In four days we are leaving for the beach to spend time with my family.  I am beyond excited to spend all that time with the four members of my first family plus the other nine we've added over the last 14 years by marriage and birth.

I've been thinking about water, how soothing sitting on the beach is.  How relaxed I feel listening to the waves crash and recede, crash and recede.

Simply glorious.

I've also been thinking about my spiritual life.  How it needs some water.  I was flipping thru my journal this morning and I came upon an entry from February of this year.  I had written about how I'd fallen away from a consistent time of Bible study and how this area of my life sees so much ebb and flow.  I wrote about how it was time to stop the ebb and get the flow going again.

Except I didn't.

Oh, I did ok for a few months but, to continue with the water metaphor, I've been mostly drifting this year.  There's not been a lot of deep diving going on in my spiritual life.

And yet.

Yet, I feel the tug and pull of Jesus.  Not that he is tugging and pulling me like I'm a stubborn donkey (altho...) but the tug and pull of wanting to feel his presence. 

I taught the 6th grade girl's Sunday school class this past Sunday.  It was about prayer, spending one on one time with God.  And I felt like the worst kind of hypocrite.

The lesson plan made space for the kids to write a poem or short paragraph about spending time alone with God.  It gave prompts such as, why it's important, what makes it difficult, how you feel when you can't get time alone with God.

I wrote this:

Responsibility weighs heavy

there is so much to do

prayer falls by the wayside

replaced by monotonous activity

My soul shrivels

deep thought ceases

I become robotic

drained of life

David says

"My soul pants for you

like the deer pants for water."

how accurate

I feel dry and dusty

barren like a desert

I want life

dunk me in Your river

I started reading in 1 Peter this morning.  Verse 3 of chapter 1 says "In his great mercy he has given us new birth into a living hope through the resurrection of Jesus Christ from the dead."

New birth.  These two words immediately conjure sunshine, warmth, flowers, puppies, and babies in my mind.

But when I think beyond those first thoughts I realize this:  birth is painful and messy.  It's amazingly disgusting (have you ever watched an animal give birth?).  It's hard.  It can take a lot of time.

But it's worth it.

I have been "born again" to use the Christianese term.  I've trusted Jesus as my savior which means I've admitted to my own failings and my need to be saved.  Saved from a meaningless life.   Saved from following the selfish desires of my heart.  Saved from walking alone in my sin.  

But even tho I've been born again sometimes I need a rebirth.  A new commitment.  A fresh start.  

And when I need to put in the hard, painful, messy work of a rebirth Jesus is more than happy to be my coach.  To remind me to breathe.  To remind me that the end result is worth it.

Jesus is constant even when I am not.  

So here's to a new start.  A new commitment.  A rebirth of my passion to follow Jesus.

He is good.  He is faithful.  He is worth it.

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.