2010 June | chatting at the sky

the step stool :: a guest post

June 30, 2010

Stacy is a wife and mama who loves the Word of God and connecting with women. She and her husband, Mike, have served with Campus Crusade for Christ for the past 17 years. They have four girls, ages 8 months to 10 years. In her own words: “Most days, I try to teach them a thing or two about having a Biblical worldview, math, and language. Everyday, they teach me how to grow in grace, patience, and dependence on the Lord!” You can learn more about Stacy by visiting her at 29 Lincoln Avenue.

It has happened again. We are late. I yell up the stairs to her as if my barking will make her move faster. Waiting on her I assemble all the necessary items. She takes her place in front of me and I begin once again to pull her hair up into its required ballet form. Brushing and pulling, I work quickly. I reach over with my foot and pull the stool to myself. I step onto it so that I can rise above her to finish the job.

And I stop in the middle of the most beautiful bun I have ever made and I wonder: When did this happen? How is it that she is tall enough that I’m the one needing the step? All at once I see her in the mirror. The room seems to be spinning but I am only seeing her. She is 3, 7, and 10 all at the same time. What happens when the step is not enough for me? What happens on that day when she is more than me?

“Mom!” She calls me back to the moment and hands me a hairpin. I smooth her hair, kiss her head, and step down. I look into her face and we see nearly eye to eye. She has her daddy’s baby blues and eyelashes worthy of a mascara commercial. She is beautiful.

“Grab your bag and let’s go.” I watch her exit, half dancing, half running, and I smile.

So many minutes I have spent with her that seemed to drag on (nursing, potty training, listening, making peanut butter sandwiches). But the years have flown by faster than I could have imagined. I am well aware that my time with her is half dancing, half running away.

She will be more than me. Isn’t that the point of parenthood? I want to send her into the great big world to live bigger than I have. I know that if I am going to continue to mold her that I will myself need to be daily shaped by the Lord. I can’t pour into her what I don’t have. This drives me hard to His side.

My prayer for her is that she will listen for God’s voice every day, love Him with her whole heart, and hold fast to Him all the days of her life (Deuteronomy 30:20). He has big plans for her. I just know it. I’m honored I get to see it unfold. The view from the step stool is pretty amazing if I do say so myself.

As a mom who doesn’t need a step stool yet, I am thankful for this reminder to remember to enjoy. Take a moment to say hello to Stacy either in the comments here or at her place, 29 Lincoln Avenue. I love her blog name and header photo! Makes me want to stay a while. . .

Filed Under a mother, guest post 22 Comments

blooming on a tuesday

June 29, 2010

My goal is for them to grow tall enough to see from my kitchen window. They only have a few more inches to go. I know I’ve showed you these flowers before, but as they grow I just can’t believe those little seeds pushed finger-deep into warm ground have turned into a garden. To bear witness to the beauty that burst forth from broken seed is a gift to unwrap everyday.

“Unless a grain of wheat falls into the earth and dies, it remains alone; but if it dies it bears much fruit.”

(John 12:24, ESV)

Is there a gift waiting in a quiet place? Is there a moment you would like to unwrap here with us? The guidelines for Tuesdays Unwrapped are here. In summary, link up with the permalink to your unwrapped post, or your link will be deleted. I would also ask, as a courtesy, that you would please link back here to Chatting at the Sky by either using the button or a text link somewhere in your post. Thank you.

Filed Under Tuesdays Unwrapped 22 Comments

are you called to write? :: a guest post

June 28, 2010

Mary DeMuth is an award winning author of both fiction and non-fiction. Her memoir, Thin Places, boasts of a God who brings redemption and beauty from even the most tragic circumstances. She is passionate about seeing people be set free from their past and turn their trials into triumphs. Find out more about Mary’s books and ministry on her blog, or follow her on twitter. And ps? I want to be her when I grow up. Amen.

As a writer, I’ve written my way through a long journey. I considered writing a pursuit and a dream twenty years ago, then spent ten years writing in obscurity, typing miles and miles of unpublished words. Through that decade, I did what Malcolm Gladwell talks about in his book Outliers. Genius comes mostly from persistent hard work—namely 10,000 hours of dedication. My decade was my 10,000 hours.

But even as I made fake deadlines and made myself meet them, even as my children grew from babyhood to toddling busybodies to elementary scholars, I felt that deep wooing inside. A calling to write. It’s something I knew way down deep. I was made to write words.

The sheer joy of writing sustained me ten years. And the calling kept me hungry and tenacious. After I wrote my first novel (still unpublished) in 2003, I’d had several small-scale successes. I’d joined a critique group and fetched valuable feedback. I met who would become a dear friend and mentor. I got published in several magazines, and I landed a small newspaper column. When the novel garnered me an agent, I felt that flutter of joy. Someone important valued my words!

That joy continues, but now it’s tempered by reality. I’m having to circle around again to calling, remembering that Jesus has gifted me to write, that my words somehow (through His grace) touch folks. Amid the worry of real deadlines, fickle sales numbers, marketing pressures, and a constant low-grade stress about money, His calling seems like a whisper. Everything else shouts.

Wherever you are on your writing journey, you must settle this issue. Have you been called to write? How do you know? Here are 10 unscientific questions you can ask yourself as you determine calling:

Do you wake up at night and jot things down? No matter where you are, if you hear an interesting turn of phrase, do you determine to remember it?
Have you risked enough to send a query letter? Have you been rejected and learned to develop a thick skin? Have you had anything published? (Many “writers” say they’re writers but never risk having their words out there.)
Have other people told you (not your family or your best friend) that you have unique talent to write?
Have you received positive feedback about something you’ve written? Have your words changed the course of someone’s life, or helped another person see things differently?
Do you love to hang around other writers? Do those writers give positive feedback on your writing journey and encourage you to continue?
Do you absorb and devour books, particularly in the genre you’re interested in?
Are you enraptured by critique? Have you learned to accept constructive criticism? Does the craft of writing excite you? Do you write at least 500 words a day?
Would people describe you as disciplined and tenacious?
Can you trace a line through your life showing your tendency to write your heart on the page through the years? Journaling? Story writing? Poetry? Songwriting?
Has God specifically spoken to you about His desire to see you write?

How did you do? Again, remember this is my list, a reflection of my own journey. It may not resonate with you. But what should resonate is this: calling.

The calling to write helps you endure the ups and down of the publishing journey. It carries you through the dark places of unwritten words. It woos you back to the page when you’ve strayed. It kicks you in the behind when you’re tired of revising again. And again. And again. It encourages you when you’re tired of the publishing industry and its seeming insatiable demands. It steadies you when you feel like quitting. It reminds you why you write.

So settle this now. And if you’re discouraged today in your journey, revisit calling. Remember the sovereign God who calls you. He is able to accomplish amazing things through surrendered pens. Rest. Wait. Hear from Him. Settle your calling. And then write like the wind.

Thanks, Mary. I truly love this post. For a long time I was able to answer ‘yes’ to a lot of these questions, but I didn’t do anything about it. To be called to write, you have to actually write. I ignored that part for a while. Thank you, Mary, for settling your calling and encouraging us to do the same. Are you serious about taking the next step in your writing journey? Consider hiring Mary or another writing mentor at The Writing Spa.

Filed Under a writer, guest post 51 Comments

a worthy hero

June 24, 2010

He figured if he was going to see Toy Story 3, then these two sure would love seeing all their friends up there. And so they came with us. During the movie, he sat quiet and wide-eyed next to Woody and Buzz. They were quiet and wide-eyed, too.

He has never been taught how to love something. I have never had a logical conversation with him, teaching him what it means to adore a hero. He does that all by himself. Because he was created to worship. And so were you. I don’t care who you are or what you believe, you worship something. You may not call it that and you may not even recognize it, but the need to ascribe worth to something (or Someone?) is innate. Don’t you think?

Filed Under a mother 32 Comments

summer camp :: a guest post

June 23, 2010

Dayle Allen Shockley is an award-winning writer in Houston, and the author of three books. She has contributed to many other works, including multiple Chicken Soup titles. To learn more about Dayle, visit her website or her blog, A Little of This and That. This story is adapted from her book, Silver Linings.

My daughter turned nine in what I call the summer of my bleeding heart. It all started when her cousin, Leslie, mentioned the two of them going to summer camp. Anna Marie was ecstatic. I, on the other hand, terrified.

I asked my husband what he thought.

“Absolutely not!” he fairly thundered. “She’s too young.”

But parents aren’t always as firm as their voices. After much pondering, amid pleas from the girls, we capitulated.

As the day of departure approached, I couldn’t stop thinking about my child spending a week without me. Would she remember to bathe? Who would come her hair? What if she cried for me at night?

Despite such tormenting questions, several weeks later found me and my sister driving our daughters to the place of surrender. Upon arrival, maternal terror washed over me like a tidal wave as I observed a sea of youngsters swarming in every direction, looking as I feared my child would, as soon as I was out of sight. Hair disheveled; clothes rumpled; hard candy hanging out of their mouths. Lost and without hope. It was all I could do to keep driving, but the campers in the backseat had ants in their pants.

By mid-afternoon, we stood inside a dormitory, staring at rows of metal bunk beds and stark concrete floors. I couldn’t imagine leaving my child—my baby—here for one minute, let alone for a week. I considered grabbing her and running, but it was too late. She and Leslie now stood beaming beside the bunk they had chosen as “theirs.” Could we please unload the luggage?

Exchanging horrified glances, Gayle and I stumbled outside and returned with suitcases. As I spread sheets across a puny mattress, I decided to offer my umpteenth lecture concerning housekeeping and oral hygiene.

While I rattled off a list of ingenious tips, Anna Marie’s eyes remained on my face, but she appeared to be in a trance. “Are you listening, sweetie?”

She sighed and rolled her eyes. “Mama, I know you’re worried about me and everything, but—are you finished?”

I wasn’t, but just then a dorm monitor announced that teams were being formed for a volleyball game—commencing in thirty minutes. Anyone interested, please form a line.

Like calves out of stalls, the girls bolted forward and were assigned to a team. It appeared to be our cue to leave.

“OK, girls,” my sister said, as faint as I felt. “I guess this is goodbye for us.”

That’s when my child’s face wilted. “But I’m fixing to play volleyball, Mommy,” she said. “Can’t you stay and watch me?”

Upon hearing her call me “Mommy,” I was renewed. Maybe this was a sign she still needed me. Of course, we’d stay.

The volleyball game ended quickly. My little camper was among the losers, but didn’t seem to notice. She dashed over to where I stood, her face flushed.

“Mommy’s got to go, sweetheart. We’ve got a long drive home.” I hoped for a bear hug, but she only nodded and smiled. Kissing the top of her head, I said, “Bye, angel. I love you.”

Watching the girls sprint toward the line forming in front of the cafeteria, Gayle and I let out a collective sigh. My heart hurt.

As we drove away, I circled the grounds, unable to resist a final look. When I spotted them, they were side-by-side, discussing whatever nine-year-olds discuss on such occasions, their faces anxious and eager. It was almost unbearable to look at them standing there, because I knew they would never be that small again, because of the way they were growing up, right in front of my eyes.

I gave a long blast on the horn. When they finally saw me, I waved frantically out the window. Timidly, Anna Marie waved back. And, ironically, I was filled with an intense pride that she was able to stand there—without me.

The thought of leaving my babies at camp is terrifying. But I also know when those letting go times come, knowing they are ready makes it easier. Dayle, thanks for this beautiful perspective. It is certainly encouraging to those of us coming on the road behind you. This post nicely rounds out some of my thoughts this week on mothering and living in the moments this day has to offer. If you have a moment, please visit Dayle’s place and say hello at A Little of This and That.

Filed Under a mother, guest post 19 Comments

this tuesday. unwrap.

June 21, 2010

Mothering is on my mind this week. If feels a little like cheating since Sunday was Father’s Day. In what is perhaps the exact opposite perspective from my post yesterday, I’ve been considering time and the passing of it. Instead of dwelling on the difficult, I’ve been thinking how my little tiny baby girl lost her first tooth on the last day of kindergarten. My other little and tiny baby girl started reading books to herself rather than needing me to read them to her. My even littler and tinier baby boy turned four and is getting too heavy to carry. They are little and they are tiny.

But not really.

Being a sentimental sap means I take photos to remember and I record to relive. In fact, we do it here together on Tuesdays. But I have to be careful.

Sometimes enjoying this moment skirts dangerously close to longing for the days that were before. My feeler gets the best of me and I am swallowed up in a sea of sentiment until it feels as though I might drown in the sorrow of life moving on. That sorrow, though evidence of a tender heart, is able to steal the moments of this day, the ones the Lord has made. To embrace the day I have rather than long for those other days is one of the most difficult challenges of my mother heart. Remembering the then threatens to overwhelm my now with a swirly mix of sentiment and regret. I didn’t hold them enough, enjoy them enough, pray enough.

We are given this day to live and breathe and move around in. Grace is lavished. Mercy overwhelms. Love holds us together. Today.

Is there a gift waiting in a quiet place? Is there a moment you would like to unwrap here with us? The guidelines for Tuesdays Unwrapped are here. In summary, link up with the permalink to your unwrapped post, or your link will be deleted. I would also ask, as a courtesy, that you would please link back here to Chatting at the Sky by either using the button or a text link somewhere in your post. Thank you.

Filed Under a mother, Tuesdays Unwrapped 29 Comments

dear me in 20 years,

June 21, 2010

I know that you are looking back with tears lighting the corners of your eyes at the days when the babies were babies. I know that you are waxing sentimental about cuddly lovies and warm, nighttime milk. I know. But there are a few things I don’t want you to forget. For the sake of the future generation.

Don’t ever forget what life was like with three little ones in preschool. I know your tendency to remember only the pink fuzzy sweet, but also I want to remind you of the fighting and the reasons why the laundry didn’t get done. Because every time you entered the laundry room, someone fell and needed you. Or the twins started to fight. Or someone had to teetee.

Speaking of teetee, when a young mom tells you that she doesn’t hardly have time to use the bathroom, believe her. And when you see her at the grocery store or at Target and you notice her balancing three kids, 2 gallons of milk and a life’s supply of diapers, go to her and smile at her and tell her you think she’s doing a good job. And when she starts to cry, tell her that even though you miss those days, you also remember how hard they were. And send many blessings her way.

And for those young moms who you know in your church? Or for your girls who have babies of their own now?Don’t wait for them to call you and ask for your help. Call her and offer to come Thursday between 2 and 4. And bring her coffee.

Love, Your Younger, Less Showered Self

This post was never published, though I’m not sure why. I wrote it nearly 2 years ago and just found it in my drafts folder. My kids are already past the diapers and the needing-help-to-tee-tee stage. It has helped me to remember how quickly these days pass. . . and maybe to offer encouragement to those who are still in the midst of them. Because even though it’s true that the years are short, sometimes it’s nice for someone to acknowledge those long days the years are made of.

Filed Under a mother 57 Comments