Two Invitations

"The enemy has pursued my soul; he has crushed my life to the ground, he has made me sit in darkness like those long dead.  Therefore my spirit faints within me; my heart within me is appalled." (Psalm 143:3-4)

Those words from David the Psalmist are the obvious result of deep crisis.  David had a number of life events that could have produced them, but he's not alone.  I've been there.  Everyone I know has been there at least once.  We've all tasted of this place of crisis, not just in the physical life being threatened, but the place where the soul is at the brink of death.  The place where thoughts, emotions, decision making, they've all been brought past the point of pain to the shadows where only numbness resides.

And it's there that we have an invitation.  Two, actually.


When we find ourselves in the shadowland, the valley filled with such thick fog that we can not find the face of our Savior, we can choose to accept the invitation to set up camp and become a permanent resident, or we can start climbing out.  

The first invitation comes from the one who brought you there in the first place.  The one who has pursued you, crushed your life, and made you sit in the darkness.  He's the one who constantly reminds you of the faintness of your own heart with words that never suggest you'll ever be anything but appalled at your own life.

But, the second invitation, the one that is harder to find, harder to open, and harder to accept?  It comes from the lover of your soul, and it's the one David sent in his RSVP for in the very next verse.


"I remember the days of old; I meditate on all that you have done; I ponder the works of your hands.  I stretch out my hands to you; my soul thirsts for you like a parched land.....for your name's sake, O Lord, preserve my life.  Bring my soul out of trouble."  (Psalm 143:8,11)


The invitation is to remember, and by remembering to climb out of the darkness that makes you think life has always been this way and will always be this way.  Remembering what He's done and the many times He has already saved your soul in the past is the act of turning on the light, and stretching out your hands for His presence and asking Him to meet you again is taking the first step out of the shadowlands. 


So, today, if you are in that place where your soul is in danger, where you can not see Him and you don't feel anything at all, remember.


Remember the way He met you for the first time.
Remember the way He changed everything.
Remember the way He spoke to you kindly.
Remember the way He provided when you thought there was nothing in your future but lack.
Remember the way He gave you the answer before you ever even thought to ask.
Remember the way He held you when no one else even knew you cried.
Remember the way He carried you through the storm you couldn't stand in.
Remember the way He answered the cry of your heart with His presence.


And after you remember, wait for His presence again.  Stretch out your arms and call.  And let Him bring your soul out of trouble.


You have not always been here.  You will not always be here.  Your soul will live again.

Weekly Adventures: Six of Our Best Family Nights

Recently, Treasure the Ordinary featured a post on Family Nights.  That article has sparked a great deal of feedback, with many readers retelling how they, too, have had to go back to "boot camp" as a family and pick up old, yet important habits they had inadvertently laid down.  I'm encouraged that it's never too late to start over, and that this week's family night could be your best yet!  

To that end, here is a list of some of the most enjoyable of our recent von Atzigen Family Night Adventures.  In the past, I've noticed that ideas I've found online for this kind of thing seem to be centered around families with young children.  So, while a lot of these ideas could be adjusted to accommodate little ones (especially if you partner them with older kids or parents), my list here is centered around families with older children and teens.  I hope they will spark your own idea for an evening in, or an evening out, as long as it's with the ones you love most.

• "Chopped, Family Edition"- This was one of our most fun family nights ever!  A full scale replica of the TV show, complete with older brother filming the action in order to put together a highlight reel.  To play, I tasked the three youngest to compete in the dessert category.  They had 30 minutes to concoct their best creation using 3 out of 4 ingredients (pre-stocked in the family picnic basket!) and a maximum of 3 other ingredients out of the family pantry.  Parents did the judging, and overlooking a couple of nasty bites (think frozen hot tamale candies coming at your taste buds out of no where!), it was mostly delicious.  My teenagers all loved it, since it brought out all of their competitiveness, and it's even since sparked some interest in the kitchen that wasn't there before.
• "Wiki Night" - Get out all the smart phones!  Before you play, someone needs to stock the draw pile with random topics (the Wright brothers, cheddar cheese, Argentina, etc.).  To play, someone draws a topic from the pile, and everyone opens their wiki app to that page.  Someone then draws the second topic out of the draw pile, and the race is on to see who can get to that page first.  You can't use the back arrow, and you can't exit wiki, but other than that, it doesn't matter how you get there.  First person to the designated page wins!  (Note:  You can have as many people play per round as you have smart phones, but if you only have access to one or two, you could play tournament style, timing each person for their "score.")
• "Book Store Scavenger Hunt" - This one was great for a night when the parents were tired, but didn't want to miss out on family time.  The two of us sat in the bookstore cafe, reading a good book and drinking a coffee while the kids roamed the store taking photos of the items on their scavenger hunt list (a book with exactly 394 pages seemed to be the hardest one to find!) and sending them back to mom or dad's phone so we could monitor their progress.  We would occasionally send them all extra challenges that they could complete alongside their list for bonus points, my favorite of which was "take a picture of one of your siblings without them knowing."  The rule was you could not run and no one in the store could even be able to guess you were there on a scavenger hunt, so everyone had to play it cool and keep from being an annoyance to other customers.  The winner can even get to choose which new book you go home with!
• "Blessing Night" - We did this one around Christmas time.  Instead of spending money on our own family night, we took a family trip to Wal-Mart and bought everything that would be needed for another family to have a great family night.  Every one of my kids picked out their favorite candy, we spent a great deal of time choosing just the right puzzle and just the right board game, and then we added a family movie, hot chocolate, popcorn, and even a blanket.  I was proud of my kids when we loaded it all in the car to be dropped off for a project at our church and went home to eat the snacks that were in our own pantry.  I know we could have gone out after we did our shopping, but I felt like it was important to have one night completely devoted to serving others, and I wasn't disappointed.  I liked the fruit I saw in my kids.
• "Movie Night" - This time, it was to see "Hidden Figures," which I highlight because it was an excellent film and one that provoked deep discussion with our teenagers.
• "Photo Shoot Night" - Find some zany props, get into some crazy costumes, and head to an interesting location.  For extra fun, you can hire a photographer, but if you need it to be free, just bring a tripod and a creative streak.  I don't have a single child that doesn't like to have pictures taken, so we may be abnormally fond of the camera, but every time we do this, we end up with crazy fun memories.  This year, our photo shoot night ended up being our Christmas card, Viking helmets and all! 

Whether it's planned or spontaneous,  may your family time be sweet this week, friends.  And may it make you long for more.

Memories

My wedding ring went to the shop a few weeks ago.  It just needed a small repair, but it was going to take up to a month, and I didn't want to be without a ring for that long.  I'm pretty proud of the man whose name I share and I'd prefer the whole world knows I belong to him, which meant I needed to rummage around in a closet and find my grandmother's ring to wear in the meantime.

My grandmother's ring.  The ring I used to watch her twist around and around her finger.  The ring she would let me try on when I played "wedding."  The ring she left for me in a box lined with blue velvet, my name written in her wild cursive on a torn piece of notebook paper and stuffed in the lid.  My grandmother's ring.

By the time I inherited it, I was much more mature than the little girl who used to pretend she was getting married.  I was in fact married with a ring of my own.  I also thought it was a little funny looking, not trendy at all.  I put it in a safe place and didn't think about it again.

But, something happened when I took it out of the box lined with blue velvet.  It wasn't funny looking at all.  In fact, it was a tad bit trendy.  And what's more, it was beautiful.  It was still small and worn and not a bit shiny.  But, it was beautiful.  Because it was hers. 

And for the last few weeks, I've caught myself staring at her ring on my hand.  Staring and remembering.  My grandmother has been gone for fifteen years, but I can still hear her laugh when she told one of her funny stories.  I can still taste her cherry cheese pie.  I can still smell her powder.  I can still see that ring, twisting round and round on her finger.

Today, I got the call that my own ring is repaired and ready for me to pick up.  I'll be glad to see it on my finger again.  But, I'll put my grandmother's ring away differently this time.  Because the older I get and the more I stand in one place and feel time rushing past me at a rate I can't control, the more I treasure my memories and the people I thought would be in my life forever, but rushed right past me to a place I can't see.

So the memories in a box lined with blue velvet will be waiting.  Maybe for my daughter.  Maybe a granddaughter.  But, they'll be waiting.  For someone to hear the stories of the laugh and the cherry pie and the powder and the ring.  The ring twisting round and round and round.

Favorite Things

My daughter watched the Sound of Music last night.  She was telling me this morning her favorite part is when Maria sits on the pinecone.  So many memories, that movie holds for me, since I watched it at least once a week, it seemed, while I was growing up.

And I think my favorite part has always been the "Favorite Things" song.  I'm pretty sure if the rest of my family experienced anything at least once a week, it was me singing that at the top of my lungs from behind my closed bedroom door.  It may or may not also be the reason my bed broke when I was nine, since I also tended to act out all of the children jumping on it with Maria as they sang.

"When the storm strikes, when the bee stings, when I'm feeling sad, I simply remember my favorite things, and then I don't feel.....(getting up to full out gusto here)...so baaaaaaaaa----aaaaaaaa-------dddddd!"

It's a lovely song.

And probably the reason I have always believed in having a lot of favorite things.  Because if you have hundreds of favorite things, you can't help but happen upon them every day.  The more you have, the better your odds.

Which is why last summer, when our family was trapped inside on a rainy day, we played the Favorite Things game.  If you've never heard of it, I'll teach it to you, and you don't even have to click a link to connect to Pinterest or buy it on Amazon.  Here it is:

You each sit down with a piece of paper and a pencil and you have five minutes to write down all the favorite things you can think of.

Isn't that a brilliant game?  But the real fun comes in the sharing because when you're done writing, you go around the circle and share your favorite things.

I still have our lists because they are now some of my favorite things.  I mean it.  I treasure them.  Because in each list, I am allowed to peer into my husband and my children, into the deepest places of who they are and what makes them happy. 

And what I find there is that there aren't a lot of fancy cars or designer clothes on the list.  None actually.  Not any toys or technological gadgets, either.  What made the lists are just the simple things in life that all equal up to...us.  The hundreds of little things that are actually the great things.  The ordinary that is actually the sacred.

cheese and crackers
comfortable jeans
knowing the answer right away
making funny jokes
midnight cuddles because you're 5 and afraid of thunder
when the storm is over
chicks in a nest
grandparents
music
dessert
when mom is cooking macaroni
a baby's first word
honey and biscuits
father and son hikes
heaters in winter
victory
chickens that have feather pants
being pleasantly tired
learning another language
a sky full of stars
worshiping around a campfire
laughing at yourself
reading a good book
our dog's ears
gentle rain
oreos and milk
old friends
new friends
highlighted and underlined Bibles
worn quilts
fluffy towels
vacations
cherries
green grass
morning coffee
forgiveness

These are a few of our favorite things.  

The Story I Love to Read

I recently loaded up my kids and went to visit my grandmother.  She gets tired pretty easily, so we don't ever stay a long time, but it was a sweet visit.  All the children took turns sharing their latest accomplishments with her, we ate together, and we heard a few more stories from the treasure box of her memories.

And somewhere in there, I slipped away to my Papaw's study to do what I always do when I visit.  I plucked one of his notebooks off the shelf and read through it for a moment.

My grandfather was a preacher.  My earliest memories of him involve pulpits and Vacation Bible Schools, where he would let the children who brought guests snip a piece off his necktie.  I loved visiting him at the church, getting candy from his secretary and even more candy from the janitor.  I loved that he was always willing to travel good distances to witness the important events in my life, always being the one who gave the biggest hug and told me how proud he was of me.

I was the oldest grandchild in the family and the first to marry.  It was Papaw who conducted our ceremony, and it was Papaw who sat us down for pre-marital counseling.  I remember blushing furiously when my aging grandfather talked about the honeymoon with me and my future groom, but I have always been grateful for the wonderful foundation he helped us build in so many facets of our communication with each other.

I had only been married two short months when Papaw had a stroke.  He would eventually recover completely physically, but would never fully recover in his ability to speak.  For the next ten years, it would be a struggle to communicate with him.  He was always able to convey love, but gone were the eloquent sermons, the heart to heart conversations, and the huge words he loved to use. 

And then he was gone.  Suddenly, and without a chance for many of us to say goodbye.

And that's why I love to slip away into his study and pick up a notebook.  There are quite a few to choose from because he was a preacher in the days before computers.  His sermon files aren't on a hard drive.  They're all in notebooks, on the top shelf of the study. 

A lifetime of sermons.  A treasure of words.

When I read his writings, mostly typed, but with many handwritten notes in the margins, I can listen to his voice again.  I can hear a heart that loved his God.  I can recall his wisdom, the kind that's earned the hard way.  I can remember his love for me.

And this last time, as I held a notebook entitled "Philippians" in my hand, I wondered what my legacy would be.  What treasure do my notebooks hold?  What am I leaving for those who come after me to remember and ponder? 

My life is telling a story.  I pray it's as beautiful as the one on the top shelf.

Date Night, Part Two

Date Night #2:  "The Something Old Date"

• Recreate your first date as closely as possible.  If you still live in the same town, this will be fairly easy to do.  If you live in a different location from where you began your relationship, you might have to substitute some things, but make the evening's agenda as close as possible to what you did the first time you went out together.
• Talk about your favorite memories from the first days and weeks of your relationship.  What special things do you remember from your first few dates that endeared your spouse to you early on?
• Bring along your wedding album and/or your box of photos/mementos from your dating days and go through them together.
• If you still have a copy of your wedding vows, read them to each other again.
• Bonus thought:  If you still have an article of clothing or jewelry that you wore early on in your relationship, wear it on your date.  Depending on its out-of-dateness, it may cause a laugh or two, but that will only add to the memory making! 

The Way I Want To See

"There is beauty and adventure in the commonplace for those with eyes to see beyond."  - Jonathan Lockwood Huie

The older I become, the more I've realized that my life is not made up of hills and valleys like I once thought.  It's made up of tiny moments on the road that stretches over hills and valleys. 

Tiny moments like making my husband a cup of coffee.

Brushing my daughter's hair.

Listening to my son laugh.

Feeding the whole crew yet another meal.

Hearing about my child's day.

Watching the oldest wink at the youngest.

The choked up feeling in my throat when my friend tells of a victory.

The choked up feeling in my throat when another tells of personal pain.

The feel of the blanket in my hand as I tuck in the one who still asks.

Starting the last load of laundry for the day.

The sound of his breathing as he settles into sleep.

These moments make up my life.  They lead me from the valley to the mountain that always stretches in the horizon.

They are everyday.  They are common.  They are nothing.

Until He gives me eyes to see beyond.

Project 365

This past year, I tried something new.  I took a picture every day to chronicle an aspect of our daily lives.  It's called 365 Project, and people all over the world have been finding ways to capture and even share a year of their life in photos.

Midway through the year, I remember thinking to myself this would be a one-time event.  It's a lot harder than you'd think to remember to take a picture every day, it was one more thing to think about, and my family sometimes rolled their eyes when I would holler out, "Picture of the day!"

Eventually, though, I just got used to the routine of it.  Take a picture on my phone every day.  At the end of the week, take five minutes to arrange them in order in an album labeled "365."  It eventually just became a habit.

And then came the reward.

New Year's Day brought my whole family to the couch, all six of us crowded around my phone.  And that's where we spent a solid hour looking through 365 photos of a year in our lives.  Photos of things we had all forgotten until we were reminded by our own faces looking back at us from a picture.

The high points, the low points.

The big events, and the everyday occurrences.

The friends around us, and the intimate conversations at home.

The huge road trips, and the mundane details.

They were all there, marching before us in order, chronicling time in a way that sobered me and made me smile all at the same time.  Because it's bittersweet to see the way time waits for no one.  

Our children's faces changed right before my eyes.  The seasons passed, without waiting for a nod from me.  And then the year was over, and it won't come again. 

So, it's a new year.  And I've begun a new album. 

I've decided to name this one "365 Treasures."



Author's Note:  Here are some of my favorite treasures from last year.  I've realized that the ones I go back to look at again and again aren't the huge moments (the big concert, the new car), but the little moments from home.  They fill my mama heart.

 

 

 

Sweet Legacies

Something special has been happening in our house the last few weeks.  We've been remodeling our precious girl's bedroom.  Out with the old, and in with....the older.  My daughter now has a bedroom full of "vintage" furniture.  And it's hard to admit it's vintage...because it's my childhood furniture, and what does that make me?

My parents recently moved into a new home, just blocks away from us now instead of a forty-five minute drive.  And the move meant a downsize from three bedrooms to two.  A couple of days into packing, Mom called and asked if we wanted my old bedroom furniture.  I didn't hesitate to say yes.  No, we didn't really have room for it.  But yes,  I couldn't wait to make the room for something so special.

I can remember going with my parents to pick up that very furniture set when I was about six years old.  It was already "vintage" then, a hand-me-down from my mom's aunt and uncle.  Their last "little girl" had just gotten married and moved away, and they were doing some downsizing of their own.

So, home the furniture came with us.  It was white.  And feminine.  And full of drawers for stowing away all my treasures.

And it was my furniture from then on, right on through my high school years.  And then my sister's after that.

My nine year old was thrilled when we brought it home for her, even more so when I showed her my "secret cubby hole" in the desk where I stored my diary.  For the last week, she's been a faithful diary writer, determined to follow in my footsteps.

And when I look at that somewhat shabby furniture now, all squeezed into my daughter's room, I can't help picturing all the years of girls it has known.

Girls getting ready in the morning in front of that large dresser mirror.

Girls working through math problems at that desk.

Girls talking on the phone with their feet propped up on that nightstand.

And even while I look at a black haired girl bent over the desk today, I can picture another generation down the road, where it might be my granddaughter who's hiding her diary in the cubby hole.

Beaten up furniture. Every scratch with a story.  Every drawer holding treasures of memory. 

Sometimes old is better than new.

Looking Forward

Our oldest turned sixteen last Sunday.  It's taken me a week to wrap my head around that.

Sixteen.

I remember turning sixteen.  I remember writing in my diary that night that a woman had told me she wished she was sixteen again.  I felt sorry for her and told my future self not to live looking backwards. 

And now my son is sixteen. 

He was born two weeks early, we brought him home wrapped up in a blanket on a hot August afternoon, we blinked, and now I'm calling to schedule his driver's test.

And I'm so proud.

And I'm so thrilled.

And I'm so sad.

And I'm so very desperate.

Desperate to remember the here and the now because I never thought I'd forget how soft his baby skin was or what his toddler voice sounded like, but now they are memories that are hard to conjure up.  And I don't want today to become the hard to remember moments of tomorrow.

And yet that's how life works.  Time really does march on.  Memories  really do fade.  And we are left with the new here and now.

So my sixteen year old self might have had the right idea.  I can't live looking backwards, trying to hold on to the moment that was meant to be enjoyed in the moment. 

But, I can love this moment.  And I can love the next moment. 

And I can treasure the young man who will be pulling out of our driveway all alone this week.  And I can tell my arms that are aching to hold the baby version of him one more time that it's not over. 

It's never over.

There will always be the here and now.

And when the here and now moves into eternity, I know beyond a shadow of doubting these arms will find their way around this boy of mine and his brothers and his sister. 

And I'm really going to love that moment.

A Heart Refreshed

Our vacation is over. 

We're back at work.  Our son is in two-a-day football practices.  Our daughter started back up with piano lessons.  The eight-inch high lawn has been mowed.  Life is back in rhythm.

And still my heart is treasuring our memories.

The 3,000 miles of car time, listening to music together and playing the license plate game.

The Smoky Mountain beauty and the quiet cabin we called home for a week.

The family board game nights after long hikes and a soak in the hot tub.

The morning our kids officiated our family church service.

The many new food experiences we introduced our children to (hello Irish food!) and the many, many candy shops we visited in little mountain towns.

The fun of seeing a son tackle a rock wall.

The delight of seeing my daughter get eye to eye with the largest butterfly she had ever seen.

The trees, the mountain paths, the waterfalls, and the whispered "wows."

The early morning silence as I drank my coffee on the cabin porch with the people I love more than life still asleep in the stillness.

And yes, we are back in the rhythm of real life.  But, it's a richer life than it was before.

It has a new layer of memory.  A new depth of togetherness.  A deeper longing for hollowed out quiet in the midst of the everyday noise.

So, I find myself praying an old prayer, but with more fervor than before. 

Lord, don't let the drums of "real life" play so loud in our ears that we can not hear your voice.  Tune our hearts to you so that we never miss a moment of "wow."  And keep calling us aside, to the stillness and to the sacred.

Finding the Time

I love summer.

I love it because it has this beautiful thing tucked away in its corners, a thing called time.

It's the summer months that time slows down, just enough to allow a deep breath to be drawn in the pauses.  Just enough to do the things you've spent the whole year dreaming about.  Just enough to be refreshed.

So, this summer, I'm making it a point to find the time. 

The tucked away time. 

Time to snuggle with my babies under the stars.

Time to do some family hiking.

Time to cook outside.

Time to sleep in and stay in our jammies until lunch.

Time to listen to the rain without thinking about the laundry.

Time to edit some photos and smile at the faces of my children.

Time to brush my daughter's hair and listen to her stories.

Time to read my Bible without a devotional agenda, just to listen.

Time to leave town with my family and turn off the cell phones.
 
Tucked away time.  What a treasure.

The Necessary Ache

Tonight, I tucked in an eight year old for the very last time.  Tomorrow, she turns nine.  And she's our last.

Which means we are to the "half way" point with our youngest.

And this mama heart of mine is full of gratitude for the joy these kids bring and at the same time full of something that makes my throat hurt. 

We are hurtling through time and space, these kids and their Daddy and me, flying past one milestone after another.  It's all a blur of growing and stretching and learning and messing up and learning some more and talking it through and laughing and learning some more and crying and holding and letting go and learning some more.

So the something in my throat that hurts is needed.

To make me stop. 

And breathe. 

And take it all in. 

And store up the memory. 

So that when I plunge back in to learn some more, I remember why we're doing this after all.

27 Days and Counting

This January, I jumped on board the 365 project.  The plan?  To take a photo a day for 365 days to document an entire year in the life of our family.  I had a few friends who did it last year, so I'd been thinking about it for awhile.  The new year seemed like a great time to get started.

Only twenty-seven days in, and I've already learned quite a bit.

1.  It's harder than you'd think to remember to take a photo a day.  There have already been a couple days that I forgot and had to find a picture on someone else's facebook to "borrow" for my project.

2.  My life is not so full of exciting happenings, but a whole lot of ordinary joys that add up to make an exciting life.  It's the shot of our boys walking close together, our daughter snuggling with our doggie, or my husband making a crazy face at our son that I keep going back to gaze at again and again.  Small moments captured forever.

3.  Time goes by quickly.  A month of 2013 is almost gone, and with just a few scrolls of the iphone, I can glance through day after day of happenings--and they just keep coming and coming.  And every one of them means my kids are a day closer to being "grown up."  If there was a way to freeze time with my photo, I think I woud do it often.

4.  We have great friends.  The people in our lives had made their way into our photos, and I treasure their faces.  Playing with our kids, volunteering at our church, laughing with my husband--friends sharing life with us.  What an honor.

5.  I am blessed beyond measure.  No fame.  No fortune.  Just real life, shared with the people I love.  What more could a girl ask for? 


Author's Note:  Want to start your own 365 project?  I'm keeping mine on my iphone, and plan to print my pictures in a photo album at the end of the year.  Other people are sharing theirs with a photo community at http://365project.org/.  You can check it out to see glimpses of 365 projects from all over the world.