Christmas Giving

We are unemployed. This is a heavy statement to make, but at Christmastime it's ten times stronger because everyone is giving, giving, giving and it's hard to be wise with money but generous in heart at the same time. Tricky.

I'm reminded of the story of Elijah and the poor widow woman. He approaches her at a time in life where she was on the brink of total deprivation of food. She can't even bake bread. She only has flour and oil. Even if you were a master chef on the Food Network you can't make anything wonderful out of two ingredients like that. "See? You dip the dusty flour in the oil and then you make a paste that will have ALL your friends asking for the recipe."

So Elijah comes to her and says, "I need water and bread." Wait... let me back up... God TOLD him to go to her in her poor state and ask this. God says, "Go to Zarephath and a widow will give you food."

So he goes. He asks. And she reveals, "As surely as the LORD God lives, I don't have any bread... only flour and a little oil. I'm gathering these sticks to take home and make a meal for me and my son that we may eat it and then die."

Translation: "Sweet mercy, stranger, I'm depressed and tired and completely depleted and you have the audacity to not only NOT help me but to ask something of me. You stink. God bless you. Off you go."

But Elijah persists because God has something wonderful planned. And every day that she gives first, her oil is never dry and her flour is always available. It's not steak and potatoes, but it's something. It's daily bread. Simple, daily bread.

So in the midst of this stretching time God suggested to me, "Hey Em... You know that fledgling business you have? Sweet Mercy Design? I want you to give the profits from some of those calendars to children." I quieted my threadbare heart and said, "Okay, fine. I'll do it." And then, amazingly, $300 came in for these children. I marveled.

I don't understand why my fantastic husband with a stellar resume is not being offered goo-gobs of jobs at his choosing, but I do know this: God is faithful to his children. So Dan and I take the flour and oil paste of our day, link arms with gaze toward God and throw some coffee down our throats for good measure. We don't have the heart to think two, three, four or six months down the road, but we do have enough for today. And for that we are thankful.

We arm our minds with encouragement from Scripture and this simple truth: God loves us.

May God quiet your fears this Christmas season. May He show you how great His love is for you. May He overwhelm you with His peace... the kind of peace that doesn't make any sense in the midst of the storm. And may He grant you the daily bread so that you may live.

Shalom.

Brilliant Hour

It's two o'clock in the morning.

I'm supposed to be sleeping, but my mind is still racing from the past 4 hours I spent in a local emergency room.

Before I continue: I'm fine, Mom. Don't call.

Arriving at the E.R. at 10pm, I honestly thought I would be the only one there. But there was a mass of humanity at that hour that I did not expect.

There was "punched in the face" guy who insisted on calling all his loved ones even though his swollen lips could barely speak a word. A lot of drama with that one.

There was "I love chasing my toddler" woman ... whose little one ran away from her at least 20 times, laughing all the while. The slowness to her steps betrayed her tiredness of the game.

There was "marijuana shirt" girl.

There was "I will do anything to help my son" man.

There were two bajillion people with the flu there and I did my best to stand in a corner far, far away from all of them.

I tried my best to shun the very, very cliché and overly trying-to-be-art hanging on the walls. Call me snobby, but it was hideous and I think it was intentionally so: They don't want us loitering, after all. 

I did have the opportunity to answer the ever-prickly "Do you work" question. "Yes," I said sweetly, "I'm a stay at home mom." And the lady registering my information gave me that knowing look of respect; I can only imagine she has two little ones at home pulling her hair out.

And, as luck would have it, all my killer symptoms seemed to disappear when the doctor entered the room. He did his best to make my condition look worse than it was, but at the end of the day, I can pop a few pills to make them, hopefully, disappear.

I distinctly remember him asking, "On a scale of 1 to 10, how much pain are you experiencing?"
"I would say... a 'four,'" I told him frankly.
He wasn't amused. "A four? You don't need to be worried about that level of pain."
"Yes," I said, "but I need to save the 'ten' for childbirth-type pain."
He smiled at that one. I was happy to amuse this midnight doctor; it will help to quell the pain of the doctor bill later.
"But I was funny," I will tell my husband as he furrows his brow at the hospital bill.

I was a little humiliated because the symptom that I thought was going to lead me into surgery tonight turned out to be far less evil than anticipated. I quieted my pride and thanked God that it was so.  The doctor gave it a "grown up" sounding name and some official paperwork with a script to make me feel less like a whiny patient.

At the end of the day, I saw humanity. And I prayed for them. I prayed for the teenage boy groaning. I prayed for the weary parents running after their toddlers. I thanked God that I didn't have to bring my own entertainment, aka- "Eve." And while I didn't like the mauve-flavored artwork in room 21, I did enjoy the wallpaper, so I focused on that instead.

All in all, a good night.

Now: Good night.

Reflections

I don't know why I subscribe to magazines.

They are so tantalizing with their glossy pages and perfect images and drama free cooking. The people look shinier and the food looks yummier. I enter that world and get lost in the beauty of it all.

But I know it's fake. I know about the lighting tricks and the makeup artists. I've seen those special articles about how they Photoshop someone to make them look more amazing than they are in real life.

I still have that annoying ache in my heart for perfection.

Recently I had this revelation about how I perceived my home. I was shooting away on my Canon camera when I saw a reflection of my dining room in a mirror. Just a reflection. It was fleeting, but in that moment I saw color and light and beauty and I thought, "Wow, that sure is a happy house." And then I had to laugh because I made that and I didn't even know it.

When I was studying fine art in college, our art teacher had us play tricks on the left side of our brain in order to let the right side of our brain engage. Apparently the left side of the brain is known for logic and math; it's also very bossy and dominant. In order to get into "right brain" mode, we would often "deactivate" the left side of the brain.

One way to do this is to draw the negative space. The negative space is the space in between objects. In order to draw the chair above, for example, one would focus on the white space in between the rungs instead of the wooden chair. In this way, the left side of the brain couldn't take over and say, "That is a chair." The right side of the brain would reply, "We're not drawing a chair. We're drawing interesting shapes around that object which you call a 'chair.'" The most important reason for this is to draw the object in perspective and in proportion. It works; believe me. The drawing is much more accurate when you draw this way.

So when I was snapping away happily on my camera the other day, I realized that by seeing my life through a mirror image, I was much more happy with what I saw. It took some of the negativity away. I was able to see the "in between" space. It helped me see things from a perspective I hadn't seen before.

Have you ever had a day where you're totally irritated with, say, your children... and then you pop them in the car and look at them in the rear view mirror and think, "Aw, how cute. I'm so lucky"? Same concept.

So put down your Better Homes or Food Network magazines. Grab a mirror. Look at the world anew. You'll be amazed.

Bacon Goodness

Last night as I was preparing dinner, I discovered that
BACON + NEEDY PRESCHOOLER + FACEBOOKING MOMMA= amazing light effect.

Here's how this evening went down: It was 4pm. The sun was beginning its ridiculously early descent into the horizon, spilling sharp shards of light across the walls. My blond haired preschooler, previously known as "Eve",  turned into a Gremlin like she does every day at 4pm, demanding dinner and snacks and cookies and treats.

I mentally linked arms with all the other mothers of the world enduring the witching hour. To the uninitiated, the "witching hour" is the period of time when supernatural creatures have their greatest power. So by default when you refuse to give food, undivided attention or cookies to someone who is less than 6 years of age, they will use their power and it will most certainly be used AGAINST you.

I didn't have any wine that night. A single glass of wine is usually my "go to" comfort of choice to drown out the unnecessary squalling of my wee one. A little wine helps with the Little Whine. Go ahead, laugh.

But there was no wine to be had.

So I made bacon.

I didn't make bacon to replace the wine, but if I may say, chomping happily on a smoked meat during witching hour produces some really amazing endorphins... ESPECIALLY if you tell your children, "No, you may not have any bacon," and then hypocritically sneak some yourself. It's an adrenaline rush.

My smaller counterpart, however, would not be distracted from her original mission: to create an "anti-ambiance"...

... so I fled to go Facebooking in the office.

I should not have fled because... because I left some bacon on the stovetop and had forgotten how quickly that thin sliced meat likes to char. Happily Facebooking for a few minutes, I stopped suddenly. My "mommysense" was tingling... THE BACON! I bolted out of the office and entered a smoky fog in my kitchen. My fire alarm began to chirp and then squeal as if I stepped on its tail.

When the smoke died down and the alarm silenced, I saw this scene. (See photo.) "Am I in heaven?" I thought. But then I saw the pile of laundry and knew that I wasn't. Stripes of sun flirted with bacon fog. My humble Christmas tree took on an aura of other-worldliness. I swear I heard "Hark the Herald Angels Sing" but then I realized that the only heralding in my house was coming from a spry almost-4 year old.

I smiled, took some pics and fed the squaller. I gave her bread. She quieted down and I redeemed the evening by making the rest of the packaged bacon into a perfect golden brown.

All was right in the world.

Not Math

Dear Morgan,

You love drawing, writing stories and playing "store" with your sister.
But you hate math.

You love showing compassion to people, decorating your room with art and listening to music.
As long as it isn't math.

Even though you rock the reading at school and act clowny at home, nothing can change your mind.
About math.

I know that right now it makes no sense to you. From your vantage point, there is nothing emotional or creative about mathematics. But hear me out. You're going to want to know this when:

Some guy asks you out to coffee and you're not sure if he's paying or not. When he whips out a bill that is greater or smaller than the amount, you'll get an idea. That's math.

When a sleepy-eyed cashier doesn't see that the item you bought was actually on sale, you can kindly and deftly bring it to their attention.

When you're counting the days to Christmas. Or homecoming. Or graduation.

When you make your first cake all by yourself (from scratch). Half cups of sugar. Whole cups of flour. That's math. It's also science, but let's just focus on the math part.

When you decide to start a little cottage industry business. And suddenly your twinkly, swirly, sparkly dream needs addition and multiplication in order to make the best decision for your business to grow... Well, there's math again.

There are times when you will have the ability to use math, but you shouldn't.

When you are up in the night nursing your newborn and your bleary eyes see 2:13AM blinking on the digital clock, it's okay to take note, but it won't make you feel better to calculate how many hours of sleep you might get. Plus, it's spotty at best. Don't do the math then.

When you see a friend in need who asks for a couple bucks, just give it to them. Don't expect it back. It's best to keep your friendship.

When your heart is broken because of all the hours you have sunk into a project or a person or a thought that didn't work at all like you expected. Math really won't help there, either.

Here's what I predict: One magical day, all your strengths and weaknesses are going to bond together such that you won't even KNOW which ones are your strengths and weaknesses anymore. You'll be so adept at math and science and art and friend-making that you'll have to scratch your head to remember WHY you hated math in the first place.

And on that day, I want you to call me from your spaceship phone. As you count the stars and galaxies. As you count the beautiful friends surrounding you. And as you count the miles from home, I want you to smile and tell me, "Mom, I don't hate math."

The View from Here

When you go to a public place and don't know where you are, it's always a relief to see a large, backlit map in the middle of said public place and that little red triangle which reads "You are Here".

It doesn't say "You are lost."
It doesn't say "You really messed up."
It doesn't even say, "Are you really going to wear that?"

It simply lets you know, "You are here."

Unemployment is a lot like that sticker. There is a vague feeling of unrest, always checking the map to see where we're supposed to be headed. And when we repeatedly ask God, "Where are we going?" the answer is often, "You are here."

There are several rules to unemployment. Nobody tells you these rules; you have to figure them out on your own.

1. Every day is Monday. And every day is Friday.
Every day feels like a combination of studying for a big exam and having an enormous, unplanned day-long vacation. Exams are okay when you know that there is a semester's end in sight. And vacays are more fun when you feel a sense of control. For instance: Knowing that you actually planned the vacation for a set period of time and knowing that your employer was paying for that vacation. But when each day feels like both, it's okay to feel confused. That's natural.

2. It's Important to Have Goals.
It may not seem like much, but if you let your sense of enthusiasm atrophy,  you're bound to look flabby during interviews. So do things that drive you. Do day long projects for which you can only eat lunch in 5 minutes because you're SO busy. Clean an entire basement. Read the longest novel you can find, the one you usually use as a door stop during summer winds. Do something-- anything-- to remind yourself what it feels like to be employed, to be busy. That way, when you arrive at an interview there will be a flush of life pulsing through your face showing yourself to be healthy, motivated and strong.

3. Face the Worst, Hope for the Best.
I have a friend who says that when you face the very worst that can happen and realize that God is STILL there, there is no place for fear. So face the worst. Think about it. Have a rough plan. But then lift all your cares to God, being thankful for his love for you. God loves to give good gifts to his children.

Do not worry about tomorrow. Worry does not improve you or your situation. If you feel fear creeping into your mind, remind yourself of the prayer that Jesus taught us, the one which told us to ask for our daily bread. We do not live in tomorrows, only todays.

Then smile. After all, "You are here."

Ode to Age

Somewhere in life... probably when I turned 35, I decided that I didn't need to fight for significance anymore.

I didn't need to fight to be prettiest. Or smartest. Or most funny. Or most talented designer. Or most domestic.

I just said, "Enough."

I took an inventory of what was important to me, of what made my colors sing strongest.

I embraced my strengths and weaknesses.
I laid down my weapons of anger and said, "Well, others may choose that path, but not me." I took hate's energy and started sewing aprons and potholders. Hate became joy. And color.

I acknowledged my losses, my unknown babies, and I fought for joy in their name. There's no better way to honor the life of a loved one than to live as brilliantly as possible.

I stopped thinking "What will people think" and I just said, "I want to do this, to put this color here, to make this shape, to say this word. I want to be this person."

The path has been kind of winding... I thought I wanted to sew but then I realized that what I really enjoyed was being around beautiful fabric designs and beautiful people. Bold designs. Pure designs. Kind people. True people.

I don't want to be the person who puts down other designers. I want to be encouraging and real. Truthful and celebratory. God knows how thirsty this world is for truth and kindness and life-giving colors.

So I do it. I delight. And I'm thankful for my fellow journey takers.