June, June, beautiful June...

What a month June is! In theory, I love June, but every year it swamps me with way too many things to do! No wonder it takes us Michiganders a while to feel like it's summer! We run around for a month while our state gets warm! I haven't had the time or the specific topic to blog about in two whole weeks!

This month we had a getaway. Well, we call them stolen moments around here. When you find yourself spending time with someone you love quite unexpectedly, it's a stolen moment.
Getaways with my husband are not something I've ever been good at doing for a couple reasons. First, I don't leave my children very well. I've never let Christian take me far away because I just feel like they are my God-given responsibility for at least 18 years, and I take that very seriously. It all sounds so noble but no worries. I have BIG plans for when Kyrsten hits the eighteen year mark. But, for now, most of our stolen moments are at places like Biggby.

We will be still so very young when all three are grown, and the first order of business is sky-diving. Christian and I made a promise to each other to jump out of plane together to celebrate the beginning of time for the two of us. Then, we will board a plane to Australia, a place I've dreamed of visiting since I was a little girl. He has kindly held off on visiting this particular location in all his years of jetting around the globe for work to wait for my turn. Isn't that sweet?
From there, well, we shall see, but let's just say our plans involve much less of a mailing address and lots and lots of grandbabies.

To celebrate our twenty years together, Frankfort, Michigan was the destination of choice, and let me tell you, it was PERFECT!!!! My husband, who, bless his heart, is not usually the planner in the family, got me to commit a whole weekend away and then whisked me off to locations north, and treated me like a princess for a whole weekend. We ate the yummiest food, and had a room with our very own white bathrobes and hot tub. We walked the beaches and shops, we played card games at roadside stop picnic tables with breathtaking views, and it was nothing short of idyllic.


I remembered something that is easy to forget after years and years of family life. Taking the time to look into the eyes of not just the father of my children, but the man I fell in love with, puts things back in order. It is so very easy to let day-to-day living crowd out the beauty that is right in front of us!

When Addie was a little, tiny three year old she had her first of three surgeries. This one was an emergency appendectomy and just about broke her momma's heart. She was in pain way too long due to the busyness of the surgeon and her appendix had just begun to rupture by the time I had to hand my precious girl into the arms of a masked surgical team. Not my best moment. She came through the surgery just fine and proceeded to get very spoiled by friends and family with about 75,453 stuffed animals. But, as we stayed in the hospital with our little punkin, I watched her sad little hurting face and just wished for a normal day. That's all. Just the kind where you do all the mundane chores and everyone is normal and healthy. Funny how you don't appreciate good health until you feel bad, right?

Similarly, I vowed to never again complain about doing laundry after all of my laundry challenges from the first 12 years or so of marriage. For the first year, while pregnant, I hauled all of my laundry from our upstairs apartment down to my little Mustang and over to my parents to spend the day doing laundry, or sometimes, the laundromat because it got done quicker. Then we moved to a little, tiny house where the dryer in the basement shocked the living daylights out of us anytime we touched any of its metal parts. Including the door handle! We used a wooden spoon to operate that one. Then we went to our next house where the basement felt to me like a dungeon and with three little ones I ran up and down those stairs sooo many times a day that I promised I would never, ever complain about laundry again if I could have it on the main floor. Here I am. And I don't complain.
I also never complain about emptying the dishwasher after years of hand-washing every single dish my precious family dirtied.

I listen to folks complain about Michigan's "high heat" and humidity on a 85 degree day when we have several family members enduring an 108 degree heat index in Mississippi. I'm not complaining!

One of our favorite things to do is show someone who has never seen Lake Michigan before our lake. Last week, Christian had a business associate in town who is moving here from Canada and needed a tour of the area with his lovely family. I had been telling his wife through email about our area, especially our lake, but I don't think I could have prepared them for the view. As we showed them neighborhoods, our travels took them around several of our lovely inland lakes. As we passed Muskegon Lake, they thought they were seeing our "Big Lake." We chuckled as we were about to round the bend and show them the real thing. We rounded a corner, and they got out of their car and their eyes grew huge as they took in our "ocean." Shoes and socks were quickly removed as they ran out to check out our sand and water. Forty-eight states later, there really is nothing like it.

So, crazy as June may be, have you noticed how stunningly gorgeous the leaves and flowers are? Have you noticed that your feet aren't freezing (and you don't even have fuzzy socks on)? Have you been enjoying the sparkle of the fireflies? Have you eaten a s'more around a campfire yet? Or been swimming, or just walked the beaches of our one-of-a-kind lake? We still have two months of absolute perfection left here in Michigan. I hope we are not complaining about the rain or the heat or the busyness of a day.

We have so very much to be grateful for.

Shift

My mind has been in a million different places this last week. This makes writing a bit challenging. I struggled with trying to wrap up all the craziness into one concept that could possibly make sense let alone interest anyone. So I decided to just write about the craziness.
I choose to think of it as shifting.

Shift: verb--to change the place, position, or direction of (MOVE)

I referred to one of my favorite websites to refresh my mind on the concept of tectonic plates and the shifting they do. If you refuse, as I do, to believe the silliness of evolution and ever need help explaining why, check out this site. Anyway, the idea is that our earth's surface is made up of a bunch of puzzle-like plates that move and shift due to the molten stuff underneath. This is what causes catastrophic events like volcanoes and earthquakes, but this is also how God provided for the earth to build itself back up. The movement of the plates builds up mountains, and the volcanic activity also builds up land.
So, I guess perspective would determine whether one would look at this shifting as good or bad.

Since my life has been upended shifted so very many times in the last few years, I find myself contemplative. Perhaps, it's due to the fact that Christian and I celebrate 20 years of marriage next week. Happy Anniversary to us!!!


Twenty years ago, I never could have visualized what life would look like now. And, though I look at it seeing the hand of God protecting and holding me through all of it, I also feel a bit shell-shocked (affected with combat fatigue) in some moments.

When the kids were all little, days were filled with schedules for school and soccer and swimming, and now my kids are just about grown and for two of them the topics are graduations, and moving away, and marriage. And while these are really good things, not one of them can be taken lightly and can really shake up a momma. I knew when we began homeschooling that I was setting myself up for some serious adjustments when the kids graduated. Spending most moments with them and the benefits of that far outweigh the drawbacks, but I am smack-dab in the middle of feeling the plates shifting underneath me.

Addie graduated last week--a year ahead of schedule which didn't quite allow me to recover from Justin's graduation last year and subsequent move to the nether regions of the dirty south. Her plans aren't one hundred percent clear yet, but I hardly want to look. I kinda want to close my eyes and have someone wake me up when it's over and she's settled and safe. I don't think I really mean that, but these changes are not my favorite part. And that is the understatement of the year.

This is why I hold on to what is constant and what I know while the rest of the world sways and shifts.


"I know Your heart is good. I know Your love is strong. I know Your plans for me are much better than my own. I will trust You. I will trust You, God. Even when I can't see the end." --I Will Trust You~Steven Curtis Chapman

Last week, I read several books. One of them was called Choosing to See: A Journey of Struggle and Hope by Mary Beth Chapman. After the unthinkably tragic death of her five year old daughter a few years ago, she writes from a place few of us can imagine. I couldn't put the book down. She wrote very transparently and let us into a view of her grief, but more importantly the choice to put her feet back on the road to hope and healing.
I would not even put my journey in the same category as hers, but the loss of two parents in horrible circumstances, loss of friendships and church families, and the beginning of empty-nesting has taken its toll.
This is why I write about the need for perspective and finding who I am and rejoicing at how God has kept me. It's also why I am trying to learn how to ride the shift. Either I get bashed by the waves and sputter and spit (and I've done my share of this lately!) or I figure out how to climb up on a board and ride it out!

For so long I've been a Martha. For years I laughingly claimed my life-verse was, "Martha, Martha. You are worried and upset about so many things," as spoken by Jesus, Himself.
I've been learning how it feels to be a Mary. There are many Marys in the Bible that inspire me. I've been reading about them, and I have much to learn.
Mary of Bethany was "Busy Martha's" sister, and she had a deep love for Jesus and loved spending time with Him. While her sister ran around making sure everyone had enough food, Mary sat at His feet and clung to every word. In an act of pure worship, she spent a year's wages worth of perfume to pour over His feet, so deep was her reverence and love.
Mary of Magdala was healed by Jesus and spent the rest of her life following Him and supporting His ministry every way she could. She was present at the cross throughout His suffering and death, and was one who witnessed Him after His resurrection. Though others doubted what she had seen, she KNEW and for her it was enough.
Mary, the mother of Jesus, went through some serious shifting and is quite the example of obedience no matter the cost. My favorite verse about her is Luke 2:19, "But Mary was keeping within herself all these things weighing and pondering them in her heart." I relate with that so much. She was the mother of God, but she was also just a woman trying to survive the shifting.

So, in looking at their examples, I have a lot to learn. But here's what I know. No matter how deep the hurt or unclear the path, my God is in control and He is holy. Though I cannot see the reasons or the plans, He loves me and that is enough. I have experienced His love in the deepest, darkest moments. No one can ever tell me that is not real. It is real, and it is enough.
I can choose to focus on the volcano or what it built up in me. I have lost, but I have been given much more than I could have dreamed for. I have been married for twenty years to a man so amazing I couldn't have ever known how to dream him up. I have had the privilege to know and love the three most amazing children God ever made. Every day they astound me with their wisdom and beauty. I have had way more days of laughter and joy than moments of pain. Truly my ashes were made into beauty, and that can only be called a miracle.
Our God is in control.

And that is more than enough for me.

What's in a name?

Names are a big deal to me.

name--a word or a combination of words by which a person, place, or thing, a body or class, or any object of thought is designated, called, or known.

One single word that identifies and shapes a person for their entire life. A name is a powerful thing! Through all time, names have been a marked part of cultural and spiritual significance.

We tend to either love our name or hate our name, but we associate deeply with those letters of the alphabet. It gives us place and position and importance. Most of us hate to have our name mispronounced or misspelled, and it's because it distorts our identity at some level.

Consider the boy whose last name was "Stanky." This boy allowed himself to be known for his body odor because he was already teased so much for his name, and figured why not live up to it? This boy had many emotional issues due to a rotten last name. True story.

I did some research on naming ceremonies in different cultures. The results are as varied as the names themselves, but I will share a couple.

Among the Khasi people of Africa, children are named within a day of their births. The ceremony begins when a relative of the child prepares a sacrifice by pouring rice meal into small dishes and filling a gourd with rice liquor. After an invocation, the relative pours the liquor into the rice meal while reciting a list of names. The name the child will have is the one the relative recites during the pouring of the drop of liquor that takes the longest to leave the bottle. Once the name is "discovered" in this way, they anoint the baby's feet with the meal-and-liquor paste, and the parents and relatives eat the paste. Then, after swinging it over the baby three times, the father leaves the group to bury the placenta.*

In Native American tribes, many names are given over the course of a lifetime. A name could describe hope for the baby's future, a teenager's tendencies, and an adult's characteristics. Chief Sitting Bull was known as a boy as "Jumping Badger" and also known as "Slow" before he was given the name we know so well.

So, how much does a name matter?

My name, Alison, was actually the name of my grandfather! Yes, you read that right, grandFather. My mother's dad was named Allison Eugene and known as Al. I am very proud to have been named after the man who undoubtedly spent much time praying for his granddaughter. My middle name will not be mentioned as I don't necessarily love to share that information. Suffice it to say that as much as I hate it, thankfully, it's not Eugene.
The name Alison means "truthful," and by golly, I can't tell a lie to save my life. Yes, I have attempted--I'm no saint, but most who know me well laugh hysterically when I try to pull wool over anyone's eyes.

Christian has a great story about his name--other than the obvious meaning which draws much attention every time he introduces himself. His dad was NOT in any way a Christian when they were expecting him, and was working construction building a nursing home shortly before he was born. His parents had to fill out a tax form that included their baby's name. The nursing home had the word "Christian" in the name so guess what the last Kirksey boy was called!? How very interesting that my husband's name was a part of the truth that spoke Christ-likeness into him long before he was able to fulfill it as beautifully as he now does!

Since our names were of such significance to us, we took very seriously our mission to name our own three well. What's interesting is that I know now that the names that we chose were laid on my heart and set into my spirit for my children by their Creator because He already knew them, and had planned all of their days. Each of their names is who they are. So what came first the child or the name? The proverbial chicken or the egg?
Some fun facts. All five of us have names that end in the same sound using different vowels. ChristiAN, AlisON, JustIN, AdelYN, and KyrstEN. We stopped with three kids because I ran out of vowels. :o) Well, I guess we could've had a little 'UN' baby, but that just wasn't working for me.
Justin's initials are JAK. Without meaning to, my three kids' names start with J, A, and K in birth order. Since I didn't even realize we had done that for several years after I had them, I think God did that to tie them all together with a bond that is just theirs.
Christian and Justin share a middle name, Addie's middle name is the same as two of her great-grandmothers and the name Kyrsten is the feminine form of the name Christian.

In our house we had a rule that our kids never teased anyone's names. Like all parents, we tried to think of every way that mean kids could twist our children's given names and hoped to prevent such problems, so I never wanted my own kids to be the perpetrators of those mean nicknames. So, no matter how tempting, no teasing of names. And we did pretty well with that until Addie's first boyfriend. But, that is an obvious exception to the rule. He really deserved it. :o)

~Nicknames stick to people, and the most ridiculous are the most adhesive.~ ~Thomas C. Haliburton

I tend to fall into a little bit of name stereotyping. Let's just say it like this. There are certain names my kids will never name their own children because certain names seem to have certain characteristics associated with them. I will not name those names, but you just start thinking about folks you know who have the same name and just see if you agree. It's not across the board and I have found that there is always someone I meet who redeems a name. Someone who changes my mind that all, ummm...let's say, Mortimers are arrogant. Just last week I met one humble Mortimer. Okay, that's not true. See how badly I lie?

I love the idea of changing a name as one grows. God did that. He changed Abram to Abraham and Sarai to Sarah. He also changed Jacob to Israel. These changes were at significant times in those folks' lives when God used a name-change to symbolize the binding of a new covenant with them.
I wonder what my name would be now if God gave me a new name based on my growth with Him and the new covenant He and I have made. I may have to ponder that. I'll let you know if He gives me one.

Oddly enough, all this thinking about names came from a sad, but true story. Someone I am very close to recently began working in a restaurant and noticed that one of the regular customers is a local pastor. Since it's a small town, he is well-known and very recognized. This man also tends to be very rude to the staff. He greets those he knows with a big hug and smile, and then turns and brushes off or speaks rudely to the "hired help." Come to find out, the after-church crowd on Sundays are the smallest tippers and also very demanding and impatient.
This makes me so very sad. Our collective name is Christian, but we have earned such a poor reputation. Just like a son who sullies his family's last name by the way he misbehaves, we have virtually ruined the reputation of our Namesake. We act selfish and entitled and like we have all of the answers, and choose not to reflect His character well. I know, that of course, this is not always the case. Christians do an awful lot of good in this world as well, but ask someone who has chosen not to believe as we do what they think of Christians. I would be surprised if the answer was favorable.

~A good name, like good will, is attained by many actions and may be lost by one.~Unknown

I have someone else very close to me who has become friends with someone who would not yet call himself a Christian. He watches the Christians around him closely and on one hand, he is drawn to a God Who is crazy about him, but on another turned off by those who criticize him in the name of Christianity.

This stings, doesn't it? It should. The "Us-and-Them" mentality has got to go. We are all guilty. We associate with those who we believe to be like-minded and think less of those who do things differently. We say things under the name of Jesus that He never would have said. In fact, the only people that Jesus ever came against were those who were too religious!
The rest of the people He just spent His time loving.
What matters more, fitting into a mold or living out what love looks like?

Because if we call ourselves Christians, our name means "Christ-like." We are supposed to be a reflection of love and graciousness, kindness and compassion, selflessness and joy. It doesn't necessarily mean we have to live in a mud hut in Africa or sell every possession. It just means that we reflect well. We shine brighter. We give more and judge less.
I want to live up to my name.



*Charles, Lucille Hoerr. "Drama in First-naming Ceremonies."

Journal of American Folklore 64 (1951)