Ornery Kiddos, Big Plans & Snow...

The more I ponder the story of Christmas, the more I am in awe of the brilliance and majesty of God. Ok, that sounded really “Sunday School Teacher’s Pet-ish,” but SERIOUSLY, how exceedingly brilliant is the part of the plan unfolded thus far? For the sake of discussion, let’s start toward the beginning of the Bible and consider the Exodus story (you know, Moses, the Hebrew people escaping the bondage of Egypt, wandering in the desert, searching for the Promised Land) from the role of a parent and extrapolate the concept out a billion-fold as we seek to understand an inkling of God.
You have these kids. You love them unconditionally, but…let’s face it, they’re ornery. They kind of know right from wrong, but they aren’t ones to tow the line. You give them everything they need. You give them everything they want. They aren’t happy. They get into a heap of trouble. They make some atrociously bad choices. You try to rescue them, to lead them to a safe place. They still aren’t happy. So you set up 10 hard and fast rules. All about love. Loving you, loving their neighbors. But no dice, still ornery, still getting into a heap of trouble, still choosing to face the consequences of their actions. And no matter what you do, you can’t force them to love you. They have to choose to love you.
It all comes back to love, and you have a plan, a fabulously perfect plan that you can’t wait to reveal, but the kids would go completely bonkers if they understood the extent of your plan. I mean, let’s face it: if they knew too many details of the future, their world would be ROCKED. Big time. But you want them to see the light at the end of the tunnel. To realize they can turn around, ask forgiveness, and cling to a relationship with you. After all, you’ve never stopped loving them, regardless of what they’ve done.
Thousands of years ago, folks listened to prophets and heard scripture, even if they couldn’t read. So you start to tell them what to expect:
“For to us a child is born, to us a son is given, and the government will be on his shoulders. And he will be called Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God, Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace. Of the increase of his government and peace there will be no end. He will reign on David’s throne and over his kingdom establishing and upholding it with justice and righteousness from that time on and forever.” Isaiah 9:6-7But even this, if they understood correctly, would have freaked them out. Because God’s people, well, they begin to look for a King. Not just a regular ruler, but a Mighty God kind of King. And what would that look like? Well, clearly a muscular commander, powerful because of his physical strength, not afraid to slaughter enemies, a super-hero who dresses the part, dependent on no one, possibly riding in on a stately horse to save the day.
But God’s way (“as for God, his way is perfect.” II Samuel 22:31) is certainly (thankfully) different from our way. Turns out the prophecy is fulfilled when He actually sends himself, in the form of a human: His Son to earth. I’d be willing to wager that not too many folks saw that coming. I mean, if you were to think of the exact polar opposite of King…would it not be an infant? Tiny, fragile, vulnerable. Perhaps THE most vulnerable, needy creature of all.
I’ve been listening to this beautiful collection of Christmas music on Chris Tomlin’s “Glory In The Highest” album. One of the songs struck me as particularly powerful as I was pondering this brilliant plan of redemption through love. These lyrics to Winter Snow are written by Audrey Assad:
Could’ve come like a mighty storm
With all the strength of a hurricane
You could’ve come like a forest fire
With the power of Heaven in Your flame
But You came like a winter snow
Quiet and soft and slow
Falling from the sky in the night
To the Earth below
Could’ve swept in like a tidal wave
Or an ocean to ravish our hearts
You could have come through like a roaring flood
To wipe away the things we’ve scarred
No, Your voice wasn’t in a bush burning
No, Your voice wasn’t in a rushing wind
It was still, it was small, it was hiddenGod loves us, but never forces us to love Him back. For Christmas, He gave us the greatest gift of all, Himself in the form of a human infant. As I explained last night to the Bug and the Pea, the biggest gifts of all come in the tiniest packages.

Panic! Patience. Peace

This morning I came across scripture I’ve read a billion times before, in fact, I committed to memory as a child: “Do not be anxious about anything, but in everything, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God. And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.” (Philippians 4:6-7)
But it is the perfect verse to describe this week. Well, this month. Even the past few months. I found myself explaining to a friend, “I honestly feel I couldn’t possibly BE anxious, even if I tried. It’s as if my mind can’t even possibly GO THERE. To that place of worry”.
“So let me get this straight,” she said, “You haven’t sold your home, you haven’t bought a new home, you’re not sure where you are going to live, you haven’t made Christmas plans because you don’t know where you’ll be, you’re not positive where your kids will go to school next month…and you’re ‘at peace’ with all of this?”
And as crazy as it sounds, because believe me, I am the Queen of Anxiety, it’s the truth.
We’ve had a great week. And yet as I was writing an e-mail recapping the past few days, I actually used phrases like, “Fortunately, Tuesday’s CT scans ruled out appendicitis…” and “The repairman was able to fix the heat in our temporary place, we won’t need to sleep in coats tonight!” And honestly, it never even occurred to me to be anything but truly grateful that God was watching over us. So very un-Leigh like. Usually I would have put my own plan in action, considered some serious complaining, contemplated a pity party. Yet, strangely enough, I haven’t been able to relate stories of our topsy-turvy week without laughter.
As I’m working through a Bible Study on the book of Isaiah, I’m reminded to keep my eyes focused on God, and his ultimate, perfect plan. My Bible Study leader really gave me something to think about when she said, “When we take our eyes off God and focus on circumstances….fear results. We can either choose to look at God through our circumstances or choose to look at circumstances through God.” Now THAT is powerful stuff. Do I live by faith or by fear?
A few nights ago, I began to feel overwhelmed with this process of transitioning from one state to another over the holidays. The instant, I mean…the very instant…that fear began to creep into my heart, I heard the angelic voice of The Bug, wafting down the hall, singing a hymn I didn’t even realize she knew: “What have I to fear? Leaning on the everlasting arms!” I immediately shifted my focus back to God, who has always been faithful to provide, and my peace was restored.
“Mama,” said the Bug as I was tucking her in bed beneath a mountain of blankets. “For whatever reason I just can’t get that song out of my head tonight! Sing with me…”
And I did.

“You will keep in perfect peace him whose mind is steadfast, because he trusts in you. Trust in the LORD forever, for the LORD, the LORD, is the Rock eternal.” (Isaiah 26:3-4)

Papaw, Potatoes & Piano Playing...

I've had 3 Thanksgiving meals already, and it's not Thanksgiving yet. No complaints, I'm just saying I've never been one to turn down mashed potatoes.
My first Thanksgiving meal was last Thursday with the Pea at the Pond. A "shout-out" goes to the cafeteria ladies - I love their food. (My Mother is reading this and saying, "Seriously? I packed a sack lunch every day for you for years and NOW you decide to love school lunches?") Anyhooooooo, I helped myself to salad (both kinds) mashed potatoes AND stuffing, turkey and green beans, sweet potatoes, a roll and banana pudding. Once I reached the sweet tea, it occurred to me I was probably supposed to choose a meat and 2 sides instead of the self-proclaimed Sampler Platter I piled on my tray. Nevertheless, nothing but a smile from the lunchroom ladies. LOVE THEM! So the Pea and I sat down and I mostly listened and nodded while inhaling the meal. Partially because I was hungry, but partially because of strategy. One can learn a lot from the conversations of second graders.
Last Friday I had lunch at school with the Bug for her grade's Thanksgiving. Again I piled on the fixin's. Again the sweet cafeteria ladies smiled. Again I inhaled the meal. Again I listened to the wild and wonderful conversations, this time of fourth graders.
But Saturday's Thanksgiving meal took the cake (well, apple pie). My Aunt J graciously invited our family to her lovely home on a lovely farm in Kentucky. You won't find a more Rockwell-ian (yes, I did just coin that word...) Thanksgiving anywhere. Mounds of mashed potatoes, green beans, made from scratch butter rolls, turkey, corn, homemade macaroni (or mac-a-noodles, as I used to request when I was a kiddo). China on the table, crystal, big pitchers of sweet tea and lemonade. Family everywhere. Ages ranging from my cousin's newborn twins to my 94 year old grandfather.
I sat next to my Papaw during the meal and caught up on all the goings-on. He just had cataract surgery on both eyes and he hopes to be able to read by Christmas. I mentally set aside some books to loan him. (Like me, he's a sucker for Yancey and Strobel.)He chatted about the new gadgets my Dad helped install...an intercom system, hospital bed, medical-alert bracelet ("Look, all I have to do is press this button." "No Papaw! Don't really press it NOW!!")He told me all about Brooklyn, one of his home health nurses. The Meals-On-Wheels delivered to his door, the doctors appointments. And then something happened that I don't remember ever happening during our family Thanksgiving meal...
My Aunt P, who is an accomplished pianist, gathered everyone close to the piano in Uncle B's den. Papaw grabbed his walker and strolled over to an armchair, and settled himself next to the piano bench. Aunt P began to play hymns, by heart, and my Papaw....my 94 year old grandfather...began to sing. Loud and beautiful and clear. I have never heard him sing before, ever. I've seen pictures of him with guitars, I knew he was musically gifted, I'd just never heard him.
A few hymns later, the Bug and the Pea scrambled up beside Aunt P and began to sing as well. They tried to teach Papaw, "Peace Like A River...", that was a new one for him! Then they dove into Christmas carols, as my cousin's newborn twins drifted off to sleep in their pumpkin seat carriers.
Thursday we've been graciously invited to spend Thanksgiving with a sweet neighbor...who also happens to be a fabulous cook, I'm just sayin'... And the food will be amazing. But more than the food, I'm thankful beyond measure for the amazing blessings God has bestowed on me. Blessings that include time spent with chatty second graders, lunchroom ladies, feisty fourth graders, next door neighbors, infant second cousins, old friends, and new friends, and Papaws singing about the birth of baby Jesus...

What Is This Cocktail Fork You Speak Of?

I’m happy to report the more time I spend in New Orleans, the more I learn what I ought to do or say. (Unfortunately, this is a process of elimination that usually begins with me sticking my foot in my mouth. At which point I realize, too late, what NOT to do or say.) My biggest fear is to inadvertently hurt someone’s feelings, so please allow me to apologize…in advance…to the entire city of New Orleans, as my family transitions from the Bluegrass State. Although the proverbial road is long before me, I have high hopes that one day…I, too, will proudly bear the moniker of a NOLA “local.”
In the meantime, it appears you can take this girl out of Kentucky, but you can’t take the Kentucky out of this girl. Thankfully, I’ve recently made the acquaintance of three lovely locals. Little do they know, they are my new BFFs, a trio I refer to as The Super Heroes. These gals are sharp, funny and beautiful. Sweet BB, LG, and JC continue to gently and diplomatically share nuggets of wisdom, for which I will be eternally grateful. Bless their hearts, the poor things have had to start at the absolute, very beginning with me. But to their credit, even in a matter of weekends, I’ve learned several crucial lessons regarding the metamorphosis from “tourist” to “local”. The early fundamentals include phonetics, and food.

TOP TEN WAYS TO REMOVE ALL DOUBT YOU’RE NOT A NEW ORLEANS LOCAL…YET10. Sit down in front of a shrimp & crab platter and announce your seafood experience, thus far in life, consists of tuna salad sandwiches
9. Wear a sweater and winter coat in mid-November, instead of shorts and a blouse
8. Appear bewildered at the drive-thru window of a store serving Take Out Daiquiris
7. Get lost on the way to Bourbon Street for dinner
6. Ask your realtor to suggest homes north of Espionage (instead of Esplanade - Es-plah-nade)
5. Forget the French culture and ask the concierge where nationally known Gala-‘tor-ees is located, instead of Galatoires (Gal-uh-twah-z)
4. Remember the French culture and ask for museum suggestions in ‘Or-lay-own-z Parish instead of Orleans (Or’leeens) Parish
3. Mention you’d love to try a pound of crayfish instead of three pounds of crawfish
2. Show up for the Po’Boy Festival, expecting only seafood sandwiches, not realizing the distinguishing feature is the bread…and there’s such a thing as a Po’Boy Hamburger
1. Keep referring to the city as New Or-‘leeeens. Apparently rule number one is: pronounce the name as New ‘Or-Lenz. End of story.

Of course, I’m still a novice. Perhaps the best advice was given by my new Super Hero BFF JC: “Leigh, just think about what you WANT to say, and then say the opposite.”
Watch out New Orleans, here we come!

Code Black: My Morning In Intimate Apparel

So I was in Men’s Underwear when the alarm sounded. To clarify, I wasn’t wearing briefs/boxers, but rather pushing my shopping cart past racks of underpants en route to the groceries.
“Attention Associates And Customers…” boomed a voice over the loud speaker.
“Code Black! Cease shopping! Move immediately to the center of the store!”
Nonplussed, I wandered from my cart back toward Intimate Apparel, a.k.a. the very center of the store. The World’s Largest Retailer was my first stop of the morning. I had nothing but time on my hands. No appointments scheduled, no critters in tow calling me “Mamma!”
Standing near some Associates with glowing I-Phones, I discovered we were in the midst of a tornado warning. Which, I must say, is a glorious time to People Watch. I grabbed the tiny notebook I keep in my purse, but couldn’t find a pen. Drat. These are the moments Novels are Born.
Nevertheless, I sauntered in and out of the silky-polka-dot bra and matching panties sets. I tried to gather a little piece of Americana from the crowd around me.
There were decidedly different reactions from the motley crew of folks. The store lights flickered on and off and back on again. One Associate commenced to hyperventilating between sobs. Fellow employees gathered around her. One offered to bring a chair, one commented not to worry, he’d happily step over her body and on to safety should the need arise. She was not encouraged.
An older lady wove in and out of the racks toward me. I would have claimed I’d never seen her before in my life, but she seemed to know me. She mentioned mutual friends, so we must have met at some point.
“I’ve lived through hurricanes and I’ve lived through tornadoes. It’s getting to be where any place you live there’s always some kind of disaster lurking. Lord, I wish I could get through to Aunt Jane, she’s probably at home worrying right now. Hope this rain doesn’t flood my art studio….again.” And she wandered off.
Head full of curlers, a lady chatted with an associate. “Figures, TODAY is the day I scheduled my hair.”
Some of the boys in charge of gathering shopping carts from the parking lot paced back and forth. Bored. Thinking it would be much more fun to be outside in the tornadic winds, than here in Apparel.
Beep. Beep. Beep. An elderly man put his wheel-chair cart in reverse and almost ran me over. I scooted to the front of the crowd and squinted toward the book racks. I could almost make out some of the titles. I debated a quick sprint to grab some literature, and then dash back to Intimate Apparel. I quickly realized my taste in books was slightly different from the collection before me. With a sigh, I tiptoed past Wheel-chair-cart man and toward a group of employees.
“Not even a tornado gonna keep me from my coffee break.”
“Wonder if I should call someone at the Park and check on my home?”
“Man, you have to check out Best Buy. They can match that price!”
I took out my cell phone to call The Husband. Might as well let him know where to look for me, should the tornado indeed strike. No answer. I left a message that in case of emergency, I could be found between the lacy negligee display and the control top girdles.
The lights flickered off and on again. I counted my blessings that I didn’t happen to have four children jumping in and out of my shopping cart as did the grandmother to my left.
I browsed Women’s Apparel. There is actually a clothing line called, “America’s Next Top Model.” And I debated whether to try on the imitation leather vest jacket and stretch pants from the Miley Cyrus Collection. (Who knew?) Apparently I’ve been missing out on current fashion fads. However, in my defense, my clothes are so out of style they’ve actually started to come back in-style again.
A Manager with a ginormous walkie-talkie came bursting through the store’s front door. “Code Black Lifted!” He cried triumphantly.
And the beleaguered crowd meandered back to their abandoned shopping carts and Grocery Lists. I finished my shopping. Twenty four rolls of toilet paper for the Mummy Wrap game, two boxes of Halloween sprinkle cookies, Orange Crush ¬2¬ Liters for the Ring Toss at Fall Festival, potato chips, bottles of water, a pie pumpkin. I headed for the Check Out Registers.
Good thing I wore my jogging shoes. Because one thing is always for certain: if my shopping cart is brimming with groceries….so much so that I have to actually use one hand to balance the mound of bags piled on top of one another…then the torrential downpour will commence as soon as I reach the storefront.
I look out the glass doors to get my bearings. Of course, I am parked in the very farthest point of the lot. I can’t actually SEE my car, since the rain is forming a zero visibility shield. But I remember the general location of the vehicle.
I tie together the tops of the grocery bags, place one hand on the handlebar and one hand on top of the pile o’ groceries. I burst forth into the parking lot with Chariots of Fire speed and agility. I sail through puddles, between cars, past a gentleman flipping off a van that inadvertently (I hope) splashed him. I load my soggy items into the trunk, and dive behind the wheel. (Quite literally, I mean there was water everywhere.)
Home again, home again, jiggety-jig. Not quite as exciting as huddling with strangers in Intimate Apparel. But warm, and dry. Now to unpack. I just hope my new Miley Cyrus wardrobe looks as good on me as it did on the rack…

All The World's A Stage...a.k.a. Waiting For The Bus

In “As You Like It,” Shakespeare’s melancholy Jaques ponders, “All the world’s a stage…” I’m quite sure he was referring to my front porch, specifically 15 minutes before the school bus pulls up each morning.
The Bug is a “morning person” through and through. (My husband and I question how this is even genetically possible for our offspring?) The Pea, like AJ, prefers to ease into her morning.
As we wait for what my friend MHR terms, “that yellow bus of mercy,” the Pea and I are treated to a vast array of performances. I sit on the top step holding my hot tea. The little one snuggles beside me, backpack already slung over one shoulder.
The Bug takes center stage. (A note to my children's teachers: I promise the kids are semi-presentable in clean clothes and brushed hair at one point. However, I’m reticent to make any promises once they pass the threshold commonly known as my front door.)
The Bug is a whirligig of activity. Sometimes confined to the porch, but most often not. First on her “to-do” list is a look at the empty nest within the Bradford Pear tree. Of course, the nest is buried within the top branches, so even a glimpse involves a climb. High climbs are usually reserved for the days the Bug has donned a dress or skirt. (Apparently pants are too binding for a good climb…)
Next she checks on Mr. Hoppy (a.k.a. any cricket unlucky enough to cross her path.) She likes to think Mr. Hoppy is most comfortable in his own nest of soil and grass. A nest she fashions as Mr. Hoppy bounces up her arm, into her hair – and one time into my tea cup.
Yesterday, she demonstrated side to side, shuffle, back pedal, and blitz across our driveway. “What dance are we learning?” I asked.
“MOM! It’s not a dance! It’s football!” replied the Bug. Good to know.
Often there is a morning harvest. One day the Bug delivered 62 cherry tomatoes to my step on the porch. I know because she counted them. Out loud. Twice.
Sometimes performance art segues to visual art. She’ll drop to her knees on the asphalt, sidewalk chalk in hand. (This task is particularly suited for days when white or cream colored tights are worn in lieu of socks.) She scoots around creating a masterpiece. Sometimes using her fingers to smudge a solid line into an image.
Often the Pea and I are treated to a gymnastics extravaganza. Cartwheels, handstands, head first dives into a somersault race across our muddy front yard. Sometimes I pick grass and twigs out of her hair, mulch out of her socks, dirt off her knees.
And when the bus rolls by, the two girls scamper aboard. (This week the Pea got to sit in the very back because of her “good behavior.” God love our bus driver!) And I head inside, until it’s time to cross the threshold once more in anticipation of the afternoon bus.
At which point, all bets are off, as they say. And the entire residence…front yard and back, porch and patio, garden and swing set, guest room and den, transform into the World’s Most Glorious Stage.
At least until the sun sets and the kids trudge their (cute but muddy) selves upstairs for a bubble bath…

In Which I Ponder: Love vs. Need...

“Nothing can separate us from God’s love.” Romans 8:39

My sophomore year of college, I took a course entitled, “Marriage & Family.” One particular Tuesday morning the floor was open to discussion on Love vs. Need. An interesting premise I had never considered in terms of relationships. The main question was: Do you love me because you need me? Or Do you need me because you love me?

What seemed very obvious to me, did NOT seem obvious to many of my classmates. In my way of thinking, love that is pure –especially in a life-long partnership—would be the latter. I NEED AJ because my love for him is so deep. Sure he picks up groceries, cooks meals…and technically I need those things too. But that’s not why I love him. What if everything we owned was swept away in a hurricane and we were left clinging to each other? Yes, that would be an unimaginable horror, but I would still have what I need, because AJ is what I need, because of my love for him. The love is enough.

Let’s expand that premise down one generation to the Bug and the Pea. I will always love them. From the moment they were born, the instant each of them came into this world, my love was so deep I knew there was nothing they can do to separate themselves from my love. Right now, they love me deeply, I know that. They tell me they love me. But a lot of that love is tied up in the fact that they need me for survival. They need me to feed, clothe, and take care of them when they are sick. They need me to teach them how to be productive, God-fearing members of the human race. My goal as a parent: to raise them such that, eventually, they will NOT need me for survival. I will know my work is done once the Bug & the Pea reach a point where they need me solely because they love me.

Now, from my viewpoint, let’s expand that premise up one generation. Do I love my parents because I need them? Or Do I need my parents because I love them? Again, I’d announce the latter. My parents poured their very souls into the raising of me and my brother. We rested in the knowledge that there was nothing so horrible we could possibly do that would keep us from our parents’ unconditional love. We were (and still are) spoiled rotten with love while being taught essential lessons. As children, we needed our parents for survival. But we learned. How to read and write and ride a bike. How to fold clothes and shop for groceries and mow the lawn. How to change oil, and change a tire, and (sweet merciful heavens) how to drive a stick-shift station wagon. How to plant seeds and grow gardens and run a mile. How to be kind, and serve others¸ and give selflessly because that’s what God wants us to do. How to accept grace, and look to Jesus for guidance, no matter what.

With a family of my own, I still adore being with my parents. I call them weekly with questions about cooking or car maintenance, broken lawn mower frustrations and gardening woes. When visiting, I race alongside my kids to get “hello” hugs and a kiss. I love sitting down to one of Mom’s meals, I value Dad’s perspective on big (and small) decisions. I still need them very much. Not because of what they can do for me, or how often they can “watch” the girls, or for Christmas or birthday gifts. I need them because I love them.

Now let’s take that premise to a supernatural realm. Do I love Jesus because I need Him? Or Do I need Jesus because I love Him? Last night’s episode of Glee posed the question: Is God just a Santa Claus for Grown Ups? That really hit “home” for me. How often do I treat God as a Santa Claus who will deliver my Grown Up Wish List? The answer is: all the time. I’ve felt convicted lately of my unhealthy, inverse relationship with the Lord. The bottom line is: I am on earth to serve Him, and not the opposite. He is the Master of Me, I am not the one calling the shots. I am called to love Him because of who He is, not because of what He can do for me. And not only that, but God desires this love relationship to be so very deep that if everything else, EVERYTHING, was swept away…all would be well with my soul. I would still have the love.
And His love is enough.
In His very words: “My grace is sufficient for you.” 2 Corinthians 12:9