Season's Greetings from the Tollett Family

2012 has had many changes in store for me and our family that I simply wouldn’t have been able to fathom at the end of 2011.  On New Years Day, Dad had a motorcycle accident that halted everything normal for a number of weeks, even months.  Huge praises that everything is great now, with restorations to mind, body and relationships along the way; but on the heels of that shaky time, life seemed to be about to implode for me, a great mess of stress and confusion as I struggled to balance family, my volunteer calling to missions, who I wanted to be, and life in general. 

At the end of May, my desperate prayers for what to do were answered in a most unexpected way, after I surrendered to myself and opened my heart to the possibility that it might be time for me to move in a different direction.  In a matter of weeks of that surrender, amidst the terror and grief of change, I was offered a full-time job at Shiloh Christian in a unique position of assistant band director and administrative assistant, a job that had not existed until I inquired about the possibility of it.  I miss missions still, and hope that the opportunity will come around for me to help again, but I am in love with my job, on some days even questioning the ethics of being paid for something that makes me so happy to do!  The physical adjustment has been draining with increased fatigue, but I have been able to balance that by taking better care of myself both physically and mentally.  And the family has been so good to jump in and help; I couldn’t be more blessed during this time.

Below is the Tollett Family 2012 Year at a Glance.  Read more about our year and my journey at bethtollett.blogspot.com.

Tollett Family 2012 Year at a Glance

Dec 31 I got the call that Dad had a motorcycle accident that morning.  After a little tense waiting and calling back and forth to see how bad it was, my New Years Eve plans¹ changed pretty rapidly as Wes and I headed to Little Rock to join Mom at the hospital.

January The first couple of weeks were spent getting Dad out of the hospital and into rehab. The March Malawi mission trip Wes and I had planned to go on got canceled, making my decision to not go in the wake of uncertainty with Dad’s accident an easy one.  Wes held down the fort at home in my absence, and once I was back, he started our previously decided plan of weekly “date night”² with the kids, a great time of one-on-one fatherly connecting we hope to pick back up on this year.

February Dad was able to finally come home, but tensions remained high as the recuperation process ran its course.  Even though my March trip was off, I was busier than ever with summer team planning and training.  We did manage to take a fun and much-needed fishing weekend getaway³ (I was sort of social, working in the same room with others counts, right?) with the most unlikely candidate in the family winning the ‘most fish caught’ prize.

March We went home to Nashville over Spring Break to spend some time with family.  Tyler went on his first mission trip to Indianapolis with his church music group, Motion, and had a great time singing, dancing and sharing the gospel with other kids.  (You can see a photo album of that journey on  Facebook, by liking Motion NWA and viewing the album INDY 2012.)

April Life was in full throttle, things were crazy busy, and I was desperately trying to get a handhold⁴ and figure out what I wanted to do with myself.

May School was wrapping up in a rush and we were looking forward to summer.  We went on our annual family camping trip which was a complete blast for all in the family except one. ⁵ I had a hard conversation with a friend, sent a completely random email, and unknowingly started on my journey to “something new”⁶.

June Summer was a blur of Branson vacation, kids camps and swimming lessons.  I was holding the secret of my new job until everything was final⁷.

July The girls and I spent a week at Nashville and I started my new job at the end of the month.  My first couple of days were spent cleaning the band hall (Hazmat-style, I swear you do not want to know the things I touched) and Hannah told my in-laws that mama was “at the school at her new job picking up trash”.  (When I got home, they cautiously asked me if I was a custodian.)

August School officially began mid-month.  We started a brand-new routine in our family as I became a full-time working mom of 4 kids.  Tyler was asked to be in the High School band a year early to fill a spot from someone who dropped.  (Yeah, I was proud, and yeah, he’s good at playing the trumpet).  Emily started her last year in elementary as a 5^th grader (We keep putting the book on her head but she keeps growing up anyway).  Lauren started 3^rd grade with a swag that only she can pull off (she has a brat-pack of friends, kind of like a preppier Breakfast Club).  And Hannah started full-time K4 (she loves it and refuses to miss school, even when Pappaw comes to visit and asks if she can play hooky).

September-December It’s been a complete blur, but in a good way.  Night band practice and Friday night football games for me and Tyler, lots of big upgrades and all-night work for Wes, early to bed for me, after-school football practice and games for Tyler, gymnastics for the girls, early to bed for me, competitive team gymnastics with multiple practices a week for Hannah (yep, we are keeping an eye on her, little miss precocious), early morning workout groups for Wes,  early to bed for me, basketball practice and games for both Tyler and Lauren, choir and Awana for the girls, early to bed for me, Motion and Home Groups on Sunday nights for Tyler, early mornings to school for all of us, early to bed for me…(I think I might have repeated myself somewhere in there…)

I’m not going to say it’s been all hugs and puppies…there have been lots of adjustments, hard work, long days, continued tears and introspection⁸…and it certainly didn’t go the way I had planned it to be at the start…but 2012 has truly been a most unexpected and blessed year⁹.

Love to all and a very Merry Christmas,

Wesley, Beth, Tyler, Emily, Lauren and Hannah Tollett

¹Not the Blog I was Expecting to Write

²Date Nights

³Chasing the Lure

⁴April Showers Bring May Flowers

⁵Unhappy Camper

⁶The Next Step

⁷A Job Made Just for Me

⁸Getting Rid of the Vermin

⁹Ready for 2012

Getting Rid of the Vermin

It all started with a mouse in the house.

(Kind of like a shoe on the wall…shouldn’t be there at all)

Following that mouse was a second, and a third and a fourth.

(He said mousetraps were disposable until we ran out…then they became reusable in a hurry)

And then a slightly larger fifth.

(Babies are expendable to take first venture out, but Mama finally got hungry)

It was downright ridiculous by the third morning.  My kids had squealed and “eww”ed and “cool”ed their way through snapped noses, crushed bodies, bits of blood and fur and the ever present horrid hanging tails.  The dog had even discovered the threat of peanut-butter-bread on a set trap. 

I had multiple times run from the kitchen, shuddered in great disgust and crept up on the pantry door and under the china cabinet with trembling hands and flashlight at the ready.  I had been teased and taunted by the rest, the fake white-rubber life-size mouse placed carefully around my things in the kitchen, just waiting for my sharp intake of breath and frozen-yet flight-ready body. 

(It’s not funny!…yes it is teehee!...went the round and round argument)

I was more than tired of the indoor rodent invasion.

It seems to be over, although I’m still cautiously checking.  I keep my feet curled up in the chair when I sit at the kitchen table.  I start at the wind making the blinds rattle near the china cabinet.  I curse the floor tiles being gray when the night shadows come.  I debated tossing the white rubber mouse into the trashcan with the rest of the baggie-sealed mouse corpses.

I love to blog, and it’s been awhile.  I’ve been busy.  With work.  With life. 

And with getting rid of the vermin.

2012 was going to be “the year”.  I had a whole list of things I was going to do.  Books to read, projects to start (and finish).  A banner year, I said.  And then everything seemed to fall apart right at the start and I wondered why I had bothered getting so pumped up about another wasted year.  But on reflection, it has been a great year, just not how I had it all planned back in January.

There have been lots of unexpected changes this year.  But the best part has been the toughest part.  Looking into the dark places, shining in with a flashlight, seeing all of the creepy crawly unspeakable things…and reaching in to gather them up one by one and dump them in the garbage heap.

It’s a process.  Its taken time, tears and talking.  I’m working on me, and it’s been a good thing.

Way past time to boot the mouse out of the house.

Some Things Change...but Some Don't

So I knew some things would surely have to change a bit once I started working.  

And they have.

These days, I have more of this that piles up in various places

I have more projects like this that just aren't going to get done anytime soon.

My plants are crying...or dying...or, let's just face it...gone.

But friends, there is one thing that isn't going away.

That's right, you are looking at a pot of homemade chicken and dumplings I whipped up in between school and evening band practice.  Real whole chicken, boiled and deboned.  Real chicken stock, not that canned nonsense (ok, I admit, I have some of that in the pantry for emergencies but it's not in this pot, baby).  Bisquick dumplings rolled out on the counter with a real rolling pin (bonus points to anyone who still owns one much less uses it anymore), cut one-by-one and dropped meticulously into the rolling boil of rich chicken goodness.  (Ok, I dumped in the last few pieces all in a clump because it was taking WAY too long).

I'm not bragging.  Well, maybe I am a little.  But just so we all feel on even ground, it's ok to be jealous of manna from heaven in a stewpot.  Or of me and my happy tummy tonight.

Some things change...but some things don't.

Going out to eat is awesome.  I love it.  Take out is awesome.  I love it too.  Junk food is the bomb.  I love it a little too much.

But nothing compares to home cooking.

There is nothing negative about it.

Well, except for this part.

But one of the happy changes of me working?  My job isn't doing dishes!

(Now I KNOW you are jealous)

More Than Just Music

In high school, one of the most stressing questions for me was what I was going to be when I grew up.  I only wish I had possessed the wisdom to quit taking the battery of tests that would try and define that question and simply responded with the healthy truth.

I am going to be me.

And then, instead of the pressure of trying to define a particular profession I might or might not really do, maybe I could have focused more on my strengths and giftings with the purpose of using those in whatever interests or jobs I found myself doing in life.

I trained to teach music.  But I am more than "just music."  I took a secretarial desk job that morphed into insurance adjuster.  But I am more than "just office worker."  I ended up being a mother four times over.  But I am more than "just mom."  I just got done with two years of volunteer Africa missions.  But I am more than "just Africa."

My school day is now centered around band, but I have another responsibility as well.  When I am not involved in band classes, I pack up my laptop and walk to the other side of campus where I have a quiet (Africa-themed) office.  And there, I suspect, I will fully learn just what "me" is capable of.

The other half of my job is Administrative Assistant to the President of Shiloh Christian School.  Not to be confused with personal secretary or filer girl which wouldn't be exciting to me at all, my job is like Special Ops...I get to do all of the interesting projects nobody else has time for.

Band is easy.  I walk in the room and I know what to do.  I can teach the instruments, I can sing the parts, I can tap the rhythms, I can march the drill and I can clean the petrified food out of the hidden corners of the band hall all while taking roll and telling someone to use more air and raising my eyebrows at the tuba player doing a funny little dance in the back of the room.

But the admin job will stretch me.  I will have to get good at things that aren't currently second nature.  I will have to learn skills I don't currently possess.  But I am not coming in unprepared.  I will be tapping into my natural love of organization, my adamant need for near-perfection excellence and the social leadership skills (yes, I said social and leadership in the same sentence) that I learned over my last two years in missions.

And I am excited.

This is me, the whole thing.  The teaching, the music, the organization, the administration and the joy of knowing I am using my gifts in two completely different areas I am capable in.  This is a job I could have never dreamed up for myself.  It's a job in which I have been placed for this moment of time.

I'm so glad I said yes to being "more than just". 

It All Comes Back Around

When I was in elementary school, I thought it was the coolest thing when my Dad starting teaching band, utilizing his college degree he had set aside for a number of years. A few years later I thought it was amazing when my Mom, armed with only a vocal education degree, went back to school and got her certification to teach band too.  I jumped right in and became a band geek myself in junior high and high school, and although I didn't particularly want to make a career of it, in the end it was really all I knew how to do.

So I got my degree in Instrumental Music Education compliments of Henderson State University in Arkadelphia, Arkansas.

After marriage and graduation, Wes and I moved to Northwest Arkansas.  Having just completed 4 1/2 years of intense schooling, I was sick of music so I applied for a secretarial-type job to bide the time until we started a family.  

I remember in my job interview I was asked what my degree was.  When I answered, I was told "Well, there aren't any musical instruments around here."

Although I still got the job, I couldn't help but cringe a little.

Meanwhile my parents were still team teaching band and choir at my high school and my brother, who had followed in my footsteps, graduated with his own band degree and was carving out a teaching career in Texas.

It has been roughly 14 years since that time, and although I have been involved in some sporadic music endeavors along the way, I have mostly been a stay-at-home mom; never have I taught officially.

Until now.  Where I am daily surrounded by musical instruments.

I am the Assistant Band Director at Shiloh Christian School and so proud to be using the gifts I have in the area of teaching and music.  I have no idea why now, but I am excited for the opportunity.  Although my parents have retired, my brother is now Head Director at his school in Texas.  Tyler, my oldest, is starting his second year of band and is quite talented if I do say so myself.  (He thinks he wants to be a chef when he grows up, but we shall see, won't we?)

It's funny how it all comes back around.  

A Job Made Just for Me

A simple conversation with someone in a hallway, within minutes on the heels of tears and prayer and the submission of my own will.

An awkward email to someone else composed hours later, me throwing myself out there, inquiring to the possibilities, if there even were any possibilities.

Me wondering what in the world I was thinking, sure it would come to nothing.

An immediate response that caused my knees to buckle.

A meeting. 

An opening I didn't even know existed that was now being silently held.

A conversation between two people, unknown to me, the converging of the earlier simple conversation and the awkward email set into motion without my knowledge or manipulation.

The creation and offer of a part time + part time = full time job, utilizing my best gifts to help two different people in a unique way, created just for me, just for now.

The wonder and awe that still hasn't gone away.

The Next Step

Malawi to...Shiloh??



So I thought I had my life all figured out.  I guess it's a common mistake to make, that arrogant settling into something like we're the boss of things.  Especially settling into a holy something.  Super especially settling into a holy something that you like and are good at (and bonus points that it involves widows and orphans halfway across the world).

But here's the deal:  I knew for a fact God had yanked me right out of my comfort zone three years ago and called me to Malawi--and I was energized.  Shortly after I got home, I went right back again--and I was on fire for the holy work.  After that, I threw myself into full-time volunteer Africa missons.  It seemed perfect for me.  I learned and grew and discovered good things about myself I never knew.  I helped people.  I helped the ministry.  But it was draining me, and I was struggling to find and maintain a healthy balance.  For I quickly grew to love the work and the attention and the satisfaction more than I loved anything else.

This past May, after a couple years of breakneck pace and some increasing instances of insight into the less flattering side of myself that literally brought me to my knees, I gave in.

Not gave up.  There's a difference.

I gave in to the possibility that maybe I was supposed to be done here, no matter how unfathomable it seemed (who decides to be done with a holy work they love and are good at??)  But I silently and with many tears agreed to open up a crack in the door of possibility.   Just like when this started, I surrendered to whatever God had for me.

Three years ago I knew it was Africa.

But the day I surrendered (literally within an hour), events were put into motion that undoubtedly and unequivacally confirmed within a matter of days my new calling.

God was calling me to Shiloh.

Rising from the Ashes

It's hard to write when you are struggling to simply breathe.  But sometimes life gets that way--the crazed striving, the struggle to go and do and do some more.  And in the midst of the whirlwind, when all the air and life and good is sucked out like a vacuum and you feel like there is nothing left to give and do--well, there is a choice to make.  Mine was a hard choice, agonizing and full of grief.  It was a surrender to myself, an acknowledgement that I am not made to be my own master.  It was a slumping of the shoulders, it was hot tears, it was a gaping hole in who I had identified myself to be as I opened myself to the possibility of allowing God to show me who He wanted me to be.

I just want to be me.

This was my heart's cry in the midst of the confusion.

Who am I and what am I supposed to do?

God answered, and with cautious joy I am trusting.


Isaiah 43:19 Behold, I am doing a new thing; now it springs forth, do you not perceive it?  I will make a way in the wilderness and rivers in the desert.

Unhappy Camper

We took our annual camping trip to Devil’s Den this past weekend.  The weather was fantastic, we didn’t forget anything important, and everyone in the family had a great time.

Well, everyone except one.

For Wes, there is always tons of work to do when camping.  He has to pack the truck.  He has to put up the tents.  He has to tie the knots.  He has to make the fire (except for last year).  He has to make sure the campsite is critter-and-fire-safe each night.  He has to “carry me, Daddy” for miles on hikes.  He has to act brave and hold the rock or the stick when someone sees a snake or a huge, gargantuan water turtle.  He has to pick the ticks off the rest of us.  (Yeah, gross, I know).  But even with all of that…the unhappy camper was not him.

Wes taking a break from the "Daddy duties"

The scary snapping turtle I'm glad nobody stepped on

For me, there is always a stress level even while camping.  For starters, I’m away from all of my tech which is both a blessing and a curse.  A forced and welcome respite, but hours in a row that I’m not working and getting further behind on stuff at home.  And then of course it is my job to make sure everything gets in the pile to get packed into the truck.  (One year I forgot a lighter or even a match.  Embarrassing moment having to go to the next campsite over and ask for a light…) While there, I do the cooking and the bed-making and the showering off of children and get to endure comments like “Why are we JUST having tacos for supper?  Why is that ALL we are having to eat?”  (Flour shells AND hard shells, warmed on the fire grate, with hot meat and cold grated cheese and sour cream and lettuce…ungrateful little wretch).  But even with all of that…the unhappy camper was not me.

The only picture with me in it (thanks, Tyler!)

Tyler has his own tent, but has to share with at least one of his sisters.  He brings his tech and movie player, but ends up having to fork his Kindle Fire over to someone else half the time and watch Aristocats instead of Star Wars.  Out in the wilds, he wants to act like a boy and be rough and mean but instead has to tame it down so the waterworks don’t start when one of the girls has all she can take.  He spends hours playing in the water, building rock bridges and dams.  He is my personal marshmallow toaster, making them all toasty golden brown on the outside and completely gooey and melted on the inside.  This year, he was the secondary photographer.   Even with the concessions, Tyler loves camping…so the unhappy camper was not him.

Tyler being the good big brother

Emily, crazy enough as it might seem, is perfectly at home in the wilderness.  She is the one that first spots the snakes and the turtle that looks just like the rocks all around him.  She was the finder of the ticks, carefully giving everyone the once-over and then calling for Wes to take care of the problem. She loves to hike, and usually walks ahead of everyone else, scouting the way.  She likes to sit in front of the fire and snuggle in the tent.   I can’t even pretend that the unhappy camper was her.

Emily perched on a tree

Lauren was the first to get her swimsuit on and bolt to the water. She was also the first one to be covered in mosquito bites and the only one sporting a bright white “X” on a background of deep red in between her shoulder blades.  She passed out both nights from sheer exhaustion and itchiness, in Tyler’s (undoubtedly stinky) “boy-tent”.  I didn’t allow her to take her skirts and cute clothes that she favors so much at home so she actually looked like that tomboy that she is.  Although the description sounds actually quite horrid to me, she had a wonderful time.  The unhappy camper was not her.

Lauren...being Lauren

This was Hannah’s second year to go camping.  She was the one on Daddy’s shoulders.  She was the one complaining about “only tacos”.  She was tired.  She was hungry.  She was itchy.  She freaked out if you even said the word “tick”.  (Luckily we found the one attached to her eyelid while she was still asleep…no, I am not kidding).  But she was out there in the water, and playing in the tent, and ready to go for a hike and content with her “just graham cracker and chocolate bar without the marshmallow” smore after her “just taco and nothing else”.  Even with all of the 4-year-old whining, the unhappy camper was not her.

Hannah is pleased with the water bottle

Hannah demands the offensive bottle be removed from her presence

Actually, the unhappy camper was Penny.

Penny pouting in the chair

Penny tethered at camp

This was the first year for Penny to go camping, since last year she was just a tiny pup.  The kids were so excited, and were so sure she would love it and have an amazing time just like they do.

Except not.

Penny hated the campsite.  She hated the tether.  She hated the hike.  She backpedaled when we took her down to the water.  She hated the ticks (I have to agree with her on that one), she hated the itching, she didn’t eat, she barely drank and when it was finally time to sleep she collapsed into her pillow bed and didn’t wiggle all night long.  The only things she seemed to like was this certain dog we passed on the trail…and I’m not sure if she really liked him or she hated him because she started barking (she NEVER barks) and whining and whimpering and lunging and acting really crazy until we pulled her away.  And then she pouted.

When we got home, we put her outside until we could give her a bath.  I looked out and saw her, face to the ground, scrubbing her face down the length of the yard in the grass.  Then she stopped, flipped her face of the other way, and went the other direction.  Then she flopped onto her back and scrubbed forever that way.

Apparently she was wiping off the camping stink.

It’s too bad, but I guess there is always one unhappy camper in every group.  At least this particular one can be left at Puppy Party next year.

April Showers bring (May) Flowers

It’s that time of the year again for me.  I don’t know what it is about “Spring” but I think it should be renamed “Sprint”. If I were using a mental pedometer, I know for a fact it would have combusted into a million pieces by now the way my mind is constantly spinning.  Every different aspect of life seems to be converging into a huge tangle, all dutifully notated on the calendar in a mash of dates and times and notes in a myriad of carefully designated colors.

Can anybody else relate?

And yet here’s the crazy thing…I really do enjoy everything I’m doing.  I sit around and try to think of what I could cut out, how I can take my mother’s advice of “You’re just going to have to quit doing so many things” and my mental exchange goes something like this:

I could quit being a mom.  Except not.  And I wouldn’t want to.

I could not have so many kids.  Except it’s a little too late for that.  So what, give one away in front of Wal-mart like a stray puppy?  How would I choose which one, anyway? Well maybe that wouldn't be so hard.  (Just kidding!) Not exactly a practical option at this point.

I could cut some of the kids activities.  Except what they do really isn’t unreasonable.  Maybe I should tell my 12-year old he can’t go to church activities every time they are offered just because he wants to so he can have more time to sit in his room and brood or watch TV or get hopelessly addicted to online gaming and have to go to Africa to break the habit one day? (Not that I would know anything about this by the way).  But…ah…I think not.

I could quit my volunteer mission work.  Maybe, perhaps only if God ordered me to for some completely silly reason that only He would understand and agree with.  But I would pout.  A lot.

I could quit staying up late to have any semblance of husband/wife and personal hobby time.  Which would be the emotional equivalent of, say, refusing to eat for the rest of my life.  It might yield some pleasant results in the short-term, but ultimately it would kill me.

I could never go to sleep.  An appealing option, and one that I have sort of tried.  But on a daily basis it doesn’t work much better than the quitting eating idea.

So I have come to the conclusion that the only option is to hang tight and continue to fight through the busy seasons.  The Aprils of life might bring showers (aka great deluges of precipitation that laugh in the face of a mere umbrella) but certainly the Mays (or July as it tends to be for me) will at least bring one day to watch movies and scrapbook while boycotting my email.

And one ultimate day, I will be able to un-scrunch my shoulders forever, wipe the computer-screen stare-frown from my brow, quit running from room to room in an effort to save 2 minutes, and hear the blessed words that I have done my job(s) well.

And I will laugh and sit surrounded in a field of shower-kissed, non-allergy inducing flowers.

Lost

No, not really the popular television series. Although I have to admit I enjoyed it very much (even though I didn't understand the ending at all). And I could probably find a lot of parallels between me and the show if I tried. Am I like Jack, trying to lead and feeling overwhelmed with the responsibility and the hassle of trying to make people fall in line? Am I like Kate, aloof and closed off and although wanting to build proper relationships, somehow missing the mark most of the time? Am I like John, setting off with his own agenda, flouting a confidence I don’t necessarily feel inside? Maybe I’m like Hurley, who just wants everyone to be safe and get along and would just prefer to get on with dinner. Or perhaps I’m like Sawyer? Uh, nah, can’t even really pull a parallel there although I’d love to have the killer lopsided grin. But it’s for sure I’m a little like all of them, with their past eating a hole in their hearts and affecting their every outlook for the future. I think we are all a little like that at times. A little lost.

So I loved it when I opened my blogger this morning and read “The Map and the Plan” on Stuff Christians Like by Jon Acuff. Because nothing is better than a map and a plan if you are lost, right? If you have never read Acuff’s blog, you really should. He can be funny. He can be silly. He can be borderline irreverent with his funniness and silliness. And every now and then, he can be right on the mark with something seriously profound.

Like today, when Acuff recounts something he wrote in his journal some time ago:

“God, I’m afraid of giving the Stuff Christians Like blog everything I have and getting my hopes and dreams tied up in it because at some point it will end. It will disappear and I’m afraid that when that happens I’ll be left with nothing.”

And the reply he felt back from God:

“Good, you’re right to fear that Stuff Christians Like will go away. Because that will happen. It will vanish and evaporate one day. That’s why I don’t want you to give your all to the site. I want you to give your all to me. I want all your hopes and all your dreams.

I don’t want you to give your all to the (fill in your own blank). I want you to give your all to me.

And there is the map, a simple scrawl by a child on a wrinkled sheet of paper. Some curvy dashed lines ending in a large X. There is the plan. Not a 10-step or a 5-step or even a 3-step. A one-step plan that is really quite simple in the understanding, even though we struggle in the doing.

Give your all to me.

I once was lost, but now am found…was blind but now I see –Amazing Grace

Chasing the Lure

Last weekend found us with an away-from-home-hang-out-with-extended-family escape opportunity.  I was not overly excited.  My idea of an ideal long holiday weekend involves mainly sleeping in, staying in my pajamas, scrapbooking in front of the TV, getting some work done on my computer and catching up on the constant to-do list; it does not involve packing up a family of 6, paying to board the dog, making nice with the relatives and trying to “make memories” in a remote location without internet or even reliable cell phone access.

Shame on me.

I did end up getting some extra sleep.  I did end up getting some offline work done.  I was sort of social (not a strong point for me obviously).  I even skim-reread through an entire book.  And most of all, we made plenty of good (painless) memories.

We all went out the first day trying to see who could catch the most fish, with the ultimate goal of eating them for supper.  I was doing pretty darn well with about 15 to my credit, until I got cold and hungry and went in for lunch.  The ones in charge of the fun filleting job stayed out.  And unbelievably, so did Emily, who had only caught a couple of fish up to that point.

She stayed.  And stayed.  And didn’t come back in until almost evening, when the men came trooping in victorious with an ice chest full of filet pieces from somewhere around 100 fish.  And incredibly, 28 of those were hers.

So, yeah.  We had about 30 people lined up with their plates and we had us a FISH FRY that night!

But then the next day, after many of the family went home, we took our kids back out to fish for fun.  It was a wonderful, sunny day.  And I took my camera.

The race to catch the most was still there, but it was kind of hard to keep up with it in the end.

Hannah got involved as the “fish releaser”.  The kids would reel the fish in, yell for Hannah, get the fish off the hook and pass it to her waiting little hands.  She would creep cautiously toward the edge of the water and with a flourish toss the fish back in with the giddy words “GO HOME!”

Since we were sharing rods, I only threw enough casts to make a token catch, just to say I did.

Emily caught another dozen, including the largest catch of the weekend.

Tyler leapfrogged around Emily in a vain attempt to catch the most by getting to the choicest spots first.

Lauren pouted at being the last one of the crew to snag her first fish, and then decided to turn her attitude around by playing “fishy kissy face”.

Aunt Lizzie finally caught her fair share, although I almost dissolved into too many giggles to capture the photo at the sight of her first-catch “minnow”.

Wes went from one child to the next, changing lures, retracting stubborn hooks, offering encouragement, and even making a few casts when time allowed.

It was a really good weekend.

Left to my own desires, I would have chased the wrong lure last weekend.  Not necessarily a bad one, but maybe just not the best one.  I still love a good weekend at home and always will.  But I’m really glad that for last weekend at least, we had a catch worth remembering.

Loving Like God

Love is patient and kind; love does not envy or boast; it is not arrogant or rude. It does not insist on its own way; it is not irritable or resentful; it does not rejoice at wrongdoing, but rejoices with the truth. Love bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things. 1 Corinthians 13:4-7 ESV

I have made the comment before that I don’t even really know what love is.  What I mean by that, is what we are taught by the world to believe love is based on the fleeting feelings, wind-swept romance, and heart-shaped cards is so empty and disappointing compared to what love is supposed to really be.

Love is patient and kind.

I say I love, but I am always saying “hurry up”.  I am always saying “I can’t believe you did that wrong again”.  I am always using unkind words to shame others into change.  My love is typically neither patient nor kind.

Love does not envy or boast.

I see “in love” couples, the kind that are so sickening because it is obvious they truly adore one another, and on the outside I scoff while on the inside I deeply covet.  I try to play up my own strengths so I seem more worthy of love.  My love can be both envious and boastful.

Love is not arrogant or rude.

I pull out the rude and arrogant card when I’m too insecure to admit I’m not always right, or don’t always have it all together, or that someone else has played more honorably than me.  My love is certainly capable of rude arrogance.

Love does not insist on its own way.

I may do things your way, but secretly I will be convinced that my way would have been better.  As far as it rests with me, my way is best.

Love is not irritable or resentful.

I am always irritated by something, usually the little no-see-um things that pile up in a swarm around my heart.  And while I may have forgotten the details or the moment that caused strife, the resentment coats around my insides like tar.

Love does not rejoice at wrongdoing, but rejoices with the truth.

I am guilty of wrongdoing every time I drink of the bitter water of the ideal of worldly love.  The truth is that God never intended that kind of love be the standard we set our lives to.

Love bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things.

I can bear a burden and endure a hardship, but asking me to do that while maintaining belief and hope is a different thing altogether.  My love does not look like a marathon, but a series of gasping, winded sprints that ends up heaving on the sidelines.

And yet, for all of that, there is still hope.

If we love one another, God remains in us and His love is perfected in us. This is how we know that we remain in Him and He in us: He has given assurance to us from His Spirit. And we have seen and we testify that the Father has sent His Son as the world’s Savior. Whoever confesses that Jesus is the Son of God—God remains in him and he in God. And we have come to know and to believe the love that God has for us. God is love, and the one who remains in love remains in God, and God remains in him. In this, love is perfected with us so that we may have confidence in the day of judgment, for we are as He is in this world. There is no fear in love; instead, perfect love drives out fear, because fear involves punishment. So the one who fears has not reached perfection in love. We love because He first loved us. 1 John 4:12-21 (Holman Christian)

I may fall short of the mark with my love for others, but I have a shining example to follow.  God loves me with a perfect love, and because God is in me, I can love others in the same manner.  There is no reason to fear, no cause to doubt, and no need to hold my love to the expectations of the world.

Love believes.  Love hopes.  Love endures.

I want to learn to love like God.

Date Nights

We’ve been having weekly Date Nights at our house the past month…but not the husband and wife kind (maybe that can be a goal for 2013??).  Wes and I talked about many things we wanted to change in 2012, and one of those things was increased one-on-one time between him and the kids.  So I went to our over-used yet accommodating Google calendar and booked Tuesday nights from January until May.  Tyler-night.  Emily-night.  Lauren-night.  Hannah-night. Skip-a-Tuesday-because-it’s-Valentine’s-day-and-that’s-my-night.  Tyler-night again.   Etc. 

We have been through one rotation so far, with three more sets to go before the end of May and summer starts, and it’s been a really good thing.  Tyler’s night set the stage.  (Of course, they don’t call his “date night”; it’s “hanging-out time”.  Obviously.)  Tyler chose to go out to eat with Dad and then come back home and lock the door to his room.  What they did in there, I really don’t know or want to know…but I think it had something to do with a war game on the PS3 and Star Wars Clone Wars on DVD and ultimately some sleep too at some point.

During the following weeks, Emily, Lauren and Hannah simply followed suit.  They picked their favorite place to eat, maybe ran an errand while they were out, and then came home and dragged Dad to their room for gaming/movies and bed.  Now the flip side of this little arrangement is I get the other girls in MY room for the night…but I don’t cook supper on Tuesdays, opting instead for do-your-own free-for-all, and having the evening to work or goof off or whatever I want to do without husbandly censure.  (It’s usually work, hence the censure, or lack of, on Tuesdays).

So we are all pretty much happy.  Except maybe Wes, bleary from staying up late and sleeping in strange beds every week.  But I suppose that’s a small price to pay for the adoration of three lovely ladies and the respect of one handsome young man who will one day grow up enveloped in the fullness of love and self-worth that is so necessary for healthy relationships down the road.

Yep, even when it’s not for me, I’m a fan of date night.

In His Time

What do people really get for all their hard work? I have seen the burden God has placed on us all.  Yet God has made everything beautiful for its own time. He has planted eternity in the human heart, but even so, people cannot see the whole scope of God’s work from beginning to end. Ecclesiastes 3:9-11 NLT

It is a well-known fact that I struggle with Time. Not having enough Time, not prioritizing my Time, spending enough quality Time, not wasting my Time, enjoying my Time and what will come in Time…just to name a few. I think about Time so much my ears will probably sprout hands and start circling my face.

So what do I really get for all of my hard work? What do you get? Salary? Appreciation? Satisfaction?  If I think long and hard enough about it, I fear I will err toward Solomon and declare everything to be completely meaningless. But yet.

God has made everything beautiful for its own time.

As long as I am trying to use my time in a way that is glorifying to Him (even folding laundry), it is beautiful. Yes, beautiful socks with stained bottoms and holes in the toes.   I cannot see the whole scope of God’s work from week to week much less in a lifetime (or beyond). I fold the clothes, I find the worn socks, I go to the store and replace them, I put brand-new clean socks on someone’s bed…and they feel loved. Taken care of. My job as a mother or wife has been filled for that day.

And my Time was made beautiful.

When I was a girl, I sang with my parents. My dad would arrange old-fashioned Southern Gospel songs to fit our three voices. We practiced for hours, and then traveled to small local country churches and sang for them. We had a pretty decent repertoire from my recollection, but the song that remains with me the most is the one called “In His Time”.

I remember it the best because I hated it the most.

It was hard to sing because I didn’t have the breath as a youngster to hold out the phrases the way my parents wanted me to. It was slow and boring and long, which made me yawn, and then I got in trouble for not trying. The soundtrack was, well…laughable. And I didn’t really get the point of the words anyway.

But now I do.

Who knows if there was anyone in one of those country churches who was touched by our ministry? Who knows if there is anyone that remembers in the furthest reaches of their memory a family with mother and daughter in hideously matching homemade dresses that came to sing? Who knows the impact of anything we do at any age in life makes?

Well, God does. And all things are made known in His time.

And even if I’m the only one to whom it matters, that’s ok too. Because God has used that song to help me focus my thoughts on Time. His Time. His beautiful Time just for me. So enjoy folding your socks if that is what it is time for you to do today. And while you are at it, I hope you enjoy strolling with me down memory lane and hearing my sweet little reverb voice and what it represents as much as I do.

In His Time - The Cross Family