ready to sell her to the lowest biddest? she asked. Yes! Are you making an offer?!

I love my child. I love my child. I love her even when she throws herself to the ground and kicks and screams because I put her milk in the wrong sippy cup. Even when I don't let her have fruit snacks for dinner and she pushes her plate of food flying through the air. Even when she cries the whole way home from the park. I love my child. I do. Even though I'd just bought that face lotion and it's - for all intents and purposes - destroyed.

There's this whole thing where she wakes up and instead of saying good morning she says - first thing! - I wanna go bye bye. I wanna go ou-side. I wanna go stroller. And it's getting to me. I feel like I'm trapping her inside an airtight box where she can't breathe. And going outside living in this condo is no easy feat. There are lots of doors and stairs and fences to get to the street. And then you're just on the street. 8 or 9 blocks to the nearest park. My friend assured me that even with a yard, two year olds are terrible. But it's got to be better. And too many frozen foods have thawed in the car because I can't carry all the groceries up with a toddler kicking and screaming and keys and bags and doors upon doors with entry codes and more stairs. And it's really not that bad. But it feels bad sometimes. And now that we're expecting another baby, it feels like it's time to move on. 

So we finally picked up some speed a couple weeks ago and starting nixing things off the long list of musts before we can sell it. I busted out my new miter saw and wore the only protective eyewear I could find - 3D glasses from Titanic last year. No shame.

Aside from the half a dozen erroneous cuts I made and didn't measure well for, I got 'er done. 

And I ain't nothing if not resourceful when it comes to not having proper equipment. But like I always say, who needs a sawhorse when you have Euro pillows? I rest my case. 

Check. Check. Check, and we neared the end of the list. 

Then it happened. I was at my parent's house. The sun was shining...finally. Birds were praising God. The attic fan was whirling. And the perfect house came on the market. Whoosh. My next 15 years flashed before my eyes. Paint colors flew into view. Furniture arrangements mapped in my mind. I could smell the burgers we'd cook on the grill on the deck of this new, perfect house. I could hear myself calling up our new stairs for Annie to throw down her laundry. I could picture my car in the driveway. John mowing the lawn. We can't be happy as a family unless we get this house. 

 

The heart is deceitful above all things. Jeremiah 17:9 

Amen and Amen.

But tread lightly lest you suggest to me that we may not get this house. I might crumble in tears. Because I want to be in control of my life. I want what I want when I want it. The way I want it to look. How I want it to feel. 

Here's the thing...

I need to hold my life with open hands. Oh, and I need to stop wondering where Annie gets her entitlement mentality. Clearly, it's her father. JK. It's me, alright. 

When I walked away from seeing that perfect house I thought - knew! - that I could choose to have peace because I could choose to trust that if it was in God's will for us to have this house, we would have it and no amount of manipulation, stress and anxiety would be needed. IF I could just believe that God is in control. And if I could just hold my life with open hands. But everything in me fights against it. Everything in me tells me that if I don't FIGHT for this to happen, it won't happen. Everything in me tells me that everyone around me is moving too slowly. But I know deep down it's just me moving too fast.

Then I met God halfway and decided I would relax about it as far as everyone was concerned. I was still going to go home and get our place ready to put up for sale before I laid my head again. But I wasn't going to freak out and talk about it incessantly. The only problem is you can't just meet God halfway. You have to meet him all the way. Not that He doesn't seek you. And not that He doesn't embrace you wherever you are. But you have to meet him all the way IN your not doing anything. And by doing I mean controlling. 

Let me just throw in a little nugget here and say earning is not opposed to effort. We don't earn God's grace over our lives, but that doesn't mean we make no efforts in our lives. So when I say I had to stop doing, it's to say that I had to stop insisting on my own way of life. I need to surrender that desire for control. Not that I had to stop working.

So here we go. The condo is up for sale. We still want to move. We still want that house. We still are going to make every effort to move toward that. But I'm going to hold it all with open hands. 

And there is so much peace in that at the end of the day. I thought I'd actually have more anxiety by letting go and not steering every element of this process. But this God to whom I'm giving up control has a pretty good track record. Perfect, in fact. And there's great, deep peace in knowing that he has great plans for us. Plans to prosper us and not to harm us. Plans for a hope and a future. 

One beyond what I could dream or muster or manipulate my way into. His way isn't just another way. It's the best way. 

Please remind me of this when our dream house more than likely sells to someone else this week :)

And also please don't report me to child services for suggesting that I may entertain the idea of selling my child. It was a weak moment, people.... But look at that face. Even if she did break a few necklaces, how could I ever not forgive her?

 

 

Digging out of the snow

We've been buried in what seems like ten feet of snow. Snow high enough to cancel your playdate. High enough to give away your dog. High enough to nap without shame - daily. But we're digging out. And I'm finally digging through what's keeping me from this place here on the blog. And digging through unposted pictures from the last couple months.

If you're like me you have one or two blogs that you read pretty frequently. Blogs by women you've never met. You don't know how you stumbled upon them or who first sent you a link to a post. But now you know the names of all these woman's kids. And you know what she gave her husband for Christmas. And you know their feelings on faith, design and what's for dinner.

Well, I have one of those. She writes about her sweet family of four. And gives mad tutorials on sewing. Anyway, her little toeheaded son is off to elementary school. And a good few months ago she wrote about this sudden awareness that perhaps his stories and his words and his pictures aren't hers to share with the world anymore. Maybe he's not just hers anymore, but his own. (Maybe - definitely - he was never hers, but Gods.) Maybe this seven year old boy doesn't want a random girl in Kansas City knowing that he was so nervous for first grade that he wet the bed for the first time in years.

So she began leaving things unsaid.

But more than the dialing down of her kids' personal stories, she wrote about how this shift toward not documenting every movement revealed a belief she didn't know she held. The belief that if she didn't photograph the snuggle, then the snuggle didn't happen. And if she didn't write about a lesson learned, then it wasn't really learned. And if she didn't blog about the curtains she just hung that it was as though they were still sitting in a pile on the floor.

Because if you didn't facebook it, you didn't do it.

But I'm not writing to say that I think we all overshare. I don't know. To each, his own. But here's my own. I maybe don't overshare. But I do sometimes share for the wrong reasons. And I do often covet what others have shared.

Sometimes I video Annie dancing on my phone but the whole time she's dancing, I'm watching her THROUGH my phone. And by the time she stops, I realize my only memory is now of the phone. I watched a three inch screen instead of watching a three foot kid and now all I'll ever have again is that three inch version of the dance.

Sometimes, I scroll through my Instagram and wish I had more kids. NOW, God. Because a chaotic life seen through a photo filter looks awfully appealing. And I wish that my wardrobe was a little hipper. And I wish I'd actually done my hair that day, because if I had, I would take a picture of Annie and I right now, cozied up on her bean bag. But I didn't, so I don't. People would know the ugly truth about my unmade up state, and I seek approval too much for that to happen.

...I think I'm probably being too honest. But roll with it...

Sometimes, I scroll through Instagram and wish that I was living in Brooklyn and working a desk job with a view. I'd actually have a salary and I'd meet my friends for brunch at places who bake fresh scones and grab take-out before I hopped on the subway to go home.

Sometimes, I leave somewhere - a night out, a dinner out, a date out, a friend's house - and I think man, that was fun. I wish I'd taken a picture to post on Instagram so that I could remember just how good my outfit was today (because I finally, actually got dressed) and how fun my friends are and then I could put it on the Interweb and people would see how cool I am, too.

But, no. Now it's like it never happened. No one's going to know that we did that really cool thing.

People need to know that my life is covet-worthy. 

No one's life is, but let's fool each other nonetheless.

If I had a bigger dining room table, the food would taste better.

If I hadn't gotten that damn degree in French, I might actually know something of value.

If I hadn't spent the money on that desk that fell apart within the first year, we could've bought that sectional.

If we'd just noticed the f-ing leak under the sink, we wouldn't be paying for our downstairs neighbor's new ceiling right now.

Paul says in Phillipians 4:12 I have learned the secret of being content in any and every situation, whether well fed or hungry, whether living in plenty or in want.

Someone pointed out to me last night that he says I have learned to be content. He doesn't say that he naturally is. Or that it just happens. He learned it.

I don't know what this post means entirely. I think I thought I did at the outset. It was supposed to be about how I stopped blogging because instead of being a guardian of memories for my family I was more interested in how many people saw my memories.

And this trading of memories - me showing you our evening of cartoons and you showing me your night at the club - well, it was just too much for me. I'm not whole enough to not covet. And the part where I participated - where I posted the pics and the posts - it became too much about me. About trying to impress. About trying to make the day after day, long, lonely time slot of 3-5pm with a toddler more manageable by seeing new likes on Facebook.

I'm a mess. If you didn't know it before, you know it now. I look for validation in others before I look for it in Christ. Never content. And so sometimes, I have to rip away the obvious temptations. The writing of posts. The posting on Facebook. The faces on Instagram.

And the funny thing is, it doesn't even help that much. They say that it's why monasteries fail. It's not the world that is the whole problem. It's not social-media that's going to kill me. It's ME that's going to kill me. It's my rotten heart. My covetous heart. My approval-seeking heart. My greedy heart. My jealous heart. My bitter heart. My very selfish heart. The problem isn't you and your night on the town. It's me. The blog isn't the problem. It's what I sometimes do with it.

Ah, Jesus' grace. His mercy that abounds. His mercies that are new every morning. His mercies that heal. His mercy that I don't deserve. His grace that is the only answer. The only way I'll make it. The only way to be content. 

So I'm going to try to get back to blogging. But blogging differently. Not trying oh so hard to be charming or cute with what I write. Not trying to sugar-coat the mundaneness of life. Not always trying to impress. Or to validate. Or to seek affirmation. And maybe my posts won't look any different than they used to. But hopefully the heart behind them is drastically different.

Here's to blogging for His glory and not my own.

The Flu + A Fat Man in Red

The flu came. The flu invaded. The flu won. This is Day 4 and John is the only one who has yet to throw up. But he's been thrown up on. Three times. Now, that's got to count for something. 

So that explains some of the silence around here. The other piece to the silence is that I, in an effort to make Christmas less AND more this year, have been a busy little bee working on some secret projects. 

Less and more. I want to spend less money and this time it's not because I'm being cheap. Although I am innately cheap - let's be real. But this year I don't want to say, thanks for being a great grandparent, let me go the day before Christmas (don't judge) and throw thirty dollars at a Chinese-made trinket from Target to show you my appreciation.  

And get ready for me to blow your mind. But, I heard this rumor that Christmas maybe isn't so much about giving each other more stuff as it is about this guy named Jesus. I was like say what?? You mean to tell me that this holiday isn't about me, my Christmas list and a fat man in a red polyester suit? Get outta here. Stop telling lies. And stop being mean. But then, it was confirmed. Christmas is indeed about the first five letters of the word. 

And given the weight of the word Christ, we thought it would be cool if there was a little separation in Annie's mind between images like Santa Claus, the Easter Bunny and Jesus. Because one day she'll learn that two out of the three are fake. And we run the risk of confusing her into thinking that that third guy named Jesus is fake, too, if we throw him into the same category. So, we're vying for a little more clarity amidst the holiday chaos and hoopla. 

Less presents under the tree. More purpose in giving each other gifts to show our love in honor of the birthday of the guy who came to save us because of his great, great love. 

But anyway. Let it be known that there's lots of craftiness happening up in here. Lots of glue and thread and ink. Plus a whole lot of blog posts for December 26th. And, oh yeah. In other news, Annie learned how to use a spoon. Praise be to God. 

on looking up to GOD

Heavy hearts. That's what we seem to have around here. Ryan, for whatever reason has been spiraling downward in recent days. Weeks. Months. It's hard to say. I get another devastating piece of news and I laugh. That's when you know it's bad. 

I've been learning about the fear of God. FEAR. That word. What does it mean anymore? It's putting God in His due place. Acknowledging His majesty. The fear of the Lord is the beginning of knowledge. Well now, wasn't Solomon smart when he said that. Its truth is holding me up.

Fiery embers spark. Voices sound different outside in the early morning. Campfire voices. But it's just Wednesday. The coffee is hot but our sandals are on, not our hiking boots. Because we're home. On the porch. Early morning. And we're all hopeless. How we spend our days is how we spend our lives. Here we are. Spending our lives hopeless. There aren't answers for Ryan. Any light seems futile. Our ideas, arbitrary. No sorting of the puzzle pieces for the hundredth time comes up with any links. 

I struggle all week. Where does Ryan fit? What do things look like next Christmas? At Easter? At my fortieth birthday?

And so I'm reading this verse tonight. The fear of the Lord is the beginning of knowledge. (Proverbs 1:7) But what is the fear of the Lord? It's seeing God as He is. High and Holy. Creator. Father. Provider. And when you know what God is, you know what you are not. When you believe that God is provider, you don't worry about being provided for. Because God is so good. He is not safe. He is good. He's the King, I tell you. (The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe - Lewis) 

Seeing the bigger picture. I don't know if that's the right phrase to capture the idea. What I know is that when my gaze is upon the fire before me and we sit and talk in morning voices about all of the dead ends and all of the bitterness and all of the unknowns, I sink into depression. But when my focus shifts and I fix my eyes on Jesus, our author and perfecter, things change. Where? In my situation? I don't know. Maybe. Maybe not. But things change in my heart. When I focus on the promises God gives me, I can't find a way to be desperate. When I remember the justice of God, I can't be afraid of falling through the cracks. When I receive the new mercies of God every morning, I can't be bitter. 

The beginning of knowledge is the fear of the Lord. How can it be otherwise? It's when we recognize who God is - who He really is - that we are wrapped in a peace that surpasses all understanding. 

Burning questions that I have for my life and for Ryan don't burn when I have the fear of the Lord. It all just becomes bigger. It goes beyond me and my problems. It brings me to the foot of the cross. His absolute sovereignty is our greatest security.

Peace that surpasses all understanding. (Philippians 4:6) You know, Paul didn't describe peace as surpassing all understanding for no reason. It's because it's important to note that it's a kind of peace that doesn't always come through logical resolution. It's not the, ah, I see how things will work out and thus have peace about it kind of peace. No, it's the I'm anxious about something and I bring it before the Lord and He gives me peace despite the circumstances kind of peace. Am I bringing that home? 

Yesterday was an ugly day. Police. Ambulance. Hospital. Devastation. Pain. Desperation. 

And then I heard a joke and laughed. Because I had a peace that surpassed all understanding. Still no answers. When I dwell on the specifics, I'm deflated. When I lock eyes with God, He guards my heart and mind. He tells us to make our requests known to Him through prayer and petition, with thanksgiving. That's what He tells me to do. So by golly, prayers and petitions there will be because this is one absurdly dark season in our lives. 

***I wrote this late Monday night and never published it. Some head way has since been made. Less the kind you feel now, more the kind you wait for. Groundwork is getting laid for Ryan to go to a day service five days a week. But that start date is three weeks out. That's the opportunity for 21 more meltdowns. And your guess is as good as mine as to whether the meltdowns will be had by Ryan or by us, his family. And the jury is still out as to whether or not he'll even thrive (survive) in this new environment. Prayers and petitions, people. That's what I'm lifting up.

********Also, don't hate Annie just because she can rock the polka dot top with the polka dot bottoms and you can't. Just saying.