I'm in the kitchen looking at the wicker basket overflowing with envelopes; with stray papers and cards sticking out every which way. 

 This basket is one of the places I store the mail and more.  "Store" is a responsible word, sometimes the more honest word is dismiss.  We get mail everyday.  To add to the unending pile, the kids come home with homework and notes outlining events. 

I'm not very organized so I take joy in throwing some mail, like flyers away immediately so that I don't have to deal with it.  Other papers, like the completed cut-and-paste short vowel page and the invitation to play YMCA basketball are thrown away secretly when Rylie isn't looking. 

The abundance is more than I can bear.

Still there are invitations that sit in that basket. I looked just yesterday and noticed an event that had passed.  I had completely forgotten about it.

I skim the basket occasionally to check for urgent papers that need to be signed and for upcoming events.  The items in that basket get deserved attention when I sit in the floor and go through the contents.  I pick up each paper and organize to the best of my ability.

I throw away passed opportunities like the Bath and Body Works coupon whose expiration date has come and gone.

I have a keep pile; like the birth announcement sent by our friends who are adopting a sweet baby girl and the handwritten note to me from Hallie.

Though I take the papers out of the basket....

 my basket is NEVER really empty.

 I have one pile that goes back into the basket like those invitations I don't want to miss.  Important contact information goes back in too.

I haven't been vigilant in this season of Thanksgiving.  I've been thankful, but my thankfulness quite humorously resembles the basket tucked in the corner of my kitchen.

There is a never-to-end list of things to be thankful for.  So great is the abundance that some things are sadly dismissed like the cut-and-paste worksheets Rylie labors over. 

 Do I take time to be thankful for the things which come day after day? 

 Am I thankful for sweet rest that comes every night?  Am I thankful for breath?

Like the mail that is discarded without opening, what opportunities do I miss?  Did I stop to really notice that hug I got Sunday night at church; the hug that held dear meaning?  There are birds singing and wind chimes outdoors tuning in to God's glory.  Am I tuning in or am I missing out?

I've discovered my "thankful" basket is too small to fit all which belongs in it. I realize that there are thankful things I've neglected to put in. Maybe I need to tend to it with much greater frequency.

God thank you that my basket is never empty. The abundance is more than I can bear. I pray that you would enlarge my heart and open my eyes so that I might better acknowledge your greatness.  I pray that I would live a life in light of your goodness. Help my joy to tell of your wonderful deeds.

 

 

Swinging was my favorite playground activity as a child.  All it took was getting the breath knocked out of me from a fall, to scratch monkey bars off the list.  I was a bit too puny for the chin up bars.

But the swings, I could do.  I'd grip those chains, scramble backwards and hop on- beginning my ascent.

I'd rock back and forth inching higher and higher.  With some height, I'd lean back and point my toes. My feet surpassed the height of the school building. My toes were mere inches away from clouds.

I also remember truly believing if I pointed my toes high enough as I soared upward that I would reach the ultimate swinging goal of flipping over, making a complete circle.

Before I was ever able to reach that goal, Mrs. Phillips our recess lady, would always shout  "Line up" ceasing my soaring sensation

My rhythm broken , I would leave the playground.

 I remember running back to the swings the next day.

It was in the swing that I reached for the heights.

But more than achieving the heights was the simple enjoyment of the ride.  Though moving with speed, there was something soothing in swinging.  It was in the swing that I orchestrated a playground lullaby; rocking to and fro.

I have recently forgotten how to appreciate the rhythm of life.  Life's been a non-stop chore.  Time has been branded with my personal routine; gripping life's chains- wildly kicking to and fro. I swing back and forth cooking and cleaning, drop-offs and pick-ups.

Sickness this past week broke that rhythm. Being grounded helped me to remember how I missed being in the swing of things.

 Life can be experienced as laborious routine or beautiful rhythm.

I choose beautiful rhythm...................................................................my old familiar friend

Now that I'm back in the swing.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

A Lesson from Lyla

 

Our friends came to visit months ago.  They brought their two precious girls with them.  One of their girls Lyla who was three at the time speaks her mind. In this particular stage of her life she spoke volumes with one word.

WHY?!!!

She would say this when her mother told her to come downstairs or eat a few bites of the bread on her plate.  She would emphatically say "WHY!!!" when told it was time to put on her shoes.

It never really seemed a question.

"WHY!!!" meant "I don't want to do this".  It meant "this is unfair".  Though she said one word, I could tell she was really saying  "I don't like this".

My apologies to my friend, but I loved hearing her say it.  I felt like she was expressing my often mood; boiling it down to a one-word fit.

I have made no secret that my recent days have been trying.  I've found myself screaming "WHY!!!" on the inside. It's escaped my lips a few times too.

I sent a simple text to my friend just this morning after listing my life's injustices.

Text: (In my Lyla voice)  WHY?!!!

My friend quickly responded telling me that Lyla has a new saying.   She said that Lyla, who is four now and  has obviously reached a new maturity level will ask a question but before anyone can answer, she will say

"Oh.  Ok."

-the irony pierces my soul and has me tickled at the same time

Lyla has moved on at the age of four.  But me in my three-year old mentality, when things aren't going my way-when things just don't seem fair I get stuck on "WHY!!".

In my impatience and lack of trust I question, and more often I demand an answer.

It's only through time and maturation that we come to the important realization that, "Oh. (it's) Ok." Sometimes it means putting on my big girl shoes and walking through something I don't want to, like the flu, ridiculous behavior by my children or some other struggle.

I've never went through a single trial where God hasn't been beautifully at work. There's never NOT been an answer, even when I haven't been privileged to know it.  God has the answer.  God is the answer.  And it's as simple as that, no matter the deep insinuations my "WHY!!!" holds. 

 I want to be at that place; the place where I don't wait for the answer

-the place where, in trust, I simply say, oh. ok.

I can't wait to be four.

  

 

Even when I walk
through the darkest valley ,

where the flu won't leave

and the dirty dishes stay stacked

where the ice comes out of the freezer

as ice(creamy) because someone hid ice cream in the dispenser

where the floor is still sticky from spilled Gatorade 

-even under the covers where Rylie and I hid

 and cried about bullies yesterday afternoon

where dirty clothes are in heaps in the hallway

where a headache is my close companion

and nap is a stranger

where I sit at the keyboard to type inspiration

but my fingers won't budge

when the grade portal shows stinky grades for my kid

and the consequences leave us both disappointed

when I'm cranky and I know it, and so do my family and friends

when glass breaks and there are more spills

when I dramatically lay my head on the table mocking a fainting spell

when fever and vomit decide to revisit

 

I will not be afraid,

{Though I'm a mess on the outside (and I'm not just talking about my oversized t-shirt, sweats and day old ponytail) }

....I will not be afraid

and I am not alone

even when I'm hard to be around

...........you are close beside me. (-Psalm 23:4)

 

 

 

 

 Forgetting is a problem 

Forgetting is also beautiful!

 

 

I forget.

 

I'm not talking amnesia kind of forget. Amnesia typically refers to shock or injury that leads to the loss of memory.  I don't suffer from amnesia, but I have certain gaps in my memory where I have subconciously substituted the spaces with whatever I want; sort of creating false memory.

There is a hole in the door of my childhood bedroom. My sister and I have a memory gap when it comes to the exact cause.  I think we each created our own self-justifying false memory.

There are other times I just can't recall a piece of information that I know remains temporarily locked at an undisclosed location in my brain.  I forgot my zip code for an embarrassing 45 seconds the other day when I was trying to get gas at a convenience store.

The kind of forgetfulness that occurs most frequently is the kind of forgetfulness that suggests inattention or carelessness like the time I forgot Hayden's first driving lesson. 

This kind of forgetfulness happens with one of my children when it comes to turning in assignments occasionally.  It happens with another when it comes to brushing her teeth. We all suffer from forgetfulness.

I'm not as gracious as I should be when I'm the one being forgotten. When someone has failed to remember to call me back, or that it's my birthday I have a tendency to equate forgetfulness with love level.  Let me show you my erroneous equation.

Forgetting= Lack of love, lack of loyalty

Forgetting= not caring,

Of course when it's me who's doing the forgetting, I attribute my not remembering to busyness, airheadedness; I've even diagnosed myself with ADD.  I would hate to think that anyone would feel like I cared little for them because I forgot to do something I said I would do.  In the frequent event that I have "forgotten" I rely on grace.

We are imperfect.

We hurt others though it is rarely our intention.

Saddest is the fact that we forget the One who always loves us, the One who is loyal and cares for us.  I carelessly leave my bible unopened for days on end.  I eat the food in my cupboard forgetting the hands that truly feed me.  While my excuse for forgetting is busyness (I am juggling a thousand chores)-  God cares for me while juggling the planets.

Forgetting is almost not a part of his vocabulary.

He remembers the way I felt when half of my bridesmaids deserted me the night before my wedding to have their own bachelorette party without the bride.  He never forgets my birthday.  He doesn't forget me and he doesn't forget the motherless/fatherless children in Kenya that I think about fondly ever so often.  He doesn't forget about my friend who lost her child this summer who I remember to pray for on occasion.

He remembers.  But there IS something he forgets.

He forgets our sin.

I-yes, I alone--will blot out your sins for my own sake and will never think of them again.

Isaiah 43:25

God's forgetfulness is not the amnesia kind, not the busy kind.  I can remember times when I've been indebted to someone.  They say "Forget about it".  They have CHOSEN to forget; that is the beautiful kind.

Sometimes I forget God.  I forget about his goodness.  He forgets my bad.

God forgets my sin.

 

 

 

 

 

It just felt like a small pop, but I knew what I'd done.  I'd run over Hayden's basketball; the one he uses for practice, the basketball he picks up every day routine-like on the way to the car and lets sail through the air toward the goal in our driveway.

I got out and knew the damage was irreparable.

"That's just about right" I thought to myself as I got out of the car yesterday with a dehydrated, flu infested Hallie.  On the back of a another week of chore juggling, with me having been to the doctor only the day before with bronchitis and sinus infection here we were getting out of the car exhausted and slightly miserable.

With the vision of Hayden's busted basketball I came up with a few more words.

deflated

broken

purposeless

popped

damaged beyond repair

flat

I could keep going.....

In an instant I likened myself to that basketball.  I whined on Facebook last night about the price of steroid shots, antibiotics and other medicines including five prescriptions for Tamiflu, one which was vomited violently by Rylie who had an allergic reaction.

Using humor I complained that Rylie now had the flu too.  And I can tell you now that as of this morning, another one has bit the dust.  Hayden is sick too.

But thank goodness for brighter notes. I received so many encouraging comments and even some texts and phone calls.  One comment, a dear expression often used "this too shall pass" stuck in my mind.  Darn it, she's right.  Pity party over again.

My life and circumstances in no way resemble that destroyed basketball that found its place under my tire. That basketball's purpose has been terminated. for. ever.  It can't be patched up.

The basketball is more like the hundreds of smashed acorns that have left a crumbly mess in my driveway. My life is not comparable.  Your life isn't either.

You may be going through much worse than I'm going through, but your life is not beyond repair either.  Your life isn't over. No matter what's happened, your life isn't without purpose.  Our sole purpose is bringing glory to God.  There may be days that we bring him glory without stepping outside our house or with unkempt hair. 

I have a verse that I quoted every morning for around a year.  I don't know its reference but don't judge me, nearly my entire family is sick and I don't have time to find it now (I'm using the excuse while I can).  Here's the verse.

Wake me in the morning that I might sing for joy

and be glad all my days.

Wake me.

Though it sounds like it, is isn't just a morning verse. Sometimes in the middle of the day or especially in our nights it's as if our spiritual eyes are closed tight, maybe from exhaustion, sorrow or maybe from stubbornness.  I believe "wake me" is the necessary coming to the realization that "I'm not waking up well on my own, a little help please..."

I'm finding in my slump that it's a "snap out of it" verse.  It's an "Open your eyes" verse.  I think the writer is saying I know there is joy around me.  Help me to wake up.  Help me to see it and sing for joy.

This sickness, exhaustion, frustration "will pass".

 It's in my wakeful state that I realize I have every reason to be glad.

 I have more things to be thankful about in any given moment than there are acorn bits in my driveway.

Just to let you know, I have pictures on my phone; ones of medicine lined up along the cabinet, and pictures of garbage sacks, Germ x, and Lysol.  I have more, but I'll stop.  I planned to use them on this post (shameless, I know).

Though deflated, I'm going to rise above my flattened mood.  I'm going to "wake up" asking the Lord to put a new "morning" song of joy in my heart.  I'm going to try to get back into that habit of reciting, and living this verse not just in the morning, but in

 "all of my days".

Praying you'll find yourself singing the same song.

Email me!  kristiburden@gmail.com