Sunday, July 05, 2015

Dancing Children

Our church does a 24 hour prayer event at the end of January.  People can sign up for an hour time slot and then they spend that hour in the church praying and listening.  This accompanies a time of fasting as well.  The 24 hours ends with the monthly prayer meeting, also a place for people to share their experience.
My prayer time was on Sunday afternoon and when it came time for me to leave, Ellie asked if she could come along.  I know I should have immediately answered, "Yes!  Of course!" and looked at it as a time of teaching and been thankful that my 6-year old wanted to come with me and pray for an hour.
My first response was to try to talk her out of it, though.  I hesitated and repeatedly pointed out that I was committed to be at the church for ONE WHOLE HOUR in prayer, not playing, but my argument fell on deaf ears as she continued to beg to come, promising that she would be quiet and pray and would not ask me when it was going to be time to leave.
I relented and she hopped in the car.
When we arrived, we walked through each room of the church, praying for the events that happen in the room, the people who enter and leave it throughout the year, the people who lead in it.  I was surprised at the way she prayed out loud in some of the rooms, epecially those she frequents herself on a Sunday morning or during AWANA.  After we had made our way through, we ended in the prayer room where I put on some music I had brought along and got out my journal.
She wandered around the room while I read my Bible, prayed, listened, and journaled.  Occasionally, she would draw.  I could tell once she wanted to ask if we were finished, but she settled herself on a couch and listened to the music instead.
Kari Jobe's song, "How Majestic" began to play through the speaker and not long into it, I noticed Ellie had gotten off the couch and was beginning to gently sway around the room.  Her arms went up above her head and she said, "Join me, Mom."
No, thanks.  Isn't dancing outlawed in Baptist churches?  What if the people scheduled to pray after us showed up early and saw me? What if I tripped, sprained an ankle, and had to explain by saying, "Well, I was dancing in church...."
But I looked at her, singing and dancing before her Lord, her Abba Father, in a recital for her audience of One.  While my heart still held reservations that came from years of jaded church experiences and hurts and an overall self-conscious way of worshiping because someone may judge me, her experience was truly that of a child.  Caught up in music of praise, knowing she has a God who loves her, she gave her offering of worship with abandon.
How do I do that?
How do I throw off everything and worship freely?
I stood and joined her.  We held hands and circled, singing along with Kari Jobe.  We twirled pirouettes as tears wet my cheeks.  Oh, the joy!  If the Moores arrived early for their assigned hour, they may find us crazy, but who cared at that point?  Not me and certainly not Ellie.

My daughter taught me an important lesson that day.  She helped me remember who it is at the receiving end of my praise, who it is I sing to.  He just wants me to come to Him, worship Him. He lifts my heart and my head and my soul.

"All rise
All rise
In highest praise
Your name
Will reign through all eternity
Our hope
Our strength
Our victory
We bow down
At your feet
How majestic is Your name
How majestic is Your name
Wonderful, powerful
You're the Lord of all
How majestic is Your name."
Kari Jobe, "How Majestic"

"Praise the Lord!
Sing to the Lord a new song,
his praise in the assembly of the godly!
Let Israel be glad in his Maker;
let the children of Zion rejoice in their King!
Let them praise his name with dancing,
making melody to him with tambourine and lyre!
For the Lord takes pleasure in his people;
he adorns the humble with salvation.
Let the godly exult in glory;
let them sing for joy on their beds."
Psalm 149:1-5

Friday, January 23, 2015

Eleanor of Mine

There are dishes to be cleared off the table, boys playing (and at times arguing) in the Lego room, a husband trying to fix a pipe in the bathroom, and a puppy under everybody's feet.  The night is not going the way any of us anticipated.

I was upstairs in a bedroom, with a sobbing girl curled up in my lap.  Half an hour before that moment, she threw her glasses on the table and stomped away from dinner, crying that she didn't want to eat the food in front of her.  Minutes later, while the rest of us were in conversation about the day, she came back, calmly took her glasses back in her hands, and as I heard Tim yell, "Ellie, NO!" I also heard the crack and snap of the flexible, "unbreakable" frames. 

With that, she was scooped up by a frustrated (and rightfully so) father, placed in her bedroom, and told it was early to bed for her.  Because, really, what person who isn't overtired and exhausted, snaps her glasses? 

Now, let me just say that God somehow took over my mind and body right then and there because the following would be an unusual reaction for me.  Normally, I'm the one wound so tight that those snapped frames would have resulted in me being the one to scoop her up, drop her into bed, and seethe until morning while mumbling over the cost of new frames and what is her problem?

What happened this time is that I gathered a pair of her favorite pajamas from the pile of folded laundry in my room, brought up her toothbrush and toothpaste, and a hair brush.  I calmly went up to her room, helped her get ready for bed, and sat while brushing her hair.  As she sobbed, we went over why her decision was not good.  We talked about asking for and accepting forgiveness and the peace it could bring to her heart.  I should say, I talked about forgiveness, because she had so many walls up around her that she refused to believe her dad would ever forgive her or love her again after what she did. 

I took her out of bed, wrapped her up in my arms, and started to pray over her with intensity.  When you can feel the war within a child, it's heartbreaking.  When you know that you're the cause of some of it, it's...well, I can't even find an accurate word.  You feel like a failure of a mother, that's for sure. 

As I prayed over her, taking responsibility and confessing words she has heard me say about her, or praying against words that others have said to her in the past, asking that the Lord would remove those lies from her heart, I could feel her body start to physically relax and her crying ceased.  I am not proud of it, but I have had my part in breaking her, as I try to mold her free spirit into my firstborn-Type-A-personality desires of how a "good child" should be.  While I was aware of it at the time I was praying, it wasn't until after that I truly felt it hit me. 

I started to sing "This Little Light of Mine" since I had prayed God's love and light would shine through and break the dark places hiding in her small heart.  While singing, I was reminded that "Eleanor" means "light."  I realized I have not done very well at letting my little Eleanor/Light shine.  It was one of those breakthrough moments for me. 

My mom reminds me often, very often, of the power of words and what we speak...whether or not people are even around to hear us say them.  I'm guilty of negative words.  I want to change.  This night, as it comes to a close, has also been a reminder to me of the verse I chose to meditate on today, Romans 7:15 -

"For I do not understand my own actions.  For I do not do what I want, but I do the very thing I hate."

Whether it's Ellie breaking her glasses in a fit of calm anger, or me and what I speak, there is an importance in realizing life is a battle.  Light and dark.  So I will fight to let my lights shine - both God's light in me, and also to let Eleanor shine in the way God made her - footloose and fancy free, full of sparkle and song with an imagination running wild with creativity.


Saturday, September 20, 2014

I Hurt

When the phone rings at 5:00am on a Saturday morning, your foggy mind can comprehend enough to know that the news on the other line is probably not going to be good.  It wasn't.
Two weeks ago, my mom's side of the family gathered togteher to celebrate the wedding of my cousin, Zachary.  Today we will gather yet again - this time to celebrate the life, and mourn the passing, of another cousin, Jody.  She was young and she leaves behind 2 small daughters.  She was loud and full of laughter and spunk and stories and fun and every time I close my eyes, her beautiful round face is there with the deepest dimples I have ever seen and I just can't imagine never seeing that smile again.  

I feel like this week has beat me up.  First the news about Jody last Saturday, then this past week has also marked the 10 year anniversary of my miscarriage.  10 years.  A whole decade.  Tuesday was my marking of the day we went in for the ultrasound and found out there was no heartbeat.  Thursday was the day marking the D&C because, although the baby had alreay started breaking up and being absorbed back into my body, my body hadn't yet realized it wasn't pregnant and wasn't shedding anything.  We were leaving for a conference in California less than a week later and I didn't want to be in a hotel room on the other side of the country from my doctor not knowing what was normal and what wasn't.

I have had to experience some emotional rollercoaster moments this week.

Tim and I have had to try to answer questions from kids that, as they get older, want to know more in depth.  The question, "Why are you crying, Mom?" doesn't have a simple answer for a 6 year old and 9 year old.  It turns into, "Why are you sad?" and then "How did she die?" and then, "What do you mean by bad choice?" and finally into "What are drugs?"  We want to be honest with our kids in an age appropriate way.  There are too many lies and cover ups in our culture nowadays and we just want our kids to know truth about situations so they can trust The Truth in life.  We want them to know that good people can still make bad choices sometimes and we're all sinners on this earth.
Deaths seem to bring up many memories.  Jody's death makes me think of our grandpa (my mom's dad), who we lost to cancer just over 13 years ago.  My miscarriage makes me think of my grandma (my dad's mom), who died 10 years ago last month, just a couple weeks before my miscarriage.  I love holding on to the thought she was there to hold my baby in heaven.  If you're a theology student and you want to quote me something that would explain why that might not be true, please just hold your tongue this time and let me treasure my picture.  It's helped me through some rough moments.  I loved both my grandparents dearly and this year, I really really really miss them.

I took Caleb in for testing with a speech pathologist.  She had some great things to say about him - he's smart, she would never realize he is on the Autism Spectrum.  Then there is also the fact that she didn't even have to tally up the final score to tell me he would almost definitely qualify for their program because she could already point out at least 3 speech issues he has.  So we add in yet another  thing to his life.  I do feel good about this, don't get me wrong.  He already can't wait to start attending the once a week therapy (He thinks the pathologist is really nice and liked that there were fun things to do in the Do-A-Dot markers.  He LOVES those things!)  It's a good thing for him, but it is one more thing to think about.

I am planning an event on Tuesday night that I am 120% excited about and yet I feel completely unprepared for.  I am thankful for the friend planning it with me since one of us can think straight right now.  I am just very excited to get together with other women and pray.  Because good night, I think our communities need it like crazy.

Life happens every day.  I feel like I've made it through this week pretty well because I have four kids to take care of.  I can't curl up in a ball and shun my responsibilities because people would be hungry, a toddler would be walking around in a dirty diaper, and the place would be trashed.  I have to hold on to hope that the Lord holds me in His hand and I will admit: it is only by His strength that I have made it through this week.

Friends, I can tell you what I know.  I can tell you that I have hope for a future.  I can tell you that the Lord is my strength.  I know that He is my rock, my fortress, my deliverer.  I know that I can give Him my burdens and He will give me rest.

But can I tell you something else?

I am just plain worn this week.

I don't want Scripture quoted at me as much as I just want to crawl into His arms and take a little nap.   I just want to spend some time by the water, in His presence, in quiet.  I want to see wave after wave lap up and fill my soul with the knowledge that He loves me.  He sees my hurt.  He wipes my tears.  He whispers that He has it under control, even though I can't tell what's going on, but that it's going to be ok because, remember?  I do know the final outcome of all this chaos even if I don't know what the day holds.

Then I want to be with my family.  I want to laugh with friends.  I want to breathe in life.

But I hurt

Monday, August 25, 2014

Year #3

 Zeke wants to be a part of the action so he decorated his own paper.

 Caleb is using the Letter of the Week Preschool Curriculum this year. 
 I'll be flexible with his schedule depending on the day he seems to be having. 

 Ellie is in 1st grade!
We're going to continue working on reading readiness.

 Noah is in 4th grade.  
Sniff, sniff.

I made a curriculum change in the last few weeks.  My original plan was to go through "The Prairie Primer" and I was really excited about it since it uses The Little House on the Prairie series and I absolutely love those books.  However, I came across some reviews that said it is best for ages 3rd-6th grades so I decided to hold off and wait a couple more years.
Then I came across KONOS Character Curriculum and when I looked through it I just knew that it was what I wanted to use.  We'll still use Saxon for math and I'm using some Rod & Staff for Noah's reading comprehension and workbooks for Ellie's reading readiness until I can get my hands on The Reading Lesson book.
Choosing curriculum is never easy (in my opinion!)  A friend of mine suggested the book 101 Top Picks for Homeschool Curriculum and I also would recommend it.  I was able to assess my teaching style/goals/etc along with what kinds of personalities and learning styles each of my kids has and then put all that together to see what curriculum is suggested for our mash up.  One of the things I love about KONOS is that it's unit study based and Charlotte Mason style.  I like that it gives me some structure while at the same time letting me be flexible and adapting it to what works for our family.

Today was our first day.  I actually couldn't fall asleep last night because I had the-night-before-the-first-day-of-school-jitters, which felt silly because we're homeschoolers.  It's not like we had to leave the house and if the morning was turning out to be a disaster we could have just shelved it until tomorrow!  Nevertheless, anticipation of the new curriculum and getting back into a routine was keeping me awake and gave me a fitful night of sleep.  I also wanted to establish a morning wellness routine for myself so for the past month, I've been transitioning into early wake up times, exercise, and spending time in my Bible (aided by the online Bible study - check it out, it's great!  We're going through Galatians right now.) before everyone else in the house is awake.  This gives me a chance to prepare my heart for the day instead of being dragged out of bed by, "What's for breakfast?" or "Is it time to wake up?"

We still finished before lunch, which I had hoped would happen.  Everyone had great attitudes. Caleb actually did a little bit of what I planned for him and then he and Zeke played outside in the sandbox and on the trampoline, which made it easier for me to work with the older two, so that was nice.  Ellie told me she thought it was a great day of school.  After finishing up with Noah, I walked into the kitchen and as I left the room I could hear him say to himself, "I love homeschool."  Woo-hoo!

So Day 1 of Year 3 of Homeschooling has come to a close as they are in bed and I'm collapsed on the couch.  Our first character trait we're studying is Courage.  This week's verse is Psalm 18:2:

The Lord is my rock and my fortress and my deliverer,
    my God, my rock, in whom I take refuge,
    my shield, and the horn of my salvation, my stronghold.

Have a wonderful night!  I'm looking forward to a solid night of sleep!

Wednesday, July 16, 2014

Let's Talk About...A Book

Not just any book, though.

My friend, Joy McMillan, released a book last month and I am thankful to be able to read it and write a review on it.  It's called "XES: Why church girls tend to get it backwards...and how to get it right."

First of all, let me tell you a little story:
During the summer following my sophomore year of college I did my internship at a Christian radio station in Lansing called The Light.  The program director at the time was the fantastic Mike Couchman, whom you may have heard before either in Lansing or Grand Rapids or Las Vegas or now in St. Louis.  All summer I heard about another intern at the station who was home in South Africa visiting her family.  Sadly, I only had a few short weeks at the end of the summer with a bubbly, friendly, warm young woman named Joy.
There is a strong memory I have of the two of us sitting on the floor in one of the offices after everyone else had left for the day.  We were probably working on something volunteer related, and as we chatted, the conversation turned to relationships and somehow my ugly past came spilling out.  Parts of her own past spilled out as well, although not all of what she reveals in the book.
Sitting there that night with Joy and sharing my guilt and shame and frustration and the fear that I still held, she helped me see God's forgiveness and the opportunity for redemption in making beauty from ashes.  My heart was light as I left the station that night.

Fast forward many years later and imagine my excitement when I heard she was publishing a book.  I had a feeling she would be open and raw on the topic and I was not wrong!  In fact, when I first started reading, I found myself blushing at some parts and thinking, "Well, I'm not sure if I can recommend this to________."

Here's the thing, though.  Joy's real writing is what the women who read this book are going to need.  She says things like they are, not tip toe-ing around topics and even tackling issues like pornography and romance novels in the chapter "Fifty Shades of Counterfeit."

I needed "The Joy Thief" chapter and could relate 100% to chapters like "Honey, I Have A {Life.}"  I laughed throughout the book and cried at parts as well.  It got to a point where I had a hard time putting it down and was staying up late to keep reading.

Another great thing Joy did in the book was put "Reflection & Action" questions at the end of the chapters.  This lets you dive in deeper and make it personal, not just an opportunity to read and maybe retain some of it the next day.

I would recommend this book both to married women and to singles.  You can learn more about Joy and the book "XES" at her website  While you're there, check out the recipes section.  Her Easy Baked Oatmeal has been one of our family favorites over the past few years. 

Monday, May 19, 2014


Lately I've been bothered by the word "better."

It's all over magazines I see while waiting in line at the grocery store or walking around in the library:
Find a better career
Tips for a better sex life
Tricks for better hair...make
Exercises to help you get a better body

The Christian world is not exempt either:
5 more minutes to a better quiet time
Have a better marriage
Be a better wife
Worship better in church, the car, doing dishes in the kitchen

Be a better version of who God made you to be.

No wonder I spend my days beating myself up, stressing myself out, going over my mistakes from the day as I fall asleep.  I spend so much time trying to be better that I don't even know what I'm trying to be better than.  I don't even know who I am right now, in this moment, because my days are filled with trying to be more...better.  Because the literature all around me is telling me who I am right now is not good enough.

I'm calling this out as a lie.  I'm choosing to start focusing on growth instead of making myself better.  The words don't seem that entirely different until you take them by definition. 
(Definitions from Merriam-Webster Dictionary)

*Better - higher in quality; more skillful; more attractive, appealing, effective, useful, etc.
*Grow - to become more developed, mature, etc.

I see being better as a competition and so I'm constantly comparing myself to other women around me.  I see growth being a beautiful process that takes who I am now and over time adds to this woman. 

I want to grow in wisdom.
I want to grow in knowledge.
I want to grow in strength.
I want to grow in love. 

Maybe this only makes sense in my head.  I don't know if anyone will relate.  But I know that coming to this realization and the desire to stop pressuring myself to be better and instead appreciating who God made me to be and how I can grow in the depth of that person is like a weight off my shoulders. 

Wednesday, May 07, 2014


I drive slowly by the house, on a detour while visiting a friend in Grand Rapids today.

The exterior looks the same as it did over 10 years ago when Tim and I purchased it and he carried me over the threshold.  A first home of newlyweds married just nine months.  Nothing special makes the red brick ranch stand out but still it tugged at my heart today.

Who lives there now?  I found myself wondering.  Are there kids running down the hallway?  Do they snuggle on a couch in front of the fireplace on cold winter evenings?

And it surprises me that while a flood of memories come back to me when I look at the house, the current owners know none of them.

They don't know about the painting party our friends joined us for to spend a day laboring as worker bees to get the house ready to move into.

They never laughed while Pippin, our first baby - a chocolate lab puppy - got into all sorts of mischief and tried to convince us as he grew that he was still just a 75 pound lap dog.  Love me, love me, pet me, love me, he would pant as he jumped onto the couch and curled up between us.  

They don't know that there was an evening where candle light framed a marriage proposal between two of our dear friends, one who was living in our basement at the time.  A marriage journey began in that living room and thrives today, years and two children later.

They never heard the shriek of happiness and joyful tears that filled the bathroom when a pregnancy test came out positive.  

They are not aware that there are spaces on the floor where I have crumpled, sobbing and crying out to God to heal my heart after the loss of my grandmother and soon after the loss of our first pregnancy.

They never saw how I stilled myself on beds in the rooms and stared at walls willing the hurt and grief to lessen.

Then, quick months later, more shrieks - hesitant this time - at another positive test, then one more, just to be certain.

That wainscoting in the back room?  It was a labor of love by Tim and a friend to prepare the nursery for a baby boy's arrival.  On the small wall in that room, I painstakingly painted a Hawaiian themed mural that matched crib bedding.

And in the wee hours of August 16, 2005, they never know my eyes flew open as I felt my first contraction...then more...and after a few hours of walking that hallway and timing contractions, Tim and I walked out the side door for the last time as just a young married couple.

They weren't there to witness our arrival home a few days later as a family of three, to have hearts full of joy and anxiety as we tried to figure out what to do with this small bundle the nurses let us bring home from the hospital.

Those rooms and hallways have been crawled through, walls have been used as support for a toddler learning to stand and then walk along.

Fires have been enjoyed in that fireplace, nestled between built-in shelves that made a young bride quite happy to have a place for her books.  

The dining room saw many happy gatherings with friends, family, and held a table graced with food for bridal and baby showers.

And yet, we were just one owner for a short time in a house that is over 60 years old.  What other stories and memories does that house hold?

I think that about the one we live in now, too.  What laughter, tears, fights, joy, parties, decisions, and growth have these walls held?  It is easy to think of our home possessively.  It's "ours."  But it hasn't always been and it probably won't always be.

I am certainly thankful for them - both the house we occupy now and the journey being lived here, and the first house we bought and the memories made there in our very young and early marital years.

I wonder if they know that...