Activate 2013, Day 4: Small Worlds

I was nervous for Monday, our first day of "real" ministry. Not that we haven't been ministering along the way. But Monday was our first "Let's go find people to love" day. I wasn't sure how that would look. I didn't want to just approach a random person and ask how I could pray for them. The thought of it nearly made me break out in hives. What a scenario that would be... Asking a stranger if they needed prayer while red welts break out all along my neck and face... Psychotic scratching and twitching... Yeah. Not pretty. Thank God He has better ideas than I do. 

We started out in downtown Birmingham, which turned out to be pretty slow compared to what we were expecting. But I loved it. Lots of beautiful architecture, forgotten and dilapidated. The buildings stood there silent and broken, gaping windows like hollow eyes, remembering former glories and histories. What kind of lives were made and broken there? Whose dreams were realized, whose crushed? What sort of people walked Birmingham's streets and brick alleyways, loving, hating? My heart yearned over them, past and present. If I closed my eyes I could see them bustling around me. For whatever reason, Birmingham sank into my soul and shot out some roots, wrapped some tendrils around my heart. I love it now. I think I always will. There's always something in me that loves brokenness, and downtown Birmingham felt broken to me. 

We were meeting a couple for dinner that night, but had time to kill before then. We decided to go to a mall just to window shop, and wound up encountering our first "one".

We met Bo in the parking garage, sitting in his Chevy Cobalt, hood up, door wide open, sweating through his collared shirt in the Alabama heat. Lesa asked him if he needed a jump? Yes ma'am, he did. Did he have jumper cables? No, ma'am, he didn't. 
Well, what do you know? We're right outside of Sears! We took Bo to the auto center and bought jumper cables (it turned out he was a Sears employee and insisted on at least giving us his employee discount) walked back to the parking garage, and helped him jump his car. It took a little while; apparently his battery was way dead. All this time, Bo couldn't stop bursting out intermittently, "I can't believe this! My mind is just blown! I can't thank you enough! I just can't believe it!" We told him over and over that he was the very reason we were there, and that we were more blessed than he was. We filled him in on what we were doing, what our mission on this trip was. 
The connections we forged just in those few minutes were profound. We found out that Bo was a student at Auburn, that he had only been in Birmingham for a few weeks and working at Sears for even less time. His father was a pastor, and his mother had told him his whole life that he has the favor of God on him. He was in school for civil engineering, and working on getting his Real Estate license. He told us the reason he wanted to go into real estate was because he saw the value of ownership. He came from a poor town, run down, where a poverty mindset was the norm. He wanted to go back to his hometown and show the people that they are worth it. Worth investing in themselves, valuable to their community. 
What an incredible vision for a 23 year old man. What a calling. We prayed with him right there in the parking garage. Prayed for God inspired visions and choices, for abundant blessings on his business, and thanked God for the incredible opportunity to even be there, in a Sears parking garage in Birmingham, Alabama, praying for a total stranger with a dead battery. 

I just looked up from my screen and shook my head in disbelief. You hear so much the hackneyed lines about better to give than to receive. You know it's true in theory. But yesterday... Something in me clicked. Cracks in my heart sealed up. A simple act of kindness shifted my paradigms to an unrecognizable landscape. Where was I? What was happening? This huge horizon just opened up before my very eyes. 

We ended up spending a few hours with Bo. It turned out he needed a brand new battery, and we were overjoyed to take him back to Sears auto and buy one for him. We sat in the waiting room and talked, talked about our families, our dreams and plans for the future, shared some stories from our past. And before we left, we gave Bo our information to keep in touch. 

We left Sears in a sort of dumbfounded awe. This was it, then. What we had desired to do all along, we were going to do it. 
We stopped by Lifeway Christian Store to get a few things, and ended up helping an elegant woman in a striped dress and heels there as well. Lifeway's computers were down, meaning they couldn't take credit card payments. We were happy to tell the woman we would like to purchase her items for her. Her first reaction was, "Oh no, you won't!" But as we kept insisting that we would love to, that this is exactly what we were here for, she accepted, saying "I can't wait to get to my Bible study and tell them about this! I have goosebumps." 

What we did yesterday wasn't that profound, in the "traditional" sense of the word. We didn't change the world. We didn't save someone's life. We just loved. Loved with no expectation of return. We loved for the sake of loving, for the sake of making someone's day a little better, a little more special. And while it may not have been "big world" changing, it was exactly what we were supposed to do. Why else would something so simple as buying a battery, paying cash for a woman whose credit card couldn't be used, bring goosebumps to a stranger's arms, tears to a stranger's eyes? What we did is "small world" changing. We touched someone's small world. Someone whose small world will touch another's small world. And another small world, and another, until these small worlds bleed into each other, like paint running and blending into a mural. What an awing concept. 

Let's do this. Let's have this small world, big kingdom mindset. 

We're in the car on the way to Gulfport, Mississippi (wow I spelled that right first try! Thanks, random episode of Alvin and the Chipmunks where David taught Simon how to make a song out of it!) right now. I've been typing this on my phone off and on all day. I feel like the back of Lesa's red Monte Carlo is slowly shrinking with each day. I hope it's not because Missy and I are getting bigger. I have a muscle in my right knee that has been twitching off and on for 3 days now, I'm assuming from sitting in the same position for so many hours. I promised my kids I would send them a postcard from each city I stay in, but I've already dropped the ball regarding Birmingham, and postcards are a dying commodity. I have had a hard time finding them. I guess I could take pictures and add "WISH YOU WERE HERE!" typography and text it to Jeremy to show them. They are 21st century kids, after all. Possibly they wouldn't even know what to do with a real postcard. I can see Atleigh now, swiping her finger across the night sky of Atlanta card I sent them, wondering how to get to the next picture. 

More to come later from the Biloxi/Gulfport area! 

-M 

{{Day 4 Photo Dump}}

Missy and I waiting to head to downtown Birmingham

Train in downtown 

Carol felt I should have my picture taken in front of this wall because of the spikes. 

Our encounter with Bo

Activate 2013, Day 3: Sweetest Days

Sunday morning we attended Bethel Atlanta's church service. They're a plant from Bethel Redding in California, and an amazing community of believers. We met with some members of their team who spoke words of life over us: deep wells of inspired words, full of life and truth and promise. I know some of the people reading this don't believe in or understand God, much less what we call "prophecy". I want to try not to sound weird. But I know that there are things God spoke to me through those people, things that they had no way of knowing would even speak to me. The woman who told me she saw me as an artist, painting, but not with paints- with words. She said she saw over and over that I painted with words. The man who told me he felt like I had been living inside a box, hemmed in, confined, under pressure... But that the ceiling wouldn't hold me anymore. Well, hello! Everyone who knows me knows that I've called my house The Box House almost since the moment I moved in. And God knows I've felt those walls- and what's more, what they represent in my mind- closing in on me more than once over the past five years. 

The thing that amazed me most about that church was the children. Some of them danced and sang along with the teenagers and adults. And some just sat on the floor chatting with one another, completely at ease with the intense worship happening around them. It was so completely natural to them, they didn't even notice it. There's a new kind of normal springing up in today's family.  A family growing within the church family, a type of fractal that may look confusing to those outside of it... But the closer you get you see the beauty and sense and pattern of it all. I was mighty close to it on Sunday. 

We went to lunch at a dive burger joint (aren't those the best kind?) after the church service and intended to walk around downtown Atlanta, but ended up driving through a downpour. While all I really wanted to do was walk around, take pictures, and sit on park benches, we did the next best thing: Visited a two story Target. That's right... I said two stories. With escalators right in the middle of the store, including one for shopping carts. My country mouse self was in awe. 

We left Target and headed out into the rainy city, trying to cross the street via what we thought was an underground walkway ("Ooh, underground?! How cool!!), but upon going down the dark, dank, slippery stairs, we realized was just some sort of creepy city vehicle garage, perfect for a scene out of CSI. As hastened out of there and decided we would chance the rain. 

We finally left Atlanta, with its rain and magnificent Target and disappointing underground walkways, and began to make our way toward Alabama. 
Bunny trail: Ever since the very planning stages of this trip, Missy and I have been telling Carol and Lesa about Mellow Mushroom, a fantastic pizza chain. We'd already mapped out where they all were on our route, and determined to stop at at least two over the next few weeks. When we got to our hotel in Oxford, Alabama, lo and behold, across the parking lot, peeking over the top of a Harley Davidson store, was a Mellow Mushroom sign. And there was great rejoicing. Now Lesa and Carol have joined the flock of devout Mellow Mushroom lovers. 

After dinner we went back to our room and had a sweet time of worship and communion, praying together and preparing for the next day, our first day out seeking people to love on. 

I have to get real here for a second. This post, on rereading it, sounds completely insipid and uninspired to me. The truth is, I'm having a hard time translating all of this into words. Sunday was a wonderful, sweet day for all of us, but for me, draining. A good kind of drain, like a long day at the beach, too much time spent in the sun and sand and salt air. Because of that, I'm finding myself befuddled trying to retell it. I loved and lived every moment of it; but because of that, I'm sketchy on the details. All I'm left with is a happy impression of warmth. Which is a nice feeling, but difficult for me to pass on to you all through words. Keep on bearing with me, friends- Alabama is a good day. 

-M 

{{Day 3 Photo Dump}}

Worship at Bethel Atlanta 

Lunch at Grind House Killer Burgers

Wooo, two story Target!!

My Buddy the Elf impression 

The entry into the non-underground walkway

Mellow Mushroom!

Activate 2013, Day 2: Pointed Words

Saturday morning we met with Matt and Linda Lutz, a husband and wife ministry team in Cary, NC. They were our first stopping point on the trip, planning to pray over us, speak into us, and more or less "activate" us as we go out to activate others.
I wasn't entirely sure what one wears to an activation encounter (what? It doesn't all have to be serious and spiritual, right? I can talk about clothes, right?). I ended up wearing a loose striped tank top and super soft black linen pants. Which was really comfortable, but somehow ended up looking like pajamas. I came out of the bathroom and asked, "Do I look like I'm about to go to sleep? Do I look frumpy? Maybe if I stand like this--" and proceeded to shift all my weight to one hip, while bowing out my other leg, in order to make the pants look flowy like I've seen in the Banana Republic ads (Note: The pants are not from Banana Republic. They are from Banana Republic's country bumpkin cousin, Old Navy). Eventually I tucked the shirt in and added a belt to make myself look more finished. However, when we got to our meeting place, which was the clubhouse of the very upscale apartments Matt and Linda live in, I whipped around and hissed at the other girls, "I can't believe you let me come here in my pajamas."

I won't pretend that meeting new people isn't a little like thumb screws for me. I won't pretend I'm always successful at acting like it's not. But, thank God, people love me through it and smile at me anyway. Even when my return smiles come out more like a grimace.
Matt and Linda were gracious, kind, and engaging. And above all, they love Jesus and let Him speak through them. They spoke many sweet words over us, encouraged, edified, and loved on us. We sat at a tall bar table in a corner of the clubhouse, eating coffee cake that Linda had made for us. I happened to be sitting in front of a decorative mirror with spikes radiating out from it. Linda told me that from her seat, it looked like the spikes were coming out from behind me like a halo. And she believed it was symbolic- the spikes were sharp and she believed that my words would be piercing. Now, I know my words can be sharp. But there's a difference, between sharp and piercing,  isn't there? Sharpness has its place, but sharpness can be hurtful. Sometimes I feel like I'm all angles and plains, with so little softness about me. Gentleness, patience, they're not my strong suits. I'd love to see my sharp edges soften some. If I could use the words to pierce darkness instead of flay flesh. To puncture people's misconceptions about how they see themselves versus who God sees them as... Yes. That's a better use of my words.

This meeting, along with an encouraging text message from a dear lifelong friend, helped me to overcome some of those lingering fears and "performance anxiety". I still don't know exactly why I'm here or what I'm doing. But I no longer need to know. I just need to BE. Be here. Be present. Be willing. Be myself.

We drove through Cary for a little while, Lesa and Carol oohing and ahhing the whole time, talking about city planners and zoning ordinances and how pleasant the whole town was, while Missy and I sat long-sufferingly in the backseat -me clutching my stomach with carsickness- waiting to be let out so we could eat lunch. We finally stopped at Chipotle, where I waited in line for the restroom, along with a 7 year old girl, who ended up having to tell me that it was my turn because I was so spaced out thinking about cityzoningplanningordinances.

As we left the restaurant and got on the road "for real"- after stopping at Trader Joe's and arming ourselves with ginger mints, ginger chews, ginger snaps, and devout prayers that they all would help combat the nausea I suffered from- I suddenly found myself hollering in the back seat of the car, "I don't want the trip to be over!"

"It's not," Lesa said soothingly.

"But doesn't it feel a little bit like it's over? We've waited so long for it to start, and now that it's here I don't want it to rush by."

"I've felt the same way. That was the biggest worry on my mind yesterday. I don't want it to go too fast," Lesa responded.

"Let's make that our prayer then," I said. "That time passes slowly. That every minute counts and is full of sweetness."

"Amen," Lesa said.
"Amen," we all echoed.

So far, that prayer has been answered. Yes, the past 2 days have gone quickly. But the hours have been slow. Meaningful. Memorable. We've had fun, but it's more than that. It's a bone deep joy. It's a knowing. A knowing that we're part of something bigger than ourselves. That our feet are beautiful and pointed in the right direction, because we're carrying His love within our steps. 

We made it safely to Atlanta late Saturday night... But Atlanta is a whole 'nother blog, friends.

-M 

{{Day 2 Photo Dump}}

My radiant spikes + shameless selfies.

Missy hard at work editing photos, while I got sick just looking at her.

Lesa and Carol being shameless tourists during a traffic jam in downtown Atlanta

 

Pointy tall building that my suburb self was in awe of. 

 

 Playing the ABC game somewhere in South Carolina

Activate 2013, Day 1: Making It Stick

I'm still feeling overwhelmed. Still wondering what in the world I'm doing. Lesa asked me in the car, "What do you want from this trip? What do you expect God to do?" This, by the way, is a question I've been getting a lot, and the answer is always the same: I don't really know how to answer. So I just told the truth: I don't know. I know I want to write. I guess what I want most of all is to hear God and know it. Not question. Not doubt. Know.

We met Wanda Friday night at Cracker Barrel; she was our server.  She's a middle aged black woman, with a wrist brace, a large swoop bang, and a calm voice. She spoke slowly, deeply, kindly. Made eye contact. Smiled. Lesa knew immediately that Wanda was our first "one". She called Wanda to the table and laid a crumpled $20 bill in front of her. She asked her,
"What is the first thing you notice about that bill?"
"Well, it's wrinkled," Wanda replied.
"That's true," Lesa said. "But just because it's wrinkled doesn't mean it holds less value." Laying a crisp $20 bill on the table, Lesa continued, "That damaged, wrinkled bill is worth the same amount as the new, clean one. And I feel like God is saying to you that no matter your past, no matter your present, you have value to Him."
Wanda said that she didn't really "know" God. But when Lesa told her to keep both twenties, her face lit up and she asked incredulously, "Are you for real??", over and over, and hugged us all around.
I don't know what will happen with Wanda. I don't know what her story is, if she'll remember our faces. But I think she'll remember those twenties. Maybe from now on, every time she sees a crumpled bill, God will remind her of that example at the table in Cracker Barrel.

We made it to our hotel in Cary, North Carolina later that night, and took communion together. We didn't have grape juice so we bought some sort of Naked Juice Smoothie drink from the hotel shop, that went down thick and sat in the back of your throat for a long time after. Lesa gave me an abnormally large piece of matzo cracker which stuck in my throat along with the Naked Juice. Maybe she thought I needed an extra helping of Christ. Maybe she's right. Maybe I need them both to stick. In my throat, in my head, in my heart.

Maybe that's what I really want, when it all boils down to the everythings and the nothings.  For it to stick. Whatever I hear, whatever I see, whatever sinks root deep into my soul- I want it to stay rooted. I think that's been one of my secret (and now not so secret) fears about this trip. That whatever I learned here will wash away in the mud of my everyday life. But I want it to stay. To stay and build a home in me, changing my architecture and bearing walls. To reconstruct the slippery me, the lessons I've let slide off my back when they got too hard to hold. Yes. Maybe that's what I want after all. To make it stick.


-M

{I'll probably be dumping iPhone photos on the blog every night. If you follow me on Instagram, you may have already seem them. If you haven't, you can check them out here, or follow me by clicking the link on the right sidebar!}


Our Activate 2013 Team: Missy, Lesa, me, and Carol

Missy and I camped out in the back seat, ready to go!

Wanda 

Gideon's Bible 

Our first group communion 

Being Something

I've been taking a little break while a good friend has been helping me revamp my blog. It wound up being more trouble than we initially expected (I keep saying "we." I really mean "she"- she did all the work. I don't know nothin' 'bout makin' no blogs), with creepy imbedded code that refused to go away, until we (she) cleverly sleuthed out the reason. But not before I ended up exporting and importing my blog into a whole new URL. So, here we are! New address, which I like better anyway, new look, and hopefully new stories to come! We're still in the middle of a few more renovations, but it's on its way!

This has been a busy few weeks... The kids are out of school, we've had various sicknesses (what else is new?), my mom and stepdad are in town, and my baby brother got married (photos of that to come)! 

The biggest event of the summer so far, is the missions trip I'm preparing to leave for. Tomorrow. Tomorrow!! You've seen me mention God's Girls before. Starting tomorrow, for the next two weeks I'll be on the road with a few other women from that group, taking our own form of ministry to women all over the south. We'll be meeting up with groups at different cities throughout the trip, to minister to them, to show and teach them a little bit of what God's Girls does, but we'll also be stopping for random encounters along the way, to minister in practical ways. We're believing God to show us at least one woman at every destination for us to connect with- whether it be taking her grocery shopping if her fridge is empty, paying her power bill if her electricity has been cut, or simply praying with her and believing God for change in her life. 

Ready for some truth from me? Of course you are. I have been extremely excited about this trip. Like, super excited. Until recently. The closer I've gotten to it, the more anxious, scared, nervous I've let myself become. I'm anxious about leaving my kids. I'm anxious about not being able to say the right thing at the right time, scared I won't be able to hear what God is saying to me, and so miss the "one" that should be reached. I'm feeling a little lost. A lot lost. 

But then I remember.... Moses felt lost. Jeremiah. David. Peter. They all felt lost. They all wondered what in the world God was thinking when He sent them. What IS He thinking, anyway, sending me? He knows what I'm like. He knows my stress threshold is low. He knows my social skills are more than slightly backwards. He knows I get carsick! 

But He knows other things. He knows my heart bleeds for the women like me, women who have been hurt by the church, moms who are struggling with the enormity and minutia of being a mom, girls who feel frumpy and awkward and ugly. He knows how much I long to do something. Anything. Something that matters. Something that means something.

And so, for the next two weeks, I'll be doing something. I'll be being something to someone, to anyone. I'll find the "one": the one like me who is longing to be found. I'll find her. 

I'll be chronicling this journey through the south- My own personal journey, and our journey as a group- right here, on What If I Said, and through my Instagram, @what_if_i_said. Tune in, to see where we go, what we do, and more importantly, what God does. 

My Own Sun

Here's the truth (you guys know by now that you'll always get it from me) : Most days, I'd even say 5 out of 7, I feel like the biggest farce in the universe. I feel guilty when my kids say things like, "Mom, you are the best mom in the world!" Because I know it isn't true. And I know that one day, they'll know it isn't true.
The truth is, most days I look around me, at the book bags and the shoes, at the Lala Loopsy toys and the Play-Doh, the inside out underwear and socks, and think to myself, "This is not what I signed up for." Okay, let's be even more honest. I didn't really "sign up" at all. But if I had, it most likely wouldn't have been for this. It wouldn't have been for the mess and the stress and the yelling and the refereeing. Sometimes, a lot of times, I am just so shocked by it all. That I have kids. That I'm a mom. That, roughly 10 years ago, I became the center of a small person's universe. Oh come on, moms, you know what I'm saying. It's not conceited. It's the God honest truth. When I pushed that small person from my body, I became my own sun. His sun. And later, my daughters' sun, as well. Completely equipped with my own gravitational pull, my own orbit. It's a force that I doubt will ever be outgrown.
A few months ago, I observed a mother with her grown daughters- one in college, one newly married. They were home for a holiday, and I watched. They orbited her. When she wasn't near them, they wandered the house looking for her. When she sat, they sat. When she shifted, they shifted. Their shoulders touched. Their hips. Their heads rested against hers. They were pulled to her, pulled by her. They needed her like they needed the sun. They were little planets, caught up in her path, spinning, spinning around her.
I haven't really outgrown this innate planet instinct either. My mom lives in Florida now, and even from hundreds of miles away, I feel the pull. I'm always gravitating toward her, longing for that Sunshine State, to be back in that orbit.
We mothers... That cord we grow, when we grow our babies, it's never completely cut. There's this pulsing thread between us, feeding back and forth.
I've felt this more and more, as my own children have gotten older. You would think I'd realize it more when they're younger, when they're these little involuntary planets, revolving around me, helpless. But I've never felt that pull stronger than I have over the last year or two, as I've seen them instinctively shift and gravitate and function around me. I remember one time I told a friend how claustrophobic it made me feel sometimes. To be walking through a grocery store, or down a hallway, and to not only see but to FEEL them around me. It's like when you attach an inner tube to a boat. (Or for an occasionally more accurate description, imagine Shir Kahn  in Jungle Book with the torch tied to his tail). I turn a corner and I can feel them float behind me in my wake, a little delayed, maybe a little wider path, but undoubtedly shadowing my every move.
These invisible cords that still tie them to me, this gravitational pull, this mini galaxy that I'm at the center of, it's wearying sometimes. There's a lot of pressure and little rest. Is this how the sun feels, I wonder? Surrounded by all these planets, no matter where he turns, always someone dependent on his energy, his life force, absorbing him in, breathing him out, NEEDING him? Let them get too far away, and they freeze. Pull them in too close, and they burn up. They must exist with you and without you, all the time. Everyday. Such a fine, tense balance to maintain.

But oh, isn't it glorious? To be the sun. To be life and light and nourishment. To feel them orbiting around you-  living their own lives, maintaining their own ecosystems, true- but always, always pulled to you. And you hold them. You embrace them in that gravity, you hold tight for dear, dear life, watching them spin and twirl around you, rejoicing as they absorb you. Does the sun need the planets as much as the planets need the sun?
In our case, even more so.

Exhausting, yes.
Exhilarating, even more so.
Worth it, worth it, worth it.

I'm tired. I'm worn out. I'm overwhelmed and underwhelmed, I'm the center of this universe that is the center of MY universe. I'm my own sun. I'm a mother.

Happy Mother's Day, to all my fellow suns. 

Trending Now at the Box House

As my kids are growing more and more, there are things that are popular with them now that, as an elderly mother, I obviously can't comprehend (obvious to them, I mean. Not so much to me). For instance: Justin Bieber. My girls are not the most hardcore Beliebers. We don't know his birthday or his shoe size. But they both agree he must marry one of them. They argue frequently over which one of them it will be. They are 7 and 4, friends. I mean. Really. They don't even know what marriage is. Especially Atleigh. I try to tell them, "Justin is way older than you. The chances of him marrying you are very small." But they won't listen. Of course, no one could talk me out of my Billy Ray Cyrus obsession at their age. That's right. I said Billy Ray Cyrus. People, I had a massive crush. Poster and t-shirt and Some Gave All at the top of your lungs crush. Tell your sister you're never speaking to her again because she said his hair was dumb and drew a mustache and goatee on said poster crush. And I won't lie. If I could find that t-shirt I got on the Christmas I was 9, you better believe I would find a way to wear it today. In fact, on my Kindle the other night, I saw an ad for a Billy Ray autobiography. I immediately had a heart attack. An achy breaky heart attack.

So. Bieber Fever is always on tap at The Box House. But I've gradually worked in some things from my own childhood that my kids are buying into. The Sandlot. "You're killin' me, Smalls!" Little Rascals. "I got a dollar, I got a dollar! I got a dollar, hey hey hey hey!" (These are legitimate things I've overheard my kids saying.) Here's my personal favorite: I Believe I Can Fly. Now, no 90's child worth their salt would miss out on that classic R. Kelly song. One day, my kids came home from school singing it. I don't know why. They can't pinpoint where they heard it. But it immediately became one of Atleigh's favorite songs. I hear her all day through the house, singing under her breath, "I weeeve I can fwyyy. I weeeeve I can touch da kyyyy." (We're still working on her lazy diction.) So, about a week ago, I found Space Jam on the $5 shelf at Target (By the way. Why are all of our generation's movies winding up in the cheapo bin? That's classic stuff right there. They don't put the Baby Boomers' stuff on the $5 shelf!). That was one of those "toss it in the cart don't care whether I have the money or not" instances. I couldn't wait to watch it with the kids. Couldn't wait for Ashton to see Michael Jordan pretend to act. Couldn't wait for Atleigh to put a "face" to her current favorite song. Well, it turns out Ashton watched it the other day while I was at my Bible study and he was confined to his room. I was so disappointed. He loved it, of course. I knew he would. I just wanted to see him love it.

Another thing trending right now: Baseball. Ashton is midway through his little league season, as pitcher for the Mets. I won't lie, folks. It's bad. He's a good player, he really is. But every time we've put him in sports, he's been landed on mediocre (if not downright bad) teams. That's not just biased, proud mama speaking. The kid has talent. But he's easily hyped, easily frustrated, and easily discouraged. So when his team lost big tonight, I had a really distraught 9 year old on my hands. A 9 year old who crawled into my lap and sobbed like he hasn't done in 5 years. What do I say? How do I handle this? All I could do was hug him and pray with him, and try to convince him that he is only 9 and nobody started out perfect when they were 9. I don't think I'm quite cut out to be mother to a kid as high strung as I am. I cried almost as much as he did. Not because he lost. But because he felt like a loser. What mom wants that for her kid?

Also currently big in our house: Les Misérables. You know from previous posts my obsession. I haven't stopped listening to the musical soundtrack since January, when I finished the book. No kidding. At least (at least) twice a week I'm listening to it and singing I Dreamed a Dream, or some other song, at the top of my lungs. So much so that I even heard Chloe, playing on the front porch this evening, humming "On My Own". My heart about burst. Last Friday, I went to see Les Mis (the Broadway tour) with my dad and sister. Amazing. Absolutely enthralling. I found myself, over and over, thanking God for the gifts that He's given to people. I don't care if you're "Christian" or not. Gifts are gifts. And all good things come from Him. So when I heard Jean Valjean sing "Bring Him Home" in that flawless falsetto, all I could do was praise God for it, with goosebumps all along my arms. I felt like Anne Shirley on the day she went to church by herself and saw The Lake of Shining Waters through the window: and she prayed her own prayer, "Thank You for it, God", two or three times, while Marilla said anxiously, "Not out loud, I hope." Well, I may actually have said it out loud. I don't remember. I just remember rarely being so sucked into something in my entire life. I wanted it to go on forever. To sit in that seat and watch the show over and over, and sing along until one of the cast members got laryngitis and they needed an able bodied and able voiced female who knew the play front and back to rise up out of the audience and save the day. That would be me (she said with a mixture of pride and embarrassment). One of these days. Whether it's community theater, or I have to force my entire family to stage the play for me (oh and don't think I haven't already got all their roles picked out. I'm already equipped with my own personal Gavroche and little Cosette).

Maybe the real trend in the Box House lately (and this isn't what I started out writing at all) is that dreams are worthwhile, even when they don't come true. Whether you want to marry your childhood idol, or believe you can fly. Whether you want to pitch the perfect game or sing pitch perfectly the role you feel you're destined to play. God is the author of dreams, great and small. Even a 4 year old can dream big. Even an "elderly" mother can dream big.

What trends are you seeing right now? What dreams are you dreaming? Hold onto them. Dream the dream. Nothing is too big or too small for the One who placed those dreams in your heart.

-M