Make a Smilebox greeting

Bye, Bye, Birdie.

It's winter in Wisconsin.  Some nearby counties got over a foot of snow this week. We didn't get the snow but we couldn't escape the cold.  The wind is howling at temperatures below zero. 

There isn't much color in a whitewashed Wisconsin winter.  For our family the bright spot, literally, has been a pair of northern cardinals that make their home in our backyard.  They've been here a long time.  Previous owners left a detailed history of the house, including a photo of the pair, and information about which bushes they prefer to nest in.  "Don't," they said, "cut down the overgrown chokeberry."  "That is where the cardinals live."

He is a vivid red.  She's a more subtle beauty.  They make a good lookin' couple.

Northern Cardinals mate for life.  They find a nice place to build their nest, hatch some eggs and make a life together.  I appreciate their commitment.  It makes me think of how feather-brained humans can be when we can't seem to honor our relationships.  This week, especially, it seems a certain Tiger could learn a lot from a cardinal.

I just came into the kitchen and saw the male sitting on the wall of the patio.  Not his usual perch.  He's more of a fence dweller.  I wondered what he was looking at?  It's her.  Maybe the cold was just too much; our feathered friend has died.  She's on the porch, not far from where he is sitting.

This pretty pair has added a special charm to our home.  I've loved to see their flash of red against the drifting snow.  I've marvelled at their instinct to stick together.  When we re-landscaped I worried they might decide to move.  Gladly, they stayed with us.  Now his gal is gone.  I wonder if he will find someone new or if we'll lose him, too?

It's winter in Wisconsin.  It's mostly cold and colorless.  Take a look around your life and spend some time appreciating those people and things that add a pop of color, that make life more beautiful and charming.  Even in the stark white of winter, God gives us splashes of something special. It's up to us to see them.

Embracing Beauty

I saw two things about beauty this week that made me stop and think. 

First, I read about a model and former Miss Argentina who, at 37 years old, died from complications of plastic surgery.  She was having a "simple" procedure done to surgically re-shape her back side. 

Really? 

Then a friend passed along information about an event happening at a Milwaukee church.  The event is part of the Dove Campaign for Real Beauty.  It is open to all women and girls ages 7 and up and will celebrate and explore the idea of individual beauty. 

Talk about different ends of the spectrum.

I find myself thinking about self image a lot.  Not my own, but that of my three daughters and son.  I want them to feel good about themselves and know that they are each beautiful, unique people.  At the same time, I don't want them to be focused on the physical.  They'll feel the glare of that microscope soon enough.  I want them to know that who they are is so much more than how they look. 

My third grader recently told me about her classmate who is on a diet so she will look better in her dance costume.  I assured her that the girl's mother would put a stop to that.  Wrong.  Apparently, her mom actually is packing "diet" food for this scrawny, little eight year old. 

Really?

I was at a party a few years ago where some of the women were talking about how much money each had set aside in a plastic surgery fund. 

Really?

I guess they are saving for a saggy day.  My fund is empty.  Frankly, I'm not very concerned about the signs of aging.  I love to look at a person's hands and face and see all the lines of a life well-lived.  I hope I laugh so often and so hard that the smile etches itself on my face.  My great grandmother, who had eleven children and raised four granchildren when their young mother died of cancer, had soft folds of wrinkles around her incredibly kind eyes and paper thin skin, freckled with age spots when she died at 100.  Imagine all those eyes saw in her one hundred years. 

Beautiful.

I get how easy it is to get caught up in the physical side of beauty.  I have a wicked sweet tooth and I've had four babies so you get the picture.  Still, I just don't know how things have gotten so out of hand with our quest for physical perfection.  I worry about where it will end. 

Maybe it ends at a church in Milwaukee, where women and girls are having an open discussion about true beauty. 

Maybe it ends when we look in the mirror and embrace what we see. 

Maybe it ends when we start to look people in the eye and tell them how lovely they are and how much beauty they bring to our lives.

Maybe it ends when we recognize that we are the work of the same great God that made every beautiful thing that graces the Earth.  The God that paints the sunrise and colors autumn and adds sparkle to the stars.  A God who knows everything about us and still sees us as beautiful.  A God who loves us and finds great joy when we love ourselves and each other.

"Your beauty should not come from outward adornement, such as braided hair and the wearing of gold jewelry and fine clothes. Instead, it should be that of your inner self, the unfading beauty of a gentle spirit, which is of great worth in God's sight."

- 1 Peter 3:2-5

Yesterday We Asked God for a Miracle and He Answered Right Back

The past couple of days have been scary.  Late Wednesday night my  friend and neighbor called to say she was taking her two-year old son to Children's Hospital.  Earlier in the day he had been seen by his pediatrician for some pretty disconcerning symptoms and my friend decided the "wait and see" approach she had been prescribed was not enough.

Her husband was traveling for work so she made arrangements for her two other children, loaded up her toddler and headed out in search of answers.  The news was not good.  Initial testing led the doctors to believe that it was likely bladder cancer.

Our friends were able to keep their family and friends updated through Facebook and, right before our eyes, a virtual prayer chain was formed.  I have mixed feelings about social networking.  I enjoy the instant access to friends but the whole concept is at odds with my own need to be a bit insular.  In this case, I felt immediately connected to people throughout the country who were loving and praying for this child.  I told his mom that it felt like a tangible prayer blanket was being weaved around their family.

The doctors went ahead with a biopsy.  As we held our breath, God breathed his blessings on this family.  What looked like a cancerous tumor to a team of highly specialized doctors now seems to be something else.  It looks like little E. is going to be ok.

Sometimes we wonder if God is listening.  We wonder, in the grand scheme of the world, where do our daily concerns register?  Yesterday God reminded us that he walks with us.  We don't always get the outcome we want; but sometimes we do.  Either way, we do not take this journey alone.

Yesterday we asked God for a miracle... and he answered right back.

The Tale of Three Trees

Today, a friend and co-worker turned me on to a lovely children's book so I, in turn, am passing it on to you.  It's called The Tale of Three Trees: A Traditional Folktale retold by Angela Ellwell Hunt.  Beautifully told and illustrated this book would be a great addition to your family library.  I loved it so much I ran right out and bought it for our four children.

It's the story of three little trees, high atop a mountain, who share their dreams for what they will grow up to become.  While their plans for themselves don't turn out exactly as they imagined, in the end, each of the trees plays an important role in the life of Jesus. 

One tree becomes the manger, another becomes the boat Jesus is in when he calms the storm, and the third becomes the cross.

Reading this story made me think of my own four little ones and how I wonder what they will become.  I try to instill in them a real sense that God has a beautiful plan for their lives.  I encourage them to grow and explore and wonder and dream.  I know that like the three trees in the story, they are important to Jesus. 

I also know that even as adults, we are still "little trees" in God's eyes.  We may have deeper roots and sometimes, when the winds of life blow, we have a tendancy to snap instead of bend.  Still, God planted us and it's God who nurtures us in the fertile soil of his Son.

Now that I think about it, I'm kind of a tree hugger.  I can think of several tree-themed stories that I love.  Who doesn't like the book, The Giving Tree?  Another favorite of mine is called Trees Make the Best Mobiles: Simple Ways to Raise Your Child in a Complex World. 

I remember climbing trees as a kid, carving my initials in a tree as a young girl, discovering our favorite tree in town - the "elephant tree" - while we were on a family walk a few summers ago, and planting a tree for each of our children in the backyard .

Long after I'm gone, the trees will remain.  Long after the last of the rings on this old tree have been counted, the roots I put down, the little saplings I nurtured, the fruits I shared, the shade I offered to someone in need will live on.

Three little trees dreamed of what they would be.  But God had something more wonderful planned for them.

Mommune?

My husband and I own two homes.  Sounds upper crust, doesn't it?  It's not.  It's actually pretty crummy.  We own and lived in a historic beauty near downtown Racine and Lake Michigan for about five years when the owners of another house, just one mile south, got transferred.  We made the leap and bought the new place, hoping for the best but not realizing how horrible the housing market would become. 

The new (though actually older) house is a better fit for us.  Plenty of bedrooms, bathrooms, room to spread out, and a library that makes a wonderfully private home office - something my husband and I both need.  Still, two homes comes with its obvious disadvantages.

Financially, it has not been easy.  We did have renters, for awhile, but the elusive buyer that every homeseller is looking for is yet to be found. We've made some lifestyle modifications and are doing fine.  In fact, this little mess has actually helped us to re-evaluate the concept of want verses need as it applies to a lot of frivilous spending.  In the end, it will all work out.  Someone else will surely love this old gal as much as we did, won't they?

The thing is, as much as I love the new house and believe moving was the right decision, I'm attached to the other place and feel badly that it is not being used.  Recently, I had an epiphany: Grand old home + fireplace + good book or laptop + glass of wine or cup of coffee - children = great place for mom to get away! 

What was I thinking?  Isn't "a room of her own" every woman's dream?  Forget the shared home office situation, I'm setting up shop over there!

I sometimes brainstorm alternate uses for the house.  Afterall, we're paying for it, might as well use it.  This morning, I was thinking that if this were the sixties, that place would make a great commune.  Then it hit me - a mommune!  Imagine a sort of club house for moms.

Any interest in a lovely, quiet place where moms can come together and make themselves completely at home?  Where we can gather around a fire to read and discuss books, write, create, inspire, and re-energize?  Where small groups can connect around issues that matter to them?  Where monthly programs address our shared concerns, joys, accomplishments and challenges?   Where we can mentor a new generation of moms and tackle the issues that threaten our city and our families?

I'm getting excited as I envision moms from all walks of life drawn together by what connects us, not categorized by what sets us apart.  Single moms, married moms, divorced moms, working moms, stay-at-home moms, new moms, older moms, grand moms, step moms, gay moms, straight moms, adoptive moms, birth moms, teen moms and more.  Forget about the mommy wars. 

Think of the variety of clubs and organizations that exist.  Why not a group designed to promote and support mothers and the issues that matter to us?  My second house just might be the perfect place for such a movement to take shape - a place where you can get away and get involved at the same time.

Is forming an active, intergenerational community of moms the answer to personal burnout and community reform? Is the "Mommune" the mother of all ideas or is this mother simply sleep deprived?

Hot Cross Buns

At our last women's retreat we were having a good giggle about the year we were too late to the bakery to get a nice round of bread for communion. We ended up using Kaiser rolls.

Well, you know what they say about paybacks. It's my weekend to bake the bread for our congregation's lovely practice of using homemade bread during communion. It's not going so hot. The bread isn't rising and it looks a lot more like the buns of Christ, then the Body of Christ. Great. I'm trying to be careful and prayerful as I kneed frantically to get my dough to look more like bread. I'm trying not to panic as I envision our Pastor, lifting my buns in the air for all of the congregation to see and I'm wondering how long it will be before I'm reassigned to another volunteer post. Maybe I can be in charge of picking up the kringle for coffee hour. That seems like a lot less pressure.

My bread is a bust. Here's hoping a fish and loaves style miracle can happen in my kitchen - stat. See you at the communion rail. Try to keep a straight face.

"When Your Cup is Empty, You Can't Give Anyone Else a Drink."

Today I heard a woman say, "When your cup is empty, you can't give anyone else a drink." That statement resonated with me, especially as we move toward a busy time of the year.

Now that the calendar has turned to November I feel myself gearing up for the marathon that starts in a few weeks and lasts through January 2. I also find myself dreading all of the extras that bog down the holidays and take the focus away from what I really want to relish in. Things like being thankful and celebrating the birth of Jesus.

It seems I have a chronic, seasonal disease. I'll call it Empty Holiday Syndrome. The number one symptom of EHS is, as the name implies, a nagging sense of emptyness. The disease does not respond to the remedies we have been told will fill any void in our lives. For example, popular elixirs such as overeating, overflowing your shopping cart, pages long shopping lists, even longer wish lists, over indulgence in holiday cheer, and overspending just seem to exaggerate the symptoms.

The disease is highly contagious. No one in their right mind would sleep on the sidewalk all night just to be first in line for the chance to overpay for the lastest gizmo if they had not caught this dreadful disease somewhere. I've decided the best thing to do is stay in isolation. No risky trips to the mall for me.

In many ways, the annual Christmas shopping season is like any other sport season - highly competetive, not always the best example of sportsmanship and usually maintaining its intensity until the last buzzer sounds. I see others succumbing, and initially they do it with enthusiasm. Groups of friends calmor into cars and head to the store, eager to outshop and outspend each other. What starts off as a fun-lovin' shopping trip too often ends in a mountain of materialism that doesn't quite convey the message we truly hoped to send.

This year, I'm radically implementing a mostly "homemade Christmas" rule at our house. If you can't make it we won't take it. I'm writing a story for each of my four children. I'm also painting them pictures to hang in their rooms. They are busy thinking up things to make for each other. I've overheard some of their conversations and they're cooking up some real doozies. It should be fun; and far more meaningful than what they're selling at the mall.

Don't get me wrong. I'm not anti-Christmas present or Anti-Santa. Cashmere has brought me plenty of Christmas joy and the man in the red suit will surely slide down our chimney again this year. What I am opposed to is how easily we get wrapped up (pardon the pun) in the things that burden us during what really is "the most wonderful time of the year."

I remind myself, Son of God + Born in manger = Less is more. God showed us the power of keeping it simple. The true Christmas story should be more than enough to fill every wish, every need, every thing. When did we decide it wasn't? When did we make it about us? When did we become so detached from the importance and purity of the story that we feel physically empty, even ill? And why, why, why do we keep up this empty overindulgence year after year?

I am not an innocent observer of all of this. I'm more of a recovering addict. I can't tell you how many times the Christmas spirit has turned into sheer panic when the credit card bill arrived in January. How did it all add us so fast and did most of those "must haves" really matter at all? I've been the mom who wants her children to have piles of gifts. Funny thing is, most of the time what they've been given has been far more than they every hoped to recieve. And really, what are we giving them? Are we just passing on our own empty Christmas to the next generation? Come on, ladies. We know better than that.

Women typically carry most of the burden for the holiday planning, shopping, cooking, cleaning, and organizing. We are the ones who are most likely to feel that holiday overload has us running on empty. If the social pressures and brilliant marketing starts you down this path, remember, when your cup is empty, you can't give anyone else a drink. We are gearing up for the most magical season of the year. Our cup, no doubt, runneth over. We live in a world forever changed by a baby born in a barn. We don't need to dress up Christmas. There is simply no way to make the story anymore beautiful than it is.

Set a new tone for your Christmas this year. Step back, reconnect and regain control of this most important time. Prayerful celebration, loving anticipation, generosity that conveys love without overpowering the real message, and an earnest effort to simplify will bring more comfort and joy than any "things" possibly can.

Let's keep our cup full and share that sense of satisfaction with the people we love and care about. It's the best gift we can give them, and ourselves. Cheers!

Dear God, I'm All Ears.

Ever feel like you're spinning your wheels? Lately I've been giving a lot of thought to how I'm using my life.

I ask myself, "Is the way I'm spending my time a true reflection of my values?"

I wonder, "If I cut out the clutter of daily life, how much time could I free up to accomplish things of greater importance?"

These are the big questions that fill my mind as I go about the daily grind. I find myself wondering if I am full filling God's plan for me. I'm a true believer that we all have a purpose and a calling bigger than we'll ever know. I also believe that we have to be open to the Spirit, ready and willing to do the work, say the words, lend the support, give the love, and meet the needs God sets before us. I look for these opportunities, I wonder what's next and I pray I'm not missing any of the signs God is giving me.

Sometimes I wish I could see the playbook. I worry about getting too comfortable and complacent. I guess it's good to question - to be searching for a sense of wholeness that comes when your values and lifestyle are in sync, when your life and your work are in harmony, when your response to the needs of others is timely and thoughtful, when you follow the example of Jesus and set that example for others, when you go to bed at night confident that you lived the day you were called to live.

So I search, I question, I work, I pray, I wonder, and I say, "Dear God, I'm all ears. Tell me how I can best serve you."

The Good Life

If I were to go back and start over I would call this blog The Good Life.

Really, pinch me. This ordinary life of mine is sweeter than I ever could have imagined.

Right now, as I type, Landrie is crawling around my feet, Calvin is digging for treasures in a plant, the leaves outside my window are ablaze in all their autumn glory and soon the big girls will be home from school and Scott will return from a business conference. We'll gather around a tuna casserole, talk, laugh, catch up, connect. We'll do homework, have baths, read a bed time story. This is, indeed, the good life.

It's not thrilling or dramatic or the stuff that movies are made of but it is definitely very good. And good, my friends, is vastly underrated.

I try to keep my eyes and heart open to the little things that make life sparkle. I don't want to miss a moment of the magic. I try to look people in the eye, to really listen to them, to not waste my time or energy on the things that distract me from what is important. I work hard to be in the moment with those who matter most -my husband, my children, my friends, my God. I want to go to my grave knowing that I not only lived the good life, I relished in it. I soaked up as much as I could and radiated it back to the world around me. That's a life well lived.

In the sea of stress, heartbreak and problems that threaten to pull us under, I invite you to join me and take refuge on Good Life Island - not a place, but a state of mind, where we let go of things that are beyond our control and cast our cares to God, trusting and celebrating that what is good in this life far outweighs what is not.

She Laughed Today

Today, a little giggle brought me to tears. Landrie laughed today for the very first time. Her dad was holding her. He gave her a little tickle and she let out a laugh. It struck me what a blessing it was to be present for someone’s very first laugh. A laugh, a true expression of joy. The sound of happiness. Of course every parent wants a lifetime full of laughter for their children. You want life to be easy and happy and long and filled with joy and good health. The first laugh represents all of the wonderful things you wish for your children. Everyone has a first laugh but this one struck a cord. Maybe it was because it was so unexpected. Maybe it is because the road to get her here was long. Maybe it is because I know this is the last first laugh our family will have. She laughed today and I was there to hear it. What a gift.

June 28, 2009

Mostly Just a Mom

“What do you do?” people ask. “I’m mostly just a mom” I answer. And mostly, I am.

When I was a little girl I dreamed of what I would grow up to be.

“I will be a jockey” I thought, as I looked longingly at the horses that lived in the field behind our house.

I pretended my bicycle was a strong, beautiful horse. I took extra special care of her and gave her all of my time and attention. I tied a jump rope bridle around her, galloped around the neighborhood, and tethered her to the clothesline pole where she would wait for me each morning.

Each night I prayed that God would send me a beautiful white horse of my very own.

“I will be a nurse or a brilliant doctor” I thought, as I spent time with my great grandparents. I will be gentle and kind and loving and attentive.

I spent hours at their house working on my bedside manner. They were patient patients, letting me put eye drops in their eyes, rub cream on their hands, bring them their medicine and write prescriptions on a little note pad from their desk.

I loved helping to care for them and thought it was what I would do when I was a grown up.

“I will be on the television, maybe I’ll be a famous actress” I thought, as I practiced for the school play.

I loved to tell stories, pretend, make people laugh and use my imagination.

“I will help change the world” I thought, after I graduated from college. I will work to make life safer and more fair for women and children everywhere. And I did; for a little while.

But then something happened that changed all of my plans. I had a precious little baby of my very own.

“I will be mostly just a mom” I thought, as I looked into her wide blue eyes.

I will take extra special care of her and give her all of my time and attention.

I will be gentle, kind, loving and attentive.

I will tell stories, pretend, make her laugh and use my imagination.

I will change the world. I will work to make life safer and more fair for women and children everywhere. And I’ll start with this one, right here.

I soon realized, as one baby became two and then three and then four, that being mostly just a mom is what I have been practicing for my whole life.

I don’t think about what I might be anymore. Now I know that being mostly just a mom is the most important work I'll ever do.

Downright Drenched!

Last weekend we had our annual women's retreat through our church. The theme was "Women of the Water". Getting ready for the retreat is a lot of work for me, our committee members and several of my staff mates. We write, plan, shop, cook, and try to anticipate every detail so the weekend is meaningful for the participants. This year our numbers were down. The economy and scheduling conflicts kept some of our regulars away. Still, wherever two or more are gathered to share, pray, laugh, eat, drink some wine and soul search - magical things happen.

Twenty "women of the water" shared an incredibly special time. As I sit here in my sun room, listening to the rain bounce off the window panes, my thoughts drift back to our water inspired weekend. I arrived not even knowing I was thirsty and today, one week later, I am still downright drenched.

How incredible to be immersed in friendship and faith building with a community of women seeking the same. How delightful to see God's hand at work in our sessions, conversations and deeper connections. I was blessed to really get to know some amazing women and take my friendship with them to a deeper level. Don't you love how in learning more about someone else you ultimately learn so much about yourself?

"Women of the Water" is, as the say, 'in the can'. I've already started thinking about next year's retreat. But I won't soon forget the time we shared together this year, or how much it meant to me to be part of it. Rain or shine, we are women of the water, living out a promise made in Baptism that keeps us well hydrated throughout even the longest and most challenging journey.

I hope our time together gave deeper meaning to the idea of walking wet. Here's hoping we never completely dry out.

To the Nines

Today is 9-09-09. A date I thought we could appreciate given our calendar culture. Anyway, yesterday Cambell brought home a note saying she and her classmates were supposed to dress to the nines today in honor of the 9-9-09 date. This is right up her alley. If dressing to the nines means wearing a flouncy white dress, Easter heels, plenty (read- way too much) costume jewelry and my lip gloss then it's "mission accomplished" for my fancy first grader.

At breakfast, during the great "which dress" debate, I started thinking about how much we have. Life as a middle class American, even in tough economic times, is pretty full of frills.

Laeken told me the other day that she dreamt she crossed the international date line and travelled in time so she could see the day she was born. I imagine that time travellers from the past and international travellers from today would be taken aback by all we have, by how "gussied up" our lives have become.

Tonight our entire family is getting in the game. We are dressing to the nines for dinner and serving our pizza on the china we have but never use - milk in tea cups and the whole "nine" yards. Scott will wear the suit he wore to work this morning. Maybe I'll wear one of the two never-been-worn bridesmaids dresses hanging in my closet. We'll laugh and consider all we have and spend some time thinking about those who have so much less. We'll have some fun with this unusual date and use it as a reminder that all good things come from God.

This morning, as I sat in the van watching the girls go into the school, I had a good laugh seeing Cambell strut down the sidewalk like it was a cat walk. As I drove off, I wondered if God gets a good giggle out of us when he sees how focused we get on all of the stuff that fills our lives and drains our wallets. Silly people.

We can have fun with the bells and whistles and ruffles of life and that's OK. But when it comes right down to it, I think we can all agree, that could be stripped away in an instant and we would still have more than enough. That's what you get when you're lucky enough to recognize that you are living your life in the arms of a loving God. A life that is something truly beautiful, even without the frills.

Something in the Air

There was something in the air this morning. I could feel it from the moment I opened my eyes - before I even felt the wind. The forecast called for rain but I woke up to a bright and breezy morning. I was thrilled. I love a windy day. It's part of the reason fall is my favorite season. It's also part of the reason I love living where I do, on the banks of Lake Michigan, right in the line of the lake breeze.

Today when I opened my doors and windows there was something different, something marvelous about the breeze. I went outside and came back in commenting that this was the most refreshing wind I have ever felt. "Go outside" I said, "you've got to feel this."

Once inside I did a quick check of the news of the day and the two blogs I follow each morning - one about my friend Megan's son (see older post about Phoenix) and the other about my friend Sue who is battling cancer. There it was. The news I knew was coming but still didn't expect to read. Sue died peacefully last night at home in the loving company of her family.

I instantly knew there was indeed something in the air. Sue was a remarkable woman of faith, family, humor, joy, adventure and love. Of course she would spend some time circling this Earth, free from the pain and confines of cancer. She was, afterall, a pilot. When a spirit like that is set free it is sure to blow through you and wash over you in a way that is no ordinary wind can.

I quickly rounded up my four children. "Get your shoes on. We have to go outside. Quick, before she's gone." We walked to the lake, looked out at the horizon, let the wind blow through our hair and our hearts. I told them about my friend and how her beautiful example taught me lessons about grace, faith and kindness.

I asked her, "Is it really like this?" "Is it really this fresh and free and fullfilling?" As I stood there, listening to the wind playfully blow through the trees and the lake, I knew the answer was a definitive "yes."

There is someone in the air today. She has been released in a gust of God's glory. It's only natural to want to reach out and touch her but we can't. You can't bottle the wind. But you can spread your arms, close your eyes and let her spirit blow through you knowing that today, a remarkable spirit is breezing toward Heaven and, at last, the peace she deserves.

What Does Your Miracle Look Like?

A friend of mine is in the hospital in Texas where she delivered her third son via c-section yesterday morning. Phoenix is a miracle baby. Even as late as yesterday doctors were unsure if he would survive birth and, if he did, what life on the outside might hold for him. As you can imagine, emotions have been running high. The back story is that Megan and her husband Mike lost their first son, Evan, who was stillborn. They knew early on that both boys had little chance at life but continued with the pregnancies, nurturing them and packing as much love into nine months of pregnancy as many children get in a lifetime.

We have all prayed that the outcome will be different for Phoenix. Please, God, grant them some time with this child. Let her hold him, feel his breath on her face, smell him, rock him, nurse him, look him in the eyes and tell him what he surely already knows - that he is a child of God who is has been deeply loved, anticipated, and wanted.

Phoenix was born weighing just over four pounds. He is resting comfortably after surgery last night. Mom, Dad and big brother Rowan are over the moon, savoring every moment of this miracle. I have been amazed by their strength and trust in God. They see a big miracle in this little baby and are realistic in their expectations for his future, which is still uncertain, at best.

Too often we close our eyes to miracles when they don't look just as we had hoped they would look, when they don't meet our every expectation.

Today, in a hospital in Texas, a family is loving a fragile baby boy. Doctors say he will not walk and will require more surgeries to close his open spine. The circumstances are not ideal. Life is not perfect. Luckily, God's love and grace are. Maybe we too narrowly define our blessings. We only see God in the big things - the things that seem to us to have a perfect outcome. We expect our miracles to be all or nothing. The truth is small miracles surround us at every moment. If we could embrace that our lives would be so different, so much more fulfilling and whole. I want to breathe that air -to be fueled by the Holy Spirit who is active and alive.

Close your eyes and take a deep breathe. What does your miracle look like?

PS
Welcome to the world, sweet Phoenix!

What Are You Looking For?

I recently realized how easily entertained I am. Ever since I was a child I have been able to pass hours of time simply looking for things. It's a trait I've passed on to my own children and something we share with real enthusiasm.

As a little girl, my babysitter, Beth, taught me how to play "Find the Button." While my sister, brother and I closed our eyes she would hide a button somewhere in the house and then we would look for it. She would give us clues like, "getting warmer" or "getting colder" to guide us in our search. We looked forward to evenings with Beth and our favorite game. These days I'm the official button-hider in our family and, like their mother, my children pass many long winter hours looking for that button.

Another favorite childhood pastime of mine was finding agates. Agates are rocks that have very pretty lines in them when they are polished. We loved going to the old gravel road where we would look for agates for hours.

Maybe it's genetic. My children have discovered their own love of looking for interesting rocks. They can see beauty in stones that are far less exotic than the agates of my childhood. They are always on the lookout for rocks and bring them home by the handful.

On a sunny summer day, you might find us laying on the front yard looking for shapes in the clouds. Yep. It's another looking game that I love and encourage. In our hyper-scheduled world I don't think children are given nearly enough time to have their head in the clouds and I'm on a one woman mission to change that for my own children.

Lately, we've added looking for crosses to our list of "look for" favorites. We've found that if you're looking for them, you can find crosses everywhere - in high line poles, window frames, intersections, light poles, trees, fences, car doors, jungle gyms and, yes, even in the clouds.

"Find the Cross" does more than keep my children occupied while riding around town in our minivan. It teaches them that they are surrounded by signs of the cross and all that it represents. The other day, when we were getting into the van, one of my daughters noticed that the door panel and window on our vehicle intersect to make the shape of a cross. She commented, "That must mean God is with us when we're driving."

In life, we will all experience times when we're searching for things bigger and more consuming than buttons and rocks and shapes in the clouds. If all of my years as a "look for" fanantic have taught me anything it's that when you're really searching, you don't have to look any farther than the cross.

Play a game of "Find the Cross" today. The cross, and the man who loved you enough to die on it for you, are closer than you think. Go ahead, take a look. As Beth would say, "You're getting warmer."