Ramblings

Sometimes I LOVE days in which everyday things are suddenly more vivid and pronounced than any other day making your world seem so overly blessed....

so today, I love....

~small, quiet coffee shops full of quaint aromas, and lulling music that quiets your soul

~the thought of pumpkin spiced anything

~the brisk, cleansing air of a new fall morning

~Thanksgiving & counting all the blessings that I am thankful for this year alone

~the fall leaves that delicately fall on my windshield. Thankful for change and new beginnings

~hearing sweet words of encouragement from my kids and knowing that God blessed me with being their mom

~getting too small for my britches....or my britches getting too big for me =)

~being part of something way bigger than me.....God still makes the sun stand still today

~to be surrounded by friends that encourage, inspire, and challenge me to be the person God intended for me to be.

~being outside in the beautiful fall air unless it involves getting gas, then, I dread it so often my gas gauge looks like this


Hope everyone has a blessed Wednesday.....

On the Bright Side

A Piece of Me

"The ability to quote is a serviceable substitute for wit." --W. Somerset Maugham

If you know anything about me or follow me on twitter, you know that often my status updates and tweets are filled with quotes. They are usually quotes from my past or frequently I find that they are quotes that touch my life at the exact right moment when I need to hear it. I love quotes. I always have. They inspire me. Simple, small words of wisdom that filter in my life and spark emotions, dreams, visions, love.

On the shelf beside my bed is an impressive collection of papers without which I cannot live. There's my household budget notebook, a dictionary, my Bible, thesaurus, several books that are on my list to read, and other such vitally important items. And there, tucked in place of great honor, is a beautiful journal covered in shiny black leather. The papers have a perfect-sounding crinkle that makes my heart beat a little faster.

It's my quote book.

I first began collecting quotes when I was in high school. My world was broadening exponentially, and daily, and I was astonished to learn that there were many people other than ME who had important things to say. As I navigated those choppy waters of late adolesence/early adulthood, I scribbled others' important thoughts in a journal covered in obnoxiously cheery pink fabric. I filled it up.

After college, and marriage, I decided my quotes should be carefully typed and neatly stashed in a three-ring binder, sorted by topic. I spent a couple of months typing my entire collection. It looked very nice and ridiculously organized.

Then I had my first baby, and I had visions of my children someday coming home from my funeral and sorting through my things. Wouldn't I rather have all my most treasured quotations passed down to them in my own handwriting? And so I re-copied--again--my entire quote collection in its current location.

I don't worry so much about the whole handwriting thing anymore. In these frantic days of busy-ness I could never have imagined years ago, I don't have time to be picky anymore about how these quotations get recorded. Some are neatly hand-printed, many are scrawled in a handwriting that would make a doctor blush, many are printed directly off a website and slapped in with a piece of Scotch tape. But however they got there, they are all treasures.

Many of those quotes have journeyed through all my quote books, collections from those early days when I was first discovering the delight of a well-turned phrase:

No one can make you feel inferior without your consent. --Eleanor Roosevelt

Yesterday is gone. Tomorrow has not yet come. We have only today. Let us begin. --Mother Teresa

There are quotes from favorite movies...

An ounce of pretension is worth a pound of manure. --Steel Magnolias

...and favorite books.

The task, and the joy, of writing for me is that I can play with the metaphors that God has placed in the world and present them to others in a way they will accept. --Kathleen Norris, The Quotidian Mysteries

There are quotes added in times of great sorrow...

I have learned to hold all things loosely, so God will not have to pry them out of my hands. --Corrie ten Boom

...and quotes added in times of great joy.

A boy is Truth with dirt on its face, Beauty with a cut on its finger, Wisdom with bubble gum in its hair, and the Hope of the Future with a frog in its pocket. --Alan Beck

There are many quotes from people whose names appear more often than others...

He is not all we would ask for (if we were honest), but it is precisely when we do not have what we would ask for, and only then, that we can clearly perceive His all-sufficiency. It is when the sea is moonless that the Lord has become my light. --Elisabeth Elliott

What saves a man is to take a step. Then another step. --C.S. Lewis

...and many quotes from people whose names have been long forgotten.

A little nonsense now and then is relished by the wisest men. --Anonymous

A good scare is worth more to a man than good advice. --Anonymous

I treasure all those quotes--they're all mementos to me, moments in time captured in writing, and souvenirs of lessons learned. But as I no doubt have much, much more to learn, tell me: what's your favorite quote ever? I still have plenty of empty pages to fill.

A Mom's Prayer on the First Day of School

Here we are again, Lord. Their backpacks are loaded and their faces are scrubbed and their lunch accounts are full.

And I know you'll walk with them, Lord. You always do. But a mom still has to ask.

Will You walk with them? Will You whisper to them what they need to hear, when I'm not there to whisper it?

Will You please, oh please, cover their school with the protection only You can give, and will You keep harm far away?

Will You make their minds strong and ready to learn? Will You help them understand that hard work honors the One who created them?

Will You guide their teachers, giving them patience and wisdom and creativity and more patience? Will You bless them for their efforts?

Will You love all those children there, the ones whose lunch accounts aren't full, the ones who feel alone? Will You teach my children to be kind and unselfish and to love those who are different from them?

Will You point them back toward home just as soon as you can?

Lord, I give them to You today and everyday, trusting them to Your care.

Amen.

Did that just happen?

My oldest son walked into my room after dressing for church; he was wearing the same church t-shirt he's worn the last numerous Sundays that I have seriously lost count. I am thinking that my church family may start thinking that he doesn’t own any other shirt.

"Hey, big guy, why don't you wear something different?" I suggested.

"Why?" he asked. "This one is my favorite, and it's clean."

"Well," I explained, "you have several shirts, but people are going to think that's the only one you own."

He looked at me squarely and did not miss a beat. "Mom, what people think doesn't matter nearly as much as what I know to be true."

My first thought: Wow, the boy has been listening after all.

My second thought: Wow, seriously? I just got a smack-down from a ten year old.

in honor of shark week

I stepped out into my front yard, greeted by a blast of hot air and the dull roar of the cicadas. Squinting into the glare of the evening sun, I noticed a strange shape atop my brick mailbox. Closer inspection revealed this to be a ten-year-old boy, my ten-year-old boy, in fact, his legs crossed and his chin in his hands. He sat atop the mailbox, deep in thought, eyes loosely focused on something I could not see.

I wandered slowly over to him, and I leaned against his perch. I didn't say anything, not for a while; he had thoughts to think, and it's a good thing to listen with contentment to what a child isn't saying. After a few minutes, though, the curiosity got the better of me, as my mother's heart wondered what heavy load had driven my boy into such a reverie.

"So," I said. "It looks like you're thinkin' things."

He paused. "Yes, ma'am."

"Wanna tell me about it?"

He paused again, as if to wonder whether his mother was ready for thoughts of such magnitude. Evidently, I passed muster.

"Sharks," he said, looking straight ahead. "I'm thinking about sharks."

"Oh," I said. "And what are you thinking about sharks?"

He raised his head and looked at me, in an of-course sort of way, and he grinned. "I'm thinkin' about catchin' 'em."

Well, of course.

I grinned in return and I rubbed his sweaty head; but not too hard, in case I interrupt the fine thoughts inside. Sensing his need for more silence, I slipped back toward my house, but not before I turned to look at him. His chin had dropped back into his hands, his eyes refocused on the asphalt street in front of him, the street down which surely, surely, any moment, a shark might swim. Never mind that it's 600 miles to the nearest ocean. When you're ten, it doesn't really matter.

Brothers

They're brothers, ages 10 and 6. They share a bedroom, a love for all things Legos, a desire to win every game ever played on PS3 or Wii, and a tendency toward violence of the brotherly kind. They are mortal enemies and the best of friends, the pendulum often swinging from friend to enemy and back to friend again within a matter of .2 seconds.

They're both dynamos in their own element. The older of the two is lean, tall, and lightning-fast. The younger is lean, small, and has the determination to be just as good as his older brother.

Last night, after an especially vigorous session of carpet wrestling, I heard them pause, breathless, to formulate impressive plans thanks to the World Cup. They determined that they would take the professional soccer world by storm someday, two feisty brothers who would team up to strike fear in opponents. The oldest would be the speedy, agile Scorer of Many Goals. The youngest would be the brick-wall goalie around whom no ball would fly.

Then they went back to the floor for more wrestling, until I went in to interrupt and tell them it was time to head to bed. We sat on the couch, mom in the middle, for bedtime prayers. Their sweaty, smelly heads leaned in on my shoulders. They were still out of breath. It was the first moment of quiet that room had seen in hours.

The oldest said his prayer, and then I said mine. And then the youngest, in a voice thick with sincerity, said softly, "Thank you, God, that my brother and I enjoy each other."

I caught my breath. Yes, thank you, I thought. Then--I couldn't help it--I peeked open my eyes at the two boys, still sitting at my side. Something settled over them.

They were struck by the moment, too.

The oldest looked over at his little brother, affection unmistakably written on his face. He gently, quietly nudged him with his elbow. The youngest returned the glance, and the nudge.

There was a perfect pause.

And then, at exactly the same moment, they erupted into grunts and laughter, diving for each other and heading straight for the carpet. I think the .7 miliseconds of tenderness was all they could bear.

I watched them, smiling, observing to myself that the moment had surely passed.
Or had it? I'm inclined to think--to hope--that a moment like that settles deeply in the hearts of two sweaty boys. It surely settles deeply in the heart of their mother.