The Middle Pages

For the past three years of our morning school routine, Owen and Jeremiah have always been in Phase Three.  You see, every school starts at a little different time and each child is in one of three time phases.  Phase one, is our 6:45 lone middle-schooler departure.  Phase two, is our high schoolers, Joshua and Sophie.  Bringing up the rear are the two littles.

I have always loved this time I get with Jeremiah and Owen.  Some people talk about cherishing the time with their children that comes right before bed time.  For whatever reason, this 'cherished time' for us is in the morning.  While they eat their breakfast and I pack their lunches is when we tend to have the best conversations.  But the last 10-15 minutes that we spend outside playing while waiting for the bus is perhaps the most treasured of all.  

They go through different phases of what that playing entails.  Sometimes, it's Knock Out.  Other times, it's soccer or baseball.  Right now, the sport of choice is Ping Pong.  

Sometimes, I will play against them (they find my skills wildly funny).  But most of the time, if I haven't gotten to do so already, I read our faithful kids-version 'Jesus Calling' out loud to them while they ping and pong.  Then, we take turns praying out loud as the ball bounces back and forth (I'm teaching them to multi-task, an art form which their future wives' will be ever so thankful).  Though before you get visions of Kum-ba-yah in your head, let me just shatter that for you right now.  It's disjointed.  It's often interrupted.  And I'm quite certain they're not always listening.  And some mornings when Owen announces he forgot to do some math problems or science homework, we are doing well to just not miss the bus.  

As disjointed and imperfect as it is, though, it's special because it's OUR TIME.  It's consistently a time we have, just us. 

Jeremiah likes to remind me on a very regular basis that this is his last year in Phase Three.  Next year, he will be going to middle school, leaving Owen all by his lonesome.  "Mom, this is my very last first day of school at Concord."  "Mom, this is my very last second day of grade school ever..."  

Wes loves to announce almost daily:  'Guess what, Mom?  Next year you'll have three kids in high school.'

They find extreme joy in bringing these facts up often.

I am someone who has a hard time not thinking about the approaching end.  For example, when we go on vacation, I get depressed on the first day because my mind keeps reminding me that the last day is just around the corner.  When I'm reading a super great book, I get depressed as I get closer and closer to finishing it.  I just don't want it to end.  I want to stay right there in the midst.

Maybe some of you can't watch Hallmark commercials.  I can't watch the social media posts of everybody's children going off to college.  It tears me up every single time.  I don't even have to know you that well to be a goner.  

These days, as I watch the ball get pinged and ponged, you can probably figure out what goes through my mind:  I've got a Junior and a Sophomore.  Next year, we will have three in high school.  Who am I kidding?  Owen and Jeremiah--they're basically almost in college.  

And my stomach goes in all sorts of knots and inside I fall into a heap.

And that right there is the angst.  The rub.  It's that tug in your heart that you feel as a mama, wanting to be able to stop time and just be.  But we can't.  We have to change and adjust with each passing season.  

So friends, tread lightly.  I realize that Joshua is just a year away from his senior year and that everyone is scheduling their senior pictures NOW, but give this mom some time to relish the middle pages.  To adjust and prepare for the final chapter.  

It's Friday but Sunday's Coming!

I remember it vividly.  The season after my mom passed away.  I was so angry.  I was angry about the entire situation, the chaos that had surrounded her death, all the things that went wrong and the fact that she had died.  I felt empty.  Life seemed meaningless and futile.  I felt betrayed by God and in my anger I just wanted to shake my fist and walk away.  I was standing at a crossroads of belief.  I could either choose to keep traveling with God--whom I wanted to yell and scream at--or I could choose to say, 'Good Riddance!' and go it alone.

As I wrestled with this, I heard God say very loud and clearly to me: 'Faith is choosing to follow me even when you don't feel like it.  It's choosing me when everything isn't rosy and beautiful.  It's choosing me in the bleakest of days.'  

My questioning, my crisis of belief, brought me face to face with Hebrews 11:1 and 2 Corinthians 4:18:  

'Now faith is confidence in what we hope for and assurance about what we do not see.'  and 'So we fix our eyes not on what is seen, but on what is unseen, since what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal.' {emphasis mine}

Faith.  Defined as 'strong or unshakable belief in something, especially without proof or evidence.'  The word I had tossed around so arrogantly and casually before.  Now I was having to decide if I could truly walk it out down to the core of my being.  

I did not end up walking away that day.  Instead, I ended up choosing Him, even though I didn't feel like it.  I chose Him because I knew in the deepest place of my soul that not choosing him would have been even more despairing.

I read something this morning that sums it up well:

'Desperation is better than despair.  Remember, our faith did not create our desperate days.  Faith's work is to sustain us through those days and to solve them.  Yet the only alternative to desperate faith is despair.  Faith holds on and prevails.'

I let my faith hold on that day and in the months to come, it prevailed.  God showed up in the smallest and most mundane ways--in ways that a passerby would have missed.  In ways that only spoke to me.  Sustenance for my soul, it was.  Just enough to keep me going and trudging on when I didn't feel like it.  Day in and day out, holding onto that faith applied salve to my wounds.  Little by little, it solved the seconds and the hours. 

Today.  Today we celebrate what we refer to as Good Friday.  The day that Jesus was nailed to the cross and died a horrific death.  Had Jesus' disciples been told on that grey, dismal afternoon that one day this ugly, chaotic day would be referred to as Good Friday, I'm quite sure that they would have found that absurd.  The day their Teacher, their Rabbi, their best friend whom they loved dearly, had died a brutal death?  Are you kidding?  What 'good' could be found in that?

You see, they too, were in a place that many of us find ourselves-- in circumstances that feel anything but good.  Circumstances that, in and of themselves, just downright stink.  Situations where we can't see a sliver of silver lining.  Just like us, they couldn't see past the moment.  Past the darkness.  Past the death.  Past the tomb.

We're told that hindsight's 20/20 and it's ever so true.  Had the disciples known on that bleak afternoon that Sunday was coming, maybe Friday being called Good would have made more sense.  While Jesus had tried to prepare them about all that was about to take place, they didn't have the slightest understanding or know-how to actually comprehend it.  That is, until after. 

After--when the tomb was empty.  After--when Jesus rose from the dead and appeared right in front of their eyes.  After--when they finally had eyes to see and ears to hear.  

Sunday came and with it came victory!  Grace cancelled out effort and work-based religion.  Life overcame death and despair turned to hope.    

Just like the disciples, we may find ourselves stuck in the darkness of Friday and not able to see the glorious light of Sunday.  In our Friday moments, we have to consciously choose to believe that Sunday is coming.  The dawn of a new day.   

I suppose this is what I did so many years ago after my mom's passing. I chose to take hold of faith even when I didn't necessarily feel like it.  To hold God's hand rather than go it alone.  To say "It's Friday, but Sunday's coming!'

Let us run with endurance the race that is set before us, fixing our eyes on Jesus, the author and perfecter of faith, who for the joy set before Him endured the cross, despising the shame, and has sat down at the right hand of the throne of God. Hebrews 12:2

When obstacles and trials seem like prison walls to be,
I do the little I can do and leave the rest to Thee,
And when there seems no chance, no change, 

From grief can set me free,
Hope finds its strength in helplessness, 

And calmly waits for Thee.'

In the Darkest of the Dark

My friends.  My friends have walked through the unimaginable tragedy of losing a child.  They have literally been down to the depths of hell and back.  It's been a few weeks since the funeral and now--life goes on.  It goes on for all those around them.  It goes on for their two younger children.  It goes on for them even.  They get the excruciating task of walking forward and doing the normal things in life when life is anything but normal. They are left with a huge gaping hole in their heart that can't be fixed.  Yes, God will and is beginning the healing process, but it will be slow going.  While the pain will diminish over time, nothing will ever quite be the same.    

I've had the privilege of being up front and personal, of being right in the eye of our friends' storm.  I've had the honor of watching our friends cling to Jesus in the center of their trauma.  Here's what I got to witness of my mama-friend:  years and years of personal Bible study and prayer coming to fruition right in front of my eyes.  You see, for years and years, day in and day out, my friend spent time getting to know her Father.  She spent time in women's Bible studies.  She spent time in prayer.  She and her husband made it a habit to take their family to church.  This was not just one portion or compartment of their life.  It was the center of their life.  And when she found herself in the eye of a storm one Thursday afternoon, guess what kept her from being swept up?  The One whom she'd spent all those countless hours with, day after day, year after year.  The One who knew her before he laid the foundation of the earth.  The One who knows what she needs before she knows she needs it.

Those days and days of spending with her Savior.  They were training camp.  They were strengthening her for such a time as this when He knew she'd need to recount all those promises she'd studied in His Word.  For the darkest hours of the night when she would need to cling to Him.  The past four weeks I have literally watched my friends be a pillar of strength.  I have watched their foundation stand strong and not topple.  I have witnessed a house built upon the Rock and not upon sand.  I saw an inner strength and ability within them that wasn't them.  I saw my mama-friend grab her friends' hands in the darkest hours and not ask for prayers, but lead the prayers.  I saw her husband lead her and himself through difficult decisions and then gather up friends and family and explain things with strength and clarity.  Minute by minute, God has sustained them.  He gives them what they need when they need it.  He even gives them glimpses of His glory that emboldens them to trudge through the muck and mire of the present.

These days, I worry about the generations behind me.  The generation that has grown up amidst the cell phone technology.  Those that have never known what life was like unplugged.  I worry that they aren't learning how to be quiet and listen...to read God's Word and let it truly saturate their minds and thoughts.  I worry that they're not adequately experiencing training camp, that they're not putting in the time that it takes to build spiritual muscle, the time that it takes to build a sturdy foundation that will not topple.  I worry about all of us, really, how we are letting every inch of our lives be filled with activity and movement.  We have lost the art of being still.  Being still and truly knowing our God.  With each distracted moment, we are allowing our spiritual muscle to atrophy.  We are letting it get weak and flabby.  And weak and flabby can't withstand the weight of catastrophe.

One day, for each of us, adversity will strike.  It's not a question of if.  It's a question of when.  When that happens, I want to be like my friends.  I want to know God so well that I cling to Him like a well-worn blanket, full of familiarity, safety and warmth.  I want His promises and words to invade my mind as naturally as my heart pumps my next breath.  

My friends.  My friends are going to make it--not because of their own ability or strength, but because of their God's.  They are going to make it because they are resting in the shadow of His wings and they are tapping into the one and only source that is able to supply what they need, exactly when they need.  He enables them to run and not grow weary, to walk and not be faint.  He promises to never, ever leave us or forsake us, even in the darkest of the dark.  

I find great comfort in that.


"Be strong and courageous. Do not be afraid or terrified because of them,  for the LORD your God goes with you; he will never leave you nor forsake you."  Deuteronomy 31:6

“Therefore everyone who hears these words of Mine and acts on them, may be compared to a wise man who built his house on the rock. 25“And the rain fell, and the floods came, and the winds blew and slammed against that house; and yet it did not fall, for it had been founded on the rock. 26“Everyone who hears these words of Mine and does not act on them, will be like a foolish man who built his house on the sand. 27“The rain fell, and the floods came, and the winds blew and slammed against that house; and it fell—and great was its fall.”  Matthew 7:23-27

"Those who trust in the LORD will renew their strength; they will soar on wings like eagles; they will run and not grow weary; they will walk and not faint."  Isaiah 40:31

Pressing on Toward the Goal

Once upon a time in a race of life, there were thousands upon thousands of runners competing for a prize. The course was a mixed bag of highs and lows and twists and turns. Some miles were relatively flat and easy-going, while others were mountainous and rugged—filled with rough terrain and uneven footing. The playing field was a talented bunch, displaying a diverse set of strengths and weaknesses. While victory was within reach for each of these participants, so was defeat. The competitors’ responses to the challenges, distractions and hard knocks they met along the way would ultimately determine their outcome. The participants were from all walks and stages of life:

Running on Empty was full of promise and potential; he was gung-ho and over-zealous to conquer the world. He started out strong and seemed unstoppable. Unfortunately, this over-zealous trait ended up being his down fall. After saying yes one too many times, this one flitted from one activity to another, forgetting to refuel along the way. A people pleaser by nature, he made other people’s happiness his goal. Soon, too much over-commitment with little rest and a to-do list forever long resulted in burn-out. Running on Empty began losing his fire for obtaining the prize. Overcome by weakness and hopelessness, he sat down in the middle of the road and couldn’t go on.

Control Freak had the most proper and precise running form of all. This athlete worked harder than anyone else, determined to come out on top. He had a stellar training plan, with every minute of every hour of every day accounted for. Unfortunately, Control Freak was too scared to let go of his way of doing things. He was too afraid of taking chances and risking failure. Over time, the unknown challenges of the course and the constant ‘What-If’s’ that plagued his mind were simply too much. Worry overcame his mind to the point that it affected him physically, rending him only a mere shadow of what he could be.

Pinterest was the most lovely competitor of all. Sporting the best running gear around, Pinterest had it going on. All of the other competitors were quite impressed (and a bit envious) of his style and appearance. After all, he appeared perfect. Pinterest attempted to create a perfect, heavenly home in the here and now, not realizing his nearsightedness was forfeiting his right to the real thing. Pinterest got so cozy and caught up in beautifying the course that he lost interest in running for and obtaining the prize. He finally stopped running altogether, settling down in his darling home full of home-made delights.

Accolades was quite talented and showed great potential. So much so, that he was a crowd favorite and was reminded often of his greatness. But Accolades became too reliant upon the affirmation. He started running with his cell phone, recording every step he made on social media. He compared himself to others, measuring his worth based upon how many ‘Likes’ and ‘Comments’ he obtained. Accolades got so caught up in boasting in his present life and what other people thought about it that he lost sight of the prize. One day he took a wrong turn while texting about himself and never got back on course. He’s been distracted ever since.

Life of the Party was the runner all of the other participants wanted to hang with. He kept the course fun, fun and more fun. Life of the Party filled every inch of the route with good times and entertainment. Fantasy Football, Netflix, X-box, nightclubs, social gatherings, you name it. If it was entertaining, Life of the Party was all up in it. The party stops and leisure activities became so consuming that Life of the Party lost interest in moving on down the course towards the prize. When he pulled out of the race, several other participants who he’d influenced along the way followed suit.

Shame stood out tall and confident at the start line. He had great hope for a strong finish. But, he began running with a crowd that persuaded him to take paths he later regretted choosing. Even though he finally got back on course, he couldn’t shake the voices that screamed he was unworthy of the prize. Shame hung his head in guilt; feeling like an undeserved misfit, he limped along at a snail’s pace.

Embittered began with light feet and a skip to his step. Things seemed promising. But somewhere along the way, another participant tripped him up and caused him much grief. Rather than letting this go, Embittered held on to the hurt and let it fester into unforgiveness. Year after year, Embittered continued to harbor hurts from others, allowing them to weigh him down. Finally, the unforgiveness was so heavy he could no longer keep moving, nor did he have the desire to keep moving. Instead, he sat on the side of the road in his misery, hurling insults at the other participants as they ran by.

Running on Empty, Control Freak, Pinterest, Accolades, Life of the Party, Shame and Embittered—each one of these runners represent sin struggles. While each struggle is a little different, they all have one thing in common: they represent an emptiness in the human soul that wants desperately to be filled with something. I can definitely identify with every one of these runners, some of them more than others. Perhaps your sin struggle has a completely different name associated with it. Whatever it is in our lives, it entices us to move off the race path. It entices us to keep choosing wrong things over and over again, until one day we realize we are further off course then we ever meant to get.

Here’s the wonderful part of the story, though. This race isn’t over yet.   Every one of these runners can choose to get back on course—and so can you and I.

It begins with surrendering. Surrendering our struggles to the One who can heal our hurts and fill us up. What does this look like exactly? It’s as simple as talking to God about where you are failing, where you are messing up and where you are stuck. 1 John 1:9 tells us that ‘If we confess our sins, he is faithful and just and will forgive us our sins and purify us from all unrighteousness.’ We cannot change on our own—it requires asking for help from our Lord God ‘who is able to do immeasurably more than all we can ask or imagine, according to his power that is at work within us’ (Eph. 3:20).

The next step is spending time with Him by studying His Word. This means making room for Him in our lives. Never in the history of mankind have we lived at a more distracting time then right now. We have more information and entertainment at our fingertips than we know how to handle. Setting aside a time ‘to be still and know that He is God’ is becoming more and more difficult in our noisy, techy world. But we must fight each and every day to make this happen if we are going to live in God’s strength and not our own.

Last, God’s Word tells us in 2 Cor. 12:9 that ‘His grace is sufficient for you, for His power is made perfect in weakness. Therefore, I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ’s power may rest on me.’  Notice that the word ‘Grace’ includes ‘race’.  This is great news for Running on Empty, Control Freak, Pinterest, Accolades, Life of the Party, Shame and Embittered (as well as you and I)! They and we can get back in the race! They and we can ‘press on toward the goal to win the prize of Christ Jesus’! But not on our own accord. Human ability, left to itself, gets lost in the wilderness. Only God’s amazing grace will result in a worth while race. His power rests on us and through us when we humbly admit our weaknesses—it’s then that we will see His ability, not our own, raise us up and carry us over the finish line.

Amazing Grace, how sweet the sound,

That saved a wretch like me,

I once was lost but now am found,

Was blind, but now, I see.

T'was Grace that taught...

my heart to fear.

And Grace, my fears relieved.

How precious did that Grace appear...

the hour I first believed.

Through many dangers, toils and snares...

I have already come.

Tis Grace has brought me safe thus far...

and Grace will lead us home.

The Lord has promised good to me...

His word my hope secures.

He will my shield and portion be...

as long as life endures.

“I press on toward the goal to win the prize for which God has called me heavenward in Christ Jesus!” Phil. 3:14

This is Dedicated to the One I Love

Twenty-one years and one day ago on the most beautiful and magical Spring-like August day, I got to be Cinderella for the day and marry my Prince Charming.  I will never forget this day as long as I live.  From the hand-picked flowers in my bouquet, to riding off in a convertible to our reception, it was the most beautiful and picturesque of days.  The loveliest of lovely.

While this day may have felt like a fairy tale, the reality of marriage is anything but.  Sometimes I think we can get caught up in Facebook and Instagram fairytale-land that paints a picture of perfection and all things beautiful.  Newsflash:  Marriage isn't always lovely and starry-eyed.  In fact, many a day can go by where it's just NOT EVEN CLOSE.

Being married is actually hard work, with lots of sweat and tears.  But at the end of a hard day's work, there's the moment of sitting back and enjoying.  There's the feeling of satisfaction over what you've created or built.  You're invested because you've put in the time and sweat equity.   

Our former pastor once said of marriage: "It's a slow death."  Isn't that the truth?  If we want to have a great marriage, we have to be willing to give up our own agenda and wants.  We have to learn to compromise and do what's best for the team.  We have to learn to die to self and sometimes that process feels like two steps forward and three steps back. 

I'm so thankful to still be standing strong beside the man I married twenty-one years and one day ago.  But it's by grace alone.  Each and every day.  Sheer and utter grace.  Left to myself, that 'strong' in the sentence above becomes shaky at best.  God's grace infuses me with the power and ability to stand strong and hang on when I don't feel like it or don't have it in me.    

And maybe right about now I need to explain why I didn't post this yesterday on our Anniversary.  Because we were in a big fat fight and I didn't have anything nice to say, that's why.

So our 21st Anniversary might not have been our finest hour...

But today was 21 years and one day.  And between 21 years and one day, a lot happened.  I'm no longer shooting daggers at him and he's no longer giving me the silent treatment.  Yesterday was a hard work day, but today we're sitting back enjoying.  And maybe, just maybe, an Anniversary post the day after is a little more representative of marriage between two imperfect, messy people.  And maybe it's a great reminder that marriage is not about the wedding day or any one day in particular, but about a culmination of many.

21 years and one day.  For better or for worse.  And one day.  For richer or for poorer.  And one day.  In sickness and in health.  And one day.  Until death do us part.

And that right there is marriage, ya'll.  

The Struggle is Real

Have your circumstances and difficulties ever just seemed too big?  Overwhelming and too much to handle?  Are you ever just completely over it and ready to throw in the towel?  Does the weight on your shoulders just seem too burdensome?  Tired of working, tired of trying, tired of straining.  Just dog-gone tired?

You see, Eric and I have had a 'thorn in our side' for quite a while now.  One that's been around for several years, and probably isn't going to disappear anytime soon.  We all have them--these thorns.  They're sharp and they're painful.  Spend any amount of time living on this side of heaven and you're sure to experience being stuck by a thorn or two.  Whether a sickness, a financial issue or a relationship-problem, the struggle is real.

So, this is where I found myself Sunday afternoon.  Heavy-hearted.  Defeated.  Tired.  So, so tired.  Too tired to lift myself out of the muck of our circumstances.  Too tired, even, to cry out to the only One who can lift us onto higher ground.  I felt hopeless and stuck.

Lost.  Flailing.  But not too far gone to call a friend on SOS speed dial and ask for help.  She prayed earnestly and compassionately, necessitating a little CPR on my behalf.  As she claimed and lifted up Truth over my concerns, I was able to breathe a little easier for the time being.  That's one of the beautiful things about friends.  They step in and do, when we can't.

The prayers, they sustained me that afternoon.  Yet that burden--that millstone--still felt heavy-laden and massive.  

Such was me when I walked into the chapel at our church Sunday evening, arriving for Eric's deacon ordination.  Oh, you would not have known that I was crawling into that place with a boulder that felt like the size of Mount Everest between my shoulder blades.  I just looked like a regular 40-something mom, walking down the aisle with her three teenagers and two children in tow (who may or may not have had a slight attitude over the fact that they had to wear jeans).  

Why do we have to dress up???  Why couldn't we wear our sweats???  Why can't we stay in the gym and play basketball during the service???  

{{{Oh, if they only could realize that for most people, wearing jeans is not even dressing up!}}}

But back to my story.  

My heavy load may not have been evident to the naked eye.  Or seen by the on-lookers.  But there was One looking on that saw it more clearly than even myself.

One who knows what we need.  One who can furnish a fresh supply of oxygen when it's running low. 

The ordination began with music, followed by the testimonies of the two being ordained.  As my husband shared his/our sweet story, I remembered.  I remembered our grace-filled God, pulling us out of hell-bent lives.  Sometimes we just need to look back and recall, to be reminded of what we were saved from and how far we've come.  The simple act of remembering took my eyes off the temporary--the here and now--and placed them on the eternal.  As my vision shifted, that boulder between my blades got a few pounds lighter.  

Next, though, was most powerful of all.  After speaking for a few minutes about what it means to be a deacon, our pastor called Eric and I up to the center of the stage to sit in two chairs.  As we positioned ourselves, he called forward the current deacons of our church to pray over us.  I will never, ever forget the sight of those humble, strong men walking towards us.  Like warriors with their serving papers, marching to battle.  They gathered around, laid hands upon us, lifting up powerful, compelling prayers.  

While my circumstances didn't change, there surely was a great exchange.  Sturdy, 'weighty' prayers seized the load from my frail shoulders.  It was taken away and literally delivered to God, who is always ABLE, MORE THAN ABLE to carry that which is too heavy for us.

The effectual, fervent prayer of a righteous man availeth much.  James 5:16

To many in that room, this was an ordinary, routine deacon ordination.

To one small, defeated and hopeless-feeling soul, it was so much more.  It was God reaching down and using the intercession of many to revive a tired spirit.  Life-giving words being lifted up on behalf of others for one who had temporarily run out of steam.  

'for I know that this will turn out for my deliverance through your prayers and the provision of the Spirit of Jesus Christ'  Phil. 1:19

Let's face it.  The struggle is real.  It's a battle out there.  Sometimes we all need a little help.  A little encouraging nudge to keep on, keeping on.  A little God-boost to get us back up and going.  

Those prayers on Sunday--they were my boost.  The strength to enable me to not just stand, but to stand on the heights.  Intercessory prayer is no small thing.  How grateful I am for the perseverance and petition of faithful friends when I'm too weak to do it myself.  

It is God who arms me with strength

and keeps my way secure.

He makes my feet like the feet of a deer;

He causes me to stand on the heights.

He trains my hands for battle;

My arms can bend a bow of bronze.

You make your saving help my shield, 

and your right hand sustains me; 

Your help has made me great. 

You provide a broad path for my feet, 

so that my ankles do not give way. 

Psalm 18:32-36 

What? Only One Word???!!!

I have a love affair with words.  I love them so much.  I love to read them.  I love to write them.  I love to think about them.  I love to study them.  And, of course, I love the new trend of decorating with them.  

I love stringing them together in a sentence, analyzing them, then moving things around until it flows just right.  The on-line Thesaurus is my best friend.  I visit it several times a week, hunting for just the right word.  

As you can imagine, Twitter and I have a hate/hate relationship.  I can't understand why you would EVER want to limit anyone's characters to only 140?  I used to try to work within these ever-constraining boundaries, but who wants to spend thirty minutes cutting out beautiful, flowy words???  I mean, where's the art in that?

My husband, on the other hand, thinks Twitter's the bomb-diggety.  Short and to the point.  Give me the information and let's move on, please.

Maybe that's why he was all up on creating a New Year's tradition last year that centered around picking one word.  Yes.  ONE word.  One, tiny, small, measly word.  Imagine Miss Wordy-Words angst when he announced that we must choose one--just ONE--to focus on for the whole entire year.  

Oh.  My.  Word.    

How in the world do I just choose ONE, for crying out loud?

So last year I think I may have mistaken my inability to choose just one as an inability to focus.  So guess what I chose?  Yes, you guessed it.  

FOCUS.

Once I chose it, I second guessed myself for several days, but because of all my back and forth indecisiveness, I finally determined that FOCUS must indeed be the right one because I clearly was having a hard time focusing.  Thus, I finally laid to rest whether or not it was the right word and came to peace with FOCUS.  And, I have to say, I made some great strides this year regarding focusing.  I can honestly say it was the right word for 2014.  

Fast forward to a few short weeks ago.  It's the 29th of December.  It's Sunday.  New Year's Day is approaching and I truly have no idea what my word is going to be for 2015.  At church that morning, the preacher's sermon was entitled 'One Word' and he talked about choosing a word for the year (Eric, did you put him up to this???).  He suggested jotting down some words that came to mind and start praying that God would help you narrow it down.  

Okay, I thought.  I'll do that.

I jotted down three or four.

I prayed.  I jotted down a few more.  I prayed some more.  

Over the next few days it seemed that, rather than zeroing in on one word, my list just kept growing.  Now I was up to ten.  

We weren't allowed to tell our word until the Big Word Reveal on New Year's Day.  It seemed every person in our family was walking around our house bragging about how they had their word.  I had one word envy.

My daughter must have noticed my duress.  She tried to help me out.  She explained that she had chosen three words and prayed about each one.  Her stomach kind of jumped right when she was praying about one of them, so that's the one she picked.  Did I need for her to pray over my words too and let me know which one her stomach jumped on?  (By the way, she has since changed her word.  So much for her stomach-jumping prophecy).

I decided to go for a run.  Running always gives me clarity, I thought.  Surely while I'm running, I will finally zero in on ONE of my words.  

My list grew to 17.

Discipline, Start, Joy, Others, Write, Uncomfortable, Serve, Love, Fight, Grit, Chillax, Breathe, Laugh, Intentional, Pray, Free, to name a few. 

By New Year's Eve, I was up to 21 and counting and I was starting to feel like a Duggar.  Time was running out and I was getting desperate.  I started showing everyone my list, begging for their input.  Both my teenagers and the counselor in our family told me they thought I should choose 'Chillax'.

'I would, but that's cheating.  That's clearly TWO words.'

Well, I didn't really say that.  Because WHO CARES IF IT'S TWO WORDS, FOR CRYING OUT-LOUD???!!!  I LIKE WORDS!

But I didn't take their advice and choose chillax.  Because I DO NOT have a problem with chillaxing.  

DO NOT.    

So, I guess you are wondering if I ever did finally choose my one word?  

Yes.  

Well, sort of.  

I chose one, but then it didn't feel quite complete.  It just felt a bit narrow and limiting.  It needed a boost.  Or two.  

So, I finally changed the rules a teeny, tiny bit and decided to go with Three Words for 2015.  I feel good about it.  They all kind of fit together and it feels complete:

  
Start.  Discipline.  Write. 

I want to start writing in 2015 and I'm going to have to be more disciplined in order for that to happen.  I am also not a very good starter.  I tend to procrastinate.  Once I get going I'm all in, but the starting is hard for me. 

So, there you go.  It was a tough go getting here but it was worth the fight.  

What word or words did you pick for 2015?