Homecoming Gift

Thunk! The movers slam shut the door of their oversized truck. They clamber into the cab just as the engine roars to life. Then they're gone. I look around the garage filled with boxes and furniture; a labyrinth of cardboard snakes past me into the house and through each room. The dust has settled on the delivery of our possessions, but there is plenty of work to be done.

I wander through the kitchen, peering at my scribbled writing atop the boxes covering the countertops. Amidst the haphazard pile, I spy boxes marked "master bedroom", "basement", "shed". So much for order, I sigh. Scooping up a box, I navigate upstairs, avoiding a filing cabinet and a plastic bag stuffed with pillows. From my bedroom, I look down at the grass and the deck, wondering how long until I can enjoy that lovely sanctuary without too many should's and could's and would's hanging over me.

My two big kids are in their rooms, anxious to unpack treasures, many of which have been secreted away for nearly a year. Aaron pokes his head out his door and grins, "It made it!" He holds up the body of his Lego AT-AT. "I still have to put his legs back on, but it made the trip." Already Aaron has settled into his space, happily overturning boxes as he searches for joints and feet for his creation. As he turns back, I hear Norah hollering from downstairs.

"Mo-om!"

I look at her over the railing of the loft. She smiles at me and asks, "Can I organize my desk? I don't have all of my boxes yet, but I have some of them." I nod and she skips off to her room in the basement she has claimed, displaying her medals and trophies in prominent places and setting out her books in order of size.

I head to the kitchen, standing in the middle of the room and trying to envision the most sensible places for our pots, pans and dishes. What will be most used? What set up will be most efficient? How many times will I rearrange the cupboards until I get it right? Five boxes later, I head to the garage in search of a package labeled, "Mugs". I find it nestled between a box of books and a plastic bin of Christmas decorations.

Overwhelmed with the sheer scope of making this new house our home, I turn my back on the jumbled mess and head to the front yard, taking a deep breath and soaking up a few rays of sunshine. I explore the flower bed: Queen Anne's Lace, Columbine, Iris and...what's that? To the south of the house a vine climbs a trellis propped against the front porch. It was only green leaves and buds yesterday when we stopped by the new house, but now purple blooms have erupted, cascading into the plants below.  Clematis.

With this little homecoming gift from God, I know that we, too, will bloom in this new house we call home.

A little snapshot of our
 homecoming gift.

Image courtesy of Unsplash.

Why should I be unhappy? Every parcel of my being is in full bloom.
― Rumi

______________________________

Five-hundred-ish words inspired by the picture of pink blooms and quote above. We've made huge strides toward unpacking and in the blink of an eye, it's like we've always been here. 

Because Mothering Matters...

From one sometimes-snarly-and-snippety-mom to my fellow moms out there...who I assume are sometimes snarly and snippety, too. You are, right? It's not just me? Whew...

-------------------------

Recently I read a list about the many hats we mothers wear and it made me smile. It also made me tired. In this roll call I recognize many of my day-to-day demands:

I am...

a mom,

a personal assistant,

a chauffer,

a singer,

a cleaning lady,

a laundress,

a hero,

a boo-boo kisser,

a librarian,

a swing pusher,

a bug killer,

a chef,

a big ole meanie,

a toy package dismantler,

a teacher,

a student,

a referee,

a stroller-pusher,

a dancer,

a mess.

Maybe I cried a little bit when I hit that last one, because it's so painfully true. Sometimes this role of mother is glorious and I hold my head high, proud of my role as mom:  when my daughter sticks her cartwheel on the balance beam or when my son surprises me with a hug (in front of his 6th grade buddies). When my girl snuggles up with me on the couch or when my littlest tells me that the best part of her day was me.

But honestly, many mornings and often in the afternoon, motherhood is more like trumping through the mud-slogged trenches than it is singing and traipsing across the mountaintops.

Kids fight.

Milk spills.

Laundry multiplies.

Meals flop.

Germs infest.

Toys breed.

To-Do lists lengthen.

Homework disappears.

Tempers flare.

Patience thins.

And just as I reach the end of me, inevitably another desperate need rears its ugly and demanding head and I have to dig a little deeper and stretch a little farther, knowing deep in my weary heart that I'll start the battle over tomorrow. Hence my tearful response to that final line...I am a mess.

But within this mess of mothering, I find meaning because mothering matters to God. 

He tends His flock like a shepherd:

He gathers the lambs in His arms

and carries them close to His heart;

He gently leads those that have young.
Isaiah 40:11

This gentle reminder that God cares for me in the midst of my caring for my family stirs something deep in my soul, stirs up a desire for my day-to-day to be different. It would seem that I have two choices when I face the endless demands of my household:  I can put my head down and tackle my chores purely out of a sense of duty because that's what "good moms" do (blech). Or, I can ask God to transform my attitude and empower me to embrace each task as a sacred responsibility in tending to the welfare of my family. In this light, the above list takes on an entirely new vibrancy...

A personal assistant with the unique responsibility of preserving our family-time, hands linked around the dinner table.

A chauffer with regularly scheduled quality time with my kids when they're strapped into their seats and can't get away from me.

A singer with the privilege of introducing my kids to the wonder of 80's music and utterly embarrassing them by belting out the lyrics.

A cleaning lady with the unique honor of making this house a haven for my family.

A laundress with the weekly blessing of praying for each one in my family, from the tops of their heads to the holes in their socks.

A hero because I can tell you where to find almost anything in the house, be it your shoes, your homework or the exact location of that sticky rubber frog you got at the doctor's office.

A boo-boo kisser with the capacity to comfort my kids, whether it's a skinned knee or a wounded heart.

A librarian sharing in the joy of exploring new and incredible worlds without ever leaving the living room couch.

A swing pusher with front row seats to the uncontainable joy of feeling the wind in your hair and the sheer exhilaration of flying.

A bug killer who is sometimes a bug rescuer, teaching about the preciousness of life and the need to respect and care for God's creation. (Unless it's an ugly spider...then squish.)

A chef with the responsibility to care for the insides and outsides of my brood by making sure that what goes into their bodies is beneficial for them, while also passing on a passion for good food and kitchen dancing.

A big ole meanie with the tough job of instilling in my kids a healthy respect for authority with the willingness to sometimes "not be cool".

A toy package dismantler with hands on opportunities to model patience, restraint and a muzzle over my mouth in challenging and frustrating situations.

A teacher. Every. Single. Day.

A student learning from inside this crucible of motherhood about God's goodness. And also learning a lot about new and complicated ways to do simple math.

A referee striving to teach my children about fairness and justice. And about the hidden blessings of serving and letting someone else have the last package of fruit snacks.

A stroller pusher with daily opportunities to stop. Slow down. Explore the habitat of roly-polies. Marvel at the wonder of springtime. 

A dancer laughing as my kids either sit slack-jawed or clap their hands over their eyes as I demonstrate my amazing dancing skilz.  

A mess...I'm still a mess, but a mess with a purpose.

This shift in perspective has not altered my mother lode of tasks but it has had a life-altering impact on the load this mother is able to carry. As long as I remember that my mothering matters.

As we enter into this weekend and pause for a moment to honor motherhood, I hope you will find a moment to acknowledge that while you are exhausted, you are exhausted for a good reason. And I pray that you will hear clearly when God whispers to your heart that you are an amazing mother to your children and your mothering matters. In ways you can't even imagine.

A snapshot of a moment when I remembered
the sacredness of my mothering.

_____________

I added a few additional "jobs" to the above list, roles that I find myself filling on a regular basis. I'm sure you have a few you would add, too, and I hope you can find a lighter and brighter perspective on those jobs, as well.  Blessings on you!

The original list can be found here.

Under a Cloud

We sat, listening to the drumming of the raindrops on the roof.  After a week of rain, the ground was spongy, the sun was elusive and we were ready for a glimpse of the sky.  But still it poured.  And not the pitter patter of a springtime shower, but the thumping and thundering of a storm pent up, unleashing it's weighty burden on us. An unrelenting veil of water washed down over everything.

We laid in bed, praying for a break in the storm.  Not the deluge that gurgles through the gutters and sputters into the yard below, but a respite from this storm of our hearts.  This season of waiting out our own personal tempest has taken its toll:  sleep is elusive, tears burst forth unexpectedly and we're ready for a glimpse of a rainbow -- a reminder of God's promise that He hasn't forgotten us.

Under these clouds of doubt and worry, we weather the steady drips and drops of life.

Another bill in the mail...drip, drip.
Another trip to the grocery...drip, drop.
Another critical comment about our house on the market...drop, drip.

In spite of feeling like our prayers have gotten lost in the storm above, blown away and scattered in the wind, we are reminded again that God is good.  He will see us through this storm and His faithfulness is surer than any illusory rainbow; His reward for patience and endurance is more precious than a pot of gold.

Yesterday the rains persisted and we kept our umbrellas near at hand.  Today, however, the sun is shining and the clear sky nearly blinds our eyes.  In the same way, our storm will pass and on that day the piercing brightness of seeing God's goodness revealed will make every drip and drop worth it.  In fact, His radiance shining through our fragile gratitude will be a beauty to behold.

image courtesy of Unsplash, Creative Commons

The waters saw you, God—

    the waters saw you and reeled!
        Even the deep depths shook!
¹⁷ The clouds poured water,
    the skies cracked thunder;
        your arrows were flying all around!
¹⁸ The crash of your thunder was in the swirling storm;
    lightning lit up the whole world;
        the earth shook and quaked.
¹⁹ Your way went straight through the sea;
    your pathways went right through the mighty waters.
        But your footprints left no trace!
²⁰ You led your people like sheep
    under the care of Moses and Aaron.
Psalm 77:16-20

__________________________

Linking up with Write at the Merge this week - 315 words inspired by the picture above, the storms in Northern Colorado and our own stormy hopes.

Linking up with Trifecta - inspired by the word:  Rainbow 

3: [from the impossibility of reaching the rainbow, at whose foot a pot of gold is said to be buried] :  an illusory goal or hope 

Recalculating

“Recalculating,” chirps Mechanical Myrtle from the GPS.  I groan, frowning as my destination disappears from sight in the rearview mirror.

“I think you were supposed to turn back there, Mom,” my son announces from the backseat.  “That’s the way Dad took us.”

“Yeah.  You missed it,” chimes in another voice, and I feel a twitch beginning in my right temple.  Taking a deep breath, I peer up at the glass-faced buildings, trying to get my bearings.  I’m a country mouse in the big city.  This is why I didn’t want to move.

“ ‘Calculating, ‘calculating,” sings my baby girl as I turn on my signal and wait to merge into the left lane.

“Shh, Sweetie.  Mommy needs to think.  You’ve been to Daddy’s office, but this is my first time.  I don’t even know what it looks like.”  According to the map, I was supposed to turn left.  Maybe I can retrace my path.

“Turn right in 100 feet,” Myrtle announces.  “Turn right.  Turn right.”

“I can’t turn right,” I mutter, “I’m in the left lane.”

“Recalculating.”  I fight the urge to scream while hot tears burn my eyes.  Blinking rapidly, I try to read a street sign as I drive past it.

“You went the wrong way,” squeaks another child from the back.  “Again.”

“Just give me a minute.  I think I can...nope.  That’s a one way street going the wrong way.  This is so frustrating.”

“There’s Daddy’s building again!  Turn here!”

“Arriving at destination...recalculating.”

“Hush, Myrtle.”

“You should pull in right there, Mom.”

“Hush, Buddy.  Let me drive, please.”

I swing into a parking space down the block and put the van in park.  As I turn off the ignition, the floodgates open and all the tears I had been holding back erupt.  

“Good job, Mom.  That’s Daddy’s office right there.”

Grabbing a tissue, I wipe my eyes and feel a little hand pat me on the shoulder.  With a quivering smile, I look back at my kids’ anxious faces.  Pull yourself together.  Take a deep breath.  “Okey-dokey.  Let’s let Daddy know we’re here.  I’m excited to see his new office.”

“With the purple wall!”

“With the purple wall.”

Back up ten months and you find me braced against the kitchen sink and wiping away similar hot tears.  My chest is tight, and my heart is sad.  His words echo in the silence between us.

“I don’t want to work there anymore.”  

I can see in his eyes that he is just as afraid as I am about what those seven words mean for our family.  Nodding, I want to allay his fears, to be strong for him, to assure him that we’ll be okay, but deep inside I feel my world tremble.  For ten years we’ve been in this community and for ten years he’s worked for the same company.  Ten years worth of memories and friendships.  Ten years to grow our family and put down roots.  But it’s been five years since the first stirrings of change:  the first road signs of discontent and a desire for something more.  

Five years ago, he brought up the subject of a new job and I’m ashamed to say I played the “what about the kids?” card.  While it’s true that I was anxious for our kids, I was actually more concerned about me.  Selfishly, I was happy with the way life was, even if it meant that my husband spent forty-plus hours a week at a job he didn’t like.  Couldn’t we be enough for him?  Can’t he just tough it out?

And now here we are again, having the same conversation, but I know in my heart that this time it will end differently.  For Brett’s sake, it has to end differently.  For the good of his family, he has been a faithful provider in a dead-end job for five years longer than he wanted to, and now it is time for a change.  It is time for him to have an opportunity to be satisfied and challenged in his job.  It is time for him to experience a sense of pride in himself and his work, and it is time for me to be brave for us both.

“I think that you should start scoping out your options.”  I gulp, hoping that he doesn’t hear the quaver in my voice.  “Of course, I hope that you’ll look for possibilities here in town,” I swallow hard before continuing, “but you need to feel free to pursue any prospect.”

“Cast the net wide.”

“Right.  Cast the net wide and we’ll see what God has planned.”  I can barely get out those last words; my throat constricts, and I clench my jaw.  What could be better than our life here, God?  Why would you ask us to give this up?  Relief washes over his face as he pulls me into his arms.  The sobbing starts, and I can’t stop. Life as we know it is recalculating.

The following months jumble together:  résumés sent, interviews scheduled, career changes made, boxes packed, tears shed.  In spite of feeling God’s peace about the decision to accept the new job, our future is foggy and we find ourselves second-guessing our choice.  Are we doing what’s best?  Did we hear You right, God?  Focusing on moving our family across the state, we begin chipping away at our lengthy to-do list and do our best to capture moments with friends and family.  All the details click together, every facet, that is, except for the big one:  the house.

We flip the calendar and find ourselves in the middle of summer with our home still sitting on the market.  Months ago we had envisioned ourselves, by this time, settling in to our new community.  Instead we twiddle our thumbs in our mostly-packed house and anxiously anticipate Brett’s weekly visit from across the state.  While he loves his new job, we don’t love the new family arrangement -- thirty-six hours a week with our Daddy is not nearly enough.  And yet, what can we do?  Daily we remind ourselves to wait, hope, and trust that God still has a good plan for us, even if it’s not the plan we would have designed.  If only we had a road map to follow.

After a month of living apart, I’m ready to accept a new strategy, a plan I had rejected earlier.  We recalculate life again and make plans to move into a rental, clean out the house, and hopefully let the dust settle before the kids start school.

“That top box will go up to the bunk bed room, but the other three will stay in the garage.”  I stand in the driveway and direct the movers as they deliver our almost-ten-thousand pounds of life into our much smaller rental.  “All of those dining room chairs stay in the garage.  And the table, too.  That box will go to the kitchen.”  

With each labeled box carted off the truck, I feel a tumult of emotions:  relief at having our family reunited and confusion about this u-turn in our plans.  Every carton that has a pink sticky-note is something we need for our temporary stay here, while the remaining boxes are stacked in the garage near our over-sized sofa and wait until our house sells and we buy something here.  Every cardboard box I unpack will have to be repacked in twelve months. Wasn’t there an easier way to do this?  Did we take a wrong turn somewhere?  I’ve no choice but to keep trusting that God is in the midst of this move and He will give me the courage to make this place our home, in spite of my own uncertainty.

Today I sorted the last of the “pink sticky-note” boxes.  We have the basic bits of life unpacked, and we’ve even hung some of our favorite art work on the walls.  With just a few personal touches, the living room reminds me that this is home.  The kids are setting down roots in school, and each day they walk home with new stories and new friends.  Our days have fallen into a comfortable routine, and I’ve mapped out new routes for shopping and errands.  We even have new cards at the library and fresh books on the shelf, ready to be read.  

Most importantly, I see my husband every morning and every evening, and the joy on his face when he recounts his day at work makes this crazy move worth it.  

Life is full of recalculations.  We can choose to stay on a dead-end road, driving straight to nowhere, or we can follow the road signs that God has placed in our path, even if it seems that at times we’re going the wrong way.  While I most likely wouldn’t have chosen this particular road we’re on right now,  I am grateful to be on this trip together.

_________________

I wrote this for an essay contest with RealSimple, prompted by the theme, "A Time I Was Brave".  I would appreciate your feedback as I will be sending it off next week.  Thanks!

Doing It God's Way

Do you remember the Bible story about Gideon?  Here's the link if you want to zip over and have a quick read, otherwise I'll give you a little rundown.  When we first meet Gideon, the Israelites are in trouble and this "mighty warrior" is hiding in the winepress threshing wheat.  Hmm...looks like Gideon was lacking in the confidence department.  While all the people are hiding in the hills, trying to stay out of the way of the Midianites, God hears their prayers and sends a prophet to assure the people that He is taking action.  And that He intends to use Gideon to do the job.  (Not quite what Gideon had in mind.)

Over the course of several days, God convinces Gideon that He indeed intends to answer the prayers of the people and restore their homes to them.  Gideon (also apparently lacking in faith) requires a series of "proofs" from God; little tests to make sure that he hears God clearly.  God consistently directs Gideon and patiently endures his many questions and requests for proof, resulting in Gideon eventually taking God at His word.

Finally, Gideon rallies an army to fight off the Midianites; as a true mighty warrior he prepares to lead his troops into battle.  But now it's God's turn to make requests of him.  While Gideon stands proudly amidst his thousands of soldiers, God says quite simply, "There are too many of you.  If you win this battle, you will say that it's because of your strength."  In a matter of moments, God whittles down Gideon's great battalion to a mere three hundred men.  Gulp.  (Again, not quite what Gideon had in mind.)

And God's not done yet.

"You will send each man with a trumpet and a torch covered with a clay pot.  This is how you will drive out your enemy."

Can you hear the crickets chirping in the silence that followed that series of instructions?  (Most certainly not quite what Gideon had in mind.)  A trumpet and a torch against the swarming army down in the valley, equipped with all manner of weapons?  I'm quite certain that Gideon felt a bit squeamish and perhaps even a bit like he would much rather head back to his winepress and hide some more.

In the end, God's way works.  In the middle of the night, the small army surrounds the multitude of soldiers and when they blow their trumpets, shout and break the pots, the sudden noise and lights throw the enemy into confusion and they annihilate themselves.  (Not the battle Gideon had in mind.)

The Israelites are stunned and then they erupt in songs of rejoicing and celebration, praising God for the victory.  The victory that could only be traced back to God.  God had heard their prayers for help and then provided the help that reminded His children of His sovereignty and power.  And His love.

I've been identifying a lot with Gideon lately in the midst of our battle to sell our house.  While the Bible contains no details about the who and when of the buyers of our house, (trust me, I've been searching!) I do know that my God is faithful and true and He will not abandon us.  We know deep in our hearts that this move to Denver is God's plan for us, even if the process has been longer that we had anticipated.  (Not quite what we had in mind.)

Being planners, Brett and I had mapped out much of the summer and it included us settling in over in Denver and finding our feet before school starts.  We have watched the days slip by and now as we see the middle of summer behind us and the start of school looming in the nearer future, we cock our heads and scrunch our brows, puzzling at this place where God has us.  Treading water and waiting and wondering.  (Certainly not what we had in mind.)

But I know --- God is orchestrating the many details of our move and when the time is right, He will set in motion His plan and we will stand back as the pieces fall into place and say, "Wow.  Only God could have done this.  And only He gets the praise."

I would love to write this from the other side of the victory and have the whole story, but Gideon didn't have that luxury and he was still willing to stand with his trumpet and his glowing torch stuffed in a clay pot, trusting God.  Following in his footsteps, I will wait for God to work out His plan in His way and in His timing -- with a kazoo in one and and a sparkler in the other -- and then we will celebrate, unable to keep our praise contained!

(That's what I have in mind.)

En Pointe

"Okay, sorry about that.  What were you saying?"

"You know...never mind.  I know you're busy.  I can talk to you later."

"Hey, it's not a problem.  I got him a snack and I've locked myself in the bathroom.  What's up?"

"I was, uh, just calling to see how your day was going."

"Liar.  It's the middle of the day and that means you had to sneak out to make this call and you wouldn't do that just to say 'hi'.  Now out with it.  Before the little rugrat finds me."

"It's just that...I hate my job."

"Mm-hmm..."

"I am feeling more and more desperate for a change.  I've exhausted every opportunity for advancement here and I feel like God wants me to move on, but...It's like I'm in the midst of some dance and I don't know the steps.  A crazy combination of the limbo and the fox-trot."

"I'm sorry.  This is such a rotten situation."

"I spend all day wondering -- Do I quit?  Do I go back to school?  Do I stick it out?  My head is spinning."

"Hmmm...Do you remember that class we took with Madame Croix?"

"The dance class?  Uhm, yeah.  Isn't that where you tore your ACL?"

"Yes, but I also met Tom in that class, so it's had its redeeming qualities.  Anyway, I remember her going on and on about how ballet dancers, when they are pirouetting, have a focal point so they don't lose balance."

"Didn't she call it spotting?"

"Right.  Perhaps you need to do some spotting.  Get your focus back on Jesus and let Him work out all this dizzying future stuff.  Maybe write down Hebrews 12:2 and stick it somewhere you can see it often.  Uh-oh.  He found me."

"Tommy?"

"Yep.  And he really enjoyed his graham cracker.  Ugh."

"Thanks for hearing me out.  I'll let you go.  Call me later?"

"Thursday night.  Same time?"

"Yep.  Love you."

"Love you back.  Come here, little boy."

image courtesy of dalbera
(via Flickr Creative Commons)

__________________________________

Linking up with Trifecta: 33-333 words inspired by the single word exhaust (to consider or discuss (a subject) thoroughly or completely or to try out the whole number of <exhausted all the possibilities>.)

Linking up with Write at the Merge this week - inspired by the picture above.

Pitter Patter

Splish, splash ...

Two pudgy feet clad in floppy pink crocs jump off the bottom step and land in a puddle.  

Sploosh!

Rain comes down heavy, bubbles forming on the asphalt as little drops collide with the ground.  She points a dimpled finger at the black street and giggles, "Bubbas, Momma!"

Plip, plop ...

Tiptoeing out into the grass, her ladybug umbrella hides her gleeful face.  One little hand peeks out from under the red and white covering, fingers wiggling in the rain.  She laughs and the umbrella slips back, the pole resting on her shoulder.  The handle gripped in her wet hand.  She turns her dimpled grin toward me and I can't help but smile.  Such joy!

A flash lights up the sky followed by a low rumble, a growling from the clouds.  Her delight turns to distress, eyes wide, smile slipping.  Another flare, a louder grumble and she scurries up the steps.  Panic in her every move, fast feet and fluttering hands.

Her footsteps are soggy, bare feet slipping inside her plastic shoes.

Squitch, squelch ...

She topples into my lap here on the top step under the protection of the porch.  The cluster of ladybugs lays forgotten in the grass.  Her shoulders are damp; dark hair hangs in clumps, sticking to her forehead and cheeks.  A single raindrop glimmers, hanging off an eyelash.  She looks up at me, resting her head against my chest.  Her smile creeps back into place.  "Sing the song, Momma?"

Pitter, patter, pitter, patter,
Listen to the rain!
Pitter, patter, pitter, patter,
Listen to the rain!
Our God in heaven,
He makes the rain fall,
He makes the rain fall down!

Parking Panache

My husband has a special ability, a gift that was passed down from his father, I think.

We call it, "The Kellum Parking Gene."

Without fail, no matter how busy or full a parking lot might be, Brett will undoubtedly find a space right by the front door.  We might be headed to Target on the Saturday afternoon before school starts and on the second pass through the parking aisles, he will come up on a spot that just opened up.  For him.  We might be needing to make a quick stop at Wal-Mart and while other cars are circling and circumnavigating the parking lot, Brett zips into the spot at the front that just became available.  For him.

This happens with such regularity that my mom and sister have been known to comment on his parking panache.  Countless times as we ladies have been out shopping together, we have mentioned how much closer we would have parked if Brett were along.  He's just that dependable.

Several weeks ago, the two big girls and I were headed to Kohl's for some shopping.  It was a Sunday afternoon and the store was busy.  Even as we pulled into the parking lot, we could see that half of town had showed up to take advantage of the 20% off sale.  I started my typical parking lot meandering, driving up and down the aisles looking for an available space.  A few times the girls hollered out that we had just missed someone pulling out of a space or they groaned as we arrived too late to a recently available and then unavailable spot.  Eventually, I resigned myself to parking in the boonies and headed to the far end of the lot.  As we pulled into the parking space, Ashley quipped from the back, "Too bad we don't have Dad's parking spirit in the car with us.  Now we have to walk."

I chuckled, but at the same time I was struck by the spiritual lesson "parked" in the midst of that comment.  In reality, Brett does not have the spiritual gift of parking.  He just has terrific timing and a whole lotta luck.

But as Christians, we do have the joy and privilege of having God's Holy Spirit with us every minute of every day.  One of my favorite names in the Bible for Jesus is Emmanuel, "God with us."  We can settle into His presence and enjoy His comfort, guidance and counsel on a moment by moment basis no matter where we are or what we are doing.

He promises to be with us ... whether we're working or playing.  Or searching for a parking space.

Happy birthday to Brett ... I love you.  And not just for your parking gene!

The Turquoise Umbrella

Ella leaned against the sink, scrubbing glued-on scrambled eggs from plastic plates.  It was two o'clock in the afternoon and the fact that she was just now tackling the morning dishes gives you an idea of the day she'd had.  Frustration fueled her scouring.

Over the gurgle of the running water, Ella thought she heard a knock.  She turned off the faucet and paused to listen.  Silence.  Grabbing two more eggy plates, she flicked the stream of hot water on and went back to work.  Knock, knock.  There it was again.

Ella turned off the water, listening.  Nothing except the gurgling of the rain gutters.  She looked over the back fence and watched the rain streaming from the ceiling of grey clouds.  "To have a few moments outside to enjoy this rain," she thought.  She eyed the slimy dishes and the crusted pan and sighed.  

Then she heard it again.  A faint knocking sound.  She grabbed a towel and tripped over a jumble of toys on her way to the front door.

"Who's there?"

A turquoise umbrella floated in mid-air and bumped against her screen door.  Perplexed, Ella looked toward the street wondering to whom this mysterious umbrella might belong.  She saw no one and nervously dried her hands.  She rocked on her feet a moment before deciding to investigate.

As she pushed open the screen door, the umbrella floated back a few feet and then stopped, bobbing under the covered porch.  Was this a trick?  A joke?  Where were the wires?  And the hidden camera?  Ella smiled, just in case, and reached out toward the wooden handle of the umbrella.  She half expected it to fly away, but it didn't.  In fact, the umbrella, seeming to sense her hesitancy, wafted toward her, slipping into her trembling hand.  

Immediately, Ella felt the heels of her slippers raise off the porch step.  Feeling just her toes on the ground, she gasped and let go of the umbrella.  She stepped back clumsily and reached for the doorjamb.  The turquoise umbrella bobbed, but stayed under the eaves of the porch.  Ella worried her lip and considered going back in the house, until she spotted something on the handle - a phrase etched into the wooden grip.  She took a deep breath and reached one hand toward the umbrella while squeezing the doorjamb with her other hand.

She pulled the umbrella toward her and read the carved letters:

A Heavenly Perspective.

Her heart skipped a beat as she loosened her grip on the doorjamb and grasped the turquoise umbrella.  She felt utterly weightless as she glided toward the street.  The falling rain cascaded around her, but she was protected under the canopy.  

She spotted several other colorful umbrellas hovering around nearby houses.  A yellow one drifted near the door of her neighbor.  Ella laughed at the look of surprise on the other young mother's face.  She waved as she ascended over the maple tree, soaring toward a patch of blue sky.

______________________________

To moms who ache to fly away ... and who hunger for the encouraging reminder that mothering matters.

Linking up with The Red Dress Club.  This week's prompt:  500 words inspired by a photograph of a sea of umbrellas.

In Need of a Do-Over

Today's post comes to you via MentorSaurus.  Click on over for a good read.

Here's hoping that this week, life goes our way!

Amazing Wonders Aviation -day five-

Today is the last day of VBS and the last installment of "In the Hangar".  It's been and Amazing and Remarkable week!

In the Hangar

Skit 5

Betty is visiting with passengers. Lucy walks in, reading map, distracted.

Betty: Well ... looks whoʼs here, Passengers. Can you say, “Good Morning, Lucy” really loudly?

Lucy: (turning map upside-down and back again - jumps at greeting) Whoa! Hey there! Good morning to you, too! No ... make that GREAT morning to you!

Betty: Great morning, huh? What makes it so great?

Lucy: Oh boy ... well, I just talked to the Air Boss and heʼs giving me one more chance to fly the Earthstar Thunder Gull! Sheʼs back and ready to fly ... and I get to take her up!

Betty: That is wonderful! Where are you going? Whatʼs your flight plan?

Lucy: Well ... I was thinking about heading up to the Arctic Circle to see the Northern Lights, but ... then I will have to fly at night and, well ... just between you and me ...(looks around and whispers) Iʼm afraid of the dark.

Betty: Oh. That could be a problem. Arenʼt the Northern Lights only visible at night?

Lucy: Yeah. Thatʼs the problem. I really, really, really, really want to see the Aurora Born In Dallas ... but Iʼm scared.

Betty: Hold on a minute. Did you say, “Aurora Born in Dallas”? 

Lucy: Uh ... no. I meant to say “Autumn Spores in Glasses”.

Betty: Oh Lucy ... I know thatʼs a tough one to pronounce so weʼll help you out. Do you Passengers know the right name for the Northern Lights? Aurora Borealis.

Lucy: Well ... however you say it, Iʼm still afraid of the dark. What am I going to do?

Betty: This week we have been learning all about God and His amazing power. He has power of all of creation. He has power over all of our lifeʼs circumstances. He has power of sin. And He has power over death. Do you think maybe your can trust God to have power over your life, too? Do you think you could believe that God has the power to help you do whatever He wants you to do?

Lucy: Wow! When you put it that way! Yes! I know God has made me to be a pilot and I can trust HimtohelpmetobethebestpilotIcanbe. EvenifIhavetoflyinthedark!

Betty: Today our Passengers are going to hear about the Apostles and how God helped them to be brave and courageous in the face of danger ... even being thrown into jail! Thatʼs the sort of encouragement we all need to hear!

Lucy: Whew! I think Iʼll head over to the Bible Study for this story. Iʼm sure God can use the bravery of the Apostles to give me the courage I need to fly tonight! Thanks for being such an encouragement this week, Betty. Iʼve learned so much ... and I bet our Passengers have, too!

I hope you enjoyed a little silliness (packed full of serious truths).  And I hope my kids will forgive me for any embarrassment poor bumbling Lucy caused them.  Have a great weekend! :) 

... I'll be catching up on mindless-VBSless-vegging and enjoying a family-filled Father's Day!