I've left the Blogspot building...

Yup.  I've moved.  You can now find me at my own site!

kirkseysoutside.wordpress.com.  

Come join me there!  It's way more fun.

XXXOOO

I was thinking about hugs today. 

Recently, I saw a friend for the first time in a while and I think I hugged her too many times in the course of that meeting. It happens sometimes when I am feeling uncomfortable. I say something stupid involving far too many words for the situation, or I hug because I don't know if I'm supposed to, or to fill a bit of space for which I can't find words. I think I'm also really bad at knowing how long said-hug should last. I tend to pull away while they're still hugging and then there's that whole awkward end-of-hug dance. Do you know the one? And then, obviously, I think about it way too much later and am analyzing it when most people have moved on to completely normal thought processes!

That's why those of us who are true introverts coping in a world FULL of people prefer our tendency to avoid those huggy, wordy, inevitably awkward moments.

Introvert, you ask? Yup. And proud of it. Give me a book and a quiet house and I'm the happiest girl. Give me a room full of people and I'm a mess on the inside dreading small talk like the plague. 

I wonder often if this is just me since birth or some product of my environment. 
I don't like to be a blamer of childhood so I won't venture too deeply into the vaults of my memory for this one, but I will say that ours was hardly an affectionate family. Imagine four people living in bubbles that never joined and that should sum it up. Our family never hugged, snuggled, wrestled, tickled, or used laps for comfort. I know my dad loved me, but I'm pretty sure he thought any affection with his daughters was somehow inappropriate so he just kept his distance. I did try to hold his hand occasionally, and I distinctly remember wanting to as a little girl, but somehow I sensed his discomfort and let go. With my mom, I just don't think she ever wanted to be near us. Other factors help prove that point.
Close to adulthood, some hugging happened, but mostly in public and rarely genuinely.

This led me to having my own issues with personal contact. 

Since I knew this about myself, I made a conscious choice to change when I had children. But strangely enough, it was the easiest thing in the world for me to shower them with affection. Granted, we've never been much of a kiss-on-the-lips kind of family (like my husbands family, God bless 'em), but I still hold my grown son's hand and snuggle my girls when they let me. 
To clarify, I tell my children that I kissed them all on the lips until they got old enough for their breath to stink, and I don't think that's the least bit unreasonable.

My Addie has this natural aversion to physical touch. Give her a hug and she will cringe. Well, if you do she will. She's just gotten used to us. She's not the girl who climbs into her daddy's arms for a snuggle despite his willingness. Granted their have been moments for that, but not on a typical day. She just prefers for no one to touch her. She hasn't always been this way. Mostly in the last few years. And she's one of my extroverts! I really have no doubt whatsoever that she will overcome this as soon as she has that first baby.

As an adult, I had to learn what affection should look like. Isn't that weird? Like, when we led youth group, some of those girls would practically sit in my lap and snuggle, and I probably sat with my eyes bugging out of my head trying to look like this felt normal. They sure thought it was! Funny how much those beautiful kids taught me. And through friendships. Beautiful ladies have sat with me during rough moments and held my hand or kissed my cheek. It helped me learn how God gave us each other to feel His touch.

So, next time I see you, please don't mention the awkwardness. I'm sure it will just make things weirder. Just hug me anyway and it'll be just fine! 

For now, this has left me a bit uncomfortable even in my own skin. I think I'll go find Christian. I need a hug.

Be slow in choosing a friend, slower in changing.-- Ben Franklin

(This is a repost of one of my very first blogs written two years, three hundred sixty-four days ago.  It tells exactly where my heart finds itself today.  I truly have the best friends)

My love cup is full. I just filled a weekend spending time with the best of friends. It is never enough time with them and that is precisely how I know that these friendships are the real deal.
It's left me thankful this morning for people who see me and know me and still love me.
"Happiness is time spent with a friend and looking foward to sharing time with them again."
- Lee Wilkinson

Of course, it also leaves me pensive...

I believe wholeheartedly that the word "friend" is bandied about just as carelessly as the word "love" and the word "awesome." I already covered "love" in a previous posting. "Awesome" is a word I use daily and shouldn't. When I stood at the Grand Canyon and marveled at creation at its finest, that was awesome. When my children first showed me their little faces and I was profoundly moved at what God had made--that was awesome. There are a few, but only a few other moments in my life that qualify the use of that word.

Now for friendship. Facebook puts it into perspective for me. In a world where we are now all "friends" with people from every single stage of our lives in a way that wasn't even possible just a few years ago, it stands to be evaluated. What is my standard for allowing people into my life?

"True happiness consists not in the multitude of friends, but in their worth and choice."
- Samuel Johnston


I've always told my kids that success in life is not measured by how many guests come to your birthday party. I could begin to talk about what I do think success is, but that is definitely a whole separate blog! Funny, though, to some adults now, success seems to be measured by the number of facebook friends!

"Little do men percieve what solitude is, and how far it extendeth. For a crowd is not company, and faces are but a gallery of pictures, and talk but a tinkling cymbal, where there is no love."
- Francis Bacon

So, let's be honest for a moment and talk about friends.

There are the ones that we let into the circle of trust. You know that circle. Inside it are very few people. They are the ones you call when you're sick and you need help. Or the ones who you don't clean the house for. These are the ones who come first when your dad dies and cry with you. They are the ones who tell you you're ridiculous for complaining about something stupid your husband says and remind you of who he is, not what he said. They love your children almost as much as you do and cry with you when those same children leave home.
These are rare and beautiful. They come along maybe once in a lifetime. They are to be cherished.

"I do not wish to treat friendships daintily, but with the roughest courage. When they are real, they are not glass threads or frost-work, but the solidest thing we know."
- Ralph Waldo Emerson

Then we have the friends that we thought were the first variety. Unfortunately, these friends look and sound like the first lovely friends, but when push comes to shove and you need a little love, well......
These are the friends who did let the boy come between you or saw a chance to use your shoulders to bump them up to something greater and took it.
These are the ones that we see down the aisle at Meijer and we quickly turn the other way and pray they didn't see us. And then we spend the rest of the grocery shopping experience peering and ducking and hoping we make a clean getaway.
You know what, on second thought let's not talk about those friends. Suffice it to say, we've all been there.

"Misfortune shows those who are not really friends."
- Aristotle

Next group, genuinely great people who we really, really like and when we see them we are excited to catch up and usually say, "You know, we really should get together!" but somehow both parties know that will probably never happen. We wish it would in a way, but in our crazy lives filled with obligations and rare free time, we are hopefully using those rare free moments to fill with our very favorite things.

I found a new group this year. I only found it as we are removed from our traditional setting where we make friends. We have been outside of any church body for almost a year. No, we are not rebelling. Just resting. We've been in ministry for so long and needed some time to see straight. We were brought to a place of perspective--on the outside looking in. Can I just tell you, the view is simply FASCINATING!!!!! But, I digress.
In this time where worship is not just a Sunday morning experience but a complete lifestyle, and as we have traveled the country with that mindset prevalent in our minds, we have found the most interesting thing.
True, deep friendships can be made in a moment when they are brought together because of a like Spirit. When God diverts your path in an obvious way to cross paths with someone unlikely and in about ten seconds you find out that they not only believe what you do, but are passionate about the same things and moving in the same purpose, your life changes. Church happens. And there is a promise of a future for this friendship but perhaps only after this life ends.

"The most beautiful thing we can experience is the mysterious, it is the true sourse of art, science, and friendship."
- Albert Einstein


Kinda makes me wanna update my friend list.

Still hangin' in there?

Are ya?  Hopefully, you haven't quit me because I haven't been too busy on my blogs.  Well, you may think I'm not busy, but the truth is I've been busier than ever getting ready for a very neat new thing coming soon!  So, don't give up on me!  It should be worth the wait.
In the meantime, maybe go back and check out some older posts you haven't seen before!
Thanks for all the love and support!  I'm super excited!

Finding One

Amidst the clamor, there stands One waiting for me.

In amongst all the things needing to be done and lights and noise and words and crowds of people and opinions, there stands One who knows my name and how many hairs I have on my head.

Very near the hearts of children needing to be seen and loved and heard, One stands poised and ready to pour out love.

In amongst theologies, loudest worship, taxable giving and prayer chains, there stands One...waiting.

Between two hearts longing to draw near to each other, surrounded by walls of regret, harsh words, and old hurts stands One Who has the power to join hearts and spirits and wipe away brokenness.

In the arms of this One lie bodies and hearts needing mending.
Broken hearts sit, often unaware,  in his hands.
Broken spirits break His heart.
Tears for each are kept in a bottle.

Love is waiting.

I can't find it for you. I cannot spell out your need. I can't even give the love of God to my own children.
My hands are tied. They have no power to give you or anyone else the knowledge of His love and fill the shape of the hole in your heart that longs to be filled.
I would if I could.

I would hear your hurts and open you up and pour the goodness I know in.
I can't.
But it's there.

I can't see the wind, but it's there.
Can I see the results of it?

Love is like that.
A powerful, moving force. Unseen except for the results.
It has the power to change the very landscape, the view, the perspective, the desires, the motives, the very soul hidden so deep no one knows--but One.

It's never about rules. It's never about accomplishments. It's about a need, a longing for SOMETHING, and the ability of One to be all.

"I’m looking for a place
that I can plant my faith
one thing I know for sure
I cannot create it
I cannot sustain it
It’s Your love that’s captured me...

You and You, alone
Keep bringing me back home.

You are my strength..."
(song by Michael Gungor)

Posted with Blogsy

A quick follow-up to Sticks and Stones

I wrestled with writing Sticks and Stones for several days before I posted it.  Actually, upon reflection, I have been wrestling for about two years with writing it;  knowing I would, but not sure how.
It was difficult for me to write for so many reasons.

For one thing, there is so much I want to say, but won't because it doesn't serve a  purpose and wouldn't reflect well.  So this makes it challenging to know exactly WHAT to say.
For another, I brace myself for backlash.  It's out there, but this time I didn't hear it.  This time, I received only love and graciousness, empathy and kindness.
I also heard through various avenues of communication that there were other women who could relate in their own ways.

The day I was deciding whether or not to hit the "publish" button, Christian and I drove through a blizzard into town to run an errand.  I had been praying about whether or not to post the blog.  I walked into a grocery store and from behind me, I hear my name.
It was the beautiful lady who I had referred to in my blog who related so well with my story.  There she was!!  What are the odds?  Christian looked at my surprised face and asked if I needed any more confirmation about whether or not I should send my words out into cyberspace.
Nope.  A huge, sweet hug from my new friend helped my day along and we set up a coffee date.
It was yesterday.  It was absolutely a precious time in which we related and shared and told each other our stories and prayed and wondered if there were any women out there that would like to meet and talk and relate and share their stories.
And begin to heal.

At the end of our meeting she told me she was going to give me a hug from a mother.  The kind of hug a real mother would give her little girl.  She whispered words of love in my ear and told me I am beautiful and worth loving.  It was quite a moment in my life.  One I'll never forget.

On that note, I want to say thank you to everyone who read and shared Sticks and Stones and especially those who took the time to comment or contact me.
If you live in my area and are interested in meeting to share and relate, please contact me by leaving a comment at the bottom of this blog.  We extend the invitation with open arms and hearts and are praying that our hearts will connect with yours.
In His love...

Sticks and Stones

comparison: the quality of being similar or equivalent

A complete stranger completely took the wind out of my sails last night.  One comment that he will never remember he made, that he would certainly not know sucker-punched the living daylights out of me, and I'm scrambling to regroup.

I've shared some of my past.  I've given you some snapshots into my family life growing up.
But for two huge reasons, I have kept and will continue to keep a lot out of the public's view.

One, my family had made quite a name for itself in our area, especially the church community.  It seems most people know me the minute they hear my maiden name.  The reports I hear from those folks are glowing.  They saw something that my sister and I did not.  During all of the controversy surrounding the death of my parents, there were a lot of ugly words going around about me and about my husband and we have chosen to not even play in that game.  Most folks just didn't know and didn't really care to see what was really happening.

Two, my past is not my present, nor is it my future so I try not to linger there.
But occasionally, it catches up with me.

So, when I do speak about it, it's because I'm needing to be real.  Not to slander.  Ever.
With that said, I will tell you a little about my mother.

I believe she was a deeply sad person.  I have tried through many avenues to figure out when that started for her.  I'm pretty sure she was a very little girl when she felt she needed to take on the world, fists raised.  Because I knew her as very angry.
Most people saw a smile.  I did not.

My mother never made an effort to show me love.  Not even when I was a tiny girl.  We never bonded as most mothers and daughters do.  Oddly, I never really saw her bond with anyone.  People thought they were close with her, but there was a huge disconnect between who she was when she stepped out the door and who she was at home.
She became a mastermind at maintaining her image.

It's next to impossible to maintain a relationship that has no foundation.  You can do "the thing" all day long, but in the end, when push comes to shove, relationships need depth and heart.  They simply do not exist when they are built on a smokescreen.

I'm going to be brutally honest right now.  Perhaps more transparent than I ever have let myself be in these public words.

I struggle daily to forgive my mother.

It makes me cry because I feel so flawed to even say that.

But, the heart of the issue is that I cannot understand a woman who could not love her little girl.  No matter what happened, no matter what damaged her, I was her little, tiny girl and I was worth loving.  There was no love shown in our home.  You may not believe that statement, but it was true. A roof was over our heads and there was food on the table, so I suppose to some degree you could call that love.
It took me years to allow myself to see the disparity between what I knew and what love looks like.

And, no matter how hard I've tried to reason out some excuses for that, I can't find them.  No one's past can excuse how my sister and I were raised. because I now know it's possible to change the patterns we knew.
With the help of God, I did.

So, every day I forgive her for pretending to love me.
But some days that truth hurts more than others.

This is such a hot button with most women because most women have mothers who hugged them and whispered love in their ears, wiped their tears, sat with them when they were sick, and reveled in their children's successes.  Very few women can relate to what it feels like to have a mother/daughter relationship as nonexistent as mine was, so very few can understand my story.  But it's so vitally important to realize that not all mothers behave the way we think they should.  Mothering is not always instinctive.
Some of us were left on our own when we needed our mothers most.

I reintroduced myself one day to someone I had barely known as a teenager when we saw each other at the store a couple years ago.  She asked (like so many do) about my parents.  SUCH a tricky question.  I have various answers depending on what I think folks want/need to hear.
I told her my mother had died and a tiny bit of the story behind it.  She proceeded to tell me her story.  As a woman with about six decades of experience under her belt, she finally told her own mother that she felt like their relationship would end up killing one of them if it continued to be as unhealthy as it was.
This woman is a beautiful mother of several children with a precious heart who had to separate from a toxic relationship with her mother.  And her skin has become thick because of that decision.
I am still recovering from the shock of finally having someone to relate with.

I decided as a barely eighteen year old mother that I would do everything the opposite of my mom.  I lavished love and praise on my husband (that was easy and natural to do).  I snuggled and kissed my babies and poured every single ounce of my heart and soul into them (which turned out to be the most natural thing in the world).  I have made a lot of mistakes, but my family can never deny how much I have loved them.

All through my childhood a phrase was spoken in our home that I learned never to repeat.  It was used in moment of anger and sometimes just to wound.  "You're just like you're mother."  Or father.  Whichever suited them and would hurt the most.  Every time I heard it, my own heart silently screamed, "NO!  I'm not!!  See me for me.  See me at all."
No two people are the same.  No one really likes to be compared.  We long to be recognized for our uniqueness--our very own individualtiy.

Last night when the man said I look exactly like my mom, I could have thrown up.  There is nothing I want less than that association after all these years of trying so hard to be the opposite.
The irony of it all was I had had the best day.  I was out with a woman who has become like a mother to me, my best friend and her mother and my daughter.  It was a mother/daughter girls' night and we were laughing and singing and having a ball.  And here he came with his words and knocked me flat.

My fourteen year old wise, wise daughter said to me, "Mom.  The enemy knew what a great day you had with your real mom, and he just tried to upset you."
She is amazing and so right.

We get going, pedaling uphill through life and sometimes each push on the pedal feels like torture.  We get some momentum and coast a ways and then hit a rock and, BOOM, flat tire.
But, I'm going to do my best to shake that flat tire off and get back on my bike.

The view from the good places is spectacular, and well worth the climb.  The enemy might like to  distract me from the amazing things God is doing in me, but I know the sound of his mean, ugly voice and I quit listening to it a loong time ago.

How?  It's a choice.  To keep the truth about how loved I am always in the front of my mind.  To ignore the comparisons I have always heard and find my identity in who I've learned I am outside of any other person.  To think about others that are hurting before myself and be willing to be used--even it's just telling my story so maybe someone else can relate and not feel so alone.

To remember to rush into love with total abandon no matter the risk.
Loving, for real is worth it every time.

Expectation

Over the last few years, I have had a slow-growing epiphany of sorts.  As I observe folks around me and watch relationships of all varieties either flourish or struggle, there is one key word that keeps rearing its occasionally ugly head.

Hence the title...

Rather than point it out in other folks' relationships (though it might be entertaining), I will make it personal.

It has dawned on me that every time someone disappoints me, it's because I put an EXPECTATION on them. Fair or unfair. 

Maybe they promised something that led me to expect a result. 

Maybe I just wanted something and figured they were the ones to provide it.

Like this.

Say I have a headache. I say, out loud, "Gosh! My head hurts!" My hope is that my husband hears me and thinks to himself, "Oh, my sweet wife is in pain! I must do something to help her!" And then he runs as fast as he can in his super-hero cape to rub my neck, and make me sit down somewhere with my feet up to rest until I feel better.

Is it gonna happen? Well......maybe. But really, maybe not.

The problem comes in when he is too distracted by something silly like say, his JOB, to hear my need and he doesn't come running. Then, I may feel sorry for myself thinking, "Gee, if he was in pain, I would help HIM. He sure isn't very attentive to my needs. Poor me."

How many times has someone disappointed me? How many times did it have to do with an expectation I had in my mind that they didn't even know?

My husband, bless his heart, just does things differently than I do. He brings me coffee just the way I like it. He helps with the dinner dishes because I cooked. He runs me a lovely bath when I'm sore and tired.

But, there are times I expect him to know things that I'm thinking or expecting or DO things the way I would do them, and it's really not fair. He is, after all, not me.

Like this. 

Once upon a time, the Kirksey family was somewhere in the US of A in an RV in a campground in the mountains, and I might have been dying from food poisoning. Well, it felt like dying. And the kids might have been afraid I was dying. I was in PAIN!!  We drove in a rental car for about 90 excruciating minutes back from the restaurant where Queen Stomach (as she likes to be called) began her tirade to our little portable home so I could lie down, all the way I'm moaning and groaning and scaring my family.

Darn that delicious chicken piccata!!

We arrive at our home on wheels and I literally CRAWL up the steps into the RV to collapse on the couch. The kids are nearby and the girls are in tears and they are starting to get angry with their dad. He was not nearby. He was in the back of the motor home blowing up an air mattress for me to lie down on. He wasn't holding my hand or rubbing my back or doing the things girls like when they're sick (or dying). The kids held the bag for me as I vomited profusely and my son, bless his heart) took the bag out to the garbage (where he threw up). 

All the while daddy is getting the bed ready.

A fight ensued. The kids couldn't, for the life of them, understand why he wouldn't fix me. He insisted he was doing exactly what I needed him to do because I would want my bed.

After 20-some years with this man, I didn't really expect him to wipe my feverish brow. And honestly, I knew my girls would. He would find ways to serve me that seemed logical to him and then get the job done.

By the way, I survived, barely, but I will never visit that particular restaurant again as long as I live.

I'm thinking that most times someone hurts me it's because I expected them to feel like I would, react like I would, do what I would do, say what I would say, or read my mind about what I want and then act on it.

Not quite fair, is it?

When I was a kid my sister and I would frequently say to each other, "Myob!" It meant mind your own business.

It's kind of a neat idea.

Because maybe if I did me and you did you the very best that we could and quit looking around at how everyone fails us, the world might be a little more productive, and I might be a little nicer to be around. 

How about you?

Posted with Blogsy

Virtual Reality

I can't hear myself think.

Sometimes, there are just so many exuberant voices in the room that my introverted side feels like I'm in a wicked rainstorm of noise with wind and buckets of relentless, bullet-sized raindrops.  I want to go find my happy, quiet place and escape.

I refuse to eat at Brann's ever again.  I just can't do it.  Talk about your sensory overload.  At least five TV's within view, music playing from at least two sources.  Add in all the talking and I can't even hear my husband from across the table!
Gosh.  Some days I hear myself say things like this and I sound just like my dad.  Once upon a time I thought he was just being a cranky old guy.  Funny how perspective changes as you get older.  :o)

I crave quiet.
When alone, I drive with no music on.
Ever since I was little and the craziness inside was too much to bear, when I find a moment I sit outside, day or night, and listen to the woods breathe and the animals chatter.

And then I find this other side of me that has been cultivated.  A side I'm not too fond of.  And no less than ten times this week, I have been reminded of a strange, sad generational epidemic.

This need we have for noise.  Be it mental busyness or occupation of our hands at all times, we have conditioned ourselves to be busy in every waking moment.
They aren't necessarily bad things, these rectangles that play our music, show us all things entertaining, and move our thumbs at light speed.
But, they have become so ever-present that we can hardly set them down.
And I am so guilty.

When I work on my blogs, I'll be sitting on my couch with my iPad, my iPhone, using my Mac Mini on  my flat-screen.  Four rectangles used to upload and accomplish.  When I lay down late at night to relax, I check the reality show of my friends on social media, and I may build a town hall on my pretend ranch, and then I'll read a book that has no real pages.

VIRTUALLY, THIS IS REALITY.

It doesn't have to be a problem until we can't make it stop.  Once upon a time, our family had what we called, "No Rectangle Sundays."
We were just together.  Honestly, now, I'm not sure we could do it for an entire day.  Not without having other events to occupy us.
I despise that.

Here's why.
Recently I had a conversation with someone and this person was telling me that they had very few people in their life that could actually carry on an entire conversation without staring at a screen.  The saddest part was that this person couldn't keep their parent's attention long enough to get through a sentence.
How is this not the saddest thing ever?

A few days later I heard of a little four year old boy saying to his momma, "No! Put your phone down and LISTEN TO ME!!"

I can't tell you the number of times I have been eating dinner with someone and they can't put the phone down.  Even someone I haven't seen in a long time.

And don't even get me started on drivers...

What is this?  What does this say about how much we value our relationships?
It's scaring me!!

My son can talk.  It's because his brain is like an encyclopedia.  If you know him, you can concur.  And for his whole life he has followed me around in my momma-busyness and told me volumes of information.  Most times, I try reaaaaaalllly hard to stay tuned in.  Sometimes, he just loses me with sheer intelligence beyond my mental capacity.  Sometimes, I'm trying to follow a recipe...
Sometimes, I just let my mind wander.
Not such a big deal until he's across the country for most of a year and I MISS those stories until my heart literally hurts!

Dialed in.
Tuned in.
Engaged.

When I was in fifth grade, we went to the big, sixth-graders class to watch a film.  Hey, 40-ish year olds, remember films?  Best days of elementary.  Other than the carnival; carnivals were epic.  But films...the big projector wheeled in on a cart, the lights out while we sat cross-legged on the floor by our best friend of the week and yelled 5...4...3...2............and then the projector broke and the mean teacher yelled at us and told us it broke because we were being too loud.
Ahhh....the good old days.

Anyway, we had one film that taught us how to speed-read.  Darn that film.  'Cause I learned how, and I learned well.  I can plow through hundreds of pages quite comprehensively in no time.  A great skill until I'm trying to read, say, the Bible.  Some things are not meant to be sped through.

I'm concerned that we're all sort of speed reading through our moments.

Date nights include phone calls.  Car rides include texting.  Conversations involve folks who have completely "left the building."




I've intentionally started remembering to look my people in their eyes.
I want to listen deliberately and well.
I want to be present and not speed-living in my beautiful life moments.
I don't want to be so busy trying to capture and then virtually share a moment with a world that really doesn't care, that I miss the very next one.

These are my goals this year.  And this...


TO STOP THE GLORIFICATION OF BUSY.

Hope in the midst of pain...

Hearts all over the country are hurting. Specifically hearts out east, as the rest of the country sympathizes.
It's unthinkable. There is no easy answer.

The same day those babies and teachers were killed, my boys were first on the scene of a fatal accident in which another baby girl met Jesus along with her mom. Leaving behind an injured twin sister, an older sister and a broken-hearted daddy.

My guys saw things that forever changed them and broke their hearts.
They were there to bring the Spirit of God into a place of chaos and pain.
Our hearts are so very heavy.

Our human minds try to reason it all out. We try to blame and come up with plans to prevent future pain. We all try to stand together against the evil that causes such sorrow.

No words, no laws, no president, no unified country can change this world we live in. It's been fallen and broken for much longer than we can imagine. Humans broke God's heart almost at the start, and it continues.

We, at least, can opt out of viewing other folks' pain. His heart surely continues to break as He holds each parent's hand all the way through--if they let Him.

What kind of God would allow this? Surely, that's what folks will ask.
This is not His doing. There is evil at play. This world is full of darkness and suffering.
There is only One Light.

As a little girl, I sang a song that said, "He never said there'd only be sunshine. He never said there'd be no rain. He only promised a heart full of singing, at the very thing that once brought pain."

As long as we live here, there's going to be pain. To expect less sounds ridiculous, doesn't it? Do we expect that if there really is a God we'd live in utopia? Who deserves the kind of pain we see around us or maybe feel? In our human minds, no one does.

But if we didn't hurt or cry out in pain, we'd never know the need for the Giver of Peace! If we didn't know the absence of joy, we never give credit to the Joy-Giver!

Into the darkness, a Savior was born. It was in the dark of night, when He was most needed.
Hope is here. In the darkest night, Hope was born.

You can argue theology with me all day and I might lose, but what you can never take from me is that in my darkest midnight, I was never alone. No one can ever take from me the memory I have of peace that washed over me like a warm, sweet blanket in a moment of sheer panic.  No one can ever convince me that the times when the presence of God was more real to me than any human has ever been did not happen.
And there is NOTHING in this world that means more to me than that. I cannot imagine a day without the peace I have. I could not exist without the hope I found. In the midst of pain, I can see beyond this moment to a plan bigger than mine.



I will sing of it forever.



Dear Jesus,

It's a good thing you were born at night. This world sure seems dark. I have a good eye for silver linings. But they seem dimmer lately.

These killings, Lord. These children, Lord. Innocence violated. Raw evil demonstrated.

The whole world seems on edge. Trigger-happy. Ticked off. We hear threats of chemical weapons and nuclear bombs. Are we one button-push away from annihilation?

Your world seems a bit darker this Christmas. But you were born in the dark, right? You came at night. The shepherds were nightshift workers. The Wise Men followed a star. Your first cries were heard in the shadows. To see your face, Mary and Joseph needed a candle flame. It was dark. Dark with Herod's jealousy. Dark with Roman oppression. Dark with poverty. Dark with violence.

Herod went on a rampage, killing babies. Joseph took you and your mom into Egypt. You were an immigrant before you were a Nazarene.

Follow us

Oh, Lord Jesus, you entered the dark world of your day. Won't you enter ours? We are weary of bloodshed. We, like the wise men, are looking for a star. We, like the shepherds, are kneeling at a manger.

This Christmas, we ask you, heal us, help us, be born anew in us.

Hopefully,

Your Children
(Max Lucado)

Posted with Blogsy

I'll be home for Christmas...

I'm reflecting on Christmas....

Well, how could I not at this point when its existence is blared at air horn like decibels from every angle.

In a way, I can appreciate the music and lights and the glare of it all because it forces me into the Christmas mood, but under all the tinsel and wrappings I've been seeing some things.

This is our first traditional Christmas in several years.  By several, I mean that I can't think of the last time.  By traditional, I mean we will be in our home on Christmas morning, and there will be some presents.

No matter what, we always put up much too big of a tree to fit in any house.  Our eyes our bigger than our tree stand, if you will.  It makes for a spectacular entrance into our home, but then there's that part where you practically have to turn sideways to squeeze past it into the living area.  

We always go choose it as a family and then put it up and decorate the house on Thanksgiving weekend to the same Christmas songs (I always cry at the right part of the right song), we drink egg nog and have creamy turkey soup.

And then, a few weeks later, with no presents under the tree, we undress it, clean it all up and get the heck out of dodge feeling like escapees.  We skip all the get-togethers and do what we love most--ROAD TRIP!!  We find restaurants of other cultures that are open on holidays and feast.  No breakfast casseroles for this group! And then we say "Merry Christmas" to each other as we open the door to some great lookin' deal with a view in some warm climate.  Ahhhhh....I love Christmas Kirksey-style.

Not this year.  This year, with two newlywed, working children to consider and for a couple other reasons, we are going to do the thing.  Sigh.

At least once a day, I put aside the visions of ocean waves dancing in my head and instead look at amazon.com.  

And, I must admit I'm kinda excited.  We're keeping it simple--the budget is small on purpose.  There's no need to be ridiculous, but I'm enjoying some of the suspense of choosing things for my favorite people and wrapping things and putting them under the tree to make them guess--that's so weird!  And we won't be having things too traditional.  For instance, we won't be using any silverware to eat our meal on the big day...;o)

But there's a thing I'm observing everywhere I look and listen.

Christmas baggage.

The ghosts of Christmas past, if you will.

Folks aren't always as merry as all of this hype would lead one to believe.  Yes, this holiday is magical if you're ten or under, but at some point the glitter rubs off a bit.

I'm not convinced that everyone's buying what we're being sold.

The whole spending money thing seems to wedge its way in between husbands and wives.  Moms are trying to keep the magic alive (no matter how old their babies) and dads seem to be trying to reign the magic in so they can actually afford January.  Raise your hand if you can relate.
Yup.  That's what I thought.

And a lot of this is about how we were raised!  Newly married couples have to compromise on what colored tree lights we will have (despite what their family did!) and how much decorating will matter.  

Plus, there's the letting go of memories for some of us.  My dad hated Christmas.  He started feeling depressed the minute the Christmas carols started playing and gritted his teeth through all of it.  We did the thing, but he never shared why it made him so sad and in turn kinda sucked the joy for the rest of us.

People are hurting. And I can't help but feel like all of this rubs their noses in it a bit.  Maybe I realized this after Justin's accident last week.  I very quickly understood how different this Christmas could have been.  And will be for many, many people.

We celebrate the gift of our Savior. That is where all of this started whether we can see through all the fluff and stuff or not.  It's supposed to be a worldwide birthday party.  Or at least a time for a big heart reflection on the birth of God as a baby in a food trough just because He needed a way to say "I love you" that would resound for all time.  

If it was me, I might be a little saddened by all the silliness it's become.

So, what is it to you?  

Is it about tradition? Is it about family? Is it about a baby? Is it a struggle?

Obviously, I'm still wrestling with it.  But, I'll be here passing out presents and singing a little carol or two on the big morning.  And, of course, I will still roll my eyes at the ridiculousness of a lot of it and buck the system as much as I can.

My heart already knows what matters, and trust me, I will be spending some time thanking my God for His creativity and sacrifice.  And I will revel in loving the ones that I am so very blessed to love.  And, I'll pray that God opens my eyes to those who are hurting and be His hands however He lets me...

Out of control...?

It's funny how quickly a day can spiral out of control. Or a truck when the tire blows.
I cannot even believe I'm writing this because it was not even a year and a half ago when I wrote this post chronicling another accident my son had.

Today, my son and Babe the big, blue truck had their last ride together. And another huge Ford (and an even huger God) saved his life.

Strange things happen in heads when a, "Wow. This day could have wrecked my life!" moment hits you between the eyes. Everything looks a little different. Every word you said earlier in the day, every weird "coincidence" looks a little less coincidence-y, every hug gets a little tighter.

On his way home from work, his right rear tire blew spinning his truck on the expressway. Facing the wrong direction, he saw a truck and camper and in order to miss hitting it he spun the wheel which sent him careening into the air and then he landed upside down crunching the roof to his head and tipped over one more time.
The truck and camper stopped, and two men on their way to hunting camp ran over to check on him.
This, my husband heard while on the phone with his son.
The second man peered in through the windshield and said, "Kirksey!" Yup. It was a friend. And volunteer fireman at that. They both were. They had called for help, and got Justin out and safely away from the vehicle and waited until his dad showed up.

Mom heard the phone call and fought vomit for 25 or so agonizing minutes waiting to hear her son's voice.

He has two scratches. And he's sore. And he is praising God. Because even though his truck, which was his prized possession is gone, and he's unsure of how God will provide the next one, he is alive. My son laughed and hugged me while I sobbed and said, "Momma, I'm fine. I'm alive! The enemy thought he could win, but God's got me."

And the rest of the night we all just keep looking at him.

I don't ask God, "Why?"
I never have. I guess no matter what has ever happened to me no matter how dark the day or devastating the circumstances, I've always known He is in control. I have wished for things to be different. I have begged that He would choose a different way, but because I know He is God I guess deep down I decide to let Him be.

It was just this morning that Christian and I had this conversation. We said that there were definitely a few things God could allow in our lives that could raise that "why" question. But, so far, we hold His hand and trust His plan. It's bigger than we can see.
I don't mean to sound all Pollyanna, and I guess if my life was perfect one could laugh at my naïveté.
But, like we discussed this morning, how does one KNOW the love of God? Like know it in your core.
If you wanted to know, but didn't know, how do you think He could prove it to you?

Blessings? Money? A perfect life?
Because I found His love when my heart was broken. It was always there, but it wasn't the great moments in my life that drew me. It was the deep, dark pain-filled ones.
That's where He waited for me.
And once I knew Him more, I recognized Him in the great moments. Now, I see His love everywhere.
Even in a car accident.

He loves my son. He is doing huge things in him. Huge!! And my son will continue to be used in HUGE ways that most people don't see to represent love. And when a really bad thing happens, he sees the love in spite of it and running through it.

Crap happens. It does. Folks deserve better than this world full of crap happening. But like so many arteries running from the heart outward runs LOVE so huge it makes the crap irrelevant. Or at least forgettable.

Or, it makes love the part worth focusing on.

Posted with Blogsy

Bloom where you're planted

I wish I knew more of their story. Over the years, I've picked up on bits and pieces, but truthfully what happened when my husband's grandparents were young isn't the story I have to tell.
These beautiful people have been married for 66 years, and their joined hearts have inspired our marriage like no one else.
From the first story I was told about them, I heard about love. From the first introduction I witnessed love.

These are people who have raise four beautiful children into huge-hearted adults. These are people who have loved grandchildren and great-grandchildren and are even loving great-greats!

I'll never forget being a brand-new clueless bride poring through my Better Homes and Garden cookbook desperately to find a recipe worthy to bring to my new husband's grandparents farm to a family get-together not even a month after our wedding.You see, Grandma holds the title for best cook ever, and when she complimented my silly Waldorf salad in my brand new green bowl that I got as a wedding gift, she made me feel noticed and accepted in one sentence.

At some point in those first few years she brought me upstairs to her attic room to see the photo albums she had made for each of her many grandchildren including the beautiful one she had made that chronicled my husband's life from infanthood to every single soccer and basketball article and picture of him that existed. And she had even included me and information she had clipped from newspapers about me and my family.

And though these huge family functions overwhelmed and frightened me a little since I had literally never been to one, I was drawn like a magnet to the concept of family. And, in retrospect, this is where I learned that it was possible. It was possible to pour out love and that love would draw a family together.

I do not have words to describe what it meant to me some years later to receive a birthday card addressed to "Granddaughter" in Grandma's beautiful penmanship the year after I lost the last grandparent from my side of the family.
I remember weeping at the mailbox.

There are a million sweet and funny stories that my husband tells from poison oak, to pancakes and apple pie to bb guns, smelt-dipping and four-wheelers. All precious memories from his childhood at his grandparents' farm.

Memories that I can't relate with. Memories that leave me conflicted between jealousy and just plain gratefulness that little Christian knew this kind of unconditional love.

There was a day not too many years back when we saw Grandma shopping with her daughter at the mall. We happily stopped to get a hug and catch up and along came Grandpa. Grandma explained with a smile that Grandpa couldn't stand to be away from her for too long so he had to find them and tag along.

These two. They're like teenagers. She still giggles. He still gives sweet kisses. There is never a question in my mind that there has never been and could never be another--for either. A precious, priceless example of two hearts joined as one.

We were honored beyond words to have Grandpa pray for the meal at Addie's wedding in September. With much emotion he poignantly expressed his love for his family and his God, and prayed blessings over this new love.
So what inspired this tribute to these beautiful two that literally painted a picture of love to this girl who so needed the illustration?

We all have moments of panic as we age don't we? Please be honest, ladies. It's a cutthroat world out there (pun intended) and most gals threw the rulebook out. I'm pretty irritated at all these aging females cheating their way to elderly. Truthfully, most are laugh-worthy with their surgical Cheshire-cat grins. Because with all of the suctioning and tucking and altering that money is buying, the playing field is no longer even.
And, if we're still being honest, a full length mirror can make even the most loved girl (who is well past spring chicken) feel, well, like one fat hen.

But, I had an epiphany of sorts thanks to Grandpa and Grandma. We had the distinct privilege of having lunch with the lovebirds a few weeks ago, and the way he looks at her...
It dawned on me that it's more than possible. As far as I know, Grandma hasn't resorted to plastic surgery of any kind. But there is no greater beauty that I have ever seen or experienced than the warmth of her love and her smile.
She has spent her years serving and loving everyone whom she has known. And this girl who desperately needed to know a grandma's love and witness ageless marital love is eternally grateful.

She is my picture of beauty. The kind that lasts.

And Grandpa. Everyone who knows him loves him. He didn't need to preach to stadiums full of people in order to impact the world. He simply lived his life as a servant of his God and in service to his country and family. And he poured love into his marriage.
And that example has impacted and will continue to--exponentially.

All I want is to be loved like that. And hitched to a guy who is much like his grandpa, my odds are looking pretty good!
I told him today how much he reminded me of his Grandpa and it brought him to tears. He was moved deeply.
See, to my husband, preaching to stadiums could never touch the opportunity to love the ones God has given him. He considers it his highest calling. It is an honor that he does not take lightly.
And we are beyond grateful for a couple to represent what that looks like.
We thank you and love you deeply, Grandpa and Grandma.

Ollie and Dollie 2012

Posted with Blogsy

Reflection

Funny...I write this post about arrival upon departure.  It's a strange moment in which I find myself; literally suspended in time and space.  The sun just rose and turned the sky above the Great Barrier Reef delightful shades of pinks and oranges as we banked over fluffy clouds and watched the coastline of mountains and rainforests we've fallen in love with drift by--small enough as if as if to be inconsequential.  

But, it was of great importance to four travelers.  Not tourists.  Travelers.  Whats the difference you ask?

We were dubbed travelers by folks here who appreciated our desire to immerse ourselves into the culture.  To be willing to stay out a few days in each location and do what the locals do.  To set aside familiarity and try new things.  We felt honored to be considered travelers.

And now all with an additional stamp in the passports.

This trip was a dream-come-true for yours truly some thirty-five years in the making.  And thanks to some gatherings of folks discussing turbo-prop engines, I found myself being allowed the chance to join my sweet man and bring along Justin and Kyrsten.

Addie, now happily married and busy tending her nest remained at home.  So strange to travel without her, but truly she was with us in our hearts as we all brought her with in a thousand moments of, "Addie would hate this.". Or, "We have to find some signal in this jungle this morning to call and tell Addie goodnight!"

This trip was something we planned in advance as a needed reward for the four of us who survived The Summer of the Wedding.  And it got us through.

And then, all of a sudden it was time to pack our bags and venture into the unknown.

All that was known was that we were intimidated by the flight and looking forward to opening the giant package of surprises our God had in store for us.

And did He!

Our minds were blown.  Our hearts are full.  Our lives enriched by the sights--breathtaking moments above the jungle and beneath the ocean.  Our world expanded.  

And once again, we find that no matter where you roam, people are very much the same.  All looking for hearts with which to find common ground and make a connection.

It's a huge world.  And yet, so very small in the scope of things--when you measure it against the hands of the One Who created it for our pleasure.

30+ hours later...

I am writing from our last plane on the last leg on the last day of our trip. We began the journey home in Australia on Saturday, the 17th and it will end some 30 hours later on Thursday the 17th.  We've come back to the future!

I can hardly describe the exhaustion.

We have each cat-napped between an hour or two in the last 30+ hours.  We have gone through customs at each stop.  We checked our bags at each stop.  We went through security each time.

These things all mean we have hauled heavy bags around airports and waited in RIDICULOUS lines at each stop.  We faced strict, serious questioning and scary scanners.

We have no idea what time it is or what meal to eat when.  I think we all had sandwiches and salads at 8:00 am in California.

It is evening here.  The sun has gone down and appropriately so at the closing of this epic adventure.

Christmas wreaths and music fill the airports here.  

We are still scratching bug bites.

Within the hour we will land in Detroit--back in the mitten--sleep for the "night" and get up early to drive to see our Addie and Austin and their kitty Lulu.  Most assuredly, this momma will weep with joy to see my married girl.

I can't wait to give her the little trinkets I picked up all over the land down under.  And to get all of that chocolate out of my suitcase!!

On our way home, I will be buying the turkey to begin preparations for a Thanksgiving meal in four short days and the day following we get our Christmas tree!

Addie is making us dinner and bringing us supplies tomorrow, and we will spend the day catching each other up on the two worlds we've each been living in.

One quite real.  The other most certainly a dream.

As we drove down the coastline (yesterday was it?) with the iPod on random one of our old favorite worship songs came on.

I grabbed Christian's hand and we both cried tears of joy as we reveled in the love of our Father.  The One Who is so big that He holds the oceans in His hand.

He did this, and all the other things He does, just because we're His kids and He loves us.  Just to make us happy.  We stand amazed.  And grateful beyond any words I could ever type.

There's truly nothing my God cannot do...