I act entitled. All. Of. The. Time. I am so not proud of this fact, but it is true. For example, I “need” Starbucks daily or I get cranky. I literally plan out my morning on how and when I’m going to get it. Even if it makes me late. Even if it’s inconvenient. I also “need” a handful of chocolate chips after lunch and dinner. Only dark chocolate will do. Preferably Ghirardelli 60% cacao. Of course, other chocolate makes a great substitute—brownies, chocolate cake, etc. And if they’re not available, I feel a little off kilter, a little growly. Do I sound like a crack addict? Yikes! I also feel completely entitled to buy that funky bracelet and that adorable dress, I mean they’re on sale, and did I mention how cute they are? What do you "need"? That bottle of nail polish? A bottle of wine? To run another lap? Watch just one more episode of Friends? Read another chapter? Check Facebook, Twitter or Instagram real quick? A certain brand of athletic shorts or yoga pants? I’ve been semi-aware of this behavior, but not really concerned, because lots of other people like Starbucks and chocolate and shopping, too. Right? But recently, after reading Jen Hatmaker’s book, 7: An Experimental Mutiny Against Excess, I was truly convicted. Don’t get me wrong, there is nothing wrong with chocolate or Starbucks or great fashion finds, thank goodness. These are all gifts from God to be appreciated and enjoyed. But there is something wrong when I feel I deserve those things—that I need them. So, to get myself back in line, I went on a strange sort of fast for the month of January. If you’ve ever made a New Year’s Resolution, given up something for Lent, or fasted in any other kind of way, we’re kindred spirits. This wasn’t about eating less; this was about being less entitled, more appreciative, more aware of how God has already taken care of all my needs. I decided I would take on three areas. First, I ate only the following foods: whole grains, fruits and vegetables, dairy, poultry, and seafood. Which I really didn’t think would be a big deal considering I eat oatmeal almost every morning, followed by lunch of a turkey and cheese sandwich on whole grain bread, and I don’t eat red meat. But do you see the glaring omission of chocolate? Still. I thought this would be easy peasy. Until Day Two of the fast when after a Saturday jam-packed with kids’ basketball games and birthday parties all over Southwest Ohio, we tumbled back home around 6:00 PM and my husband, Brett, suggested we order pizza. It sounded heavenly. All I wanted to do was put on my jams, eat pizza, and curl up with the kids and watch a movie. But that whole grain thing reared its head. I Googled our local pizza chain, and lo and behold they had a whole-wheat crust. Who knew? I’d never been so happy to see a whole grain. So I ordered my own little personal whole-wheat pie with spinach and tomatoes. And I was extremely grateful for it. Surprisingly, even when my daughter ate our favorite deep dish in front of me, I wasn’t envious. I was just so thankful I had the option to eat pizza. Second, I gave up Starbucks. Yep. Cold turkey. And me, and my Keurig and my Nespresso (I told you I was entitled) spent a lot of time together in January. I successfully used up a multitude of various brands and flavors of coffee pods I’d stashed in the house without having to purchase a single one. My son, Max, is an amazing barista, and made me some delicious mochas and lattes with the Nespresso. On the two coffee dates I'd scheduled, I suggested the local coffee shop, Kofenya, which is amazing, and savored every drop of the java they brewed me. Note to self, I can get better about buying local. Yes, there were Monday mornings when I missed Starbucks like crazy. But every morning, honestly, I was so grateful for coffee—for it’s warmth, and aroma, and flavor, and yeah, the caffeine. And as I sipped my home brew, I thanked Jesus for being the ultimate waker-upper, my perfect source of energy. Third, I gave up shopping. I only allowed myself to buy food, beverages and household basics (dishwasher soap, toilet paper, shampoo--the boring stuff). We went on our annual family field trip to the mall to exchange ill-fitting Christmas gifts, and I exchanged both my yoga pants and jeans for better sizes. But contrary to tradition, I did not buy a single amazing, spectacular January clearance item. Not the Gap t-shirts for only $4, because I always need another black t-shirt, and another white one. Not that really cute top in the window of Francesca’s that was 70% off. Not even the socks at American Eagle, which they were virtually giving away. And although it took great restraint to not take any of those steals to the register, I came home feeling lighter. My closet is already packed. I didn’t need any of those items. I actually saved myself from having to root through more clothes to find “the right” items later. It felt oddly good. For the rest of the month I deleted every single email from a retailer wooing me with their “biggest ever” clearance events and steered clear of Target, Dollar Tree and TJ Maxx, because why tempt myself like that? And each time I had the urge to just click on that message, browse that website, pop into that boutique, I tried to remember to thank Jesus for His ultimate coverage, for being more fulfilling than a shopping buzz. Was I perfect on my fast? No way. You want the dirt? Here’s just a sample.
There was the time Brett brought me home a gorgeous single serving carrot cake from Panera. “It’s whole grain,” he told me. I looked at him. “It is,” he said. “I asked them.” He was clearly lying. But he also went out of his way to go inside a Panera, order me a treat mid-way through my fast, even one that contained a vegetable, and looked brown, like whole grains tend to. I savored every morsel, appreciating his gesture of love and that miracle of a cake. I enjoyed half of it that day, and saved the other half for the next day, instead of gorging it down in one swallow, or thinking, “gee, I wish this was a brownie.” It was so phenomenally delicious. I was learning from this fast—when I don’t expect a dessert or feel like I’m entitled to one, I can appreciate the ones I get so much more fully. A similar thing happened while in Texas. My sweetheart of a host took me out to lunch at an adorable spot called Nostalgia. “The best part of this place,” she smiled, “are the desserts. They come with your lunch.” I inwardly panicked. I didn’t want to break my fast. I’d been so good. But the thing I was learning most from fasting was being grateful for what I had. Being grateful for a store brand dark roast pod in my Keurig, because it was coffee, and I had the pleasure of drinking it. Being grateful for fresh fruits and organic Greek yogurt, because they are delicious and sweet and good for me, and because I always have food on my table and in my stomach. And, so, I made the game time decision to be grateful here too. The Hummingbird Cake contained pineapple and bananas, leaning itself towards the fruit category. Each and every bite of this cake I’d never even heard of before was delicious. And don’t get me started on the rich, sweet cream cheese frosting. On this day, I was so grateful (after over 20 days of no desserts, well except the carrot cake) for a dessert. And yes, I ate peach cobbler with my same lovely friend that night, because, well, when in Texas. There was the time when my mom made stuffed peppers with white rice. Agh! White rice isn’t a whole grain. Some of you are thinking I’m totally nuts here, but I am such a rule follower (too much of a rule keeper, too stringent, too much of the time). Add that with entitlement to my list of many flaws. Only brown rice counted on my self-induced fast. But this fast was all about being more appreciative. And not valuing a home-cooked meal from Mom, well that’s plain ridiculous. So, I counted every delicious bite, every grain of rice as sheer gift. There was also the time, when I bought myself a sweatshirt. I wrestled with the idea. I mean, I wasn’t supposed to buy myself anything. I hadn’t even bought my kiddos anything this month. Not one cute notepad or t-shirt. But this sweatshirt helped fund the amazing event I was speaking at, Project Beautiful, bringing hundreds of girls together to remind them of their true beauty. And it reads, Fearfully and Wonderfully Made across it’s soft, cozy self. These words are what I long to share with everyone I meet—that they were created by God to inspire awe, that He created them wonderfully. And so, the decision to purchase was intentional, not entitled, and felt very right. By the third time we’d ordered pizza in January, Brett finally ventured to try a bite of mine. Our whole family was gathered around the dinner table swapping stories and laughing when Brett exclaimed, “This..really is…very bad!” and spit out his bite. Which of course led to hysterics. My girls were curious, so they tried it too, only to prod, “How can you eat that, Mom?” “It is really gross! You don’t like it do you?” And it was strange. I was so grateful each time we ordered pizza that I didn’t have to make another run to the grocery in the bitter January air, think about “what was for dinner,” cook, or clean, that I’d never considered the subpar flavor. All I had to do was hang out with my family and eat pizza. And that tasted pretty good to me. My fast is officially over. I’m interested to see how it will change me. If I will be less entitled, more grateful, more giving. I pray I will be. I also pray I'll turn to Jesus more--for me to turn to my worldly fixes to fill my voids less. Because Jesus is sweeter than chocolate, more revitalizing than caffeine, and quite frankly, as my friend Holly Starr sings, He's "Everything I Need". Because when I decide that I “need” this and I “need” that, I’m truly not the best version of myself. But when I am grateful for the food I have, the roof over my head, the clothes in my closet, my loving family, well then, I can see my true reflection much more clearly. How about you? Anything you “need” on a daily basis? Have you ever fasted before? How did it work for you? Let me know in the Comments below.
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I have coffee splatters on the console of my car and a smear of toothpaste on my bathroom counter. A drop of shimmery lavender nail polish marks the top of my planner. There’s a spot on my jeans that’s been there so long, I’m not sure how it got there, but my suspicions are it’s chocolate in one form or another. And then last night, somebody (no one will be named) dropped a piece of pizza on the living room carpet. Which happens to be white. With six of us running at full speed, our house is lived in, to say the least. The dropped pizza was no big deal. But I couldn’t let the red splash of tomato sauce just sit in the middle of the floor, so I dug under the sink for that carpet spray stuff. I read the back and sprayed and scrubbed and scrubbed a little more. And then I turned it around—reading the label, Spot Remover. Which made me laugh, because yesterday morning when I’d washed my face and noticed the twin zits on the end of my chin, I’d gotten out a product called Super Spot Remover—the cleverly named zit gel I keep handy for just such occasions. I am covered in spots! But my spots aren’t just literal spots. I am also covered in spots you can’t see. Splatters when I yell at one of my kids instead of talking through a rough moment. Dribbles when I forget to bring the dessert or sign the form or write the check or text back. Giant globs when I recall how I tucked God under my pillow in college and did things my way instead of leaning on Him. Shameful spots for things I’ve done in my past. Stains as I struggle with a broken relationship. Big blobs whenever I doubt God’s perfect plans in the every day (how will I ever get everything done on my to-do list?) or in the big decisions of life (where should my daughter go to college?). I could go on. I am covered in so many spots inside and out that I resemble a leopard. And although I use stain stick on my clothes, spot remover on my carpet and face, spray on my counters, there is no cool new product that can clean my inside spots. It’s like the animal in the children’s book, Put Me in the Zoo. He can change the color and size of his spots. He can put them on the wall or on a tree, “But then,” the animal says, “All my spots are back on me.” And I can smile and laugh and apologize. I can move forward and try to bury my past and doubts and insecurities and shame and guilt under the busyness of the week or the façade of having it all together. I can try harder, work more, do better, but in the end all my spots are back on me. Or at least I used to think so. But I’ve discovered the ultimate spot remover. And it doesn’t come in a bottle, it never expires and it’s absolutely free. It’s having a relationship with Jesus. See, He scrubbed all of my spots clean. So clean, He who knows everything about me—all my breakdowns and blunders—completely forgives me and loves me and doesn’t notice those old spots at all. But the fact is, it was our pains He carried--
our disfigurements, all the things wrong with us. We thought He brought it on Himself, that God was punishing Him for His own failures. But it was our sins that did that to Him, that ripped and tore and crushed Him--our sins! He took the punishment, and that made us whole. Through His bruises we get healed. Is 53:5 No more spots to stick in a box or on a tree. No more spots can come back on me. Or on you. Whatever our spots may be, whatever color or size they are, no matter where we’ve tried to stick them or how we’ve tried to change them, Jesus died so that all of my sins and yours, all of our mistakes and failures past, present, and future were nailed to the cross and washed completely clean. And with all of those spots removed once and for all, we can clearly see our beautiful true reflections. Do you have any spots you're working on removing? I'd love to hear. Leave a comment on the Read More or Comments tab below. Pulling out of the small parking lot after consuming the most ridiculous cappuccinos (so large, they were served in bowls) and an incredible brunch at Marche, my dear friend, Amy, and I couldn’t help but notice the head, shoulders and torso of a man emerging from a dumpster. Bedraggled and unshaven, he leaned over and rummaged around the trash searching for…something. The decadent crêpe I’d just demolished, laced with apricots and dark chocolate, felt heavy in my stomach. My heart felt even heavier in my chest. “What’s he looking for?” Amy asked, “food?” “Probably,” I sighed, “so sad.” “So sad,” she echoed, while clicking on her blinker and turning down the narrow alleyway. I’m not from Nashville, and even if I was, I have no sense of direction, so I allowed my mind to pray for the man while Amy drove. But only for about a minute and a half, because then she pulled into a minimart, shoved her car into park, and shouted to me, as she jumped out of her running car, “Be back in a minute.” She could have needed Advil or gum; maybe she needed to pick up something for her boys. As promised she was back in in less than sixty seconds with a bag, but it wasn’t full of sundries. It was jammed with food. For the man. “You’re amazing,” I said to her, as she turned back towards the dumpster. “He was hungry. I had a couple of dollars,” she said. “It won’t fix anything, but at least he won’t be hungry today.” When the dumpster came back into view, the man had vacated. But he hadn’t gone far. We spotted him pushing his abandoned grocery cart filled with smashed aluminum cans. Amy rolled down the window, and the man spoke first, “Just collecting my cans,” as if we chatted all the time and he was just giving us an update. Amy handed him the bag, told him to have a great day, and we drove off, just like that. You should have seen the beautiful smile on his weathered face. Amy was wrong. It had fixed something, maybe not his cycle of poverty, or his need for sustainable income, but it had changed his perspective of himself. For a moment on a Wednesday in October, my friend showed this man his true reflection, not in a mirror, but in a bag of peanuts and crackers. She showed him he was noticed, he was worthy, that he deserved brunch just as much as we did, and that he didn’t deserve to have to rummage through a trash heap to find it or to gather enough cans to finance it. She showed him that somebody cared. And in showing this man his true reflection, Amy’s true beauty played a beautiful melody throughout Music City, her own beautiful reflection beaming bright. In one of my favorite childhood shows, Fraggle Rock, the Fraggles sought insight from Marjory the Trash Heap. “I’m orange peels, I’m coffee grounds, I’m wisdom!” she proclaimed.
On this day, I also found unexpected wisdom from a trash heap. I’m not sure if the man was knee deep in orange peels, but I’m pretty sure after experiencing the cappuccinos at Marche that there were coffee grounds. Because my sweet friend Amy could see that this man was a beautiful creation in Christ, she was able to remind him that he was. And in so doing, in offering love, she showed the world what true beauty looks like. Do you remember Fraggle Rock? Do you remember any of the wisdom from the Trash Heap? Do you know someone whose true reflection shines? Let me know about them. I’d love to highlight them on my blog. “We’re caught in a trap. I can’t walk out,” is how one of my favorite Elvis songs, “Suspicious Minds”, begins. And as much as I love that song, especially the remake by the Fine Young Cannibals, there’s nothing melodious or harmonic about feeling trapped. Trapped—you know that feeling of being stuck, of having the door slammed in your face and not knowing where to turn? My fourteen-year old son has a summer birthday, making him one of the older kids in his class and one of the younger kids on his soccer team. The rest of his club team started high school this fall and tried out for their high school teams. Meanwhile, Max was left standing alone. It happens in sports, so often that there’s a term for it – Trapped Eighth Grader. Everything settles itself out in the spring, when all of the players of Max’s team will be free from their high school commitments, and they’ll all play together. Next fall, Max can try out for his high school team. But in the meantime, for this fall, he was officially trapped. Max’s team had been yanked out from under his feet. What were we going to do? So, Max and I began praying about the situation. We’d heard rumors of a team of home-schooled boys, who scrimmaged against some of the smaller high schools, but Max wouldn’t have known any of the players, and they’d all been playing together for years. We discussed hiring a soccer trainer to fine tune Max’s skills and keep him active, but not only was it expensive, Max wanted to play games. There was also talk of his club joining trapped eighth graders from a large geographical area to practice and scrimmage, but nothing ever materialized. Then one day this summer, Max joined me for my morning jaunt to Starbucks. He wore his club soccer t-shirt, and while I was at one end of the line ordering my coffee, the barista at the other end of the counter started chatting with Max. By the time I got over to where Max was, the barista, who I’ve never seen working at my Starbucks before or since, was inviting Max to join in a standing pick up game of soccer. The players ranged from college boys to professors to community members who’d played high school or college club soccer, and still loved the game. They met twice a week, with no fees, at the park five minutes from our house. We walked out whispering to one another. It looked like God had answered our prayers. Max has been playing with these guys ever since. And loving it. The players are first rate. Max gets tons of touches on the balls, lots of opportunities to learn and grow and shoot and score, and gets a great workout, without any pressure to start or win. This is not something Max or I or his soccer coach could have orchestrated. None of us knew these guys played. If I had, I would have never guessed my eighth grader would have been welcome. But he is. The other guys are super friendly and accepting of my son. Max and I could have never strategized that he should wear his club shirt to get noticed by a Starbucks worker I’m thinking was a sub. But God knew. He always does. And once again, He orchestrated something so perfect and out of the realm of my consideration that I am blown away. It didn't happen over night. It didn't become clear to us the first time we prayed about it. The first avenue we tried and the second and the third also were dead end streets. But God always had this in mind.
It is in Christ Jesus that we find out who we are and what we are living for. (Ephesians 1:11 MSG) You see, we’re never really trapped. Sometimes it sure looks like it. Sometimes we’re suffering from an ailment or depression or a loss. Some days we get a rejection or a bad score or a bad review. But with God there is never a dead end. Jesus is The Way. And when we trust in Him, He always reveals the beautiful plan He’d intended for us all along. You don’t have to figure the way through or out or over the slammed door in your life. But you do need to turn it over to God, and watch the amazing ways He’ll make you flat enough to slide under the door, strong enough to bust through the door, or reveal a secret passageway out, you’d never seen before. With Jesus there is no trapped, just pauses in the beautiful journey He’s walking with you. I know what I'm doing. I have it all planned out—plans to take care of you, not abandon you, plans to give you the future you hope for. (Jeremiah 29:11 MSG) Yesterday my husband and I took the day off. It wasn’t a snow day. It wasn’t a sick day. It wasn’t some obscure bank holiday. But we took it off anyway. Why? Because we need to slow down. I’m sure you don’t. I’m sure you feel incredibly relaxed and rested and haven’t done anything in so long; you often tell people you are idle and your time is unoccupied. Right? If you nodded your head then I haven’t chatted with you in a lonnnggg time. I can’t remember the last time anyone responded to me about all the free time they have. It’s all about busyness, achievement, enriching, accomplishing, isn’t it? Even snails these days are zipping around racecourses and going viral. Or so the kids’ movie, Turbo, depicts. That snail is fast! And all of those things are good. Grand even. Until they become too important. Until we forget to take time for others, for ourselves, for God. Even Jesus, Son of God, Creator of the Universe, Savior of the World, took time off. He would wake up early in the morning or take off late at night by himself, not to check scores, or statuses or headlines. Not to file one more report, or do one more set of sit-ups or tidy up one more room. But to go up the mountain, or out of the way and pray. But Jesus Himself would often slip away to the wilderness and pray. Luke 5:16 NIV Jesus also took time to share meals with the disciples. We don’t have any scripture passages depicting Jesus eating lunch at His desk while working on His next sermon or scratching on pieces of parchment during meals and handing them to messengers to deliver in the middle of dinner with His disciples. But we have several passages where Jesus is dining with them, talking with them, listening to them, showing them love, and teaching them about the Father. In fact his last interaction with his disciples was a meal, the last supper. And His one of Jesus’ first interactions with his friends after His resurrection was breakfast. Jesus said to them, "Come and have breakfast." None of the disciples dared ask him, "Who are you?" They knew it was the Lord. John 21:12 NIV So yesterday I dropped the kids off at school, grabbed a few groceries, and picked up supplies one of them needed for a project. Then I headed home. By 8:30 AM my husband and I were sitting in the family room, not at the table, not near one of our desks, not in the front seat of the car headed somewhere, but on the soft, cushy couches in our family room with the sunshine streaming in through the windows. We sat and talked for hours. About things we’ve been reading, and sermons we’ve listened to, and what God’s been teaching us. We talked about a trip we’d like to take and the state of our hearts and concerns on our minds and the blessing of our marriage. At some point we milled in and out of the kitchen, came back to the family room with our plates of sandwiches and fruit and watched a movie together. In the middle of the day. On a Tuesday. We even figured out how to work Netflix by ourselves, without any of the kids to help us. Score! And then we went for a walk. Yes, it was twenty-two degrees outside. Yes, I was dressed in running clothes, because I’d planned to get in a strenuous workout. But, instead, we stretched our legs, inhaled crisp air, reflected on how bright azure the sky was, and exercised our souls.
And then it was time. Time to get the kids, and work on homework, and make dinner, and answer email, and run a load of laundry, but I did it more refreshed. More aware of how God is working on me. More grateful for the world I live in, my incredible husband, my amazing children. I know I can’t take every day off. And neither can my husband. But I know I need to take more of them. It’s easy to let the demands of life fill my calendar and dominate my thoughts. It takes effort to slow down and unwind and intentionally set my phone somewhere I can’t reach it. But the effort is so rewarding. Because it allows God to restore my soul. David got it right in the 23 Psalm (and my friend, Holly Starr, sings it so beautifully above) The Lord is my shepherd. I lack nothing. He makes me lie down in green pastures. He leads me beside still waters. He restores my soul. Let God lead you to still places, lie down, rest. Let Him restore your soul. When was the last time you slowed down? Truly took a day off? Maybe it’s time to pull out the crammed calendar and schedule one. After being handed my standard issue clipboard with predictable paperwork at my annual blood draw for health insurance purposes today, I sat down in a typical doctor’s office chair to be greeted with a surprise comment. “Good morning and God bless you too!” said the older gentleman seated next to me. He had to be speaking to me, because there was no one else in the waiting room. But I hadn’t spoken yet, making the “too” part of his greeting slightly confusing. But I like to be blessed. And he was friendly, so I said, “Good morning and God bless you.” And we continued filling out our forms. Four seconds later my husband walked in. We are required to have this done every year to maintain lower health insurance rates and we always wait until the last week for some reason, so today was our day. “How was Bible study,” I asked him. Brett could only give me two or three sentences about who was at Bible study and what kind of donuts they had before my name was called. Now having blood drawn is not my strong suit. Let’s just say I always have to warn the phlebotomist I may pass out. I also know to pack a banana in my purse to eat the second they’re finished to try to give my blood sugar a little replacement. I’m pleased to report my phlebotomist was gentle, I didn’t look, and I didn’t faint. I did feel woozy, so I sat for a moment or two in the room on the cot, and then for another moment, until she said my pupils looked normal again. I slowly stood, scuffled out to the hall where the same gentleman walked by on the way to his room. “Where in the Word are you?” He asked. I’ve been asked by so many people over the years, people I know, people from church, close friends, what my Bible study is studying or what my pastor is teaching, but I can’t remember anyone asking me where I am in the Word, let alone a stranger. Ever. I was blown away and blessed. “Galatians,” I managed “I just finished 2 Samuel last night!” He proclaimed then held up his hand and gave me a powerful high five. He went into his room. I sat on the chair nearest the door eating my banana until my husband came out, so we could go to Starbucks together. But that man… “Where are you in the Word?”
Wouldn’t it be cool if we greeted each other like that? Just assuming that everyone we met is reading the Bible. Curious to see what they’re studying, what they might be learning, if they’re knee deep in some of our favorite verses or braving books we might normally steer clear of, inspiring us to go back in for seconds or to give something new a try. Granted, he might have gathered I was a Christian if he heard me ask my husband how Bible study was, but he didn’t know that when he told me, “God bless you too.” So, what if we asked everyone. What if some people looked at us like we were insane? What if some people asked us what we meant by “The Word” and we were able to share the Gospel? I went in to have my blood drawn. I went in to check a box for my insurance. I went in nervous and apprehensive. I came out inspired. And challenged. So, I ask you friends, where are you in the Word today? I’d love to hear. Inspire me. Challenge me. Where are you? Having lunch with a couple of friends the other day we got chatting about pumpkin carving. They could take it or leave it. Me? I can’t imagine October without it. The anticipation from my kids of what face they’ll make this year. The ripe scent when my knife makes its first deep cut into pumpkin flesh. The chatter of six voices sharing markers and spoons and toothpicks and comparing the insides, faces and progress of each other’s creations. The smooth, slimy feel of seeds as I pick them out of the sticky pulp. The way the lids fit perfectly back on their jagged jack-o-lantern jars. The salty, earthy flavor of seeds freshly roasted. And yes, someone always gets slimed. I’m a holiday tradition girl. Traditions do something inside of me, tickling my senses, marking years and memories, solidifying who I am and who I’m with and the glorious blessing of being alive. My other fall traditions include, but are not limited to; a family hayride, ordering foamy soaps, candles and hand sanitizers with scents like Pumpkin Cupcake and Crisp Fall Morning and placing them in our bathrooms, on our counters, tucking them in backpacks and pockets. Multiple visits to our local farmer’s market, Butterfields, for crisp apples and a run through the straw maze. Filling and refilling the candy dish on the counter with candy corn. Baking and eating pumpkin bread and apple crisp topped with vanilla ice cream. Watching It’s The Great Pumpkin Charlie Brown with our whole family piled together on the couch. Drinking Pumpkin Lattes on Saturday morning.
What are some of your fall traditions? I admit it. I’ve used a fake ID to get into the Rec Center. Now, I actually have a paid membership, so I’m not getting in for free, or cheating the system, but yes, when I’ve misplaced my ID I’ve swiped one of my kid’s cards to get through the turnstile. Apparently security isn’t that scrutinizing. There was a period in time when I NEVER seemed to be able to find my ID card to get into the Rec Center. It’s not that I wasn’t trying to keep track of it. I was. I just wasn’t doing a very good job of it. I’ve tried keeping it in the little armrest thingy of my car, so every time I drive to the Rec, there it will be. Which works, until I go to the Rec in my husband’s car and after my workout, can’t put it back in my arm rest thingy, so it comes in the house with me and gets dropped on the counter in the rush to get showered and on to the next thing. I’ve tried putting my ID in the pocket of the jacket I usually wear when I work out, which is fine, unless I wear another jacket, or it’s too warm to wear a jacket. I’ve tried keeping it in my basket of important things on the kitchen counter, only that supposedly tidy, organized place becomes a black hole of things I’m supposed to be signing, paying, filling out, mailing. Yikes! I can’t tell you how many times I’ve emptied all of my purses, dumped that basket on the counter, turned pockets inside out all in the name of an indoor workout. If you wonder why I need to workout inside, move to Ohio this winter, you’ll be buying your own Rec Center pass. Not to mention the yoga…ahhh. Amazingly, after twelve years, I have misplaced my ID countless times, but never truly lost it. It always turns up, almost like it’s finding me. I’ve finally decided to keep the ID in my wallet. (I have no explanation as to why I never thought of that before). So far, it’s working, but I’ll keep you posted. Unfortunately, there have been times when I’ve gotten like this with Jesus. I know exactly where He is in my life, then I set Him down when life takes an unexpected route or I’m in a huge hurry or there’s a change in my seasons. It’s not long before I realize how much I’m missing Him and how much I ache to find Him. Why? Why would I ever stash Jesus away, or try to put Him down somewhere. It’s not that I ever want to lose track of Jesus. No way. I always want to know where He is and what He’s up to and what He has in store for me. I just don’t always do a very good job of it. I'm in a relationship with Jesus. And relationships need constant communication to work. Parents and kids need to talk. Spouses need to talk to each other. BFF’s need to talk and text and Snapchat. Bosses and employees need to talk. Teachers and students need to talk. If you don’t, the other person in the relationship doesn’t know if you’re excited, worried, eager, anxious, sad, elated, stressed or pumped up—let alone why you’re feeling any of those things. Therefore they can’t cheer for you, hold you, listen to you, pass you a Kleenex, explain something to you, hug you, hold a dance party with you or bake you chocolate chip cookies, because they don’t know you need any of those things, because you’re not sharing with them, being with them.
I don’t function well when I do my devotions some mornings or when I attend Bible study some sessions or when I pray just when I wake up or just before I go to bed. For my relationship with Jesus to work, I need to read His word daily, hang out with other believers continually, pray to Him morning, noon and night-- when I’m in awe of a sunrise or stressed about being late somewhere, or need patience with a family member or am savoring a sip of mocha. I need Him in my wallet, so to speak. With me everywhere I go, all of the time, every day. The most awesome thing about Jesus? Even when I don’t know where to look, He always finds me. Because as much as I want to hang out with God. God wants to hang out with me even more. And He wants to hang out with you too! How awesome is that? Is there anything you constantly misplace? I’d love to hear, what are some ways you keep Jesus front and center, so He never gets lost in the fray of your life? Have you ever become unexpected friends with someone? On my first young adult novel, Skinny, I had no idea how the whole editing/publishing process worked. I received an email from a woman named Amy Parker, the editor assigned to my book, saying she had sent me a previous email but hadn’t heard from me, and our deadline was approaching. I was intimidated just by the word editor. And WHAT email? How had I missed it? And deadline? Yikes! How could I have already messed things up? I typed back with shaking fingers a giant apology, begging to chat on the phone, because I was a rookie and was clueless as to what was expected from me and when. I was anticipating someone firm, hard-edged, in a suit with black glasses. Too many movies, maybe. Instead a comforting, friendly voice packed with Southern charm and smiles filled my ear with reassurances, “no problem,” “plenty of time,” “minor changes,” “no big deal.” My shoulders relaxed. I smiled, too, even laughed, and we completed the project on time (much improved with her edits). Amy was assigned as editor on my next two novels, Hot and Angry. And through the process we learned about each other—our shared love of coffee, chocolate, Jesus, Jack Johnson, and family. We discovered we both had a passion to share our faiths through the written word: we didn’t want to be pushy, we just longed to be genuine, and we strived for our work to be quality, to stand out. Because God is God, Amy’s family vacation brought her within an hour of my home. We met for mochas and true confessions. Since then we’ve attended a writer’s conference in California together, she hosted me in her home, her writing brought her back to Ohio, and we’ve chatted on countless Skype sessions waving dictionaries, Bibles, and laughter. God knew I needed Amy Parker in my life. In many ways she helped launch my writing career, because she encouraged me back on that first novel to keep writing the kinds of things I was writing. But way beyond helping with my writing, she’s become one of my dearest friends. Her heart fills the room. Her faith is even bigger. And her passion for others is a result of the enormity of her heart and faith. One of our visits was when Amy was in Columbus, Ohio. The zoo’s annual Fete, a fundraiser to protect Rwanda, the land of the gorillas, brought her to town, and I got to be her date. Amy introduced me to a man named Frederick. Frederick’s smile is as bright as a full moon on a dark sky. Immediately upon being introduced, he embraced me in a tight hug. He showed me his beautiful, colorful paintings of his homeland, Rwanda. The fete was also helping support Frederick’s foundation, a place where Rwandans disabled by the genocide can find life again, where they are taught life skills, and learn to play sports, and are given food and shelter, and most importantly, hope. Oh, did I tell you Frederick had his arms severed in the aftermath of the genocide? Yup, that’s Frederick, grinning from ear to ear, helping others, fighting the good fight, even though he was left for dead on the side of the road. Painting bright images, embracing people he’s just met, and riding his bike around the country to raise money to help others, even though he has no hands. And, Amy, with that passion I told you about, has written with Frederick his story. You know what they named it? Frederick: A Story of Boundless Hope.
Where are you today? Does something seem too big? Are you unsure? Nervous? Overwhelmed? Defeated? Hang in there. A friend like Amy Parker is just around the corner. A man like Frederick is changing people’s lives, when he could have given up on his. Read their story. Find hope again. It’s Addicting, my latest novel, the third in the Status Updates series releases July 14! That’s only THREE days away! HOORAY! Claire, Kat, Palmer, Hannah, and I have been itching to tell you what coffee drinks their sipping in their sophomore year of college, and now, we can’t wait any longer. Because I’m so excited about the release, I’m going to give away an autographed copy of It’s Complicated, an autographed copy of It’s Over and an autographed copy of the brand new,It’s Addicting. This is how it’s going to work. We’re going to do a countdown. Today’s day THREE. So today, we’re counting down our favorite coffee shop addictions. It’s Addicting?
We say it all the time right? But the only thing I'm truly addicted to is Christ! For the contest: All you have to do to enter is comment and tell me one of your addictions AND share the link on one of your social media sites. You can comment on Facebook, Twitter, Instagram or Pinterest, and share any of those ways as well. You can enter once each day of the countdown (limited to five total entries per person), and at the end of the five days, on release day, July 14, I’ll pick three winners – one for each title—via Randomizer. Today is coffee house addiction day, so tell me what your favorite order is. Me? I’m currently addicted to venti iced coffees with mocha and nonfat milk. So cool, sweet and refreshing on hot summer days with a kick of caffeine. A fabulous way to start my days. How about you? What's your coffee addiction? |
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