No, this isn't Toby. But it sure looks like him!

There are some phases of life that are all about cleaning up messes. Oh, they are beautiful phases — make no mistake — but they are so messy. Babies create nothing but messes, which is hard to understand since they can’t even move around on their own power! Toddlers expand that mess-making to an artform. As the kids get older, their messes get, well, messier. Your house may stay cleaner, but oh there are so many other kinds of messes. All of them, however, are messes that are important to becoming the grown-up they were meant to be. And as parents, we scurry about trying to clean up the messes and teach the principles that we need to keep life running smoothly. We pick up the toys, we do the laundry, we wipe the bottoms, we listen to the late night chats.

There are other phases of life that are all about creating messes. Those are the times we watch our kids step out in a burst of courage to a project that may, or may not, be over their head. They are the times that we feel God stirring in our souls to create something new, and so we try.

Lately, my house has been full of mess-creating. It’s just one of those phases. We’ve added two hedgehogs to our animal repertoire. And a turtle, who has recently disappeared (that’s a long story…well, not so long but still…). On Wednesday my daughter Jillian is expecting the delivery of a micro teacup poodle. All these new residents came with their “STUFF. And we’re also hosting a wonderful graduation party on Saturday for Laurie, the superbly crafty girl who has been living with us while she finished up that degree. Laurie’s party is exploding all around us and onto nearly every available surface, although the OCD among us tend to coral the mess once in awhile so we can breathe. It’s all about making glorious messes.

Today, in church, I was thinking the same thing. As the body of Christ, part of our creative nature comes out in making and cleaning messes, doesn’t it? We try one thing for a season, then sense the Spirit prompting us to switch directions and make adjustments. We give each other the freedom to make a creative mess in our lives and stand in awe when — once in a blue moon — God creates something that leaves us breathless.

Sometimes, of course, we are breathless but more in that gasping for breath how am I going to survive kind of way. And that’s ok, too. We step out and start that Bible study for women we don’t even know only to find ourselves swinging in the breeze hoping someone comes. We let a friend down and realize we need to apologize before our relationship suffers. Perhaps we ( and I mean this in a general sense…certainly not me…) even lose our patience with the messes other people are creating faster than we can clean them up!

In the last few days I’ve come to really appreciate the whole cycle of making a mess and creating. I’m seeing God work out his image in us in ways I never would have been able to plan on my own. I see it in my friends; I see it in my own little family. It’s making me smile.

Life is so messy!

My brothers Jeff (left) and Garth (right)

I’ve spent some time today thinking about my brothers. I had two of them, 6 and 8 years older than I. They tortured me and I loved it. I tattled on them and they didn’t love it. They were great brothers. Both of them are gone now, and have been gone for many years. But somehow it doesn’t matter how long they’ve been gone, I miss them.

You see, last year my older brother Jeff would have been welcoming his first grandbaby, the beautiful Lucy Belle, into his family. And any day now my other brother Garth would be welcoming Laila into the family. Both of these baby girls are surrounded by family who adore them. But I can’t help but wonder if God let Jeff and Garth give Lucy and Laila a little kiss before he sends them down to us. Is that too big an assignment for the God of time and space? I don’t think so!

So I’m going to assume that little Lucy and soon-to-arrive Laila have had a little snuggle session with their Grampas. What a beautiful thought!

And then I’m going to snicker a bit that my brothers would be grandfathers. Wow. I mean, I’m still their little sister, after all.

Embrace Me, by Lisa Samson

The hidden secret, the one no one wants to talk about, is that we are all broken.

It’s true, isn’t it? Pick out the super star, the guy or gal or couple that seems to have it all. Find the person who, by whatever standard you can imagine, seems to be on top of the heap. Spend some time with that person. Spend good time, quality time. Begin sharing your hearts. And you will find that underneath there is a person who has been beaten up by the world in one way or another. Because we are all broken. We just don’t all want to admit it.

This summer I read a book by Lisa Samson that brought that truth home to me in such a beautiful way.  The story centers around the life and friendships of people who traveled in a side show (or a freak show, said less politically correct). Each of these characters, now enjoying their off season resting in a little bed and breakfast, are impacted by their individual oddities. Valentine is horrible burned and scarred, and now makes her living billed as the “Reptile Woman.” Her best friend Lella has no arms and no legs. Valentine tenderly takes care of her every need, while feeling unworthy of Lella’s frequent thank you’s. Rick is a contortionist. And all of them are discovered by Gus, a tattoo-covered missional monk who is living in a converted laundromat downtown.

The course of this book follows the awakening of faith in each of these characters, and the building of community out of the unlikely beginning of the freak show. It’s a beautiful picture of the church. Reading Embrace Me made me realize just how beautiful broken people really are. The skills, the wounds, the quirks and flaw are part of what make up the mosaic of life. If we can learn to appreciate our own brokenness as the journey God has brought us on, we can learn to appreciate brokenness in others. And it is in that acceptance that real community is formed.

Embrace Me is a fun story. It was just right for the back porch on a quiet summer day. But it surprised me in the end, when I realized that there is a deep longing in all of us for others to see our brokenness and love us unconditionally anyway.

When I was ten or so, my best friend lived a few streets over and her home felt to me like my home. We’d ride our bikes back and forth at the smallest whim. I remember one summer hopping on my bike because “Benny and the Jets” was on the radio, and it was our favorite song EVER. It was still on when I burst through her back door and shared the last bars of the song with her. Of course, those were the days when you couldn’t just hit play on your iPod and enjoy the song over again. You’d better live in the moment and rock out while Benny and the Jets was playing or you were out of luck.

I really liked my friend’s house, but I was always puzzled by one tradition: the majority of their downstairs living space was taken up by a wonderful room filled with beautiful white furniture, polished wood floors and a grand piano. I loved that room, even though I only remember being in it one time. It was off limits to kids and — from what I could see — adults. I’d say that there were plastic slip covers on the furniture, but I’m not absolutely sure of that. Regardless, there was no sitting to be done on those couches. No, we spent our time huddled in the cozy den, squished on the big couch that was filled with toys and dogs. There were once baby rabbits in the corner, and there was a record player where we could enjoy the strange music her parents purchased. I think I remember a Godspell record. In any case, the den was where it was at.

I’ve been thinking about that house today, because I have recently decided that I want to be “at home” in my entire life. I want to live in every corner of my house, finding nooks to write or read or paint or sleep. I want people in every corner of my home, talking, laughing, crying and living life. I’m tired of fences and rooms that are only for certain people. It’s time to remember how to live in our homes.

And it’s time to remember how to live in our lives, too. Someday is…right now. There are amazing riches of relationships just waiting for us. There are bursts of creativity, and health, and all those dreams we’ve put off for someday. Now. Because that’s how God made us to live: in the present.

These are the cupcakes that I made today, because today is worth celebrating. And I’m declining to post a picture of me doing Yoga later because of the celebrating I did today. But the rooms of my life aren’t roped off for special occasions. It’s time to sit on the floor and pull out the paints.

?

I got home this week.

It’s odd, really, because I’ve also been home all month. I’ve been home in our condo in Lexington, or on the lake in New Hampshire where I’ve spent nearly every summer of my life. I breathe in the fresh air of those places and my inner sense of being profoundly at home is magnified.

And then I arrive back in Palm Beach Gardens, my own home, my real home.

I love the process of wandering through my rooms to see the bits and pieces of my life. I enjoy seeing what has changed (lots of people in and out of our home, even when we are gone!) and what has stayed the same. I smell the scent of the air, which is a limited-time opportunity because I know my nose will habituate in an hour or so. And then — if schedule permits — I leave.

Because part of my home is the Third Place, the places in my community that feel like home to me.

Contrary to popular opinion, Starbucks is not my first stop. Whole Foods is. If I can cook a meal and know there are good things to eat in my kitchen, my little universe is set right on its axis. And then comes Starbucks. Yesterday David and I sat here in my preferred corner of Sbux and watched the regulars float in and out. I was particularly struck with the sense of community yesterday. We were greeted like old friends by staff and customers alike, and then we learned that a barista’s father had passed away suddenly. There were sympathy cards to sign, and the story to repeat. Everyone had time to hear the story and send good wishes to the grieving barista, who is due back at work today. She misses her support system, and working behind the counter is where she wants to be.

A few minutes later I was listening to a businesses woman who regularly sits in the chair next to the best electrical outlet talk to one of the more eccentric men who wanders in and out. He hums as he walks, almost involuntarily, and repeats every sentence at least twice. Conversations with him take awhile, but she was enjoying time away from her cell phone and computer.

“My baby girl, my baby girl, that’s her right there,” he said, pointing at a car pulling up outside.

“She’s your girl? I know her!” business woman says. “Hey,” she continues, poking another regular who uses headphones seemingly to drown out conversations like this one. “Hey, you know that mom with the kids that come in here all the time? She’s his daughter!” The two of them remarked over this for a few minutes, to the joy of the proud papa.

“She is all I have left in the world,” he said. He went on to describe how his wife of 38 years had died a year or two ago in a horrible, quick death. He sat and mumbled “Unbelievable” ten or fifteen times while the two regulars said how sorry they were, but how much they always enjoyed his grandchildren when they were in the store. He brightened again, and stood up to hug his daughter.

I’ve done a lot of thinking about Third Places in the community, and the need for the missional-minded among us to be out and about in the community. Yesterday I realized that “out and about” can also feel a lot like being at home. And at least for a few minutes, this Third Place felt as if it were functioning an awful lot like the body of Christ, rejoicing and comforting and being there for life’s journey.

Even if it’s only for a short time, it sure felt good to be home.

Even on vacation the journey that the Q conference and Radical (the book by David Platt) began continues. Months ago God impressed Isaiah 58:12 on my heart: that we are to be called repairers of broken walls, and restorers of streets with dwellings. This morning I read a few chapters in Ezekiel that reminded me of the mission. Ezekiel 13:5 pointed out that it is possible we have stepped up to broken walls and repaired them into flimsy walls covered with whitewash to make them look good. But in the day of battle, those flimsy walls will fall down, and no one will ask us about the whitewash!

There is a truth there not to miss. When trouble comes, real trouble, we aren’t worried about the outfit we are wearing or the decor of our homes. Flimsy walls just won’t cut it.

Later in today’s reading from Ezekiel I read about the sins of Gomorrah. Know what they were? She and her daughters were arrogant, overfed, and ignored the poor and the needy. Ouch. I never thought about having the sins of Gomorrah before!

Trying to figure out how to incorporate social justice into your everyday, walking around and running errands kind of life? Check out this resource I also found today from a Twitter friend. It is called Steps of Justice, and it is a great resource to incorporate mindfulness into your day. It has a thirty day prayer journal with small and large action steps to consider. Thank you Jamie Arpin-Ricci for this resource!

Stepsofjustice.org

(I am writing this on my iPad and have no idea how to turn that into a link yet…you will have to type that in! How old school! I will figure that out soon!)

This is a quick announcement to let you all know you can mark your calendars for the beginning of summer tomorrow! We are headed north to the lake to open up the house, get the boat in the water, get the Waverunners running and take our first nap in the hammock! Doesn’t that just make you happy?

Twelve years ago. Unbelievable.

David and i walked into the Marriott World Center and found ourselves in a parallel universe. In this world there were families wandering around laughing, little ones dragging teddy bears, kids who seemed…happy. It was my first homeschool convention, my first stop at Florida Parent Educators Association, or FPEA. We were entranced.

Twelve years ago. Jillian was dragging her blankie around and learning that the world could be unkind to kids who had their own dreams for life. David and I were in the unsure stage of the homeschooling decision. Could we? Should we? How? We knew we wanted our two daughters to forge their own ways of looking at life, and we had a good idea that homeschooling was how we were going to accomplish that. But…really? Twelve years ago there were an awful lot of denim jumpers walking around that hotel. I am not a denim jumper kind of girl.

Then we stepped foot into the curriculum hall and every doubt fled away like worries on Christmas morning. I was energized by the amazing options. Squished and pushed on every side (the FPEA was already outgrowing its home in the Marriott and contemplating the Gaylord Palms…oh those were the days!), I felt like I’d stepped into my comfort zone. Let other moms be shell-shocked and overwhelmed, I was happy.

Twelve years later the journey ends this weekend. Three years ago we graduated Kylie. This year our baby Jillian walks down the aisle to Pomp and Circumstance. In all those years I have loved every moment in the curriculum hall until. quite frankly, last year. That’s when I realized I didn’t need any of it anymore. Even as early as last year I could see this day coming. Our curriculum buying was over. Sometimes the curriculum hall feels like a graveyard of failure (“Tried that, didn’t work. Tried that, tried that, tried that.”) Other times it feels like the magic ingredients that added up to our unique, amazing girls (“Little bit of that, some of this, we threw in a whole lot of that.”).

Twelve years.

It’s been an incredible ride. I’ve quit homeschooling every February (burnout…take a week off it will go away.). I’ve developed new ways to teach old information (mall school is still my favorite: architecture, nutrition and consumer science wrapped into a shopping experience that reset Momma’s happiness quotient!). I’ve been through 4-H and more music lessons than I can remember.

Jillian walks down the aisle on Sunday morning, but I’m also closing a chapter in my life. I’m proud of her. I’m proud of all of us. But tonight I felt a bittersweet longing to conquer the curriculum hall just one more time.

Panera Bread is unsurpassed when it comes to defining a niche market. Think about it quickly: what do you think of when you think of Panera? Amazing food? Probably not.

I am sitting at Panera now. It is 2:45, a time when most lunch spot snare hunkered down preparing for dinner. They are usually barren. Not Panera. There are businessmen,students and retired people all over this restaurant. The common denominator? They are all on their computers, iPads and phones. Like me. Panera = free Internet. Perfect niche that fills the store all day long. The process, of course, builds community. There are regulars here as anywhere.

I am kind of melancholy today to tell you the truth. This particular Panera always reminds me of a conversation I had here years ago. His name was Joe, and we had gone to church with him for years. He was retired, and his wife was active in our children’s ministry. They were the friendly older couple always serving punch at every event, if you know what I mean. This particular day Joe was bussing our table. I looked up totally surprised.

“Joe do you work here?”

“Yep. For months now. I wouldn’t know what to do without the people here. They are like family. And I need the money.” This last bit surprised me, and something in his eyes made me wonder. I casually asked about his wife.

“Haven’t seen her. She divorced me four months ago. I am all alone.”

I was shocked. I KNEW these people well. I went to church with them, knew their family history. But in the environment of church, they had never reached out for help. In fact, as I thought about it, they had kind of dropped off the radar. It was a short conversation in Panera, but Joe was finally being transparent, honest.

That is the value of community third places like Panera, and why we need to be present in them. It is why the church — as glorious and life-giving as it is — can’t fill every need. Sometimes it takes a conversation in Panera.

Joe isn’t here today, and I am fairly sure he has left the area. But for an half an hour years ago we took the moments to connect authentically.

I am glad I stopped in here today to remember.

I have spent the better part of two weeks recuperating fromnthe major allergy attack from Chicago. It has actually been a great two weeks reading, praying and yes…playing with my iPad. My goal with the iPad is to lighten my travel load. I have already found that i leave all but one book at home, but can I leave my computer behind? To do that I need to be able to do two things: keep track of my digital/real world life and write.

Keeping track of real life just got a whole lot easier with an app called Corkulous. It is, indeed, a cork board. I have started cork boards for daily life as well as for various writing projects. Check out the screen shot below. I just love the random possibilities of the board! It sets my old Creative Memories scrap booking juices flowing.

Writing is still problematic, though the external keyboard should help with that. Somehow my “voice” changes on the iPad.

Oh well, just a random update from a formerly sidelined couch warrior! And yes…I think I may be able to survive this latest attack. If only my hearing would come back!