be Real with me

i see you sigh when the new day dawns.

pulling the covers back over your head and lingering a little longer underneath the warmth, i can see how you hesitate to step your feet out and begin a day again.

life feels heavy sometimes. the days are burdensome with all their responsibility and such. 

you carry these immense expectations of ourselves and others, and it's just so hard to make everyone do what you think they should do.

     (why, oh, why can't they just do what they know is right?!)

you know you can't control and really, that isn't your plan. yet, you feel compelled to help and guide, and it aches so much to see everyone so reckless and seemingly mindless.

surrendering their care feels a little bit like carelessness on your behalf. it makes you squirm inside and think maybe you are being irresponsible with your influence.

you're entitled to feel what you feel and think what you think.

taking your foot off the gas and pulling over to take a break in the day feels a little bit like playing hooky and you worry about causing more of a distraction than creating good, hearty discipline. flittering about in fun is good, just not all the time.

your heart really wants the best for all of us, i get that. we have work to do that requires order and structure, focus and attention, and so . . .

     when he doesn't seem to remember all that together you put into yesterday . . .

     and when she seems to have forgotten the simplest reminder . . .

     and we all seem to be too carefree . . .

i get that you sometimes just want to scream: doesn't anyone care but me?!

whimsy is our way, though i see it isn't yours. you have a more organized way to each day. we need you, just as you need us -- whether we each know it or not. 

and so, i'm praying because that's what i know how to do. 

     i'm praying your grip will be loosened . . .

     i'm praying for your willingness to let us be us will be widened . . .

     i'm praying we won't dismiss you and your ever loving heart . . .

     i'm praying we pay attention more to the details and not scrimp on being responsible . . .

     and i pray we all learn to live our days barefoot and frantic-free.

let's hold each other up today. 
let's let each other be, as we are -- fully and free. 

i'll appreciate you for you. and him for him.

and let me back up to say that i first appreciate me for me.
     (which, as you know, is truly no small thing.)

i'll step into the me that i am and invite you to do the same for you. 

when you sigh as the new day begins, i'll not ridicule you for not being happy-clappy sunshine-face mister-ready-for-the-day. i'll let you be and trust that you'll find your way.

and when i'm struggling to get my popcorn-brain thoughts to settle down, will you let me be as I am, too?

will you hold me and remind me that we each have our struggles? will you just let the quiet be between us without making me feel less than and you feel more than?

remind me that we all have days that make us sigh.

     days that make us want to scream . . .

     days that make us want to stand on our heads . . .

          or spin the plates wildly . . .

          or simply want to humph and sit in the sun.

because, i forget sometimes that i'm not the only one who gets lost on any random day that ends in y. and i forget sometimes that we're all allowed to have moments when we want to run back in bed or frankly, run right away.

when i see you sigh, as much as i sometimes want to rebuke you or fix you, i need to see your real.

i need to be reminded that grown men cry and hurt and get discouraged, and that big girls can cry, too.

i need to be reminded that we don't have it all together all the time, and we can't be all things to everyone without coming apart a little at the seams.

i need to see you are Real. 

so sigh on, my dear. the days are heavy to bare.

i can't promise you today will be any better than the other day, or that everything today will be okay.

what i can do is accept that you have feelings and you are human.

     i can climb into bed with you and pull the covers over our heads . . .

     i can hold you and sigh right along with you . . .

     i can take your hand and stay with you through this uncertain and brand new day.

this is my worship. 

in the bunker . . . and #WorshipUnwrapped

Here, in this moment, there aren't accusations or judgment between us. 

And this is blessedly sweet. Miraculous and almond-bud-like. 

Blossoms are spouting forth between us. And this is indeed a blessedly sweet moment to unwrap.

I confess that I want to run away and even wave my flag, hoping he'll excuse me. 

Instead, he says I hear you. 

And for once I see . . . we are together in this. 

We acknowledge that we hear each other, we understand.

So we kneel and hold hands, in the bunker. 

this is our worship. 

: : : 

And this is their #worshipunwrapped . . . 

__________________________

1. "I am trying to figure out how you patch together something that still sings of grace and glory while not ignoring the present reality.

     How do we take the straw we've been handed and spin it into something golden and magical?"

Holly Grantham's #worshipunwrapped. 

__________________________

2. "Christmas can feel like it's falling down as the pieces of a dream season shatter, scattering from one edge to the other."

Kris Camealy's #worshipunwrapped. 

__________________________

3. "What if hard actually means you are doing something right?"

Jamie Martin's #worshipunwrapped. 

__________________________

4. "I used to struggle with seeing joy, for I was blinded by grief and caught in the haze of black sorrow. I felt the weight of death, her diagnosis. She's too young, my heart yelped, she's too young to be wounded, too tender and innocent. And yet her babyhood was full, it was rich."

Michaela Evanow's #worshipunwrapped.

__________________________

5. "Miracles are just a temporary fix . . . I know He loves me and I don't need a miracle to know that . . .

     If I wanted to be a missionary, I couldn't reach as many people as I have through this."

Abby Smith's #worshipunwrapped. 

We present to you these offerings, Father. 

We dance. We declare. And together, we dine. 

___________________________________

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no small thing :: worship unwrapped

we're on the edge

both of us, me and you.

nearly about to jump

or run away.

we're here together, though

and this is no small thing.

i kneel low to count this grace,

as you wipe the tear from my eye.

this is our worship. 

: : : 

And this is theirs that I have unwrapped . . . 

__________________________

1. "Sometimes, we have to make the decision to begin again, even when we don't feel ready." 

Read about how Michele-Lyn's beginning again is worship. 

__________________________

2. "I want to hear The One who comes softly saying,
     Be Still. Listen. Watch for the light. Come away . . . 

I want to hear Him . . . and it's getting harder to push away the noise."

God meets us where we are and doesn't drag us to where we "should" be or where everyone else says we "need" to be. 

Read about how Jody Lee Collins's listening is worship. 

__________________________

3. On being the enough Mom. 

"Motherhood, and in fact life, is often this journey of waking up and discovering self.

     That's the truth." 

How Rachel Marie Martin's being Real is worship. 

___________________________

4. "Making space for God's presence in my home feels about as back-breaking as hauling stones . . . 

It asks nothing of me. Requires nothing of me.

It is an impossible mess, and it is grace, and my children and I have seen fire.

Read about Christie Purifoy's space making as worship. 

We present to you these offerings, Father. 

We dance. We declare. And together, we dine. 

___________________________________

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where the green grass grows

It's hard, I know it is.

Sometimes you want to give up. 

You even pack your bag to make a point and dared to stand at the door and threaten to leave.

Though you knew you wouldn't really follow through with it, your illustration was important for you to make. You needed to act out your feelings because you weren't being heard.

The Boy-Man was acting today, too.

Though his choice to act out his strong will was inappropriate and mistimed, he, too, wanted to be heard.

He was struggling with self, all prideful and arrogant and stubborn, and seeming to be wholly disrespectful.

I know, and you know, that our son doesn't mean this attitude and that he's wrestling the gift of strength that God gave him. He is learning to stand up for himself and we want this for him.

He was irresponsible as he played around in selfish disobedience. I'm with you.

Believe me when I say we're on the same page.

The valley seems so hard sometimes. 

     It shouldn't be this hard.

But it is. For everyone it is.

Those who are brave enough to be honest about it reflect beauty in their Real truth-telling.

God reminds me that the green grass grows in the valley.

Lush fields abound here, where the soil needs the most cultivating. We get dirty in the farming. And we might even get a hayseed or two in our eye. It's just part of the process.

The Boy is growing into a man, wholly Holy.

I've scheduled work trips with a deliberate and hopeful intention of providing a shot of relief in a particularly tense season of life, and I, too, have wanted to bolt out the door and say "I've had enough!"

I'm still a {God-made} child -- irresponsible, prone to act out, and selfishly disobedient.

As hard as it is, let's remain. Because God's got this. And him. And us. And . . .

I'd hate to know we missed the blooming season. 

So let's stay and see the green grass grow.

this is our worship. 

____________________________________

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We come

We come to the table with our heaviness, our sadness, our disappointment, our angst.

We come with resolve for different and better.
We come with hearts that are joyful and for some, even bitter.

We come with our baggage, our fear, timidity, and even for some, naivete.

We come with discomfort and comfort quilted within us.
We come with remembrance of generations before us.

We come with tight jaws, bringing our empty, gritty and raw.

We come with our yesteryear's, our now, and the tomorrow's that we hope and we fear.
We come with our memories and our many-sized dreams that we hold so near.

We come with our holeyness, and our wholeness, and find there among us a Holiness.

We come with imperfect love that seeks to fill and free each other.
We come with a willingness to share in communion with each other.

We come to the table with an invitation to feel and to be Real, stuffing ourselves on the gifts of grace.

this is our worship. 

____________________________________

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diagnosis

It's been a particularly challenging several months for our family.

Nothing huge or life shattering. Just enough to be a nuisance and yet mild enough to keep us from change.

There are things we want to do in the *whirl and twirl* of our days that don't fit into a standard mold.

Dreams. Visions. Promptings. Passions. Callings.

We recently reached a point where we decided that enough is enough. We've been troubled by some challenges we've had with our son and it's time we do something about it beyond question and wonder.

     (Tell me, what eight-year-old boy doesn't appear to have an attention issue?) 

So this is it.

Diagnosis time. Margin readiness.

We're popping the bubble and relieving some of the pressure.

The typical public school structure and rhythm creates stress that we have realized we can avoid.

We've unwrapped what just might be one of the best gifts of our lives -- Freedom. 

Folks will disagree with us (even my parents).

     Neighbors may think we're strange (perhaps they already do).

     Other folks tell us, "Who cares what other people think?!"

     And others will wish they are doing it, too.

We've gotten assurance in the most unlikeliest places, from sweet souls who remind us that we are the only ones who know our challenges.

We are learning that we are the only ones who can advocate for us. This is our duty. Our responsibility.

I pondered and questioned, and deliberated and decided . . . and questioned and doubted all over again, until I finally realized that there isn't a right answer here.

(And that means there isn't a wrong one, either.)

So we've decided to homeschool.

Effective now.

Tomorrow is The Boy's last day in public school for the year, with one quarter still remaining.

It feels a little bit like quitting, but it isn't.

We're clinging to this truth and reaching for grace.

     We're still responsible parents and our son will still be learning.

But, we're pressing pause on the busy and hectic and crazed. Because, it's just been so very chaotic.

And, it's time -- Right. Now. -- to say enough is enough and get some control back. Get our togetherness back.

We're beyond the considering and we're Doing. This. 

With one quarter remaining of the year we have a smaller bite to try.

     Flavors of *different* to taste.

     Sweet and steady to savor, over busy that leaves us bitter.

We don't need a professional to give us a diagnosis. We know that we're stressed. The typical and common is chaotic and we don't have to live it.

The biggest ah-ha and freedom reaching realization ever is this:  

We. Don't. Have. To. Do. This.

We can get off the ride. We really can.

And so we are, thankyouverymuch.

Most of all, we're doing it together -- this choosing, my groom and me. We're aligned and that's a beautiful thing.

Sure it's a bit scary, and daunting, and parts of us feel sad for our boy's mixed up emotions. But the point is we're choosing courage to try Some. Thing., and we're doing this.

So, to the principal who affirmed us and just never made us feel badly . . .

     Thank you. 

     We appreciate you for caring more about what's right for one child and his family. 

     For setting aside your opinion and helping us to find our own.

     For caring. 
     
     For investing.

     For empowering us as parents . . . 

          to consider and choose to make a change for our own child . . .

          a change that will help us get to know him more fully, 

               and ultimately (we hope) show him how much we accept him, just as he was created. 

     You've helped us to receive grace for differences and embrace how God made us all so unique. 

     Thank you, Mr. Principal.

*This* is worship. 

     Our choosing. Your encouragement.

          And all of our lives lived outward -- Authentically. Courageously. Boldly.

And to all the rest of you, I pray you choose courage to make your own diagnosis' in life and take your own step toward a good treatment for you, and your family. Brave on.

Share your heart . . . add a comment below.

_______________________________________________

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You might be interested in this:

18 Reasons Why Doctors and Lawyers Homeschool Their Children

the cost of choosing togetherness

My groom and I are going deeper.

I can feel it.

We're choosing *togetherness* most often.

A deeper intimacy is becoming of Us.

And we're challenged. And threatened.

It's not the give up or stay type of choosing that we're challenged about nowadays.

     [Though, at not even a moment's notice we've seen the thought of giving up become a possibility.]

Nowadays, it's the deliberate choosing of each other moment-by-moment that is our challenge. 

The bending low and setting down and just being. Together.

So much tugs at our sleeve for attention.

          laundry

     sports

                    house

          finances

     school

                    discipline

          exercise

We call them Priorities. Responsibilities.

But...what about Our Story? Isn't that Urgent and Important?

We've decided that *More Togetherness* matters most.

Marriage works our muscles. Our stick-with-it ones. Our choosing him (or her) instead of me ones.

Sometimes it doesn't feel that way. Our bodies ache and fatigue reigns in our pride. 

The *whirl and twirl* feels pointless. Rote. Perhaps even dull. 

I've begun to truly believe that we get stronger every day. And I am noticing it, too. 

With each choice to come nearer. To listen close. To pay attention to each other. We go deeper.

And it's where I didn't imagine we would.

In our faith. In our trust. In our sustenance.

It's a gift, this going deeper part of marriage. And I'm discovering--it's worth every ache.  

_______________________________________________

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