steady and sure ... and this season called summer.

Ian gathered our last bunch off of the 'Forth' piece we've leased the past several years a few mornings ago. When I saw them come over the top ridge, I grabbed my camera and headed toward the hay shed. Perched on our fence that borders the thousands of acres to the east, I watched him push the pairs and a few bulls from behind. He was slow and quiet as they made their way toward home. Steady and sure.

Not much has been slow or quiet lately. And it definitely hasn't been steady or sure. It's been a rush to get to the end of a school year, the end of a lease, the end of a the first cutting of hay finally being stacked, the end of almost two decades at a school, and the end of spring. There have been harsh words, frustration, exhaustion, worn out tears, and even sleepless nights. Decisions have made and so have opinions. Steady and sure, we're on the edge of everything being new whether we're completely ready or not.

I'm not going to lie and say that we're big fans of 'new' around here. We like steak and potatoes. We opt for ranch dressing. We like to be defined by the traits of  steady, faithful, and true. We are dependable, known, and comfortable. Adventure is not what has defined us in the past, and as one season ends and another begins - change and adventure seem to be staring us right in the face.

 And you know what, it feels right.

So very, very right.

Everything about it seems to be trustworthy.

It's taking one step at a time toward something better than we could have ever imagined. And as each day passes, the end is now becoming the beginning - turning into something comfortable and refreshing.

It's becoming familiar - just like Whitey.

Honestly, we are surviving the transition better than expected - finally being brave enough to stop tiptoeing around the reality that we need to be more than we've ever been before.

And although we're not exactly sure what we're going to face, grace and mercy seem to be the best sort of buffer we could hope for as we transition from one spot to the next.

So for now, we're going to enjoy our time in the holding pen called summer. The season that will offer a chance to breathe, a chance to plan, and a chance to dream - a time to get ready for all things new that are just up over the next hill and around the next bend.

Yes, thank you Lord ... for a chance to grow and live without abandon through this season we call summer.

measuring spoons

I sifted through the drawer to find them. Everything was crowded and shoved in the small space that seemed to have turned into a catch-all for all things random and unusual. Rubber bands, chip clips, a small book of matches with only one match left, cookie cutters, a pen, and there along the right side toward the back were the measuring spoons.

Old and treasured describes them best in my mind. They are 4 pieces of goodness held together with a simple & small ring. They have held me together for years now in more ways than one. Baking soda, nutmeg, cinnamon, vanilla, cumin, salt, and even cream of tarter have been measured and stirred into life over and over again. These 4 spoons have seen the depths and have measured out just the right amounts of almost everything in my life.

I dangled them from my fingertips, watching them sway back and forth as I closed the drawer. Lost, but now found. In the dark for what seemed to be forever, but with the reach of a hand, were suddenly shimmering in the best of ways. Useful and needed even now.

I've  measured a lot of things in my life and a lot of things have measured me. I have grown to measure success by test scores, by results, by the number on the scale, and by the number of likes and comments. Here's the thing though ... those measurements mean nothing really. Absolutely nothing.

Those test scores didn't sit at my front table early before school with me and a few precious children who weren't afraid to ask for help. Those numbers and measurements don't know how hard I worked to get one single sentence out of student #23 all year long. Those things we feel pressured by, they tell us nothing except that we are pushing too hard for perfection.

Perfection can't be held in your hand. It can't be stirred in to add the right amount of anything to what you're mixing up in your mind. But perfection can ruin a really good thing. It can take all of your hard work and effort, all of the tears you've shed and the plans you've made, all of the hours that were spent on doing what you knew was right and good in every sort of way and create the biggest mess of a mixture you've ever seen.
It creates opportunities for you to take out those measuring spoons and dip into jealousy, bitterness, and even hatred. And before you know it, you're mixing together some of the worst traits buried deep inside of you into this beautiful concoction called your life. Everything good is suddenly tainted and you find yourself surrounded by a giant bowl of something you're not sure how to get yourself out of.

I just spent a really great year of my life figuring out how to teach 4th grade. I learned about decimals and percents and fractions. I memorized conversion tables and wrote some really great paragraphs. But one of the most profound things I learned was how hard it is to teach a grade where testing and scores define you whether you want them to or not, and how challenging it can be to work with people you've known for years and people you've just met when there is so much pressure to be perfect.

Teachers compare and measure each other in the best and the worst of ways. They are each others biggest and best cheerleaders, but they're also the hardest on each other too. I don't know how to fix that. I don't know how to stop measuring something that isn't supposed to be measured in the first place. But I do know that I'm done using measuring spoons or sticks on the people I live and breathe this profession with. Done.

I'm going to stick with measuring salt, and vanilla, and maybe even some chili powder once in a while. And I'm going going to let the people in my world grow and bloom in their own unique and amazing ways. Perfection is overrated. And measuring up to anything (especially the standards of others) isn't worth fighting for.

Teaspoon and tablespoon are two completely different words, and when you're first learning to measure, they can easily be confused when reading a recipe with abbreviations. My theory is - a little goes a long way. Let's pour tablespoons of kindness, mercy and grace all around, and pass out the teaspoons for everyone around us to get a little of the best. That's the stuff that's worth measuring.

do you see what I see?

It's a Wednesday in May.

I don't even think it matters which one.

May is hard.

There is a lot of pressure to get "stuff" done in the world of education ... with results that are nothing less than the best.

Feelings get mixed up and thrown around more easily than they should.

Emotions go from high to rock bottom in a matter of seconds.

Decisions get made and people react in good, great, amazing, horrible, and yes, even hurtful ways.

Boxes are delivered.

Writing is scored.

Irrigation starts.

Water troughs run dry way too early.

Agendas don't get signed.

Homework is forgotten.

Pages in books don't turn for days.

..........................................................

It's May.

And I'm looking at my own reflection wondering what exactly I'm looking at.

Wondering and hoping ... those are two words I have spent a lot of my life defined by.

I wonder if you see what I see.

I see eyes that still have a bit of sparkle, but look tired

I see freckles and straight teeth and eyebrows are more bushy than they probably should be.

I see pearls instead of diamonds.

I see beauty over time. SO much time.

I see a woman who is wants to be defined by her prayers not her worry.

I see someone who connects with people and kids easily.

I see a woman who chooses to be thankful and grateful because if she didn't, she'd be defined as crazy.

I see a mom who wishes she could do some things differently, but at the same time, a mom that is proud of what she's looking back at.

I see a wife who complains more than she compliments.

I see short hair that has dreamed of being long but is much better and destined to stay short.

I see an extrovert who is really more of an introvert than she realized she was as she gets older.

I see a mom, a wife, a daughter, a friend, and a teacher who just last week made a huge life change and is leaving the only place she's ever known in the world of teaching.

I see a bit of scared and a whole bunch of brave.

I see a woman who loves to write & dreams of chasing light.

I see someone who would love to spend her days with a pen, a journal, and her camera.

I see a girl who is now a lady that grew up in a home in the middle of town who has done her best to figure out how to live life on a ranch far away from town with grace & a whole lot of tears.

I see a woman who strives to live in contentment, but is often struggling with wishing for more.

I see a people-pleaser who is trying so hard to not be one.

I see worry and exhaustion that is hidden well to the general public.

I see someone who needs a change and has finally gained enough courage to do something about it.

I see me.

I see me ... and the story I'm living.

I see the 38 year old, tired, questioning, hopeful, wishful, brave, and reflective me.

.............................

Do you see what I see?

seasons that need Jesus.

The rock chucks have been tearing up our alfalfa. The one field we have left. The field that seems to be carrying us through this season of less {which really is turning out to be more}. 

This season  - where we're not sure where we're headed exactly, but we're willing to make our own trail down hillsides and up ravines in hopes of a beautiful future. 

This season - where we're hanging out on hillsides every chance we get - chasing light the best we know how.

This season  - where we're watching carefully and quietly for opportunities that might be missed by being too busy or too loud.

This season - where we're choosing to be surprised by the quiet gifts that are right in front of us. The gifts that have been there all along - just waiting to be noticed.

This season - where words aren't always necessary to see that we're growing like weeds & doing our best to radiate sunshine wherever we go.

Because sometimes seasons don't need words, they just need Jesus.

basketball & a verse in Luke.

I wasn't sure what we'd signed ourselves up for at the beginning of basketball season, but isn't that how we all feel at the beginning of everything new?!

They all had different reasons for being there. Different personalities. Different abilities. Different, yet the same on so many levels. Boys - wanting to be bigger and stronger and faster than they really are. Boys - hoping for stardom and easy shots without realizing how much effort and persistence it really takes to make the shot, get the rebound, make the great play.

The six of them taught me a lot about myself during those Saturday mornings as I watched from the bench. They played this piece of scripture the best they could and I learned it right along side them.

Then he told them what they could expect for themselves: “Anyone who intends to come with me has to let me lead. You’re not in the driver’s seat—I am. Don’t run from suffering; embrace it. Follow me and I’ll show you how. Self-help is no help at all. Self-sacrifice is the way, my way, to finding yourself, your true self. What good would it do to get everything you want and lose you, the real you?

Luke 9:23 MSG

1. Keep your head up.

Looking down is easy. It doesn't require much thought, it doesn't challenge you, and you only see a limited piece of where you are and not one extra inch of the people and places beyond yourself. Keep your head up and let your eyes lead the way. Let your eyes guide your feet to that place where greatness can happen - not because of you, but because you were willing to see the big picture and not just yourself.

2. When it's hard, don't run away.

Finding the easy way out is what a lot of people do these days. We run the other way and try to figure it all out on our own. We refuse to stick with it because we're afraid to fail. We don't want to look foolish, and we don't want to let anyone down - especially ourselves.
Hard builds character. Hard pushes you to places you've never been before. Hard turns you into a selfless person - where selfishness can't even think about growing. Facing hard head on - that's where you find out what you're made of and who you're really trusting to get you through.

3. Remember to jump & follow through.

We don't make every shot we shoot. Sometimes we forget to jump. We often to forget to follow through. And sometimes we're just off. The important piece is that we remember why we're here in the first place. Not just to win. Not just to hear the crowd cheer. Not to make every shot. We're here with our head up and our eyes wide - listening and learning - even when we're on the bench ... because if everything was easy, we'd have no reason to remember to jump or follow through. We'd forget where we came from and who brought us here and we'd never see anything but ourselves.

I've spent a lot of time thinking about this verse and this basketball season, and as I do, I can't help but whisper {thanks}. We all gained 3 habits during those months - keeping our heads up, running toward life, not away from it, and jumping in & following through. Habits that are crucial for playing basketball and for life if we are truly followers of God.

Habits are hard, but they make life easy. {ann voskamp}

Keep shooting Mason - jumping and following through with all you've got - God's got you!

without guilt.

I got dressed quickly. Somehow I had missed the sunrise. There wasn't time for a shower and touching up my blush and mascara was going to have to be good enough. There were soft sounds of calves and cows mooing and the sky was gray. The kind of gray that hangs and presses down. The kind of gray you're not expecting or wanting to wake up to on Easter morning. The blossoms on the trees were quiet and I went through the motions of the every-day just like I had yesterday and the day before that. I pulled my socks on. Socks with hearts. Socks that whisper 'you are loved more than you'll ever know.' And I walked outside by myself.

I waited in the car for my parents. My heart felt heavy and my eyes weren't quite as sparkly as usual. I could feel tears, but none came. We rode the 25 minutes to town quietly. There wasn't much to say. This life was not and is not what I thought it would be. Somehow we get these skewed ideas of what life should look like and when it doesn't, we're devastated inside. We say we trust, but do we? We write about faith and grace and love that comes easily, but having that kind of faith and love and grace on days like this one isn't easy at all.

It's Easter and I hadn't bought matching shirts for my boys. I hadn't bought any Easter candy. I hadn't filled one basket, and there were no rolls waiting to be warmed later in the day or a yummy dessert to drool over in my mind throughout the day. Somehow this was a broken version of beautiful.

A day of celebrating the grace and freedom we have in Christ was heavy, not necessarily happy throughout my soul. I drove into town dreading the questions and looks ... 'where is your family?'  ... 'where are those beautiful boys you love so very much?' ...'why are you here without them?' Questions people ask without saying a thing sometimes ... the guilt you feel because the devil wants you to. I practiced my smile in the mirror and rehearsed the words and answers I would give.

The music started and the voices of several of my beautiful and talented friends filled the room. The room where there was standing room only. The room I call home on most Sundays. The music filled the air and my eyes saw clearly. This day isn't about families looking perfect. This day isn't about new clothes or Easter baskets. This day is about freedom and forgiveness. It's about an empty tomb. It's about personal relationships between this amazing God who sent His son to this world to die for each and every one of us.
The stone was rolled away, and I was standing in a sanctuary with my eyes lifted up and my heart filled.

I had made the right choice. I didn't guilt my 3 'men' into fitting into something the world says they have to do or my mind thinks they should do ... must do. I didn't tell them how or what to believe. I gave them a choice, and today, they chose home. They chose that which they know well and I chose what I know, too.

I am a wife and mother that doesn't cover much up. There isn't anything to hide. I don't sugar-coat or paint pictures of things that don't exist. And today, on one of the most beautiful days of the year, I sat in church with messed up hair that hadn't been washed, touched up make-up, and a heart exploding with gratitude for the honesty that God has given me to share and to live. I was with my parents and that was the most perfect way to spend this Easter morning. They've raised me well ... and still are.

It's not my job, or calling, to save my husband or my children. I don't have to be their Savior. I'm not supposed to be. I can not guilt them into loving Jesus or wanting to come to church. I have to love them and show them Jesus the best I know how by my words, my actions, and my attitude. I have to be love not just to the world around me outside of my home, but to my home and then the world.

..............................

It's 3:30 in the afternoon. It's been a quiet day with a couple of hard conversations. No one has matching anything on and there aren't any eggs filled yet. There is a ham baking, and the potatoes are boiling. The eggs were eaten this morning while I was at church so we won't be having deviled eggs, and I didn't buy any candy while I shopped for rolls and strawberries. It's not a 'normal' Easter in any sort of way, but it's beautiful none the less.

I bought myself roses before I went home. A dozen. And I'm trusting that this gray and rainy day - the one where I bought roses for myself - that it will be one I look back on as the one where freedom was finally found and guilt vanished for good.

He is risen indeed.

the spring break when I went away and came back better.

Home was now in my rear view mirror. I had packed one bag of clothes, one tote of books, & my journal. I had a cap, a headband, my rain coat, a pair of flip-flops, and the Keds I've worn for nearly 15 years. The wheat was waving me on from the field to my left. I pushed the mirror upward, turned on the radio and my phone off, and pressed down on the gas pedal with just a bit more force than usual.

 The dishwasher was running and the last load of clothes was in the dryer. I had made the beds, folded socks, and made sure there was enough milk in the fridge for at least another day. I wasn't running away, or maybe I was. When was the last time I went somewhere by myself? No agenda, no timeline, and no reason not to go. I couldn't remember.

Ian had assured me early that morning that driving west for 4+ hours was the right thing to do. He kissed me goodbye, loaded the boys into the pickup, and left for Terell's branding. I stood in my house, with my bags at my feet and wondered if everyone longs for this. For moments when the people you love most are telling you to go. The moments when they know you need to be away. The days that lead up to them sensing you need space, and sand, and a hill to climb by yourself. In fact those amazingly wonderful people that love you so very well (even when you're not that lovable), those are the people who are gifts straight from God - who often seem to know you better than you know yourself.

They see your brokenness. They feel your exhaustion. They know that leaving won't make everything perfect again, but that it will give you the place to be still and rest.

Jennifer Dukes Lee wrote this: "In our culture of to-do lists and commitments, family obligations, and chasing our dreams, it can be hard to know how and when to “be still.” Where do we start? What does it look like to “be still,” and what can God do in our lives when we choose to listen to His quiet whispers in this loud world that can make us feel like we have to do it all?"

What I learned during my 4 days away is that there are times in life when you have to be (and need to be) away from something for awhile to truly appreciate it - even if it is only for just a few days. Those few days can be game changers. And for me, they were. The book I finished on the couch under a blanket with stitched sea shells this week affirmed that for me with this one simple sentence:

"Sometimes we have to leave home in order to find out what we left there, and why it matters so much." - Shauna Niequist, Bittersweet

And what I really feel after being away and reading this book is that space is probably one of the best things you can give yourself when you're tired and worn out. Space ... where your soul and stillness meet face to face with God introducing you to each other for the 87th time. That place where there is no laundry, the only dishes to do are your own, and no one cares if you sleep until 10:30 or not. That period of time when Jesus seems alive and real and present because you're taking the time to simply slow down, be quiet, and find yourself again.

"Stillness is the inner peace you experience when you brush up against the Kingdom of God, being built within you right now. It’s what happens when you remember that you are a child of light. It happens when you remember that you are a treasure, apart from the nonsense your inner critic tells you. Stillness is what happens when you let go of self-criticism and live unabashedly beloved. It happens when we take more time to count graces than catalog grudges. And it happens even in this crazy, chaotic world. Because true stillness happens apart from our circumstances." - J. Dukes Lee

Being still and getting away wasn't a choice I had planned out for weeks. It wasn't a vacation I was anticipating. It was a "pack your bags, make a few phone calls, and go because you need to go" kind of decision.

I'm home now.

I spent 4 days sleeping in, eating well, reading, walking, and watching mindless TV programs. The waves kept my mind from wandering. I couldn't hear much besides the crashing water against the sandy shore as I walked for miles, but what I did hear was God's whisper in the wind through the dune grass that this thing called stillness needs to be first and foremost daily, not just in the moments where it comes easy. I must set aside time to experience His quiet presence. This was not new news to me, but I think I was finally listening.

Not everyone has the gift of writing, or the gift of listening, or the gift of finding contentment in being alone, but to rediscover what gifts and talents you do have, that is the best thing you can give yourself. And I think you have to be willing to get away from the normal to see life for what it really is. I think you have to admit that you're not in a place or space that is healthy, and I think you need be faced with fact that you need time with Jesus.

I gave myself a gift this week. I said yes to something outside the box, and through that, everyone in my world gained something better. They gained a rested, peaceful, dreamer in this 5'8" frame whose eyes are seeing things differently for the first time in months.