An Open Letter to My Graduate

My Dear Senior,

You are getting ready to graduate and leave high school behind.  Life as you know it is about to change.  For 13 years, you have been getting up in the morning (okay, I have been forcing you to get up in the morning) and heading off to school with your backpack and lunch (except on the days when you forgot your lunch, and I drove it up to school for you).  Then you’d come home, grab a snack, FaceTime your friends who were with you at school all day, and at some point start on your homework. 

And now we are picking out bedding and a mini-fridge for the new place you’ll come home to every day after class.  No one will be there to ask you if you have homework.  And (you’ll love this part) no one will be there to remind you that even though you hate science, it is something you need in your life, and you need to apply yourself.  You’ll have a newfound freedom that you never had at home, but you’ll also have the responsibility that comes with living without your family. (Like when you can’t find something, I will not be there to magically know where it is… you are definitely going to miss that.)

You ask why I cry when we talk about graduation.  You ask if it’s because I’m sad you are going off to college.  There is definitely a part of me that is sad you will not be living under my roof anymore, that there will be an empty seat at family dinners, and that your room will stay perpetually clean because you won’t be here to mess it up.  There’s a part in every Mother’s heart that does not want to let go.

And some of the tears are sadness because as you graduate, I – in a way – graduate too.  You are saying goodbye to your high school, and I am as well.  Think about it -- everything you’ve been involved in, I have been involved in as well, and I have gotten to spend time with my parent friends as we volunteered countless hours, went to football games and pep rallies, and cheered our kids on together.  So, just as you are sad to leave your friends, I get sad too, to leave the community I have come to love over the past 4 years.

But mainly the tears are gratitude.  I’m grateful for the time we’ve had with you.  I’m grateful you have grown up into a responsible human being who will, for the most part, make good decisions when you go off to college.  You have found your passion, and you figured out what you want to be when you grow up, and I got to watch all that happen right before my eyes.

I remember when we sold our last house after being there 12 years.  I was excited to move into our new “dream” house.  But the day I had to close the door on the old house for the last time – wow, that was a hard day.  Not because I wanted to stay but because we’d lived so many moments inside those four walls. So many cherished memories.  And it was hard to say goodbye. I knew a piece of my heart would always be there.  And it’s the same with you graduating.  We are so proud of you and realize – truly – the best years of your life are still to come.  But I have so many cherished memories with you, especially during these past 4 years, and, even though great things are waiting for you, it’s hard to close the door on those moments for the last time.

So for now, let me cry. I know it’s embarrassing, but I think you get it.  Everything you know is about to change, and, at some level, that’s a little scary, right?  For me too.  I don’t know how life will be without you here every day, but we’ll figure it out together. 

Go confidently in the direction of your dreams.  Be adventurous. Try new things and make great life-long friends.  Work hard and ask hard questions.  Occasionally eat some vegetables, and please get enough sleep. 

I will be cheering you on, ever grateful for who you are and who you will become.

Love,

Mom, your biggest fan

(and yes, I am crying)

Why I will not make my kids' lives happy any more

After surviving life as a middle school Mom for three years, I'm happy to say that being a Mom to a high school Freshman has been way better.  Like Off-The-Charts and I-Don't-Drink-Nearly-As-Much better.

As this Freshman year comes to a close, we attended one of the oh-so-many end of year banquets (why didn't anyone warn me about all the banquets??) to celebrate a fantastic year of Drill Team.  Being in the Drill Team has been one of the best things ChellBell has done this year.  Her Directors are amazing, funny, supportive, talented, consistent, and disciplined.  And they are aiming to produce 60 girls who are the same.

Chell has been very happy in Drill Team -- happier than I've ever seen before.  It is incredibly satisfying to see your child that happy.  I have spent 14 years aiming to make my child happy.  That's been my goal.  "Let's go here -- she'll love it!" (AKA "It will make her happy").  "Let's buy this -- she'll be so surprised!" (AKA "It will make her happy").  "Let's ask her what SHE wants!" (AKA "Let's make her happy!")

Not that there's anything wrong with that.  Happy Child = Happy Mom, right?

We started watching the slideshow (that's what you do at Banquets), and I saw this quick photo go by of my daughter in her uniform.  Her head was held high.  Her shoulders were back.  A slight smile on her face.

And I realized

What I hadn't realized in my 14 years of being her Mother.

It's not her Happiness that matters.

She wasn't wearing a look of Happiness in that uniform.

She was Proud.

She was Proud to wear the uniform.  She was Proud to be a Silver Wing.  She was Proud that her hard work paid off.  She was Proud to represent her school by doing what she loves -- dancing.  She was Proud to be part of such a wonderful group of talented girls.

She was Proud of herself.

Later, the team gave out awards (they do that at Banquets too).  Her team gave her the "Best Leaps" Award -- called out of 60 girls as the dancer with the best leaps...  And I saw that look again.  She was so Proud of herself.

I realized in a moment that my goal has been all wrong.  My goal need not be her happiness -- it should be letting her discover opportunities to be Proud of herself.

Instead of rescuing her from potential failure or giving her the answer, I need to be constantly challenging her to do what makes her Proud.  When her response or attitude is a little off, instead of trying to make her happy or telling her what she needs to do (essentially so she'll be happy), I need to challenge her -- "What can you do in this situation to be Proud of your response?" or "When you think back on this, will you be Proud of yourself?"  As the clock nears midnight, and she still hasn't finished that project for school tomorrow, I can encourage her to "Push yourself to do the job that will make you Proud when you turn this in." And when her friends start making less-than-ideal choices about what they do, say, or who they date, my goal is that she will ask herself, "Will I be Proud of the choices I'm making?"

Because when she does things she's Proud of... she's happy.

I guess she wasn't the only one to learn things this year...

Teaching my family the Facts of Life

ChellBell and I took some time last week to volunteer at a local retirement center as part of our service for National Charity League.  They asked us to spend time in Memory Care and ironically asked us to play trivia games with the residents.  The trivia was not going very well until we moved to the section of the game where the residents had to complete phrases.

"A stitch in time saves..."  NINE!  They all knew how to finish that phrase -- even the residents who had been completely silent up to that point shouted out the answer.

"Cleanliness is next to..." GODLINESS!

"Absence makes the heart grow..." FONDER!

"Glass half empty or glass half..." FULL!

I have always been a bit stumped by that last one -- I guess I'm a "glass half full" girl (especially if there is champagne in that glass) and don't understand why anyone would focus on part of the glass being empty, when clearly there is something in there.

Lucky me married a man who has the tendency to be glass-half-empty, which for several years brought an interesting balance to our home.  Then we had our first child, and while she got my hair and skin coloring, she got my husband's outlook on the world.  That means that I am now essentially a hopeless optimist living with 2 very pessimistic people.  It's like 1 + -2, and I am outnumbered.  I am convinced that whatever comes, rain or shine, we will all be fine and happy.  They worry about what could be and fret over what is not.

And it Drives.Me.Crazy.

So the other night, I took advantage of our rare family dinner time to address what I consider to be the Facts of Life and try to talk some pos-i-tiv-i-ty into the way they see their glasses.

Fact of Life Number 1: Life happens regardless of whether you enjoy the journey or not.  Work and school and homework and broccoli are going to be a part of your life.  You can choose to like it or choose to hate it, but it will still be there.  It makes things better for everyone when you decide to like it.

Fact of Life Number 2: Your outlook on life is completely your choice.  You are the only person who can change how you view the world.  You may think that if so-and-so was nicer, or if your boss was a better leader, if there were fewer bills to pay, if Algebra wasn't so hard, or if Texas summers would stop being so hot, you would be a happier person.  But true lasting happiness is not based on other people doing things or things changing around you.  It comes from inside, despite the circumstances around you.

Fact of Life Number 3: Whether you are a positive or negative person, life is hard.  Even being a positive person, I have walked through some hard things.  That's all relative, of course.  There are children in Cambodia being sold, people in the Congo drinking filthy water, and people in downtown Dallas who have nowhere to sleep tonight.  But relative to the life I live, there have been things in my life that have been hard to experience, and they've made me sad.  No one is expected to act like everything is a meadow full of flowers, because the truth is that life has hard parts.  Sometimes they are parts that pass quickly and somewhat painlessly, and sometimes they last a long time.  But just because life is hard doesn't mean that life is bad.

Fact of Life Number 4: There is always something to be grateful for, so don't overlook the opportunity to identify and appreciate those things.  You may have a really awful boss, but aren't you glad you get to go to work every day?  You may not like what I put on your plate for dinner, but aren't you glad you aren't going hungry tonight?  Your feet ache because you've danced all week, but aren't you glad you have gotten to do what you love so much that you're sore from it? Stop and focus on the good things.  You will always be able to find something.  

Fact of Life Number 5: God wants us to be happy.  A lot of people think that if God wants us to be happy, He shouldn't allow anything bad to happen, and question Him when things don't go the way we think they should.  But God wants us to find authentic joy inside us that anchors us and gets us through the hard parts of life as well as the easy parts.  If everything went our way, our happiness and joy would be shallow -- like a tree that has never experienced a storm.  Every morning when we get out of bed, instead of dreading the day ahead, we should think, "I have been given another day - how can I make the most of it?" 

We have been given a lot --  life, breath, family, love, food, shelter, and occasionally a glass half full of champagne. Love these things, focus on these things, and be grateful every day for these things.

18 years later...

On this day in history: 

1804 - Napolean Bonaparte was proclaimed Emperor of France

1860 - The Republican Party nominated Abraham Lincoln for President

1927 - The Ritz Hotel opened in Boston

1986 - "Singin' in the Rain" closed at Gershwin Theater NYC after 367 performances

and

1996 - Chris and I stood before our friends and family and were proclaimed husband and wife.

We both had to do a double-take when we realized that today marks18 years of us being married.  That's a really, really long time.  We've been together longer than it took us to graduate high school.  Longer than we waited to drive. Longer than Judge Judy has been on TV.

I love those couples where it just "works" - those #stillmadlyinlove #moreinloveafteralltheseyears couples, where marriage is effortless and the time flies because they are having so much fun. I am in awe of those couples.  I think we use to be one of those couples, but somewhere along the way marriage got hard.  There have been moments in the past 18 years where we did not like each other and moments where we didn't like ourselves.  There have been disagreements.  There have been nights where we went to bed mad and really just needed a good night of sleep before we could speak to each other.  There have been fights about money and mornings where we woke up on the wrong side of the bed. There have been misunderstandings and there have been mistakes.

It has not been 18 fabulous years of constant bliss or 18 years where I've loved every moment. It's been 18 years of learning to communicate and work together as a unit, raising kids who aren't always easy to raise, and committing to love another person who isn't always easy to love. 

So I don't celebrate our anniversary today because of the fairytale it has been.  I celebrate today because even though it hasn't been easy, we're still together, still committed, and still determined to love each other and figure out what that looks like in this ever-changing world and in our ever-changing lives.  I celebrate because we're still here, when it would have been easier at times to walk away.  I celebrate because it's actually been the storms and the strong winds that have made us grab a hold of this life together and grow our roots stronger.  It has been the hard moments that have made us consciously look at each other and say, "I still choose to love you, and I'm not going anywhere." 

Happy Anniversary, Chris.  18 on the 18th.  Thanks for navigating this life with me -- sometimes knowing where we are going and sometimes just being lost with me.  I'm glad you're here by my side -- I wouldn't want it any other way. 

xoxo

Follow the Bouncy Ball

Our school district made the decision to issue iPads to all the 7^th graders this year to use for school work.  Good-bye “Mom, I left my History book at home!” calls, and Hello “my child is ALWAYS on that iPad.”  I wish I could say that ChellBell only uses the iPad for school-related activities, but looking at her folders, she is getting plenty of use playing all kinds of games. 

One of her favorite games these days is Bouncy Ball, where you bounce the ball certain ways and navigate through a maze and get to the finish line.  I don’t get it – it has no appeal to me – but she is completely absorbed.  Or was completely absorbed, until she got to level 34. 

Up through Level 33, Chell was pretty good at whatever Bouncy Ball techniques were required to nail each level and move on.  She mastered the ball-bouncing-and-maneuvering tricks and quickly moved from level to level. 

But Level 34 seemed to be a different (bouncy) ball of wax.  She struggled to get that ball to bounce high enough at the right time, time after time.  I saw more frustration from her than any school-related assignment has caused her this year, and I swear she would have thrown her iPad across the room last week if I had not intervened.

Being in seventh grade, and seventh grade being, well, the one year most of us would never want to revisit, has challenges of its own.  Chell and I were talking about some of those challenges and frustrations yesterday.  I reminded her that God allows us to have challenges in our lives because that’s how we learn the lessons He needs us to learn.  How He makes us stronger.  How He makes us more like Him.  And then we take those new-found skills and life-lessons  into the next set of challenges we face.

Life is kind of like Bouncy Ball.  Really.  Sometimes we coast, and we master the challenges with ease and think, “Oh, this life thing isn’t so difficult!” And then we hit level 34, or the seventh grade, or a new work situation, or new challenges in our marriage, and every technique we used to get us through before just won’t work.  And we get frustrated and want someone to fix it – or let us skip this level – or whatever we can do to make it end. 

But to get to the next level, we have to master the challenge in front of us, work through the problems to find the solution, evolve, change, grow up  – whatever is needed -- until we “get it”.  Face the challenges head on, learn the lessons, become a stronger person (or a more humble person, or a better friend, or a better communicator) until we master this level. 

So stop seeing your challenge as a frustration or a road block.  See it as a level for you to master, a time to learn more about yourself, who God is, who He wants to be in your life, and what He wants to do through you.  And look forward to mastering this level so you can move on.

One bouncy ball at a time.

Harry Styles and the Manger

It's a weird sort of deja vous having a middle school girl in the house -- seeing her live through many of the same moments, struggles and joys I remember going through at that age.  One of ChellBell's biggest distractions for the moment is a boy band called One Direction.  She is particularly distracted by Harry Styles, which if you have actually seen his hair will realize that he was aptly named "Harry."  This distraction is not too different from my own 1980's infatuation with Menudo, New Kids on the Block, and Duran Duran.  My Mother rolled her eyes but knew what it was all about -- seriously, she had the Beatles and Elvis.

So being a good Mom, I was online at precisely the moment concert tickets went on sale and spent the equivalent of a plane ticket to France to get Chella tickets to see Harry and his gang in the flesh.  (Don't get too excited -- the concert is 8 months from now, so it will be a while before I see the joy on her face that justifies the expense of the tickets and the bewildered confusion from the hubby when explaining my purchase).

When I went online to get tickets, there was a VIP package that would allow Chella to actually meet the band and spend time backstage with them.  Backstage with One Direction -- I can't imagine too many things that my daughter would want more.  Unfortunately, the price was a bit restrictive at $1000 per ticket for the experience, so Chella will have to settle with seeing them from afar.

ChellBell is starting to learn that in life, most people watch from afar.  It's the minority who are backstage or up close, meeting celebrities or rubbing elbows with the rich and famous.  It's the minority who have the right bank accounts or the right name or the right affiliation to have inner-circle invitations and experiences. Unfortunately, those kind of encounters are not open to the general public -- we can't just all hop backstage and hang out with Harry Styles.  That's reserved for the few who can afford it, rather than the masses.

At church this morning, I had the privilege of sharing the Bethlehem story with my little friends in PreK and Kindergarten, telling about the long journey made by Mary and Joseph so many years ago, and what was undoubtedly utter disappointment and frustration when they couldn't find a hotel room in Mary's late stage of pregnancy.  And - as we all know - they ended up in a barn, with Jesus being laid in a food trough shortly after his birth.  And then the Angels sent the message to the shepherds -- considered the lowliest of people -- that a Savior had been born.

For many years, I thought God planned Jesus' birth in the barn -- a lowly place -- because he thought of us as lowly.  And that He first reached out to the shepherds because Jesus came for the lowly.

But it finally dawned on me that God placed Mary, Joseph, and Jesus in a barn, because the barn was open to everyone. If Jesus had been born in a palace, the guards would have only let the elite in, and everyone else would have had to watch from afar.  Even if Jesus had been born inside the warm walls of a Bethlehem inn, surely the Inn Keeper would have judiciously chosen who was allowed to come in and see the Son of God and who needed to stay back behind the velvet rope and watch from afar.  But the barn doors were open to the public.  There were no special Ticketmaster VIP passes required.  Everyone could get to Him.  The Savior.  The God of the Universe in flesh.   Everyone could access Him.

God came to us in a lowly place, not because he thought of us as lowly, but because he wanted to extend the backstage pass to the general public -- to give everyone a chance to meet Him.  Stand in a room with Him.  Come face to face with Him.  Not just those who have the right bank accounts or the right names or the right affiliations.  Those things don't matter to Him.  He wants all of us to have access to Him and to not have to watch from afar.  He came for all of us, to know us, to give us hope.

"In a lowly manger sleeping, Calm and still a Babe we see, 'Tis the Holy Child of promise, Light of all the world is He." 

Where I'm From

I’m from Tinker Toys and rotary phones, from The Carpenters coming to life in my basement and discovering the Sound of Music for the first time.

I’m from dogwood and honeysuckle and endless summer days in a backyard of mighty oaks.

I’m from chores and Sunday drives. I’m from homemade sweet rolls and formal dinners with cloth napkins.

I’m from God’s grace and forgiveness and don’t judge lest ye be judged.

I’m from secret clubs and roller skating on the driveway and Are You there God, It’s Me Margaret.

I’m from Goodbyes and Hellos and new homes every 2 years. I’m from Texas - DC - Hawaii - Tokyo and home is where your heart is, along with a well-stamped passport.

I’m from family dinners around the table and meals that begin with prayer.

I’m from the Tuckers and Hennebergers who could not be more different and a discovery that I’m a little bit of both.

I’m from ‘it’s best to conform’ and a growing determination to be my own me that’s just a little different from anyone else.

I’m from stubborn and perfection and loving and laughter and fighting and always making up before the sun goes down.

I’m from stories that were told over and over but never written down and old black and white photos stored in a cardboard box. I’m from never forgetting who I am, whose I am, and where I come from. And being satisfied with all three.

15 years and a 4-letter word

I am very quick to admit the things I love -- chocolate peanut butter cupcakes from Sprinkles, just about any shoe that Tory Burch designs, lunch with my closest friends, the color pink, and making things pretty. And that's just a small sampling.

Funny how I will squeal out in the middle of Nordstrom, "I LOVE this handbag!!" without a second thought. But I knew Chris Linebarger a very long time before I would even let myself admit that I loved him, much less whisper those words. "I love you."

It's easy to "love" things. We are not really asking them to love us back. We are just expressing our temporary adored-ness and infatuation with something that is most likely temporary. Seriously, how long do you think a Sprinkles cupcake lasts around me? And shoes that I have loved (enough to go into debt for at some points of my life) have eventually made their way to my Goodwill pile.

But loving another person -- well, that's different. Because we want to be loved back. And we want to know that we will be loved for a good, long while. And we want to make sure that we won't ever be tossed in the Goodwill pile.

When I married Chris 15 years ago, I knew that I was going to live the rest of my life with my best friend. I knew we were going to laugh a lot, and we have. I knew that life would be more fun and more adventurous with the two of us together. But I had no idea how much I would be loved.

Loved with the kind of love that never ever stops.

Love that is there when I wake up in the morning and my hair is all yuck and I seriously need to brush my teeth.
Love that is there when I mess up.
Love that is there when I am ranting and raving about some stupid thing.
Love that is there when I spend too much on the AMEX.
Love that is there even though I need to lose "just-a-little-bit" of weight.
Love that is there when I leave my credit card at the restaurant.
Love that is there when I burn dinner.

Love that keeps going and going.

Chris, if there's one thing that has surprised me in 15 years, it is how you go on loving me, difficult as that must be much of the time. When I feel like I am playing tug-of-war with the world, you so quickly come to my rescue and help me pull. You silently show me love by doing more than your share around the house and filling in the gaps that I often create. You find ways to show love without words, but you also say the words, just in case I didn't know.

But I know.

And though I still may not scream in the middle of Nordstrom, "I LOVE Chris Linebarger!" everything inside of me does. And will. And will continue to always love you.

Happy 15 years of us.

xoxo

Hi Ho, Hi Ho

Remember Snow White and her little friends, the Dwarfs, who sang all happy-ish while they marched off to work? I can't remember what job they had -- some sort of manual labor -- but I always wondered how they could be so happy about their jobs.

This past week I Hi-Ho'd myself back to work after 8 weeks of maternity leave. I can't say that I whistled a happy tune or sang on my commute to the office. Instead, I just cried and yawned a lot thanks to being hormonal and not getting any sleep. That is, until I got to the office, and then I put on my happy face and my serious let's-get-to-work facade and jumped back in the game.

My boss is glad that things are back to normal. He's glad that everything is the same as it used to be before I left. He sees the same girl who has been working for him for years. I am parking in the same spot, sitting at the same desk, wearing the same pre-maternity suits that I did before. I run the same meetings and have the same goals.

But I am not the same girl.

I'm a mother of 2 now.
I've welcomed a second girl into our family.
I've had 8 weeks off from work to readjust my priorities and remember that the most important things in life are the man I sleep next to at night, the baby I feed in the middle of the night, and the sweet girl who for the past 8 weeks has gotten off the bus at 3:14 and run home to tell me about her day.

Don't get me wrong -- I love my job. I love the work I do and the people I meet every day. It is a privilege for me to get to help someone find a new job and share that excitement with them. It is fulfilling for me, and I love the company where I work.

But in the past, it's been my focus. Sometimes I've gotten so excited about success at work that I've lost sight of what's waiting at home. Sometimes my priorities have gotten a little out of line, and I've put my job before my family.

It's amazing what an 8 week step back will do to remind you of what's important. It's amazing what 6 pounds 8 ounces of baby can do to turn your life upside down. It's amazing how a family of 4 sitting around the dinner table makes me rush home at the end of the day.

I know it will get easier to get back into work. The goodbyes in the morning won't be quite as hard. But nothing will ever be the same.

And that's a good thing. Enough to even make me whistle a little bit.

It's the end of the world as we know it

It's 6:30 AM, the alarms are getting ready to go off, and craziness will ensue in our home. Getting breakfast made, notebooks signed, hair flat-ironed, trying to find another day of maternity clothes that fit over this belly that are appropriate for the office, and get out the door with carpool in time for the kids to be at school before the bell rings.

Most families I know are going through their usual routines this morning. It's a normal Thursday, and this is what we do on Thursdays.

But this morning, I am taking just a minute to ponder on a normal Thursday. Because tomorrow, it all changes.

Tomorrow we will wake up super-early and head to the hospital. And while everyone else is running around with their Friday routine, getting lunches made and notebooks signed, we will be having a baby. And the next time I come to a Thursday or Friday, our routine will look completely different, because we will be a family of four, and our morning routine will involve a new little life.

We've been a family of 3 for going on 10 years now, so I'm not quite sure how to anticipate the change. Long gone are the days of diapers and someone who is dependent on me for everything. Long gone are the days where we were awoken during the night by a baby's cry. But here we are at the starting line again, ready to shock our systems and try it for the second time.

We are thrilled. A little nervous, but thrilled. It's been a long journey to get to this point, and it is surreal to think a baby will be joining us in about 24 hours.

So today I'm just going to enjoy my Thursday with my family of 3, pondering on the amazing years we have had together, and tomorrow we will celebrate adding Emmy, and becoming a family of 4.

It's the end of the world as we know it. And I feel fine!

This is your pilot speaking...

Going into the holidays last year, Chris and I decided that gifts would not be a really big part of our Christmas. We really don’t like how Christmas has become about obligatory giving instead of sharing time and making memories with friends. My belief is that if you are going to give someone a gift, it needs to have thought behind it. Something that made you say, “Oh you are going to love this!” rather than, “Oh, I need to get something for so-and-so.”

One of the best gifts I’ve ever been given is a flying lesson on a Cessna – just genius – I loved it! I don’t have any plans to become a pilot, but the whole experience was thrilling and unique, and the kind of gift that took a lot of thought.

Leading up to my lesson, I did a lot of research on the instruments and the pilot’s responsibilities. One thing I found fascinating is that pilots file a flight plan before they go on a trip. It maps out where they are going and precisely how they are getting there. This keeps them from running smack-dab into another plane along the way. And once in the air, they follow the flight plan detail by detail.

When I came to Capstone (my current company), I found out that my boss had written a book with a friend of his who had been diagnosed with, and has since passed away from Lou Gehrig’s disease (ALS). The book they wrote is called “Change in the Flight Plan.” My boss’ friend, Paul, had been a recreational pilot and understood the importance of filing and following a flight plan. But when it came to his own life, his flight plan was changed drastically when he heard the doctor speak his diagnosis. Not that his ultimate destination had suddenly changed, but the way he was going to get there had taken a radical turn.

I’ve thought a lot about the “flight plans” of my life. For practically everything in life, I make the decision. I am in control. I decide where I am going and how I am going to get there.

You too?

But every once in a while, God either gently or abruptly reminds us that we are not actually in control, and we not the final “filers” of our flight plan. We get a diagnosis, or our spouse moves out, or we lose our job, or Mr. Right doesn’t call back, or the stock market crashes – our situation changes, or our plans change. It can be devastating.

I am in the middle of a change in my flight plan, and as I look around, so are many of the people in my life. The thing I am keeping in mind is that my flight plan has not been removed altogether. God isn’t going to send us out without a plan on file, allowing us to potentially crash and burn. There is a plan in place. It just may not be the path we originally planned to take. But if we get to know God, and we learn over time to trust Him, we will see that His plan works. It might be out of our comfort zone, and it might be the most difficult thing we’ve ever gone through, but it may be the one way that He shows us who He is – rather than letting us do our own thing and missing Him completely.

Lordy, Lordy...

I remember the lazy days of summer when I was in elementary school -- days that never seemed to end. Plenty of time to run in the sprinklers, chase after the ice cream truck, ride bikes in the neighborhood, and play at friends' houses.

Grown-ups always said how quickly time was flying by. But I didn't see it at all.

I remember my senior year of high school, acceptance letter to Baylor in hand. The time seemed to creep along so slowly -- I was sure the day would never get there that I would actually move into my dorm and start my life as a college student.

My Mom kept saying how quickly the time had flown by. But I didn't feel that way at all.

I remember when I was pregnant with ChellBell, keeping track of her growth and progress week by week. 40 weeks seemed like a lifetime, and I wondered if the day would ever come when I would see her face.

Chris said he couldn't believe how quickly the time was passing by. But it seemed to stand still to me.

This past weekend I celebrated a milestone birthday of the big Four-O. Short of the party I have been planning for the past 6 months, I was not looking forward to this birthday. Not that I've dreaded it -- I just have not (like most people, I suppose) been jumping up and down about turning forty. Let's face it, when you turn 10, you are finally in double digits. When you hit 13, you are finally a teenager. 16, of course you get to drive. 18, you get to vote. 21, you get to drink. 30, you are finally legit. But 40. Well, that's the age when you are supposed to be all mature and have things figured out. You start looking ahead to the "back 9" and ponder on what has been instead of what is to come. Your investments become more conservative. Your bed time becomes a bit earlier. And time... You realize how quickly time really does fly.

As my friends sang "Happy Birthday" to me last Saturday, I looked out on a room full of people and thought about all the memories that had been made over 40 years with these people that I love so much. Each like a small pixel that, put together, makes up the whole of who I am and how I've gotten here. A room full of 40 years of memories is a pretty amazing thing.

And I wondered where the time had gone. How it had flown by so quickly. And I wished I could freeze it.

I definitely don't feel mature enough to be 40, and I'm nowhere near having things all figured out. But I do know that life is made up of small moments. And the memories that stick usually involve people, not things. And the richest people are those who have been loved and who have loved. And that life needs to be felt and lived and savored. And that time flies by quickly, so we must celebrate even the smallest of things while we have the chance.

Christie's 40th! from Rebecca Darling on Vimeo.

Perch

I have fallen in love with birds. Not the real kind that live in cages or fly around and leave proof of their visit on my car. Just the kinds that are showing up in decorating, on necklaces, and on Twitter. The perching bird. The bird that is resting between flights.

The perching bird looks calm. She’s not worried about where the next worm will come from or how she will get twigs to build a nest or how she will challenge her babies mentally now that school is out for the summer. She is not concerned about braces or promotions or A/C units that break.

She is perching. She is Resting.

I think I surround myself with the perching bird because I want to be like her. She is sitting, but she is ready at any moment to fly. And she doesn’t perch too long. Just enough to take a look around, catch a breath, and move on.

I don’t know how to perch very well. Life is either going at 100 miles an hour with no stopping, or it comes to a complete stop due to exhaustion or burn-out, where I feel like I might just not get up again. Perching is definitely something we have to learn – stop long enough, but don’t stop too long.

Last week, I had another miscarriage, and all of the emotions that come with that are swirling around inside of me – the rationalizing, the grief, the questioning. Sometimes I find myself creating busy-ness to distract myself from it all, and sometimes I find myself dwelling on it, not able to really move on.

But this morning, God told me to Perch.

Matthew 6:26 says, “Look at the birds. They don't plant or harvest or store food in barns, for your heavenly Father feeds them. And aren't you far more valuable to him than they are?”

We all have things going on in our lives that we wrestle with, whether those are big or seemingly small things. It doesn’t matter. God is calling us to rest for a while. Take a minute to look out, catch our breath, let Him renew our spirits. But let’s not sit so long that it turns into dwelling or getting “stuck” in whatever our struggle is. I remember my Mom telling me to grieve and experience my emotion, but that the world would go on and to not let it go on without me. She essentially was telling me to perch and be ready to fly.

I pray that we all learn this art of perching – resting – and that we will know more concretely than we know our own names that God watches over us, that we can trust Him, that we are valuable to Him, and that He cares for us.

Hello again

I knew my hiatus from blogging had gone on far too long when my husband showed up with a new laptop yesterday and said he hoped it would encourage me to increase my activity on Pop Rocks for Breakfast.

He's just that kind of guy. And he knows that amidst all the busy-ness of being Me, and being his Wife, and being ChellBell's Mom, and being hopelessly determined to accomplish more in every given day than realistically possible, I love to write. And I miss it.

Thanks sweetie, for my new laptop. But thanks, sweetie, even more, for knowing what inspires me and encouraging me to do it.

Speaking of inspired, I just found this blog and wanted to pass on some words that gave me inspiration-induced goose bumps.

"I think the beauty of twinkle lights is the perfect metaphor for joy.

Joy is not a constant. It comes to us in moments - often ordinary moments. Sometimes we miss out on the bursts of joy because we're too busy chasing down the extraordinary moments. Other times we're so afraid of the dark that we don't dare let ourselves enjoy the light.

A joyful life is not a floodlight of joy. That would eventually become unbearable.

I believe a joyful life is made up of joyful moments gracefully strung together by trust, gratitude, and inspiration."

-Brene Brown


Happy Friday, friends. I hope we meet back here again very soon.

melt

This time last week the ground was covered with snow. The keep-kids-out-of-school-for-days kind of snow. The we-don't-get-this-kind-of-snow-in-Dallas kind of snow. Most mornings in our house involve lots of coercing and bribing to get ChellBell out of bed, but it's amazing how wide awake that girl is when the words "snow" and "school is closed" are uttered! It took just minutes for Chell to jump out of bed, put on boots and a coat, and be outside ready to play in this oh-so-strange-but-oh-so-cool white powder.

ChellBell's friend, Sarah, came over and the two (with some help from the Dads) built a 6 1/2 foot snowman complete with scarf, hat, and chenille moustache. I was so impressed at what the Dads girls accomplished! Sadly, the temperature started rising, and slowly the snowman began to lean waaaay to the left. And then he started melting. For days, there was just a small pile of ice sitting where the snowman once stood tall. And just a few days ago the ice completely disappeared, leaving us with only memories of our record snow fall.

This week has been crazy for our family, including the burial of "Glen-Paw", who has served the role as my Grandpa for the past 30 years, a robbery at my parents' house, and making some difficult decisions regarding my Grandma's health and treatment. Earlier this week we went to spend some time with Grandma in the hospital -- her health is declining daily, and we believe we are nearing her last few days. It was a shock to walk into her hospital room and see a much different woman than I had seen just weeks before. As happens with age, her body is failing and she is weak. It reminded me of that snowman that the girls built, who used to be standing tall and proud, but is slowly becoming just a small resemblance of what used to be.

And just like the snowman, I am bracing myself for the day when she will be no more. Where even the small pile of snow will completely disappear. And we will be left with only our memories.

But oh, we will be so thankful for the memories!

elf(a) on the shelf(a)

I have now celebrated 39 New Years, and many of those have started with a long list of resolutions that boil down to me wanting to be skinnier and more organized. I am not by nature an organized person and am not sure why I think that the mind-over-matter of a new year will suddenly change who I am. And it doesn’t, which is why “becoming more organized” ends up on the resolution list year after year. (So does “being skinnier”, but that’s for a different post and a different day)

This year, I saw the error of my ways and did not resolve to become a more organized person. Instead, I resolved to be more deliberate about doing organized things and finding tools that set me up for success, one room at a time. What to tackle first?

The Pantry

Our pantry is under a staircase and actually has a good amount of space. Sadly, the space has not been configured well, so it has been hard to fit everything in – cans stashed everywhere, stuff hidden behind other stuff... It’s one of those projects – maybe you’ve had one like this – where you know you need to do something – take some kind of initiative – but it’s so overwhelming, and you know that it’s going to be a hard process, that it’s just easier to leave it the way it is, even if it is ineffective and frustrating.

But thanks to my resolution and The Container Store’s annual Elfa sale, I was able to take a deep breath and jump into the “redo”. Saturday was EID (Elfa Installation Day), and the first thing we did was take a hammer to the existing shelves. I swear they hung on the wall with all their might – like they were revolting – they did not want to go! But after lots of hammering and prying, we finally got them down. And then the new shelves went in. The difference is astounding! It was like HGTV had come in to the house to do a makeover. We stood back and looked at the new space and had one of those why-did-we-put-this-off-for-so-long kind of moments, where the angels blew their horns, and I swear there was momentary peace on earth.

And because God is good about using everything in my life as an a-ha moment, He quietly whispered to me that he has some Elfa shelving for a few parts of my life that seem to be in a bit of disarray. Areas of my life where change needs to happen, areas that definitely need a “redo”, but just the thought of tackling it, the thought of hammering down those old “shelves” and the parts that are ineffective… well, sometimes it’s just easier to live the way I’ve always lived. But standing back, looking at my new pantry, I knew exactly what He meant. And I told Him to hammer away…

Don't forget!

Remembering has never been a strong suit of mine. Ever since I was a little girl, my most common phrase has likely been, "Oops, I forgot." My Mom would always recommend that I tie a string around my finger when I needed to remember something (which seriously is not as easy as it sounds, plus you're assuming that you'll actually remember what it was you weren't supposed to forget...). Fortunately, now that I'm older, I have help -- online calendars, an iPhone, and lists -- but, sadly, I still fall victim to my forgetfulness on a weekly if not daily basis.

So we started off the New Year with a bang, celebrating with the Darlings. Oh the happy, shiny New Year, bringing promise that it would right everything that was wrong in 2009. A clean slate for starting over. Like a newly sharpened pencil or that new car smell. While I am normally sentimental about saying goodbye to another year, I happily bid 2009 farewell and jumped right into 2010.

And then yesterday happened. Eleven days into my squeaky clean, shiny new year. A less than perfect day that ended with a call from the school principal (never good), which caused me to have to leave work early and cancel a dinner meeting, which is when I heard the thump-thump-thump noise in my tire, which is how I found out that I had a flat and was driving on the rim, which launched an exhausting and emotional evening.

So much for my shiny new year. My clean slate now has some dirt on it.

I think I have my most communicative conversations with God in times like that. You know, the kind where I talk a lot and He does a lot of listening. So last night I bombarded Him with all my questions like, "Where did I go wrong as a parent?" "Why did this day have to happen?" "How am I going to fix this?" "Why can't life be happy and easy all the time?" and finally "What do you want me to learn from this terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day?"

(And then I shut up)

I didn't hear an audible voice. No scripture was written on the wall. No bush aflame. Just a mental picture. A picture of me with a string tied around my finger. A string that served as a reminder. A reminder that I am helpless without God, and I need Him.

And yesterday had to happen, so that I wouldn't forget.

I'm back from Wonderland...

Hi friends, sorry to have left you high and dry during a month of blogging about the Extraordinary-ness of every day.

Honestly, I just ran out of Extraordinary. Has that ever happened to you? I feel like a brat for saying that I had to look too hard to find it, because I know extraordinary things are all around us. But it got to a point where my posts were going to read like this:

I breathed today, and that was good.

I went home to a great family.

No one made me eat mayonnaise.

And that was today's Extraordinary.

Sometimes when you have to look too hard for the things that put a skip in your step or make your smile a bit brighter, it becomes a chore, and then finding the Extraordinary isn't fun anymore.

So I went into my hole.

Remember when Alice fell into a hole and found herself in Wonderland? Where she ate a little biscuit and the world began to cave in all around her, and then she sipped a little soda and became so tiny that she was helpless? And then she was surrounded by Tweedle Dum and Tweedle Dee and ran pointless races that never ended? And from there she found herself at the table with the Mad Hatter?

I can relate to this girl.

And the rabbit -- "I'm late, I'm late for a very important date, no time to say 'hello' 'goodbye', I'm late!" (read "no time to blog or facebook or twitter -- I'm late!")

And next thing Alice knows, the Queen is yelling "OFF WITH HER HEAD" because Alice has messed up again.

And all Alice wants to do is wake up out of this dream and find herself safe, sound, and happy under the calm tree with her sister reading a book at her side.

So, friends, that's where I've been. And blogging every day about being late, having the world cave in, and knowing that you've messed up again is less than perfect and not fun to read. So I took a little break and looked for that calm reading spot under the tree.

Can't say that I've found it, but I've missed you all enough to want to return to the great world of blogging and continue looking for the Extraordinary. And if the Extraordinary ends up to be the Mad Hatter at the Tea Party, perhaps I will just be sure to get a new recipe or fashion tips on hats.

xoxox

Extraordinary-ness of Sept 14

My goal was to post every day about the extraordinary-ness of September, and even though I’ve missed a few days of posting, there has not been a day that has failed to present me with at least one glimpse of extraordinary, mixed up in my extra-ordinary life.

But I have to tell you about last night. Because it was extraordinary. I would even have to say, super-extraordinary.

Our general membership meeting for the Junior League was scheduled for last night, and even with the rain, there were over 500 women in attendance. We were honored to have Liz Murray come speak to us about her story of perseverance and determination.

Liz grew up in the Bronx, where her parents were unemployed drug addicts, using their welfare check more to support their habit than to make sure their girls had food to eat. She ended up in a group home at 13 and then was homeless 2 years later. After her Mother died of AIDS, Liz was faced with the decision to either continue living life with no purpose, destined to repeat the cycle her parents had introduced to her, or to make a change and transform her life. She chose change.

She started by taking inventory of what she had, and this is what she came up with: she had two feet, two hands, a brain in her head, bus transportation, and free education. That’s it. No money, no home, no food, no place to shower. But she realized that she had enough to make something of herself, and at 17, she started high school. She crammed 4 years of high school into 2 years, graduated top in her class (while sleeping on park benches and on friends' floors), and landed a full scholarship to Harvard.

Last night, amidst a sea of Junior League highlights and Prada bags, Liz Murray challenged us to stop looking at what we don’t have and focus on what we do have. She challenged us to realize our potential – to wake up every morning and ask ourselves, “What if…?” She challenged us to take accountability for what we are doing with our lives. She challenged us to shed our pride and judgment and to just love other people. And she challenged us to make a difference in someone else's life.

An extraordinary woman. An extraordinary story. Extraordinary inspiration.

You can find information about Liz, the Lifetime movie about her life, and what she's doing now on her website.

Extraordinary-ness of Sept. 6

I was thinking about my monthly notes to ChellBell this morning and was reminded that God, the One who breathed the universe into existence, the One to whom the earth is a grain of sand, even as big and holy as He is, that same God gets all tickled about me, the same way I feel about ChellBell. He gets overwhelmed with his love for his children. He's crazy about us! The way I feel about ChellBell is just a fraction of what God feels for me -- what God feels for us.

And that, to me, is extraordinary.