Russell Media - Laurie

Last week our family went camping up in the mountains - our last hoorah of summer. The drive was gorgeous. A few hours into our trip, we passed a sign informing us we were 16 miles from our destination. Twenty minutes and we’d be there.

As I looked around at the mountains I noticed an odd plane flying low in the foothills. We’ve had a dry summer in Idaho with many grass and forest fires. I wondered if there was a small fire in the area they were trying to put out.

The road wrapped around a curve and we saw it. A huge cloud of smoke was pouring out the side of the mountain. It looked like the beginnings of a forest fire. The crews were arriving, assessing the situation and awaiting their orders. It was an eery feeling as we drove closer and closer. My first instinct was to turn around and head back towards Boise.

I mentioned this idea to Mark – sixteen miles seemed a bit too close. Our beetle-infested trees are kindling for a fire. Fear emerged as I imagined the worst. Mark reminded me that the roads were still opened and if it were too dangerous the forest rangers would evacuate us.

So we drove on and arrived at our campground. Mark went to sign in with the campground manager. It was taking a while so I joined him to see if there was a problem.

Mark had an odd smile on his face. He looked a bit nervous actually. It was the same timid expression he wears when he’s about to tell me something he knows will set me off, ahem, I mean make me a little upset.

I joined the two men and the campground manager turned to me, “We’ve had bears visit the campground every night this week. The berries froze this year and they are hungry. Now they’ve discovered human food and they want more.”

Uh…

“It’s just black bears but last night one raised to it’s hind legs. That’s a sign of aggression. So keep your site clean and your dogs in your tent. Oh and bundle up. It’s going to be a low of 25 in a few nights.”

Now I love the outdoors – it’s our escape. However, there is still a part in me that is pure city. At that moment the city girl in me was quickly emerging and I was moments away from informing Mark I wanted to go home.

We turned and headed back to our car where our 7 and 9 yr-old were waiting for us. They were giddy. This was the trip they had waited for all summer. I didn’t want to take it from them. Was my fear a protective fear from God or was it my flesh wanting to flee and take the easy road?

We decided to stay. That first night it took a while for me to fall asleep but I finally dozed off. A few hours later I’m abruptly awaken.

“Git on outta here! Go! Git bear, git!” bang, slam, bang

I couldn’t breath. I felt paralyzed. The bear was a couple sites over. All that separated us was space and a thin piece of material.

Our dogs began to growl. Should I shush them or let them bark?

I woke Mark. He kept us quiet. Moments later I heard a similar commotion at a site behind us. Oh no, he’s moving around!

I’ve never felt such a pounding fear before. All of a sudden I had an urge to pee. The clashing of these two sensations was not pleasant. Yikes! The minutes ticked on then all was quiet. The bear was gone and so was my sleep.

The next morning we talked about the bear at breakfast. The kids had slept through the whole ordeal. However, they thought it was cool, an adventure. Go figure.

Fear is a powerful tool. It can give us that fight or flight response. It can also paralyze us. All three responses can be healthy but they can also be unhealthy and unproductive. We can be deterred from what God has in store for us or where He is leading us.

This camping trip was a blessing. We bonded over our bear stories. We sat around the campfire, cuddled and fought off the frigid cold. If we had fled like my first instinct, we would have missed all of these memories.

Wisdom is required with fear. Jesus feared the Cross. He could have fled but he didn’t. He had spent the previous night in prayer so He knew what was required of Him. He fought off the fear and because of it we all have been bonded together as a family.

How does fear affect you? Any stories on how God has used it in your life?

Any advice on how you decipher fear?

There is one more story I’d like to share as I end the series on life lessons learned while living overseas. It’s another one from Russia but it’s a special one engrained in my heart.

The Russian town I lived in was small by Russian standards, only about 100,000 people. There was one small and very old hospital. The previous year I had an emergency appendectomy there and soon realized there is not much to do during the day. No televisions, no food service, nothing – just some radios that didn’t work that well. Visitors were greatly treasured.

A teammate and I began weekly visits with the patients in the women’s ward. The women on this ward were in the hospital for 4 weeks. Needless to say they were eager to talk with anyone who walked through the door.

At this time, the majority of Bibles available were written in an old Russian translation that was hard for many to understand. Our organization sent us with copies of a version of the New Testament written in modern Russian. My teammate and I brought these Bibles with us as we visited the women and gave them out. Most were desperate for something new to read and they eagerly took one.

The hospital rooms usually housed 8 to 10 people.  The first week we’d mainly introduce ourselves, get to know the women, talk for a bit and then move to the next room. The second and following weeks most had read the New Testament and would load us with questions. As the weeks progressed some talked about God and others were more interested in learning about America. The women knew we always came on Wednesday and would wait for us.

One week as we entered a room and a woman began talking away frantically. We had met her the previous week. Our interpreter told us she was concerned because a fellow patient had been moved to another ward. This friend of hers had questions for us. She asked if we’d go with her to look for her friend.

We only had permission to work on the women’s ward but she was persistent so we followed her. Up and down the floors we went, peaking our heads into each room. They were all filled with men. “Maybe she went home,” she told us.

There was one room we had yet to try. We knocked lightly and walked inside. Only two beds were in this room. A woman in one of the beds looks at our hands, “What’s that? What do you have?”

“It’s part of the Bible, the New Testament. We are here visiting patients and giving them to anyone who’d like one.”

The woman began sobbing and speaking dramatically. Was she angry? Was she happy? It was hard to tell. Our interpreter and the woman were deep in conversation. Have we done something wrong or offensive to her?

A few minutes later our interpreter walked back over to us. “This is Oksana. For many years she was part of the underground church. She prayed and prayed to God for many years that He would send her someone - someone to answer her questions. More than that – she asked for a Bible she could own. Today she says God has answered her prayers.”

We were speechless. I felt inadequate. Before me was a woman of God who had endured hardship and persecution. She risked everything to meet with others to learn, know and worship God.

What impressed me even more about her was the persistence in her prayers and belief. Would I have been as faithful as her? Many times when my prayers seem to go unanswered I throw a pity party and I’m filled with doubt. “God has forgotten me. Does He really hear all of our prayers?”

Not this Oksana. She prayed, believed and waited upon the Lord. Fifty years later God hand-delivered her a Bible and she immediately credited Him. She didn’t question the wait – only celebrated the answered prayer. It was a beautiful thing to see.

The Bible tells us to pray continually (I Thes. 5:17). By doing so we’re given wisdom and endurance. When God’s answer to our prayer walks through the door, we know immediately it is from Him and are able to celebrate freely.

So my friends, life is short and so why waste it in pity and doubt. Pray continually, listen to God wholeheartedly and wait patiently. It’s only a matter of time before you receive His gift.

Do you ever weary when your prayers seem to go unanswered?

Any verses or promises you lean on to help you endure?

I’ve always had a fascination with Russia. As a child, I remember sitting and watching the hockey game in the 1980 Winter Olympic games, USA versus the USSR. The Soviet players appeared so serious and void of emotion. “Why do they look so mean?” I asked my father.

He explained the Cold War to me in age appropriate terms. An “us and them” mentality began to grow in my young mind until my dad said something that broke this chain of thought. “You have to realize it’s not the people we are against, it’s their government. It is a group of people forcing evil ways on their country. We must pray for the people in the USSR, for God to help them.”

Fourteen years later I found myself preparing to live in part of the former Soviet Union. I was headed to southern Russia as a missionary. The Iron Curtain had fallen a few years prior. The world had experienced crazy change practically overnight. I couldn’t believe it - had God heard the prayers of my father and thousands and millions of others?

Russia was my first overseas experience and in many ways like a first love. There were many firsts – international flight, foreign language, Christmas away from home, etc. It was also my first time working in full-time ministry. So I prayed like crazy and learn from a lot of trial and error.

One of my teammates and I began working with World War II veterans. We initially met them via a humanitarian project and then offered to do a Bible study with those interested. The numbers were huge in the beginning as we gave an overview of the Bible. But, as we began to focus on Jesus the numbers dwindled to a solid 20. We didn’t want to scare them all away so we toned it down a bit.

These Babushkas and Dedushkas (grandmother/grandfather) were precious and eager to learn yet there was another hurdle we faced. They refused to receive God themselves. Continually we were told, “It’s too late for us. Our lives are near the end. We must learn this so we can teach our children and grandchildren so they can have God.”

We prayed and looked for ways to show them that God’s love and peace were for all but nothing worked. The study continued but our time with them was running out. In a matter of weeks we would be heading back to the States. We decided the following week to be more direct with them as a group and as individuals. We weren’t teaching a history lesson, we were showing them how to find eternal life – regardless of age.

However, I was nervous about this – even as a missionary it wasn’t natural for me. Up to this point my faith was always safe. I kept it to myself unless others asked or if it was part of my job and I was working with another. I didn’t want to offend anyone or be too pushy. I had always played it safe.

The night before our next Bible study we were hit with a late season snowstorm. The sidewalks were covered with ice and snow. Our vets were all elderly. They wore shoes without traction and walked to bus stops. I didn’t think they’d make it. Why had I stalled?

We arrived that morning at the location of our study. My teammate and I shared the same fear – that no one would make it to our study in the snow. As we climbed the stairs to our meeting room we heard voices. “Phew…some of them made it.”

When we walked into the room, it was full! Not just a few but practically all made the journey in the snow. On the verge of tears I shared my amazement of their presence. “Oh Laurichka, of course we came. We are strong. We want to hear your lesson.”

Their eagerness to learn gave us boldness. God’s Spirit gave us the words. That day was a tipping point. They began to open up and receive God’s love for themselves that day.

I figured this study was God’s way of giving those, who had been robbed of the opportunity to learn about Him for 70 plus years, one last chance to receive Him. But…they proved me wrong.

Weeks later we had a party for us to say our good-byes. We were heading back to the States. Every single Babushka and Dedushka showed up. As we sat talking one Babushka began telling us how each week she took our lessons to her daughter’s house and shared all we had taught them with her family. Her daughter and youngest granddaughter had prayed to receive God. However, her oldest granddaughter had been more stubborn. She continued, “But this week I went over again and shared this last lesson. She got on her knees and took God as her own.”

Another lady piped in. She was going to the homes of shut-ins. They wanted to be part of our meetings but due to stairs and lack of wheelchairs, couldn’t make it. She did the same and shared God’s message with them.

I couldn’t believe it. They were earnestly seeking a treasure, walking through snowstorms to get, and found it. But, they didn’t hoard it. They walked through snowstorms to share it – over and over again.

These precious people reminded me that I’ve been given and have received a treasure in Jesus Christ. I shouldn’t be embarrassed to wear it. It’s been given for me to share it with others. If I don’t, I’m selfishly preventing others from receiving their portion of the treasure and there’s more than enough to go around.

This is still a struggle for me. I’m one who doesn’t like to offend others. But maybe that’s part of the problem. I’ve allowed myself to think of the Gospel as offensive when in reality it’s healing water. It’s a treasure to be shared freely, backed with love.

My precious friends in Russia showed me that it’s not offensive when you know your audience, have a genuine love for them and trust the Holy Spirit to give you the words. You may meet resistance but God’s love is not offensive. It’s a jewel.

Any thoughts?

Do you have the same struggles or perhaps encouraging words to help those of us who do?

“Okay Laura, you live in Chile now. I will kiss you when you arrive and when you leave.”

Wow! I never expected to hear these words at a doctor’s appointment. What may have sounded like the beginnings of a lawsuit was actually my doctor sharing with me a part of his culture. We were living in Santiago, Chile and had just learned I was pregnant with our first child. We would be seeing a lot of this doctor and he was preparing his new American patient how he would be greeting me on each visit. Mark chuckled behind me as he watched me awkwardly kiss my doctor on the cheek.

I had read about this custom in books as we prepared for our move to Chile. Chileans greet each other with a kiss on the cheek and repeat it when they depart. Men would generally give each other a handshake or hug, depending on the relationship, but women always kissed everyone.

We were introduced to this custom immediately. We lived with a Chilean family our first two weeks. They were incredible and quickly became our adopted family. Each morning began with a kiss on the cheek and each “good bye” required another kiss.

It felt natural to do this with close friends and it quickly became second nature for me. However, the Chileans didn’t save this custom for just friends. In social settings they greeted everyone this way, friends and strangers alike.

One evening, we were hanging out with our Chilean family. Some of their friends dropped by unannounced. The room was crowded and we were sitting on the other side of the table. When our friends introduced us to the visitors they didn’t just nod at us and continue talking with our hosts. Nope – they moved furniture, squeezed behind people, worked their way over to us and greeted me with a kiss and Mark with a handshake and pat on the back.

I had never had anyone work so hard to meet me! It made me feel special, as if my presence mattered.

I thought, perhaps we received a special greeting because we were with their good friends. But this behavior continued – and not just with us. I watched teenagers do the same with each other as they greeted one another in the mall. Friends pushed through crowded buses to kiss and say hello to each other.

One time a friend passed me on the other side of the street. They quickly crossed through busy traffic in order to say hello and briefly catch up. I couldn’t believe the effort this person made in order to acknowledge my presence. It was nice.

Many times in life, I’ve been surrounded by people yet still felt alone – a conference or party where I didn’t know anyone else. It’s an uncomfortable feeling. People are deep into conversation and either don’t notice you or they’re too tired or uncomfortable themselves to make the effort and say “hello” to a stranger or even an acquaintance.

Paul mentioned numerous times to “greet one another with a holy kiss” (Rom. 16:16; 1 Cor. 16:20; 2 Cor. 13:12). I’ve always breezed past this verse. I don’t know why, maybe because it’s not part of our culture. But the verse is not about the kiss; it’s about the greeting. The Chileans modeled for me the importance of welcoming and the acknowledging one another. People have an innate desire to know they have been seen. From an early age, babies will work to make eye contact. This is how they first know love. It’s a horrible feeling to be ignored.

I’m shy by nature so this Chilean custom initially took me out of my comfort zone but it felt good when I was the recipient and therefore nudged me to give this back to others.

Now that I’m back in our own culture, there have been times where I allowed myself to hide in a crowd. Sometimes it’s just easier. But God created me to love and bless others and that takes effort. How can we love one another if we ignore one another? So go out, enjoy you day and greet one another with a holy kiss (or at least genuine greeting).

What are your thoughts on this?

Do you feel our culture is as skilled in greeting one another?

Have you experienced something similar in other cultures?

Life has been a bit stressful lately. I’ve had to put in some extra work hours due to an advancing deadline. To mentally get myself through it, I told myself last week that I’d take a real Sabbath on Sunday. No work, no email, no computer, nothing. Only rest and play with my family. However, Sunday wasn’t all that restful. I struggled with the desire to do a little work here and there. When I sat down to read, I felt guilty for not working on the project. When I walked past the dirty clothes I felt the urge to do a load. When I saw my computer, I wanted to work on my inbox. My body and heart wanted to relax but my mind kept interrupting my peace. My inability to take a day off to relax kind of, uh, stressed me out.

I finally gave in at the end of the night and allowed myself to do “leisure work” on the computer. It was when I read a comment left by Adam on my Loggerhead, Lights and Landmark post, I was reminded of a lesson we learned in Germany. Adam left some great insight regarding rest on my Conversant Life blog -  as well as a link to the article (http://fulleryouthinstitute.org/2010/05/in-season/). So, I figure this was God’s way of showing me where to begin my Culture Clash series. So Germany it is…

Mark and I lived in Munich, Germany for three years as missionaries and worked mainly with young professionals. It holds a special place in my heart because it is where I primarily learned how to be a mommy. Noah had just turned one and Anastasia was born six months after our arrival. I was away from family and friends and all the advice they could give me, so I watched the German women and copied them.

Before each train ride, the German moms bought fresh pretzels for their kids. So, I did the same each day as we boarded the train to language school. They walked their kids in strollers in all kinds of weather.  So I, ahem, tried to do the same (when it wasn’t too cold). They spent hours in parks and rode bikes everywhere. So, we bought a trailer for our bikes and did our best not wipe anyone out on our family bike rides. (Warning: it’s wise not to do this after a visit to the Bier Garten).

I really miss it – but it wasn’t always easy.

There is a system for most everything and most everyone follows it. Until we learned and followed the routines correctly, we had a good many people let us know “strongly” when we had messed up the system. Each day in language school we’d recite the incident to our language instructors and they’d laugh and fill us in on what we did wrong. Once we learned all of the rules, life became quite nice and orderly and we actually enjoyed the laws of the land. Well…there was one that took us a bit longer to get.

Germans work hard but they play hard too. We loved that about them. You never had to feel guilty about taking and enjoying your time off – you had earned it.

However, we lived in the Bavaria region. At this time, there were quiet hours during each weekday and on Sunday, the whole day was quiet hours and you were expected to be quiet. What?! We are loud Americans, how can we do that?

During these quiet hours no loud work was allowed that would be considered noise pollution – i.e. cutting grass, working on cars, vacuuming your sidewalk (just checking to see if you’re paying attention.) Almost every store was closed with the exception of the bread store for a few hours in the morning, gas stations and some restaurants.

At first the quiet hours drove me crazy. In the past, Sundays were my “catch-up” days. I used the “free-time” to prepare for the week ahead and get a jump-start on my “to-do” list. This put a huge kink in my system. (Unfortunately my German wasn’t good enough to let them strongly know it).

The first few weeks we suffered. I always forgot to get enough food to get us through the weekend (grocery stores closed at noon on Saturday) – so we had to eat out or went to a gas station to buy milk. But little by little I learned the system and before long we were pros.

Once I detoxed from my irritation I noticed something. Sundays were peaceful. I didn’t feel the need to run errands because there was nowhere to go. I didn’t feel guilty for not cutting grass or vacuuming because I wasn’t allowed to. It was quiet outside and it lured us out of the house and into parks and family strolls. The lack of noise was…calming. It was healing. We didn’t feel stressed. We felt…rested.

Not only was this good for my body and mind, it was good for my soul. I communed with God. The same way you can see your reflection better in still water, you can hear God’s voice when you body and mind are quiet.

God created us to work but He also knew we’d need rest and time to play.

Our German friends and family modeled this for us. When they worked, whether at home or in the office, they gave 100%. However, they didn’t neglect the play or the rest.

This Sunday…I’m trying it again. With a new purposed. So my friends, my German advice to you is – Work hard, play hard and rest well (and don’t let anyone make you feel guilty for doing so!)

Does anyone else struggle with me in taking a true Sabbath?

Any advice for those of us who do?

Culture is one of those things you often find on the debating block. Some love it. Others hate it. It’s thought by some to be an expression of beauty.  Others consider it a tool used by society to manipulate us into what they want.

I happen to be a lover of culture. Part of me believes when God made us, he put a little bit of his personality in each part of the world. Perhaps that is why Jesus prayed to the Father that we would be unified. When we come together with the mix of all of our differences, we can see the whole of God.

One of the things I love about culture is what it teaches us about God. When make the effort to look deep within a culture and allow ourselves to look beyond the distractions, we often see a principle, a piece of God that we should strive to imitate. This is the purity of culture.

However, externals of culture often steal our attention, externals we have created and/or added. We end up missing the intended beauty and lesson. It’s the same ol’ lesson; when we take our eyes off of God, we pervert stuff and mess it up.

An example of this is a wedding. God obviously enjoys celebrations. From the beginning he told Israel to worship him and continually gave them annual festivals to celebrate. He even carried it over into the New Testament. Jesus was at a wedding and when the threat of it coming to an abrupt halt due to a lack of wine, he saved the day by turning the water into wine.

So we see God celebrates the union of two of his children. He smiles as he watches the families and friends rejoice in it together. But it’s our “additions” to the celebrations that kill the true joy, i.e. the “party before the party” that causes one to enter his or her marriage burdened with guilt. These are things that give culture a bad name and prevent us from seeing God’s face in it.

Over the years I’ve live in Russia, Chile and Germany as a missionary and done some short-term trips as well. In each place God revealed a piece of his personality through the home culture. Each country left me with a life principle I strive to attain. My next few blogs I will highlight a culture and share a story to illustrate these principles.

So, in the mean time – what are your thoughts on culture? Are you a fan? Not a fan? Any thoughts or insight into that will guide me over these next few blogs?

Until then – have a great weekend!

The other day I was looking through old picture books with my kids. My son’s favorite is one a preschool teacher gave him about Loggerhead sea turtles. It’s a sweet story that follows the life of a baby sea turtle into adulthood. They wanted to hear it again, so we cuddled on the couch and read it for “old times” sake. However, this time I noticed a piece of wisdom in the story that I’d missed before.

The mother Loggerhead builds a nest in the sand, lays her eggs and heads back out to sea. Weeks later, the baby turtles crack through their eggs. However, many hungry eyes are watching and waiting. The babies’ shells are soft and make them an easy meal. Many sea gulls and crabs hide in the wings waiting for them the turtles to make their journey toward the sea. So the babies wait until nighttime in hopes of using the dark to camouflage them.

It was the next part of the story that got me thinking. The babies have no parents to lead them into the water but God provided them with a landmark to guide them. The horizon and the moonlight on the sea show the babies the path to safety.

However, there is another danger the babies now face. Lights from the street and buildings along the beach confuse some. These artificial lights are brighter and distracting. They draw the attention of a number of the babies and they mistakenly head in the wrong direction, never making it to the sea.

This is a similar struggle we face. God has provided us each personal “landmarks” leading us to safety and a life full of adventure. But there are many distractions the world provides that steal our attention. Before we know it we’re heading in the wrong direction. The lights may be brighter and more alluring but they lead to an environment we were not created for.

My kids grew impatient with me as I pondered this thought. Actually, for a minute they wondered if mommy had fallen asleep with her eyes open as I stared into space. So I began sharing with them what this analogy to which my son asked, “How do you know if you’re following the right light?”

Man – why do they always ask me these hard questions when I’m not prepared? J

I blubbered around with my words for a minute. I don’t remember all that I said but I’m pretty sure it made little sense and was overly complicated. Then my daughter summarized it for us, “Don’t worry…God will let us know if we’re going the wrong way.”

Wow – so simple yet so true.

Her clear message redirected my thoughts. The key is communion with God. While on earth, Jesus prayed continually. He broke away from the group often seeking direction from the Father. It was important that he stay on the path his Father had prepared for him. There were many needs to be met and battles to be fought that could have diverted him from his purpose on earth. He knew he needed God to point out his divine landmarks.

I’ve felt very distracted this summer and as if I’m floundering. There are many “good” things out there yet I wondered if I’m in the process of merging off the path God has for me. It’s time to refocus on communing with God and open my eyes for the divine landmarks God’s giving me.

Are any of you feeling the same or dealing with the same struggles?

I work from home most days. It’s really nice, especially since the lack of a commute saves me time and money. One morning I knew I wasn’t going to see anyone else until late afternoon. The kids were at school, Mark was at the office so I decided to save even more time and go with the “natural” look. I skipped my daily routine of putting on make-up. In a hurry to take advantage of my extra time, I jumped right into work.

About an hour after I started, the doorbell rang. I peeked out the window and saw it was our delivery guy in search of a signature. When I opened the door he looked at me and seemed thrown off a bit, “Oh, you’re home. I sure hope I didn’t wake you.”

Hmmm…why did he say that? I didn’t delay in answering the door. It was almost 10:00 a.m. on a weekday. Why would he think I’d still be in bed?

As I returned to my desk, I glanced at my reflection in the mirror. I stopped. I knew. My face, which is normally covered with beauty products, was completely bare. My imperfections glared. My eyes seemed smaller, my nose looked bigger and my hair was definitely nappier. I looked more like a woman fresh out of bed rather than one fresh for the day.

The rest of the morning was spent with me obsessing over my lack of “natural” beauty.

I have a love/hate relationship with beauty. The old saying tells us that “beauty is in the eyes of the beholder,” but if this is true, why do I feel enslaved to it? Maybe it’s our present definition of it. Why do I feel the need for my body to be a certain size and my hair to not be a certain color? Why is it that I can I find beauty on the TV but not in the mirror? Something is wrong.

Perhaps part of the problem is our culture’s misconstrued definition of beauty. Dictionaries define beauty as something that that brings great pleasure to the senses or blesses the mind. I like this – it’s quite nice. According to this definition, beauty can be found basically anywhere. But if my skin is not a certain color or my jeans a particular size, I feel ugly.

I did an informal word search in a Bible program on the words “beauty” and “beautiful.” There I noticed two things. With the exception of the books of Esther and Song of Solomon, these two words were generally used to describe God or part of his creation and the other warned us of the dangers of depending on our own beauty or man-made beauty.

Again, this was an informal study but it appears that God knew that our obsession for beauty would take our eyes off of Him and what He has given us, and then place it on ourselves. We like beauty. We want it and will do what it takes to have it. In the process we lose sweet communion with God.

I personally don’t see harm in trying to improve my appearance but when it causes my focus to leave God and then fixate it on myself, I’m in insecure territory. I see all that I’m not. However, when my eyes are on God and all who He is, I see all that I am in Him. I see true beauty – one that blesses the mind and brings true pleasure. I’m filled with peace instead of anxiety. And to me, that sounds beautiful.

For now, I’ll continue to wear make-up most days but I’m won’t worry if others do a double take and wonder if I’ve been sick due to my small eyes. I may never see the natural color of my hair again. Come to think of it, I’m not sure if I actually remember it. Either way, when the gray makes its way through I’ll see it as a reminder that God has given me some great years and memories…and hopefully some wisdom learned along the way.

How about you? Does our culture’s definition of beauty haunt you? Any insight on how you deal with it? How are raising your children to deal with it?

Ah, it’s summer! I love it. The longer days allow for early morning runs and evening swims. It’s a time to recuperate from the battles of helping with homework to the numerous hours spent watching unlimited baseball and soccer games. Of course the extra free time means the kids have even more energy and the quest to figure out how to expend that vigor begins.

Many of our kids’ friends attend some of the day camps around town. The past few summers we traveled a good bit and weren’t home enough to make it feasible to go any, however, this summer we decided to stay local so I began researching the camps.

OMG! (Don’t worry. “G” stands for Gosh.) There are so many camps out there. I was overwhelmed. They all sounded incredible, so many choices. I was tempted to sign up for all of them and fill our summer going from camp to camp. But the reality of a budget knocked that pull out of me.

I finally decided on a camp that one of our friends cofounded and co-runs, SimBale Sports, LLC. It’s a sports camp that integrates physical techniques with tools for a positive mental attitude. They teach the kids how to set personal goals and back it with skills to meet them via various sports and activities. It sounded great in theory, so we signed up.

Okay, I have to pause here and make a confession. Another reason I signed our kids up for camp this summer is so I would have a few hours a day for one week to catch up. Our house is a wreck and I’m behind on many projects. The busy spring schedule put my A.D.D. in full drive and my long “to do” list is filled with half-finished jobs. I figured this would be my time to do it all and then the rest of summer would be peacefully organized.

Yeah, right.

Well, today was the last day of our camp and nothing has been crossed off of my list. Actually, since I am in confession mode I might as well add that I have yet to write out a physical list. It’s still only mentally in my head and tortures me each night as I try to sleep.

The kids came home from camp today with these journals. My friend and her partner coached the kids each day with quotes and tips, motivating them on how to fulfill their personal goals. They were eager to show them to me so we sat on the couch and went through each one. They were filled with some great insight that really helped me with my “to do” list problem.

One quote my daughter paraphrased in her journal…

            While most are dreaming of success, winners wake up and work hard to achieve.

This quote inspired me. I’m filled with dreams but they’re only going to happen if I proactively work and strive to make them happen, praying for wisdom and guidance along the way. Too many dreams are fading away as time passes.

So I decided to take a power nap. Yep, I know that’s probably not what you were thinking I might say but it’s amazing what a twenty-minute rest will do for my thinking. There is also a need for balance. Being still is not the same as doing nothing just as being busy is not equal to being productive. After the nap my mind was clear and my body was ready to work.

I was reminded that being a winner doesn’t mean you strive to be the best but rather giving and being your best. I want to know in the end that I lived this principle. I want to model this work ethic to my kids and for them to see me giving my best for them, my best to God and my best for others.

Too many times in my life I’ve been given incredible opportunities but my lack of focus and attention caused my good intentions to end up with me just getting by.

So, I’m glad we’re staying home this summer. I think I’ll sit still in the morning and make out a list and pray for God to help me prioritize it. At the end of the day, when the kids are in bed, I think I’ll start working on my book.

Do you have any suggestions or strategies to share on how to be productive?

My heart is very sad today and my house is empty. You see my parents, my sister and her family came for a visit and they just left to drive back home to the other side of the country. For the last eight days we’ve had twelve people in our home. It was fun…a crazy, crowded type of fun. A week-long slumber party that returned us adults to our childhood.

But now they’re gone and our house is so quiet and empty. I walk into a room with the instinct to step over a mattress, suitcase or toy, but nothing is there. It is all packed up and exaggerates the pain and loneliness I’m feeling.

It’s not fun feeling pain.

I’m reminded of a sign I once read in a race. I was running in my first marathon. We were at mile twenty with a little over six more miles yet to run. My legs were shutting down and my heart was beginning to question my ability to finish. I approached a curve in the road where a lone man stood with a sign that read, "Where there is pain, there is life.”

This quote gave me a surge of energy. The year before race I was healing from a c-section, the year before that, knee surgery to fix a torn ACL. I was experiencing pain but it was a healthy pain that reminded me that I was alive. I was able to move, be active and meet a personal challenge.

Emotional pain is hard. It often paralyzes us and tempts us to mask and fight it with substances, busyness and hardened hearts.

This past week, as the end of my family’s trip drew near, I found myself tempted to distant myself from them emotionally. I began planning out activity for the kids and me to fill our time after they left. I focused on the clutter and tried to lift my spirits at the thought of it being gone. These mental games almost worked until God reminded me of something important…

I love and I am loved and where there is love, there will be pain. However, if I continue to implement tactics designed to mask the pain I risk the opportunity of experiencing true love from another individual.

The pain I’m feeling reminds me that my heart still has the ability to care, to feel. It motivates me to reach out to those I love, to stay connected and tell and show them that I love them. People need to know when they are loved. When we have the confidence of being loved, we’re better able to give it away.

Prayer, time and the endorphins of a good workout do a good job of healing a hurting heart. So, I think I’ll sign off now and spend some time praying, thanking God for my awesome family and maybe take our pups for a long walk, knowing in time the pain will be replaced with joy.

I ask a favor of you today – make sure your loved ones know that you love them. The world needs more confidence in knowing it is loved.

Do you have any insights on lessons God’s taught you through pain, emotional or physical?