That post about milkshakes
Next to When God Broke My Heart, I get the most comments from people referring to “that post about milkshakes.” It seems that we as women are always bombarded by the needs around us and constantly need wisdom on how to navigate it all. So, for all of us, as we head into the new year and consider who and what will “get straws” in our lives, here is “that post about milkshakes” (updated):
I didn’t mean for it happen, the dates just all fell together. Seven speaking engagements in two weeks. Sprinkled among these was the preparation for a 3-week roadtrip to visit family, Jeff gone 3 days attending The Resurgence, and then the regular stuff of like, homeschooling and church-planting and breathing and bathing and eating and what not. Oh and then–surprise!–“Julie” is back in our lives (Hooray!!). And during times like these I always remember a little something … (Or at least I try to remember. When I forget, this whole walking-out-on-my-family thing happens.) I try to remember this:
Something about milkshakes and straws.
See, my kids love their daddy, don’t get me wrong, it’s just that if we’re all really honest, everyone in the family thrives on Mama’s milkshake.
Everyone’s got a straw and they all want me.
And you know what? That’s perfect. I am the perfectly flavored milkshake for my family and I love that they all want a taste. I love that I can nourish their souls and care for their bodies. I love that God made me to feed these two little lambs and this one terrific man.
It only gets complicated when I start passing out straws to everyone else.
Good people. They deserve a straw, right? Maybe …
A friend recently read me this quote, from Anne Morrow Lindbergh’s Gifts from the Sea:
With our pitchers, we attempt sometimes to water a field, not a garden.
God has graciously given us a pitcher that is just the right size for all that He intends us to water. In truth, some of our pitchers are bigger or smaller than others. My friend with seven children has a bigger pitcher than me. Her milkshake is just much bigger than mine. But whatever the size of our pitcher, we just have to be careful we’re only watering our garden, not the field next door.
We were made a milkshake just the right size.
Who gets a straw?
We have to use discretion, don’t we? Must hand out those straws with caution that takes courage.
Whenever we say yes to someone we say no to someone else, right?
Looking back over our busy-season, I don’t doubt that all our commitments were “of God.” I do believe He called us to each and gave us the strength for each one. But I also believe that part of His purpose was to remind me to be so careful about to whom I hand a straw.
Who is in your garden, the place you were meant to water?
And you, delicious milkshake that you are, who will get a straw today?
Might I suggest, to you and to myself, to hand them out with the caution that takes courage?
There’s only so much of delicious you to go around.
{Another bit of this truth has something to do with strawberry lemonade. 😉 Enjoy! Thanks for reading.}
You made it! {Post-holiday comic relief}
You made it through!
My friend Janae and I always say December 26th is the best day of the year. This is no knock on Christmas, I love the holy anticipation, like a whole month of holding our breath, it’s just that the post-Christmas exhale is always my favorite part. Ahhhhh.
I love lounging in jammies with nowhere to go, sipping coffee while kids play happily with new toys and books. I love eating leftovers. I love this lull between the glorious Christmas frenzy and the inevitable big breath we must take to begin planning and preparing for the new year.
This lull isn’t long but I love it just the same.
So I thought for today it’d be fun to offer you some comic relief before we begin looking ahead to the new year: The Homeschool Experiment.
I mentioned before how much I enjoyed this book. Here’s why: the precious mama who wrote this book did so using a pseudonym so that she could safely divulge the truth. It’s brilliant! As you read it you think, “Oh my gosh is she really admitting this?” And she is! Why? Because you don’t know who she is! Haha. I love it.
I read it in one sitting, driving home from California. If you have any time to yourself this weekend, I wholeheartedly recommend snagging the kindle version and curling up for a good encouraging laugh. Even if you don’t homeschool, if you have smallish children I guarantee you will relate to her words. I recently recommended this book to a friend and, after starting it, she wrote back to me:
“I feel as if she is spying on me and has written this book about me!”
And, the awesome Mama-author has offered to give a FREE COPY of the book to one of you today. Isn’t she great? Just leave a comment on the FACEBOOK PAGE here (we’re having issues with my site, as you may have noticed, because of multiple hacks, so the comments haven’t been working for a few weeks. Anyway, I’m practicing my “whatever” mentality! :)) and we’ll pick a winner at the end of the weekend! (8pm PST Sunday 12/28) Or, just snag a kindle version and enjoy it over the weekend.
I hope you are encouraged and enjoy this blessed post-holiday weekend. Thanks for reading!
*You can chat with the author and find out more on her FB page here.
Rough Draft Christmas {On writing and living}
Hell hath no fury like a woman with writer’s block. Or so my husband says.
He has a right to say it, as he has endured my endless rants as I attempt to draft book chapters in the midst of life. Creativity is such a beast, yes? So untamable and infuriatingly elusive, yet intoxicating and life-giving once the muse mercifully makes her visit and you find words pouring out onto the page.
This process of writing, it can be absolute madness, especially when it “matters.” When the stakes are high, a contract is on the table, a deadline is looming, expectations soar and we find ourselves desperately hunting down that elusive creativity with such intensity we’re crazed. The more desperate we are for inspiration, the less likely we are to find it. The muse is shy.
There is, however, a gentle way to coax her out of hiding. It is a simple: {Read the rest over at Faith & Culture… Thank you! Merry Christmas!}
Entering Eight
“I love you, Mommy.”
It comes out of nowhere and when I look down (not very far down anymore!) into his wide blue eyes, something catches inside and I can’t breathe. Oh, my boy.
This weekend we are entering 8. Eight years ago I called Jeff at work, “It’s time, babe.” And we stopped and got snacks at the store (!) on our way to the hospital, and as I walked in smiling wearing my oversized sweatshirt the nurses thought I was there to visit not deliver. The whole thing seemed way too simple. Bringing him into the world was so easy, relatively speaking.
But that was the last easy thing about this kid. *tearful smile* Each year as I type a birthday letter to this boy, I inevitably find myself saying, “I’m so sorry, Son.” He challenges me so much, as I look over the past year I always feel he deserves an apology from this ever-failing Mama of his. *sigh*
No need to retell all the tales about this Thursday’s Child but I’ve thought this kid might be the death of me, with his Spark-mind and steel-will and COMPLETE lack of conformity to any sort of social norms. Potty-training almost put me in an asylum and I’m still finding remnants of Boudreaux’s six years later.
But the truth is the way God’s made Dutch has been the death of me, in all the most glorious ways:
The death of my ego. The death of my people-pleasing. The death of my keeping up appearances. The death of my controlling spirit. The death of all that really needs to die.
The truth is, dear Dutch, you have brought life to my soul. You have taught me so much in your eight short years. You have blown away my expectations and showed me new ways to see the world. You have challenged me deeply and made me so happy.
I am fascinated by your brilliant mind. You speak the truth in profound (shocking?) ways. Your thirst for knowledge, for truth is astounding and inspires me every day. Your love for your sister, despite your vast differences, is so tender and sacred. One of my greatest hopes, dreams, prayers for you and Heidi was that you would deeply love each other, and you do.
So much has changed this past year, as you’ve transitioned from Mama’s boy to, so appropriately, Daddy’s boy. In so many ways you have shifted, and it makes my heart soar to see you and Daddy cement that sacred father-son bond. The hours you spend in the yard together, the projects and battles and science experiments. In a lot of ways I’m already left behind. But I love it. And the fact that you still write me love-letters, and still sneak into my bed for snuggles when Daddy’s working late, that you still sit with me for hours and teach me (patiently!) about science, encourages me that our heart-strings are held tightly together.
Every year, on your birthday, I am so keenly aware once again that I am in way over my head with you, my boy. You are a glorious wonderment, and I am so incredibly under-qualified to be your Mama. But I always go back to wise words spoken to me at your baby shower:
“God has called you to be the Mama to this child. He will perfectly equip you and enable you to be the best Mama this boy could ever have. Rest in that.”
So I will. I will stay on my knees and stay in God’s Word and stay by your side, and keep trailing along behind you handing over PB sandwiches as you search the world over for more knowledge, more truth.
And I will keep praying daily that all your quests find their end in Him. He is what I want for you most. Above all, I pray you hunger and thirst for Him.
I love you, son. Happy, happy birthday. I’m so thrilled to be with you entering eight.
{Thanks for reading}