As the mother of four boys, I often bite my tongue. I’ve never been afraid to get dirty or try some new adventure, even if there’s risk. So yesterday I had one of those days filled with stuff boys love: adventure, lots of movement, and loads of mud. And it was all fine, except for the mud part. That’s the part where I had to bite my tongue.

We started our day at Climb Time, an indoor climbing gym. All four boys tried their best to meet new challenges by climbing walls that came out at various angles as well as hanging in mid-air by their trusted ropes and their trusted belayer (me and our friend Kendall, the people controlling the ropes).

Later in the evening, they each made signs for their shirts and their bikes with a number - think race cars. Then they had my husband and me come outside as they unveiled their new “hot rods” which they had each covered with a blanket. After the unveiling, we were escorted to the back yard, behind the fence that encloses our pool so we wouldn’t be in harm’s way as they tried their stunts in the back-back yard.

Here are some pictures of what ensued next. You’ll see why I am now on my third load of laundry - WASHING THE SAME CLOTHES THREE TIMES. White is still pretty brown and particles of grass and mud are still coming out of pockets. If you have boys, you’ll understand the biting your tongue part of all of this. You want to let them be boys. But with our house on the market and the fear of new carpet turning all sorts of new colors after this scene, I had to bite extra hard and give explicit instructions of exactly how they were to enter the house. Hosed down and naked, running clothes into the washer and bodies into the shower.

It appears that my husband is pouting b/c of the boys griminess. But he’s really pouting b/c we’ll miss this house of ours when it sells. We love the lot and the pool and the space our boys have to run and play and make up silly games like riding their bikes through the one mud puddle that stays around long after a rain. And yes, the picture of me is not so attractive, I know. But I wanted to capture the moment when I was saying, “What in the name of all things good am I going to do with these boys I have birthed?” I love the expression on Jaden’s face, too. It’s as if he’s saying, “I’m not so sure this was a good idea, Mom.”

I hesitate to name my favorite book, my favorite musician or my favorite movie. Mainly because I don’t have one favorite. How can a person pick one favorite when that person is multi-dimensional, dynamic and ever-changing? It would be like bearing children and picking one as your favorite. There’s no way.

In my case, I don’t love my children the same. Please hear me… I love each of my children equally, but not the same. Not the same because they are unique. But I cannot measure the love in any way. I can only say I love each of them for who they are. If someone says they love their children all the same, they are lying. Each child comes into this world with his or her own make-up, gifts, challenges, and so on. Each of my boys have much they offer. So much to give. So much life. But that life is unique in each of them, and I’ve fallen in love with their uniqueness. So it is with books, movies, or the arts.

All this pre-ramble to say I have a new “favorite” in the movie department.

August Rush.

It rocked - pun, intended.  I won’t go into the plot except to say a little boy is looking for his parents… and he’s musically gifted. Incredibly so.

It is one of those movies where you find yourself cheering for the characters as they make good decisions. And yelling at the screen when they make bad ones. You find your heart aching in both sadness and happiness. Like a good book, you want to see how it ends, but you’re sad when it’s over. You want to peer into the lives of the characters long after the credits roll

I am keenly aware of the music in movies and there’s no way I could miss the music in this one because the whole movie revolves around it. So, I recently downloaded the soundtrack. To my delight, the first track featured some of my favorite quotes inserted into the music.

August Rush says: “I believe in music the way that some people believe in fairy tales. I like to imagine what I hear came from my mother and father. Maybe the notes I hear are the same ones they heard the night they met. Maybe that’s how they found each other. Maybe that’s how they’ll find me. I believe that once upon a time, long ago, they heard the music and followed it.”

Profound for a small boy. Profound for a grown woman.

If that quote were my own, I might say, “I believe in story the way some people believe in magic. I like to imagine that what I hear in someone else’s story is God speaking to my soul, piercing my heart with another human being’s failures and triumphs. Maybe the story I tell will touch another soul. I believe that when we speak with honesty and humility, we will find God and start following Him. Really following him as He shares with us the Ultimate Story — better than any word, paint stroke, musical note or magical energy — where we all find out what it means to be found… and whole.”

The quote is not necessarily parallel to August’s, yet it is about my passion.  August’s passion was music and he believed he would be found through music. I believe I am found through Story. My hope is that those who read this will understand more of their own stories and how important it is for you to tell your story.

You come with a soul that is whole. For now it may be tattered and torn a little. Or a lot. But like musical notes, the parts are just that - parts, segments, pieces - until they are put together to make a beautiful song, and maybe even a symphony. No not maybe. Definitely a symphony — with all its parts working together to form a harmonious composition. May your life continue to reveal the glorious Story God intended for you and only you!

When those who are rescued from various forms of slavery around the world, it’s hard to believe they would ever want to go back to that life. Ever. Yet, one of the ministries I highly respect (www.ijm.org) has a program specifically for aftercare. They are not the only ministry that does this. Many of the people in bondage come from vulnerable populations where they do not know of their worth or their rights. They have come to believe that they either deserve to be enslaved, or that there is no better way for them.

In a recent sermon at church, one of our pastors, Bill Briley, told us that one ministry has their rescued “slaves” repeat some pretty obvious statements. All of these statements begin with something to the effect, “It is wise to….”, and end with such things like…”give my children an education,” or “find a job that will provide income for my family.” After learning what is wise, the last statement they recite is this:

“By practicing wisdom, I will NOT reenter bondage. I will remain free.”

The statments seem so obvious to me. An American woman who has skills to find a job. Who will provide her children an education. Who will not run back to the bondage. Or will I?

Every day, I face certain challenges. And every day I have the opportunity to practice wisdom or run into bondage. The bondage can take many forms. But all of bondage starts with a lie. A very good lie, I might add. A lie that seems like a good idea. A lie that seems like it will make everything all better. A lie that is no different than the first lie that evil, ugly serpent told Eve in that beautiful garden so long ago. And there’s me, just like Eve, saying to that little slithering lie, “You are right! I deserve to have this (fill-in-the-blank) because I have (fill-in-the-blank).” And so it goes. I take a bite out of the forbidden fruit, to continue this way overused metaphor, and next thing I know I am either a.) ashamed; b.) embarrassed; c.) depressed; d.) all of the above; because whatever it is that I have fled to is not meant for me.

It seems so silly that I am comparing my life to that of women, men and children who are victims of human trafficking and other atrocities. I am not, in any way, shape or form, making light of what these people deal with. I am simply saying that while my pride would say, “Duh!” regarding the statements those rescued must recite, I, too, must start my day in truth, seeking wisdom so the enemy can’t twist the truth. I want to keep these statements simple enough that I can remember that I do not need to be enslaved any longer to feel important or to get my needs met or to… whatever other reason I may reenter bondage.

This is harder for me than I would like to admit, but by the grace of God, I get through these twisted thoughts and lies one day at a time.

There’s a verse in a song that we sang that day I heard this sermon. The lyrics say, “I can see the light that is coming for a heart that holds on.” My hope is that those who enter freedom after such bondage (whether in India or in my own life), will remember that although being enslaved may feel comfortable at first, it is not real. It is not the real life God has for us. It is darkness shrouding us from the truth of the beauty God has for our lives. And the freedom can only happen when the light starts to come over us and lift the shroud.

So my heart holds on and on… and sometimes on and on and on.

I am at peace. Whenever I am at the lake, I find serenity.

When my husband was first diagnosed with multiple sclerosis and we were scared to death that the diagnosis would ruin our lives, I found peace at the water’s edge. When my dad was in the hospital all last summer, our family still found a few days to find respite at the lakehouse. And when the stress of life in general makes my head ache with all the tension, a day floating on a raft or in the boat can wash it all away, if even for a bit.

Here are some recent pictures of a place I love. Grandview Lake.

Noah loves to drive. Don’t tell the lake patrol. (I’m always behind him ready at a moment’s notice.)

Look at the smiles on our boys’ faces.

Heidi and I laughed when she was taking the sunset pictures from the boat b/c it looks so peaceful. But what  you can’t “see” in the picture are our boys wrestling and pushing and turning up the total headbanger music full blast.

Oh, and those are hot dogs that Eli is putting on the hook for baiting the king catfish that lives under our dock.

Look how cute Will and Jaden are as they await their first tubing experience together! Yee haw.

My second time at Kung Fu Panda, I actually took notes. To those who know me, this will not seem unusual. I take notes at my kids’ field trips to the Indianapolis Rowing Center and the Newport Aquarium. I take notes in meetings and at church. But at a movie aimed for children?

Yes, indeed. The first viewing struck me as predictable but I was keenly aware of the little morsels of wisdom or interesting lines delivered by the animal characters.

One of my favorites came from the wise, old tortoise who gently ruled the Valley of Peace. “One oftens meets his destiny on the road he takes to avoid it.”

I’m not much into destiny. I believe that my “destiny” is actually part of a plan that God has for my life. But I have to agree with the tortoise that sometimes when I take a road that I think will lead to happiness and purpose, I find myself in pain and despair. Yet it is on this very road of pain and despair that I find my life and my purpose.

I also love the line, which I think is on my quote page, I think. You’ll have to go to my quote page to see the actual quote from Master Oogway. Not his original, but a great one nonetheless.

Okay, then there’s the whole notion of finding your destiny when you let go of the illusion that you are in control. See my posts on 05/04/08 and more recently the one on 06/26/08. Oogway tells Master Shifu that he cannot control the peach tree no matter how hard he tries. He can’t control if it grows fruit or not, nor when it might bear its fruit. Master Shifu, much like me, argues with Oogway that he can take the seed of the peach and control where he grows a tree though. Yes, but if you want an apple tree, no matter how much you want it, it will still grow a peach tree. Some things will just happen because that is what or who they were meant to be.

Such as Po the big Panda who is named the Dragon Warrior, the highly esteemed position for the best of the best in Kung Fu. The problem is… no one thinks he is worthy. Clearly, he’s not the best. Not even close. He’s a big, fat, slow, clumsy Panda. But he loves Kung Fu and he will not quit. He says if he quits trying to become the Dragon Warrior, then he goes back to being “me” and he doesn’t want to be “me” any longer.

He asks Master Shifu how he is going change him, how he’s going to make this fat Panda that he is into the Dragon WArrior? Master Shifu says: “You have to trust me, your Master, as I trust my Master” (Oogway). Reminds me of how Jesus tells us to follow him as he follows his Father. But do we believe that even Jesus can change us? Sometimes I doubt because I believe I am just a big, fat Panda with no talent, especially talent like a Dragon Warrior!

Later in the movie a sweet conversation takes place between Po and his father, a noodle maker. His father decides to tell Po that when he makes his special noodles that everyone loves, he has no secret ingredient. Po, the Panda, is astounded. How could his father, after all these years of hiding the secret ingredient, have no secret ingredient at all?

The point, his father says, is that if you believe something is special, then it will be special. It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to get where this is going. Po starts to believe in his potential to truly BE not only the Dragon Warrior but HIMSELF.

I don’t necessarily think that if I simply believe I am something that I will be that. But I will take the idea that if I believe and trust God to help me be who I am meant to be, he will be faithful. I do my job - staying present in my journey - and he will do his job to lead me… and run the Universe.

I won’t ruin the rest of the movie, but let me just say that Po learns some serious Kung Fu moves. You Go Po!

My friend Misty fell in love with a man who lives in California. That man fell in love with Misty, who lives in Indiana. Misty and her California man, Steve, got married. Now they live part-time in California, where Steve works, and part-time in Indiana where Misty is able to parent her boys and be near her family and friends. Someday, they trust their blended families will live under only one roof.

Living this life is not easy, but they make it work and they are committed to staying connected.  Each morning, they do a little ichat with their i-cams so they can see each other and the boys can see Steve.

During a recent sleepover - Misty and her three boys, me and my four boys and our friend Kristin and her son - were able to chat with Steve. Here are some of the pictures from our conversation. Because Steve understands his audience, he does many things to entertain the crowd. So, he puts stickers all over his face, makes up stories using cut-outs of himself that he calls the “Stevinator” and the Something Else I can’t remember. As you can tell from the kids faces, he was quite amusing. All of this after a fabulous breakfast Misty made for all of us. I got a kick out of the scene I encountered when I came down the stairs to join everyone.

I learn a lot from my friends, including these friends who teach me what it means to be intentional in marriage - whether we live in the same house all of the time or part of the time. They teach me what it means to keep working out conflict rather than walking away or shutting down. They teach me what it means to balance the serious and the funny. Most of all, they teach me that life is hard for all sorts of reasons and we can either pout about it and become miserable, or we can make the best with what we have and ask God to help us find not only contentment but joy in this life - the life God has given us.

How many Houses can fit in this room? Five, thank you very much!

Breakfast for the masses.

Super cute brothers.

The breakfast bunch.

Sticker Steve

Like Father, Like Son.

The Stevinator and his friend during an earthquake… one of Steve’s many tricks.

The audience is captivated.

Look what I found on the mantle. A beautiful portrait of Misty and her baby.

For two hours I was banned from the basement. Fine with me. While my boys busied themselves with something top-secret, I had the luxury of sitting on the dock to read and take a catnap. When I was invited to the basement, I was given a menu with several drinks and snacks listed.

“Welcome to MVP,” One said.

“This is our Grand Opening,” said Another, as the boys gathered near a ribbon they had tied around posts near the bar area. “Would you like to watch our ribbon cutting ceremony?”

“Sure, it would be an honor.”

Then the boys ran through the ribbon instead of actually cutting it. I was given my drink and some food and when they asked me to pay, Another said, “No, no, you don’t have to pay. It’s our opening day so everything is free.”

My kind of business. Then the festivities began. There were scooter races, mud molding (they even showed me what the end products look like when the mud has dried) and Nerf gun shooting with one of their Automatic Nerf guns. After we ate, drank and played I headed upstairs to check on one of my boys who wanted to go kayaking again.

After a day filled with restaurant openings, tubing and kayaking with my little guys, I am beat. The daylight savings time is killing me. As much as I try to get them all to bed at a decent hour, it seems we can’t make it earlier than 10:30.

But rather than complain, I am counting my blessings. I have a lakehouse retreat for my boys and me, while our house is put on the market, thus, cutting down on the chances that they’ll mess up the house. And, it’s summertime, when we CAN stay up late or pick up and do something spontaneous like the slumber party we had at our friend, Misty’s house. More on that later. Right now, I have to break up the argument b/w two of the MVP owners. Seems they can’t figure out who needs to clean what. I think they’re going to need me to be their manager. Just one more job a mom can do.

Fifty years ago my parents made their vows to one another for “better or worse, richer/poorer, sickness/health… til death do us part.” My two older brothers and our respective families are celebrating in Chicago, my mom and dad’s hometown. We’ve had tours of old stomping grounds, fireworks with 5 billion other people overlooking Lake Michigan, lots of wonderful moments making new memories and lots of hard moments with very crabby children. Like right now as I write this, my boys are whining and I feel like my head might just spin off from frustration.  But even in the midst of the cruel comments the boys are making to one another and the tantrums they have thrown, an incredible gift has been given to all of us.

My parents have invited their children and grandchildren to celebrate with them. Instead of taking an extravagant trip to some exotic destination, they have provided a long weekend filled with activities for the youngest to oldest person. But the best part of being here is not the beautiful lakeshore and parks or the restaurants or the shopping, it is knowing that after 50 years, my parents are still committed to one another and showing their love not only to one another but to each of us. Their marriage is a gift. That sounds so trite but marriage commitments are rare today, especially 50 year marriages.

Sure they’ve had their ups and downs and the hardships that come with marriage, but they love each other. It is obvious in the way they care for one another and touch one another and really know one another. My marriage with Bret has not always been easy. And I’m sure we’ll have more bumps in the road, but I hope  in 34 years we can bring our family together and know that through the grace of God, living one day at a time, we can stand victorious in our marriage, too.

A few years ago, a friend of mine bought me some cute pink undies that say “It’s All About Me.” I love them. I love them because they are a.) pink b.) comfy c.) true (the saying, that is).

But the other day as I was driving, the following conversation ensued.

I said to Son: “You know, it’s not all about you.”

Son: “Uh, yes it is.”

Me: “No. It’s not. It can’t be all about you.”

Son: “What?”

Me: “I said, it can’t be all about you… because it’s all about ME.”

Other Son: “What are you people talking about?”

Exactly.

It was as if the words of God came out of Other Son’s mouth at that moment. WHAT are you people talking about?

Now, I’m a mature woman - sometimes. And I know it’s not really all about me. That God is in control, and that my direction of the world around me is simply an illusion. But I can get delusional sometimes. I really get to thinking that if I place my little actors on my stage just so, they will say the lines they are supposed to say and walk the direction they are supposed to walk, and in the end of the production, the actors will stand and give me an ovation. Right? This is crazy. And this is what happens when God gets slowly inched out of my life.

So today, I dropped my kids off at my parents house so they can take them to the lake. I headed to Starbucks before coming back to the Money Pit to start staging it for sale. Lo and behold, there are my parents inside with my children. Except for one. The crabby one.

The sassy boy who barely uttered a goodbye to me this morning because he was mad his DS wasn’t working, stood at the end of the drive-thru waiting for me.

“Don’t make me drive away,” I said to the barista through the drive-thru window.

“What’s up?” she asked.

“Crabby Son awaits me just a  few yards ahead and I don’t want to hear his tongue thrashing about.”

“Uh, well, you could stay all day but I think there’s someone behind you,” she says, not so sympathetically.

So I said goodbye to the last person I may ever see on earth before Crabby Son carjacks me and leaves me dead on the side of the drive-thru.

I drive up to him– slowly — waiting to see what spews from his mouth.

And then the most amazing thing happens: He leans his head and arms into the car and says: “I just wanted to say goodbye, Mom. And I love you.” And then he wraps his arms around my neck (gently, as in a hug) AND kisses my shoulder.

“Goodbye, Bud. I had fun hanging out with you last night. Thanks for being with me.”

At that, Crabby Son turned into Smiling Son and walked away.

This is what God does for me. These are the gifts he gives me to let me know that “it” - everything in this world - is not all about me. It’s about Him. The One who has so much goodness in store for me when I least expect it. The One who creates a path for reconciliation and forgiveness and humility - all things I experienced right there at the end of the Starbucks drive-thru with my son.

So thank God my underwear is wrong because it’s exhausting to try and make it all about me. My brain can’t handle the pressure it takes to keep the illusion alive. I do all sorts of crazy things to get my way and to orchestrate a days worth of “feeling good” about me. And what happens, I end up disappointed and resentful because - NEWS FLASH- no one else thinks it’s all about me.

And quite frankly, I’m done thinking that way, too. Thank God for “it” being all about Him. Now I can live as I was made to live, loving God, and others and myself - as His daughter, not as the Queen of the Universe.

Every town has one. A summer concert series. Ours happens to take place at the gazebo, next to a huge fountain, by our local government buildings. A beautiful lawn surrounded by Georgian architecture. I couldn’t tell you who played tonight, what they looked like or how many people were in the band. I do know they were playing swing music and there were plenty of people dancing.

What kept me from seeing the band was mainly due to my position on the lawn. Backed turned to the gazebo, I spent most of my time watching 11 children darting here and there (and 1 adorable 6 week old baby) while trying to carry on some semblance of conversation during the evening with the other families we joined there. If I wasn’t sitting I was taking pictures of our kids running and playing.

Another reason to love summer. Barefoot in the park. Running, catching and tackling kids. Finding random items in the grass (Lucky me and my friend Misty who got to see intestines of some animal in the lawn where our boys played a game of football!). And music.

My friend Heidi was looking at our Wyoming pictures the other day. I had set it as a slideshow with music, and she said, “Everything is better set to music.” I totally agree. Music evokes so much emotion for me. Tonight it wasn’t necessarily the type of music but the fact that it was there, almost like background music choreographed to our life with kids in full “swing.”

The pictures below:

The Mamas

Our spread. At one point Sophia (in pink) asked Bret what his favorite color was. When he answered “purple”, she said, “That’s a funny color for a daddy.” Bret tried to convince us that it didn’t affect his masculinity, but the next time I tuned in to their conversation, I heard Bret telling Sophia, “…and Kings were purple and…”

Apparently, the other Sophia (in the white hat) fell backwards in her little blue chair and couldn’t get up. The nice people beside us helped her since we were clearly not paying attention to the little girl struggling like a bug on it’s back.

Solomon and Misty by the fountain. The constant challenge for every parent with a toddler: How do you keep them OUT?

Solomon decides he’d rather have his own tunes on his little ipod. So funny!

Bret with Kristin’s son Josiah, who calls Bret, “The Man.” (At first I put Bret AND Kristin’s son, Josiah… oops, that’s a bit misleading and scandalous. The power one little word has, huh?)

Our boys make fast friends after they meet for the first time and quickly form their own football team to challenge other kids at the concert.