Dear Oklahoma, I love you.

It’s the day after a monster we call an EF-5 tornado, a rare and devastating weather phenomenon, tore through Newcastle and Moore, Oklahoma. This was the day after another tornado came dangerously close to my own home. My best friend and her daughter along with me and my daughters huddled in my small bathtub. Our hands trembled as we prayed in the dark over our small girls. But unlike our friends in Moore, we walked out free and clear. No damage done. Just a little shaken, but grateful that we dodged a bullet.

We’re so aware today of how different that could have been.

I peek in on my sleeping kids, and my chest heaves, I cover my mouth to suppress the sob that tries to escape my throat. Life is so precious. So brief. As a friend put it yesterday, “It’s amazing how quickly things can change.” 

I moved to Oklahoma the summer of 1994 from Austin, Texas. It didn’t take long for me to figure out that it’s not called Tornado Alley for nothing. In 1999, I watched an F5 skim the outskirts of Chickasha, moving up the turnpike to devastate Moore. And again yesterday, I watched in horror on TV as it happened again.

Like everyone else, my heart is broken, particularly over the lives lost. Like everyone else, I’m justr trying to process the devastation. Like everyone else, I want to help.

I am a Texan by my raising, and I’m proud of it, and with every year I live here, I am proud to be an Oklahoman too. Okies get knocked down, and they get right back up. They flood donation centers; they give their literal blood, sweat and tears. They think up creative and incredibly beauitful means of raising money to help their neighbors get back on their feet. They cover other people’s children with their own bodies. They give and they give and they give some more. The church gathers together here and PRAYS and gives and tends to the hurting. Oklahoma, I take back all the yucky things I’ve said over the years.

Oklahoma, I love you. Thank you, Lord for giving me the blessing of living here.

Sincerely,

A humbled and grateful Texas girl

Fact: I Do Not Like Mother’s Day

I’m a mother; you’d think I would be excited about a day devoted to me. Yet on any given mother’s day for the past three years, you’ve found me one of three ways, in this order: 1) Crying. Like, all day. 2) Angry. Just pissed at the world. 3) Asleep. That’s right, I slept all day.

You see, year one I was freshly alone and a mess. Year two I just had a terrible, yet understandably terrible, attitude. All I could see at church was a sea of happy, “complete” families. And then there was us. Me, struggling to drag two toddlers and a seven year old to church. Me, alone. Me without a flower on my shirt. Me, with no gift. Me. This year, my attitude is much better. Even so, it’s hard for the lonely not to set in on Mother’s Day. So I decided to save myself the hurt and stayed in bed.

I spent a good portion of the day just praying. Days like today make me realize that there’s still wounds to be tended to. There’s still hurt in the healing. I’ve come a long way, but still have a long journey ahead of me. Makes we wonder what I will do next year. Perhaps I will finally be in a place of acceptance.

So, this goes out to all the moms who aren’t feeling it on Mother’s Day – whatever your circumstances may be. It’s okay to not celebrate or post happy pics on Facebook with your kids. My kids came home today from their weekend with their dad and proceeded to terrorize the grocery store. I wanted to say, “Uh, they aren’t mine!” he he.

Mamas, it’s okay to stay in bed if you’re able, go for a long walk, cry a bit, pray a lot. A saying I like a lot lately is, “You can only be where you are.”

So as my third Mother’s Day as a solo mama draws to a close, I am grateful for my children, and desperate for more and more grace.

But he is dead.

Reblogged from Pastor Raines's Blog:

One month ago today, I awakened to every parents worst nightmare. My sweet, precious child had died.

The many nights that I lay awake wondering if my boy was ok, what he was doing, and when he would be home, the constant running thoughts for my life which always included a "Brandon factor", the shared dreams of his happy success and fulfillment, all came crashing down into this new beginning of reality marked by my dogs barking at someone on the front porch at 3:00 am.

Read more… 730 more words

It's been a month today since I lost a friend and others lost their love, a best friend, a bandmate . . . my friend Scott, lost his son, but not his eternal perspective. I'm proud to share his latest post. Be inspired to know Christ and the power of His resurrection. Blessings!!

Four

Yes, it’s time for another birthday post for one of my brood. I do technically have a brood. That makes me laugh. Anyway, my middle child turns four next week. I’m going to be straight with you, I think anyone in my family, caregivers and friends alike are breathing a collective sigh of relief. Lyla’s twos and threes have been . . . well, crazy. I wouldn’t be a bit surprised to see a “Hurricane Lyla” someday. It just fits. My girl is passionate and intense. She loves fiercely, she blows her top (and has been known to throw the occasional toddler-sized chair, a la penitentiary style); she is creative and wild, independent and free-spirited as they come. She’s funny; she’s sassy. She’s Lyla.

As we approach four, she seems to be calming . . . a little. As much as her crazy temper makes me crazy, I never want to break her spirit. I love her wildness. She’s always taking her hair down so that it’s blowing freely behind her as she runs to the next thing. That suits her. She’s my little charmer, easily wrapping every male in her life around her little finger, with the exception of her brother, of course.

She’s a dancer, an artist, a sing-song, a cuddler, a sister . . . my daughter. It’s hard to believe she’s four. I remember her baby days like they were yesterday. The baby with the most beautiful hazel eyes. And now she’s my big almost pre-K girl with the most beautiful hazel eyes and wicked little grin.

Lyla, I love you, you crazy girl. Happy Birthday.

Note to my Fellow Mourners

The past three weeks . . . how do I even describe them? One friend quipped, “The hits just keep on coming.” Yeah, that’s what it’s felt like, one blow after devastating blow of bad news, heartache and overwhelming sadness. It bends a soul down low. I couldn’t keep makeup on my face. Laughter sounded hollow and forced. My eyes were constantly brimming and the ache in my chest relentless. It all came to a head a few days ago. I lost it on a dear, dear person who is in just as much if not more pain than myself. I let the crazy come to the surface, fueled by a storm of loneliness and chaos that I just couldn’t handle. I was completely out of character, having a bona fide temper tantrum.

Grief is such a complicated animal. It’s never organized or predictable. I think we try to barrel through it far too often. A wise friend of mine said, “Sometimes we just need to really feel the hurt, to truly experience the weight of it before we can move past it.” The truth is that whether we’re grieving a death of a loved one, a failed relationship, life change or whatever it may be that’s happened and brings the grief into our lives; we cannot go back to the way we were. Pain changes us. There’s a before and an after. There’s healing for sure, but not necessarily recovery in the traditional sense of the word of returning to “normal” or to a previous state.

So there I was, shaking my fists at God as to why life seemed to be falling apart, again. Not just for me, but for people I loved. I felt helpless and hapless. I came to the point where it was apparent I needed my praying friends, desperately. I reached out, vulnerable and broken and asked for intercession. The great thing about being low is that there is nowhere to look but up.

God bless the prayer warriors in my life. God bless the sweet ones who cry out for me and beg God in honesty and faith to move on my behalf. They asked God to break ties that bind, to return joy to me, to draw me in to Himself, to help me SEE the gifts, to release me from depression, to heal. Friends, something miraculous happened. I went to bed Thursday night and for the first time in two weeks, I didn’t fall asleep with tears on my face. I awoke Friday morning a little confused. I felt rested. Really rested. The sadness that I was so accustomed to, that hung around my neck like a stone, just wasn’t there. I could breathe. There’s no explaining it, no reason . . . I believe He moved on my behalf and picked me up out of a pit.

Like an unexpected snowfall that comes quietly in the middle of the night, I awoke and all things were new and beautiful. Am I still grieving my losses and those of my friends? Yes. Have I regained my joy and remembered my first love and my reason to sing? Yes. Do I believe more than ever in His goodness? You bet I do.

So, fellow mourner, companion in grief, I pray for you. I pray that you lift your eyes up, Where does your help come from? (Our) help comes from the LORD who made heaven and earth (Psalm 121:1-2) I ask on your behalf that He would overwhelm you with His presence, that you would have reason to believe and reason to hope. I pray for eyes to see and ears to hear. For faith and the knowledge that you are loved, so very much.

Goodbye, My Friend. A Tribute.

I got the kind of phone call in the dark hours of Thursday morning that no one ever wants to get. The phone rang, the ringtone of someone close to me, someone who would never call me that early unless it was an emergency. My heart sank before I even picked up the phone, and I braced myself. I could never have braced myself to hear what I did.

To hear the strongest person you know weep openly, to hear that his best friend was very suddenly gone from this world – my brow still furrows trying to digest it. A brief lapse in judgement, a moment of despair and a life so very precious, so bright and beautiful was over.

And the days that followed were a blur of tears mingled with strained laughter and long embraces. If you don’t think one life matters, the memorial service I attended yesterday afternoon was proof that it does. It does so very much . . . what an incredibly diverse mix of people who came to together to celebrate my friend Brandon’s life – amazing hearts.

After the service was over and his music played as photos from childhood to the present streamed on screens above, we all somehow found smiles. Don’t let the grief of the present loss taint the beauty of memories past.

And I could write you pages and pages about what a beautiful person Brandon was. He had the kindest eyes, a wicked sense of humor, a knack for friendship and a heart to love deeply. Every time he picked up a guitar, it took my breath away. He made that instrument sing. He didn’t just play it, he had a relationship with it. It responded to him like an old friend. His music was his joy. I loved bringing friends to shows and saying, “Just wait and see, you’re in for something amazing.”  I’ll miss that terribly.

But even more than the music, I truly believe that Brandon Raines’ legacy is most evident in the company he kept; he forged many a friendship. He was deeply loved by his family and friends and his Love, Toni.

Despite the sorrow and the heartache of loss, God has not left us without grace. I see His gifts today. I’ve seen His gifts these past few days. Tears intermingled with laughter, new friendships, music, a brilliantly blue sky, a warm bed, a long embrace, a hand to hold, small town church lady cookies (with Crisco of course!), the Texas State line, hope for tomorrow.

Lamentations 3:21- 23 “This I recall to my mind, Therefore I have hope. The LORD’S lovingkindnesses indeed never cease, For His compassions never fail. They are new every morning; Great is Your faithfulness.”

Steven, Chris, Brandon, Toni and Kasi

McLean, Texas

Toss Those Tap Shoes, Girl

I took tap dance once. I was seven. I liked to dance in my smart black leotard and pale pink tights, my shiny patent leather tap shoes tied with ribbons . . . but let’s be real, I liked the noise they made. It was marvelous, the wonderful clickety-clacking of 12 little girls trying to master the “step, ball change.”  Forgive me, this post really isn’t about tap dancing, not the literal kind anyway.

By age 10 I had put my old tap shoes away. By age 32ish, I slipped on a different pair. Single mamas (and Dads!) wear many hats, but you might not know we have a bad shoe habits too. I tend to subconciously group my relationships with friends and so forth into two catergories, pre-solo parenthood and post-solo parenthood. Those in the pre category have known us awhile, have perhaps walked some of this journey with us – they may not get it, but they get it.

The post group, however, is a whole different ball game. No matter how you get to solo parenthood, life after the kaboom that got you there inevitably means a whole slew of new relationships and that awkward “getting to know you” phase. And let’s just face it, we want people to like us (really like us!), so we perform. We do the “No really, my life doesn’t revolve around my crazy children and our crazy schedule” number followed by the “I’ll apologize for the mess” act and then the “Even though you have no one to care for but yourself, I’ll rearrange my whole schedule to make it more conventient for you because I don’t want you to get scared and run away.”

For new girlfriends, I don’t do this so much, except for the sign and confesion that “Yeah, my house pretty much always looks like this.” But for guys, I am the guiltiest.

I am seriously blessed to be friends with some amazing fellow single mamas. One in particular is especially dear to me and in turn is comfortable saying what she needs to, even if it hurts. Pretty recently, she put it to me this way, “Crystal. it’s time to stop the stupid tap dancing.” She’s been guilty of it, I pretty much deserve a spot on So You Think You Can Dance at this point. We move heaven and earth to make things more comfortable for others, all the while exhausting ourselves. We apologize for our situation, our homes, our cars, the noise . . . we apologize for reality. We say things like, “I know dating me can’t be easy.”  Am I listening to myself?!  Who says that? I did.

Why would I say something so ridiculous? Why would I go to great lengths to make my life seem like something it isn’t? Why would I apologize for who I am or what I am going through?

Because I have believed a lie “ You are TOO MUCH. All this is TOO MUCH.”  My friend says, “NO. We aren’t too much. For someone, we are just right. For a lot of someones, we are a blessing.” She’s right, you know, about all of it. We don’t fear that we will not be enough or good enough for someone, but rather that us plus our small people are just too much to handle and reality is just too harsh a thing for young love.

Friends, do you hear me? Are you with me? Aren’t you ready for the show to be over? I am. I’m tired. I am encouraging any of you reading this who relate, on any level – let’s be real and unapologetic for who we are. The right people who are supposed to be a part of our lives won’t be frightened by sinks full of dishes, bedtimes to stick to, boundaries and schedules less than ideal for romantic dinners. The right people will see a beautiful mess and will welcome the opportunity to be part of our lives.

I’m ready to toss my shoes. Sneakers always fit me better anyway

Kevin’s Story: Credo House Ministries

A few months ago I posted an article I wrote about my foray into the world of theology. I finished Intro, and I’m back this semester knee-deep in Soteriology (doctrine of salvation) on Monday nights at The Credo House. And this time I convinced three of my favorite people to join me.

Why would I do that? Because the more I learn about my heritage as a believer and uncover and understand the nuts and bolts of my faith, I am excited for those I care about to have the same opportunity. It’s crippled me in a good way – I’m not the agreeable pushover I once was about matters of faith. I used to do anything I could short of diving behind furniture to avoid any kind of heated discussion or disagreement. I’m not confrontational by nature, but really I just wasn’t secure about my beliefs. Someone put it to me this way not long ago: “I just don’t like doing things if I don’t know I can hang.”  You guys, I couldn’t hang because I was just skimming the surface and learning what I thought I needed to get by. Who in the world wants to spend the entirety of their lives just getting by?! I mean, really.

In Ephesians Chapter 3 Paul writes this to the church is Ephesus:

vs 14 -21: For this reason I bow my knees before the Father from whom every family in heaven and on earth derives its name,that He would grant you, according to the riches of His glory, to be strengthened with power through His Spirit in the inner man, so that Christ may dwell in your hearts through faith; and that you, being rooted and grounded in love, may be able to comprehend with all the saints what is the breadth and length and height and depth, and to know the love of Christ which surpasses knowledge, that you may be filled up to all the fullness of God. Now to Him who is able to do far more abundantly beyond all that we ask or think, according to the power that works within us, to Him be the glory in the church and in Christ Jesus to all generations forever and ever. Amen

I want to know the breadth, the length, height, the depth of God and the love of Christ. YES. Do we have a snowball’s chance of knowing Him completely this side of heaven? Probably not, but it’s a prize worth running after. And with that being said, I want you to watch this testimony by my friend Kevin, Director of Advancement for Credo House Ministries. Enjoy!

When Life has You Crying, “Uncle”

We went a month without internet. That’s my only excuse for my absence. I could blame my life in general, but hey, that’s never stopped me before. Third trip from the cable company and two new modems later, I think we’re golden. Only time will tell.

I got my daily email today that a new post had gone up on A Holy Experience. I read it and dang it, started to cry. Ann has a way of speaking straight to my heart and cutting to the quick in a way that unnerves me. I choose wisely when to read her posts. Today’s “A Life Plan when You’re Overwhelmed …”  Hello.

Overwhelmed seems to be too nice a word for what I am feeling today. A bit of bad news, an unsettling email, a house that seems to get dirtier the harder I try to clean it, the realization that I do not have as much money as I hoped I did, jeans that are too snug for comfort, a twinge in my knee during my run yesterday, a kid with a suspicious fever and no other symptoms, ad nauseam. Or nauseated. Or both.

I just want to crawl into a corner and get into the fetal position and cry out, “Uncle!”  Any of you feel me?

I scan through Ann’s “25 for Sanity Manifesto” . . . breathe in, breathe out. I can do this. What I can’t do: keep the plates spinning. A) because anyone who knows me knows that I am incredibly klutzy and B) because I know myself and how I don’t even have a desire to keep it all together anymore. He holds it all together. Colossians 1:17 “He is before all things, and in Him all things hold together.” Good to know that the world won’t fall apart because I occasionally do. What I can do: the things on this list. I can continue to find the gifts, which always puts everything into perspective. Just saying His sweet name out loud, singing a hymn of praise while knee-deep in laundry – ya’ll it’s not warm fuzzy mumbo jumbo, it’s truth straight to your heart that has a way of settling in and making things right even when they’re not.

And I look over and the cat, Vincent, God bless him – he’s curled up into the side of my middle child who’s napping and praise God, her fever’s broken. My youngest is playing in her bedroom by herself and amazingly, is not tearing the place to shreds. The laundry’s almost done, and all that’s left to do is dishes.My son looks as me and says, “Hey mommy, I love you.”

As Ann says, “Forward!” FORWARD.

2012 in review

The WordPress.com stats helper monkeys prepared a 2012 annual report for this blog.

Here’s an excerpt:

600 people reached the top of Mt. Everest in 2012. This blog got about 7,100 views in 2012. If every person who reached the top of Mt. Everest viewed this blog, it would have taken 12 years to get that many views.

Click here to see the complete report.