B: for Blessing; C: for Car

Admittedly, those are strange words to put together.  But "B" and "C" come right by each other, and both played key roles in our last two weeks.

A few weeks ago Meg, who sits in the far back corner of our van on the passenger side, told me she would prefer not to ride in our car anymore if the tires were going to make so much squeaking noise every time we stopped--and she certainly wouldn't be going on our vacation with that racket.  So I took the hint and brought the van in to the shop.

B is also for Brakes, and that was the problem.  I needed new calipers.  And, because I told the mechanic we were going on an Out West Trip and asked him to "kick the tires" to see if there were any problems, I also needed a new intake manifold gasket.  Whatever that thing is.  I authorized him to fix the calipers right away and set the intake thingy appointment.  He fixed the van while I was at work, I picked the van back up, and I went on my merry way.

That was Tuesday.  Friday I was in Traverse City with the ladies in my family, and I got a text message from my husband:

What did they do to your van?

Um . . . they fixed it.  Why?

Nope.  The front tires smelled of burning rubber, and smoke was billowing from the front passenger tire.  Oi.

That Monday the van was back in the shop.  The caliper had seized up--bad from the box--and would be replaced.  The next day I walked back into the shop and picked up my van, with a fresh new caliper and that new intake thingy.  And then three days later we were off.

My husband and I took our three girls on a week long vacation to the Black Hills of South Dakota and then to visit "family" on the East side of South Dakota--with an overnight at a covered wagon on the Ingalls family homestead in De Smet in between.  Everything went well for the first hour.  Then we had our first potty break.  This was going to be a long trip, we could feel it.

Our first night we made it to Cedar Falls, IA.  I totally screwed up on a non-refundable Orbitz room reservation for the Super 8 that night (turns out it was the 17th, not the 24th), but the staff at the Super 8 went above and beyond their jobs and settled it all.  And took another $10 off our bill for good measure.  Apparently everything is refundable if you have a tired face, cute kids, and an apologetic attitude.  We slept well and were off on another day of making sandwiches in rest areas, searching for radio stations amidst the static, and playing the alphabet game.

An hour down the road Addie realized she left her blanket, "Dottie," behind at the hotel.

I called, they didn't find it, Addie cried then and again at bedtime that night.  We were tucked into our little cabin at Mystery Mountain Resort in Rapid City, SD, by then.  We decided she probably left Dottie at home and talked her into sleeping while snuggling my soft body pillow.  I'll be honest.  It didn't really work.  Not that night or the next three.

The next two days were filled with the beauty of God's creation.  We kept our Sabbath that day celebrating Daddy Beau with a hike through Wind Cave and a ride from Hill City to Keystone aboard the 10-mile-per-hour 1880's train.  We saw prairie dogs and deer and Crazy Horse and craned our necks for a glimpse of a bighorn sheep like the crossing signs promised.  The pool at our resort was lovely for the girls, and the tow truck driver who let Beau back in the keys-locked-inside van at the local Walmart was quite friendly.  Monday was a trip to Wall Drug (have you dug it?), a journey through the Badlands National Park with several stops for hiking and "I think I heard a rattle snake" (and a big horn sheep sighting!), and a S-L-O-O-O-W van ride through Custer State Park. Our animal count increased to several antelope, a mama burro who scratched her neck on our side mirror (my window was definitely rolled up) while her baby nursed, 300 buffalo grazing in a field, and a million more prairie dogs.  The hairpin turns and uphill climbs up Iron Mountain Road to Mt. Rushmore led us around a blind curve and apparent traffic jam . . . a herd of buffalo--papas, mamas, and babies.  It was so cool.  We made it to Mt. Rushmore for the very impressive lighting ceremony and back to bed by midnight "home" time.

Our last day there was meant to be a rest day.  We talked about eating at a favorite restaurant, maybe taking in a few shops, and swimming a lot.  Once we'd woken up though, Beau said, "Hey, do you want to take a quick drive on the Needles Highway through Custer?"

Yes. Yes, I do.

So we did. And it was one of the most incredible things I've ever seen. The hairpin turns and narrow tunnels through rocks and views were some of the most amazing things God has created. And right up until we coasted into the town of Custer, it was a perfect morning.

We first smelled the burning rubber when we stopped at the public restroom for one of the girls. Still, we thought, "Eh, that was hilly.  It's fine."  It wasn't fine.  Beau switched with me to see if I noticed anything, and I couldn't get the van to go over 5 MPH. When I took my foot off the gas, we immediately stopped.  

"This isn't fine," I said. Beau Googled repair shops, and we limped our way the two blocks back to the station.  Where we learned that not only had the calipers seized up (again!), the tires were locked up too.  Forty miles from all of our things.  We went to Subway with a list of potential car rental places and sick stomachs.  Nobody answered their phones except those who had nothing good to tell us . . . and the car place reported the tires had unlocked but the heat was so bad that the rotors had turned blue so we'd need new calipers again, new rotors again, and new pads again.  Oh, and the outstanding news was that the calipers wouldn't be in until noon the next day.  Two hours after we were supposed to check out and leave Rapid City.  And the repairs wouldn't be done for two hours after that.

But wait.  How were we even going to get back to Rapid City?  There were no cars to rent in Custer.  The cars to rent in Rapid City weren't going to get us from Custer to Rapid. We were stuck. My sandwich sat untouched on the table as I frantically texted my family and dear friends back home and on the East side of SD--Pray. Please pray.

"I didn't mean to overhear you," the man said as he sat down next to me.  "But my wife and I were talking--it sounds like you need to get the five of you from here to Rapid City?"

I nodded, because it's all I had.

"We're headed there.  We'd like to take you, if you'll let us."

I burst into tears, because it's all I had.

We rode back to Rapid City with perfect strangers, because sometimes God's blessings come in the form of angels embodying South Dakota hospitality.  So the girls spent the afternoon in the pool at the resort, and we found a rental car, and we packed up our cabin ready to leave in the morning . . . still praying our van would be fixed on time, and we would get to our covered wagon five hours and one earlier time zone away before everyone fell asleep.

God works, friends.  In real life.  His blessings come in strangers and in resort owners who say, "take a late checkout--and feel free to leave here in storage whatever you can't fit in the car, pick it up whenever," and in car shops where parts arrive on time and the work gets completed on schedule.  And then He even sends blessings in children not arguing or needing to stop for bathroom breaks and a 5 hour drive taking only fifteen minutes longer (because we had to get gas). He also sends blessings in a beautiful sunset over a corn field just before we pulled in to the Homestead and found our covered wagon before the light was gone.  And then His blessings appear in stars visible in 360 degrees around us and a full fire moon and shooting stars above our heads and peaceful time enjoying it all.

We had a lovely visit with our dear South Dakota family where we were reminded that friends who became family 30 years ago are one of God's greatest blessings.  Our time there was too short and will happen again many, many times over the years to come.  Our Des Moines visit with our friends and former seminarian and his wife was treasured time as well, and our trip home involved two brief stops, and then home, sweet, home. Because time away is always blessed by returning home and sleeping in your own bed.

Two days ago, I pulled into the garage at our house, and I smelled burning rubber.  And the tires were burning hot.  One more trip to Chuck's Auto, and today I have a new master cylinder in my van. And a mechanic who is making sure the repairs in Custer are fully covered under warranty and that we are taken care of.  Because sometimes God's blessings come through car repairs and mechanics who go the extra mile.

Our vacation was wonderful.  And memorable.  And we saw God's blessings in our every mile.

Oh! And the highlight started on the sofa at the farm, just a bit past bedtime, nearly a week after we left Cedar Falls.

"I left Dottie in the drawer under the TV," a sweet and tired little voice said.  So I called the Super 8.  And yesterday a box arrived for the sweet and still tired little girl.  She ripped it open just enough to pull Dottie out, and she sniffed Dottie--"It's even washed, Mommy!"--and she draped Dottie over her head and spent the day snuggling the blanket she'd slept with every night of her life up until that night after Cedar Falls.

Because sometimes God's blessings are found in quick mail service and a thoughtful hotel . . . and a pink fuzzy blanket with brown polka dots.

A: for Advent

I don't write enough.  I don't write enough to finish my novel or blog all my ideas.  I don't write enough to appease my sister, my mom, my husband, or my closest friends.  I don't write enough to be faithful to a calling on my life.  And I don't write enough to feed my soul.

A while back I came across a fun idea to blog through the alphabet.  I wanted to give it a go, but then I didn't.  And I didn't for so long that I wondered if I ever would.  Then an idea to write a post about something I read popped into my head, and in church this morning it dawned on me that it's an advent post, and advent starts with A.  So here we go.  (Hopefully you can read a post on zebras or zoology or ziplock baggies in December of 2016.  We'll call that a win.)

This has been a hard advent.

Family members have given up watching the news.  Eyes are regularly filled with tears threatening to spill.  People are dying, hate is filling the news . . . I met a woman who said she and her husband were talking about their children growing up and wondering what world would be here for the children they might have some day . . . and whether they should even have those children.  Life is hard.  And this advent doesn't feel much like a season of joyous anticipation.

Some advents are.  Some years the air is bursting with excitement as we count down the weeks until the Christ candle is lit and all the presents are ripped open.  It's more of a "Hey, you guys!  One more week down! Only three to go! Can you hardly wait?!"

But this year.  This year it's more of a pleading.  A "How long do we have to wait?  I don't know if I can do this another day, let alone another week.  Come, Lord Jesus. Why are you taking so long?"

My oldest daughter and I just finished reading the Harry Potter series together.  I loved them even more this time, reading them with her.  The 7th book was especially meaningful, and I love that we read it during advent.  There is a scene that caused those close tears to fall and my voice to catch so much I had to pause. My daughter looked at me when I did, both of us lying there in my bed.  She just looked up at me, and I smiled while the tears fell and said, "This is life. This is what keeps us going."  She smiled and nodded, and we read on.

A hundred dementors were advancing, gliding toward them, sucking their way closer to Harry's despair, which was like a promise of a feast . . .

He saw Ron's silver terrier burst into the air, flicker feebly, and expire; he saw Hermione's otter twist in midair and fade; and his own wand trembled in his hand, and he almost welcomed the oncoming oblivion, the promise of nothing, of no feeling . . .

And then a silver hare, a boar, and a fox soared past Harry, Ron, and Hermione's heads: The dementors fell back before the creatures' approach.  Three more people had arrived out of the darkness to stand beside them, their wands outstretched, continuing to cast their Patronuses: Luna, Ernie, and Seamus.

"That's right," said Luna encouragingly, as if they were back in the Room of Requirement and this was simply spell practice for the D.A. "That's right, Harry . . . come on, think of something happy . . ."

"Something happy?" he said, his voice cracked.

"We're all still here," she whispered, "we're still fighting. Come on, now . . ."

There was a silver spark, then a wavering light, and then, with the greatest effort it had ever cost him, the stag burst forth from the end of Harry's wand . . .                                    {Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, p649}

This has been a year, friends.  Mine started with my dad in surgery to remove cancer from his body.  Along the way between then and now, friends' parents have been lost, jobs have been taken, pregnancies have been deemed "high risk," Beirut, Paris, San Bernadino, Colorado, Oregon, airplanes have been blown out of the sky, and, just last week, a friend's 17-year-old daughter committed suicide.

Life is wearying, and this advent feels like more of a lament than a joy.

As the pastor said during last week's funeral, this in between is a hard place to live.  

It is, isn't it?  This in between when Jesus was born and died and resurrected and ascended and when Jesus comes again to set everything right can feel like hell on earth.  It feels never ending, and I worry sometimes that it may be all consuming.  This might be the death of us.

At least that's how it feels.

But then, there's someone there. Someone who stands next to me and whispers, "Did you see God right there?" Someone who lifts me up and helps me stand. Someone who says, "We're still here. And we're still fighting."

And then there's Hope.  

I was asked on Friday what is my happiness. "If you really knew me, you would know my happiness is . . ."

And my answer was, "Hope." 

My happiness is Hope.  This year, in the midst of all this darkness and fighting and lamenting and crying I quit taking my antidepressant. The main reason was crazy, foolish even perhaps.  But I also wanted to see if I could do it.  And so far I have.  Because my happiness is Hope.  It's seeing a glimmer of God, of His people fighting, of all of us together lamenting His advent.

On Friday I was also challenged to share my happiness.  So . . . I give you Hope.  I wish for you, in whatever your lament, Hope.  Deep-seated, rooted somewhere you can't even see Hope.

The Ultimate Cheat

We've been on sort of a hardcore diet for the past week.  I don't actually prescribe to dieting per se.  I believe that for weight loss to be sustainable it needs to be a lifestyle change.  I also don't believe losing weight should be the end goal.  That needs to be "healthy," and healthy comes in all shapes and sizes.

At the same time, healthy for me will mean, in part, losing weight.  Now, I know the theory behind losing weight and getting healthy: eat less (of the crappy food and oversized portions), eat more (of the right things), and move more (whether it's walking or running).

I get all that.

But, like many things (and many people), I struggle to put that theory in action.  So we came across The Doctor's Diet.  Dr. Travis Stork (yes, from The Doctors on TV, but also an ER doc at VanderBilt) put his own eating plan down on paper--it's high in veggies and healthy proteins and healthy carbs, and low in all those other things that taste great but make us gain weight, have low energy, and generally feel like junk.  Since I am the picky eater in the house, I looked through the menus he suggests for his two-week STAT plan and for his two-week RESTORE plan.  And then I looked at what I got to eat when I was done with that four-week cycle and had finally reached the holy pinnacle of My Goal Weight.  That's the MAINTAIN plan.  And it all looked doable.  And sensible.  And healthy.

So we kicked it off.

We've each had a cheat day (Thursday for both of us) where I did have ice cream.  And it was too big, and I felt like garbage after.  And not from guilt either.  I don't prescribe to guilt.  I'm a Romans 8:1 girl.  Beau noticed on his cheat day that he felt run down by afternoon, something he didn't feel the rest of the week while he was eating on the plan.  Imagine that.  The veggies and healthful carbs and protein works!  (And, incidentally, they actually taste good.  Imagine my surprise in enjoying a variety of beans, an avocado, guacamole sans onions, AND grapefruit?!  Not all together, though.  That still sounds gross.)

We also woke up this morning 9 pounds down (for Beau) and 7 pounds down (for me).  Which is exciting and horrifying all at once.  Exciting: the plan is working.  Horrifying: we were really eating like garbage before.

Anyway, today is Sunday.  It's Super Bowl Sunday, so we carefully chose the cheats we wanted for the party we're attending tonight and are looking forward to enjoying fellowship and some (carefully excessive) eating.  But first, we went to church.

Not only is today Sunday, today is Communion Sunday at our church.  We sat through the bulk of the service--a baptism, crying kids, offering, snippets of the sermon caught through chatting and wiggly kids--and then it was time for communion.  I learned a cool way of thinking about communion recently, so I was definitely looking forward to it this morning.  That time of toasting Jesus' memory, thanking Him for His love and His sacrifice . . .

Still, I wasn't prepared for the actual act of putting that little piece of white bread in my mouth today.

You guys.  Aside from two whole grain English muffins, I have not had a piece of bread in over a week.  And I certainly haven't had a hunk of pure, refined carb, zero nutritional value, white bread.  That thing was good.  My teeth sank into it.  I crushed it between my tongue and the roof of my mouth.  And for a moment I was in heaven.

Then I chuckled.

And in my head I said, "God, that was a great cheat.  Thank you."

And then I thought about it for a moment while the elders gathered the trays of grape juice, and I sat in anticipation of the taste of that juice--the first time drinking something other than water or tea in a week--passing across my taste buds and trickling its happy, sweet goodness down my throat.

And I whispered, right out loud, "Let it always be like this, God.  Let it always feel like a refreshing, I have missed you for so long, thank you for this gift, cheat.  Because, in the end, that's what it represents."

Death should have been mine.  That's where I was headed.  But Jesus cheated that for me.

Praise be my Rock!

Kairos Moments

I discovered another blog yesterday, via a Huffington Post article that a mom I know posted.  "Don't Carpe Diem" it said.  Don't carpe diem?  This is for moms?  So don't carpe diem a parenting moment?  I have several I'd like to not sieze.  There are many I'd like to brush under the rug or into a corner in the closet so that no one ever finds out about them.  Maybe those are the skeletons in my closet, since I've lived a fairly mundane and safe life.  Look into the darkest recesses of my life, and you'll find all the parenting moments I chose to pretend never existed.  Like, oh say the last six years.

Kidding. 

It hasn't been that bad.  There have surely been good moments.  But, for the most part, if I'm being honest, if I'm telling my deep secrets, if you promise not to call Children's Protective Services on me (I work with some of them, and they're on my speed dial, so just try it), if we're going to shed light in the corners of my closets and lift up all the rugs in my house, if you promise not to tell anyone . . .

I really don't like parenting toddlers.  Or first graders, apparently.

Back when I was simply babysitting, I discovered that I really don't like 4 year olds.  I thought it would change when I actually had a real attachment to the child, but then my nieces hit four.  Didn't like them either.  Well, maybe it will change when they were birthed by me and call me mom.  Nope.  Even worse.  Now that my youngest has been wholly consumed by the terrible twos, I've discovered that the truth is all these 2-6 years are something I could do without.

I don't like cutting up food.  I don't like getting up from my computer or my book or my moment to breathe or my moment to sit on the toilet peeing allbymyselfforjustasecondplease in order to get a snack or find a toy or stop another fight or get a drink or get another snack or put the skirt on your mini Cinderella or find your Littlest Pet Shop purse.  (Could toys possibly be bigger, please?  Maybe all toys could be like those magical Snap 'N' Style dolls that even my two year old can maneuver.)  I don't like wiping butts either.  And I don't like all that whining.  I don't mind zipping up coats and tying shoes, but I'll be honest and say that it gets a bit annoying when they're dancing around like a pretty, pretty princess fairies while I'm doing it. 

But I'll also be honest about something else.  They really are a pretty, pretty princess fairies.  They are my joy.  They are my hope that there are bright spots in the future.  They are my I love you.  Because, even in the middle of my wishing for a second to myself prior to passing out to the world at 10:30 p.m. (hopefully in my bed and not my onesecondtomyselfonthetoilet), even in the middle of my fear that I won't actually like any stage of parenting and my kids will grow up to hate me for it, I have another secret:

I love parenting toddlers.  And I love parenting first graders, apparently.

It's hard, hard work.  I know that middle schoolers and tweens and teens will also be hard, hard work.  Or a challenge.  But I'm excited to get there.  So I hope that my kids forgive me for speeding us through a few of the rough patches, for losing my temper when my second in the bathroom is interrupted by a third little voice whining "Can you get me a piece of candy?" (Really?  From the bathroom?  Let me know how that goes.), for listening to Maroon 5 in the van when all they want is "Silly Songs!!!!!" (For. The. Fifteenth. Time...Today.).  I hope that we share a mutual respect and love and admiration when they grow up and move out and I realize that these years went too fast and wish I had less time to myself and wonder why the juice boxes and Fruit Nuggets start lasting longer than two days.  I hope I don't screw them up too much.  And I hope, that like Glennon says, I don't forget to notice the Kairos Moments.  I can seize those.

Yesterday's moments:
* Reading "Little House in the Big Woods" with Ellie
* Addie walking around the kitchen with her baby on her shoulders while I was making dinner
* Ellie's stunningly gorgeous face after she's been outside playing in the cold
* Megan's big blue eyes peeking at me from under a blanket
* Addie asking where the seat is at the table for her baby and then remembering that she only drinks milk
* Megan exclaming, "Oh my chinny-chin-chins!" when all the marbles from the marble run fell off the table in the dining room

It was such a good day.