Tag Archives: kristi burden

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imageGo Ahead and Dust

I avoid dusting. It was one of my jobs growing up. I was supposed to dust the shelves in the living room once a week. I was as dramatic then as I am now so you can imagine my dismay every week come dusting time. If my mom didn't remind me, you better bet dusting didn't happen. Of the times I did dust, I cheated half. I dusted around the five dozen music boxes and trinkets that lined the shelves. I skipped the corners and the shelves that were too tall to meet the eyes. I had better things to do.

The girls and I are at my parents house for the week. I plan on visiting my Meme who I never see. Saturday will be my class reunion. I'll travel twenty years back to poofy hair where we all existed in caricature form. I'm going to store up mom and pop, sibling, niece and nephew time because soon the school year schedule will hold us hostage again.
Mom had day surgery today. I decided to spruce up the house a bit before she got back. I swept and mopped and ran a load of dishes. I straightened pillows. I opened the curtains feeling rather pleased.

Sunlight revealed shelves lined with dust urging my attention.

Rather than ignore what had been exposed, I grabbed the bottle of Old English dabbing drops of lemon oil onto my rag getting set for my work.
After cheating on an entire shelf I decided to do right. I began to pick up every trinket swiping underneath. I dusted under the wooden church music box with the broken cross steeple (a result of my dusting). I was reminded of our many trips to the San Francisco Music Box Company to pick out something for mom for Christmas.
Beyond the dust-lined shelves are memories like the one of my dad crawling, with me on his back, to my room at bedtime. And that memory leads to thoughts of how thirsty I always seemed to be when I got into bed, "I need a drink of water!".

Working through the dust was heart-filling; so much so that I dusted the Grand Piano. It stands firm on large carved legs; a familiar backdrop to pictures growing up.

On it, I dusted little faces captured just a year or two ago of a new generation. I was struck by the hard fact that time pays no heed to my wish that my kids remain kids.

Today I didn't forget to dust. Mom didn't have to remind me. And I didn't cheat. I removed all the dust and went back to the place where I was formed; a place I love. I let waves of sweet and sad wash over me.

As I hold tight to these uncovered memories, I know that busyness and the dust will return.

Still, I'll take the time,no shortcuts, to dust again. Because sometimes there's nothing better to do, than remember.

Sometimes, he sighed, "I think the things I remember are more real than the things I see." -Arthur Golden

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Occasionally comes a conversation I may wish the next day didn't exist.
Just had lunch with a spunky-hearted friend.  I love seeing her at church on Wednesdays, Sundays and on social media. We pass each other in the hallway by the sanctuary with hearty hellos.  In the Facebook world we give each other the "little blue thumbs up" in agreement with the other's post. We don't, however, agree on everything.
We caught a glimpse of the infamous George Zimmerman trial today while sharing chips and salsa.
Blast!

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I told myself I wasn't going to mention it, but I knew immediately I was lying.  It came out something like "I'm going crazy watching this trial".  The response included a request for my thoughts on the case.  I knew I was treading on shaky ground.  The George Zimmerman trial is so emotionally charged.  If you've watched it or read about it for a few minutes, you probably have an opinion. I have, (though I promised myself I wouldn't) read every article written about the case.  I have watched much of the trial live.  I shout at the TV and shake my head in disagreement.  I growl and Google information to prove a reporter's information incomplete or erroneous.

I care so much I tell myself.  I'm passionate and intense.

There are causes and issues that often times steal my heart. 

 Abortion? (I can barely type the word it's so emotionally weighted).

Alcohol abuse-How much alcohol is ok?

Homosexuality-Do people living the lifestyle belong in boy scouts?  Should they be allowed to marry?

Racism/Reverse Discrimination- Does everyone discriminate to an extent?

Child Abuse -What constitutes Child Abuse?  Is it ok to spank your kid?

I read the news. I read the Bible.  And I think.  I consider both sides of an issue, turn it into black and white, and I make my stand.

I find the bottom line; the line that's toed by people who stand for goodness (in my holy opinion). 

It's good to know right from wrong; surely everyone thinks they do.

It's good to know the bottom line.

But behind every bottom line there are people; some on my side and some that aren't.

My facts and figures wound tight in my emotions make that bottom line so large in my vision that the people behind the bottom line become hard to see.

More important than facts I can easily recall from forensic experts in the Zimmerman trial, are the broken families.  Both sides.  Behind the bottom line, you have one family who has lost their son, and one family who fears, no matter the verdict, that their son will, in a sense, be lost too.

Right is right.  And wrong is wrong.  But aren't people who are, in our mind,  wrong, more important than our being right?

If people don't know that we love them, nothing we have to say matters.

23 ........ don’t get involved in foolish, ignorant arguments that only start fights. 24 A servant of the Lord must not quarrel but must be kind to everyone, be able to teach, and be patient with difficult people. 25 Gently instruct those who oppose the truth. Perhaps God will change those people’s hearts, and they will learn the truth. 2 Timothy 2:23-26

"Gently instruct" comes finally after  Don't get involved. Don't quarrel.   Be kind.  Be able to teach. Be patient.

I genuinely love people, but there have been times they have come after the bottom line.

Lord help us to remember that there are people behind the bottom line.  Help us to understand that, really, people are the bottom line.

We pray that our helping people to know you, and trust you, will always be more important than anything we know.

Dedicated to my brother; my favorite person to argue with.

 

 

 

 

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“He found him in a desert land and in the wasteland, a howling wilderness; He encircled him, He instructed him, He kept him as the apple of His eye.” -Deuteronomy 32:10 NKJV

Rylie has a wish and it's no secret wish.  She's shared it in front of her brother and sister rather matter of fact.  She wishes she were an only child.  Surprisingly this wish has not come up when Hayden is taunting her mercilessly.  Nor has she mentioned wanting to be an only child when she and Hallie are arguing about a towel left in the bathroom floor or whose turn it is to watch a show on TV.  So reason leads me to believe that her feelings about her siblings have nothing to do with her desire to be "the only one".photo (5)

She's so fun to play with that I often find myself doing just that; playing into her delusions .  Not long ago Hayden and Hallie were gone with friends for the night so Jason and I pretended that she was it; our only child.  If the name Hayden was mentioned Jason responded "Who's Hayden"?  Last Thursday I woke her up early for an "only child" date.  Riding in the car there was no waiting for Hallie to finish talking; Rylie had the floor.  It was just us two.

Jason and I periodically take one of the kids out on a date for some one-on-one time.  "Only Child" dates have become important in a family where you forget what you were going to say before it's your turn to talk or you may even speak without being heard.

I'm good with having 'brother and sister' time.

I'm an obvious fan of corporate worship. I love listening to that preacher man. And I couldn't do without the Sunday morning greeting-time or the post-worship catch-up time with church friends. I'm in awe of the reverence and intimacy felt in a room where hundreds of heads are bowed in silence one moment and then voices swell the next, in sweet harmony.

I have a special group of friends that I instantly text when I need prayer help, which is often.  I adore my Mom's In Touch group and there's nothing like Bible Study on Sunday mornings and weekday evenings.  I love that God is present in the sanctuary and in group texts.  I'm happy God's in my group.  I'm glad He's God of the multitude.

But He knows when, like Rylie, I'm a needy child.  There can be ninety-nine other  'sheep' and yet it's as if I'm the only one.  He's ever ready for some Him and me time; no being penciled in on the calendar.  He's never in a hurry and His attention is undivided.

We go on "only child" dates and have moments where I'm the only one- and He's the only one too.

He walks with me

(I'm found; encircled)

and He talks with me

(He instructs me)

and He tells me I am His own

(and I am kept)

And the joy we share as we tarry there

None other has ever known

(I am the apple of his eye)

-In the Garden

Time with God isn't always meant to be shared.

I'm thinking Rylie is on to something.

 

 

 

 

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Beginning a Journey to Fitness and Health

Kristi: I'm hurting.  My shoulders, my glutes (can't be how you spell it) and my legs are begging me to take a stationary vacation in our big brown chair.  Jason had the brilliant idea of checking out Exygon last night.  We're at the point where we can no longer ignore the fluffy factor.

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Jason: I remembered yesterday that I am allergic to physical activity.  I got on a stationary bike , and immediately I began to perspire.  This cannot be natural.  After a vigorous 5 or 6 minute stint my legs were aching and my pulse was elevated.  The part about my legs aching can be invalidated on the basis that pain is subjective, but the heart rate was being measured. The screen on the bike actually gave me a warning that my heart rate was too high.  I agreed.

I walked into the gym with lots of resolve and enthusiasm about getting healthy, and looking good, and living longer, but as I laboriously burned the calories on the bike I started to wonder why I had come into this tortuous place.

K: And the mirrors.  Would somebody explain to me how the wall to wall twelve foot mirrors are supposed to be a draw?  There's only one thing worse than staring at an underperforming, dripping wet with perspiration- while wearing ill-fitting work-out clothes, version of myself.   -That would be that same image displayed in every cardinal direction.

J: I think that's just the problem.  We've been looking at our selves too long and saying, "We have to do something about this!"  It's easy to say, but hard to do.

I think there has been a motivation deficit.  I find myself on a motivational high in the evenings.  I've always been an evening person when it comes to creative thoughts, making plans and resolving to do great things. The problem is, I can't find the same resolve when my alarm clock goes off in the morning.

The activity I'm best at early in the morning is hitting the snooze button on the alarm without opening my eyes.  I don't think there is an Olympic event for that yet, but when there is, I'll represent our country with pride.

So here's what I'm working on:  How do you transfer the resolve and enthusiasm for the good you want to do, into the time that you have for doing it?

K: ..............Four minutes have passed.........six minutes...........I'm not sure where to go with this. My bigger question is what do you do when your enthusiasm lies in a good book or in a cone with Dutch chocolate ice cream on top; NOT in exercise? Do I want to exercise, or are my pants telling me I need to?

Mornings are my productive time.  I get more done from 7:00 -10:00 AM than I do the rest of the day combined, but saying I do it enthusiastically would be a lie.  I robotically pick up the strewn couch pillows from the floor as do I make my way to the garage to let Griffin out.  I return to the kitchen at approximately the same time every morning to clear the counter of any remnants from last night's kitchen visitors. I unload the dishwasher and take out the trash.  These things are more completed by habit than by passion or energy.  Are my automated steps determined by a deep desire to clean the kitchen or to see it clean? Do I like picking up pillows (for the umpteenth time by Tuesday morning) or do I like walking through a room with things in their place? In my house cleaning, I've got habit and a desired outcome, and it works.

The greatest success, I'm thinking, comes from having at least two of three of the following

*Passion/Enthusiasm

*Repeated effort/try-try again/habit

*A goal or desired outcome in mind, or a point of reference to move away from (like love-handles)

I've got one of three ingredients for physical transformation. I'm thinking I found a goal yesterday.  I'd like to look a little better in at least one of the mirrors at Exygon.

photo (3)J: I think I'm on board with that.  We'll see where this takes us.  Two are better than one.  Maybe I can stick with a good routine for more than 2 weeks if I have someone in the routine with me.  Maybe, I too, will like what I see in the mirror better.  A shared passion and a common goal might be just the key I've been looking for to get into those good habits we've been talking about.

An Exercise Prayer:

Hear {our} prayer for mercy as {we} call to you for help, as {we} lift up our hands toward your Most Holy Place. Psalm 28:2

 

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I have a pair of jeans in my closet that I avoid. They're probably collecting dust jeansby now from neglect.

It's not that I don't like them. They're my favorite. We're meant to be together.

But as time passes they ask more of me.  The moment I walk into my closet they speak.

Reasons I Ignore my Blue Jeans

My jeans measure me. They always do. I picked out those jeans initially because they made me look good.  And they were comfortable.  But as I grow, they point out what they need to.

They encourage me to work out. I have a way of convincing myself that I have better things to do than work out.  I'm a busy girl.  But when I so much as look at those jeans on the hanger,  they remind me that I'd be better off with exercise.  "How you look is not important," they say.  "You'll be healthier."

They remind me that I should be watching my intake. Occasionally I give in to their invitation to spend time together.  Instead of just allowing our time together to be pleasant, they whisper stirring words.  They make me uncomfortable, calling to my mind my reliance on unhealthy things.    

Much like the word of God, time spent intimately with my jeans reveals just where I need to be.

Though I'm not, my jeans are faithful; unchanging. They don't change sizes to please or fit me.

They're carefully crafted.

They sit in my closet ready to speak a word.

Always wanting to be with me.

I may ignore them often, but I know they speak the truth.

And I know the words they speak aren't formed for judgement, but for my bettering.

They are FOR ME.

I know that if I give them my time, their life-filled words will inspire me.  They will urge me to change, and call me to commitment. It will take work, and time, and parts of the old me will melt away.  Before I know it I'll be spending more and more time with my jeans, and less time with that I once loved.

These are the real reasons I ignore my jeans.  But oh how I want to fit into them.

 2 Timothy 3:16

All Scripture is breathed out by God and profitable for teaching, for reproof, for correction, and for training in righteousness

The Bible will keep you from sin, or sin will keep you from the Bible. -Dwight L Moody

 

 

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10.  Thank you for the all of the clothes and uniforms that you sewed.  The Snow White outfit you made for me my seventh grade year was crazy good. It should have won the costume contest.me and mom

9.  I'm glad you said no to my wearing boyish shirts in High School when they were in style.  I already lacked a figure.  And I'm sure I would only have come back later to say "Why did you let me dress that way?"....... So thanks.

At the same time, thanks for letting me sport the ridiculous "high hair" of the nineties and for all of the money you spent on aerosol hair spray.  I was good at that hair.  And I'm at a place in life now where I can look back at pictures and have a much-needed giggle.

 8. Thanks for that magnification light-up mirror you surprised me with one afternoon after school.  Maybe if I would have used it more I would have seen how unappreciative I was.

7.  Remember the time you made me close every cabinet door and drawer in the entire kitchen because I was constantly leaving them open? I have two things to say about that:  #1. I'm glad no one turned you in for child abuse. #2. You should be glad to know that your harsh punishment was effective.  Emotional scarring has lead to consistent door closing.

6.  I have your scary face when one of the kids has pushed me too far. I suspect Vicki and Jennifer have it too.  The scary face gene is strong.

5.  Making chocolate chip cookies for just about every occasion, or no occasion at all is one of the traditions I'm proud to be carrying on. I hope my kids think they're as special as I thought they were.  They melted many bad days away.

4.  I'm sorry for crying and hiding on the floor board (at an embarrassingly old age) when I got that kinky perm.  Sorry too, for right thereafter, refusing to get out of the car to go into Koffee Kup and eat.

3.  Thanks for being my GA leader and for always having me at church.  Thanks for attending countless basketball games and track meets. Thanks for continuing the shopping trips when there was disagreement on apparel choices and forgotten thank you's.  Thank you that you taught me to say I'm sorry, but that forgiveness wasn't dependent upon it.

2. You know that time you let me go to the lake with Paula?  I got in the water even though you told me not to.

1 1/2.  Thanks for ceasing the communication between me and the boy with the orange stripe in his hair and the boy from Walnut Springs who wrote me the provocative love letter.  They probably weren't good choices.

1. You were right.

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I practice hypocrisy on a regular basis.  There I've said it.

The definition of hypocrisy according to Merriam-Webster is -

2. a person who acts in contradiction to his or her stated beliefs

(I'm sending Merriam-Webster a picture of myself in case they want to illustrate the word.)

My posts have enlightened me to this "Hypocrite Syndrome" that I have.  It's usually right before I hit the publish button that I look no further than the title and see that I'm spouting off words, that in actuality, I'm not good at believing myself. I'm stating beliefs that aren't followed.

I wrote "Hold on to Your Reason to Smile" while grimacing.

hyp

"How (Not) to be a Friend" was written by me and addressed to me at the same time.

It's an absolute joke that I wrote "Say Yes to the Mess" because I'm not sure I've ever willingly done that.

Still, I believe what I write though I act in direct opposition.

I'm reminded of a miracle in Mark where a man had brought his son who was possessed by an evil spirit.  The man said to Jesus,

  But if you can do anything, take pity on us and help us.”

23 “‘If you can’?” said Jesus. “Everything is possible for one who believes.”

24 Immediately the boy’s father exclaimed, “I do believe; help me overcome my unbelief!” Mark 9:22b-24

I get this guy.

He went to Jesus.  He asked for his help, his belief wavering.  He both believes and he doesn't.  Yet his contradiction is true.

Most of my posts are pleas for help.  I know I should say "yes to the mess" sometimes.  I know that spending time with the kids is more important than my house being spotless.  I believe that.  Sometimes I'll believe it while I'm scrambling to clean the very mess I know to be ok.

Other times I pretend that the Poptart crumbs and socks on the floor are perfectly fine while I'm violently shaking my head "no" on the inside. I'm acting in contradiction to my beliefs.  I'm feeling it's not ok to my core. God knows my  "shaking -no" on the inside doesn't match my pretending to play it cool.

I know I should love my neighbor as myself.  I believe it.  Just because I don't act it, doesn't mean I don't believe it.

I know God can heal all hurts.  I don't believe.  And I believe without power. I'm weak and fallen and I can't do it on my own.

So I'll continue to write and not follow through with what I say.

I'll say I believe and then I'll act like I don't.

I'll even say I believe, then act like I do, but my heart's meditation will be like that father's as it wrestles within me.

And all the while, I'll be pleading with my Savior to"help me overcome my disbelief".

I'll be thankful for his power, and for his mercy in accepting a hypocrite like me.

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spoon hay

And as a slotted spoon liver, be mindful that you're placed in the hand of a mighty God who helps you know that which is worth holding on to and what needs to be let go.

He says:

fear not, for I am with you; be not dismayed, for I am your God; I will strengthen you, I will help you, I will uphold you with my righteous hand.  Isaiah 41:10

Let all bitterness and wrath and anger and clamor and slander be put away from you, along with all malice. Ephesians 4:31

And my favorite- The Whatever verse

Finally brothers and sisters, whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable-if anything is excellent or praiseworthy-think about such things. Philippians 4:8

Praying your day's focus is not on trash, but treasure.

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This morning I pull your drawer and it barely  budges. It's packed tight with shirts that don't cover your belly when you stretch your arms above your head.

You've all three out grown last year's swimsuits. And to my oldest? Each morning when I give you the new day greeting I see that the amount of "legs" that hang off the edge of the bed has grown again overnight.

So much growing.


I'd wish for it to stop. Or even better, I would wish for a reverse in time; that we could go back to when a quick squeeze made things better -and scooping you up made you safe.

I treasure those times.

......Still there's a part of me that says, grow!

Grow taller. -Not just the kind of taller that calls for a shopping trip for new swim suits or shoes.

Grow to be a better friend,

A better listener

Grow to notice when someone is alone or down in the dumps

And encourage them

Grow to be a better learner

Realizing that school and church are places intended to enrich your life, not smother it (though the choice is yours).
Grow to be more independent, but in your growing, realize the value of friends and family who love you

-no matter what.

Grow in grace.

Your dad and I are growing right alongside you.

Grow to see beauty in strange things like sitting in silence, and even death.

The process won't always be pleasant for you, or for me.

In addition to those proud moments, when you jump and can touch the ceiling, there will be times when your growing causes pain for us both.
Ironically, the painful kind brings about the most wonder-full results.

Above all, grow to know how much God loves you.

You will never reach the heights intended using the world's measure stick.

Remember that.

Go on and grow.  And know that my heart would burst, were it not for its growing to make room to love you more- as I watch you each day.

I love you tiny and love you tall,

Mom

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And a thought on how to live a more fragrant life

I found a surprise in my purse today.  I was about do some training at one of our school campus libraries and I really didn't know anyone.  Out of sheer boredom I started searching my purse, unzipping each compartment taking inventory.  As I unzipped the front right pocket a pair of women's khaki socks peeked out.

I'd like to say they were fresh, new socks but that would be a lie. To fill you in on how the socks came to be there, we'd have to go back to the first week of March.

I had flown to Seattle to serve as a reinforcement to help my sweet sis-n-law who had been getting treatment for an illness.  I don't typically wear socks (I've mentioned before, I'm a flip-flop girl.)

But Ann had warned me that it would be cold.  So I packed the few pair of socks I owned. The first few days I was there I wore the khaki socks around Ann's house.

Saturday morning Ann's family had graciously offered to take me to see the sights.  As everyone was getting in the car I noticed my well-worn khaki socks were sliding down to my ankles beneath my boots. Unwilling to suffer sock discomfort I raced inside to get an extra pair of socks which I changed in the car.  Where else to place the down-sliding socks except for in my purse?

In addition to gently-used, slightly odorous socks which are still in my purse this very moment, I have other stink in my life.  There are those things, in all of our lives I suppose, which are malodorous, unprofitable and cumbersome, yet we carry those things around.Seems like craziness, but here are some reasons...

Why I Hold on to the Stink:

1. I forget about it. I hate it when my kids use this excuse, but sometimes I just forget.  I forgot the socks were in my purse.

2. I'm going to take care of it later.  I actually found the socks a couple of weeks ago in my purse.  I was probably somewhere public when I found them and told myself I would take them out later......  But they're still there.

3.I'm oblivious. I've had stink in my life that I've been completely unaware of.  Then my daughter tells me I need therapy to help me with my "freaking out".  That's stink that I didn't even smell.  No telling what stink I have in my life right now that I don't even know about.

4. We're Hoarders. Don't tell me you haven't seen the show. We probably all suffer from a degree of some type of accumulation syndrome; maybe it's stuff in your purse or maybe you hold on to worry.

5.Sometimes stink doesn't stink to me at all. Let me explain.  Socks pretty much always stink, but there's some kinds of stink that, strangely, we like.  I like having new things; I especially like new shirts.  I can't go into Target without looking in the clothes section.  Having a persistent desire for "things" and thinking those things fill me.... is stink.  But I like it.

I carry with me a lot of stuff;  unnecessary stuff, burdensome stuff. What if I took the time every day to do a little searching for that which I need to rid myself of?  -Maybe a little listening to those who love me or the one who knows me best? "You don't need that", they'd say.  I wonder if my daily offering might be a little more fragrant....without the stink.

(Attention Mom.  The khaki socks are yours.  I borrowed them at Christmas.  So I not only have a problem holding on to my things that I don't need.  I also have a problem holding on to other people's things.  But that's for another post...)