Love, Grace, and Friends

I would like to introduce you to Denise.

Can you find her? She is the lovely lady on the left with that look in her eye that just says, “Yep. I’ve got this.” Which, she always does.

I could begin this by describing Denise as a super mom, wife to Ashley, amazing photographer, and all around amazing woman of God.

Or, I could share how she is selfless beyond measure, giving of her time and talent in innumerable ways.

Or, I could get to the point and call her a visionary who is following God’s plan for her life.

Yes. That’s more like it.

With her thoughts drifting back 3 years ago, Denise can remember the exact moment when she knew that her future would be about The Well. At the time, it wasn’t The Well, but it was a general directive to create a summer camp and retreat in SE Minnesota. Drawing from experiences attending camps at the Good Earth Village camp, she began meeting with their director. After a series of conversations and some redirection, she began to realize it wasn’t about the place, but rather the idea.

Since that vision, she has slowly been taking the steps to make The Well a reality. Knowing that this needed to be done in God’s time, she has internalized the vision, waiting for His direction on who to involve, designing a mission and vision for The Well, and slowly preparing for the next steps.

Denise shared that the hearts of her husband and children are ready for a potentially life-changing transition from the comforts of their home and daily activities such as baseball and basketball practices to the mission field that will be The Well. It has often struck me how our picture of the “mission field” is typically an impoverished nation without access to resources. Denise’s mission field will be right here in SE Minnesota., serving those who need a space to grow in their faith  and be “filled with the Living Water of Jesus Christ.”

Right now, The Well is a brand new, non-profit organization. Denise has a vision in her mind of the property that will become The Well. As the team has moved forward, she is praying that God’s plan is revealed in His time, knowing that He has already selected the exact location. Denise’s faith in God’s timing is carrying her through the murkiness and unknown. This is perhaps the thing I love about Denise the most. While she consistently serves in a way that gives you no doubt that she loves Jesus and loves all, her faith in times of uncertainty has been unwavering. She noted that in those moments where seeds of doubt crept in, God would place a verse or a song on her heart that would remind her that He is carrying her through the challenges, equipping her with all she needs at the right moments.

How can we help?

There are a few ways we can be supportive of Denise and The Well’s leadership team:

• Pray for God’s will and provision as they keep making the next step towards making the vision a reality.
• Connect with Denise via social media or in person to show support. “Like” The Well’s Facebook page here to keep up with their progress and any fundraising events.
• Support financially, if you feel called to do so. T-Shirts are available and fundraising events will be coming up in the near future.
• Again, pray. This is perhaps the best way to support Denise and The Well.

If you know me, you know that I am a fan of Jen Hatmaker’s writing. In the last two years, I have read Interrupted, Seven, and her latest, For The Love. It was that last book that created a chain reaction of new opportunities and adventures with ladies across the country. I have found friends that are fierce women of God that I would never have met if it wasn’t for a rejection letter for Jen’s launch team and a hashtag that started a rogue tribe with a passion for books, lifting each other up, and worshiping the Lord.

As Jen’s book launched, her husband Brandon watched as this group of rejected women supported and launched the book anyway. He saw the commitment and community that was formed. And he saw an opportunity. You see, he had a book in the works. He approached the group with a proposition. As a result, this group of rejectees were asked to be a part of his launch team. Which is how I ended up with an Advanced Reader Copy of Brandon Hatmaker’s new book, A Mile Wide: Trading a Shallow Religion for a Deeper Faith.

Brandon is a pastor at the Austin New Church and the founder of the Legacy Collective, which is a “Giving Community focused on partnering, pioneering, and funding sustainable solutions to systemic social issues.” His previous book, Barefoot Church, emphasizes service to the least, calling today’s church to social renewal and service as Jesus’ command for Christianity.

 

His new book, A Mile Wide, hit my mailbox at just the right time. Using the Platte River as a metaphor for faith, Hatmaker delves into the murky waters (see what I did there) of transitioning from a wide and shallow practice of religion to a faith that runs deeper. Divided into two parts, the book explores how the Gospel is in us and how it is served through us. This book’s timing was good because I was starting to feel spread thin. So thin that I wasn’t really sure of my relationship with God. I began to feel disconnected. I recognized that I was beginning to resemble the Platte River.

One chapter in particular focuses on community, which I am discovering is more and more important to me. Brandon writes of finding a “community groove,” recalling how they sought out the “perfect” church or “perfect” bible study. But communities are full of broken people looking for the same thing. As a result, they are perfectly imperfect. And they serve as a “perfect” place to practice discipleship and personal growth, which leads to the depth we desire in our faith.

“In order to exchange a shallow religion for a deeper faith,

we need to return to the beautiful journey

of searching for the heart of God,

of seeing through His eyes.”

– Brandon Hatmaker

A Mile Wide is currently available for pre-order through Amazon and Barnes and Noble, and officially launches on Sept. 13th.

 

The snarky side of me bristles at societal buzzwords fueled by our love for cute hashtags.

How can someone have a tribe? Can you really be feeling #allthefeels? I avoided using those phrases and hashtags as long as I could. Maybe it was an aversion to following the crowd or possibly even a fear that I didn’t really have permission to use them for my benefit; residual feelings from junior high and high school when I definitely wasn’t part of the cool crowd and teenage hierarchy dictated what you can and cannot do or say.

But then, something happened.

I actually found my tribe and felt all the feels.

Several years ago, I was feeling so incredibly lonely. I struggled with friendships, and was afraid to pursue connections with other women my age. I feared their rejection. Because I experienced rejection. I feared saying the wrong thing in my awkwardness. Because I said awkward things that I regretted as soon as they came out of my mouth. I feared getting close enough to be vulnerable. As a result, I did not have someone I could do life with.  I struggled with envy, jealousy, and bitterness. I felt sorry for myself and wallowed in my loneliness.

Finally, I prayed. I prayed for healing in my heart. And God responded in the most unexpected ways.

He moved my family from Phoenix, AZ to Austin, MN. Moving from a metro area of over a million people (surely there had to be a tribe hiding in there somewhere!) to a town of 25,000. I thought I had said goodbye to small towns for good. I thought I had said goodbye to Austin for good. I didn’t see it coming.

Back in Phoenix, I knew I hadn’t found “my tribe.” Sure, I found a few great friends, but I  wasn’t comfortable in my own skin. I still felt like an outcast. I didn’t fit in. I was a working mom who wasn’t available for the play dates that cemented lifelong friendships among kids and moms. I also was navigating the world of autism for the first time, which for anyone without a direct connection to it, seemed foreign and solvable simply by changing his diet or trying a metals elimination therapy.

Now in Austin, I am still a working mom navigating the world of autism. I am still awkward and insecure. But there is an added element that wasn’t consistently there before. Prayer. Deep, honest, and “getting real with Jesus” prayer.  I began to seek out Jesus. And not just when things were going well to sing His praises. I started to seek His presence and support even when I felt abandoned and lost. And slowly, God began placing people in my life that I could trust with my heart. Friends that would stand in the gap when I needed extra support. Ladies who I could call at a moment’s notice, and they would be there for me.

And here’s the important part: I will be there for them, too.

It would be easy to just take their support and love. It would be easy to bask in the receiving.  But that kind of tribe would fizzle out faster than a sparkler on the 4th of July. Sure, it is pretty and dazzling. But sparklers are not meant to last forever. They have just enough pizzazz in them to bring short term and shallow joy. If this tribe of mine is going to stand the test of time, I need to be a nurturing and supportive member.

So to my tribe…

I’ve got your backs. I may not be a loud and fierce warrior, but you can call on me, and I will be there with prayer and words of support. Perhaps even a Caribou coffee drink or a walk around the neighborhood. I will hold up your arms when they grow weary. I will fight the good fight with you. That’s what tribes are for. Love you!

I have vivid memories of a file cabinet drawer filled with cereal, crayons and coloring books, and a tiny 6 inch TV that we plugged in to watch Sesame Street as we sat on the flour bags. Many naps were taken there, pulling out sleeping bags from who knows where. The smell of donuts and coffee are permanently etched into my brain, triggering memories that last a lifetime.

After 40 years, my parents are hanging up their hats in the donut and ice cream business. This is a day I was never quite sure would ever come, but here it is. Married May 8, 1976, they went on a brief honeymoon to Clear Lake, IA. The next week, they opened the Mr. Donut in Austin, MN. 3 years later, my brother and I were born, prompting a cute editoral in the Austin Daily Herald about how kids were cheaper by the dozen. Ha!

My childhood was shaped by this store. We spent a lot of time there, helping with cleaning jobs, passing time playing on our dad’s computer, and eventually working in the store. I have distinctive memories of the annual downtown Crazy Days sales, carting donuts, coffee, and lemonade from the store to our little shed on Main Street in a cute wagon wearing our Mr. Donut t-shirts and hats. I recall the insanity of working on the 4th of July while the parade went right in front of the store, selling out of donuts by noon and picking up garbage for hours after the crowds cleared out. I remember going on wedding cake deliveries with my dad, watching him construct elaborate cakes complete with fountains (hello, 80s).

I also remember when my parents told me they were going to change the brand from Mr. Donut to Dunkin Donuts, and along with that came the new and exciting world of Baskin Robbins Ice Cream! I was in middle school, and this felt like an exciting time. Everything was new and fancy.

I remember working part time during my high school years. Back then, smoking was still allowed in restaurants. Every afternoon, there would be a group of older gentlemen sitting at the coffee bar, chain smoking and having their usual daily orders.

A coffee with two creamers and an old fashioned donut.

Coffee, black, and a maple long john.

A medium Mountain Dew with a Boston Creme.

I knew all their orders by heart and treasured the 25¢ tips they would leave me. I also perfected my favorite treats- a couple chocolate donut holes warmed up in the microwave for 10 seconds. Just long enough to be melty and gooey. And I can’t forget the childhood favorites- the infamous donuts on a stick. I can remember putting my nose to the glass of the fancies case, picking out the pink dipped with sprinkles. Once I was making them, they were far less exciting…

The store provided at major life events. Donuts on Christmas morning; a special bunny cake at Easter; and best of all, a tub of my favorite chocolate-peanut butter ice cream at my graduation party and sundaes at my wedding reception. I knew I could always count on these.

While we lived in Phoenix, it was hard to keep up with what was going on at the store. At some point, my parents changed the brand again, now to the current Donut Connection and Kaleidoscoops Ice Cream. When we moved back to town, it was like nothing had changed. Except now, I could go into the store at night and not be recognized as “the boss’s daughter.” Which made me happy.

It is tough to say goodbye to a place that was central to your entire lifetime. A new family is coming in to take the baton. They will form their own family memories in this store. I will look back on life lessons learned, people met, and memories made with contentment for what was. I will cheer on this new family for what they will make their own. My husband jokes that we will also now pay full price…. I think I may have to adjust our “donut budget.” I can’t wait to support the new owners as they make it their own.

Congratulations, Mom and Dad, as you retire and enter a new chapter in your lives. Sleep in. Be lazy. You’ve more than earned it.

 

I have frequently mentioned that this last year introduced me to a tribe of women that have exploded my little world exponentially in terms of love, friendship, and adventure. Each of these women brought their own life experience, challenges, and journey. Stories of pregnancies, births, adoptions, cancer, addiction, divorce, dating… you name it, we’ve supported our tribe through thick and thin this last year.

And then came a tough one. One that no parent should have to tell. It is hard to know where to begin when it comes to this story. It is heartbreaking and beautiful at the same time.

One of these ladies, Lesa Brackbill shared the news that her baby girl Tori’s had been diagnosed over a year ago with Krabbe, a rare and terminal disease that impacts the nervous system. One day, Lesa saw the light go out in her daughter’s eyes, her smile and expressions had disappeared.Genetically passed down, it typically appears by 6 months of age, and children with the disease do not survive past the age of two. Lesa and her husband Brennan spent the next 16 months advocating for genetic testing for Krabbe after learning that the disease is treatable if discovered at birth.

 

As a mom, the pain of this is unimaginable. But the Brackbills understood that Tori’s life would be a testament to God’s love.  They began to use their blog, The Adventures of the Brackbills to document Tori’s journey. Knowing her time on Earth would be short, they created a bucket list of adventures and experience for Tori, visiting Disney and the Grand Canyon, seeing real giraffes (her favorite), and the little things in life such as picnics, catching fireflies, and playing in the leaves.

It would be easy to become bitter. It would be easy to be filled with hatred towards God for the brevity of their time with sweet, little Tori. But, God. They knew God would be right there holding them, comforting them, carrying them through the storm. Isaiah 43:2 says “When you go through deep waters, I will be with you.” Lesa and Brennan walked through this season with grace and assurance from God, praising His plan for something greater than them.

Today, they celebrate sweet angel Tori’s life. Please take a moment to lift up this family in prayer as they mourn Tori’s earthly death and rejoice in her complete healing in heaven, regaining her voice and smile with Christ Jesus.

 

The other day, I was pelted in the back of my head by a slushy snowball. It wasn’t a fun snowball fight with the kids in the backyard before all the snow melted away. Far from it. A boy was standing on the sidewalk outside the elementary school, waiting until my son and I walked past him. Easy targets. As the snow slid down my neck, a hundred thoughts raced through my head. But all I could say was, “That wasn’t very nice.”

His response???   “I was aiming for him.”

Meaning my son. “That still wasn’t very nice.” I responded, in a surprisingly gentle tone. I surprised myself! And we walked into my daughter’s day care to pick her up.

When I was young, I was an easy target. I had an unfortunate last name, thick, plastic glasses, and a poodle perm that was just what you would imagine. I was also painfully shy and insecure. I had been the target of slushy snowballs before, and it broke my heart to think that my son would be a target as well. I was thankful that my internal instinct to fight back and go into mama bear mode was overtaken by my desire to remain calm and collected in a tough situation.

Then I got home and shared this experience with my husband. He told me that this same child had hit him with a snowball just the week before.

Say what????

Suddenly, this wasn’t about us being easy targets. I mean, we were, but this wasn’t about us and who we were. It was about a child, who seems to be desperate for attention. Any kind of attention. And I felt my heart softening towards this boy. I have no idea what his home dynamics are like, but I do understand a child’s desire for attention. I see it every day in my own kids as they eagerly jump up from the kitchen table when I walk in the door.

This entire experience put the following verses on my heart:

 

To be honest, this passage is on my heart frequently. It is a favorite at kids church on Sunday mornings, and I love singing along with the worship song they use. But even more, to embody these qualities is a challenge each and every day. I was glad in that moment that I did not give into my internal demons and spew anger towards that little boy. It meant I succeeded, in that moment, to live out the fruit of the spirit and hopefully rub off on him… even just a little.

I really stink at Valentine’s Day. My husband always says he doesn’t want anything, and he is completely sincere about it. He could care less if I get him a card… a gift… anything. So, I usually find myself at Walgreen’s on Valentine’s Day finding a card out of the picked over selection that isn’t too mushy but attempts to convey how I feel about this man. It never feels like enough.

Let me tell you about our first Valentine’s Day together. We had been dating for about 6 weeks. This was a very new relationship, and I didn’t really think to have any kind of expectations. This coming from a girl who had never had a proper relationship before. I did not date throughout high school or college. Not for a lack of desire, but simply because I had it in my head that no guy would ever be interested in me. So I had a wall about 20 feet high around me that screamed “don’t bother.” That’s a different story for a different time.

At the time, I was a music teacher in rural Minnesota. As my luck would have it, Valentine’s Day coincided with the annual state music educators conference in Minneapolis. Which I was attending. And he wasn’t. I was a little bit devastated that my first chance at being in a relationship at Valentine’s Day was going to be a huge let down.

Then something happened that I didn’t expect. He pulled out all the stops.

In the week building up to V-Day and my MMEA adventure, Todd began giving me a card each day. Each day, it was a surprise, completely catching me off-guard. As I was leaving for Minneapolis, he handed me three more cards, each to be opened on a specific day, and each revealing a little more of his plan. What started as a cute idea for a week’s worth of cards ended with him walking into the Hilton’s lobby, looking tall, dark, and handsome as he carried an enormous bouquet of flowers, walking straight towards me. It was right out of a movie!

I had always prayed for the right man to come into my life. I struggled for a long time to come to terms with what I thought was a destiny for singlehood. As I watched friends plan their marriages and fall in love so easily, I prayed to be noticed.  But then, God. He placed the right person in my life at just the right time. We often look back at our beginning and marvel at how the pieces fell into place, not by our plan, but by His. His timing has been a theme throughout our marriage and relationship, whether we were on board or not. His plan for us was always perfect. I just didn’t know it at the time.

Making minimal plans for celebrating this weekend (it’s a writing weekend for school), I still want to be thankful for the Valentines that God placed in my life ever so intentionally. So, I will find a way to say I love you in a special way.

Sending lots of love your way and praying for your blessings.

 

 

Today was a snow day.

Our first this school year.

Normally, when school is cancelled, we get a phone call at an obscenely early hour, telling us to not get up. Ironic. This time, they called off school the afternoon before, giving us plenty of time to prepare to have the kids home for the day. We even decided to keep our 3 year old home from day care based on the horrible forecast and shortage of teachers making it in from surrounding communities. The boys gleefully proclaimed their joy for staying home, letting me know that this would be an EPIC pajama day complete with movies and baked goods. Well… there was a movie. And I did manage to bake a loaf of peanut butter banana bread that will be super tasty tomorrow morning.

It has been a long time since I enjoyed a snow day as a teacher. We’re talking 13 years to be exact. I can remember my last snow day like it was yesterday, even though it was a lifetime ago. It was while Todd and I were dating. We were just a few weeks into our relationship and we were both teachers at the time- me at McLeod West teaching band and choir, and him in Hutchinson, teaching social studies.

That morning, he called me, saying Hutchinson had cancelled school for the day. I was SO jealous because my little rural district had not yet cancelled, and I was dreading the 15 mile drive down Hwy 15 from Hutchinson to Brownton, clearly drifted over and not ideal conditions. I got about 5 miles down the road when he called me back to say that he saw the McLeod West cancellation on the TV. This was looooong before the days of smart phones and text alerts. I just barely had my first cell phone and had yet to master the art of texting. Plus, I didn’t know anyone who texted, so I had no reason to learn. (A lot has changed in 13 years…)

I cheered at the thought of a snow day and we made plans for breakfast and movies. I was giddy with the thought of spending time with this new guy in my life. When I arrived at his place, I took to the kitchen, ready to show off my breakfast-making skills. So of course, I burned the bacon.

SO EMBARRASSING!!!!!

I was mortified. And convinced that my poor bacon-making skills reflected on me as a person (which they didn’t) and that would be the end of that (which it wasn’t). Instead, it is a highlight in a story of how our relationship began, embracing our imperfections as we were getting to know each other.

Fast forward to today’s snow day antics. There was no burned bacon, but there were snowballs, shoveling, and snuggles with the kids. I am grateful for the journey we have been on together and the memories we are making with our children. And it all started with some burned bacon on a snow day…

What are your snow day memories?

I don’t feel brave.

I just don’t.

So when I attended the Original Conference in Rockford, IL last spring with a group of friends, the theme focused on bravery did not immediately feel like it applied to me. We heard stories of brave women conquering illness, fears, and infertility. We heard stories of incredible ladies who step out in their faith to establish and carry out ministries. We heard stories of women who saw the end goal even though it was at the end of a twisted and tumultuous road.

I don’t fit any of those descriptions. But the great thing is that I don’t have to. I don’t have to be overcoming something catastrophic or life-changing to actually be brave.

Webster’s Dictionary has several definitions for brave, with the most obvious:  having or showing courage; feeling or showing no fear. Other definitions allude to the bravery of the military, a showy banner, and even reference the American Indian Warrior. Then, when you start sifting through all the synonyms, words like dauntless, intrepid, and lionhearted stand out, embracing a sense of fearlessness.

I don’t completely agree with this definition.

Being brave does not necessarily imply an absence of fear. You don’t have to feel brave to be brave. The fear can still be there while you conquer it. Psalm 28:7 says, “The Lord is my strength and and my shield.” I can do brave things and be brave without feeling brave, knowing that my Lord is carrying me through it. I know this because I experience it frequently.

Last fall I went to The Splendid Retreat at a conference center in middle-of-nowhere, Wisconsin. It was a rare moment of bravery for me. I knew no one, and as I drove to the conference center, I felt my usual fears creeping in. Will they accept me? Will they see right through me? Did I fall for a scam and will I never see my family again???? (By the way, this was a running joke among the group prior to our arrival. We had a lot of fun with those jokes!) But as I drove, listening to one of my favorite songs, I prayed for God to be with me the next few days. And those fears faded into the background as I hesitantly hugged these women I barely knew by name. And this is just one of many examples. God carries me through moments of fearfulness every day.

He carries me through presentations at work, where even though I am confident about what I am presenting, I still get butterflies when I get up in front of my colleagues.

He carries me through my insecurities I have about my self-image and social anxieties, especially when I am at the gym or I start falling into the trap of comparison.

He carries me through tough conversations with people who don’t share my perspective on something.

Bravery comes in all shapes and sizes, depending on what you are facing. Thankfully, we are not facing our trials alone.  We can go ahead and be brave. Even if we aren’t feeling it.

 

To say that Ruth Wariner has a unique story to share is an overwhelming understatement. On Tuesday, January 5^th Flatiron Books will release The Sound Of Gravel: A Memoir by Ruth Wariner. I highly recommend snagging a copy here.

 

My husband and I lived in Phoenix for 7 years. When my we moved down there, a friend had shared an observation that we would notice a Mormon church situated in close proximity to just about every school in the East Valley. They were right. I didn’t know much about Mormonism when we moved there- just that there were specific beliefs they adhered to that did not exactly match up with Christianity. The Mormon church that I encountered was not the Fundamentalist Mormonism that Ruth Wariner grew up with. Far from it.

If you didn’t know that this was a memoir reliving Ruth’s incredible and devastating childhood, you might think this is a piece of fiction. You might even wish that it was fiction as Ruth recounts growing up in a polygamist colony, founded by her father, Joel LeBaron, who was a Mormon prophet. Her father, murdered by his brother, Ervil LeBaron when she was 3 months old, left behind several wives and countless children. When her mother married Lane, she unwittingly brought her family and future children into the presence of a pedophile.

Ruth tells her story, growing up in Colonia LeBaron, Chihuahua, Mexico, sharing insights into the polygamist compound, painting a picture of despair from the rundown shack she grew up in with her mom and siblings to the long stretches of being left alone with her siblings to fend for themselves.

To use some of the more cliche descriptors, Ruth’s story is gripping, riveting, mind-boggling, etc. Her writing takes you to her childhood, where you can feel the hot sun on your face, dusty from the dirt and gravel roads. I could practically feel the hunger she and her brothers and sisters experienced, subsisting on beans and bread alone. I felt my anger bubble up in moments when her safety and innocence were in jeopardy or violated. Her descriptive writing pulls you into her world, and it is absolutely devastating. The hope and faith Ruth displays throughout her life speaks to her absolute strength. I envisioned her journey from this life to her freedom as a long crawl out of the desolate wasteland into the promised land, free from Lane and all that came with him.

The glimpse into this world and the desperation to escape it makes this book worth the anguish and heartache you will surely feel as you devour Ruth’s words.