“Go play outside. Unless someone’s arm is cut off or you break a toe, don’t come back in until I call you.”

We have that slight luxury in Southern California of playing outside in the dusk of the New Year. Not every day, but some are warm enough to run out in the late afternoon with short sleeves and dig in the cool dirt to make castles for tiny fairies and rafts for miniature plastic dogs.

And seconds after they are safely in the yard I turn to do my work.

I wash dishes. I write. I fold laundry. I pick up a neverending stream of little-girl toys. I go through mail. I email. I prep dinner. I bake brownies. I take a shower because, oh wow, it’s 4 o’clock and I’ve forgotten to do so today.

I’ve chosen this: this quotidian, common life. When I decided to have a marriage and have a baby, when I decided to help raise a family I chose this life. This I-can’t-remember-the-last-time-I-slept-in life.

But sometimes I wonder if some of it has chosen me. I’m nothing exciting and I’ve spent the last ten years, literally, doing the everyday tasks that come along with mothering and trying to run a household.

This kind of existence really crept up on me and while I knew all along this is what it entailed, I never really knew. Not until I was in the middle of it. Not really.

And now I think: am I content? Is this all there is? Is there MORE than this?

Am I really content sweeping crumbs, cleaning the yard after our dog, and washing clothes for 4 people for the next decade? Am I really content with cleaning up the messes of others for what seems like eternity?

If I’m honest, sometimes YES and sometimes NO.

Sometimes I’m just really, really tired.

But there is more. If I break it down only to the crumbs and the messy van and the trips to Target, then no. It isn’t anything worth feeling content with or happy about. There is nothing hopeful about cruising along in the 25 miles per hour zone for the rest of my young (ish) life.

But the MORE of it is the watching my almost-six-year old read books in their entirety to me now. The MORE of it is sharing the laughter of a household full of people with wine and lasagna around my dinner table. The MORE of it is the mentoring and the coffee dates and the ah-ha moments of my daughters. The MORE of it is volunteering in the classrooms of my girls and with my husband at church.

The MORE of it all, what makes this live uncommon, is the people who make it messy, not the messes themselves.

I hear screams out in the yard. Not hurt screams but angry ones. They are arguing over a turn with a toy, I’m sure.

It reminds me that the people in my life are what is important and not necessarily the common tasks, chosen or not, that fill up my hours.

I’ll forget. Oh yes. I’ll forget and I’ll get tired and I’ll even wonder, in my rawest places, if this is all worth it. I’ll scream and yell and angry-text my husband with all caps telling him

I NEED A BREAK OR I’M GOING TO GO INSANE.

And then I’ll take a break and return to the understanding that the kids in the yard, the friends at my table and the husband on the other end of my rage are what are significant.

They are the MORE in my life.

Are you content? What (or who) is the MORE in your life?

Yesterday was Lunar New Year, Tet in Vietnam, and when I walked into the nail salon I go to sometimes, the girls who work there told me all about the gigantic meal they had eaten the night before. I asked them a lot of questions and we talked about their customs and the kinds of food they ate on New Year.

I knew that the children get money from the elders. I knew that it was a big deal: New Year. Bigger than our stay-up-late and blow-a-few-noisemakers New Year.

After a few minutes they went back to talking to each other in Vietnamese. I sat back and thought. I’ve come here for a long time and I’ve never, ever thought to try to learn Vietnamese.

Now I know that that might sound silly. Stupid. Idiotic. Like where would I need to speak Vietnamese?

I don’t live in Vietnam. I don’t live in a primarily Vietnamese neighborhood. But, in reality, questions only go so far to show someone you care. When someone takes the time and energy to “speak your language” it makes all the difference.

How often do we only want to speak the “languages” we are comfortable with? For example, if I wanted to buy my mother a gift of music, it would be very easy for me to purchase an iTunes gift card with a few clicks and send it to her via email. Now while she reads my blog (Hi MOM!!) and works her cell phone like a pro, she doesn’t really utilize iTunes and she checks her email infrequently. MY language is the 1-2-3 simplicity of the Internet. HER language would be for me to go out and purchase a CD for her. That is what she knows and what she is comfy with.

Going out of my way to speak her language is what shows her love.

I’m going to Peru next week, and again, I don’t speak the language.

I could have taken Spanish in high school and college but I opted for French. I know. It doesn’t make a lot of sense but I wasn’t very practical back then.

On our trip to Lima we will have translators with us and while I’m not worried, I do feel dreadfully underprepared, less-than-functional and a little useless. A little like an appendix.

I wish now more than ever I spoke Spanish. I wish I could understand the stories, the questions, and the songs with my own ears and not the words translated into English.

Something about knowing the language of someone makes showing love that much easier. 

I can’t learn Spanish in 6 days. So I’ll be relying on smiles and hugs and handshakes to communicate my joy and my thoughts. In Peru next week, I’ll just have to share my love without fluency of words.

But I believe we can become fluent in the “languages” of those that are the closest to us.

This might even go one step further than the whole love language discussion. It’s about moving toward someone in their native culture and not merely sitting back and letting them come to me. In our house we all speak English, but we do NOT all speak the same language all of the time.

If my husband responds well to me sitting down and looking him in the eye after dinner for 20 minutes to talk about the day when my natural language would be to recede into myself and my latest audio book, then to love him will be to listen to him.

If my youngest’s language of today is the on-the-bedroom-floor, feet-kicked-up posture to play with her Littlest Pet Shop in the dollhouse {but I desperately need to fold clothes and clean up my own bedroom} to love her will be to spend time with her.

If my ten-year-old’s language is to watch that at times annoying Funny Home Video show over and over again on Netflix then I will do it because to love her well will be to share in her laughter and joy and silliness.

Learning each other’s language means being observant, being intentional and many times being uncomfortable.

But doing this, even in the discomfort, will help us love each other well.

Are you fluent in the languages of those you love the most? Are they fluent in yours?

I think if our eyes could see the baseness of one another’s thoughts we’d hate the human race:

The lust and the pornography,

the hatred and evil,

and the prejudice and bigotry.

If we could somehow see through the filtered language, the words stopped on tongues and into the bedrooms, the Internet histories and into the inner secrets of one another, we would be simply disgusted. We wouldn’t be able to stand each other.

{It’s why therapy is hard because we don’t even want to see those same things in ourselves.}

What if we knew all of the past and the present wrongs of just the people who sat near us in the pew? What if we saw the future and all of the terrible things that each one of them would do?

It’s dreadful.

But God is there.

I also believe if we saw the extent of the aches of one another we would be destined toward love, compassion and kindness.

To see each person’s entire story? Their pains and griefs? What would that do to us? What if we could see the hurts and the joys of each of these people too, see past their filtered words and secrets kept and what if we learned their stories. Knowing someone’s story gives us perspective and fosters compassion.

Could we begin, perhaps, to love people differently?

Could we, maybe even, begin to foster an intense love for the human race? Children, orphans, the arrogant, the pampered, the needy, the broken, the full, everyone?

We might not walk past the homeless man on the pier on our way to meet friends for lunch. We’d invite him in, buy him a Coke and give him a view of the game on the TV above the bar. We’d ask him his name and if he has a family. We’d ask him to tell us his story because his story is more important than any wrongs he’s done or hurts he’s committed.

We also might not dismiss the arrogant rich and overfed among us. Each of us holds a story.

God sees all of it: the Internet histories and the addictions and the lusts. At the same time he sees our pains and our hurts. He sees the ways we’ve wronged and the ways we’ve been wronged.

And he does not hate us (although it seems as if he should.) He loves us.

Do you ask to hear the stories of others? Do you think knowing someone’s story helps to inspire compassion and grace? When has someone listened to your story?

I was going to write a post today.

But I don’t think I am. Not a normal one anyway.

To write a post right now would be to steal me away from the littlest, most important person in my life. The one who’s toenail polish is chipping on her feet that are growing bigger each day. The one who holds a special under her arm everywhere she goes. A small stuffed animal that she never drops, never loses and never leaves.

To write a post right now, at least in the way I want to, would take me away from a television show on the couch under a blanket. It would take me away from reading out loud a Dr. Suess together. It would take my love and divide it with the world in a way she does not deserve.

To write something good and epiphany-loaded right now would be to take all my presence and give it here, to you, and that is something I cannot do today. I would be stealing from her and that is something, for today at least, I will not do.

I will click “publish” and then I will draw up my littlest to my lap and hold her close. She’ll only be 5 for 2 more weeks and I will then never have her again quite as small, quite as innocent, quite as compact as she is today.

What or who should you give your attention to today?

“Don’t marry anyone dumber than you, Sarah.” My dad drove our family car on the way to church. It was only me in the car for some reason and I was about sixteen.

I shook my head. “Of course not, Dad.”

Maybe I was dating a silly-pants at the time {there were a few of those} or maybe he was just referring to my drive for near perfection on my report cards, but whatever prompted it, I’m very sure he said this to me.

It was always in my mind to find some some pastor-type or some guy who wanted to major in literature. And if I was very, very lucky, he’d have the bedroom eyes of Luke Perry with the poetry-reading skills of Gilbert Blythe.

A couple years later I met Chad. And he was everything I wanted. Instead of Luke Perry I’d met Zach Morris but we hit it off instantly.

We were an incredible match. I know now what my dad meant: he understood that for me to be satisfied in my marriage I would need to find a man who would match me toe to toe. A man who would be as strong as me {my father, I’m sure, was noticing stubborn streaks in me}, who would be as thirsty for knowledge as me and who would be my equal in drive and passion for life.

And Chad has been all of these things. Of course we’ve struggled with ADD, we’ve struggled with infidelity and we still struggle with simply still loving each other well. But all in all, we have a mutual regard and respect for one another.

He does well in areas I do not. I excel in things he manages poorly in and in that, we match.

We match.

Over the years, Chad and I have swung between many ideas when it comes to the idea of biblical “submission” in marriage.

At first no one submitted to anyone. We fought, we hated one another, and we slammed a whole lot of doors.

Somewhere in the middle we decided I would submit to him in everything and he would be the sole leader. That worked for awhile and I believe, in the season we were in, we needed a certain type of structure to help us learn to live together again.

And now, no where near the twilight of our married life but certainly far enough along to have gained a bit of wisdom along the way, we have settled into a mutual submission and regard for one another.

We do stand toe to toe. He’s 6 1/2 inches taller than me but we look eye to eye. We love Jesus and we love each other. I back down when I’m wrong and he backs down when he’s wrong, and that works for us. It works for us because we match.

And because he’s smarter than me. My dad was right.

How were your parents “right?”

Two weeks from today I will be in Lima, Peru.

Right I know.

Chad and I are traveling with Compassion International to visit Compassion’s child poverty relief projects in some of the poorest parts of Peru. We will be leaving on Sunday, January 29 and returning that Friday the third of February.

I have no context for this at all. No reference point. No solid spot to stare at and breathe: I can do this. I can do this. We can do this.

So I don’t know what to say about it all yet. Bear with me as I fumble for words (now and in the future).

I’m traveling, not on a blogging trip like we are all accustomed to watching or participating in on the Internet, but on a speakers’/sponsors’ trip. We will be visiting several of Compassion’s projects near Lima including a Child Survival Center (that works with mothers and babies up to age three).

The purpose of our trip is to allow people to get a first hand, on the ground, full sensory view of the needs in this area of the world.

I’m planning on blogging through the week if possible and I’d love a couple things from this beautiful community:

1 – I’d love for you to follow us through the week by reading and sharing my posts. Please come with us on our journey by clicking back here once or twice during that week and watching our trip on twitter and Facebook. We will have a chance to to meet our sponsor child so words can’t express my nervousness and excitement at the same time.

2 – Please pray for us. We need your prayers: for grace and for protection. Pray that we will “see” the people, their stories, their beauty, their grace in the way that God wants us too. Pray that we will be affected for action in appropriate ways and that we can carry a bit of this trip around with us for the rest of our lives.

3 – And last, I know this is so much to ask, but can you ask yourself if this is the catalyst for you and your family to support a child in abject poverty in Peru. Don’t click through if you don’t want to. And I know your money is precious, but if it is something that has been tickling at your heart and this blog post is just part of the drawing of you to do this, please consider it.  Click here to sponsor a child through Compassion.

Links:

Compassion International

In depth Peru Ministry Focus post on the Compassion blog. (Excellent post on exactly what Compassion is doing in Peru or simply click the Compassion box in my sidebar to be taken right to a child in Peru.)

Sponsor a child in Peru (on right side, search “Peru” under “where in the world.”)

My twitter, Facebook and Facebook community links.

Chad’s twitter and Facebook.

(If you are interested in booking me for a speaking engagement in the future, email booking @ sarahmarkley dot com.)

Photo source

Reading Genesis goes hand in hand with January. At least in my life. So in reading about creation this week, I had an idea. And I’m writing about it on A Deeper Story.

Emotional Nudists

They were naked and unashamed.

Naked. Unashamed.

The two words don’t seem to go together. Our worst nightmares aren’t monsters or serial killers {or tornadoes or tsunamis if you are me} but they are the ones when we wake up in 11^th grade American History with our bottom halves unclothed. Naked is the stuff of bad dreams for most of us.

I can’t remember the last time I felt good naked, or further, unashamed.

Our clothes cover unshaven legs, doughy middles after the holiday free-for-all, and the parts of us that all of us have but none of us show in a modest, civilized society.

After He created Adam, God created the woman and pronounced them all “good.” The writer of Genesis goes on to say that they were naked and unashamed.

And by doing so, God also created the first community. The first naked community.

To read the rest, click here.

The kid who made me a mother was born today ten years ago. 2002 seems like yesterday sometimes but also like another world.

Hope is funky, she’s daring and she marches to her own drum beat. I love it. Here are ten things I’ve learned in the last ten years of mothering.

1. You’ll never have as much time as when your babies are little {or I imagine, as when they are grown}. Diapers and high chairs SEEM busy, but honestly, the older they get the more dance classes and school parties there are. Embrace the busy, whatever stage you are at, and learn to function despite the chaos.

2. Get up off of the couch {and down on to the floor, or over to the playground slide} because you’ll learn the most about your kids from that vantage point. Your laundry/blog/dishes/Pinterest/Bible study can wait.

3. Choose your battles. Make a big deal about the moral stuff, a little deal about the preference stuff.

4. Don’t be afraid of hard questions: welcome them and try to find an age appropriate answer. Try to create a no-question-is-stupid environment.

5. Children move in seasons of equilibrium and disequilibrium. With my kids its usually six months on and six months off; learning to function within that and expect it is key.

6. Don’t ask more of your children than you are willing to give yourself. Keep things tidy? I need to keep my room tidy too. I teach by example in the simplest of ways. You can’t expect your kids to be happy/calm/loving if you aren’t happy/calm/loving. Mothers set the tone for the whole household.

7. It’s okay to take time for yourself. Or for you and your husband. Not just okay, but vital. Don’t feel guilty or selfish because taking care of you means taking care of them. And it really is okay to lock yourself in the downstairs bathroom from time to time.

8. Do your best to teach them to be unafraid. Take them on adventures, let them fall down a couple times, do courageous things yourself.

9. Kids adjust to change better than I do. Moving, changing churches, etc is sometimes harder for parents than it is for kids. I’ve learned not to center family decisions based on keeping their worlds void of change.

10. Nothing lasts forever: braces, the diaper stage, car seats. Don’t you dare wish for the next stage because it will come quicker than you think, and when you look back, quicker than you would wish.

There is more, so much more. Like give too many hugs and pick them up whenever they ask {because it will be too soon that they are too big to pick up.}

Because time really does speed by.

What have you learned about parenting? What can you add to this list?

 “The unexamined life is not worth living.” Socrates

The holidays do something to one’s sense of self discipline. Something terrible.

Anything {and I mean just about anything} that is set on a shiny holiday plate, dressed up with a candy bow, sliced delicately with sugared and chocolate anything and placed in front of me will be devoured directly. Without thought or examination of the facts, the sweetened goodness will be eaten. Or the savory delicacies too! Turkey with gravy, potatoes with cream, meatballs with spices: all of it is there to be taken in and loved.

December is a month of eating without thinking; eating is simply a reaction to platters full of food. It smells divine, it looks amazing, so grab a fork.

But January is different. It is for examining the habits and routines that have led to the unsightly newish dough around one’s middle. It is for making plans and making better choices. January is for action, not reaction.

Not only my eating habits should be on the chopping block, but I should live my life in an examined way too.

Living an examined life isn’t a simple road. It is thinking about ourselves, our actions, and our reactions. It is pondering the “why’s” of our lives, wondering about how we can do things better, fixing and forgiving and not just running past difficulty.

In honesty, we are meant to live like this: we are thinking creatures made with strong minds. Growing up dissolves the sharpened sense of living and we ask less and less questions the more adult responsibilities get heaped upon our shoulders. When we pay rent and work 10 hours a day we don’t have time to examine our lives in art journals, in therapy sessions and in long discussions with the friends who know us the best.  We simply don’t have time and when we do, we’d rather fall asleep to “30 Rock” in the background. These are all reactions to the lives we choose to live.

I’m suggesting that we live lives that are full of action and examination rather than only reactions to the fatigue and stimuli that attack us each day. For me, at least, it is becoming less and less worth it to live life in reaction only. I want to live an examined life.

Why should we do this?

Because we will be alive.

{Living in any other way makes us more numb and eventually becomes our death.}

So let’s stop in the middles of moments. Why do I feel this? Why am I doing this? Why am I angry? What am I scared of? And then let’s make choices based on the real answers to these.

Let’s ask forgiveness if we need to. Let’s change our habits before we get too old and tired to do so. Let’s allow life to shape us and help us grow for the better. Let’s allow God to change our ways of thinking even if they are so close to the “who” of who we are. Let’s journal and think and ask questions. Let’s spill our hearts to friends and therapists and let’s not let the sun set on arguments.

And let us NOT “eat” our lives without thinking, but live with intention, with action and with a heart fully examined.

Do you live an “examined life?” What are things that help you do that?