Thomas and the slow-turning earth

This morning while jogging, I listened to the song, "Fireflies" by Owl City where one of the lines says, "I'd like to make myself believe that planet earth turns slowly." As I heard those words, I thought of the brevity of life, of how quickly my kids are growing up, becoming amazing adults.

The next moment, I noticed a fire hydrant that looked like it'd been used recently. Oddly, sand surrounded it, and in the sand sat four Thomas the Tank Engine characters, climbing the sand toward the hydrant.

Instantly I remembered.

My son Aidan used to love Thomas, used to sleep with a wooden Thomas the size of a shoe box. He spent his days creating new tracks, discovering new stories, new choo-choo horizons. Wasn't it yesterday? Didn't I just blink, and Aidan grew to six foot two (or is it three now?). He loves Jesus. He has a heart for the poor. He thinks it's crazy that folks focus more on getting things when Jesus' birth comes around this time of year. He's gifted at the trombone. He loves his family.

This earth turns slowly for some, too fast for others. But today as I jogged by the bygones of Aidan's toddlerhood, I felt a strange mix of nostalgia and pride. My little boy charts new courses while the world beneath my feet rushes by.

Photography for a Cause

I'm so excited to be able to attend the Third Lausanne Congress on World Evangelization next October 16--25 in Cape Town South Africa, as one of 400 American delegates. I'll need to raise over $4000.00 to get there. So I decided to combine my love of photography with my need to raise support. Here's how it works:

I spend an hour with you or your family (or your child) and take a bucket load of photos. I clean up the photos, enhance them, and then give you a disc to print them however you please. They will be high dpi Jpeg files. Then you can choose to donate money toward my trip in whatever way God leads you. But you'll get senior pictures, prom pictures, family pictures for a fraction of what they'd cost you. A win-win all around. Below are some samples of my work.

Candid family shots

Children in candid moments.

Baptisms

Capturing moments with your kids.

Capturing your child's personality.

Kids with pets.

Dance photos.

Prom/Homecoming

Group of friends.

Author photos.

I don't deserve dryer sheets, and other weird Mary quirks

So I'm in the grocery store today, facing an internal battle. It went something like this:

My brain: "Mary, it would be fun to buy dryer sheets, make your clothes soft and smell nice."

My neurosis: "No. That costs too much money and it's entirely unnecessary. Don't you know it's time to pinch pennies, not spend money on frivolity."

My brain: "But, um, you haven't ever bought dryer sheets, for as long as I've known you."

My neurosis: "Precisely. Because they're not important."

My brain: "But today you thought it might be nice to try them."

My neurosis: "I know, but I don't deserve them. I don't deserve to buy nice things for myself."

My brain: "Aha! Now I see what the real issue is. You have a worth problem."

My neurosis: "You sound like my husband."

My brain: "Mary, I give you permission to buy dryer sheets."

So, reluctantly, I steered my cart full of store brand things (I don't deserve name brands, mind you; plus, they cost more) down the laundry aisle. I chose the cheapest possible dryer sheets, smelled each scent, opting for Winter (makes sense, right?). I placed them in my cart, feeling naughty and rich and like I'd gotten away with something--which I had.

I paid the $2.39 for the dryer sheets, coddled them home, and threw one in my spinning dryer. And when I smell my softened clothes, I'll feel many things at once:

• Joy that I finally gave myself permission.
• Chastisement that I splurged.
• Happiness for better smelling clothes.
• A hint of feeling like maybe I'm worth dryer sheets after all.

So there you have insight into my neurosis. Am I alone? Do you fret over these things? When I shop for clothes, I always buy on sale or second hand because I don't feel I deserve to pay full price (which, of course, is mixed in with my utter frugality). Do you struggle with this?

Signed: Dryer-Sheet-full in Texas

Maybe it's enough

Lord, You say not to be anxious, but I personify anxiety.

You beckon me to cast my cares, but I hold them to me like cherished memories.

You tell me to rest, but I busy myself in absent-minded worry.

You made the world, the grass, the trees, the air, the leaves.

And I string words together, trying to capture Your creativity.

Maybe it's that You want me to sit beneath a tree.

To marvel at Your world, to feel the grass, to breathe in autumn.

Maybe it's that You renew me when I stop striving for personal rejuvenation.

Maybe it's enough to slow down enough to hear Your peace.

True, Alive Freedom

God speaks to me when I run.

Today, chilled to the fingers, I ran toward the lake, my mind wandering. Something shiny and bright caught my eye. Caught in the overhead telephone line was the shredded remains of a kite. It couldn't get free, the tangles getting the best of it. But just as I looked skyward to see the imprisoned kite again, a flock of birds, flying in V formation, soared overhead.

In that moment, I knew.

Sometimes (a lot of times, if I'm willing to admit it), I am caught halfway between earth and heaven, imprisoned by something that looks an awful lot like shame. I am not alive where I'm caught. And yet, living creatures built to fly soar above me.

Those birds are what God intends me to be. He never intended His children to become so entangled by shame and pain that they cease to live. That they give up and hang on a wire while others fly on the wind. He made us to fly.

Oh dear Jesus. I want to fly. I'm tired of being tethered. Tired of the strings of shame wrapping themselves around me, choking me. Oh dear Jesus, make me a bird. Make me fly. Free me from whatever others have done that have shackled me to the wire. Free me from what I have done to myself and others that have kept me captive. I want to fly. So high. So long. To soar with You as my elevation. Raise me. Resurrect me. Make me alive. I love You. More than the wire. More than the tangles. More than the shame. More than the pain. Free me to fly, Jesus. Amen.