What have I learned from sitting by a borrowed lake all weekend without my phone or computer?

I’ve learned that vacation (newly dubbed CARB-cation or I-don’t-care-cation) is best experienced from pajama pants and bathing suits.  I’ve learned that flip-flops or no flops at all are the preferable choice for my feet.

I’m learning that many adult hands and eyes make watching children light work; and that older kids are great help with my younger ones.

I’ve learned that

Friends can pick up where they left off a year ago,

Calories DO count on Maycation but that they are best left worried about until next week,

Mountain air and mountain water tastes better than anything at sea level,

and that the rest of the house can look like an American Girl bomb went off, but if the kitchen is clean it’s all good.

I’ve learned that 11 am isn’t too early for my nap.

My heart feels full, my shoulders are a little pink and I’ve stayed up way too late 3 nights in a row. But I wouldn’t rather be anywhere else.

I’ve gotten out of the habit of checking my phone because it’s sitting on a side table quietly telling me …No Service. I’m pretty sure I’m okay with that. And I think I might just leave it there until we drive home tomorrow.

And I learned that Maycation is fun spent anywhere, even at home, but the best place to be is in the middle of friends and family.

What did you do for your Maycation?

I forgot my head phones when I jogged in the canyon the other morning. But I think it was the best thing I ever could have done.

I climbed the hill in silence.

Passed the dog-walkers with only the thump-thumping of my Asics in the dirt.

Crunched the gravel with my thoughts to talk to me.

And I began to notice everything around me. It was all completely alive. I hike this canyon a couple times a week and the flowers buzzed with insects that I’d never heard before.

Some of the sounds even frightened me. Rustling in the bushes, the rattle of a rattlesnake {?} and my murmuring that I-swear-I’m-gonna-jog-earlier-in-the-morning next time. This is mountain lion country…

I recognized parts of the world that I pass by all the time but never see or hear.

It was a more difficult hike than normal and I’m sure it was because I didn’t have my playlist to distract me from the pain of clambering up the steepest trail. I felt my muscles and my chest expand with breathing. I was tired. The pain of climbing was more focused and acute and I could pinpoint my heartbeat in the tips of my fingers.

With no music to distract, I could feel every strain, every step. And none of it was easy.

I noticed the hard packed trail give way to sandy dirt, the gnats in the air caught up by a dust-devil, the track of a snake across the dust in front of me. I saw it all. Even the pain.

I wonder what would happen if I took my “headphones” out of my ears during my normal day.

If I put down my phone. If I turned off the music in the car. If I just sat and breathed and listened.

{I can’t tell you the last time I sat and quieted my soul with the purpose of listening.}

What if I were to put it all down and focus solely on the task at hand. Maybe the difficult times would even be more noticeable. But isn’t that what life is about? To be here and present all of the time, even in the pain.

Everything I use to distract myself numbs me to both JOY and to ACHE. Without the distractions everything suddenly becomes more able to be experienced.

I’m pretty sure I don’t want to live life numb. I want to climb hills aware of both the dangers and the beauties. I want to live awake.

I finished my dusty, sweaty jog and I found my car. I checked my phone and turned on the radio as I pulled out of the parking lot…

Didn’t I learn anything? It might have to be baby-steps for me.

What does it take for you to live life AWAKE?

A couple weeks ago we were praying for a little friend of ours, Cooper, who has been diagnosed with leukemia.  Out of the blue Hope said that she wanted to do something. At eight-years-old you are a little powerless. And let’s face it, at thirty-five you can be a little powerless too.

Especially over something as ugly as cancer.

Donating her hair won’t kill the disease. And it won’t even directly benefit our four-year-old friend, Cooper. But she wanted to do something that counted. Something charitable. Something altruistic.

And for that I am so proud of her.

I want to be like her. I want to do things that count in the Kingdom, selfless, unfettered things. I want to live inside of charity and get nothing in return for my actions.

That’s my ideal life, at least. And I feel so far from it.

So, here’s Hope.

{Oh, and a glimpse of me in foils.}

What inspires YOU to do things that “count?”

This is not one of my fear videos. I’m working on my first one but the thing I was going to do got, well, halted. And it was out of my control. I’m still working on it. So, I’m still tackling fear head on, but this particular uber-scary thing might have to wait a few weeks. I’ll keep you posted.

My four-year-old doesn’t ride in a stroller any longer. It’s been years, actually.

I sold my jogger at a yard sale last summer because it was getting dusty and, well, taking up room in the crazy garage.

So at Disneyland or the county zoo she walks. In the morning toaster waffles and orange juice fuel her so her energy is high. But as it nears lunch time, she wearies from running between the monkey cages and the antelope enclosure.

She wants to be carried.

Naomi is all long legs and arms and she’s grown four inches in the past year. I can’t hold her in my arms for long.

So I give her a landmark. “When we get to that sign just beyond the fence, you can ride on my back,” I tell her. I point and she squints in the sun to see it.

On the way there I hold her hand, sticky and dirty from a morning out. Her feet drag because she’s tired.

A whine. A “why.” Another whine.

Almost there. She’s walking slower and slower and I’m puling her now.

I know her, though. I know that even if she whines and asks me why, she can make it all the way to the landmark. Her legs will keep walking.

We reach the sign and I  hoist her up on my back. Her body relaxes into me and her feet swing. She rests her head on my shoulder and I can smell the top of her head if I look around. I’ve guided her as far as she can walk and then I carry her because that is my job. I’ll never leave her, especially if she can’t make it any farther.

We make it to the car, hot from the sun, and she unwraps her legs from my waist and tumbles off my back. “Thanks, Mom” she smiles at me.

And it really is my pleasure. I love having her that close.

I think it’s what God does with us. He guides us, holding our dirty world-worn hands until our legs can’t walk any farther.

He might give us a landmark, “It’s just up there. I’m not going to leave you. We can do this together.”

And then when our feet stumble and our legs give out, He hoists up on His back.

Without thought or exertion He carries us as far as we need to go. And then maybe a little bit farther because I’d like to think He loves having us that close.

Have you been carried lately?

Good-bye is never easy.

I usually try not to think about Good-bye until the last minute. I avoid it, push it aside, try not to think about the ride to the airport. I shut my ears to the zip of the suitcase, the clomping of it’s wheels down the stairs. I try not to think about lasts: last dinners, last coffees, last hugs.

Especially when there might be Never-Again attached to the Good-bye.

I seriously don’t always want to look on the bright side because sometimes the bright-side is lost in the shadow of the Never-Again.

But if I have learned anything in my life I know that Good-byes pave the path of whatever is next. And usually that involves a Hello.

{big sigh}

Third grade can’t happen without saying Good-bye to 2nd grade. Summer can’t happen without saying Good-bye to the school year. And life can’t move forward for my friends if they continue to inhabit the futon in my loft, never zip up their suitcases and never step on a plane for the next city.

Good-byes are a necessity.

A necessity that is difficult for me to stomach.

So I’m going to say Hello to summer beach days, even though that means leaving May where it is. I’ll say Hello to pool days, camp days and pajama days snuggling under the quilt in the air conditioning. And I’m going to say Hello to the possibility that Never-Again might just in fact be Someday-in-the-Future.

Do you have any Good-Byes and Hellos to make?

I’m firmly convinced that the easiest place to be is

in love with myself.

How normal is it to lapse into selfishness? When I’m left to my own I fall completely in love with my own

desires,

wishes,

wants,

and hurts.

Like Narcissus: wasting away because he loved himself so much. It’s easy to sit by the pool and gaze into the reflection of my own heart.

That’s all easy. Our hearts retreat naturally into You Hurt Me and You Don’t Love Me thoughts. I wonder why You Don’t Pay Attention and why You Don’t Have Enough Time.  I think about Your Silence and Your Sarcasm. I ponder it. I pick it apart with my fingers. I hold it in my hands.

And I fall in love with my own wounds.

Easy and natural.

It takes work to love beyond myself. It takes discipline and sometimes it hurts. It might even be scary to

stop

gazing

at

myself.

But when I begin to look at myself in the reflection of the One who made me then I fall less and less in love with me. In a miraculous way I care less about my own wounds. And I begin to fall in love with His.

What is easy for you to lapse into?

“But nobody SEES them make fun of me. No one hears.” My eight-year-old’s complaint about the boys at school who daily antagonize her is a familiar song in our after-school car.

Many days she comes home in tears.

We try to teach her ways to hold her own, to stay confident, to not let their words hurt. But they always do. She always cries.

“No one sees,” she sighs. Defeated. Alone in a classroom full of other kids.

No one sees and so no one truly believes. Her teacher does her best, as does the principal and the playground teachers. But really, it’s the in-the-hall, in-the-lunch-line, and at-the-top-of-the-slide times that matter. No one sees, or hears, the hurtful words that happen every day.

So she feels like no one cares.

But I do. “I believe you, sweetheart. And if I was there, I would pay attention enough to SEE the boys who say things.” I tell her and glance at her in the rear-view mirror. Her eyes look at the floor and her brows meet in a snarl above her nose.

Because it’s all about how much I pay attention. I have personal stock in my own child: I care about her more than any other adult on any campus. They are stretched. They care about all the children, but to pay close PERSONAL attention to each one at all times is impossible.

I understand that.

But…

We serve a God who sees.

He intimately sees my daughter’s distress when no other person does. He sees the hearts of the little boys who feel the need to provoke and hurt. He hears each of their thoughts and knows their fears.

And He also sees, when no one else does, the impoverished, the weary. He knows each child who is malnourished, each that are sick. He comes alongside with divine compassion to the dying and holds the hands of those who’ve been forgotten by the rest of us.

He sees the son who’s father has left. He sees the daughter who’s mother abuses. He holds their tears in His hand.

He sees behind the bitterness and pain and notices the heart of the woman who won’t let anyone love her, anyone close to her. He understands her.

He understands the man who feels like he’s failing to provide for his family. He knows his hurt and fear as if it was His own.

And the God Who Sees also pays close attention to me. To my day and to my hours.

He walks close by, seeing me when I am unseen.

Genesis 16:13

“You are the God who sees me,” for {Hagar} said “I have now seen the One who sees me.”

He sees and because of that we can see Him.

Do you feel seen?

Several months ago I asked five women to share their personal journeys with the idea of beauty. And a lot of you wrote your own blog posts. One of the women I asked to guest post is a good friend of mine, Alece. On twitter she goes by @gritandglory and blogs at gritandglory.com.

She has been staying with me this week.

If you haven’t read her story, get over to her blog and read it. You’ll be amazed by her strength, her grace and her transparency.

Her passion {and her job} is Thrive Africa. Thrive trains and equips indigenous leaders to become Godly influences in their communities. They provide discipleship training within local churches in South Africa. And, maybe the coolest part of what Thrive does is that they teach a faith-based abstinence and AIDS prevention curriculum in area middle schools.

How cool is that? Totally unheard of in the States: Christians entering the public school system to teach a faith-based sex education curriculum. I’m so proud of what Alece is doing.

I get it that there are LOTS of people doing LOTS of things in Africa and around the world. Building wells, halting sex trafficking, holding the hands of the fatherless. Thrive is one arm of what God is doing in His church.

And they are doing it well.

Their leaders are leading in their communities. Their discipleship students are serving in their local churches. And the middle schools Thrive affects have seen a drop in student pregnancy over the course of their involvement.

So what can we do?

Invest:

You can invest. Thrive Africa, like many non-profits, are vastly under-financed. They operate by the faithful financial support of churches and ordinary individuals like you and me. They also have options for strategic giving: you can sponsor a specific need like AIDS prevention notebooks for students or even sponsor an indigenous pastor to attend a 3 day training conference.

Buy:

Thrive Africa opened an online store several months ago. You can purchase coffee, mugs and super-cute hoodies and tees. All of the proceeds go to help fund Thrive’s ministry.

Go:

Thrive hosts team short-term missions trips, summer-long and year long internships onsite in South Africa. Sure, we can give or buy, but what better way to get directly involved in how God is working among His people in Africa than to go.

Come:

If you are in the LA or Orange County area, this Saturday night we will be hosting Live with Thrive, where you can meet Alece and learn more about Thrive. If you’d like to be a part, please RSVP here.

Have you gotten involved with a ministry or cause lately that you really believe in?

Last night we had to wade through the anger.

Bitterness.

Hurt.

Sarcasm.

To get to the prize.

When I was a little girl and we’d camp in the Sierras, we’d crunch the rough granite gravel of the banks of the Merced with our feet. Sand buckets and beach chairs weighed us down before the snow-water would wash the dust of the campsite off our ankles.

The water, burning and icy at the same time was such a contrast to the hot mountain sun.

If we’d camp in August, the river would be calm enough that we could wade across the river rocks in our flip-flops, nothing rushing higher than our shins. If we’d camp in May or June, after winter had begun to flow down the rock faces of the valley and into the riverbed, the water would be high and dangerous. Even my father couldn’t walk across.

But we tempted the river.

We walked a little further, and further, until the current tugged at our shoes. Arms out to balance. How far could I go before I had to turn around? How far before my feet would go numb from the cold water?

And then maybe I would find it.

Something, a rock. A glint of pyrite. A chuck of quartz. Anything that would catch the attention of my eight-year-old eye: the reason for the wading. Bending over I let the river run over my hand. Dividing the glass I picked it up.

The wading, the slow work of walking for something worth having, isn’t easy. It never is.

Last night we stayed up late, even after one of us stated very clearly that I have to go to bed at ten o’clock.

We stayed up late looking for the answer, for the connection, for the reason husband and wife kept missing each other for the past couple months even though we’ve been sleeping in the same bed.

Muddling through hurt and defensiveness, we waded through the anger and hard things before we found what we came for.

And when we did it was like seeing the quartz at the bottom of the river, clear through snow run-off.

Have you had to wade for something worth having lately?

I’ve written a lot about story lately. And I’ve been talking about it quite a lot too.

This week I’ve been featured over on Jeannett’s blog, Life Rearranged.  Her “About” page starts off like this:

“I never thought this would be my story.”

Oh, girl. How I can relate.

So she asked me to do a guest blog post about how my life turned out differently than I’d ever expected it to unfold. How my life, in essence, has been rearranged in ways beyond {or in many cases withIN my control}.

I never thought I’d be doing things like publicly speaking about all the dirty laundry in my life.

I never thought I’d be in conversation with so many of you because of some life altering choices I made several years ago.

I never thought I would have to rewrite this part of my life, as if an editor had returned an article to me chopped and castrated and said, “Fix it.” I’m living in the edit.

But the more I think about it, instead of just rearranged, God has rewritten me. He’s crafted my sentences and chapters to be excellent literature and not just airport rounder pulp.

Today, and for the next week or two I’m the featured blogger on Jeannett’s site. In conjunction with my post, she’s hosting a giveaway and is helping raise funds for a charity of my choice. I picked Dirty Girls Ministries {of course} because what Crystal is doing is so close to the heart that I share for young women.

Click over to read my post, participate in the giveaway, and help out DGM.

How has your life been rearranged or rewritten? Did things turn out like you’d thought?