Who's Laughing at YOU?

Don’t you love “lol” moments, when you really LAUGH OUT LOUD!?  I just had one of those today during a conversation with my three-year-old son.  Here it is:

Judah: Hey!  (while looking out the dining room patio doors)  I just saw a LIGHT black squirrel!

Me: Also known as GRAY, Judah!  (laughing)

Judah: (grinning ear to ear)  Yeah…I always make people laugh ON me!!

Me: Oh, really?  Why do they laugh?

Judah: Behuzz I BONK my head, like this! (does a “Three Stooges” self face punch)

Me: (MORE laughing) I wish that was the only reason we laugh “ON” you, kid!!

The reasons we’ve laughed “ON” Judah include (but are NOT limited to); discovering him giving himself a swirly in our toilet (Eau de Toilet Boy), finding him naked and slimed from head-to-toe in hand soap (Super SOAPer!), and walking into his dump truck dirt-landscape that used to be our living room (Extreme Dirty Jobs: Home Make-over Edition).

I’ll be the first to admit, in each of these situations, laughter wasn’t always the number one idea that sprang to mind.  Sometimes, I had other ideas that usually had me turning into Charlie Brown’s mother…but, I’m learning I’m going to laugh about it eventually, so why not NOW?  

We LOVE to laugh in this family.  Laughter is like slamming down a shot of hope and peace in the midst of a storm (not that I know anything about shots…just saying).  It warms you to the core and makes everything a bit easier to handle.  These are just a few of my favorite quotes about laughter,

Laughter is the shortest distance between two people.  ~Victor Borge

What soap is to the body, laughter is to the soul.  ~Yiddish Proverb

When people are laughing, they're generally not killing each other.  ~Alan Alda

Laughter and tears are both responses to frustration and exhaustion.  I myself prefer to laugh, since there is less cleaning up to do afterward.  ~Kurt Vonnegut

The most wasted of all days is one without laughter.  ~E.E. Cummings

Laughter is an instant vacation.  ~Milton Berle

I think one of the greatest challenges when it comes to laughter is growing in our ability to laugh ON (i.e., AT) ourselves.  Sometimes I plan our lives so carefully, it takes all the fun out of it…what’s wrong with a “flying by the seat of our pants” option every now and again?!  Lately, when I realize I’m in my Mrs. Control-freak mode, I stop and LAUGH…at ME! I’m such a dork sometimes!  

When I’m in full huffing-and-puffing, ready-to-blow-my-husband’s-argument-down mode, I let out all the hot air in my head and LAUGH at ME!
I ask my man, “I’m making a big deal out of nothing, right?”  (of course, he looks like a deer in headlights as this question sounds strangely like, “Does my butt look big?” to the male brain) and I realize I just need to take a CHILL pill now and then.  It’s OKAY to LAUGH at ourselves! Laughter is a God-given can of WD40 in our lives to make things run a bit smoother.  Let’s use it!   

Who’s laughing at YOU?  Hopefully, it’s YOU! So whether you catch your kid with his head in the toilet or catch yourself being a straight up dork…just LAUGH.  That could make the world (especially your children and spouse’s world) a better place to be!

Just for fun video: I LOVE To Laugh!

Action Girl Strikes Again!

Lately four words have been suspended in the air every time I stand at the crossroads between peace and worry, between fear and faith.

“Do you trust me?”

The situations change, the dilemmas take on different faces but the question remains, “Do you trust me?”

I don’t know…do I, Lord?

Because the answer to that will determine how I respond in this moment and, ultimately, it will determine the outcome of THIS situation...which could change my life forever.

But no pressure, right?!

Can I be real with you?  Trusting sometimes seems like INaction to a girl who loves action (which is why I truly am loving life with all my tiny people, just call me Action Girl!).  Trust seems like giving up but I’m realizing it’s really giving in to the Creator who sees the entire symphony while I stare in confusion at a single note on the music sheet.

You know that saying, “Some people have to learn the hard way?”  Hello, nice to meet you: I am that people.  Darn it all.   I seem to enjoy head-butting a brick wall repeatedly before I finally rub my head and say, “Well, maybe there’s a better way.”  Thankfully, I do eventually learn and try something different!

Just today I heard these four little words again when I hung up the phone after a conversation with my husband (and the loudest “la-la-la” song I could muster didn't do a thing to quiet that question in my soul).

Let me just say, I adore my man.  He’s a good, hard-working man and the best daddy I could have ever dreamed of to our four children.  I feel pretty dang lucky.  That being said...the man drives me crazy sometimes!  Especially when I feel I got marching orders for our life and he has a different idea.  Why can’t he ever just smile and say, “Yes, Dear.”?!  It’s not like I want to be in control…I just think sometimes my way is the HIGH way, as in the BEST way.  Like I said before: brick wall.

Both my husband, Bob, and I felt God put it on our hearts last year to get our home ready to sell.  I have no idea why since raising four children in a two bedroom home has been marvelous fun but, alas, I will sacrifice for the sake of the Kingdom if God has something better for us (wink, wink!).  

It was truly an exciting day last fall when (just a few days after I had decided to be completely content with where we are now) I felt God nudge me and say, “Get the house ready to sell next year.”  When I first heard this, I immediately wanted to know “the scoop”, “Sure, God: but then what?  Should we start looking for a new home?  Where are we going?  What will we be doing?  How will this all work?”  Here was the answer I got: “Do you trust me?”  I took a big breath and nodded, Yes, I do.  

Next, I sealed my lips (which should really be the 8th wonder of the world) and waited patiently for God to confirm this by putting it in Bob’s heart also (can I get a woo-woo from all the ladies out there who also think they hear from God first, ha ha!!).  Sure enough, a few weeks later, Bob (who had wanted to have the house paid off before we ever sold it, i.e. in the year 2050 when we would be transitioning to a nursing home) said the same thing out of the blue and I nearly tackled him to the ground in excitement (which brought NO complaints from him, of course).

Fast forward seven months to this spring as I envision our front yard; flowers blooming, green grass sprouting and a “For Sale” sign attracting just the perfect buyer for our well-loved home.  That would, of course, be according to “Tara’s Way or The Highway Plan” which was vetoed tonight by my sweetheart. His plans included finishing up a few home projects (which for a family short on time and cash and big on family demands made me feel like he was proposing we scale Mt. Everest, blindfolded.) and taking more time (remember, Action Girl here?!) to think and pray about it (boring, ha ha!).  Naturally, I did what any self-respecting Action Girl would do: I proposed my plan again and again…and again from different angles.  I try so hard to be tricky but tonight, I was busted by Bob, “If you insist, we’ll do it your way then.”  An image of a brick wall flashed in my mind and I sighed, “No, it’s okay, we’ll stick to your plan, that sounds wise.”  With that, I hung up and a tear escaped down my cheek.  Nothing was going according to MY plan and I felt helpless when suddenly, I heard four little words,

“Do you trust me?”

Do I trust Him to not only lead me but trust him to lead my husband in the direction we are supposed to go?  When I slipped a shiny band over my fiancée's finger six years ago and spoke the words of commitment until death that made him my Leader, my Best Friend and my Husband, I meant it.  But there are days that I try to carry a burden that is too heavy for my shoulders, days I try to lead and make him follow ME…days that I DON’T trust him which reminds me I’m not trusting the One that equipped him with the faith and fortitude to lead our family.

“Do you trust me?”

The question hung in the air as I stared at the silent cell phone in my hand.  

But I have to DO something, I have to MAKE something happen!  The protests of Action Girl were met with the same four-word-question and in my mind’s eye, I could see beautiful nail-scarred hands.  Who loves me more?  Who could possibly have a better plan for our life than the One that gave up his only Son so that we could have both life abundantly here on earth and in the life eternal that lays beyond this temporary home.

There was something a Girl of Action could do that would change things while I trusted God…

Something powerful…

Something amazing…

Something real…

I got down on my knees and prayed.

Yes, God, I trust You.

"Lead Me" Music Video

Sunday Morning Disaster

Rain + mud + worms + boys = Sunday Morning Disaster.

Relaxing is no longer an adjective that floats to the surface of my mind when I envision Sunday mornings.

Pre-children years included favorite music filling the house as we emptied our coffee cups and played footsie under the kitchen table.

Post-children years include the music of wailing as we squeeze our crew into uncomfortable church clothes intermingled with the sound of laughter as they streak through the house after their baths decked out in their “nuder-man” outfits (yes, that means naked!).  Meanwhile, the coffee maker sits collecting dust on the counter and the only thing being emptied at breakfast now are my cups of patience and joy as bowls of cereal topple off the table and lakes of milk form on my freshly cleaned hardwood floor.

All of this really gets me in the mood to go to church and be spiritual.  That’s why I’m relieved that real church isn’t a showcase for saints (oops, I missed that anointing for sainthood!) but rather a hospital for sinners.

After what happened this last Sunday, I was more than ready to raise my white hankie in surrender and admit that I sin with the best of them.  Glory hallelujah!

The children were lassoed and decked out in their outfits that included (for the boys) white long sleeved shirts and khakis (with strict instructions to not touch or even THINK about anything dirty), the mountain of Cheerios were swept up and the lake of milk was sopped up as my little soldiers were marched to the door to begin our "Exodus".  I typically begin the “Exodus” from our house about half an hour before we actually need to LEAVE for any given event as history has evidenced Murphy’s Law is a FACT with four children under age five.  

One baby loaded in the car seat and placed in the van, check.

One little girl buckled into her car seat with a handful of fruit snacks to keep her momentarily happy, check.

One three year old boy buckled into his seat with a book to read, check.

One four year old boy buckled into his seat with a book to read as well, check.

One Momma still wearing slippers…oh, snap…check.

“Okay, guys--Momma has to grab some shoes, I’ll be right back so just relax and STAY IN THE VAN, okay?”

They all nodded and I was foolishly deceived into thinking this is what things would look like when I reappeared.  I raced back outside…where I ran smack dab into my four year old son whose hand was submerged up to his elbow in a bucket of DIRT.

I did a double-take, what’s this?!  I immediately noticed His white polo shirt was now a lovely shade of brown and then he noticed a moment later that I had smoke coming out of my ears.

“Oh, Momma…" Gideon said, "I had to check to make sure the worms we caught yesterday are all alive.  Oh, wow--yup, they are.  Okay, I’ll get into the van now…oh, wait--I guess I have a little dirt on me…”

I would like to say I was very spiritual at that moment and reflected on the joys of boys and laughed about it all.  I would like to say that…but, I’ll shoot straight with ya’ll: I didn’t.  I did one of those First/Middle/Last-Name-of-Your-Child-Hollers that probably woke up the neighbors that were hoping to sleep in on a Sunday morning.  I have (quite infrequently) my saint moments, then, the rest of the time, I’m a sinner.

When Gideon and I climbed back into the van a few minutes later (with a clean shirt and dirt still under his fingernails), a little smile was starting to replace my crabby-Momma-face (thank God, that is such a bad look on me!).  When Gideon caught my eye in the mirror as he buckled back into his seat, I winked at him and his face lit up in a smile of his own, all was forgiven.  If God can forgive me for being a SPAZ about LITTLE things, for freaking out when I should take a moment to think before I speak, then how much MORE should I be quick to forgive my children who sometimes mess up in little ways.

I backed out of our driveway and headed towards the hospital for sinners…that was just the kind of place I needed to be on a Sunday morning like this.  I had some dirt of my own that needed to be cleaned up.

My (Muddy) Black Suede Boots

I set the last bag of groceries on the counter and turned around, it was then I noticed muddy footprints had followed me through the kitchen.

Oh, lovely.  I glanced down at my boots and the offending culprits were discovered.  My suede boots that used to be jet-black were now a muddy-chocolate color and I wasn’t too thrilled about the new look!  First of all, because it’s a fashion faux pas to wear brown with black, but second of all, because my previously crème colored kitchen rugs were now coated in dirt and leaves.

If only we had an attached garage, I thought, I wouldn’t have to endure this kind of persecution! I wouldn’t have to trek through the swamp of melted snow and mud next to our driveway when I’m unloading groceries from our van.

Now step with me out of my muddy boots and into our church’s sanctuary.  I’m standing in the back as I scan the room in search of a good seat…a padded seat.

Our church is temporarily meeting in a school gym while we build a new building as we got too big for our britches in the old building.  As such, chairs are set up each Sunday morning to transform a basketball court into the Court of God’s Presence.  All of these chairs are folding chairs, some are the standard hard metal ones but some are more like the pillows at the Hilton: soft and padded (but with no little mints underneath, last I checked).

Those were the ones I wanted.  Because, gosh darn it, I wanted to worship in comfort on a Sunday morning.

Since there were none left, I was debating between arm-wrestling little Mrs. Smith or my four-year-old son’s best friend for their padded seat when a question popped into my mind,

“Would you still worship me if you faced TRUE persecution?”

My first reaction was, “But Lord, sitting in a hard chair for two hours IS persecution!”  Yeah...that response went over like a lead balloon.  Ever get the feeling like God is rolling his eyes at you?

Okay, okay, sometimes I’m…lame.

This last week I’ve been devouring the book, "Radical", by David Platt.  Warning: do NOT read that book if you are comfortable in your religion and want to stay that way.  By the time you get through Chapter 1, you may feel like you’re hanging upside down from the Tilt-a-Whirl ride at the fair.

The cover of the book sums it up, “Tacking back your faith from the American Dream”, and the words inside the book have been exposing just that in my life: how materialistic and petty I’ve become in my walk with God.

Platt shares with a humble heart a very different kind of faith than what I’m used to in America.  A radical-kind-of-faith that he experienced during his numerous visits to parts of Asia, where the government forbids open worship of our Savior.

These Christ-followers don’t consider muddy boots and metal chairs persecution.  They sneak under the cover of darkness at night and slip into small rooms to worship God in the homes of fellow believers.  Once they are inside, they remove muddy boots that have trekked through murky woods and dark alleys as they risked their lives to disobey a law that defies God’s own command to “not forsake the gathering of believers” (Hebrews 10:25)

They quietly collect on the floor in a cramped room void of air conditioning in the season of stifling heat and during the winter months, they rub together hands that are chilled to the bone.

In this setting, a hard metal chair would be a luxury.

In this setting, persecution-TRUE persecution, means being captured by those opposed to Christianity and having your tongue cut out.

In this setting, at any moment, the doors could burst open and police could pour into the room with guns and clubs, grabbing whomever they desired and bringing them in to be tortured.

In this setting, persecution means false accusations and imprisonment.

Inn this setting, persecution means losing your life.

The only believers that are present for this church service are those that came to truly worship their Savior.  They aren’t present to socialize with friends or hear a thought-provoking message.  They aren’t there to sit in comfortable chairs in an air-conditioned room.  They aren’t attending to have a spectacular experience with a live worship band performing under a display of bright lights.

They have come to “The Underground Church” because they love Jesus.  It’s that simple.

When I remember these believers and their courage, my heart feels heavy, what has my personal definition of persecution become; a house too small for a family that’s growing big?  Having to eat at McDonalds instead of The Olive Garden on date-night? A metal chair instead of a padded chair at my church service? A detached garage and having to step through a mud puddle instead of an attached garage and clean boots?

Next time I scrub the mud off my boots and sit in a cold, metal chair, I’m going to take a moment to say a prayer for my fellow believers in Asia (and all around the world) that are risking their lives to serve the same God that I sometimes expect to serve ME.

I’m thanking God for muddy boots to remind me to keep things simple: love Jesus and worship him for who He truly is!