Sit, Alison. Good girl.

Usually, in September, I'm very busy mourning the death of summer. I know, I know, a Michigan fall has a beauty all its own, but it's no secret I'm a summer girl through and through. My lake and I, we have this 'thing.' And, in case you missed it, Lake Michigan this August was spectacular. Though I squeezed my beach time into an hour at a time instead of whole afternoons, and less than a dozen visits instead of the usual dozens this year due to the 'summer of the wedding,' my lake and I were as close as ever until one ridiculously early in September day, she turned on me. And did this...

But, because of how crazy-busy this summer was, I think I am ready to move to the next thing. Michigan is such a beautiful picture of how God allows all things for a season. The next season has both its moods and its beauty, but nothing lasts forever.

The wedding (or as Addie calls it, her perfect princess day) was, indeed, perfect. The weather, the covenant, the way every detail came together, the love we were shown...everything.

I have had zero moments of sadness in sending my daughter off which feels like a miracle in my heart and mind. She is so happy living the dream God gave her that I could never begrudge her that. We raise them to live their dreams, and I find it thrilling to watch them come to fruition.

So, in the aftermath of all the wedding work, I find myself in a stall pattern with a splinted right arm for the last couple days. Of course it's when I have out-of-town guests coming to stay and a million other things to do. Thankfully, I have people willing to help me, but it doesn't really ease the frustration of wanting to be able to do something and being incapable of doing it.
And as I fretted yesterday a still, small voice whispered, "Be still."
Still?!? I've been canning and cleaning and running crazily around like the proverbial chicken for so long that I chafe to have to sit at all!

You know the definition of insanity, right? To keep doing the same thing over and over again expecting different results.

So, the only thing that's going to fix this predicament I'm in, is to do the opposite of what got me here in the first place.

Ugh. There's a lesson there, right?
Did ya ever notice that God knew exactly the things that would be challenging for His impatient, silly kids to be able to remember to do so He gave us specific reminders. Not things like charge forward, take the bull by the horns, or do it your way; things like ask, seek, wait, be still. Husbands, love. Wives submit. (For more on this click here.)
None of them easy, but all developing our character.

So, I guess my pause button has been hit. I'm going to accept some help and take some time to enjoy the beauty of this amazing autumn I've been given.

Please excuse me. Apparently my character needs developing.

Wake me when it's over...

Ugh!!! I'm so very tired of all the politicking and posturing and positioning and straight-up ridiculousness of this election year. I'm tempted to relieve myself of all social media until we wake up and find that someone "won" and it's over. Only no one will win, and it will never be over because the system is broken and I'm not sure it can be repaired.

No worries, I have no intention of stating my views on this outlet for my words. In fact, I think you'd be hard-pressed to talk to any of my friends who I've gotten into political discussions with. Why? Because people are going to believe what they believe and be blinded if they choose to remain blind and there is no clever arrangement of words that I can conjure up that will change anyone's mind. So, unless asked, you're just not going to know. And I so wish others adopted this thinking.

I will say one thing, though. Because my God is Who He is and that cannot change, I do not believe He can stand by and honor the choices we are making as a people.

That scares me because as long as I align myself with a group and under a certain leadership, I have some responsibility in that position to either effect change or leave. At least, that's how our family has always thought. If I don't want to be associated with a certain kind of thinking I need to do something about it or I stand to face the same consequences as that leadership does. I believe this is called, "guilty by association."

This has led us to move away from several situations in our lives where something was definitely against our convictions, and we couldn't make a difference (though we tried) so we stepped away.

If I had a dollar for every time I've wished I could be sedated until a situation was over...oh, my. I'd own my own island somewhere void of politics completely.
And this blog would then be moot point.

I happen to live with adventurers. Okay, so I might be one, too. In fact, I have big, crazy plans with this husband of mine when our kids are all 18. Hence, the need for life insurance.

But my boys are testosterone-ridden, fly-by-the-seat-of-their-pants, BRING-IT-ON, kind of guys who put me through all kinds of stress. The bigger the cliff to jump from or climb, the tinier the cave to explore, the higher the mountain to dangle from---guns, knives, wild animals…I've just had to adopt a "wake me when it's over" mentality. I go to my happy place in my mind.

And I pray.
A lot.

There are certain things they plan and tell me about--like wanting to camp with few supplies on a wolf-infested island with no other humans for days on end and no way out other than a scheduled boat pick-up, that I just hope never really happen. There are plenty of others that have happened and they have miraculously survived.

There have been moments in my life where I tend to want to revert back to doing what I did as a child when the world was a scary place. When chaos reigned in my house and things were being broken, and voices were way too loud, and people were crying, I just stayed in my room or outside until it was over. I hid, and hoped it would end quickly.

But, now, I'm stronger. How I respond, how I react, how I speak is up to me.

There have been times in my life where I feel weak and overwhelmed. But lately, I choose to be strong. And it really is a choice.

Recently, I was frustrated with my body shape and where I'd let myself arrive physically. I was lagging behind, huffing and puffing, on every hike and bike ride. I was miserable, and knew it was my own doing. So, I either decide to keep feeling sorry for me, or get up and do something about it. So I got up. And I feel stronger. And I can keep up now. I may not look like I did at 24, but I FEEL fantastic and more than anything, I'm so proud of making a change.

I have it in me to effect change.

I can stand up and make right choices in the little things in my day which eventually add up to big things. I can change the patterns that I developed once upon a time and become better--different. Let's face it, at this age, I can no longer blame my childhood for much. It's so long gone that I'd better take a good hard look at who I want to be and quit looking backward.
Last I checked, no one ever got anywhere staring at only the rear-view-mirror.

I'm responsible for my words. There's no one else to blame really for my behavior. No matter how anyone else acts, I am the one who has to answer for my words.

I'm responsible for my time. I'm responsible for my behavior. I'm responsible for how I make other people feel.

It's really that simple, but wouldn't it be huge if everyone got a hold of that? Could it change the world? Perhaps more than any rhetoric, or lobbying, or speeches.


It starts with me.

"I am only one, but still I am one. I cannot do everything, but still I can do something; And because I cannot do everything I will not refuse to do the something that I can do." Helen Keller

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Burlap and lace...

Someday I will want to reflect on this time, I'm sure. So, I am writing just to mark this time.
Two weeks from today my daughter will no longer have the last name that I do. At this point in the planning, all but the last minute food items have been purchased, and all but a couple payments have been made.
Rustic, elegant. That's what this wedding will be. That means that momma has been crafting! I haven't seen this much burlap since I was Hiawatha in the third grade school program. And it's really neat that I will have all new layers of skin on my fingers for the event thanks to my hot glue gun!

I have been so busy for so many months and in one week, I am quite convinced that I will be insanely busy again, but today I find myself at a bit of a standstill. The projects are slowing, and I'm not sure if it's a good thing or not, but being less busy means being less able to distract myself. Though I feel fine most moments, there are moments the family looks at each other and realizes that everything is about to change. Kirksey--party of five--is shifting gears. Are we then four or six? Probably both. But the prospect of an empty bedroom in the hallway is a bit much for any single one of us to cope with quite yet. Most moments we put a good face on it, but the tears are like fast moving, threatening storm clouds and slam into us out of nowhere.

And then I think of what a great day it's going to be--that wedding day. It's so Addie, this wedding we are planning--all ribbons and lace with a little burlap on the side.

And getting married and eventually starting a family has been the dream God placed in her heart since she was a little girl. Setting up her home and being a wife and mom will fit another huge piece of the puzzle that is my baby girl's heart. I am genuinely happy for her. And that is truly a miracle. I always thought that when my kids got married, I might do exactly what my parents did and sob my way through the ceremony needing this to somehow be all about me. Nope. I know God is in this because I have such peace.

I'm trying not to say 'This is the last time' about anything. If you haven't had a child move out yet, someday you will see how your mind toys with you.
I have found myself wondering if I did all the things I meant to do while my children lived at home. Did we cover all the things I was supposed to teach them? Did we miss anything together?
I found myself saying things like, "This is the last time the five of us will spend the day like this."
Not going to let my mind travel to that place. I'm just determined not to.
This is not like when Justin left home. When he left, no one had peace about his absence. Not in the littlest, tiniest way. It was misery all around, and because he was unhappy, we suffered with and for him.
This is a relief for us in a strange way because she has been ready for this for so long. And she will be nearby. And there is nothing to be sad about when someone you love gets to live their dream.

So, I am going to continue to keep my mind and heart in this good place and be proud and happy for my darling girl as she takes these steps into her happy place. And I'm going to do what I would have loved to have a mother do and be near enough to call upon, distant enough to miss, and oh-so-happy for my Addie.

And throw her the wedding of her dreams.

Wait for it...

 

It's official, I've just retired. Oh my goodness! I am finally done! I am ready to dance around my house and do some cartwheels! After twenty-two and a half years of piano teaching, I am done. On to the next challenge...

I have loved my job. No question about that. I have gotten to know hundreds of students and almost as many families. I have made life-long friends and connected with people I'm sure I never would have without the bridge of music. I have heard some amazing music, but mostly heard countless hours of really bad music. I heard someone say once that hell was having to listen to bad music. I won't go that far, but there were definitely days I think I deserved some sort of medal.

I have heard EXCUSES!! The dog ate my homework? Puhleeeze! If only I had written them all down! I have had children with gas, parents with attitudes, and fantastic recitals. I have wiped some tears while a song kicked their butt, and seen those same kids triumphant after they kicked the song's butt! I have witnessed my own three become simply fabulous musicians--two of which have taught piano lessons themselves!

I have learned an awful lot. You learn the most from teaching, you know. It's one thing to know a little about something--enough to apply it. It's a whole 'nother animal to explain it to someone else who may or may not have an "I have absolutely NO IDEA what the heck you're talking about" kind of look on their face. Try it. You'll see what I mean.

But, once upon a time, when I had twenty-four students a week for years straight, and I couldn't see an end in sight, it would have really helped for me to know that someday, I would be able to move on to something else; that I wouldn't have to do this forever.

You see, one of my biggest life lessons has been that everything is just a phase. This has helped me through countless stages with my kids--potty-training, sleepless nights, PUBERTY, their music choices, their styles, bad attitudes......

It has helped me through my own stages and changes as well. No huge marital misunderstanding, ridiculous job or hours or travel schedule, financial situation or personal struggle lasts forever.

You just have to realize that, hold on, and wait for it...

The flip side of this is that the good stuff doesn't last forever either. Like how your baby's breath actually smells good for awhile. That does NOT last.

In fact, as I'm facing right this very minute, those babies grow up and find other people who love them and then they prepare to move out from under your roof and under another! So much for babies!

And how cute your new kitten is, and how that new puppy can do no wrong. Sorry. And vacation...ahh...if only...

But the important stuff, the big life decisions, those wrap around the little ones and hold you up through them. What I mean is, the good choices you've made, say a wise choice in a spouse, holds you up when you haven't slept because of that precious baby in six months.

And the choice to serve a loving God wholeheartedly makes a world of difference when you can't find anything good about anything, and then you remember that He is good and He is enough.

And learning through some really difficult life circumstances to stand on His strength and your own two legs makes all the difference the next time a day (or whole entire year) stinks.

It's all a phase, after all. This life and all it's stuff, it's not forever. And if you don't think you can get through this part, look toward the next good thing and WAIT FOR IT...

(Friends, this world is not your home, so don't make yourselves cozy in it. 1 Peter 2:11)

 

 

 

 

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At the intersection of life and love...

My son saved a man's life yesterday.  He arrived home shaken, yet all in one piece, and made his momma cry and then tearfully thank God with the story he told.

As he came home from his often-frustrating job yesterday dressed in his clothes that are so filthy that he may look less than the brilliant man that he is, he told me about how he had approached a four-way stop less than three miles away from home, and saw an elderly man riding a bike approach the same intersection.  The man had waited, in his blue poncho in the rain, for his turn to cross and began pedaling.  About halfway across the busy road, his feet slipped off the pedals and he struggled.  At the same moment, Justin noticed a car approaching from his right whose driver clearly had no intentions of stopping at the sign.  
In milliseconds, my son realized that he was about to witness the death of a man that had reminded him of his well-loved great-grandfather.

This is the moment when you realize, as a mother, that your child has his own path and that path will happen regardless of how much you like it or not.

Because my son drove his big, blue pickup into the intersection in such a way that he would effectively block the road and stop her car before it hit the man.
And he did.
And the woman slammed on her brakes so hard the the cell phone she was using (ahem) flew into the windshield, and she stopped within inches of Justin's door.  The old man on one side, breathing hard and eyes wide, the woman in her little car on the other, breathing hard and eyes wide.  
"Are you okay?" he asked the old man on his left.
"Yes," he replied.
"Are you okay?" he asked the woman on his right.
"Yes," she humbly replied.
And he drove home.

In a world where life is so fragile and not one moment can be taken for granted, I feel frustrated.
Because, you see, my son (one hero on my short list) works at a job, as we all have at some point in our lives, where he is treated as less than he is.  
He will not complain and would be mad at me for even writing these words.  Good thing it's our little secret, right? 
Whether it's by people who think they've arrived in life and this somehow qualifies them to belittle the lowly employee who services them or a boss who just doesn't care about his employees as people, we've all been treated as less than we are.
We get grouped into levels of worth based on one word.

This one, seemingly innocent word makes me want to grab my family and run for the hills.

Label:  a short word or phrase descriptive of a person, group, intellectual movement, etc.

Seriously, if we, as a culture, were incapable of labeling anything or anyone the world would change. But, as it stands, we group together in classifications and we exclude, and brand people, and judge people, and jump to conclusions about people.  And isn't it ridiculous?

As if I'm less because of the label or lack of one on, say, my purse.

I unwittingly participated in my own social experiment the other day.  I had dropped three of my people off at a huge venue to watch a Coldplay concert in another city than my own.  It takes about three hours to arrive at a city that Coldplay would be playing to more than just cows and squirrels and the like, so off we went.  
Happy girls, happy momma as I found a nearby shopping complex in which to while away my few hours to myself where I could do whatever it was I felt like doing.

What I felt like doing was changing my clothes.  You see, I am a horribly messy eater and really should factor this into my packing because inevitably I wear lunch.  Today, my comfiest grey skirt looked like it had been comfy for too many days and too many meals as my chicken piccata from lunch had left its mark.  
So sad. Must buy some jeans.  
My iPhone found me this lovely little outdoor mall.  Little did I know that folks with a splotch on their skirt do not shop here.  Especially folks with a splotch on their skirt and no label on their purse.  
And folks who work here must've been told not to help people who eat and wear chicken piccata.  Sigh...  I must've missed that on the sign when I arrived. 

So, I got myself some clean clothes and some cute (clearance) shoes and changed my look.  I went from comfy and ignored to jeans and heels, and all of a sudden I began to be treated differently.  "Yes, ma'am.  How can I help you, ma'am?"

Hmm....

Can't tell you how many times in life I've been in a social group in which I am classified as the outsider.  Can't tell you how that feeling frustrates me.  As if our worth is determined by our shoes, or the condition of our yard, or size of our diamond, or hairstyle, or career choice, or age, or gender, or which church we attend--or don't. The list is endless--political views, car you drive, how many letters follow your name--or don't.

I'm weary of feeling judged for being myself.
And I'm even more weary of the judgment flung at my children for choosing to be exactly who they were raised to be--individuals!  
But not weary enough to conform.

Being different makes you stronger, but it also opens mouths around you.

I guess people just want to relate.  We group up with folks of a like-mind.  It feels good to have somebody get you, doesn't it? So I suppose that's how these little subcultures form.  This is what we think and we call it..."____".  And now were not sure what to do with you if you don't think like us.

I'm guilty.  We all are to whatever degree we allow ourselves.  Us and them.  It's running rampant.  
But, it needs to be evaluated.
Having done some traveling and listening to folks who've traveled more than I,  I've learned something priceless.  No matter how far away we are from home, people are people and if you peeled the skin off like a banana (like a friend of mine used to say) we are all pretty much the same.  

We all long to be loved and to be seen and to matter.  
That's it.  It's the holy grail.  

And it's our job to care less about the labels we apply than the people unconsciously wearing them.  
So do it.  Listen for it in your words today.  Find the labels you apply to folks and rip those suckers off--fast like a band-aid.  Stop the cycles we've begun for our children.   Reach out past your comfort level and make someone feel like they matter.  Put yourself right there in the intersection and brace yourself.  It may just save a life.

And I'll cry if I want to!

But I won't want to because it's the best day of the year!!  Woohoo!  It's my birthday on Friday--my party!  It's all about me!  I get to be selfish, spoiled, and demanding full of requests.  Yes, it's a big day at the Kirksey house and in all fairness, everyone knows what to expect.  Momma begins reminding all members of the household well in advance that the best day of the year is approaching.

I've heard it mentioned before that the whole idea of celebrating a day about one's self is wrong--even sinful.  
But I disagree, and I am making up for lost time.

When I had my kids, I learned the importance of a fantastic birthday.  On their special day, I wanted them to have love volleyed at them in rapid fire succession all day long with little surprises and big ones, too.  Of all days, on their birthday, there should be no question that they matter--even if I didn't spend a dime.

Because, you see, growing up, our entire family, Grandpa, mom, dad, sister and I all had birthdays in July--my dad, sister and I were all within five days.   Now, if that wasn't enough to make a birthday a little less special,  we shared celebrations to save on something.  
Still not sure what that saved...Time?  Effort?  
Paper plates?  

Also, my mother stunk at gift giving.  I mean it.  Ask my sister.  We usually got the same strange item, like an earring holder crafted by some ancient lady at a church craft fair from yarn and white plastic. Of course, I might get a red earring holder and she, blue, since  we were, after all, totally unique people.  And since my mother knew me so well, I usually got a dessert that she made special that she also forgot--or never knew--that I hated. 

Truly, I don't remember one birthday I had or even one gift except the year I turned double digits (a big deal in any 10 year old girl's life) I got a..........
drumroll please.............

Umbrella.  
Yup.  Still feeling pretty bummed about that one.  

For the record, it's not that I get really greedy on my birthday, although I'm sure it must sound like it by this point.  To this day, I don't want money spent.  I just want a day to be considered.  That is the most meaningful thing in the world to me on any given day.  Like, "Oh, you have a lot to do today! Let me unload the dishwasher!" Or, "Wow! You must be exhausted.  Let me rub your shoulders." 

And my family is simply FANTASTIC about these things EVERY day.  I just spent a lot of years waiting to be seen, and I happen to really like a day where I can ask away and it's allowed. 
I don't ask for much on Mother's Day.  I don't particularly like that day.  It's a Hallmark holiday that's pretty contrived, in my humble opinion, and I don't usually ask for anything.  Save it up for the real deal, baby.

On my birthday, I sleep in.  Sleeping is my favorite.  
No, I take it back--eating is my favorite.  On my birthday, I don't cook.  I eat out somewhere great--my choice.  On my special day, no one fights or squabbles, and when they have to keep their mouths shut, I smile.  I don't work (unless it's a piano day--you know, that whole pesky JOB thing). But other than that, I don't lift a finger.  It's a.m.a.z.i.n.g.  I love every minute.
(If I was single, I would do all this for myself, so if you are just, please, give yourself permission.)

It doesn't matter that I'm getting older.  I feel great, and that's most of it, isn't it? Attitude. 
To me, the key is to keep learning, setting goals, and having folks ask if your child is your sibling.  These are the things that really count.  And, yeah, that just happened to Kyrsten and me.  Love that.

And this year, despite my agedness, I have set out to learn some neat things--like an amazing piano song that I've been working on entirely too long.  And I'm teaching myself to can things like peaches and tomatoes and pickles--neat, huh?
I've accomplished some huge personal achievements (Friday being day 59 of 60 grueling days of suffering exercising to whip this body back into shape--okay so I'm going to add 30 more, but I'm working harder than ever on this horrible new skill and seeing some results for the first time ever--go me!).  

And, I'm looking ahead to a fantastic new year in which my daughter gets married, I am hoping to take a trip that I've waited for since age four, and we are contemplating a move! 

Wow!  It's gonna be a great year!  Which is great news because I fully intend to stay this age (that ends with a nine) for the entire rest of my life.

Storm the Gates

When I was a little girl--three to be specific--I began singing publicly. My dad was a phenomenal classical guitarist and I was doggone cute and could hold a tune, and this seemed to make folks happy. So, I started singing (while he was playing) at nursing homes, various churches, and by the age of five weddings, and not long after that, funerals. Evie Tornquist was my role model and many of her songs were in my repertoire including one that said, "I'm only four feet eleven but I'm goin' to heaven and it makes me feel ten feet tall."
Only, I sang three feet eleven 'cause I was (and may still be) so darn short. Cute, right?

Well, it was until I hit my awkward stage...

And this one is thrown in just because there are so few pictures of my dad and me and this one just hit me square in the heart.

So, I guess you could say that pretty much all of my life, I have been singing.

And hating it.
No matter how many times I sang in public, I despised it. I hated the upset stomach that preceded it, I hated the way it made my entire being shake to the core. I dreaded worrying about what people thought of me.

I despised in myself the love for the attention and the need for praise.

I was told by my mother that I was given a gift, and if I didn't use it God would take it away from me. That fear of the awful moment when my voice would be snatched away from me (think Ariel and Ursula) worked well on a people-pleasing, afraid-of-everything personality.

So I sang.

At some point when I was in my twenties, things got rough for my Dad and he forgot how to use his gift well. We didn't perform together anymore. I missed the camaraderie and the bond that came with it, but we just let it fade away.
I still sang alone at weddings, funerals, and once in a while at church, but when I did, I was still battling epically on the inside every single time.

And then I quit.

I just decided that it was not worth it. And I had never found the purpose in it anyway. The suffering that surrounded it just outweighed any benefit. I vowed to myself to quit forever. I never wanted to sing in public again.
Big, huge sigh of relief.

Enter into my life a time where my heart felt like raw meat. I was in the midst of separating from my parents, beginning youth ministry with Christian and telling God He could do whatever He wanted with my life. It was a time of charging forward and storming the gates, if you will.
You see, until then, I was a soft-spoken girl afraid of my own shadow, operating entirely in a life of shoulds. I did what I should because I should and because I was afraid of what would happen if I didn't. Anything I did that looked brave was usually bravery resting on someone else's laurels. Not Alison's.

I remember taking a self-defense class with Justin at some point in my twenties and punching someone for the first time in my life. Once I started I couldn't stop. It felt so good to feel powerful. I punched so much I left bruises on my teacher and came home exhilarated.

This is how I felt when I surrendered all and whatever to my heavenly Daddy. I literally felt infused with a power that was not my own. Whatever stood ahead faced my "BRING IT ON" attitude. I had ceased being afraid.

And then someone asked me to sing. Not just any someone. A professional musician needed a singer for a youth event we were hosting. Despite my intimidation of him and much to my own dismay, I heard my own voice agreeing.

It was an entirely new page that had turned in my spirit. If there is such a thing as praising defiantly, I was doing it. The only singing I vowed to do from this point forward was worship. That's all that had merit to me. And so I began to worship in a new way. I worshiped from the hurt, afraid, and broken part of my spirit. And like a balm, the worship began to cover those deep places and I began to heal.

Through the entire time that things were at their absolute worst in my life, I was passionately worshiping until my body would hurt from the exertion. Like a good coach, the aforementioned musician (who became a brother to me) was still pushing me to worship and he will still laugh at me for the times I literally fought him by stomping my feet as he pushed me out front to new levels of bravery in my ability to take the mess the enemy had tried to ruin me with and turn it into words of public praise. There were days when, during practice, I would go from sobbing in a corner over the latest developments to wiping my face and taking the stage.

It was the most powerful time of my life. A huge part of my testimony about the absolute power of words and even more about the power of a God who saved my life.

I learned that I was made to worship. I was not made to sing, and that's why any type of singing with the wrong motive felt like torture to me. I was created to tell my God how amazing He is. Whether that's on a stage or in my kitchen or in the words I speak to my family or a stranger in the grocery store, I am here on this earth to reflect the love of my God. It is my purpose. It is my intention.

It's about looking evil in the face and declaring a new thing. To see the impossibly high gates ahead and storm them with whatever weapon I have been given.

May I encourage you to open your mouth and use your voice?

Click.