Putting On My Face

I met myself in the mirror with half an eyebrow on.

Oh, the joys of one main floor bathroom - with the best lighting - when a higher need arises.

For the record, eye brow brush is an easier pause than mascara. Mascara doesn't wait. Mascara means someone's either going to hold it, or share space with me and my mascara.

If that shocks you, you never grew up with one bathroom and six family members. Or one good bathroom and three kids.

And if my makeup requirement makes your eyes roll, too bad. Get in line... outside the door.

A master bathroom is still on my bucket list. But one recently remodeled main bath beats a bucket and no plumbing, so I mostly don't grumble.


Back to half an eyebrow...

Most of my life I've thought of my daily makeup ritual as putting on my face. I confess: I like the process. I like the colors. It's the only drawing and painting I do consistently. And I like those genetic, life-deepened, dark circles concealed, thank you very much. Tired on the inside is bad enough.

I like to look as put together as I choose on any given day. So, I put on my face.

But on too many days in this recent season of life, my philosophical inner dialogue takes the phrase and runs amok.

Putting on my face. The obvious metaphor can zing.

I spent years hiding behind my face. Painting on some pretty, adding a smile, and all is well with the well-worn facade. That's the downside of it... or perhaps just the mis-use. But it happens. As do the harsh accusations on those days when I need my best, but I'm all leaky eyes, smudged concealer, and liner that won't line. And irony hits as I watch myself persist. Broken must not win... on the outside. These days meet me in the mirror hissing, "What's the point of makeup - or your life? Why even try? You're just a fake!"

Nothing faintly pretty about that. Nasty gut punches aiming to negate the recent years I've spent working to live more honestly - with myself and others.

Today, however, as I finished filling in that thinned, blond brow and it's partner, added shell pink and warm gray to my eyelids, lined and coated invisible lashes into a "classic black" frame, then dusted my cheekbones with rose, I pondered a hidden strength in this ritual.

Vision-casting and choices.

I can see myself as hiding or I can see this as a time of creativity. Instead of facade, it can be a time for filling in the cracks left by fear, disappointment, exhaustion, and... life. Of outwardly hinting at the part of me that has or will find victory over these obstacles.

I am not wholly into the affirmation craze, but I do believe in speaking truth.

Truth is: I am fearfully and wonderfully made. I was created for divine purpose, even if I'm still knocking around in the dark over that one some days. I fail often, but I succeed, too. I don't want to get out of bed many days, but do it anyway. I'm afraid and anxious, but am learning to push back. I'm often overwhelmed by circumstances, but I find breath to do the next thing.

And in it all, my God sustains me.

He also knows my heart, my frailties, and loves me anyway.

So now, perhaps when I put on my face, I can look into those eyes that mirror my heart, my hurt, my longings, and imagine more than the moment... how I feel, or don't feel...  the life I hope for, but don't have... the person I wish I was, but am still becoming.

Perhaps I can see all the lines and lacks of a life-worn face transformed to order, character, polish, confidence, and courage. Not hidden... 

Adorned. 

I can remember those who say they find beauty and value in the woman behind the face, despite her struggles. I can smile at her and choose to believe them.

This may seem just vanity, but today I reframed a part of my day - a part of myself - that I've often nipped at with cynicism, to my own harm.

Today, I put on my face,
eyebrows and all,
looked more deeply,
and came out of hiding.


What do you see when you meet yourself in the mirror? 

*     *     *     *     *

Lest anyone take a tangent, let me clarify: I believe outer beauty is nothing without inner; that of the two, inner has the power to change what we truly see. And though we may never fully escape the vanity in outward beautification, it's not wrong to take something raw and try to add beauty. Created, we are inherently creative, and pride can flow equally in doing or not doing. Anything good can be taken to a bad end, but this doesn't mean we never strive for good or beauty. And my point goes beyond that anyway. We often think and say horrid things about ourselves and our lives, forgetting our Creator - the author of hope, faith, love, and beauty - who fashioned us for good, for purpose, for His glory. ... His words speak life. 

Hands

What do you do when life’s been a little sideways? Sometimes I paint my nails. Because: painting, and colors, and a quiet moment to make something look finished... for a few days, anyway. 

And today I stretched the quiet moment while they dried and snapped a photo.

“Look at that perfect, frosty rose polish!” 

Then I was rocked by how old my hand looks. 

Truth is, this one, and its even more weathered twin, have done a lot, carried a lot, soothed a lot, scrubbed, and dug... a lot. They’re hands acclimated to heat. Shaped and misshapen by thousands of squeezes, pats, dings, scars, scalds, and abrasions. I don’t baby them. Forget to lotion them. And push them to the limit, even when they ache.

I’m sometimes startled when I actually see these old hands. Skin so beat up and wrinkly... and that pinky with a slight bump and bend at the knuckle.

I’d like to imagine myself physically young and untouched by life and time, even as I claim to embrace and elevate the marks of its passing. Guess I'm still worshipping youth, still holding fast to an ideal of no mars and scars... and no being dragged sideways.

I’d rather only see the pretty polish. 

But it’s not the truth. 

My hands tell the story.

On War: Aching For My Sisters

As I sought a moment of quiet this morning, I opened my Bible to the beginning of Paul's first letter to Timothy. Pondering slowly and deliberately, I was interrupted by the dancing eyes of my sweet granddaughter who had sidled up next to me for a nose kiss and a giggle. As she ran off for a new adventure I returned to my reading. 

In stark contrast to the scene that had just unfolded before me, the text soon turned to thoughts of lawbreakers, rebels, and murderers and my mind turned to today's headlines of horrid persecutions by the group ISIS in Iraq. In that moment I chose to let the horror of it all touch the deep places of my mind and heart. 

Lord, have mercy...

...for even as I revel in the nearness of children and grandchildren today, my heart breaks for the mothers and grandmothers, sisters and aunties who are suffering, fleeing, being raped and beaten, seeing their children beheaded and husbands, brothers, fathers murdered. It's unfathomable, yet the reports and gruesome photos bring relentless testimony before me that cannot be ignored. There is no quiet this morning for these families.

Friends, please pray for the Christians and other minorities in Iraq who are suffering these horrendous acts of genocide, that those who might come to their aid would have strength, wisdom and courage, and that the hearts of those intent upon evil would be changed. 

The suffering of war and strife are certainly well beyond the borders of Iraq in so many places, among so many people...and many with no way to defend themselves. Because I am a woman, when I close my eyes I can't help but resonate with the pain and fear of the women, young and old, who ache to protect their children, who cannot escape mob brutality, who are cowering or fleeing in fear even as I linger in the calm of my sun-filled, hope-filled morning, helpless to snatch even one precious sister from harm. And so I pray, and I weep, and I'm reminded once again not to squander the rich blessings of peace.

There are women within my reach who are bound and hurting...hunted and haunted. Lord, where can I ease suffering today? And let me never cease praying for those beyond my reach, for they are never beyond Yours.

Keepin' It Real

Sometimes I don't get a day's worth of work done in a week. 

Other times I get a week's worth of work done in a day...like today. 

How ever life lands, I've often felt weighed in the balance and found wanting...by myself and others. How about you?


As a recovering procrastinator, I've spent most of my life with a non-task orientation, given to long stretches of living outside any list, and excelling at general dilly dallying, but one can't entirely muzzle one's pesky firstborn responsibility gene forever. 

Speaking of which, I often dream of retiring from being firstborn. 

Then again, I often dream of retiring from adulthood. 

In a particularly whiny moment I began an email to my siblings offering one of them first dibs on firstborn before I posted the job and hired from the outside. Well, of course I deleted it before hitting send once I'd vented and re-dedicated my life to wearing big girl pants. 

Sigh...

Am I conflicted? Yes. Daily. 

Do I often wish that I was someone else? Someone more efficient and driven? Yes. 
Yes I do. 

Do I know that comparison is a joy killer? Only too well. 

I've spent a lifetime working new habits into my life; ways of doing things that work for me. They streamline as often as they trick me into accomplishing more. (Tricking yourself into getting things done is good practice for parenting.) I manage my time and my life way better than my 20-something self and, truth be told, there are many grownup tasks that I've learned to enjoy or at least not lose sleep over.   

But through those same precious decades I've also wasted a lot of energy comparing myself to other women who are stronger, faster, and able leap tall buildings in a single bound. You know the ones I mean. Those other women. They look like Super-women and surely if I only tried harder I could be super too. 

You been there?

Yeah...I go there way too quickly. But I'm learning. One thing I see clearly is that I love my jeans and cozy cardigans way too much to trade them in for spandex and a cape. I am me, not [various unnamed women I admire] and at two score and twelve, I need to choose more wisely between investing and wasting...energy, time, thought, breath.

Life is too short. Besides, I rather enjoy my kid-at-heart tendencies, even when they're clumsily tripping over my inner-firstborn.

It seems I may be finally growing into my thumb print of a life and it's about time. There's no one else like me...or you. We're all one of a kind with a one of a kind purpose. (Ephesians 2:10) And don't even think about declaring any thumb wars on me.  
I probably already think you're way beyond cool and I've got no time for girl drama. 

I'm not the strongest or the fastest, but who's comparing? (smile) I may not be able to leap over a pile of shoes in a single bound, but somehow when the dust settles there's still coffee and prayer and clean laundry and laughter and writing and groceries and reading and weeding and taxiing and friends and dates and chores and, most of the time, there's dinner. 

Bottom line, somehow it all works out...even with a little extra dilly in my dally.


My favorite goals are hard to quantify anyway: Live each day as a worshiper of God. 
Be thankful, prone to love, and just a little wiser than the day before.  

#lifeaccounting #keepinitreal

One Mother's Day

When your daughter lives some two thousand miles away in the lovely state of Arkansas, it's quite a bonus to get to spend a holiday together. This May, I enjoyed two such special days: my birthday and today... 

Mother's Day.

Here to meet my newest grandson, goof off with the other littles, and make myself as useful to Mommy and Daddy as possible, I've enjoyed giggles, songfests, poopy diapers, sticky hands, laundry, dishes, sleep deprived nights, lots of coffee, Thai food, Chick-fil-A, my first taste of hushpuppies, several episodes of Jake and the Pirates, a few HGTV marathons, and some fun outings with my girl and the fam. 

So as I lived this Mother's Day with her and her passel o' young'uns, I found myself a bit awestruck amidst the ruckus - and sort of chuckled inside - to think that this had been my life just a couple of decades ago. And, somehow, I had survived it all (and the teen years) to become Grammadette to these three and two more in Oregon. Holy smokes! God is good. Truly. There's no way I made it through without Him. And the times I tried? Well, I won't get into that today.  

I've often thought that the greeting "Happy Mother's Day," while lovely in it's sentiment, places an onus of expectation on a random day, filled with all the ordinary things that must and will happen in the life of a mother. Motherhood is a journey, full of the happy and the hard and the calendar doesn't determine the order and duration of either. 

Today, after a fitful start and a few actual fits, the afternoon gave way to an unscripted, though much hoped for, peace-filled naptime. In simple terms: all the littles actually slept. Given this gift, I finally sat down to put some thoughts together for my daughter. 

If you are or have been the mom of little ones, this may resonate...

Dearest Jillian...Spending this Mother's Day with you in the chaos of today - when mom of two kids is still finding balance as mom of three - pokes at deeply filed memories. On this day when oldest was being ridiculously willful and disobedient, while middle boy treated your commands as white noise to his single-minded toddler pursuits, and new one fussed instead of eating then spit back half upon clean sheets and showered body...on this day I'm reminded of the stretching. Body still stretched from new birth, mind stretched toward wits end, and emotions close to snapping. Gah! ... The stretching!

It seems trite today to wish you a "happy" Mother's Day. So I honor your journey, encourage your faith, marvel at your persistence, and am warmed by your heart to love and raise your children well.

And I'm thrilled that you are now fast asleep on the sofa. A quiet victory on such a day, and a lovely way to celebrate. 

Love you so,
Mom

A Woman-in-the-Making

She stands with cute, cropped hair, eyes sparkling, delicate ear-bangles dangling, face framed by deep magenta scarf...and while I'm shooing her out of here to run her errand, I know I'd rather just sit and stare at her...you know, like I used to when she was a little girl. 

Have you ever been mesmerized by your child's face? Those tiny features, lively eyes, precious smiles... As her features matured I thought I'd get over it, but apparently I haven't. Because, really, she's as much a miracle at 23 as she was when I first laid eyes on her. 

And here she is all grown up and poised, with just enough sophistication in her funky self to let you know she's a woman, not a girl, and just enough youthful excitement to make you wish...well, make me wish...that she didn't need to run off today.

As usual our conversation bordered on ADD...fun earrings, what the kids will need when they wake up, wide-eyed smiles and mutual gushes over colors we adore...like the deep rose-magenta of her scarf that we'd both secretly love to paint on a wall in our homes. We've always been able to skip happily through those mind mazes. Hand in hand, never lost in the transitions, and happy as clams to meander off the linear path. 

Our personalities are very similar, our struggles have been too. Last night, as had been our habit in days gone by, we talked long into the night of the deep and the difficult, of relationships, of who we were and who we are becoming. We walked the path of Jesus' hand in all of it, sharing common insights and more than a few "aha" moments.  

So as I gaze today, taking in far more than her animated words, the thought comes, "She is gorgeous...from the inside out. My daughter is beautiful!" 

She makes it halfway across the room before turning with something new to share. I chuckle, saying, "Go! You know we'll just keep talking forever." And so she finally drives off, but she's left a bit of radiance behind...and I think of her. 

I love hearing her heart, her struggles, her victories. I love sharing the ordinary and the fun things, shared passions and silliness. It is a privilege to journey as women together. 

Even when she was a girl that is how I saw her...a woman-in-the-making. Always in process. 

I never tire of watching God fashion His masterpieces.  

Women-in-the-making are beautiful.

Giving Your Life Away

While reading Ann Voskamp's blog the other day a passage jumped out at me,    

"And I read truth at the table: “…. and whoever sows generously will also reap generously.” All I can think of is...did I break myself generously and did I sow generously and all that you have in the end is what you give away."

This hits to the core of my life's passion, bearing the seeds of a personal mission statement, if I were to ever write one. And so I reflect...

Have you ever clearly known God's call on your life?  

At age 16 I knew without a doubt that my calling was to be a wife and mother. (I wish I always heard from God that specifically, but for all the challenges that followed, I'm very glad that I had no doubt about this one.) So at sixteen, my greatest ambition was born. During my junior year of high school my best friend talked me into entering our local Jr. Miss pageant. All the other girls went up on stage introducing themselves and declaring their goals for the future: teacher, nurse, business woman, surgeon, etc. And then it was my turn. Walking up in all my teenage-longing-to-be-an-adult passion, I said simply, "Hi. I'm Bernadette Rivard and I want to be a happy wife and mother." 

I truly did...word for word. It probably sounded corny then too. Especially in that power suit era where being at home full time, "just a wife and mother," was looked on as settling, demeaning, wasting your life. "After all," many people said to me...and the world said to all of us in general, "you're smart. You can make something of yourself." And, "Half of all marriages end in divorce. Shouldn't you have a backup plan?" I am a child of divorce, so I was not naive to that reality. And, yes, I was an honor student with an aptitude for most areas of study...but it wasn't what I was called to do. I'm not against college educations or meaningful careers, though I probably have a different take on life and careers than many people. I am a life long learner...reading, studying, writing. Always a student of something. I remain just an English major wannabe and I'm totally ok with that.

I did not believe that God's call required a backup plan, nor did my sense of worth require a piece of paper declaring some achievement. Over the years my husband often encouraged going back to school if I wanted, but the Lord's direction has always been, "Press on with what I've called you to." And I learned over time that I already had the only fall back plan I needed. Jesus. My Rock. All I ever needed to do was to run to Him...learn to take a stand...right there with Him...to be still and to abide. 

Full time wife, full time mom. Was it hard? Did I ever want to quit? Did I ever shout, "I'm so done!!" Yes, yes...and of course! There was plenty of 20, 30, and 40-something angst, especially since I didn't allow the backup plan of divorce into my vocabulary. (As a kid of divorce I kind of dug in my heels on that one.) That stubbornness carried consequences of it's own, but I'd been counting on a big God, remember? He has never let me down. So marriage and motherhood it's been...for three decades. 

Has God ever shown you that there's more to the story?

Isn't there always more to the story? More than meets the eye? Silvered-lined clouds and all that? That's always what my literary mind is looking for: What's between the lines? Where's this story headed? What happens to our quirky middle-aging heroine when she's no longer a round-the-clock mom?

I like this part. 

So all of those years of pouring into the hearts of my little, and then not-so-little, ones? It gave me resilience, endurance, and taught me more than I ever taught them. And the seasons of battling against my husband, then battling for my husband, now battling together...got me on my knees and desperate for truth...life changing truth...more than anything in my life ever has. It revealed who I was, thus, who I didn't want to be anymore. And it magnified who God is, big time! God's promises became my lifelines and a faith professed became a faith hardened and made sure by the battle. I became fully persuaded that He has the power to keep His promises (Romans 4:21) by actually walking and trusting and finding out for myself that my God is truly wise, loving, and holy. He is utterly faithful; full of mercy, grace, and compassion. Grace changes everything and it changed me. 

Back to motherhood for a moment: In the purest sense my original call to be a full-time mother was not so I could nuzzle sweet babies or chase children around while living a perfect Betty Crocker...or perhaps in my case, June Cleaver...life. I do not love everything about homemaking and I still wish that I had a passion for cooking delicious food and turning trash into treasure. Raising children is no picnic either. The hours are lousy, there are no mandatory breaks, and by the time you get around to sitting down to that hot meal...well, it ain't so hot. These are not complaints, just truths, because being a full-time mom was the best job ever! 

The vision and passion God gave of motherhood was one of continually giving life by giving mine away. Spending my time sharing knowledge, laughter, creativity, a listening ear, firmness, direction, truth and correction with the little lives He blessed to my care. Pouring out. Investing. Shaping. Preparing the next generation for a life of love, integrity, faith, and servanthood. God told me that He had a purpose for my children's lives, and so I have been nurturer and nurse, teacher and taxi, disciplinarian, counselor...and desperate seeker of His wisdom for all of it. 

And in the most practical sense, this also is what it looks like to be a discipler. One who invests in the lives of others. Jesus said in Matthew 28:19 - "...go and make disciples..." It is our call as His followers.

If I had merely given birth to my children then just left them to their own devices...well, in truth they would have died. They needed food and constant care initially, then they needed to be taught how to eat for themselves...and what to eat. Many things taste good, but are not good for you. The hot stove is tempting, but it burns. Selfishness must learn to share. And with the lessons as well as the rebellions, someone needs to be there to reassure and redirect, to forgive and help restore. 

A new believer in Christ is no different. We can't just say here's Jesus. Believe in Him. Be forgiven. Now go and have a nice life. Children of God are also raised up...by those who are older in the faith. And just as raising children is time consuming and challenging, so is walking alongside a fellow believer...guiding, loving, encouraging. Being that fountain of living water that refreshes and gives life.

Giving your life away goes against common sense, but do you really want a common life? 

Jesus says in Matthew 10:39, "Whoever finds his life will lose it, and whoever loses his life for my sake will find it." I really like the New Living Translation's rendition..."If you cling to your life, you will lose it; but if you give up your life for me, you will find it."

And, oh, the rewards! It's a life of listening to the Spirit as you listen to others. Asking questions, planting seeds. Trusting, not meddling. Learning when to step back, be patient, and let the Spirit work what you cannot. And through weeks, months, years...seeing growth in other's lives: baby steps, walking, running...falling, yes...but getting back up again and pressing on...vision expanded, heart enlarged, faith settling, and then watching as they become the ones coming alongside others. My heart is recharged every time I see it, and my passion grows to raise up more "kids."

This is the rest of the story. The story within the story. While following God's call to raise up my children and to work alongside my husband, He was raising me up to be more than a mom, more than a wife. That time purposed for them became my training ground. He was giving me a life and a career with eternal value. Teaching me to give myself away and in return making me a very rich woman. I've not added much to our bank account over the years, but I wouldn't trade the life I've had for a dozen 401k's. 

"All you have in the end is what you give away." In truth, I think you receive much, much more. What He's given is an abundant life...to the full and over-flowing...so that it has to be poured out. 

Do you ever feel this way? Compelled to give away what you've been given? Like you would burst if you didn't?

My Thursday Moms: a tribute

As we sat on the sofa listening to Heather give us her update on speaker phone in a raspy, congested, "I'm too sick to come today" voice, I had a growing sense of deep thankfulness for what these women have meant to me over the many years of seasons. Even as she spoke I thought, "I cannot even fathom where I'd be and who I'd be without them." If "aged to perfection" is even a possibility, I would say that this describes our deep sisterhood in Christ. Though we are far from perfect, our friendship has taken on a beauty that only comes with the seasoning of those seasons; enduring with one another through countless trials and rejoicing together as we've witnessed God's miraculous hand weaving the threads of our lives into a garment of praise.

Little did we know well over 15 years ago that a group of women gathered to pray for our kids and Linwood Elementary would be the catalyst for such an enduring friendship. We were a Moms In Touch prayer group led by another wonderful woman who felt God's call to this ministry. Every Thursday morning from September to June we would meet to encourage one another in prayer and to testify to God's answers for our children, our families, and our school. As time went on and our kids began to leave for middle school, high school, home school, and college, we morphed from the official Moms In Touch to a more informal moms in prayer. Many women came and went over the years, each a blessing and dearly loved. There are three of us left from that original group - Diana, Heather, and me. I affectionately call us the Thursday Moms. 

These woman have walked with me through almost two decades of raising my small children, behavior issues, illnesses, attitudes and rebellion (my kids' and mine), head lice (ugh!), depression, grief, marriage issues, the teenage years, schooling choices, mission trips, the dating years, wedding planning, wedding planning, wedding planning (smile)....and now extreme empty nesting. They have been so patient and wise and faithful. They have pointed me back to God's word countless times and encouraged me with His promises. And, more than words, they have been Jesus' hands and feet of blessing.

This year we "got all crazy" and decided to continue meeting together through the summer. We didn't start out knowing how important this would be, but the Lord knew. Oh how we needed Him this summer! (smile...we always need Him!) Hopes, fears, anguish, quandaries, mountains, marriages, mine fields...and through all these things, desiring to be faithful wives, mothers, friends - faithful servants of our Savior, Jesus. So much more than seeking relief from these looming issues, we desired to respond in the Spirit and in truth; to know Him more deeply and to honor Him in all we did and thought and said. This has been our quest...this summer and throughout the years. No Holy Grail, just holy living. Journeying together through the maze of life, spurring one another on, battling in prayer and in exhortation, lifting one another's arms when the fighting was fierce. And in all this, loving one another.

Ah, yes...loving one another. This was the reason for the deep sense of quiet and peace that came over me as I sat back, shoes off, curled up with steaming coffee mug in the corner of comfy green sofa. We'd prayed for Heather and settled in to continue our morning of fellowship and it dawned on me. Gazing at my lovely friend with the rich golden hues outside reflecting the changing seasons of this place and of our lives, I realized that this was where I had always known I could be myself. I am loved here. These women have graced me with the ministry of listening...not just hearing, but listening. Such a gift! They know me so well and they have allowed me to know them. We have confessed our sins to one another, shared joys and fears, cried together, laughed together, invested in the Kingdom and in one another...together. What a treasure we share in Christ and in the wonder of womanhood, lived together as friends. Let the seasons change! We have one another and we have Christ. Oh, how I love you Jesus and how I love these sweet, sweet sisters! Thank you for my precious Thursday Moms! 

On "Becoming the Real Me"

I read a blog today. The title made me curious: "Becoming the Real Me." The author talked about taking the time to discover your passions and the Lord's purpose for your life. Have I done this? Well, I just turned forty-nine and married off my last child. So after twenty-five years of being a full time mom and nearly twenty-nine as a wife, I am now entering into the proverbial "empty nest." It is a good time to reflect and seek the Lord for this next season of my life. Truth is, I have been preparing for this transition for a while now. I've prayed for grace to let my children go. I've given thought and prayer to what is next. Though not still a mom in that ever-busy 24/7 manner, I am still a wife and I look forward to having more time to spend with my husband. And I do have dreams I'd like to pursue. Have I become the real me? Yes...and not yet.  

When I was only sixteen I knew the Lord's call on my life was to be a wife and mother. And specifically to be home with my children full time. It was a radical call in the early 80s - to forego the pursuit of a career and outward status, and as an honor student, to disappoint my parents and teachers by not finishing college, to continually answer the question from other women, "So what do you do all day?" No power suits. No title. No cushy paycheck. Married at twenty and a mother by twenty-three, I was well on my way, yet I did have to grapple with these issues. After all, I was still becoming an adult, forming my preferences, and sometimes feeling unsure about life. Who was I? And more importantly, how did I see myself? Would I define my worth by what others thought or said, or would I forge ahead boldly on the path that had been given me? Would I be forever cowed by others comments, or learn to be dance in my own skin, following my own Drummer? It was good to wrestle with these things, for definition came and with it a clarity of vision that helped me embrace all the joys and challenges that would follow. During those early years of motherhood the Lord gave me the first scripture verse I ever memorized. "Trust in the Lord with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding. In all your ways acknowledge Him and He will make your path straight." (Proverbs 3:5,6) These verses are just as much a beacon to me now as they were then, like an inner north star when I might have lost my way. To dive into them now would require an entirely separate essay, so I'll leave you to meditate on them yourself. Only He can show you your path.

Some might say that I gave up a lot in pursuing this domestic life, but I can say with complete honesty that being a wife and mother has not put "me" on hold at all. It has enriched who I am, challenging me to the very depth of my soul and to the outer limits of my intellect. It has shown me the beauty of being a woman, which has been wonderful for this former tomboy who once thought it would be way cooler to be a boy. I have found that everything that has come into my life - everything! - has prepared me to receive the next blessing or challenge. I can look back and know that nothing was wasted. No grief, no joy, no bout of depression, no sleepless night, no day of silliness, no aching heart. As I've sought Him in all these moments, I have discovered my passions. First and foremost, my passion for Him which fills my heart with peace, my life with meaning, and keeps my motives as pure as possible. As a young woman I only dreamed of knowing the Lord so intimately. Now He is my greatest joy. And over the years He has continued to call me in ways that have either terrified me or stretched me to the limit. But each new adventure has been pivotal in growing my faith and in ultimately bringing joy and satisfaction. Emphasis on ultimately. Many journeys required years of waiting or rubber "faith" boots for trudging through messiness and deep weeds. He showed me recently that the call I had from Him as a teenager to be "a happy wife and mother" was more than just a call for a season. It is a call to be a mentor and discipler of others for my whole life. To nuture and care for those in my path so that they might know Him intimately. To encourage those younger that they willfind their way, or be able to love their husband, or find a way to balance keeping their house and keeping their sanity. I can definitely wrap my head around that. You see, that is also one of my passions.

The Lord gave me a creative bent and a love of language. I have been drawing, making music, and reading since I was very young. I was just beginning formal art studies when I found out that I was pregnant with my first child. Not being type A enough to want to juggle home and school, I turned my attention to preparing to be a mother. Then as as my children grew, I unleashed my silliness on them and encouraged their creativity. I have continued to read classics and other thought provoking books throughout the years. It's not always easy to take a vacation when you have young children, but you can get lost in a book for just a little while, at least long enough to enrich your perspective and have a view of the larger context of life outside of runny noses and endless loads of laundry. So after twenty-five years I have no great works of art nor books of verse to my name, but if you look closely at my children you will see marks of creativity. Though they are the Lord's, somewhere in their bent of personality or in the curve of their smile, my name is etched. They are surely burned into my heart forever. I have also discovered that my early love of literature has not been wasted, for I look at life and see poetry, irony, metaphor and simile. I see great themes playing out before me in the world, within my family, in the lives of my friends. I have been able to fall in love with God's word not only for it's revealing of His heart and mind, but for it's depth and imagery and beauty. And on occasion, I have been able to capture lyrics on a page as they sang through my mind. Worshiping the Lord in song, whether at home on my little upright or on a grand piano with scores of others, is one of my greatest joys; praising the One who is the eternal Creator and who's life giving words spoke everything into existence.

Have I become the real me? Have I discovered His purpose for me? The answer is both yes and not yet. I have fulfilled one of my greatest desires - to raise my children by pouring my life into theirs, by stretching myself and my faith in front of them so that they could see that it was worthwhile to do so, and by loving them and seeking their forgiveness when I blew it royally so that they could learn how to forgive, and live, and love well in this messy thing we call life on earth. I have been tutor, helper, leader, counselor, receptionist, bookkeeper, even barista. I have hunkered down and fought for my marriage when the going got tough. For though I was not always a "happy" wife, I thank God that I was a determined wife. I am glad for the "ultimate" joy in staying married and now reaping the rewards of His healing and purpose for us, not just me. So am I done? Is it glide and abide time? Not a chance! There is so much left to discover, so many more adventures and relationships to pursue, dreams to rekindle. Will I write? Well, that has certainly always been a dream. Will I create works of art? I'm thinking that might be fun. Will I keep singing? As long as I have breath. And I'm a grandma now! How fun is that?!

Next year I will turn fifty. That's pretty exciting to me because each new decade of my life has been better than the last. In a healthy and realistic way, I like who I've become as I've shed unhealthy "skin" over the years and replaced it with better thoughts, attitudes and actions. I'm certainly not perfect, but I'm ok with that. I regularly lay those flaws at my Savior's feet. It is His power that works in me to will and to act according to His good purpose (Phillippians 2:13) and it is my desire to live in His purpose. My constant imperfections only highlight God's perfection and His mercy in forgiving me and calling me to Himself, which then unleashes all kinds of thankfulness. It is good to be His daughter. So I think I'll just keep leaning into Him and His understanding. Trusting Him has been working well so far, just like He promised. He knows the plans He has for me, so I'm just going to keep it real and be myself and follow where He leads me now.