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Most days, we keep our hearts tucked away.
Hidden safely behind our careers, our obligations and our busy…
we keep our hearts protected.

We smile.
We nod.
We answer “fine, how are you?“,
and we bustle away.

We carry on that way for years,
kind and caring,
but ever careful to stay in the shallows.

We carry on that way,
protected but not safe,
strong but not sturdy,
accompanied, but not together,.

visible…but not exposed.

But every now and then, something happens in a community, and there’s a chink in that armor.

A storm.

A storm that stops here and stops there
Yet leaves some of us untouched.

A storm that forces us to
rethink
restart

then rebuild.

As storm that let’s the light shine into all of the dark places.
And all of those hearts that are safely tucked away start to swell…
until all of a sudden…

Our Love falls out.

And with that Love out there in the wind, we can do anything.

We can build,
we can pray,
we can laugh,
we can cry.

We can truly see each other.

When we let our Love fall out…
we become the Community we are called to be.
And we thrive.

Until we feel too vulnerable
Until we feel too susceptible.

And then we tuck it back away.

And we go about our days again.
Hidden safely behind…
Those careers
Those obligations
That busy.

And we are visible again, but not exposed.

And then something else happens,
something so painful,

That our armor cracks wide open.

And again…

Our Love falls out.

And this time…
We pray for our neighbor,
We pray for our enemy,
We pray for God’s grace,
God’s peace,
God’s wisdom.

We stand together,
green ribbons on those hearts,
As our Love just falls out all over.

Again and again and again.

We hold hands,
we hug a stranger

And we grieve.

As our Love…her Love…his Love…His Love…
fills all of the empty places and dusty spaces  left from when we were protected, but not safe
strong but not secure
accompanied but not together,

visible…
but
not
vulnerable.

And with our Love at our feet,
we find ourselves being true
and together,
and sturdy
and safe.

As our Love falls out we say…

You are not alone,
No one is alone.

Because this is our Town,
This is our Home,
This is our Heart,
This is our Love.

And we all know…
That the greatest of all is Love.

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In our house, there is a razor thin line between “Aren’t we just so blessed…I love our sweet, cozy house” and “holy shit, did we get robbed? Someone ransacked the house…seriously…call someone.”

It’s true. At any given point, we are a breath away from W.T.F. Sorry for the language, but if you saw the state of our house right now…trust me, you would say it too.

I’m calling this the point of no return. The point where if we don’t do something, it’s going down for real in this house and we might as well just go grab a shovel and some contractor, heavy weight garbage bags and just purge until all we are left with is plaster walls and stained carpet.

It’s the proverbial tipping point. Where one more Polly Pocket will absolutely be the straw that broke the this mother’s back.

This morning I found a half a piece of pizza behind the filing cabinet. I shit you not.  I petrified piece of hand-tossed, pork sausage pizza.  I picture one of these wild children literally taking a bite, looking at the pizza, shrugging their shoulders and saying “meh…” then CHOOSING to chuck it behind the wooden filing cabinet.

And about 10 minutes later? The babies used their little snack size bags of goldfish as kneading bags turning their goldfish into confetti and then promptly treating it as such all over the kitchen. On my way downstairs to get the vacuum, I literally stepped in the cat’s puke. Now, cats are smart right?? I don’t think for one second that cat couldn’t make it somewhere else to barf up her hair ball. She ralphed right there on the third step down to the basement to literally try to make me lose my mind.

There’s the faint aroma of a poopy diaper in the air this morning and I have searched everywhere for the source to no avail. I’ve concluded that 1)there literally IS a diaper full of poop sitting somewhere like a festering bomb or 2)my house just smells like poop–like it’s just the way it is now or 3)I have changed so many diapers in my life that my little nose hairs are literally scented like crap.

I really don’t know which answer is the right one. I swear to you.

I am in absolute awe of those of you that have clean houses–those of you who tell your children to get dressed and those children walk to their closets and find their unwrinkled clothes, socks and undies from right where they are supposed to be…in drawers and on hangers. You all are literally my heroes. I’m not being sarcastic. I want to be you. You’re like angel fairies, flitting about in my mind making your house look fantastic and folding perfect laundry all the while being sweet and kind and just all around freaking amazing.

I want to go to you–look you right in the eyes while holding both of your hands and say “Teach Me–I’m finally ready”.

For those of you like me, like us, who have houses that reach the danger zone, the point of no return…I hope I show up at your house at one of moments.

You’ll say to me “please pretend you don’t see the mess”. And I’ll think: awww heck no, I’m going to burn it into my brain…every ground in cracker on your carpet, every plate encrusted with lasagna in your sink, every sippy cup that has literally started to have it’s contents separate into two distinct layers curds and whey and say:

“Oh thank the Good Lord in heaven, we aren’t the only ones”.

In the meantime, send help. You’ll find me on the playroom floor, doing snow angels in the little people.

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Roses are red,
Violets are blue.
Mommies are tired,
Daddies are too

Babies are noisy
And stinky, And sweet.
And nothing smells worse
than a 12 year old’s feet.

Each day is a scurry
Each night is a flash
Each risk is a worry,
Each shout is a dash.

But in spite of the spinning,
chaos is peace,
tangle is whimsy
and pressure? Release.

For the years are so fleeting
Though the days seem to stall.
Quiet moments repeating,
from momentous to small.

So love on your lover,
Shine praise on your child
And thank God for your crazy,
your messy, your wild.

For joy can be hidden,
in the loudest of place.
And God’s love shines brightest
in the smallest of face.

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When I decided to start this blog about a month ago, I had grand visions of whimsically (pun intended) writing away, sitting on the deck with a pink lemonade, my computer and a cool breeze.  The children, of course, would be occupied–sitting quietly coloring, perhaps doing homework, maybe reading quietly in their beds.

Okay, maybe for one minute I thought that’s how it might go.

But really, I did think I’d find more time for this!  I could tell you I was tied up, spinning plates, juggling life, putting irons in the fire, on the go…

I could tell you lots of things.  But really, I was just busy.

I hate that though–the idea that being busy is somehow an excuse to not do the things we love to do, the things we want to do.  I hate the idea that somehow someone somewhere thinks that I am busier than they are…I’m not.  It’s relative.  We are all busy.  It’s true.  It doesn’t mean we don’t have time to be authentic, to be real.

It sure seems like when it comes down to it busy isn’t what we are, it’s how we live.  

But that’s not what this post is all about, we’ve read the posts and blogs and articles about “busy”.  It’s not new.

What I want to write about is this–this question I’ve been wondering about lately…

Is how we live (busy) preventing us from being real?

Whoa—“hold up” you’re saying.  “I didn’t come here to get all deep and weird in this blog post.  Let’s keep things surface level.  I don’t have time for this….”

Ha–see there?  See what you did?  You started to decide that you were too busy to go there.   And that’s exactly what I mean.

When is the last time you were at the grocery store and you stopped to really think about the person that was scanning your groceries? Not often right?

We hustle into the store, we breeze past the employees, we bark to the man at the meat counter  “6 lbs of chicken breats, packed in 2 lb packages!” (hey, I have 6 kids…)  We load the conveyer belt, we dig through our bags and give orders to the kids—30 minutes to get home and make something to eat before soccer practice.

(And if you’re me, right about now is when one child starts literally licking the handle of the grocery cart (omg…rabies!! That’s how they get rabies right?  Wait or is it hepatitis?  Strep? Oh Lord…I forgot about Ebola…there could be EBOLA on the cart!!)  while another is eating something they found stuck to the SIDE of wheel while yet another is literally reaching down into her diaper to inform me that “something is in there!”

But I digress.  Okay, back on track.

So all the while, here is this person, working for you–helping you by scanning your groceries, bagging your groceries, taking your money, ensuring things price correctly.   And you haven’t even spoken to them except to maybe say “yes, I found everything okay” or “yes, I have my Fuel Saver card”.

Have you looked at them? Have you smiled? Have you acknowledged that you saw them last week? That they helped you then as well? Did you notice they got new uniforms? That they got their braces off? That they had their hair cut?

Probably not.  Me neither.

But I tell you what, I have really started to think about something that I just feel the need to share…

I’m wondering, if perhaps…The way that we are living is preventing us from connecting with each other.  

Getting too deep for you?  Well, hold on to your britches, I’m about to take us deeper.

There is a man I’ve noticed at my office.  I know what department he works in–I’ve seem him for years.  He is always kind, he is always gracious, he is always professional.  And yet, I get the sense that he IS that grocery clerk–the job that he works in is more service based, he sees people for a moment and then they are on their way.  People see him, but they don’t See him.  Know what I mean?

I’ve never seen anyone really stop to talk to him and yet day after day, year after year, he’s been there.  Doing his job…smiling…helping.

He knows my name.  I’m not sure how, but he does. And I know his.  We greet each other by name, I go on my way.  This week, I said hello to him, he greeted me back.

But, (if I’m being honest) really I just heard him greet me as I was walking away–my back to him.  I was in a hurry…I was busy.

We have a recognition system at work where we can send notes out to fellow employees and their leaders, recognizing them for the things they do.  This week, I decided to recognize him for knowing people’s names–for opening doors–for being professional and courteous..every. single. day.

I sent that note and not long after received a reply from this man.

He thanked me for the note.  He said that he loved his job and he loved the company we work for.  He said that the note made him start to tear up–that  he would remember it always. That it was exactly what he needed to hear that day.

Why am I telling you this??  Am I telling you so you can say “oh what a nice thing to do!  How kind of you!”  No, absolutely not–please don’t say that, I don’t want to hear that.

I’m telling you this because in all this “busy”, I’m afraid that all of us are walking right by people that need to connect. That WANT to connect.

And even more than that –WE are people that need to connect. WE are people that need to be vulnerable with each other–to let each other know that we are all important.

And that “busy” is not an excuse.  

I’m not suggesting that every time you see a friend out and about that you start hugging it out, hashing out every deep dark emotion that’s been weighing on you both for years.  Not even.  (That would rank WAY WAY up there on the awkward scale–but if that floats your boat…I guess go for it…)

But what I am suggesting is that maybe we all just take an extra minute to make someone know that you See them.

See them, with a capital S.

Send that email to say thank you…Write that positive letter to that company about a job well done by one of their employees…Look that cashier in the eye, find out their name…Give that 20% (or **gasp** 30%) tip…Give an old friend a real hug.

Thank that man that knows your name at the office…

After all, we all just want to be Seen, right?

Or…..are we just too busy?

(P.S.  I promise, I’ll bring it back to sea level next time…)

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When my husband and I were first married, we lived in a baby one bedroom house in a tiny little town in western Iowa.  We had a one butt kitchen and and a one cheek bathroom (at best) that was basically in the living room. Bathroom privacy? Forget about it.

Married young, by today’s standards, we knew (we hoped) babies danced in our future.  In the meantime,  we had football games to attend, relaxing couples vacations to plan, a home to buy, school to finish…babies were down the road…for when we were grown ups.

To match our tiny house, our tiny town, our tiny kitchen…we had a tiny car.  A two door little speedster, Mazda MX6.  It was a great car for a pair of newlyweds to tool around in, doing what newlyweds do…flitting about at quiet breakfasts, afternoon drinks, followed by long naps, evening movies and dive bar basketball games.  It was a stick shift, of course.  Back then, we had nothing much to do with our hands but shift gears and drive.  Perhaps an occasional neck rub for the poor, “tired” (we didn’t even know what that was) driver but otherwise, shifting gears made us feel free and fast.  Ahem…yes, I said a neck rub as the other thing we did with our hands…get your head out of the gutter, this is a family blog…    🙂

It was a really cool little car.  And as we would come to know, it was really the beginning of the end of all things small in our life.  For the Good Lord had so much more in store for us than a two door stick shift.

(Photo credit: Mazda Motor Corporation)

Oh yes, we evolved…like everyone.  We moved from our sweet little ride to a more sensible four door Mazda Protege 5…that’s a little grocery getter for those of you lacking car knowledge, a little baby station wagon.  With two little rascals added to the mix by then, it worked.

From there, we evolved even further, more sensible still…transitioning to an SUV, the standard family suburban vehicle.  You know, that vehicle everyone buys when they aren’t ready QUITE ready to admit that they really should be buying a….(shhh….fancy people don’t like to talk about it. You know what it is, it starts with “mini” and ends with “van”).    With three little shavers in the back then, that SUV was just fine for this family of five…for about five years.

After that?  Well, after that, shit got real.  With #4 in the making, we  had no other choice.  We bowed our heads, swallowed our pride, turned in that “still sorta cool SUV” for a mini van.

That’s where the story usually ends right?  Young couple trades in their two door stick shift for a progressively larger car until eventually, they submit to “the man” and end up in a mini van.  Oh yes, that might have been where the story ended.  But that’s not how we roll.  (See what I did there?)

When sweet baby #4 was just 5 months old, the good Lord blessed us with not one, but TWO more little loves.  Oh yes, what once was a family of 5 became a family of 8 in the span of about 14 months.  After hyperventilating in the ultrasound room, the discussion of “what will we drive” started soon after.  The answer? Two cars.  Which is exactly what we have done for the last year and a half.  Family night at the pool? Load ’em both up!  Christmas at Grammy and Grandpa’s? I’ll follow you.  Vacation? Girls car, boys car (see below)

In fact, we had never driven anywhere together as a family in one vehicle.  But,  it worked.  It was fine.  We had transportation, we had a reliable way to get where we needed to go.  But…we never had the opportunity to talk.  If you are married, you know what I mean right?  Some of the best talks happen between the right hand shoulder and the divided highway.  When else are we forced to sit and just be together?

So that’s when it happened.  The search began for the Beast. The mother of all vehicles.  Sure, we could buy an 8 seater…and never be able to bring a friend or family with us anywhere–never be able to say, “sure, hop in with us, we have room”.  A family of 8 in an 8 seat vehicle?  Well, the kids would have not have even had room to break wind.  (Wait, maybe we should have rethought this after all…)

All of a sudden, the memory of that two door little MX6 leapt into our heads…our newlywed bliss rolling along the Iowa highway, feet on the dash, Dave Matthews Crush on the built in CD player…moments of carefree wonder.  But as soon as that memory crept in, away it went.  For the blessings that were to about to fill our latest vehicle evolution would burst the seams of the Hindenburg itself.  We wouldn’t go back to that MX6 for a moment…well, maybe for just a moment 🙂

You know how I whipped out that curse word before (for shock and rebel value of course) and said that shit got real? Well, this weekend shit got real to the 100th degree. We rode together as a family of 8 for the very first time…in a vehicle that still pends a formal “name” because somehow referring to it by it’s color (you know, the red car, the gold car) doesn’t do it justice.  This vehicle is the Mothership of all family vehicles, it seats 12 souls and stands well over 7 feet tall.   The Rock.  The Battleship.  The Supernova.  This vehicle is the physical manifestation of all that has changed in our world since that little two door speedster…the evolution of transportation, the evolution of what carefree means to us, today.

It is as big as the love that fills it.

And that’s a whole lot of love.

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Once upon a time, there was a young lady who became a young woman who became a young bride who became a young mother who became young mother again…and again…and then became an older mother and then an older mother again, twice…at the same time.  This is the story about that mother, that woman and the life she was gifted.  The life that made her substantially more tired, substantially thicker around the waist and substantially more full of peace and grace and gratitude.

These writings are for the love of laughter and the support of each other.  If you like to read them, please do.  If you don’t, please don’t. We only have time to read things that move us…move us to laugh, to cry, to shake our heads, to sigh a little. We only really have time to read things that teach us to know each other in an honest way.

So we shall see what becomes of this next adventure.  If you are interested, stay tuned 🙂