Tag Archives: family

Pause

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My daughter was recently diagnosed with a recipe for anything: a possible concussion, a strange virus, or dehydration. She had hit her head twice the day I picked her up from a slumber party—the week I had finished my latest batch of edits. Fun, and many frenzied weeks of school had exhausted her; work had exhausted me. Doctor’s orders were to rest. Chloe slept late for three days, lingering in a haze for the remainder of her awake time, and napping like she had run laps for a half century.
Rest: what we don’t do enough of, which is why I skipped my blog last week.

You’re disturbing my rest

Experts say to stay on top of things you must be in constant motion; that if you don’t make yourself stand above the fray you won’t make a difference in this world. That no one will hear you.
But rest softened Choe’s edge, and she and Noah enjoyed their playtime together again. To make her feel better, Noah shaved off several locks of his hair, and slathered on his Daddy’s deodorant to make her laugh. Laughter all the way to school—the product of rest.
We miss God’s touch when we fix our eyes to the front of the crowd. For your Tuesday, Here are a few beautiful pauses within the thick of motion.

Hulk Smash

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I saw an anaconda on Saturday. Even coiled behind glass, it looked fresh from a nightmare. As we took the kids along the many sights at the Game and Fish expo, I couldn’t help but wonder why God made the anaconda. Surely this thing didn’t exist in the Garden of Eden. Maybe it was some evil mutation that came from the curse.

The archery experience made me feel better. Like the target was a giant snake.

After grocery shopping the next day, I thought about all the exhibits we saw…the snakes, the animal skins (I’m not happy with whoever shot the raccoons), the hunters mingling with the conservationists. There was even a booth for those who wish to live in a self-sustaining community. All this swirled around my mind while I was leaving Fry’s, a few cars behind a guy who was dropping his girlfriend off for work. He took about five minutes to dig her purse from the back of his truck. His black truck with purple skulls on the tailgate. The car in front of me got tired of waiting and drove around the truck, much to the consternation of the skull-guy, who raised his arms at the car as if to say, “How dare you get impatient with me.” He took a few steps after the car and mouthed a few unsavories. Thoroughly entertained, I waited while the skull-guy handed the girl her purse and kissed her goodbye. Before he climbed inside his truck, he shot me a dirty look, threw up his arms—I think he even said, “Sssssssssssss”—at my, ummm…patience? The he drove off while flipping me off.

Mutation?

Is it the curse festering inside the man? I’m not sure life outside the Garden is always diagnosable. How was your weekend?

Naming your future

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My parents named me Sherry because they liked that name. I looked it up a few days ago in my Character Naming Sourcebook. It means from the white meadow. Very funny. I suppose God had a good chuckle when another Darwin was branded with a name that matched the ghostliness of their skin, from a long line of ghost-skinned Darwins. Our meadow lacks melanin. The branch of us that now live in sunny Arizona battle sun damage and skin cancer and the meadow is more red and scarred than white now, and despite the Native American bough that joined our family, most of us still resemble the white meadow from which we came. Is a golden tan too much to ask for? Could it be the name?

A few of my Bird relations have been accused of looking a little beaky. My Bird Grandparents sang a lot of gospel; their timbre was sweet and they perched on their front porch to enjoy many evenings. My Grandma tweeted at me once.
William Wallace lived up to his name which means Protector. Did his parents have a premonition, or did he become his name?
What about you? Did you become that which defines your name? I’d love to hear your stories in the comments below.

Time Is Not The Enemy

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Evidently, our attention spans have gotten so short we don’t want much depth in entertainment anymore (according to a billion quick articles)–we just want hook, thrill, and on to the next. This is true to some extent, but I don’t think this trend will last. Or if it does, humanity will go mad with this frenetic pace, unable to find meaning within the blink of an eye.

That’s probably why, when my husband and I took off for Sedona for the weekend to celebrate our anniversary, I forgot my deodorant. And my glasses (for reading a super fast-paced but depthless book before sleep), and….a shirt to wear the next day. Let’s see, there are the kids to get ready for the Grandparents, the two books I’m preparing at once (shall we say fast-paced depth?), the day job with the crazy hours responsible for making me sluggish much of the time.

Did I mention this was the FIRST time J and I have taken anything more than several hours off to celebrate our anniversary? In SEVENTEEN years? Year after year, we say we can’t afford a whole weekend, well–one of us, or both, I think it was J, but I don’t remember who because I’m too busy doing lots of fast-paced stuff, decided we needed to slow down a bit. And slim pocketbooks can become idols if we’re not careful.

Deodorant or not.

It was awesome. We took in some art, a church built in rock, and were able to walk leisurely. That’s an ancient word for relaxing.

Upon return, I realized it was time for the annual trying on of the wedding dress 100_4179day for Chloe. She wants the dress now. But this one thing to wait for, at least, will help teach her that NOW is not always good.

Hope is good though. And deodorant.

Happy Monday. May it be leisurely in all the important ways.

The Circle

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Sometimes I wonder where all the lost things go…like the Dead Letter Office, is there a place in between tears for misplaced wedding rings and beloved toys?

After a particularly successful Show and Tell in elementary school, I left my beloved Miss Baker on the playground. All the way from the Space and Rocket Center in Huntsville, Alabama, Miss Baker was both an historical figure (one of the first animals launched into space) and best friend to me. When I hurried back to the bench where I left her, it stared at me cold and empty. Stolen, perhaps? In my mind, she was priceless–who wouldn’t want her? But she was mine. I cried a thousand tears for her.

For some reason I can’t remember, I told this story to Chloe when she was four. Being an aficionado of monkeys herself, she immediately burst into tears, heartbroken over my childhood loss. Every so often, she would bring it up in conversation, this injustice that simmered in her heart whenever we talked of beloved things.

After my work schedule tripled this month, leaving Chloe with pools for eyes every time I stepped out the door, that old memory kindled in her heart, and when I came home from work one dark morning in the hours of zzzzzz, she had completed a gift for me.miss-baker

A brand new Miss Baker, sewn from her sweet fingers and the depths of her heart.
I don’t know where Miss Baker went that day on the playground, but she has come back to me in a much more precious way than she did the first time.

Us

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In my world, multi-tasking is necessary evil, but let’s not forget that it’s still evil. I used to think something was wrong with me when I had trouble jumping from one project to another. If I have ten pots on the stove, most of them will turn out “okay”, you know what I mean? But if I have one or two…they usually turn out great. That’s why I only paid attention to about two subjects in school…those ones usually turned out great, heh.

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A few people called me names like lazy or unmotivated. One teacher in a particularly evil class thought comparing me to my older, high achieving brother would help get me interested in his class. Every. Day. In order to cope, I ignored that teacher for the rest of the year, accepting a lower grade so he would just leave me alone. Thankfully, most of my feelings about being different were assuaged when I became a writer. We study personalities, psychology, and culture in order to write accurately and as many of us will tell you, finding out how many ways people are wired is like holding a homemade chocolate cake in your hands—it all suddenly makes sense.

Just to be clear how unwise it is to pressure people to fit in the same mold, here’s an illustration: In one of my classes, we were told if we didn’t achieve higher rankings in the subjects we struggled with, we’d be scrubbing toilets at McDonald’s. I have two things to say to that.
1. I’m not, even after burning a certain textbook from a certain class.
2. Why do we continuously demean the blue collar class with comments like that when we know we couldn’t survive without them?

Maybe lessons from unwise leaders are the rocks in the hands of protesters—I’m not talking about the peaceful protests about civil rights—I’m talking about protesting issues and/or methods that are less normal—things that seem unjust to those who have never seen the beauty of a homemade chocolate cake. We know this type of protest when it does nothing but divide people further.
These are people who think those two odd pots on the end of the stove are useless, never fully tasting them to see how much they could complete a meal.

Blessed are the peacemakers, for they will be called children of God.
 Matthew 5:9

 

Our Wonderland of Clouds

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Noah got a telescope for Christmas—a beautiful white Christmas it was; magical, like those you see in a shaken snow globe. But those clouds wouldn’t lift, and it wasn’t until a week later that we had a clear night in which to gaze at the moon.

The kids pressed their faces to the eye piece, the moon pulling the corners of their mouths up in smiles like the coming tide. Bumpy spots and rocks and stuff, cool!

But those clouds, they hid the moon again, so we wait longer to see oursnow-1022667_1280 mysterious moon.

Underneath those gray clouds, I’m reading the Bible, trying to wrap the Miracle phenomenon around my brain. Healings, signs and wonders; a pause for the sun. We see things today, but I sure wish God would lead me as a pillar of cloud for the confusing days and a pillar of fire for those dark nights. I’ve heard of missionaries experiencing wonders, but…not so many in the United States of Comfort.

I come to Acts, where Peter and John are released from prison. This when Christians are so harshly persecuted that many leave Jerusalem. But when the two men gather with their fellow believers, Peter and John don’t pray for safety—they pray for boldness.

I pray for safety all the time—for my family, my friends. I also pray for good health and deliverance for those suffering. Sometimes I pray for boldness, but I include in the same prayers for safekeeping.

In our snow-globe wonderland, we live under a protective bubble… perhaps that’s what keeps us from seeing many things far beyond what we could imagine. Feel welcome to post your theories in the comments.

To all Davids

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My daughter recently reminded me of something about the heart muscle. A few months ago, she started band, equipped with the flute my dad bought me in High School–solid silver second-hand beauty with as many problems as a third-hand car. While a very nice instrument, it needs some very expensive repairs. Sometimes it won’t grab a note, and because all the pads need replaced, the tone is airy.

Practice only discouraged Chloe because her efforts were thwarted by the $350 worth of hiccups in the keys, so she often put it away after five minutes of frustration. (Did I mention we were anticipating our insurance deductible roll over where one of our son’s three medications cost $1,000 a bottle?)push-ups-888024_1280 But she wanted to perform a duet at her years-end concert, in which she had to audition with a handicapped flute, so she called her partner, and together they practiced over speaker phone with a few asthmatic notes. Chloe just decided she would make it–and she did.

So I’m thinking about this as John and I watch the trillionth season of Survivor, and there’s this really skinny guy, David, who looks like he lifts no more than a pencil each day, and is an anxious sort, kind of like our Chloe. He was afraid of bugs and loud noises. The first time I saw him attempt a challenge among several muscled men and women, I thought something jerkified like, “pffft.” But this guy, he started to make friends and somewhere along the way he finds confidence. Then he decides he’s going to succeed.

He doesn’t win, but he comes very close, and even wins a few challenges–yes, even those that require strength, endurance, and, well–I think it boils down to sheer will power. He started to outlast the walking muscles and the born-to-live-outdoors types.

The reason he didn’t win (although I would call his evolution a success)? The other players voted him off because he was the biggest threat out there. The guy who once trembled at the sight of a bird.

What is your Goliath? Exercise that heart muscle.

Cataclysm

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My daughter, mesmerized by a novel that kept her under its spell late into the night resisted all forces outside her blanket the next morning.

Unsuccessful in several attempts to awaken that sweet thing from her literary comatose state, my six-year-old son pushed aside his breakfast, turned to me in Hulk stance and said, “I got this, Mommy.”

A few screams peeled from Chloe’s room, then rounded into snort-induced giggles.

I sprang.

Noah, several pounds & inches smaller than Big Sis had pulled Chloe from her bed, and was dragging her across the room when I arrived. Unsure of when to stop dragging, Noah finally released Chloe when the wall and the shoe pile stopped him from going further. Explosions of laughter began our morning.

It was as if God had dipped his finger into multi-colored glitter and blew it across the room, “surprise.”morning-photo

Chloe rarely smiles on awakening; I can only determine that the pure shock of morning-person colliding with night-owl produced a phenomenon in such rare contrast that only joy could survive the moment.

I knew then that it would be a good day.

On a different note: Along with my writer’s group (a project of the real Cataclysm Missions) I’m accepting true stories for a Christian Anthology. Click here for details.