Soul Food

I did it.  I did the thing I've been planning to do for months.  I took a day off and spent it alone, at home. 

I did what I wanted.  I didn't do what I didn't want to do.  I drank two cups of coffee instead of one and didn't even get dressed until after lunch, which I ate alone with only the sound of the dishwasher for company.  I played the piano.  I read a little.  I walked the dog.  I took a nap.  I wrote a poem. 

And I didn't want it to end.

It's that profound desire to hold on, to savor, that makes me wonder why I wait months and months to take a day that brings me so much joy and so much renewal. 

For some people, today would not have been a blessing.  They would rather have spent it in a crowd of friends, hiking, or maybe touring a vineyard.  And that's the thing, isn't it?  Our ability to discern what it is that both brings us peace and invigorates us at the same time is the point at which we have learned to pastor our own souls.  For too long, I stayed away from the seminary of my own heart, distracted by the need to perform and believing if I took time away to feed myself, I was selfishly robbing the people in my life of what they needed. 


But, time spent in regularly pastoring my soul keeps me from feeding others with empty hands and allows me to break off a piece of my wholeness and offer it freely, without fear that it is all I will have for tomorrow.

And so, I will not wait so long for the next time. 

Ode To A Day Home Alone

Creative stirrings make

lukewarm coffee as the bathrobe

spins out like a ballerina's chiffon,

the riverdance flowing around the living room rug,

and the dog sleeping on, unaware

of the freedom that comes with

solitude.

Trading Stress for Peace

A couple of months ago,  my pastor husband asked if I would mind letting a traveling band of musicians stay in our home for a night.  We were scheduled to be out of town that evening, the church was needing to find them a place to stay after they performed a concert for the congregation, and it seemed like an all-around easy solution.  I said sure, it would be no problem.

Fast forward to T minus 6 days, and it was no longer an easy solution and was in fact a huge problem.  What had I been thinking?  A group of people I didn't know staying in my home without us there?  This called for some SERIOUS CLEANING!

I've always thought of myself as a clean person.  (Almost) everything has a place, and (almost) everything can be put it in its place in pretty quick order in my house.  But, this was not the usual scenario for company.  These people weren't just coming over for dinner or coffee, they were going to shower, sleep, prepare their own breakfast, and possibly do laundry here.  They were going to see into closets, cabinets, bathtubs (shriek!), and who knows, maybe behind couches?

So, I spent the better part of two days cleaning from top to bottom. 

Floors.

Couch cushions.

Bathrooms.

Ceiling fans.

The works.

And what should have been a natural display of hospitality turned into an exhausting ordeal.

All because I was worried what someone I didn't even know would think if they saw dust on the baseboards or dog hair on the couch.

Until I finally realized, enough was enough.  The house was cleaner than it ever is for the people who LIVE here, so it was just going to have to be enough for those who were visiting. 
My tired family was thrilled to hear this decision as it meant they were spared the deep cleaning of their closets. 

The last thing I did before we left town was shut every single closet door and hoped no one would have a desire to see if I know how to fold fitted sheets (I don't) or if all the pieces of our board games have made it back into their boxes.  And then I walked out, and tried not to think about it anymore.

But, now, two weeks later, I've been thinking about it.  And I wonder why I allowed myself to get stressed out when our home is a lovely, homey place.  It's not perfect and its furniture is showing signs of being well loved by a family of six, but it's full of peace and comfort and joy and life.  It's a beautiful place to relax and be yourself.  And maybe the imperfections around the house are a lot like the people who live here, the people who aren't perfect, but are growing up and changing for the better and not ever staying the same. 

And maybe there are just a lot of things more important in life than correctly folded sheets.

Pause

"Be still and know that I am God.  I will be exalted among the nations, I will be exalted in the earth."  - Psalm 46:10

I don’t have much to show for my two years of German in High School.  I know how to count to ten and how to sing, “I’m a foreigner and I don’t speak German very well” to the tune of “She’ll Be Coming Around the Mountain,” neither of which are all that helpful. 

However, I do have a random German phrase stuck in my head.  I can say, “Sprechen in die pausen nachs,” which means, “Speak in the pauses.”  I can do this because our teacher used to play a cassette tape (yes, I'm that old) with a woman speaking German sentences.  After each sentence, the woman on the tape would instruct us to “sprechen in die pausen nachs,” and we were then supposed to repeat her sentence.  I apparently didn’t learn any of the other sentences, but I can tell someone really well to “speak in the pauses.”

And maybe that’s a good sentence to know. 

 

In the middle of the sheer chaos of life, to choose to use my one sentence.

 

"God, I am stopping.  I am stopping everything.

 

Come speak in the pause."

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.

A Mama's Dream Come True?

Last Friday, something happened to me that hasn't happened in sixteen years.

I was alone.  At home.  I was home alone!

I had put my husband on a plane to Detroit on Wednesday, put my two teenagers on a church bus to New York on Thursday, and then I put my youngest two in a suburban making its way to church camp on Friday.

It was just me and the dog for a whole 24 hours.

Don't get me wrong, it's not like I've never had any "get away" time.  I've gone away on mission trips, I've gone away for a weekend with my husband, and I've even gone away on a personal sabbatical.  But, to be at home all by myself?  It hadn't happened since the oldest child was born.  As a mother who homeschools during the junior high years, I haven't even had the daytime hours alone at home yet.  And I have to admit, it was something I've dreamed about a few times.  Everyone in the office kept asking me what I was going to do with myself.  I didn't have trouble figuring it out.

I went to lunch, by myself, and ended up chatting for half an hour with a woman I had never met.

I drove to the drive in and got myself a sweet tea.  And then I drank it all by myself, without one person asking for a sip.

I drove twenty miles away and went shopping in what my kids call a "foo-foo" store, browsing house wares and jewelry and garden décor for an hour, with no one asking me when we were going to leave.

I picked up frozen Chinese food at the supermarket and took it home to eat--in front of the television, something I never allow the kids to do.

I took a hot bath without one time having to shout, "Mom's in here!  You'll have to wait!"

I read an entire novel until the wee hours of the morning.

I woke up late and drank my coffee on the back porch in complete silence.

And after all this bliss, do you know what I did? 

I checked the clock, saw I was to pick up my husband at the airport in less than an hour, and praised God that I would only be alone for a few more minutes.  And then I counted up how many hours until all my chicks would be back in the nest, and felt my heart leap for joy.

I think I'm good for another sixteen years.

The Joy of Respite

I always love to turn a calendar page, but I can not remember a time I have been so excitedly anticipating turning my weekly planner from one week to the next.  It's not that this week has been terrible, it's just that next week holds something precious---a respite.

It was my husband's idea.  After a season of intense labor in our ministry, he felt we both needed to take some time away on our own.  A time for each of us to get away from daily life to recharge, refuel and be re-envisioned.

He went first, driving a couple hours away to hole up in a borrowed cabin and plan out the church's vision for the new year, away from all distractions.  I could tell when he returned that he came back stronger and ready to impart what he had received.

And next week, it's my turn.  I was thrilled to see the cottage he chose for me to stay in has the beautiful word "respite" in its name.

Respite: a delay or cessation for a time, especially of anything distressing or trying; an interval of relief

And yes, I have some goals I would like to accomplish while I'm away.  Some things that have needed my attention, but are hard to devote mental energy to when I'm in the midst of daily urgencies.

But, on the top of my goal page is written a word with several lines drawn underneath it.  It's the same word I have displayed above my office door, where only I can see it and be reminded:  REST.

How long has it been since you've had a respite--just you, God, and your conversations with each other in a place away from home?  If you never have, or it's been years since you've done it, pray today and ask God if it's time.  I promise He's the best road trip friend imaginable.

What Vacation Is Meant For

Somewhere in the midst of sweeping out the borrowed travel trailer, loading up the sleeping bags, and digging out the lake gear from the garage, my son asked an interesting question.  "Why do people go on vacation?"

Why indeed?  Why do we spend money to pack up all our things, give up the comfort of our own beds, drive great distances, spend more money, sleep in strange beds, drive some more, and stand in lines to spend more money before we pack up all our things and drive great distances back to our homes?  Maybe it does seem a little strange.

But, if it is, it's strangely wonderful.

"We go on vacations to refresh our souls."

Because we were created to live life in a garden.  A garden of peace, a place where rest came easy.  So life without rest becomes anxious.

Because we were created to live life in communion with the Father, taking walks with Him in the cool of the day.  So life without time to see the world He created, hand in hand with Him, becomes dry.

Because we were created to live lives of wonder, exploration without end.  So life without adventure becomes stale.

And sometimes it takes a vacation to shake off the anxious, dry, staleness that we've allowed to envelope us.

And if we make a mistake in vacationing, it's not in the taking of one.  It's making it about entertainment, rather than embracing rest, communion, and adventure.

And if there's something we do right in vacationing, it's when we taste enough of the real things of life that we bring them home with us and continue to live them.

May you and your family taste of the real things this summer, and may it refresh you, down to the deepest places of your soul.


Author's Note:  As our family will be vacationing for the next two weeks, Treasure the Ordinary will feature a couple of archived blog posts.  Hope you enjoy dusting off some old "treasure."

The Gift of Presence

He'd been at camp less than twelve hours when we got the phone call.  Our ten year old had a mishap with a tree and a rock.  His arm looked broken.  They were taking him to the emergency room.

My husband and I were a two and a half hour drive away---a long, long road when your baby is at the hospital without you.  I talked to him on the phone, helped him take big breaths, prayed over him, and assured him everything was going to be fine.  Then I hung up and did the same thing for myself. 

A few minutes later, another phone call.  His little sister was still at camp and was sobbing into the phone.  She hadn't seen him leave, just knew he was hurt.  She was scared for him, her best friend.  I talked to her, helped her take some big breaths, prayed over her, and assured her everything was going to be fine.  Then I hung up and did the same thing for myself once again.

We heard back a few minutes later that our daughter was peaceful and heading to bed.  Someone asked her what her mama had said to her.   She told her I said, "Jesus is with him."

I'm not sure I actually said those words, but they were the ones she needed to hear.  They were also the ones I needed to hear.

When I can't be there to hold my baby, Jesus is. 

When I don't know what to say, He does.

When I can't carry it on my shoulders, He can.

When I can't sleep for the storm, I can pull my mat up next to His and listen to His heartbeat instead of the waves.  (Luke 8)

And I'm eternally grateful for the gift of His presence.  The presence that goes before me and behind me.  The presence that covers me and lifts me.  The presence that is also with the ones I love the most.

When I held my exhausted son in my arms a couple of hours later, I knew for sure he had not been alone.  My heart was at peace as he reached out the arm that wasn't in a splint and wrapped it around my neck.  And I whispered my thanks for the arms that encircled us both.

True Love?

I've sat in a quiet house for over an hour this evening.  The kids went to bed a little late, squeezing in the finishing of homework and evening showers.  My tired husband joined them in sleep not long after.  I told him I would be turning in soon, but I haven't been able to follow through.  It's because of the silence.  I needed it.  And if I sleep, I'll miss it. 

There is not one thing I would change about our happy home or the beautifully loud people in it.  They fill every sun-filled hour with giggles and shouts and the thumps of wrestling and questions and still more laughter.  I adore the sounds in our house.

But, my days are so filled with the noise of taking care of the people I love, I sometimes hunger for the silence that takes care of my own heart.  The kind of silence that invites my mind to slow itself into a pause.  The kind of silence that wraps itself around and shields from the laundry undone and the floor unswept.  The kind of silence that beckons my Jesus to speak into the inmost parts of my soul.

It's why I lept at the opportunity to take an hour and a half drive to run an errand for my husband last week.  All alone on my beloved Texas roads, the hills capped with a rare snow.  Sometimes music, sometimes not.  Just me.  And Him.

I read once that you know you have true love if you can sit together for an hour in silence and not feel awkward in the least. 

I think we're there, He and I. 

Rest for the Weary

Too much.  It's that state of life that occurs when busyness crowds out wisdom. 

I usually don't realize it's happening until my head has had a slight ache for a couple of days, I've forgotten an appointment or two, and my car looks like someone might have been living in it.  It's at these times, if I look a little closer, that I usually realize my patience is running thin and my complaints are spilling over.  The laundry basket is full, yet my kids' love tanks are empty.  The phone has been overused, but the Bible hasn't been touched.

How many days have passed since I've had a sabbath?  For a pastor, Sundays don't mean rest.  We've tried to make Saturdays mean sabbath.  But, how long since we've accomplished it?

I stop to count. 

Not last Saturday.  That was the day of the wedding and the crush of trying to get everyone dressed and smiling.

Not the one before; that was the week we took the trip to visit my grandma, rushing to get home in time for the birthday party.

And it won't be next week, either.  That will be my son's game and the big church event that I've spent weeks preparing for.

And everyday in between filled.  All good things.  All necessary things.  And still all things that leave me dry and spent, with nothing in reserve.

And without a sabbath to replenish, my soul withers and my joy fades.

So, the Lord of the universe knew what He was doing when He commanded me to rest.  He knew my weakness, my fragility, and my need.  He created me so that my strengths would only shine to the measure that I depend on Him, making way for the beauty of who He is to rise up out of my flesh.  He made a way for my heart to connect with His through rest--- rest with purpose.  For He is a God of purpose.

When I was nineteen, I taught a Sunday School class in a little country church.  My class was made up of about five or six little country boys.  I made a timeline and started from the beginning, determined to give them an overview of the Old Testament in one semester.

The first week, I taught on creation.  Day one, God made light.  Day two, God separated the waters.  Day three, God made the earth.  Day four, God made the sun, moon, and stars.  Day five, God made the birds and the sea creatures.  Day six, God made the animals and mankind.  But, on day seven, God rested. 

"And why do you think God did that?" I asked those small boy faces, all looking at me with serious eyes.

There was more than one quiet moment before one little guy ventured, "Well, ma'am, maybe He wanted to give it a day and make sure it all worked."

I admit I laughed before I explained the reason God rested was to teach us how to rest.  He knew it would all work, but He knew the way we would work the way we were designed to work would be to rest, and then to rise again with new purpose.

And when I obey, I discover my mind can think clearly again and my creativity can flow again.  I often find the solutions to problems I have been mulling over are dropped into my lap after a day of rest, His love-gift to my overworked brain. 

And the next day, I have renewed energy to tackle the to-do list, yet I am more in-tune to the needs on my children's faces than before, as if my vision has been cleared from the fog of urgency.

How wise He is, and how loving.  Why do I ever fight Him, thinking my way is better?  My way that leads to burn-out and emptiness-- it could never measure up to the fulness He offers with a hand out-stretched and a lap ready to receive me.

“Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy and my burden is light.”  (Matthew 11:28-30)

Ways to rest today:

• lie in the hammock without feeling guilty
• turn off the television
• work on the creative project you've been itching to try
• paint, even if you can't
• read your favorite book in the Bible and journal all the reasons you love it
• make your favorite meal and eat it with your family by candlelight
• bubblebath after the kids are in bed with your favorite music tured low
• snuggle with your spouse and tell each other why you love one another
• have a joke-telling contest with your children
• put on a worship album and listen to the whole thing in one sitting
• ask the Lord why you avoid silence and listen for His answer