Let’s face it. The 2016 presidential race was brutal and divisive. While so many hoped that the election would put a stop to all the divisiveness, the election of Donald Trump seems to have caused an even greater divide within our great nation, the United States of America.

Will we heal?

Will we hear the other side?

What will it take to bridge the gap between us and them?

Questions loom and linger.

How will we move through and beyond?

Some are grieving. Some are angry. Some are numb now. Some just don’t understand.

Is our country safe anymore?

What will come of our world?

What will a Donald Trump presidency look like?

Will the protests subside, or will they go on for four or eight years?

Will we ever be able to cross the divide?

So many unknowns.

So many uncertainties.

There is no clear or right answer except to remember we are ONE nation under God, indivisible, with liberty and justice for ALL.

So what do we do?

Where do we start?

Perhaps we need to step back in time.

This week, my offering to a world that’s in awe, a world that’s divided, a world that’s uncertain and in need comes from my 4-year-old daughter.

In the midst of my grief over what’s transpired during this deeply divisive presidential election, my four year old has shown me what it means to love and live, through and beyond the turmoil.

When asked who was running for president of the United States, my four year old was able to name Hillary Clinton and Donald Trump. I think she would probably be able to name them if she was shown their faces. But that’s it. Nothing more. She knew their names and that they were running for president. I’m quite sure she doesn’t even know what President of the United States means. But one thing’s for sure. My four year old has taught me what it means to love and live, purely and simply, even when the world’s going mad.

Let’s learn. Let’s turn our ears towards the young. May we learn something profound, something our soul’s forgotten.

LESSON ON LOVING & LIVING #1: Find ways to compliment people and love on them even if you disagree with them.

This week, my 4-year old daughter wanted to write cards for her friends. She got out a piece of notebook paper and had me fold it into four. Then she got some post-it notes out. She wanted me to help her write notes to her friends, Sydney, Henry, Edry and Rylan, on the post-it notes. I wrote as she dictated. It was pure and simple. One sentence or two. That’s it. A compliment. A way to show her love to her friends and neighbors. Then she signed her name after each one.

Perhaps we can glean wisdom from a four year old’s simple and idealistic world.

Find ways compliment people and and love on them even if you disagree with them.

LESSON ON LOVING & LIVING #2: Surround yourself with diversity.

As I was driving to the gym with my daughter on Thursday, she randomly shared this story. “I have brown hair. My friend has white hair and a white face. My other friend has black hair and a brown face.”

“That is so awesome!” I replied exuberantly. “I’m so proud of you that you have all kinds of friends. It’s fun to have lots of different kind of friends, isn’t it?”

What was most notable about this conversation was that my daughter made that statement with NO judgement. It was a matter of fact. Pure and simple fact. She recognized that her friends were diverse, that they had different physical traits. But she didn’t place any judgement on those differences. There’s something refreshing about that to me. We can recognize differences without casting judgement.

It’s hard to admit, but it’s sometimes easiest to hang out with people who look, act and think like us. But hanging around a monolithic group of people who think, act, and behave EXACTLY like us  doesn’t do anything to expand our worldview. The more we’re able to surround ourselves with diversity or AT LEAST open ourselves up to seeing and hearing the other side, the more likely we’re able to expand and diversify our worldview. Diverse perspectives and worldviews are critical to bridging the great divide.

Perhaps we can glean wisdom from a four year old’s simple and idealistic world.

Surround yourself with diversity.

LESSON ON LOVING & LIVING #3: Create art.

This week, my 4-year-old daughter brought home oodles of art from preschool. Handmade cards with drawings. Colored pages with paper punches lining the sides. Red, purple and pink pieces of construction paper cut into mountains, hills and rectangles. I’ll be honest, I usually throw away a bunch of this stuff because a mom can’t keep everything or it’d lead to boxes upon boxes of memories. But I’m keeping every single one of my daughter’s art pieces from this week. They’ve been gems to me in a week of presidential, political and personal turmoil.

If you make any sort of art, you MUST continue creating during these days of uncertainty. The world desperately needs your art, your perspective, your unique way of expressing love and joy, despair and destitution, anger and peace. The way you see life, the way you express it through your art? It’s important. It’s noteworthy. It’s crucial and life saving. We must continue making art, even when it seems completely pointless. We must continue making art, even when it seems like everyone’s too busy to see it. We must continue making art, even when the world’s gone mad. Keep making art. Keep creating. Keep putting it out there. We need your art more than ever.

Sing. Dance. Paint. Write. Photograph. Collage. Decoupage. Knit. Crochet. Quilt. Sew. Garden. Decorate. Build. Woodwork. Mosaic. Make jewelry and pottery. Whatever it is you do to create art and beauty in this world, do it and keep doing it! We need art now more than ever.

Perhaps we can glean wisdom from a four year old’s simple and idealistic world.

Create art.

Bridge the great divide.

Before I left for my trip to Haiti in February 2014, I grabbed the ridiculously overpriced “Penny For Your Thoughts” journal my husband received at work somewhere along the way. We’d kept it safe in its original packaging on a shelf in our entryway closet for months. Perhaps we’d donate it to a silent auction. Perhaps we’d give it as a gift someday. After all, the price tag said something like $54. Even I, a lover of words, couldn’t imagine why ANY person would pay $54 for a journal. Yes, I grossly underestimated the worth of that journal. When I got to Haiti, I randomly scrawled notes here and there as the mission necessitated. Prayer requests from our two sponsored children. Info about another child we began sponsoring nine months later. An inspiring quote about Compassion International beneficiaries being “sleeping giants.” Notes here and there. As IF I was never going to use that journal again. As IF it was only good for its paper.

One month after I returned from Haiti, I opened that journal back up, turned to the first page, and began by writing insights I gleaned from rereading journals from my past. I was on a blogging break, and desperately needed to figure out where I’d been and where I was going. Nine months later, I stopped working as a speech-language pathologist to focus on writing and photography, and take advantage of time home with my children while they’re still somewhat young. Today, there’s only ONE blank page in that “A Penny For Your Thoughts” journal. I’ve carried it around everywhere, through everything, for the past 2 1/2 years. Who knew?!

I’ve adored that journal. It’s been my companion through days of transition, days of unknown, days of heartache and chaos, and days of dreaming. But the timing couldn’t be more perfect. It’s time for a new journal!

Knowing I was going to be purchasing a new journal soon, I took time to page through my “A Penny For Your Thoughts” journal last week. I’m compelled to share something significant I learned from rereading one of the pages.

Listen, and listen closely because this is profound.

Over the course of the past 4 1/2 years, I’ve learned to dream. I’ve learned to dream BIG DREAMS. 

In all honesty, it’s crossed my mind that I’ve gone mad, or that maybe I’m losing my mind bit by bit. But the truth is, I didn’t dream BIG enough. 

Yes, you heard me right.

I didn’t dream big enough.

The first quarter of that “Penny For Your Thoughts” journal is filled to the brim with dreaming. I allowed myself to go there. In fact, the ultimate purpose of those first pages was to put all my hopes and dreams down on paper. I looked back through the past, tried to piece together the bigger storyline of my life, and used that as a foundation to dream about what the second half of my life could look like. This was an intentional exercise. Nobody was judging me. Nobody was silently critiquing. I didn’t care if my dreams were totally out of line or totally achievable. I just wrote them down as they came to me. Yes, I allowed myself to dream big all over those pages.

Yet even in my grandest and freest state of dreaming, I didn’t dream big enough.

On one side of the journal page, I wrote down my “Big Picture” vision. It’s fairly vague to the naked eye, but still spot on. The vision I have for the second half of my life has never wavered.

Here’s the kicker. I didn’t dream big enough in the details.

On the other side of the journal page, I wrote down all the details of my dream as concisely as I could. There were 10 points. Keep in mind, I thought these were long-term goals, goals I could reach or see the “beginnings of…within the next 4-8 years” if everything went perfectly as planned. As of today, I have already achieved 5 out of 10 of those detailed dreams. I’m working on #6. And I was seriously close to achieving #7, but the outcome was largely out of my control.

Needless to say, reviewing my journal was an incredibly eye-opening exercise.

I didn’t dream big enough!

I didn’t dream big enough.

So what’s the point of sharing this with you today?

The likelihood is that none of us have ever DREAMED big enough! The likelihood is that none of us have ever BELIEVED enough.

So how do we move from disbelief to belief? How do we get from here to there? How do we move from today to tomorrow? How do we move purposefully and intentionally towards the ultimate vision we have for life? How do we fulfill our God-given purpose here on earth?

Take time.

Sit down.

Get quiet.

Listen to the still small voice.

Think long and hard about WHAT we love, HOW we can best help others, and WHY we’re here.

Dream.

Get quiet again.

Pray.

Dream even BIGGER.

Pray again.

Then mark it all down. Write it. Speak it. Share it. Remember it. Revise as needed. And don’t ever forget.

In the meantime, trust that God works ALL things together for good, for those who are called according to His purpose.

There’s a reason we’re here. Let’s live out every detail, every dream we have for ourselves and best yet, every dream God has planned for us.

I don’t know about you, but I have some work to do. In the next three weeks, I’m going to purchase a new journal. I’m also going to buy a planner. My goal is to write down that vague, but spot on lifelong vision all over again, but this time, I’m dreaming WAY bigger about the details. I’m going over every area of my life, I’m getting still and praying over everything, and I’m not holding back. I’ve dreamed MANY dreams in the past 2 1/2 years that have never been documented anywhere. In the next three weeks, all those great big dreams are going to be written down. I don’t care if they’re crazy or impossible or if everyone would say “Whatever, that’s totally dreaming and never happening.” Then I’m going to take that planner and I’m going to map out my days more intentionally to ensure I’m prioritizing the things I want and need to prioritize.

I’m 40. But If I live as long as my grandfather, I could have another 56+ years of life on earth. It’s time to dig deep and dream bigger. There’s a reason I’m still here. There’s a reason you’re still here.

So how about you?

Do you need to dream a little?

Do you need to dream a little bigger?

Perhaps you need to sit still long enough to hear…

You’re here for a reason.

There’s more in store for you, beloved.

What will it be?

Have you ever let your gas tank run so low you could run out of gas at any moment, like the middle of nowhere or the middle of a ridiculously busy highway? Have you ever run low on cash or time, and tried to get away with just $5 or $10 in your gas tank to tie you over? Picture this. It’s nearing end of the month and you’re low on gas budget, so you put $10 in your tank to get you by. But the gas doesn’t get you to the end of the month like you thought it would, so you put in another $5 in hopes THAT will get you to the end of the month. But that $5 doesn’t quite do it either, so you put in ANOTHER $5. Finally, you made it to the end of the month! Phew! This method doesn’t work very well, does it? If you never fill your tank completely, you just keep running out of gas.

Yes, I’m ashamed to report that I’ve experienced these things first hand. I’m the person who tends to run low on gas. I’m the person who’s been stranded on the side of the road twice in the past five years. I’m the person who runs and goes and does until I’ve run myself near dry. I’m unhappy to report that this summer, I’ve run my tank the driest it’s been in a long, long time.

My tank started running dry on May 10, the day after my youngest child’s last day of preschool. Don’t get me wrong. I love my kids. I love my baby girl. But the truth is, she’s a busy extrovert and loves being at preschool. I love my writing, photography editing, and catch all days at home while ALL three kids are in school. I refuse to believe this makes me a “bad mom.” It makes me a real mom, a mom who knows what her kids need for optimal functioning, a woman who loves her kids dearly, but also knows what she needs for optimal functioning.

Knowing summer was coming and it would be impossible to find writing time of any significance, I stopped working on my books at the end of April. I pushed out four blog posts in June and four blog posts in July, but only published one post in August prior to this one. I worked out once the week of July 4th, and once the week of July 11th. I haven’t worked out since. We’ve made it to some Sunday church services this summer, but not nearly as many as we do during the school year. I’ve been home full-time with three children for 10 weeks, and my youngest was home full-time four weeks before that. Needless to say, my alone time has been lacking. Let me remind you, I’m an introvert. I need a certain amount of time by myself to function properly.

If you know me personally, you know I’m sturdy and steady. My dad used to tell me to “get more excited.” My sister has mentioned that sometimes it annoys her that I’m so calm under pressure, that nothing seems to phase me. The truth is, while I might be sturdy and steady on the outside, I’m taking in EVERY. LITTLE. THING. on the inside. I’m highly sensitive. I notice everything. I feel everything. I internalize EVERYTHING. And I over process EVERYTHING in this wild and crazy brain of mine. If I don’t get time to do what I love on a regular basis- writing, photography, exercise, quiet time with God – I fizzle out. My tank starts emptying.

Unfortunately, this summer, my tank went dry right before my eyes. My tank ran SO DRY that it resulted in public meltdowns not once, but FOUR times over the course of one month.

June 25: Public Meltdown #1

We were at an out-of-town baseball tournament for my son, staying at a hotel for two nights, with baseball games running across three days. Lots of people. Lots of kids. Lots of socializing. Lots of noise. Lots of money being spent. Lots of games in the super hot sun. Lots of STUFF to haul everywhere. It all came crashing down when I made the trek back to the car because my son ran out of water and needed more. When I brought fresh, cold water bottles to my son, he didn’t thank me. In fact, he barely even acknowledged me. Coach noticed Cooper didn’t say thank you and prompted him to do so. I (quietly) lost it. Tears welled up. A few spilled out. Coach noticed my response and asked “Are you okay? I’m worried about you. Do we need to get you a hotel room and let you be by yourself for the night?” “I just need some time by myself,” I replied, “Thank you, though. It’s very kind of you to notice.” I powered up and watched the game. Later when we returned to the hotel room, my husband watched the kids for a couple hours so I could rest and gather myself. I’d crossed the line and there was no turning back until I filled up my tank a bit. Unfortunately, the emptying happened while we were at a hotel and weekend-long baseball tournament. Fortunately, those two hours filled me up enough to make it through the rest of the night. The next day was better, and the boys won first place in the tournament!

July 11: Public Meltdown #2

I had a “public” meltdown in front of my parents and my youngest child when there was a massive thunderstorm and the golf tournament in honor of my dad and his upcoming lung transplant was postponed. For some reason, the thunderstorms and postponement TRIGGERED deep emotion; I was mad at God more than I’d ever been in my life. No need to hash over the details; if you want to read about this totally out-of-character response, I blogged about it in this post. Perhaps I should have kept the experience private. I’m still not sure about that day OR the blog post, but one thing’s for sure. My tank was near empty AND I was overwhelmed with a flood of emotions stored up from many years. Not a good combination.

July 18: Public Meltdown #3

July 18th was the rescheduled golf tournament in honor of my dad. It was sunny and beautiful, the perfectly pleasant weather we expected the week prior. I brought my three kids to my parents’ house for Sunday afternoon, Monday and Tuesday so we’d be free to “do” the tournament in full fashion – every element, every aspect, all the socializing, helping and planning, executing and wrapping up we ever wanted to do. The only problem was that my tank was STILL near dry. I had no capacity to recognize that fact until I was 20 minutes into the golf tournament and realized my husband wasn’t along to support me. We decided he’d stay home and go into work, as he’d already taken the prior Monday off and had a boatload of work to get done. Truth was, I needed him at the tournament that day, and it never once occurred to me until it was too late. The tournament started at 1:00 p.m., just in time for my four year old to become weary and crabby. I was DAUGHTER of the golf tournament’s beneficiary, and was also the official PHOTOGRAPHER for the event, a role I volunteered for excitedly and whole-heartedly. But I was ALSO acting as a “single” mom of three that day….at a big event…at a golf course…where people expect there to be a certain level of peace and quiet. Let’s just say that by the time lunch came around at 3:00 p.m., I was already frazzled and overstimulated. The kids needed this and that, and I barely finished my plate of food. I’ve blanked out the finest of details, but basically I melted down right there at the table in the very busy clubhouse with my mom, my three kids, my mom’s long-time friend, and my parents’ lifelong friends. OVERSTIMULATED was the word. Simply TOO MUCH. Mom and friends sent me away to get a moment by myself. I took my youngest with me because why would I ever expect my mom to watch all three of my kids when she’s wife of the beneficiary and had plenty of guests with whom to connect?

July 18: Public Meltdown #4

I thought I made it through the worst of that golf tournament, but a couple hours later, I found my tank near empty all over again. This time, it happened on the porch of the clubhouse. A few sets of my parents’ married couple friends were at the tournament, a couple sets I hadn’t seen in a long time. At one point, it was just me, my 4-year-old daughter who was melting down and being uncooperative, and one set of my parents’ friends. I hadn’t seen them in 5, maybe 10 years. They were super nice and super friendly and trying to carry on a reasonable conversation, but I was supposed to be going out on a golf cart to relieve my uncle from hole 11 as he’d been there for hours without a bathroom break and without any lunch, and I was also responsible for my three kids. I hadn’t seen my dad in a long time. And yes, did I mention the lovely parents’ friends who just wanted to have a nice conversation with me, and they hadn’t a clue about the uncle who needed to be relieved or the three children who needed tending or the photography I was supposed to be taking or the meltdown I’d had earlier or the husband who wasn’t here to help me through. And yes, my youngest was freaking out and melting down right there on the porch in the middle of all of this. It was embarrassing and humiliating and made me feel like a fool, but I melted down too. Yep, that’s how low my tank was. They recognized it in a second. I tried to explain what must’ve seemed like the most ridiculous of reasons why I was acting like a blubbery mess, and they said “GO, go, we’ll take care of her. You go, cry if you need to, do what you need to do, but just go for a while.” I was an utter fool. Two meltdowns in one day. Honestly, I didn’t know I needed my husband there until it was way too late.

When your tank is EMPTY or NEAR EMPTY, you need to make every effort to conserve the fuel you have. You need to make every effort to fill that tank back up. You might be able to do it yourself AND you might need some help. It’s easy to think you might be going insane, that you’re finally LOSING IT once and for all. But remember you’re NOT going insane, you’re NOT losing it. Your tank is empty. You need a FILL. Period.

On July 19th, the day AFTER the fundraising golf tournament, my dad was placed on the national lung transplant registry. He was called with new lungs on July 22nd, had lung transplant surgery on July 23rd, and was discharged from the hospital at noon on August 6th. A series of unfortunate events led to an ambulance ride back to the hospital the morning of August 7th. Dad was admitted to the ICU, and finally discharged on August 14th.

So here I am.

With the exception of hitting a wall one week ago and having to hide in my room for three hours by myself that night, I haven’t had any significant public meltdowns for a month. Wahoo!

But this week, I’ve found myself breathing deeply and intentionally more than once. My tank isn’t empty, but it’s not terribly full either. If I had to estimate my tank’s fullness level, I’d say it’s hovering around 30-40%. Three days ago, I asked my husband to come home early and I went out for a few hours to grab a quick 20-minute dinner followed by a movie. Dinner was rushed and just okay. The movie was GLORIOUS. Absolutely GLORIOUS. My tank filled. A little more than it was before.

Yet the next afternoon, I felt my fuel level dropping again, so I told my near 14-year-old son he needed to watch his sister for a while because I needed a little break. I baked myself four tiny oatmeal cookies and drank iced watermelon Kool-Aid. I wrote for 90 minutes, then we went to the bank and got back-to-school haircuts for the girls. With a little time out and self-care, I made it out and through!

By the grace of God, I’ve kept enough gas in my tank to sustain me ONE DAY AT A TIME this month. Small things fill me and sustain me – a church service, a night at writing group, a few hours by myself, help with child care while I was at the hospital, three meals brought by three very thoughtful friends, a night of good sleep, a healthier choice at mealtime, a bottle of water, a cup of hot tea before bed, planning next steps for my children’s books, scheduling photo shoots, taking a deep breath. ONE DAY AT A TIME is all we really need if we’re honest with ourselves.

“Therefore do not be anxious about tomorrow, for tomorrow will be anxious for itself. Sufficient for the day is its own trouble.” – Matthew 6:34

This, too, shall pass. Tomorrow, we’ll be with family at my near 96-year-old grandpa’s auction sale. Next week, we’re taking a couple days to do a family staycation. In 2 1/2 weeks, my two oldest will be back to school, and I’m going to resume my regular workouts. A couple weeks after that, my youngest will be starting preschool three days a week, and I’ll be able to resume a semi-regular writing schedule. My parents are near and will be needing back-up care for my dad for at least another 2 1/2 months. But with school starting soon, there will be a lot more space, a lot more room to breathe.

Praise God from whom all blessings flow. He will work ALL things together for our good. Empty tanks. Filled tanks. And everything in between.

I woke in my parents’ guest room to Monday morning thunderstorms.

Rain and thunder gave way to the weather channel app. Needless to say, the day’s forecast did NOT look good. Heavy rain until 1:00 p.m. A 20-40% chance of rain between 1:00 and 4:00 p.m. Then downhill from there.

The forecast gave way to a Facebook post that went something like this: “Please pray for today’s weather and I’m serious. The golf tournament in honor of my dad and his upcoming lung transplant is scheduled for today from 1-6 p.m. CST. Ideally, we need sunshine or overcast with NO RAIN between 1-8 p.m. Our family has been going through bad and very bad times for 14 years. If we could just have this one day of sunshine that would be awesome.”

My Facebook post gave way to tears and prayers. I prayed 100 times over the course of 10 minutes. I prayed all the ways you could pray for weather and then some. “Dear God, please make it stop raining between 1-8 p.m. today so we can have the golf tournament in honor of my dad. In Jesus’ name, Amen. Dear God, please make it stop raining. In Jesus’ name, Amen. Dear Heavenly Father, you are so good and we know you can do anything. Please make the sun come out at 1:00 and stay dry until 8:00 so we can have this tournament for my dad. In Jesus’ name, Amen. Dear God, please make it stop raining. In Jesus’ name, please make it stop raining. Please make it stop raining.”

Tears and prayers gave way to my mom yelling through the door between the bathroom and guest room. “The tournament is canceled because of thunderstorms, and has been RESCHEDULED for next Monday the 18th.”

I was SO angry.

I popped my head out the bathroom door, told my parents how mad I was, told them to go, and confirmed (BY YELLING VERY LOUDLY) that I WASN’T mad at them, I was mad at God.

Couldn’t we just have this one day after all we’ve been through?

More tears.

24 minutes after I published the Facebook post asking for prayers for good weather, I deleted it. My dad had been in contact with the owners of the golf course. The golf tournament was officially POSTPONED due to thunderstorms that were projected to last all day. No use bothering people with worry and negativity when I already knew that prayer wasn’t going to be answered.

Did I mention that I was SO angry?

Of all things, now weather’s going to get in the way?

I’m 95% confident I’ve NEVER been more angry at God. He knows the hell my family of origin has been through the past 14 years. If God is so good, why couldn’t he just grant us this ONE day of sunshine, this ONE ray of hope, this ONE day we’d be surrounded by friends and family and feel loved, supported and cared for without more roadblocks. Couldn’t He just give us this ONE day?

I was so angry that I’d driven all the way to my parents’ house and stayed overnight for nothing.

I was so angry that my husband and two big kids had driven 1 hour 30 minutes and were already 3/4 of the way to my parents’ house when I had to call and tell them to turn around.

I was so angry that my brother was there with his friend, that they both took the day off from work and came especially for the golf tournament. I was so angry that he seriously might NOT be able to come on the rescheduled date.

I was so angry that all the food and prizes had been prepared, tee times had been arranged, schedules had been rearranged for this…and now it’d have to be moved to a week later.

I was so angry thinking about the people who might fall through the cracks now that the tournament was rescheduled because we all know that this week’s schedule is RARELY the same as next week’s.

I was so angry that we’d have to go through this all over again in one week, that we’d have yet another chance to worry about rain.

I was so angry thinking about my dad on oxygen, about to go on a lung transplant list, and why does it seem like everyone else’s dads are healthy and playing golf without a second thought?

I was so angry thinking back on everything we’ve been through the past 14 years, and now God can’t grant this ONE day of sunny or simple overcast weather?

If you know me at all, you know I’m NOT an angry person.

But I was angry that morning.

The most angry I’ve ever been.

I see God in everything. I give Him credit where credit is due. I have no problem seeing His work and grace in good and VERY bad times. But this crossed MY line. If God can do all things and knows everything we’ve been through, why we couldn’t he make this one day of sunny? Why couldn’t we have this ONE day of goodness? Honestly, I still don’t know why it thunderstormed all the live long day.

No doubt about it, I was set on leaving my parent’s house as quickly as possible. I got up. Got ready for the day. Didn’t fix my hair because who really cares and it’s pouring rain anyway. Threw my dirty clothes in the suitcase and zipped it up. I made it clear to my mom, dad and my 4-year-old daughter that “We’re leaving soon, like 10 minutes from now, and we’re NOT eating muffins before we go.”

I didn’t want the muffins.

I wasn’t buying my parents’ seemingly calm and grace-filled reasoning that “We can’t control the weather. We’re not happy either, but there’s nothing we can do about it.”

God could have done something about this, and chose NOT to for some reason beyond me.

I didn’t want the muffins.

I tried explaining to my four year old that we were leaving in as few words as possible, but she wanted the muffins.

She started crying.

I started crying.

She got the muffins because what’s the use of depriving a four year old of muffins in the midst of misery?

I lay in my parents’ guest bed staring out the rain-dropped window while my daughter ate muffins.

“I don’t know why my mom is so sad,” my daughter said to my parents.

“The clouds are mean,” said my 2 1/2-year-old nephew after a loud clap of thunder.

After what seemed like a 30-minute breakfast, the blueberry muffins were finally gone, the skim milk was finally ingested. I was ready to go home.

I walked right through the rain and loaded the bags in the trunk like it was an emergency.

My sister gave me a hug.

My parents told me to call them later.

And off we went back home.

Later that afternoon, I became numb. By early evening, I was exhausted.

My husband asked WHAT we could do to make me feel better? He was operating at an 8, and judged me to be a -3. Maybe a hot shower followed by a movie by myself in our bedroom?

I rented a crier about a woman who had breast cancer and then died from brain cancer because WHY NOT feel all the feels? I breathed deeply and let myself sink into the bed. After the movie, I had a huge knot that hurt on one side of my neck. I, of course, was imagining I had brain cancer because I’ve had so many headaches lately, and after today, I wouldn’t be surprised if something big happened to me, too.

Apparently, the shower and movie DID help! I felt better yesterday. Tuesday was MUCH better than Monday.

But Wednesday afternoon, anger came trickling back in when I least expected it.

Why is a small, but growing segment of the blogosphere freaking out about the “hidden dangers of Pokemon Go?” Why are we finding fault in a game that encourages kids to get out on their bikes, go to parks, check in at churches, and gets them actively engaged with friends and family? I’d forgotten how frustrated I can get with Christians who don’t seem tuned in to real life, who forget that that the world has more serious concerns than the “witchcraft origins” of a cartoon character. Can’t we all just get along? Don’t we have more important things to worry about? I’d been sensing a POSITIVE blog post rising up in me about this crazy Pokemon Go phenomenon, but after reading that Pokemon post this afternoon, I sensed the frustration within and couldn’t stop taking deep breaths over this stupidity. For the good of all parties, there will be NO blog post about Pokemon Go.

The BRAND NEW capris I bought 12 days ago and only wore once to a wet photo shoot were full of grass and mud stains that weren’t coming out. I left the capris in the laundry room, went outside to pick weeds in the garden, threw away trash from wherever I could find it, and deadheaded begonias in the window boxes while the children played water guns.

After all that, I went inside to make myself a bowl of bing cherries and purposely put ONE bright red cherry on top for goodwill.

A bowl of cherries, a minute of self care on our front porch, and a four-year-old neighbor girl later, MY ONE BRIGHT RED CHERRY WAS GONE! I’d saved that ONE bright red cherry for last for a reason, and she ate it right out of my bowl with no remorse whatsoever.

“You ate my last cherry!” I uttered in surprise like only a four (forty) year old could.

She ate my one, bright red cherry, the one I handpicked for myself.

A minute later, after cherry girl and the other kids left to play, I sat and stared at the white clouds drifting through the sky.

I needed to chill.

I needed to get a grip.

Our neighbors parked a parade float in their driveway and had music up loud as they were repairing the sound system. Honestly, the music resonated incredibly well with my soul as I was picking weeds. Now an hour or two later as I sat sat on the porch watching clouds – somehow NOT surprised that my one, bright red, self-care, all-things-bright-and-cheery cherry had been eaten by a four year old – a new song played.

A song like no other.

No beating.

No drums.

No partying or raging.

No anger or injustice.

Just a sweet, simple song.

Totally out of character. Totally unexpected. Totally out of nowhere.

Baby You’re Mine.

Baby You’re Mine.

I nestled into the comfy porch couch and let the sweet tune and simple lyrics settle into my soul as they may.

The sky was blue.

Clouds drifted, their movement barely perceivable.

Tears.

I was still angry. I still felt a fire within. A fire for justice and all things GOOD instead of evil. But in my heart I knew the truth. I could see and feel the truth. It’s okay to be mad at God. He can handle it. He’s bigger than anger, better and beyond human comprehension.

Grace is always around the corner.

Baby You’re Mine.

Six months from now, I’ll be 40.

Finally…the decade I’ve been waiting for.

I know. Crazy, right? Who WANTS to turn 40?

Me. I do, please.

My 20s? They were good. Finished college. Got married. Went to graduate school. Moved a handful of times. Bought our first house. Bought a lot of stuff for the house. Had two babies. Worked and worked some more. Found a church. Made some friends. Lost touch with some friends. Went to a lot of weddings. Visited a lot of babies. Had some fun times. Went through some bad times. Began dreaming. Grew in my faith.

My 30s? They were good. Sold a house. Built a house. Worked. Worked some more. Then decided to take a break from paid work and work on a hobby, a passion, a calling, whatever you want to call it. Worked out a lot. Had another baby. Did lots of kid stuff. Spent lots of time with other peoples’ kids. Got some date nights and a couple vacations with my hubby. Didn’t get nearly enough date nights and time with my hubby. Left a church. Found another church. Made a few friends and a lot of acquaintances. Lost touch with more friends. Had some great times. Went through some very bad times. Received and processed diagnoses. Read a ton of blogs. Began a blog. Felt sure. Felt totally unsure. Had dreams come true. Continued dreaming. Grew in my faith.

And now…I’m less than six months out from my 40s.

Yes, it’s 2016, the year of my 40th birthday.

40 is first and foremost, totally respectable.

40 is much wiser.

40 is aging very well, thank you.

40 is been there, done that.

40 is I’m done playing games, I’m living now.

40 is prime.

40 is golden.

40 is no longer naive.

40 is (pretty much) half-way there.

40 is time to begin again.

40 is mid-life awakening.

40 is life.

40 is me being me.

40 is let’s settle into this.

40 is I’m tired of playing games.

40 is I don’t (want to) care what you think anymore.

40 is let’s do this.

40 is it’s time to get real.

40 is let’s rock this.

Three years ago, I was mistaken for a 13 year old when I was in the elevator with my husband on a cruise ship. I’m not. even. kidding. I was wearing a swimsuit and coverup. I wasn’t wearing makeup. Still…I hope I acted older than a 13 year old.

Two months ago, I was mistaken for an undergraduate student at a speech-language convention. Then I was mistaken for a graduate student more than once. For the most part, I looked like all the grad students I met there. Still…I hope I acted older than 18-23 years old.

I know I LOOK much younger than I am. But I’ve always FELT much older than I am. The discrepancy still bothers me. 

This year, I might be mistaken for a 13 year old, an 18 year old, a 22 year old, a 26 year old, or even a 35 year old. But make no mistake, whether I’m 39 1/2, 39 2/3, 39 3/4 or 40, I’m rocking 40 the whole year through.

40 is me being me.

40 is it’s time to get real.

40 is golden.

Eight days ago, I woke up and got dressed in a black and white work outfit with tall black boots, and put my computer in my black and white polka dotted Thirty-One bag. My husband asked why I was all dressed up. My kids did too.

“I’m leaving the house and I’m going to write. All day. And I’m going to write for six hours every Tuesday and Thursday for the next three, four or five months unless there’s a really good reason not to.”

Okay, I’m paraphrasing. I don’t remember the exact words I said. But basically, that’s what I said. That’s exactly what I meant to say, at least.

I spent five to six hours writing on January 5th.

I spent five to six hours writing on January 7th.

On January 9th, I finished Mark Batterson’s book, “The Circle Maker.” I haven’t been praying nearly enough. I haven’t been praying nearly big enough. And I haven’t been trusting myself, anyone or God Himself nearly enough. God made TWO of my lifelong dreams come true in 2015, and I wasn’t even actively praying for them to come true. I was just walking this dusty, narrow, totally unknown path called…

“I’m following my dreams.”

“I’m pursuing my calling.”

“I’m following Jesus?”

What does any of this mean, anyway?

Seriously, is this work or is this not work? Am I living in reality or am I not? Am I doing what I’m supposed to be doing or am I not? Because I’m confused, but I’m totally NOT confused all at once.

So yeah…

40.

40 is much wiser.

On January 12th, I spent 1 hour 40 minutes in Barnes & Noble bookstore and 1 hour in LifeWay Christian Bookstore. I prayed. I perused. I looked. I examined. I analyzed. I wondered HOW I fit, WHERE I fit, and mostly IF I fit. I imagined. I dreamed. I took a lot of notes. And I very intentionally decided to begin dreaming bigger. Because I’m praying bigger. I’m believing bigger. I’m believing that God has more. I’m believing that God has more than I’ve visioned, more than I’ve imagined, more than I’ve allowed myself to dream.

It has to be true.

Then I remembered the dream I’d forgotten until recently, the dream I held long ago to own an Amy’s Hallmark store. I don’t want to own an Amy’s Hallmark anymore. But I have been thinking about that forgotten dream. I have been wondering if it’s more about the cards, if it’s about the words and simple, intentional, and meaningful connections with human beings in old-fashioned pen and paper form. The truth is, I still LOVE cards. A beautifully-designed and well-written card still ROCKS my WORLD. I’m still compelled to buy and send cards. I still find myself at complete peace when I’m alone (aka without kids) in a Hallmark store. Geeky AND cheesy, I know. So I’ve begun dreaming a silly little dream…what if I could land a job writing cards someday? Maybe I could fill a card niche that doesn’t currently exist? Wouldn’t that be an awesome little dream come true?

It’s a new dream.

Perhaps it’s old made new?

Perhaps it’ll come true.

Perhaps it’ll never come true.

Perhaps it’ll forever be a silly little far-off dreamy dream I shared with a few people who happened to read my January 14, 2016 blog post?

Perhaps it’s something.

Perhaps it’s nothing.

I’m open.

So I made my way over to LifeWay Bookstore’s card section and didn’t waste a second looking at anything but Karen Kingsbury’s STUNNING card collection I’ve been swooning over since it released. The collection is noteworthy, but small, so I allowed myself to handle and read EVERY. CARD. EVERY. ONE. It felt indulgent, this stopping to read a bunch of greeting cards on my third official writing “work day,” but it was necessary for my heart. It was necessary for my acknowledgement that WORDS MATTER, that WORDS MATTER to me, that MY words matter.

By the end of all that looking, I’d gathered three cards in my hand, three cards that spoke to my heart, three cards I LOVED. You know what I did next? I decided I’d buy them all as a 40th birthday gift to myself…6 months early.

Because…

40 is trusting and believing that all things work together for good, even when I feel stupid, silly, dreamy, discouraged, worthless, out of place, or totally off course.

40 is giving grace.

40 is knowing myself better than before.

40 is loving myself.

40 is giving myself what I need, so I’m better equipped to give others what they need.

In 14 days of 2016, I’ve condemned myself, I’ve disqualified myself, I’ve had disarming and disturbing dreams, I’ve had a whole lot of dreams about broken glass and ceramic, and I’ve been awake in the middle of the night praying “Jesus” because I felt my brain swirling with fear and darkness drawing near.

40 is NOT foolproof, friends.

But make no mistake, I’m rocking 40 the whole year through.

Because…

40 is braver.

40 is bolder.

40 is KNOWING there’s a reason we’ve been here, TRUSTING there’s a reason we’re still here, LIVING like we’re worth more than a passing glance, PRAYING that God can and will do all things, and BELIEVING our best days are still ahead.

40 is knowing with 100% certainty that I DON’T want a 40th birthday bash. It’s not me. It’s simply not me. But make no mistake. I bought those cards for a reason. This 40th is momentous. This 40 means something to me. I’m dreaming big for one thing, I’m working hard for another, and I’m praying hard for both. This year of 40.

40 is…