Summa, summa, summa-tiiiime

This will go down in history as the most uninteresting and boring post, but I'm so frustrated life's been so busy that I'm only posting once a week. So for your utter and complete pleasure (and for an exercise in writing more) here's what we've been up to since school ended at noon on Friday:

Friday @ Noon-Thirty
Jaana's 2nd Annual Last Day of School Tea Party. The now-second-graders came in dresses to have lunch and play at the park. Last year we actually had tea and teacups and teapots. But since we had just moved in, we made slight alterations to the plan and did it at the park. Success!

Friday at Dinner Time
Dinner with a couple that was up for the weekend. Now, I knew the guy we were eating with worked for Chick-Fil-A and was kind of up there in the corporation. But I didn't realize he was the Head of Marketing. In fact, was the one-and-original marketing guy that CFA ever hired, 20-something years ago.

I don't say that to be all, "guess who I ate with??" I say it to say that I am an advertising geek. My degree was advertising, my past career was advertising, and the CFA Cow Campaign in particular, has been my most favorite campagin ever. Pure genius.

So when all the pieces started coming together at dinner, I was able to totally interrupt what he was saying and blurt out, "So you hired The Richards Group and helped develop the cow campaign??" And then I proceeded to gush about the entire campaign, the relationship between client and agency, and why it worked so well...yada yada yada.

Bless his heart, he was humoring me and nodding like, "Yep, I know. I was there." But he was so incredibly nice to regale me with the entire process, start-to-finish, leaving no stone unturned. I went home in an advertising high, my mind reeling. An utter lifetime highlight for someone who used to pour over Advertising Age for kicks and giggles.

Saturday - Afternoon:ish
Packed up the family and headed to the metropolis of Waynesville so I could get to the Verizon store and figure out this hotspot unit once and for all. I won't embarrass myself and tell you the issue all along was that the SIM card was inserted improperly. Lunch at Clyde's, which boasts the "best burgers in town." However, their only competition seemed to be Hardee's. Followed lunch with quick trips to Lowe's and Wal-Mart. Got blinds and new throw pillows. Hip hip!

Saturday - Dinner
Dinner with neighbors that was delightful and fun.

Sunday - All Day
Church. First morning service, then a meeting for the Bolivia missions trip. Home in time to do a few more things around the house, eat dinner and get the kids to bed.

Monday - Morning
Didn't wake up until 8:am, and no lunches to pack, school clothes to match or backpacks to find. Jaana's friend Hayley is over for the day. Paxton is taking a morning nap, and the girls have been locked in Jaana's room for two hours. I'm getting things done around the house, getting work done, AND writing.

It's only been 72 hours, but so far, it's the best start to summer ever. When the boy wakes up, we're packing up lunch to take to the pool and then it will be time to sit back and unwind.

How's the start to your summer been?

Mothering

Even at seven and one-and-a-half years old, I still check on them a couple times a night to make sure they're breathing. Especially if one of them is sick or has had any kind of medicine.

I secretly get excited when one is sick because it means they will just lay with me in their PJ's and snuggle.

At the park or after school, if I see or hear about another kid being mean-spirited to mine, the Mama Bear in me comes out and I want to throw blows and that that child down. Even if they are two.

I compare every other kid I meet to mine, and always come to the same conclusion - mine are better. (No offense.)

When I think about life with either of them, it seems so gray, boring and incomplete.

I will spoil them rotten as often as possible simply because I love watching their faces light up.

I get sad that I can't remember well what they were really like even just a year ago; they change so much...so fast.

Even when they resist, or erupt in tears, I do what's best for them because I'm raising people, not just having babies.

I sympathize when my head tells me not to. I discipline when my heart resists.

I cave when their big, blue eyes bat at me and they say "Mommy" in that sweet and tender voice.

I hold strong when their big, blue eyes bat at me and they say "Mommy" in that sweet and tender voice.

I'm a Mom. It's what I do.

There are two fundamental truths that Mothers will continue to pass down through the end of time. One is that regardless of the situation, the decision or the outcome...there is always something for a Mom to feel guilty about. The other is that every Mom will fail miserably in some way, shape or form. And our daughters and sons will recognize that failure and be determined to make it better when they have kids.

But what we fail to recognize in our guilt and failure -- what will give us comfort and relieve some of the pressure -- is that this has been the cycle since Eve. It's a continuous ebb-and-flow of doing great, and failing greatly. Thousands of years later, the cry is the same. I'm sure Eve's daughter at some point said, "How could Mom have been such an idiot?!"

Sometimes, as I'm scratching Jaana's back, I wonder what the cry to her child will be. Will she say, "I swear I will never be on the computer as much as your Grandma!" Or, "She never just played Barbies with me. All I ever wanted was for her to sit and play Barbies."

As all mothers have done from beginning of time to today, we do the best we know how to do. And somedays our best is better than others. We love our children with as much love as we can hold in our human form. We make fools out of ourselves for them; we also take them for granted. We smother them with love and affection; we also put them to bed at night and wonder if they even felt like we loved them at all that day. We notice every little detail of their faces; we also study them some mornings and wonder when all the freckles erupted, or when they got so tall. We think we know every little thing about them; and then realize we might not really know them at all.

It's the best, worst, hardest and most rewarding job to have. The only way to do it and do it remotely well is through prayer and the wisdom and strength of Christ. Because really, at the end of the day, knowing I'll fail them eventually at their greatest point of need scares me to death. But if I pursue each day with Jesus, then I know that even when I do fail, He will be there to mend their broken pieces and stop the hemorrhaging the way only He can. He's the ultimate Mama when our humanity gets in the way of our own mothering.

As I celebrate this Mother's Day, I'm asking for a fresh anointing and realization of what motherhood means. I don't want to take any moment for granted. This is a precious job I've been given. Rather, a most precious job I've been blessed with. And if I could do it free of the chains of guilt and failure, what a valuable legacy I could leave with them.

"Lord, I serve you. I serve you just as my mother did. 

You have set me free from the chains of my suffering." 

(Psalm 116:16)

Random Acts of (Birthday) Kindness

So. I turned 38 yesterday. And if I've learned nothing in the last 38 years, I've learned this: Birthdays are better in the 21st century.

I had some hilarious and heart-warming voice mails that so made me smile and laugh and shed a slight tear of missing people dearly. Then there were text messages. I had a couple e-Cards. Had cards mailed to me. Some were hand delivered with flowers and even a cake. (A cake!) The best part? Facebook birthday greetings. It's like all the people you'd invite to your wedding all bid you a "Happy Birthday" at the same time. Like the end-of-reception send off with bubbles, but in html code.

God has a great way of sending little winks and smiles and love to you on your birthday, if you look out for them. I had some unexpected blessings all day long; from a birthday cake, to flowers, to cards. And the most outlandish, lavish thing happened on Sunday night.

First -- a little backstory.

Paxton was sick on Sunday morning, so my dad stayed home with him while I took Jaana to church. After church, I swung by the house to pick them up so we could all go out to eat. (Even a sick boy needs lunch, right?) We went to my favorite place to get Green Bean Fries with Cucumber and Wasabi Ranch and I ate about three-quarters of the basket all. to. my. self.

We had a fabulous time at lunch - eating, laughing and enjoying each other. We ran into some friends from church and all socialized for a moment.

After lunch, we came home and let Paxton sleep. Jaana and I went to lay outside and just relax. She played, I read, we laughed and ate Jello. I took some of the most amazing pictures of her.

It was perfection.

Greg and I had a dinner date and went to a place in Highlands I had always wanted to go to. It's a cute, little place on Lake Sequoyah and we got there just before the sun was setting.

There were only two other tables taken there on that Sunday night. We chose a table by the windows so we could look at the lake and sat by another couple. After we sat down, they suddenly turned to us and said, "Weren't you at such-and-such restuarant at lunch this afternoon?"

We couldn't recall them at that place, but we had been there, so we said yes.

They asked specifically about things we had told the other friends at lunch - about my dad visiting from Washington State and about my daughter and baby. We chit-chatted for about 10 minutes at the most throughout the course of dinner. They were visiting town from Charlotte; we never mentioned my birthday, never exchanged names. At best, it was elevator small talk.

Greg and I had appetizers, entrees and dessert. (Let me insert here that I had FRIED BRIE and POMEGRANATE LAMB RIBS and A WAFFLE CONE SUNDAE WITH KAHLUA FUDGE.) (It was my cheat day, after all.) (And my birthday.) (Don't judge me!) The other couple left before we ordered dessert.

After we had savored the last of our desserts, the waiter came by to ask if we wanted anything else. We groaned, grabbed our stomachs and said, oh no, we couldn't possibly.

Then he said to us:

"Well then, they didn't want me to say anything to you until they left and you were finished. But the couple that was sitting next to you paid for your meal."

? ? ?

Huh? 'Squeeze me? (This was the intellectual extent of our response to our waiter.)

Greg and I sat there like idiots with our mouths hung open and didn't know how to respond. We were floored. Utterly perplexed and overwhelmingly blessed. We thanked him, asked for the total so we could tip him, and sat there speechless.

Just when you start to lose hope in humanity. Just when you begin to think that in life people are out to solely suck you dry, take all they can from you and leave you lifeless. Just when you've drawn boundaries for the sake of your own sanity, even though it hurts and you're never sure you've done the right thing. Just when you've reached a point of exhaustion and say, "I just can't. I can't. I'm sorry, I wish I could...but I can't."

Just then.

God winks at you saying, "I got this."

In the scope of eternity it wasn't much. The price of a meal doesn't compare to what this life with Christ requires. Sometimes along the Christ-Walk, you lose relationships that are invaluable. Sometimes along the way you mourn for what you don't have. Sometimes along the way you wish you could change people and circumstances and the past...but you can't. All you can do is what God is asking you to do and move forward. It's always in obedience, but never effortless and easy. Never painless.

But just when that cost and effort and pain get to where it's almost unbearable, God jumps in with something so insignificant yet magnificent all wrapped into one. And He smiles down on you and wraps you in His love and says, "I got this. I got you. I got you. No one else. Just me."

We left that night just asking God over and over to bless that sweet couple with a double-portion blessing over whatever their current need is. Because whoever they are, and whatever is going on in their life, I know God will honor their blessing. They have no idea how much that one act of random kindness meant to me, and how much hurt I had been struggling with even up to that specific day. But God knew. And I know and trust He will honor their obedience and knock their socks off more than He's knocked off mine.

"God is about to bring you into a good land, a land with brooks and rivers, springs and lakes, streams out of the hills and through the valleys. It's a land of wheat and barley, of vines and figs and pomegranates, of olives, oil and honey. It's land where you'll never go hungry -- always food on the table and a roof over your head. It's a land where you'll get iron out of rocks and mine copper from the hills. After a meal, satisfied, bless God, your God, for the good land he has given you." 

- Deuteronomy 8:7-11

The Only Thing Missing Was the Gravy Boat

We’re back. After nine nights away, the bags are unpacked. The multiple loads of laundry are done. The emails have been opened and some have even been answered. The groceries have been purchased. And we’re back into the routine.

Ohhhhh, how I love the routine.

Our break was wonderful. We had a great time with friends and family, we had a date night, we saw a Bulldog victory. It was busy and fun.

But it was also a week of the unexpected:

1. -Both kids slept until after 7:am each morning.
   
   
   -I put on make up every day.

1. 
   
   -Greg continued to drink coffee.

1. 
   

1. -Jaana climbed a tree.
   
   

-Paxton did not enjoy his early-birthday cake, because he could not stand his hands being messy with the icing.

-And there was no gravy at Thanksgiving dinner.

I’m not sure which of the above surprised me the most. Certainly my scardey-cat, girlie-girl up in a tree completely caught me off-guard. I never could have guessed the boy would not like cake (or getting his hands dirty, for Pete’s sake). And I generally wear at most lip gloss, because of my standard workout-clothes-and-ball-cap uniform...so the washing of hair, blowing it dry and putting on make up every single daywas very out of my norm.

But perhaps the most surprising was indeed the lack of gravy. I ate turkey, dressing and mashed potatoes without it. And also missing was the canned, jellied cranberry. A Salmela family staple.

I may not cook. I may be inept at side dishes. But I loooove me some condiments.

Looks like next year I’ll take charge of the condiments as well as the Pumpkin Cheesecake no one ever eats.

Actually, maybe that’s a hint to leave all things kitchen-related to the experts. 

Gravy and cranberry be darned.

Footprints in the Mud

Why is it that I can be disciplined in only one area of life at a time?

It’s so easy to come up with the excuses, the reasons why it’s so hard - I’ve got so much to do in a day. Two kids. Freelance work. Cleaning house. Grocery shopping. Cooking dinner. Making lunches. Helping with home work. Taking to school. Picking up from school. 

But the truth is, I make time for the things that are important to me. The problem is that I only make time for one important thing at a time. And for me, right now, working out is that important thing. But having consistent quiet time with God hasn’t been. 

And I’ve been suffering for it.

I hate admitting it, and I’m embarrassed by it, too. After all, we’re in ministry and aren’t we supposed to be praying and fasting and in sackcloth and ashes every day?? But it’s because of that reason that I think it’s so hard. Sure, I go through phases where I’m consistent; where I long for it and wake up eager to have my time with Him. But then other phases come along and it’s just so hard to do it...it feels like I’m trekking through mud in tall galoshes and my feet slip out of my boot with each step. 

I don’t want to sound legalistic; like I’m supposed to spend a specified amount of time every day praying for the ritual of it. 

But I’ll sit in church and remember what it feels like to have that intimacy with God, and I miss it. Or I’ll pray for someone and a particular situation and remember the pure thrill of seeing that prayer come to pass. 

It isn’t the ritual I miss, it’s God. I miss Him.

I sometimes think about all the things that I’ve missed during these arms-length phases. I think about the blessings I’ve walked past. I think about the encouragement I could have brought someone. The faith I could have built. The patience that could have grown. The maturity that should have developed. The revelation of the secret things that He shares in those intimate moments. Those things are precious and priceless. 

And I miss them, too.

A quote from The Screwtape Diaries by C.S. Lewis comes to mind during these phases: 

“The best thing, where it is possible, is to keep the 

patient from the serious intention of praying altogether.” 

Ouch.

The most obvious and ridiculous part is that I know He’s right next to me, missing me too. He’s standing...arms open...waiting...and yet I’m wasting time lifting galoshes out of the mud - one dirty (but cute) boot at a muddy time.

It’s like that old poem, “Footprints in the Sand.” When the man saw only one set of footprints in the sand during very difficult times, he thought Jesus had abandoned him. But Jesus told him: 

“During your times of trial and suffering, when you see 

only one set of footprints, it was then that I carried you."

Except in my version, I see the footprints left in the mud and I know they are mine alone. And instead of Jesus carrying me, He’s saying:

“I never asked you to trek through the mud.”

(Sigh.)

He’s right. He never asked me to trek through the mud. I chose that all on my own. 

But praise His name, He’ll still come lift me from it.

1. 
   

“He lifted me out of the slimy pit, out of the mud and mire; 

he set my feet on a rock and gave me a firm place to stand.” 

- Psalm 40:2

Awww, She's All Growed Up

And by she, I mean me.

Seven-and-a-half years ago, Greg and I got married. Immediately we got into ministry and all that goes with it. Three months after the wedding, I got pregnant. Jaana was born two weeks after our first anniversary.

I had a hard time adjusting to being a newlywed, a pseudo-pastor’s wife and pending mom all at once. Looking back on it now, I’m pretty sure I was suffering from a few panic attacks and some depression. But I told myself to “Suck it up! It’s just a little stress, but it’s good stress.”

While we were engaged, and all throughout the first year of marriage, we both worked at the same church. Once Jaana was born, I continued to work and was able to do a part at home/part at the office schedule. My job and responsibilities fluctuated a few times, but I was glad to be able to be home as much as I could. That first year of her life was stressful, but manageable.

As she got older though, it got harder and harder working from home. My job had changed and I was basically on-duty 24/7...weekends, nights, etc. Yes, I was so fortunate to be able to not have to send her to day care. But when I was home, I wasn’t “home.” I was constantly navigating the work-mode / mom-mode and really struggling with it. I felt like I never gave 100% to anyone. It was an incredibly stressful time, yet I couldn’t quit because financially we needed my income.

If I took Jaana to the park, I was constantly on the BlackBerry. If I wanted to go work out, I’d pray I didn’t miss a phone call from the boss (which I did, often). If I took a shower, I’d watch the red light flash on the BlackBerry indicating there were who-knew-how-many emails I was missing. It was a constant state of anxiety.

In addition to all of that, I was also the girl who would not speak her mind, communicate frustrations or say no to anything. Out of a sense of obligation, I agreed to many things that were time-suckers, peace-stealers and stress-inducers. Most of the things I agreed to were out of my skill set and talents. But because I couldn’t say no, I’d carry all that additional baggage with me. My time was no longer my own. And it stayed that way for five and-a-half years.

When we moved here to the mountains, I immediately experienced a sense of freedom. I was given the opportunity to be able to focus on staying home and doing freelance work. And while I know Greg would never turn down additional income, I haven’t pursued freelance work with guns blazing because I’ve still been a bit stressed. Six weeks after we moved here I had Paxton, then experienced postpartum depression. In the nine months that have followed, we’ve moved three times.

Call me weak, a wuss or whatever you want to...but man, I’m tired! It’s been a long seven and-a-half years. They’ve been equally wonderful and if it weren’t for my husband Saint Greg, I would be a mumbling heap in the corner. But it’s been a lot. And I’m finally admitting that to myself.

Because of my pleasing nature, there have been many instances since we moved here where I have been thisclose to volunteering myself for things that I don’t want to do; serving in areas that I don’t feel called; involving myself in groups I have no desire to be in. It comes with the territory of being a woman (and a pastor’s wife), I’m sure. But right before I raise my hand or click “send,” I’ve stopped myself. And the reason is this: I just really, really don’t want to be that busy. And finally, for the first time ever in my life, I’m totally and completely unapologetic about it.

I could care less about finding my worth in a job. It matters none to me to find purpose in tangible work. I could care less about being involved in something to get accolades from others or to be a good example. Really, all I want to do for this season in life is be present. I want to be all in as Greg’s wife. I want to be a mom 100%. I want to work out regularly, write when I feel like it and that’s it. (And maybe shop a little here and there as the working out takes effect, of course.)

And if anyone has a problem with it, I have just two words:

Too. Bad.

Greg deserves a wife who supports him unequivocally and loves him unconditionally, without stressing out on the computer each night. Jaana deserves a mom who will play paper dolls and school with her without answering emails. Paxton deserves a mom that takes him for walks in the stroller and lets him get messy without worrying about the time it will take to clean up. And I deserve me time to get healthy physically and mentally. Outside of these things, I’ll give any extra time to the things closest to my heart and will do so willingly and with joy, and have. But that’s it.

And everything else will just have to wait awhile.

I sat down to write all this as a way for me to process through what happened today. (It’s my own personal therapy, writing is.) I was washing dishes in the sink and thought back to that newlywed girl who couldn’t say no. Who felt pressure to be someone she wasn’t. And I started to compare her with the girl who was now washing dishes with joy, planning to pick up her daughter from school and play at the park. Who wears workout clothes and a baseball hat as her uniform each day, and is probably too much of an open book with everyone. And my heart just got really full, because I’m starting to be very, very okay with who I am; with who God made me to be. It’s taken a lot of years, tears, stretching and praying to feel that way.

But I’m sorta, kinda proud of myself for getting here.

And much, much, MUCH more thankful to God for His help along the way.

“And all the trees will know that it is I, the Lord, who cuts the tall tree down 

and makes the short tree grow tall. It is I who makes the green tree wither and 

gives the dead tree new life. I, the Lord, have spoken, and I will do what I said!”

(Ezekiel 17:24, NLT)

Chicken in a Biscuit

It’s 8:43 on Thursday night and I’m sitting at my computer writing. My house is in total and complete chaos. There are a million things to pack, clean and load. I really need to take a shower (like, really). But I can’t bring myself to do any of it (like, really). Not because I’m procrastinating (or am I?), or because I’m over it (or am I?), but because I need an outlet. Today was supposed one of my running days, and with all the moving I didn’t get a chance to go. So I have all this pent up energy (although I’m totally exhausted) and I feel kind of restless (even though I could pass out). So it’s either go for a run in the dark and risk running into bears...or write.

I choose the latter.

(And I’ll stop with the parenthetical commentary now.)

(You’re welcome.)

I’m not really sure what I have to say. However, whenever I have this feeling of a deep need to write, I just sit down and ramble a bit and then it just comes out in the process...that whatever-it-is-that-I-need-to-get thing. Aren’t all three of you so excited you get to follow this non-sensical process? I know I certainly would be.

In case you’re unaware, we are moving this weekend. I don’t want to beat to death the topic of us moving, because it’s such a dead horse. Yes, we’re moving for the third time in 10 months. Yes, it’s a pain to pack. Yes, I wish our house in Atlanta was sold so we could settle in and I could paint the kids’ rooms and put some serious nail holes in the walls. But whatever. We’re moving. Big whoop.

Buuuuut, lately I’ve been pondering this moving thing a lot. Recently a friend casually joked that if it were her having to move again like us, that she would just cry. I laughed and told her that I do feel like that sometimes. But as I was driving home later, I realized that I really don’t feel that way.

And then I thought, is it odd that I don’t?

We uprooted our family to move to the mountains 10 months ago. Then we had a baby, and three months later moved again. Then five months later we are moving again. And I really and truly am pretty okay with it. In the process of packing, yes I admit it’s a huge pain and inconvenience. Am I totally unaffected by the transition? No. Are we the only ones who have ever had to go through something like this? Absolutely not. Will I always talk to myself in questions? Maybe. But it hasn’t felt like the Really Big Deal that I think it should be, and so I sometimes pretend that it is a Really Big Deal.

And I think that’s weird that I do that.

Whenever I’m feeling isolated or lonely regarding something that’s happening in life, I try to go to the Bible to find real-life people who went through something similar. I figure if I know how God worked in their situation, then I’ll have more assurance God will come through in mine.

When we were going through our own personal time of wandering through the wilderness, I read a lot about the Israelites and God’s deliverance. I read how He parted the seas to make a way for them. And it gave me faith that God would part a sea and bring us to our Promised Land.

And He did.

I’ve experienced my fair share of loss, so I read a lot in the book of Job about God’s sovereignty. How God gives and takes away, but how His name should be blessed anyway.

And I bless it.

When I feel betrayed, unappreciated and on the outskirts, I read a lot in Psalms and identify with how David pours his heart out to God, tattles on those who hurt him and places his faith and trust in the Lord anyway.

And I do.

I guess the message I’m supposed to understand today is this: I really do trust God. I just trust Him. However He decides to work, however it looks, however it comes together...I trust Him. We could live in a camper parked on the front lawn of the church, and I’d be fine. Sometimes I think He puts me in certain situations and circumstances solely so I can really know, deep down, for a fact where I stand on the whole faith thing. And I end up surprising myself most of the time. At the onset of the circumstance, I sort of brace myself for the downward spiral of despair...but then it doesn’t come. Now, there are definitely other times I don’t expect it at all and I’m completely blindsided. But at the end of the day, so far in my life, I still net out at the same conclusion:

I so trust my God.

And each time, it feels really good to know that I still do.

So I need to stop pretending that things are Really Big Deals to me when they aren’t. And instead, I need to say with confidence, “No big deal, Jesus is on it.”

My favorite band in college was Black Happy. I wrote them about 10 years after I graduated because I suddenly realized they were Christians and had been all along. All their lyrics pointed to Jesus Christ. One of the band members wrote me back, so appreciative I recognized this even years later, because they felt conflicted about their music and if they were making enough of a stand for their faith.

While I didn’t get it at the time, I do now. And I think these lyrics sum up this Randomness of a Post fabulously:

Sabbath may not come...I don’t care

Sun it may not shine...Oh I still don’t care

Seas they may not flow...Don’t fear it

Means as much to me as a chicken in a biscuit.

(copyright 1994, “Chicken in a Biscuit,” Black Happy)

In other words, none of it means a hill of beans compared to Jesus.

So we pack. We clean. We load. We move.

Whatever.

Chicken in a biscuit.

These Are a Few of My Favorite Things

About 15 years ago, I got the book 14,000 Things to be Happy About by Barbara Ann Kipfer. The book isn’t a narrative or a story, just simply a stream-of-consciousness list approximately 700 pages long of random, uncategorized things to be happy about. Whenever I was feeling blue, I would pull out the book and highlight things that made me smile. The book contained wonderful little gems such as:

1. -the cool underside of a pillow
2. -riding in the basket of your bike
3. -construction paper
4. -Kennebunkport, Maine
5. -french cuffs

I’ve been a tad stressed lately. My dad’s getting ready to move back to Washington permanently, Jaana’s about to start 1st grade (when did that happen??) and we’re moving into another place this week (which as of this moment is only 90% confirmed). And with the fears I’ve had coupled with the stress, I finally hit my threshold and had a mini-meltdown yesterday. I gave myself permission to have a pity party (with streamers and party hats and balloons!), then had some good prayer time and a long run. As the song goes, “even in the hard times, even when I feel pain, I’ve made up my mind I’m gonna praise him anyway.” My outlook improved considerably.

As I was running, that old book came to my mind, and I decided to accentuate the positive and try to move that rubber tree plant with some high hopes. I started mentally listing the things that make me smile, and decided this would be a “Merry Monday” posting of sorts. So, lists part deux...away we go!

1. -a sudden gust of wind during a long, hot run
2. -the sound of Paxton laughing at Jaana
3. -a good sports bra
4. -lemons, fuji apples and red seedless grapes
5. -date nights
6. -a full tank of gas and a clean car
7. -nude toenail polish
8. -an unexpected & encouraging message from a friend
9. -Greg bringing home flowers
10. -not being in Egypt anymore, Toto
11. -girls’ weekends
12. -fried green beans with wasabi ranch from Cornucopia
13. -stovetop espresso makers
14. -the way Jaana says “yo-gret” and “ord-a-ment”
15. -blog entries by Beth Moore
16. -family members willing to drive up at a moment’s notice
17. -olive tapenade
18. -going to the grocery store at 7 am
19. -“Break My Stride” by Matthew Wilder
20. -school and office supplies
21. -sharing inside jokes with Greg
22. -Hilton Head Island

Greg likes to call me Silver, because I will find the silver lining in whatever situation we’re facing. The first words out of my mouth whenever something negative happens are usually, “Well, at least...” And when there’s good news and bad news, I always want the bad news first so we can end with the good. So I’ve vented my fears, had my pity party and now I’m ready to eliminate the negative!

So what about you? What are some things that make you happy? Let’s end today with a smile.

“A cheerful heart brings a smile to your face.”

(Prov 15:13, MSG)