To The Lady in the Lobby at the Hotel

Robin Grace, Growth, Moments, Uncategorized September 12, 2015fear, hotel lobby, human trafficking, strangers

Forgive me.

I had just landed in Sacramento after an amazing adventure in Texas. It is a 5+ hour drive home, and during the layover in Dallas I realized I was too tired to make it home so I called my hubby and asked him to find me a hotel.

He’s a great guy.

I am directionally challenged at times and masterfully pulled into the back parking lot. I was fatigued and drained as I rolled my polka-dotted suitcase toward the front door.

But I did see you.

I saw your 5 inch candy apple Stilettos and skin tight skirt. I noticed you fidgeting, looking around. I wondered if you were waiting for someone; perhaps someone you’ve never met who was going to pay you to meet him at a hotel.

I was returning from a crazy trip to Austin, Texas, where I gathered in a house with twenty women I had never met, and went to party with two hundred additional stranger-friends. There were so many conversations about calling, and loving, and being small.

Sometimes my face goes blank as I hear words but don’t really get the meaning. You showed me I have so very far to go.

I immediately talked myself out of any assumptions. I live in a bubble on the Central Coast of California. This is a city. People dress differently. Who am I to think….

I went inside to check in and, of course, couldn’t find my ID. I was digging through the papers and weekend remnants in my suitcase sized carry on when I heard a man say, “My room’s this way.”

He had his head down, dark curls covering his face. The see-through liquor store bag he carried was full of whiskey and soda. A dozen feet behind him you followed.

I looked up just in time to look you in the eye and smile. I couldn’t breathe as you rounded the corner out of sight. You see, I am certain I saw fear in your eyes and I had no clue how to help.

It wasn’t that I was scared–I wasn’t. I was genuinely lost. I had no ideas. I had $13 in my wallet, and believed that wouldn’t help fix whatever had broken in your world that led to this moment.

Making a scene in the hotel lobby didn’t seem like it would add to your dignity. No one else around appeared to notice or care. Was this normal in this place?

Yuck.

I went to my room and prayed but the whole time I was praying I was thinking about the passage in Joshua chapter 7 when God tells Joshua: Rise up! Why is it you have fallen on your face?

Christians can sometimes use the term “On my face” as a badge of honor describing earnest prayer. But in Joshua, God is saying now is not the time to pray. I can so easily use prayer as a cop-out. “I’ll pray for you,” can be both a wholly beautiful promise of love, and a way to let myself off the hook because I don’t actually want to do anything.

This time I had no inkling what to do.

Driving down the long stretch of Highway 5 to home the next morning, I couldn’t get you out of my mind. Flipping through radio stations to fill the silence and remembering the fear in your eyes, I became one of those people.

I cried huge, prolific tears at a country music song:

It’s where I drank my first beer
It’s where I found Jesus
Where I wrecked my first car
I tore it all to pieces
I learned the path to heaven is full of sinners and believers
Learned that happiness on earth ain’t just for high achievers
I’ve learned I’ve come to know
There’s life at both ends
Of that red dirt road

Brooks & Dunn

I don’t pretend to know one iota of how you got here, but I do know something has gone wrong and I am so, so sorry.

I want you to know there is still beauty. Beauty in you, beauty for you, beauty in the arms of God who is waiting to hold you.

I have not lived your story, but I do know from my own sometimes shattered world that getting pummeled against the rocks wounds.

And I know that it can be so hard to believe that just around the corner from the rocks is a new place, that can be the beginning of a whole new life.

But more than anything I want you to know that I saw you. You are not invisible. You matter.

I don’t know what I will do the next time I am in that situation, but I will try to find answers that make sense. Fixing human trafficking is (as of this moment) not my calling, but that is no excuse to do nothing when something of value–you–right in front of me is about to be…

I don’t have the right words.

But I do know that I am so, so sorry.

For the Love of Owning My Own Life

Robin Grace, Growth, Moments, Uncategorized August 19, 2015For the Love, Moments

Several years ago I sort of set out on a journey to own my own life.

For me it meant embracing the good and facing the ugly in my world.

Dealing with imperfections and coming up with plans to work on them opened my eyes to beauty peeking out of the cracks and breaks in my systems. Layer upon layer of life–the bold goodness, the nuanced depth, the obvious flaws–began calling me to greater risk and steadier faith.

Long before I read the pages of For the Love, I had begun the painful process of figuring out what to show up for, if I wanted to have a life that I loved.

Late one night, while finishing up a long day at a Brighten A Corner project, I scrolled casually down my Facebook feed to see that Jen Hatmaker was creating a launch group for her latest book. 500 everyday folks would get an advanced copy, join a private Facebook page, and help to promote the book upon its release….It sounded like an adventure and an opportunity to learn something new. Plus I have this friend who I believe will publish a book someday soon, so I thought perhaps I could ~~steal~~ get a line on some great ideas for her.

Apparently 4,999 other people thought it would be fun, too. Imagine that.

I was tickled when I got an e-mail a few weeks later saying that I had been picked for the launch group, would be receiving my book in the mail soon, and was added to the For the Love Launch Group on Facebook. I decided not to watch from a distance, but to show up and own the opportunity. In an instant everyone else on Facebook disappeared.

The Launch Girls were my world.

I shared prayer requests. I prayed for others. I had an opinion for everyone about everything. I survived the Supreme Court Decision while disagreeing passionately with people. I learned how to hashtag. I grew as a writer because of the input and support of the team. I found delightful friends. I laughed until I cried. I wept over losses. I shook my head in awe at how wacky life can be.

I lived out the words of the book that brought us all together.

Which is why I can’t recommend it highly enough.

Life is a kick in the pants. Being a Jen Hatmaker fan has been a bi-polar experience for me. I have liked and unliked her page numerous times based on a moment, or a mood, or a half-understood perception.

Sometimes I just don’t get it.

This book, this group, this season of life forced me to figure out if I was looking for agreement or honesty. I realized if I want a life that profoundly honors God, I was going to have to get used to the tension that comes with differences. Living in that tension is where the love people talk about really exists. It is not waiting for me to surround myself with homogenized versions of me. It is tucked away in community with variety.

The book and the launch team could not have come at a better time. My life is richer, fuller, more on track to my dreams in the Lord than it has been in a long, long time. I so, so, so want that for you. I want you, and me, to own our lives. There is so much room for others when we do….THIS is what I am talking about:

Now fully able to cheer wildly for friends and colleagues, I am free to be me without the constrictive mesh netting around my heart. Everyone else is free to be themselves, and I am thrilled about us all. For the Love, by Jen Hatmaker.

To The Lady Behind Me at Target

Robin Apraxia, Special Needs Families, Uncategorized August 11, 2015

I knew it was going to be a long day. I warned my Facebook friends to that effect.

Ryan, my precious little peanut, has a canker sore the size of Texas on her tongue. She chewed the dickens out of her mouth after having a cavity filled. And now the bugger hurts. Bad.

First thing this morning, she was (what my mother would call) caterwauling. Howling and sad, she slammed doors and threw fits.

This is entirely out of character for her.

Add to that, sometime in the last few months she decided she wouldn’t be a good sport about taking medicine. Apparently, roughly 37,000 pleasant doses was her limit. (After one particular surgery she needed medicine 22 times each day.)

So it was a necessary battle to give her something for the pain and rinse her mouth out in an attempt to help her sore heal. You see, next week she and I are boarding a plane to fly across the country to meet with a speech therapist who specializes in oral motor placement therapy. We are investing time and money on the chance someday she might be able to talk, and a wounded mouth is something we desperately don’t need.

For special needs families there is often a tension. The risk of hope is the fear of disappointment. The dreams I have for my daughter make me incredibly vulnerable. That insecurity can follow me around, creating its own place in my world. Today, you stepped into that space, uninvited.

So my daughter poked your bread. Was it so important that you needed to correct her? We were checking out, almost through our shopping adventure. It was Target for goodness sakes, not Mr. Holme’s Bakehouse.

Although my response of, “The next time a friend of yours talks about the difficulty of parenting kids with special needs, I want you to remember how important your bread was to you that day at Target,” was not my finest moment, it was actually proof that I have grown.

Truly, it’s only because Jesus lives that your bread didn’t look like this:

That talk about fits of rage in Galatians? It is aimed at me. And through the grace of God I struggle much less than I used to, yet I still am not perfect. Telling my daughter to stop poking your bread almost made me forget I don’t like to lose my temper.

Now…I am not saying it is good behavior for a child to poke a loaf of bread, but telling someone else’s child what to do is to enter into sacred space. In our world there are many people allowed in that place; staff at school, friends and family, people at church. I don’t believe your loaf of bread gave you that right, with my daughter.

What should you have done? I am so glad you asked.

You could have let it go. You’re a mom. You’ve heard the song. It’s good advice. The truth is I am a fairly strict mother. While I was busy swiping my card to pay and didn’t see the infraction, I certainly wouldn’t have let it continue once I noticed, had you just given me the chance. The statistical odds of Ryan having poked your bread more than once or twice without me noticing are slim…In all likelihood the bread was going to survive.
You could have moved the bread. Problem solved. Move it away from the curious finger of my daughter without bossing around someone else’s child.
You could have distracted her. You say you take care of special needs kids? Then certainly you have learned the art of distractions. Sometimes a pleasant, “How are you?” can interrupt harmless, inconvenient behavior.

There were many choices, but your choice made one thing clear: Your bread was more important to you than my daughter’s feelings or camaraderie with another mom. Seriously, I hope the sandwich is good.

To be clear, I am not a helicopter mother who protects my kids from everything, and ignores the world around me for fear of interfering. That’s not my style at all.

I have stepped in front of stranger’s kids when they were clearly misbehaving and about to run in the street. Once, at the community pool, I heard a mom say, “It’s time to go.” And a boy yell, “No!”

Then that boy, with the body language of naughtiness emanating, walked into the middle of the kiddy pool.

I had my sundress on and was gathering the towels and snacks of my girls when I turned to see his mother. She was in a wheelchair. Without a moment’s hesitation I asked, “Would you like me to go get him?”

“Would you?” She pleaded. I said I’d be happy to.

I walked into the pool, grabbed his hand and returned him to his grateful mother. Solidarity, people. But here’s the gig: I would never interfere with someone else’s child for the sake of my own comfort. Never.

Safety first, always. I don’t even think–it just happens. And if a mom clearly needs a helping hand I can give? No problem. I am happy to have her back.

But to interfere with parenting without allowing the mother time to speak, over something so trivial, is yucky. Your bread was clearly more important to you than I hope any loaf of bread ever will be to me.

I hope tomorrow is a better day for both of us.

Exposed

Robin Grace, Growth, Moments, Uncategorized July 15, 2015Bible Study, everyday, exposed, imperfection, Moments, paying attention

I was caught unaware.

Scrolling through my social media feed, mindlessly, lazily filling my afternoon with unproductivity, and there it was. A beautiful picture of someone who I will always be connected to. There came a catch in my throat.

The words were loving and seemed so sincere, and my inner conversation began, “Why am I not good enough for this? Why are there no words like this for me?”

Relationships, and people, are so messy.

And the extended version of the winsome photograph I found myself staring at is the most disheveled human connection in my world. Sometimes family feels like it is on life support.

In the swirling, I realize that I am feeling a wee bit vulnerable right this moment. My beloved Tuesday Night Bible Study needed to come to a close; my precious little ministry is flailing trying to plan for the next project; and unexpectedly I find myself discouraged.

I didn’t see it coming.

Mostly things are really good.

And my hubby and I are thinking through other things to make them better. There is no crisis. There is no overarching angst. But…every once in while…when I am looking in another direction…I suddenly feel exposed and at risk.

Here’s the truth I must face: Life is imperfect. Am I brave enough to accept that with grace?

The wacky thing is God is moving in my life. He has lovingly connected me with new friends, most of whom are writers, and I feel the itching to grow and learn in the very best of ways. I can sincerely cheer them on, applauding great work in the form of poignant words, embracing stories. It is lovely.

I am tackling a large project that has been laid on my heart. It is one that will ~~hopefully~~ bring women into deeper connection to God and stronger faith. I will find solutions for the ministry project and will be involved in a different Bible Study this fall. It will all be okay.

Except for the situation in that photo staring at me from the computer screen. For that I have no answers. And although it doesn’t impact the totality of life, or daily happiness, there are moments–like this one–that leave me feeling hauntingly sad and exposed.

When Tomorrow You Knew Would Be Better Longs For Yesterday You Wish You’d Appreciated

Robin Bible Study, Grace, Growth, Moments, Uncategorized July 5, 2015gratitude, imperfection, longing, Romans, today, tomorrow

I can not count the number of times I have looked at an old picture of me and wished I still looked like that, weighed that number, was that size. But if I were to face the entire ugly truth, I would admit that I felt discontented with me then. As that picture was taken, I was having the “I’m fat” chat in my head.

Perhaps I am the only one.

My body image is not the only place I struggle with this. We’ve hosted many last day of school parties at our house. The kids swim, hubby bbqs and a good time is had by all. Last year I remember sitting at the gathering, listening to the splashing and laughter, and daydreaming about finishing our landscaping. My hubby was having the best year ever in business and there was hope of having extra money. (It was hard work to remember what that might be like…)

Yesterday I dreamt of a water feature and a flagstone area with a fire pit. I envisioned colorful flowers (on a timed drip system so they would survive) and a walking path through fruit trees that we could pick fresh fruit from. I had hopes for a raised vegetable garden that the girls and I could plant together. In my mind we would make a leap to a healthier way of life designed to more easily have people gather.

I wouldn’t have to apologize that we still had not yet finished landscaping…in spite of our best intentions.

Ahhhh….such great ideas.

Little did I know at the time that my hubby was planning a surprise trip to Disneyworld for the family.

There goes the extra money.

And…that doggone el nino did not come through like I hoped. The draught painfully continues and we are on a well. That means when the water runs out of the tank nothing comes out of the faucet until the pump refills the tank.

Imagine sixteen people staying at our house for my father in law’s memorial service last fall, most of whom really wanted to shower before heading to the church.

Selfish, I know.

And when the showers were turned on there was…nothing.

The sound of air filled the room.

There was not even a drip.

Do you know how quickly dishes for 16 extra people pile up when there is no water to wash them? (That is a wonderfully legitimate excuse for not doing dishes.)

The yesterdays that I should have appreciated looked like this:

And the today I knew would be better looks like this:

Oops.

Here’s the deal: Basing my happiness on a tomorrow I can not control is a recipe for failure every time. Everyone knows we are in a draught. I can either move on with what I have or lament that which I have no command over. The weather is a great example of something I have no influence on. I need to decide, do I want to show off my yard or connect with people?

My Hubby’s business is not having a great year so far this year. This means that what is, is what I must deal with. If someone thinks less of me because my yard now crunches when they walk on it, that relationship would find an end anyway. And whether I like it or not, Jesus wants my pride to crunch under the weight of His sandals. He walked the earth so I could learn what really matters and live it out. The Word became flesh…

Not easy.

Over pastrami sandwiches or chef salads at a local restaurant each Tuesday Night, my Bible Study friends and I have been talking a lot about Romans 1:18-27. It is powerfully relevant to battles that rage in our culture and it offers us the chance to dig deep into application and discussion. Tucked in the middle, verse 21, is the pivot point where things begin to move in the wrong direction: “For even though they knew God they did not honor Him as God or give thanks…”

The pivot point of my life rests there as well. How much of my life do I waste by not giving thanks? Do I realize that a lack of gratitude means I am not honoring Him as God?

The only way my todays will be what I long for, whether my tomorrows are better or not, is to marinade my thoughts in gratitude. The aroma of thankfulness can be what fills my senses if I will just. pay. attention.

It is my desire to thank Him for everything; to see Him around me; to obey Him purposefully, and the only way that will bring me joy is to do it now. Seeing the joy in hindsight is a waste of a life.

May His joy fill my life to overflowing…today, regardless of what may come tomorrow.

AMEN

The Gap Widens

Robin Apraxia, Grace, Growth, Homeschool, Special Needs Families June 24, 2015Apraxia, enduring, Moments, The Gap

Parenting is not for the faint of heart. Parenting a child with special needs is that times a gazillion.

My precious little peanut lights my life. She stretches the boundaries of my heart and tugs at the capacity of my mind. She puts a mirror smack dab in front of my laziness for me to face, whether I want to or not.

I am a much better human being because of this journey.

But it isn’t easy.

She has rounded past her first decade and still cannot talk. She has a few words but they are hard work. She has sounds and a few signs, and ideas and stories and things to get across. (Mostly so you’ll do things her way, but I can’t criticize that.)

We’ve had some beautiful moments of learning. There have been many times when things looked and felt exactly like my heart imagines homeschooling could be for her.

And many, many dry, disorganized, exhausted moments in between.

But the number 10 is keeping me up at night.

It feels so old.

Have we missed the chance to get it right? To help her all we can?

I had my heart set on taking her to a speech clinic for Apraxic kids in Michigan this summer. But the Michigan therapist says Ryan is not yet ready for her. Ten years later, and we are still at the beginning.

Go to Connecticut, she says. Get more help with Oral Motor Placement Therapy.

Okay. I will.

On the phone I chat with the specialist in Connecticut who tells me, “What you see in the body, you see in the mouth.”

~~Oh crap.~~ Good to know.

I have always placed large motor skills at the bottom of the priority list.

We can only ever have one number one priority at any given moment. Physical therapy has not been my number one for her since she started walking at 2 1/2. But I didn’t know that what you see in the body you see in the mouth.

Gotta be honest, that is not good news.

Because of Ryan’s diagnosis, she doesn’t qualify for any government help. Tri-Counties Regional Center has nothing to offer her. We pulled her out of public school because it wasn’t working. I guess I could figure out services through the district but because her private school is in the town of a different school district than the one she used to attend, I’d have to start over. Yuck.

So we are shifting our focus in the weeks leading up to Connecticut. In that spirit we joined a hike with moms and kids from Ryan’s school. (She goes to a hybrid school where she is on campus two days a week and homeschooled three days a week.)

We all started at the exact same time.

Soon, we were by ourselves.

Not too long into it she wet her pants. (HOW DID I FORGET TO MAKE SURE SHE WENT POTTY BEFORE WE LEFT? I am not an amateur, for goodness sakes.)

It would have been so. much. easier. to turn around and go back. We could have waited for everyone else at the beginning. (My older daughter and brother in law were with the group.)

But I am terrified that if I am willing to turn back, I put at risk every good thing that lies ahead of her.

So we plowed forward.

We saw cows. In the middle of the path.

It was hard for her. Hard for both of us. I am not a nature girl.

Turning back could not be an option. I cheered and waited and promised dry clothes at the car. I told her forward was the only direction we could go.

As the gap between us and them kept getting bigger.

I fight the thoughts that creep in: What if this is the rest of her life? A series of experiences where the gap between us and them grows until we are totally alone?

It is in these moments that my mantra saves my life: Head up, look to the Lord. Head down, get to work.

I cannot look around. Comparing us to others will certainly kill my dreams. The only thing that makes sense is to put one foot in front of the other.

On this day, that meant finishing the hike.

In August, it means going to Connecticut.

In September it means totally reorganizing my homeschool days because what you see in the body, you see in the mouth.

And on most days between now and then it means repeating over and over: Head up, look to the Lord. Head down, get to work.

Great Moments

Robin Growth, Homeschool, Moments, Special Needs Families June 16, 2015education, everyday, imperfection, Moments, parenting, paying attention, Ryan, Special Needs

I love summer. I love the changing of seasons; not seasons of nature but seasons of life. The coming of summer and the end of school inherently provide a time to regroup.

I often need time to regroup.

Here is the truth of my life: I think I am getting better at it.

I am not perfect. Obviously. But I am also not a perfectionist, I am a pragmatist. What I am constantly trying to move toward is a life that works. For me that means my calendar matches my priorities. In quantity of time my family comes first, but in priority of time my faith comes first.

This season is working for me because, as it turns out, I love to learn. In church and Bible Study I am in a fruitful season of learning God’s word and how it applies to life. In parenting, my girls are in a fantastic school–on campus a few days a weeks and at home the others. Reagan is completely in charge of her own learning, and Ryan is homeschooled a few days a week.

After four years, I may be getting the hang of it. I actually finished the school year with momentum…and I am excited about the coming year.

It’s crazy, I know. I was actually…organized.

I want to push pause on a moment. In one of our homeschool days this spring, there was a breakthrough.

This is an activity we have done many, many times. Baking soda, vinegar, water, corn starch and food coloring have provided hours of entertaining engagement. This day we were using it as our fine motor activity. All of the squeezing and pinching making her little hands stronger on our road to learn to write.

Mostly I sat back and watched, letting her explore and combine.

The breakthrough came…for the first time, ever, Ryan did not combine all the colors into one big brownish-greyish gloomy mess.

Obviously she is still a bit messy. ($3 clear shower curtains get a lot of use as craft-table covers in our home.) But she was more careful than I have ever seen her.

This summer we want to continue to strengthen her foundational skills so that we can embrace the curriculum more thoroughly this fall. We intend to read more and exercise more. In August she and I will head to Connecticut to get a thorough evaluation and several sessions with an expert in Oral Motor Placement Therapy. It is our attempt to progress in teaching her to talk.

We are not ready to give up hope.

Meanwhile, we will do all we can do to enjoy this season, these moments, this child.

“And God looked at all He had made, and indeed it was very good.”

Genesis 1:31

Summer Adventures

Robin Moments, Special Needs Families, Uncategorized May 4, 2015adventures, imperfect, Ryan, Sea World, summer

My kids.

They are so precious and they are growing so fast.

Last summer my youngest and I went on an adventure. A friend (who I connected more with on Facebook than I did in high school) was getting married. She was elated…after years of praying and being faithful her day was coming. I wanted to be there.

My hubby? Not so much. And our middle was off to church camp the day AFTER the wedding so the 7 hour journey to get her on the bus the next morning seemed exhausting to think about, ESPECIALLY for a guy who had no desire to be social.

So my peanut and I hopped on the road together…

She was an incredible traveler, never complaining in the 7 hours it took us to get to Anaheim. (Which should be a 4 hour trip.) We stopped at McDonald’s, took a deep breath, and hopped back on the road. The traffic was intense. God and I chatted as car after car speeding recklessly by made me face the fact that I have some issues with fear…that’s another discussion.

By the time we reached San Diego and our hotel–almost ten hours after we began–I was so relieved and tired I pulled into the valet parking without even asking how much it was. (Good thing. Not cheap.)

Ryan and I snuggled in our glorious hotel bed and slept soundly, EXCITED about Sea World the next day.

She cracks me up. She is feisty and determined. She loves to laugh.

Once we got to Sea World, she became possessor of the map.

Remeinder…she can’t talk. She doesn’t yet read. But doggone it if she couldn’t navigate our way through Sea World following that map, perhaps even better than I could.

This was a unique experience for me. As a mom of three kids, spending precious time, away from home, with just one little person was a gift. My son is now grown and on his own. My girls are so different. Reagan, my middle, is incredibly bright and transitioning into a mature, free thinking, not-quite-a-kid anymore. Our “easy” one, she is diligent and academic but she tends toward a bit of melancholy…

Ryan, my youngest, has special needs. She can’t talk but has some words, some signs, and finds many methods of making a point. She can’t yet read and we are painstakingly learning what numbers are and what value they have. Her run, really isn’t. She smiles often. She spreads joy, but rush is not in her. She just can’t.

So. This. I could follow her, at her speed, to her appointed point on the map and let her enjoy.

She wanted to go here:

Oh my.

First, I dislike heights. Second, there is NO WAY I can send her up by herself. It is not a reality in our life. So, because this was a YES journey all about her, up we went.

She looked at me, pointed between her legs and I had to say, “Sorry, kid, keep going.” Up was really the only option, but it was hard work.

Let’s just be frank with one another, I am not in shape. My thighs are mushy and my belly does not look great over the top of my jeans. I am fighting not to have to get larger clothes, but the fight is not going my way. This ~~stupid~~ structure at an amusement park was like a long, long day at the gym.

I pulled my way up, up, up the rope net and climbed through the tunnel. Once at the top, a father was also entering the landing from a different direction. He gasped, “They should warn you about this thing. My back hurts, my knees hurt and I have broken a sweat.” He was a dozen years younger than I was, tanned and fit. I was not sympathetic.

“Your wife is clearly much smarter than I am,” was all I could mutter.

We climbed and crawled until we got back on solid ground, and although I knew she had wet her pants, I didn’t care. Changing her clothes was a distant second in priority because…this:

I love a character photo. After, I bought her a new shirt, we changed and went on our way.

We ate ice cream, watched penguins, cheered the dolphins, walked, walked and walked some more.

I wouldn’t trade this sticky, messy, hard world of mine for anything. Days like this illustrate in vibrant colors the unique beauty of my preciously imperfect life.

Magic Moments

Robin Uncategorized March 24, 2015

This is a blog I wrote for my girls’ school’s website…

My name is Robin, and I am a messy.

When I say that, let me assure you that I am not one of those ~~annoying~~ people who apologize for the mess when there’s no mess to be found.

I am one of those people who, at times, profoundly struggles to keep up.

I am much better than I used to be, but victories in the area of organization are still something that I celebrate, not something that is routine.

I hear people encouraging others to let the laundry go, to enjoy the kids while they are this age, and for some those words have tremendous wisdom. But for others, like me, that advice misses a reality that should not be overlooked.

Sometimes the most valuable thing I can do for my family is to create some peace and order.

I am all about flexibility, but it is difficult to homeschool if there is not a single flat surface available. Am I all alone in this struggle?

The truth is there are always two sides to every coin. Yes, I struggle with order. But, yes, it is also true that I encourage my kids to be creative.

There are times when the successes and failures of my life are so tightly layered one upon the other that I can’t tell them apart.

My girls made brownies together. Awesome.

My girls don’t quite clean up after themselves when they make brownies. Not so awesome.

I love to let my kids experiment. Great.

I don’t always clean up right away. Not so great.

Years into this educational process called SLOCA I am getting settled into the rhythm, learning the balance of what to let go of–perfection, condemnation and discouragement–and realizing that sometimes that means acknowledging who I am, not who I wish I was. There are times when taking a deep breath (and using a school day to get things organized) can be just what I need to facilitate the many magic moments this way of educating has to offer; when the willingness to face my own weaknesses, with courage and not criticism, makes way for my children’s strengths to flourish.

I don’t know what your weaknesses are specifically, but I do know two things:

You have weaknesses.
Whatever they are, you are not alone in them. Someone else struggles with that very same thing, too.

Let’s be a community of growth and solutions! Let’s cheer each other on in our weaknesses so that our strengths can be enjoyed together…humbly, honestly, transparently. Our children learn so much from watching us. Mine are learning that Pinterest makes for great moments fueled by new ideas, but that the mundane takes up much more time than we often want it to, and even more time if it is fueled by neglect.

In case you were wondering, the laundry will start to smell if you leave it in the washer for too long. Ask me how I know…

Burn Day

Robin Grace, Growth, Moments, Uncategorized February 2, 2015burn day, getting organized, no laziness, serving family

There may be no more satisfying yard work than a burn day.

Our yard needs it tremendously.

There are times when my entire life feels overgrown, in the worst way.

Happily, this is not one of those seasons. Things are steady, and my hubby and I are both energized and wanting to shift momentum radically in a forward direction.

A burn day is spiritually metaphorical because it illustrates how much room you make by getting rid of that which is already dead.

As a bonus, it is a testosterone driven activity…in the best way.

Working together was a great feeling and made for a productive day.

I am gearing up for a new Brighten A Corner project. I am giddy about it. I am so ready for the body of Christ to be the real solution to heartache and struggle. I can almost see God’s hand every where I turn.

But the past serves as a reminder that if my own home and my own life are a mess when a project begins, the process of serving for a week straight (nearly 18 hours a day) can be unnerving. I am determined not to do that this time.

Burn day was a step in that direction.

The other beautiful reminder is as we trim the trees and the plants, getting rid of all that is unhealthy, it will make future rain far more effective.

We are in a drought. The leaner and healthier the foliage, the less water it will use.

When things are in short supply, lean is the most effective way to go about life.

So this next 4 weeks, gearing up to serve, I will be getting rid of as many things as possible. I will be radically putting things away to make room for the madness to come. I will be focusing on my kids by throwing a birthday party for Ryan; supporting Reagan as she goes to Bible Study, youth group and church outings; digging in to homeschool; and maintaining routine. I will be doing my best to support my hubby in our businesses–being self employed means a lack of steady income–so if we can get a financial boost in time it will make things far less stressful for him.

I will beg God to help me overcome my laziness.

And I will grateful because, as it turns out, a burn day was a great way to get started.