Tornado.

When I got home from work last night that's what my husband said they were warning about on the weather.  

Tornados.

For Sunday.

The day I am expecting 100ish people to come to my house for my annual Recipe Tasting.  This is supposed to be a front yard event, not a stack-people-in-my-garage-basement-kitchen-livingroom event.

But, really, it only seemed fitting that the weather should mirror my week.  It's been a bit of a tornado, whirly and twirly.  Partly stressful and destructive and brutal and partly amazing and magnificent to behold.

This week I've had so many experiences, some terrible and some mediocre and some so precious I can hardly stand it.

I've screamed at my kids but also heard them tell me random "I love you"s.  

I've been to the grocery store literally EVERY DAY except one. 

I've stayed up late cooking with two very dear friends from work.

I've stayed up late on a different night cooking with two other very dear friends, one with her new foster baby strapped to her chest, the other exhausted from working 12 hour days to help get the Lancaster Sweet Shoppe up and running.

I've sobbed alone in my kitchen after hearing about a loved one's dream ending.

I've talked about one of my greatest fears with a virtual stranger.

I've made dough so soft it'll make you swoon.

I've written and rewritten and rewritten lists.

I've dropped a full container of soup and said a bad word as I watched it run across the floor.

I've driven with the windows down and the radio up and smelled the sweet summertime honeysuckle.

Photo cred on this one goes to Aunt Lynette.  I stole this from her Facebook page.

I've felt disappointment with a friend who got passed over on a job opportunity and I've felt deep sadness when I heard about a marriage in trouble.

I've sat poolside with my sister and mom, swam with my niece and kiddos, talked about football with my aunt and uncle, and hugged my grandma tight.

I've watched my husband mulch, mow the yard, clean out the garage, and pressure wash the house to help me get ready for my harebrained recipe tasting.

I've watched my sons play baseball, delivered fundraising subs, and met a neighbor for the first time.  And I was chatty.  Wonders never cease.

Why am I telling you all this?  I'm not even really sure.  I guess this week I've just been feeling very All.  Feeling All the emotions.  Doing All the things.  It just blows my mind that such vastly different feelings and experiences can all happen in the very same week.  Some within the very same 24 hours.

I think, also, I've just been feeling very connected to people lately.  Seeing lives intersect.  Letting go of how I think things should be and giving people space to be who they are.  Learning that just because I do things one way doesn't necessarily mean you are wrong if you do things a different way.  Remembering that just because I am an introvert doesn't mean that I don't need people.

And I've been thinking about joy.  About thanksgiving.

I knew at the beginning of this week that my hours were going to be very full.  That I wouldn't get as much sleep as I normally do.  That much was required of me if everything was going to get done.

Honestly I was dreading it.  But I spent time praying that I would do this week with joy.  With thanksgiving.

I'm not sure how God answered my prayer.  I've definitely felt joy this week but I've also felt grief and disappointment and sadness.

When I first got the word "eucharisteo" tattooed on my finger it was dark and bold and whole and I loved it.  It was fresh and clean.  Kind of like how we start off in life.  Full of hope and dreams.

Two weeks ago I was a greeter at church.  I really love being a greeter (I know that doesn't sound like introverted behavior.  I'm complicated.  And totally ok with that).  I love seeing people all smily walking into church.  I love complimenting people on how nice they look and seeing their faces light up.  I love it when little kids run right past me and my outstretched hand.  I really love it when people hug me instead of shaking hands.

On this particular morning my friend, Mike, came thru my door.  We shook hands and exchanged good mornings and he started to walk away but then turned back around and pointed at my tattoo.  "It's coming off," he said.  And I gave my standard answer, the tattoo parlor people said it might fade, the skin on your hands is different, blah blah blah.

But really, I love the way it is now and I wouldn't change it.  It's not polished or shiny or new anymore.  It's worn and broken.  But it's got character.  It says 'I might not be like I was at the beginning but I'm here to stay.'  It's like real life.  Hard things happen.  Terrible things.  Stressful things.  Our hearts get worn and broken.  But it gives us character.  Pain shapes us and Jesus accepts our thanksgiving, our eucharisteo, no matter how it comes out.

I blog about this all the time, how Jesus is not afraid of our emotions.  I keep coming back to it again and again because life is just full of All the things.  Up and down and back and forth.  But even when life is tornadoing all around us, even sweeping us up into the funnel, Jesus is constant.

I love Romans 8 where it says that "neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons, neither the present nor the future, nor any powers, neither height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus."

I don't know what all your week held.  Maybe it was a very normal week.  Maybe it was very bad.  Maybe it was very good.  Maybe it was a tornado week.

This is what I do know:  we need each other.  To laugh with, to cry with, to learn with.  

If you brave the weather tomorrow to come eat my food I hope you enjoy some good fellowship as well.

And I'm gonna hug each one of you.

I Ate Eggs and Nachos for Breakfast

Some days you wake up refreshed and excited and over the top with All The Emotions.

Some days you drag it out of bed like you're about to face a firing squad.

Some days you take care of your body, feed it nutritious food.

Some days you start out well with, say, some eggs but quickly spiral into nachos.

Some days you feel good about all the people.

Some days you'd rather just be left alone.

Fourteen years ago I woke up to the first kind of day.  Loving everything, excited about everything, talking to everyone.  

My wedding day.

It was fantastic.  The paper even described the weather as "delightful".

Fast forward to this morning.

The sky was gray when I woke up.  Again.

It was cold.

It was hectic.

I had a million things to do.

I sent one son out the door super mad at me.

I drove another son to the neighbor's to pick up a pair of crutches because he hurt his ankle on the trampoline yesterday.

I made waffles, cleaned up the kitchen, helped my mom unload some yard sale stuff, and went to work.

Then I left work, went grocery shopping, came home and put away the groceries.

I thought of all the things I should do (getting ready for the yard sale, preparing for my speaking engagement Saturday morning, folding the laundry, ect.) and then I sat down to read in the half hour of quiet I had until the kids came home from school.

When they came home I chatted with them a bit and then laid down on the couch with my poor broken Cole.  I was overwhelmed with the noise, the activity, the thoughts inside my head so in typical Tara fashion, I took a nap.

Like, a hard core nap.  When Larry woke me up I was drooling.

Happy Anniversary, Baby. *wink, wink* *wipes away slobber*

Ugh.

He informed me that the kids were going to eat leftovers while he and I went out.

I WAS SO ON BOARD WITH THAT.

We went to Boehringer's because that's how fancy we are.

We watched the ducks while we ate cheesesteaks and french fries.

We talked about what we ate at our reception (chicken, but nobody remembers what else).

I wondered aloud why we didn't have Boehringer's cater our wedding.  How do you beat cheesesteaks and french fries?

I complained about my day.  He made me laugh.

It's the way things work for us.

I was not the nicest person to be around today.  And, honestly?  Sitting here in my quiet dark house is just about the happiest I've been today.

Some years May 11th is phenomenal.  Some years May 11th is eh.

But this I know to be true:  the man who made May 11th such an important day is steadfast, committed, and deeply devoted to me.

Happy Anniversary, Larry.

Words Are Hard

I blogged a week and a half ago.  Except the post never made it to it's published state.  I was blogging from my iPad on vacation.  Technology and I are not the greatest of friends.  (If you are reading between the lines here is what you heard:  I was too dumb to figure out how to blog from my iPad and I possibly said swear words in my head.)

Anyway.  I fully intended to finish/publish that vacation post.  And I will, sometime.  It's a fun post and it lets me relive a gorgeous day in Georgia.  But tonight I need to blog about something else entirely.

I've been taking a class at church on Tuesday nights and I love it.  It's not an easy class in it's subject matter (where is God in the midst of suffering) but it's delightful in the people who are attending and the pastor who is teaching it.  It's a safe space for discussion and being heard.

Except I super suck at classroom discussion.  I'm great at listening to everyone else voice their ideas and I'm storing it away for later.  You know, when I can type out what I'm thinking in a clear and concise (I hope) manner.  But putting words out there on the spot?  I'm terrible at it.

Tonight we talked about giving space for lament.  About how we are not so great at it.

Two sentences on our handout really struck me.

"To sing "happy songs" in the face of evil and suffering is a very different reality than the Bible reveals."  Have you read the Psalms?

"To withhold the public witness of lament is to minimize the possible transformation of a community through its testimony."  When someone shares their struggles, either as a speaker to many or in a one on one situation, I am always moved.  I am made more aware of God's presence, made more aware of our need of Him.

And yet I still find myself shying away from lament.  Maybe not of listening to yours but of voicing mine.

On Sunday I was teaching  the 6th grade girls Sunday school class.  We had a special two week series and part of that was talking about emotions.  The curriculum had this to say "Each night when you go to bed, it's a great idea to think back over your day and name the feelings of the day and tell Jesus.  Remember that Jesus is with us in good times and bad."

This is such a simple thought but I also think it would be a very freeing exercise.  I'm quick to name the good feelings but the yucky ones?  Not so much.

But the yucky feelings are just as important as the good ones.  Have you seen the movie Inside Out?  Holy moly.  That movie hits the emotional nail on the head.  Please pause your life until you've watched it.  And don't be ashamed if you cry, I did.

Back to tonight. 

Pastor Brian showed us two images.  One of an empty cross.

And one of a cross filled with a bloodied and dying man.

And we asked ourselves this question:  Do I avoid the suffering of the cross in haste of the empty tomb?"

My hand needs to go straight up.  I want the party but none of the preparation it took to get there.  The preparation is H.A.R.D.

When I was looking at the images tonight my eyes were drawn to the empty, cleaned up cross.  It's a symbol of celebration.  My Jesus conquered death!  That is something to get excited about and excitement has it's place.

But so does sorrow.  When I made myself look at the bloodied Jesus my eyes instantly filled with tears.  When I think of how he was bloodied, the whips, the crown of thorns, the spear.  Oh my.

When I think of why he was bloodied I am undone.  It was for me.

Because he loved every quirky, weird, introverted, complicated part of me he took the whip and the crown and the nails and the spear.

Oh my.

So, as we get closer to Easter, I want to sit with the sorrow.  I want, I need, to make space for lament.  To embrace the full story and not rush ahead to the happy ending.  To explore each emotion and name it.  To talk to Jesus about it.

Will you slow down with me?  Let's stop and allow ourselves to feel.  To feel the crushing weight of sorrow at how Jesus was brutalized.  To feel the awe that he did it because of his depth of love for us.  To feel the passion of wanting to give ourselves back to him.  To feel the excitement of the empty tomb.

Let's honor Jesus this Easter by fully engaging in his story of redemption.

It is, after all, for each one of us.

On Being a Mentally Ill, Introverted, Jesus-Follower

It's 5:00am and I am ready for today.  Not just figuratively.  I've literally showered, gotten dressed, had my coffee and quiet time.  See, here's the thing:  I hardly slept last night.  We're talking like two hours, max.

I don't mind.  I've had this debate with friends:  if you could choose between never having to sleep and never having to eat, which would you choose?  Let's face it, we spend a lot of time doing both.  And if you are the cook in your household you spend even more time on food.  If I never had to meal plan, grocery shop, prepare food, eat it, and then clean up?  Wow, I'd have a lot of spare time.

But that's not what I'd give up.  I'd take not ever having to sleep again, hands down.  I love all the hours in the day.  Ok, that's not quite the truth.  I love the early morning quiet as well as the midnight solitude.  Except if I try to enjoy both I end up being someone you don't want to be around.  Sleep deprivation does not make me a nice person.  I feel great right now but I'm banking on a nap after lunch so that my people don't want to run away from home.  Or spend time wishing I would.

Part of what I love about early morning is it's my best thinking time.  It's when I read books that require all of my concentration.  It's when I contemplate how I'm really doing: mentally, emotionally, spiritually.

And this morning what I realized is this:  I'm a mentally ill, introverted, Jesus-follower.  That description cracks me up!  And hopefully makes me relatable.

As far as my mental faculties go, I suffer from SAD (Seasonal Affective Disorder).  I blogged about it last year around this time.  

And I'll be honest, last year was worse.  It started earlier than usual (for me it usually starts around February.  Last year it started the beginning of December) and seemed more difficult than ever before.  I had never been officially diagnosed but always had that sneaking suspicion.  I actually went to the doctor last winter, confirmed that SAD was my problem, and started taking an anti-depressant.  

It made a world of difference for me.  I took the anti-depressant until mid-May when the world was once again overtaken by green growing things, abundant sunshine, and weather warm enough to have the windows and doors open.

Enter this year.  The weather had been super mild up thru Christmas.  Like, I wore flip flops and drove with my windows open on Christmas Eve.  Lovely.

And I've been eating waaayy better.  Mostly gluten and sugar free.  I say "mostly" cuz let's be real.  There's still some gluten and sugar sneaking in because they are delicious.  What's guacamole without super crunchy delicious pita chips?  Nothing, I tell you.  That's what.

Anyway, I've read some research about how gluten and sugar can be contributors to depression.  Also how healthy carbs (think quinoa, sweet potatoes, sprouted grains, fruit) can help increase serotonin levels giving you that "feel good" feeling (clearly I am slightly impaired from my lack of sleep.  '"feel good" feeling'?  Words are hard.)

So, the combination of warm weather deep into December + nourishing food has been good for me.  However, in the last week or two I've been noticing some things.  I'm really tired.  I'm not sleeping well.  I can't concentrate.  I feel overwhelmed.  All symptoms of SAD.

And then there's the socializing part.  I have a very difficult time trying to tell if my lack of desire to socialize is due to SAD or being an introvert. 

I've been working my way thru this book:

"Quiet: The Power of Introverts in a World That Can't Stop Talking" by Susan Cain.

It.Is.Facinating.

There have been many "Ah-ha!" moments for me.  Moments where I am finally feeling validated about my behavior instead of wondering what's wrong with me.  Being an introvert is not a character flaw.  It's just how I'm wired and the world needs both introverts and extroverts.

We've just come thru The Blizzard of 2016.  The one we'll be talking about for winters to come.  Close to three feet of snow.

Everything was canceled, as you can imagine.  The biggest thing was our church's Ladies Retreat.  It's a weekend we spend at a nearby hotel.  We have a speaker who does four sessions.  We go shopping, stay up late, sit in the hot tub, eat delicious snacks, and laugh a lot.  I always enjoy it and I know if we would have had it this year I would have had a great time.

But guess what?  We canceled it and I wasn't sad.  Not even a little bit.  And I'm not sure if it's because of my introverted nature or my mental illness.

Can I tell you another secret?  If I've chosen you for a friend, I love you deeply.  But if you cancel our plans?  I'm super happy to stay at home.  This is especially true in the winter which leads me to believe it's a combo of my nature and my mental state.

I was texting with a good friend on Saturday in the midst of the blizzard.  We had very similar results when we compared our Myers-Briggs personality tests except for the fact that she is an extreme extrovert whereas I am an extreme introvert.  She started the conversation by asking if I'd ever read "Quiet" as she was in the midst of reading it.

I was able to put into words a vague notion that had been floating around in my brain.  I said this to her:

"One of my biggest struggles is knowing when to say no to something because it stresses me as an introvert vs. using introvertedness as an excuse...I don't want to be a person who misses out on what God has for me because I'm hiding behind introvertedness."

I want very much to lead a life that points to Jesus.  Out of these three things that I feel define me, I want the most obvious to be that I love Jesus.

Are you a mentally ill, introverted Jesus-follower?  If so, you are part of my tribe.  I'd love to hear your thoughts on this. 

In an e-mail.

Definitely not a phone call.

It you don't get that then you might not actually be a tribe member ;)

Today I worshiped thru tears.  A continual stream of them.

I am sure I was not the only one.

On Tuesday morning I was driving to work singing along to the radio at the top of my lungs (the only acceptable volume, really).  It was a cold morning but I had my heated seat turned on and I had just come from listening to my friend, Adrianne, talk to our ladies group at church.

I did my job, picked up Jake from preschool, and came home.

And Larry says to me, "Did you hear?".

No, I hadn't.

He then told me how a woman who used to come to our church had died.  Very unexpectedly.

A young woman.

A pregnant young woman.

A pregnant young woman with a husband and a toddler.

I felt waves of grief crashing over me.

I wasn't close to this young woman.  But I had watched her while she was in the youth group.  While she was a young bride.  I felt like she smiled all the time.  She was so cheerful.

And now, she was gone.

As the day unfolded, so did the story.

I heard that they were unable to save Jeneva but they delivered her baby boy.  And things were looking good for him.

All day Wednesday I thought about Jeneva's husband, Mervin.  And their little girl.  And their baby in the hospital.  And I couldn't take my prayers much farther than "Oh, Jesus."

Then on Thursday, right before I left for work, I got a text.

Pray for the baby, it said, the doctors think there is significant brain damage.

The sun was shining as I drove my son to school and it felt like a mockery.

I dropped him off and drove to work.  I didn't listen to the radio.

I said to God, "How can one man handle this much pain?"
Sometimes it seems like God makes mistakes.

As I was cresting the hill on Railroad Ave coming into New Holland, something caught my eye.  It wasn't the church steeple stretching skyward, a view that normally I love.  It was well below the steeple.

It was the graveyard.

The tombstones to be specific.

They were glittering in the sunshine.

I don't know why or how but, for some reason, it comforted me.

Then this morning.

A sweet girl who had been a good friend of Jeneva's led worship.

We sang "Glorious One", "Lord I Need You", and "Revelation Song" among others.

I sang with tears streaming down my face the entire time.  Wanting to worship this Jesus whom I love but also feeling the ache of loss for someone that I barely knew.  Wanting to worship but also feeling the why.

Why did God allow this to happen?

Isn't that always the question we ask when tragedy strikes?

We can get philosophical and go into the fall of mankind at the beginning.  How death entered the world because of sin.

But I'd like to suggest that sometimes it's ok to just sit with the 'I don't know'.  And not just sit with it alone.  To bring it to Jesus and be broken and say 'I don't know why this happened and it breaks my heart.  But I trust you.  I trust that you know what you are doing and I'm going to look for you in this situation   Please show yourself to me.'

We sang the phrase "eternity sings" and I thought of Jeneva, singing in heaven this morning.  She loved Jesus, was committed to following his ways, and because of that she gets to sing his praises for eternity.  It's a comforting thought.

In Sunday school this morning we looked into the first two chapters of Ecclesiastes.  They are basically summed up in chapter one, verse two: "Meaningless!  Meaningless!" says the Teacher, "Utterly meaningless!  Everything is meaningless."

This was said by Solomon, one of the wealthiest and wisest men in history.

It makes me sad but, in a way, I see his point.

I do a lot of things that will never be remembered after I'm gone.  Mountains of laundry, piles of dirty dishes, mindless web surfing.

And even the important things that I do, making my husband and kids feel loved, being there for my friends, church work, writing this blog, generations from now it is most likely that no one will know my name.

But you know what?  I'm not gonna be here generations from now.
I am here right now.

And I say my life has meaning.  I say each day has value.  I say giving thanks for the little things is leaving a legacy for my kids and grandkids.

Today I watched people hug each other and I hugged a bunch of people.  I loved that.

Today I went for a hike under a white-puffy-cloud-blue sky with some people I care about.  I loved that.

Today I heard laughter and music that made my heart rejoice.  I loved that.

Today I tasted sweet chocolate, salty peanut butter, savory rosemary.  I loved that.

I read something in Shauna Niequist's book "Bittersweet" that I want to share with you.

"Bittersweet is the practice of believing that we really do need both the bitter and the sweet, and that a life of nothing but sweetness rots both your teeth and your soul.  Bitter is what makes us strong, what forces us to push through, what helps us earn the lines on our faces and the calluses on our hands.  Sweet is nice enough, but bittersweet is beautiful, nuanced, full of depth and complexity.  Bittersweet is courageous, gutsy, earthy."

The last thought I want to leave you with is this:

Jesus set the example in giving thanks.  1Corinthians 11: 23b-24a says "The Lord Jesus, on the night he was betrayed, took bread, and when he had given thanks he broke it..."

It's a stilling thought.

Jesus knew his betrayal was going to come at the hand of a friend.  He knew how his body was going to be beaten and brutalized.  He knew there was incredible suffering ahead for him on the cross.  And, yet, he gave thanks.

Sometimes our eucharisteo is bold and bright.

Sometimes life causes our eucharisteo to become faded and broken.

But the important thing is that we keep on giving thanks.

"Worthy is the King who conquered the grave."