Meeting Rita

Eleven years ago.  September 24, 2005.  I remember the day all too well.  I remember the night even more.  As I stared at the TV screen as a wind-blown Geraldo reported the damage to me that was occurring in my southeast Texas.  All I could do was pray… for my husband, all the first responders trying to keep safety for others, those trying to keep the chaos at bay, and for all those in danger.  Hurricane Rita swirled with fury into our community recorded as the fourth most intense Atlantic hurricane ever.  A category five that tragically took over 100 people’s lives that day.

The boys and I had left Hunter earlier that afternoon and also left our first home, and our sweet lab Maggie behind and made our way to stay at my dear cousin’s home in Tyler, Texas.  Reluctant wasn’t the word, as I pulled out of our driveway, tears brimming over in my eyes as I said goodbye.  My gut told me that this was the end of something…. Or the beginning of something… whichever way I want to look at it, maybe.

The next morning an early call finally came from my husband, who sounded so exhausted.  He was ok, and he was safe.  My heart was so relieved to hear his voice!  Maggie was safe, too!   He hesitated as he began to tell me that our home was not ok.  We had received severe high wind damage, resulting in part of our roof being peeled back, rain pouring into our home.  Light fixtures fallen, sheet-rock peeling back off the wall… everything wet, wet, wet, wet.  Our privacy fence, and roof to our pool outbuilding was found in various places… including across the road and field from our home.  It was all a wreck.  We comforted each other, “We’ll get through this, Joani.  We have each other, and that’s what counts,” Hunter reminded me.  So true.  What beautiful truth.

The following weeks without electricity compounded the devastating damage to our homes effected by this storm.  While my husband and all the wonderful community helpers, local law enforcement, fire departments, and disaster relief teams worked hard to clean up, re-build and help our community survive… the south’s heat and humidity continued to work its way with mold growing everywhere and anywhere Rita’s water and moisture had shown itself.

When I finally was able to re-enter the community, my heart sank as I saw such devastation everywhere.  But, my heart was lifted high as I saw weary faces all around, with smiles on their faces, love for each other in their hearts, and hands to help.

To be honest, to write all of my thoughts about the journey we began September 21, 2005 would be a novel.  So many beautiful moments, so many wonderful helpers, and some dark, dark days, too  — all part of God’s road for me.  And, honestly, I actually have written one!  Just not ready to share it all yet… Haha!  But, today being the anniversary I just wanted to share with you a bit of hope when days look dark, and the night even darker.  When the storms swirl in, and fear makes us tremble.  When so much is lost, that it’s hard to see what remains. 

The One who calms the storm in my heart, the One who created the sea, and told it where to stop.  The One who knew you and I before we were born, and knows every day that we will live on this earth.

He is greater.

There was a very sad moment of big realization for me as I held James’ blankie in my hand.  In our haste and emotions as we left for Tyler, I left it behind.  Now molded and ruined.  He was four at this time, and my grandmother had crocheted it for him at birth.  He loved that little green blankie.  He slept with it every night (sometimes even brought it to the grocery store with us, but shhh don’t tell him I told you ;)), and he loved how his fingers slipped and fit right in between the stitching.  My Mema is with Jesus now.  I miss her so much.  I sat and held the blankie close, ready to toss it in the trash with all the other debris of memories.  Crying, I felt the pangs of the loss of innocence for my children in this broken world, I cried for the interruption of their joyful times spent in the pool, the normal routine with play-days and school days with friends, the loss of all their belongings.

And, then right there, that still, perfect, small voice whispered to me.  Sitting on a moldy, wet carpeted floor, with piles of trash bags containing my home, mosquitoes buzzing in my ear… crying my eyes out holding a child’s little blankie…

I am greater.

Greater than all this.  And, I am here. 

Yesterday, as I woke up and opened my Bible, 11 years later, I searched for a verse of comfort for this season’s storms.. they aren’t a physical hurricane for me, but this world still has some swirling, whirling chaos trying to run my life some days.  The verse I ended up reading wasn’t the fuzzy, feel good one I kinda was looking for, it was so much more.  Deep meaning for true deep down comfort:

 ^“At that time his voice shook the earth, but now he has promised, “Yet once more I will shake not only the earth but also the heavens.”  This phrase, “Yet once more,” indicates the removal of things that are shaken—that is, things that have been made—in order that the things that cannot be shaken may remain. Therefore let us be grateful for receiving a kingdom that cannot be shaken, and thus let us offer to God acceptable worship, with reverence and awe, for our God is a consuming fire.”  Hebrews 12:26-29, (ESV) 

My life has been shaken. Shaken with things that felt like was shaking even beyond my core. Sometimes to the point of wondering how I will ever steady my footing again. My friend, what I have seen is that through my shaking He has been my rock that doesn’t move. Clinging to that steady rock, keeps me steady even in the biggest storms. I may shake, but my Father does not.  An amazing part is that through my pain, through my sufferings, through shaking like a leaf and standing vulnerable and helpless before my King, He has not only guided each step by His hand, but He has shaken off many things that needed to be stripped away, and He has replaced them with things that can never, ever be taken from me.

A quote that has come to have more and more meaning for me through the passing years, written in a book called “A Grief Observed,” by CS Lewis is this:  “God has not been trying an experiment on my faith or love in order to find out their quality. He knew it already.”

He is greater.  This I know.

Meeting Rita.. a new beginning.

tears & smiles — guest post

The following is a guest post from my niece Abigail McBride.  The best word I can use to describe Abby is real. She is purely authentic and shares her love with a pure vulnerability. Because of that quality she is one of the most inspiring, strong women I have the privilege of knowing.  When I falter in my faith, I see clearly the strength of my God by seeing His light transparently in her life.. I do not take it lightly that she gives us the opportunity to peer into her soul, and I’m so grateful for a heart that desires to share a message of hope for those of you who might be reading and can find encouragement for your own grieving heart.  

 

Funeral home.

Burial.

Memorial service arrangements.

These are things no 20 year old should have to hear, especially when it’s referring to her husband.

But I did. I heard them, deep down in my soul. I heard the phone call, telling me that I needed to get to the hospital. I heard them tell me that he didn’t make it. I heard them tell me that they had done everything they could. I heard them ask me if I was ready to see him. I heard Liam fussing in the background because he was hungry. But I didn’t feel much of anything. Numbness. The kind that takes over your mind body and soul, trying to desperately shield you from the reality of what you’re facing.

I remember walking in, getting the news. And the only thing I could say was “No”. No this isn’t real. No this isn’t happening. No, no, no. Because, you see. We had plans. Great big beautiful plans. Plans for us, for our house, for our children, for life. But in an instant it was like our plans had never been dreamed. They were just a memory. MY plans. MY life. MY future. And it was all gone. In just an instant.

I walked in and saw him, laying there. He looked so childlike, so innocent and so completely peaceful. I was jealous. I walked in and knelt beside his bed and wrapped my arms around him. I can’t describe what came next, I was immediately calm. I breathed him in. Tracing my fingers over his face. He was with Jesus. I knew that. He was happy. I knew that. He was whole. I knew that. He was complete. I knew that. And somewhere deep inside me I heard a voice say “Abigail, don’t push God away. He is the only one who can get you through this.” Call me crazy, but I know that was from Jonathan. Because in life, he always pushed me closer to Christ. So why wouldn’t, in death, he do the same?

Am I telling you that I haven’t yelled at God? That I haven’t screamed into my pillow in complete despair? Am I telling you that I heard that voice and said “okay God, I’m good. You’re right. I’m fine. This isn’t so bad. This doesn’t hurt like hell. I’m okay with this.” No. It hurts. More than anything, it has completely shaken me to the core. I want MY plans to go back to the way I wanted them. The way WE planned them. I look into my son’s face and I see a little boy who won’t remember his daddy. He won’t remember the bond they had, how he would scream with delight when he saw Jonathan walk through the door. He won’t remember their bedtime stories, their nightly prayers, or going on walks outside. He won’t remember the pride and joy that Jonathan had for him, the look of complete love that he had every time he got to say “this is my son, Liam”. But I remember, and I can’t wait to tell Liam. He loved this little boy so tenderly and strongly at the same time.

I have chosen to put my future in Gods hands. I know his plan is greater than I can imagine. I know he cries when I cry and his heart hurts as mine does. I know he wants his very best for me. I know that he gave me Jonathan for a reason. And now, he’s gone for a reason. I don’t know what that reason is. I know he sees Liam and that he’s going to provide for him. In every area. We don’t always understand why life happens the way it does. And it hurts. It’s incredibly hard to be human. It’s hard to love someone and then have them taken away. It’s hard knowing that you’re going have to explain to a little boy one day why his Daddy isn’t here.

My comfort is found in God. And in remembering Jonathan as a man of God, my best friend, my love, the father of my son. A man who accepted me for who I was. A man who had a servants heart. A man who loved like Jesus did. Jonathan set my standards so high. I know how a man should treat his wife. I know how a man should love his family. I know how a man should treat his children. I know how a man should work. But most of all, I know how a man should love God fiercely. I will continue to thank God for giving me Jonathan, even if it was just for a little while.

I’m not here to preach to you about how when you follow God that it’s going to be a rose garden. It just not that way. There are trials. Trials that make you want to run and hide. But I can tell you this in full confidence. MY God will carry you through. MY God will give you strength you never knew was possible. He gathers up the broken pieces and creates something beautiful, not perfect, and not what you had before. Something different, something  that you look at and say “Only God could have done this.” Because, truly. Only he can take the broken and make it whole. The wounded and make them well. The tears and make them smiles.

I can smile because I know that Jonathan is whole and with Jesus. I can smile because he loved me and Liam. I can smile because Jesus promises me that one day I will see Jonathan again. Until that day, I can smile knowing that more than anything, that’s what Jonathan wanted for me.

 

“And we know that for those who love God all things work together for good, for those who are called according to his purpose.”

Romans 8:28, (ESV)

Dear Liam

Dear Liam,

I’m pretty sure you know how special you are to me. Since the day you were born, and I had the beautiful opportunity to meet you in your first few moments of taking in the world I’ve treasured you. Maybe it’s your sweet, gentle nature like your dad, and maybe your expressions and eyebrows that say it all just like your mom. Maybe, it’s just you! You are such a special, unique little man! I love you!

My heart breaks that your daddy left this world last week. I wish you could have known him, and presently enjoy the amazing man that he is. But, he’s in heaven now, and I know his desire is for us to join him there one day. It hurts so deep, and we miss him so, so, so much already. But, then I think about how you can know him. Through the eyes of us who loved and saw him love you.

One of my favorite memories is the day your mom and dad were married. It was so beautiful. I don’t always cry at weddings, but this one I did. They truly had found the one “that their soul loved.” We had so much fun celebrating. It also showed me a lot about your dad when they went to leave for their honeymoon with their car painted up, and cans tied to the back, and your mom saying to your dad “move over, I want to drive!” Your dad with his big grin happily moved over, beaming over his new wife that he loved every spark and shine of in every way! We laughed and laughed over that memory together afterwards. Your mommy is so full of life, and she loves to take the drivers seat! Your daddy began showing her that he was a loving protector by serving her with joy.  That’s what a strong man does, and your dad was one of the strongest-hearted men ever.  I think you will be, too.

I love how he always cradled you in his arms with that little smile always on his face

I love how attentive he was when others were holding you. He carefully watched to make sure you were happy, safe, and comfortable.

I love how much your mommy and daddy laughed together. The kind of belly-laugh that is contagious.

I love how your mommy smiled more and more each day as she was married to your daddy. Her happy heart was bursting out more each moment that she lived with his love.

I love how much your mommy could trust your daddy. He loved her without judgement, and she had no fear of being herself.

I love how your daddy loves beautiful things.

I love how hard he worked with your mommy to make your home beautiful.

I love how your daddy always wanted to help. On one of his only summer days off of work he came with friends and your mommy to enjoy a day swimming at the creek. He saw that I was painting at Nannas, and he quickly changed his plans and grabbed a paintbrush. We fought briar bushes, and mosquitoes and he never complained — in fact he showed me that he had just as much fun serving as he would’ve relaxing. He made me laugh, too.

I love how the night you were born he was there every second. Every second. He was stroking your mommys hair, and holding her hand. For hours he wouldn’t leave her side. In fact, in one moment I saw him quickly place your mommys hand in Aunt Moriahs hand to run to the potty! That was the only time I saw him leave her side. He wanted to be with her, and experience it all. He was so excited to meet you! When you arrived his smile lit up the room. His son. The wonderful Mr Liam.

What a gift that Jonathan McBride is your daddy! What a gift that was given to this world through The Love of Jonathan and Abigail McBride in YOU! What a gift that he was able to look into your eyes and fall in love with the specialness of you! I’m so grateful.

You are loved, Liam. So very much, straight from the start, completely from a big heart and forever.

words of life

I scroll through social media… and I see your faces.  Your life filled with adventures, pains, needs, and moments of fun! Your beautiful children laughing in the flowery field – you are sharing your pride and joy! I see your late-night recipes that make me hungry, and then I probably think about what a great cook you are!  Your inspiring quotes posted in pretty memes letting me know that they have a deep story behind just the simple click of you pressing “share” – You are really sharing the meaning and light it brought to you, and now you hope to share the same with another heart.  Your soapboxes that you might jump on as an outlet for your anger about injustices that you are passionate to help change, or your desire to help others “see” something that you have seen, and want for others.  You are sharing you!  A gift!

But, then…. and especially lately… I see lots of screaming back and forth.  I see much cynicism, and sarcasm.  And the pain comes.  My heart hurts because I know that we all are so much alike, actually.  We all desperately want to be heard, and understood.  Then, when we feel like others don’t, or when they disagree… yikes, then we feel rejected.  We are lumped and generalized.. judged and criticized.  And pain cycles round, and round.

Cynicism: bitterly or sneeringly distrustful, contemptuous, or pessimistic.

Sarcasm: harsh or bitter derision or irony. Ridicule. (Webster).

I have arrived at my beliefs for a reason, and so have you.  Obviously, our beliefs determine so much about our lives, and we truly want others to experience and know who we are, and why…

If you know me, you know that I would love to live in an imaginary fairy tale world where we could (and should) eat M & M’s all day, ride on rainbow colored ponies, live in magical treehouses, and we never, ever argue.  🙂   But, that simply isn’t the way it is. You may be thinking now that’s where my post is heading.. “Ah, Joani just wants us all to live in fantasy world, where we all just love each other, never accomplish anything, hold hands and sing KumBaYa all day…”  Haha.  And, maybe you’d be right!  😉  Actually, I’m learning to be very appreciative for the difficult conversations we need to have.  It brings change and growth. Needed change and growth.  Our emotions help us fuel needed conversations.   We live in a world where we will most definitely disagree, and we will most definitely have the need to share our own thoughts, beliefs, fears, joys, and hopes.  Yes, sometimes it’s messy, and sometimes it hurts.  Most of the time we take risks of vulnerability with our hearts as we communicate, and there is such beauty in that.  Yet, sometimes we fear rejection, and we suppress, or explode.  I do believe it’s important to keep digging deep for the courage to speak up and share our hearts.

But, can we try to do it so the others can hear?

We are all individual hearts.

Let’s check our own hearts, and then let’s try to truly listen to one another as we talk…

I know my perspective is just that… my little perspective and my little angle at looking at things.  My little Joani-Viewer that sees the world through my beliefs, culture, and heart, but I wanted to share with you guys.  Thank you for sharing with me.

And, maybe you like Freud, can’t help but think that “in the depths of my heart I can’t help being convinced that my dear fellow-men, with a few exceptions, are worthless.”  But, I would have to politely and respectfully disagree with you and Mr. Freud on this. Fight cynicism with the knowledge that each and every person is worthy of love, and that we each have a story to share in a conversation with a coffee (or a tea, for my beloved tea-drinking friends…).

I believe you are worthy of all and any efforts of Pure, True Love.  I believe that you are an eternal being, and not here by chance or mistake.  I believe that contempt and bitterness from others sends a deep pang inside you, just like it does me.   I believe you are a miracle that I have the opportunity to know, and to see, and to hear.

Choose words of life, my friend.  I need them, and I’m thinking you do, too.

she

“Who is she?

She has potential…She has hopes and dreams for her life.  She has her own beliefs and value system.  She is created in the image of God, and is a unique and special individual.”

Who is she?

She is the young, single-mom that is your cashier at the store.  She is working a double late-shift to pay for a tire-repair. It was expected, her tires are threadbare…Every-time she had to drive she said a prayer. But, what’s a girl to do with three little hungry ones, stacked up bills, and no family that can help.  She rings up your one can of soup accidentally three times.  You can feel you eyes roll, your irritation spilling out on your face.  You don’t know who she is.  But, you know that you are late for your gym class.

Who is she?

She is the woman standing on the side of the road with a sign.  The plea for help doesn’t even make sense to you.  Probably a scam, you mutter.  Then on a phone call with a friend later in the day you giggle, recounting the event of a misspelled sign, dirty clothing, and unkempt smile.  But, you don’t know who she really is.  She was diagnosed at 15 with Bi-Polar disorder.  She ran away from her abusive home a few years later… never having even a semblance of what some would call a “normal” life, and unable to see hope for a life that is “normal” anywhere in her future either.  All she knows is to try and survive today.

Who is she?

She is the young college student.  She seems firey, and driven by beliefs that seem so wrong to you.  It’s not what you know, or anything that you are familiar with..  She wears t-shirts that don’t make sense, and you deem her with rebellion to the system that’s “right.”  Yet, she struggles to be heard.  She wants others to understand that there are hidden pains that others don’t seem to care about.  She may seem to be yelling, and she is.  She wants to be heard.  She wants to help others be heard, too.

Who is she?

She is the woman with four kids at the park, who can’t seem to control them.  Her kids have snot running down their face, the baby is in a diaper that is overdue a change, and the constant shrieks and chaos is interrupting your nice time.  You keep throwing glaring glances. You hope she’ll notice and leave.. “What is wrong with folks?  Why can’t they get it together?”   She feels the looks, but sends one right back at you.  Glare for glare.  Do you know who she is?  She lost her husband last year to suicide.  She works two minimum wage jobs just to cope financially, and every day is a battle just to get out of bed.  She hates the hopelessness she feels… she never even cares if her hair is clean, or anything is tidy. She is beyond tears. She feels so alone. She falls deeper into depression questioning why she can’t shake all this. Why isn’t she strong enough to pull them out of this horrible, spiraling mess. Maybe I can take the kids to play at the park, and think for a minute.  But, where is the time…or peace… to even process anything with the overwhelming, daunting wall of this life?

Who is she?

She is the aging woman who lives across the street from you. She loves to tell you stories of yesterday. She seems odd, and you hate having to stop to speak to her.. it inconveniences you, and slows you down during your busy schedule.  You pretend you don’t see her when she waves at you across the street.  “Please don’t let her see me, or call my name,” you think.  Then you wonder why you feel that way, irritated and ruffled… It’s because you don’t know who she is.  She has lived a long life and watched most of her loved ones pass, her body aches daily with the cares of her age, and she spends all her days alone now.  She is content with her days alone, but she also loves sharing her beautiful life stories with others.  She wants to give, and receive companionship with others.

Who is she?

She is the three year old clamoring at your knee.  Begging you wide-eyed to just “read it one more time!”   She peers deeply into your eyes… looking to see if you truly are going to read it again.  Looking to see if you are truly, fully and whole-heartedly there with her in this moment. She smiles with delight, as you pick up the book, pulling her close to you with a smile.. to read it just one more time.  That’s who she is.

She is you, and she is me.

She needs others.

She needs hope.

She is important.

She is valuable.

She is loved.

She is a miracle.

She is specifically, and beautifully created in the image of God.

*Quote taken from Serving with Care and Integrity

beautiful roads

Think I am ready to start writing again.  I’m so thankful for many of you encouraging me to do so, and your kind words mean so much.  I’m grateful.  I’m working on my classes presently, cat snuggled at my feet, coffee in hand, and I’m reflective of the past week…. Seems like the right time to start.  🙂

It’s been a tough week.  It’s been a beautiful week.  It has been all that is in between tough and beautiful.  It’s been a week full of the great joys watching children laughingly running with the clouds, teenagers teasing and their passion for life, and then it’s been a sad week grieving a holiday with the loss of loved ones whose presence was not there.  Emotions rising and falling over the days that have passed as I look over my shoulder, yet the Light that faces me as I walk ahead.

While having a chat with my mom this morning, she stated a simple, but life-altering truth… She said, “If we aren’t thankful for what we have, then there will never be joy for us.”  Can we be grateful for all the bits that our lives hold today?  My ups and downs… my past roads…. my pain… my falls… my days of delight… All part of the journey that has led me to today, and all part of the same journey that leads me into tomorrow.

 

We wake up, and we face each day with the tools in our belt given to us on our journey for this day.  We can be thankful for them, and the experience that provided each one.  We can embrace the opportunity to take the next “right steps,” and we can believe the Love given when we stumble.  How beautiful that we have only to look out the window, and see gifts to help us breathe.  Rest, my friend.  If your day holds a celebratory dance, enjoy!  If your day has a bit of fog and messy rain… reach out, and be loved.  Life is precious.  You are precious.

“Gratitude is a continual celebration of life.”

 

 

“rests”….of the musical sort. ;)

Hi Lovely Friends,

I’m back.  🙂  If you guys are still following this blog… then you truly are faithful followers of the randomness and rambling… Ha.  😉 Took the blog offline for a bit — Just taking some time of rest and reflection on life.  Life has been swirling with all the storms that  flood our days at times.  Swooping, swimming, balancing, and even breathing sometimes gets tough….

Rest has been the word of my season.  Simply, rest.

Being a musical sort of gal, I’ve been thinking about the “rests” in a musical score.

What would a piece of music be without a rest?  Would it still be as beautiful?

In a piece of music, there are so many reasons that the “rest” signs are vital.  Always, of the same importance as the flowing melody, the supporting harmony, or the defining rhythm.  A balance that makes music all that it is, would then be all the components that formulate and structure it.  Right?  Including those little rests.  Let’s think about it…

The “rests” enable the music played, within a group, to allow each musician their own role.

 The tuba can’t play the entire piece without stopping.  (Well, I guess he could… but the questions remains, should he?  ;))  Beautiful music is balanced.  Just think of a lovely instrumental while the vocalist waits, only to then enhance the melody the vocalist then produces.  The instrumental is enjoyed… the solo is enjoyed.  Both, an integral part.

Sometimes, when we skip over our rests, we plow through the cello player’s lovely solo… or, the moment meant for the timpani to shine.

Each one plays a different role.  A different part, for a different place, for a different time, for a different reason, for a distinct beauty.  

“Rests” give the musician a minute to pause and ready for the next notes.

I’ve always loved to see one of those little rests, especially when your violin bow feels like it’s smoking after playing a Paganini piece!  The pause gives you a breath, and the ability to ensure your bow is in the right position.  That little rest gives you the time needed to complete the piece.

What are the next notes for us in life?  Don’t skip over the rests.  😉

“Rests” are a moment of silence that are an integral part of the artistic beauty.  

Without the rests, we wouldn’t fully understand or appreciate the notes of the piece.  The contrast is needful.  Rest is a lovely differentiation to the busy note flow… We don’t appreciate silence at times, until it is not there.

Silence is beautiful in it’s time. Charles Spurgeon said, “Rest time is not waste time. It is economy to gather fresh strength… It is wisdom to take occasional furlough. In the long run, we shall do more by sometimes doing less.”

Why am I saying this?  Cos, my friend, I’m wondering if you are tired?  I’m so thankful for my loved ones that remind me that rest is needful, and sweet.  We sometimes believe that we have to be superman, and carry everything on our shoulders… We think that we have to stay hurry-scurry busy, as we juggle the entire circus in our hands.  We view rest as a loss, when it is actually a gain.

It can be a time for others to play… A time for us to pause — getting ready for our next line of notes… A time to all hear and experience the beauty of silence.

Rest well, my friend.  Has it felt like a very long time of running and toiling?  Rest.  Soak in this essential time.  The time that threads throughout our crazy, beautiful, musical score we call life.  Rest.

 

 

 

when it’s time to delete some phone pics…

It’s that time.  My phone shouts, “NO MORE AVAILABLE SPACE!!!”  So, I sort through my images, having great difficulty deleting (although it’s silly — most of them have already been sent to another safe file-place) and laughing about “why” I deemed the moment important to capture with my camera. Don’t laugh — you know that you do the same thing.  Let’s take a look at my chosen deletes:

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

new… you know it’s one of my favorite words. ever.

The miracle of life.  The miracle of new.

We wait.

We cry.

We laugh.

We pray.

We wait.

We trust.

And new life emerges….. Beautiful.  Amazing.   Joy-Filled.

New.  I like this word.  It’s one of my favorites!  Especially now….

Meet my new twin nieces…

“Weeping may tarry for the night, but joy comes with the morning.”  Psalm 30:5

Thank-you to my sweet sister and brother-in-law for allowing me to share in one of the most beautiful moments of my life.

another challenge for you and me

Lately, I’ve been thinking of the word “intentional” a lot.  How much do we really act out in our life with purpose and intent?  Is it really important to have purpose in everything we say and do?

Well, let me see.  Here is a quick quiz for you and me:

How many lives will we live?

How many tomorrows will we for sure have?

Do we love those around us the way we really would like to today?

Intent, planning and goals have to be set if I want to see the results in my life.  If I am going to run a marathon next year, would I just show up?  Would we go to a battle without weapons and strategy?  Am I able to cook my family’s meals without buying ingredients and working toward that goal with planning?

How much more important is it to know why we are living this life, and with intent take steps to see our goals fulfilled?

So, here is my challenge for you and me.  I want us to spend one week documenting how we spend our time.  For example:  10pm-6am sleep, 6am-7am study time/breakfast, 7am-10am social media/computer, 10-12am coffee with friend, ect….  This seems like a simple challenge, but I think you will be amazed by the amount of time spent in ways that actually aren’t what you intend it to be. And, hey!  Be honest with yourself, as you put the pen to paper.  🙂

Just try it!  Don’t feel silly… feel intentional.  If we measure what we do now, it can help us make strategy for what’s really important.