Moments of Wonder

I was a music major, right? Right. But, I never considered myself one of those artsy-fartsy-my-life-is-about-music-and-how-it-feeds-my-soul kind of person. I was just good at it and it made sense to go to college for it.

I studied keys, modes, composers, eras, tempos, Italian (a little), vocals, modulations, theory, etc. I practiced for hundreds of hours, touching almost every black and white in the school (pianos, people. sheesh).

I knew my stuff. Still, you wouldn't hear me talk about the latest or greatest song or group. It's like I did the job, did it really well, and then did the rest of my life and interests. Don't get me wrong, loved it. Loved singing, playing, hearing the applause (doy) and knowing that I was touching people's hearts with the talent God had given me.

Yeeears, I did this. Years on stage. Years of practice, mic checks, tuning (well, waiting for the guitar people to tune because pianists just hire someone to do it), laughing, worshipping, and on and on. But, it never really just moooved me.

Or, so I thought.

I was on the way to Bible Study with my BSers (as we affectionately call each other) and I was in the hubs truck. No radio, which means no Glenn Beck for the morning. So, I pull out my iPhone, click on Pandora (go to that link. You will love it), type in Michael Buble, and before I knew it, my whole mind had wandered into the sounds. My soul was warm (never mind the fact it was Michael), and I realized in that truck just yesterday...

Music moves me.

This may not be a big deal to you, but I realize just how much I had lost connection with it. I realized how much it truly affects me and how deeply. I realized that I was listening for tempo and key changes. I was picking out the different instruments. I was feeling the fall and rise of the crescendos and decrescendos. I was in the music. In the moment. Had Michael given me a microphone, you'da been in tears.

Why did it move me so? Because there was a time when I lived and breathed it. There was a time when I was feasting on music so much that it became a part of me.

Strange, it's not unlike what happens when I glance over in the car and capture the wonder of a sunset. Or the times I go in just to stare at my kids when they are asleep. It's like the moments when your husband touches your hand, or just looks at you across the room.

It's the quiet moments in the morning when you can hear the voice of God.

We know these things and they move us...because we are familiar with them. We've breathed them in and soaked them up. These deep, tender moments come from not a place of quick exhilaration that passes by like a flash of light. These deep, tender moments come from the times we took in stare at the wonder.

Music
Family
Art
Spouses

God

Moments of Wonder


What moves you because you stare at the wonder, breathe it in, and drink deep of the beauty?

I Couldn't Do It, but it Wasn't Because of Her

I like my dog Lucy, but I don't like the fact that she does dog things. I mean, she can't help it, but I wish she could.

She's sweet, but she has bad breath, so don't get in my face.

She doesn't eat much, but poops a lot.

She is obedient, but still doesn't understand that it's not nice to jump on strangers...or me.

She is protective, but doesn't realize that the same kids get off the same bus every day at the same time so the barking is one of those dog things I wish she wouldn't do. But, hey, she's dog.

She is hairy and it falls off in more amounts that I like. And it's black.

She's not that big, but big enough to knock over small children with her tail.

See, she's a great dog except for the fact that she's a dog.

My sweet husband is a dog lover. If it was his way, she'd sleep with us every night, but because of the previous list...it ain't happnin'.

I don't want to be the one who gets her way aaalll the time, so we've kept Lucy for 6 years now. We got her one Christmas when the girls were little, and honestly, I didn't think they cared that much.

Just this week I thought, "I think I want to get rid of Lucy, but I don't want to hurt JT's feeling because he likes her and all, and well, I just don't want to be that mean." Still, we talked about it and he assured me that yes he likes Lucy, but it's not like they're tight or anything.

It was time to give her away.

Thank God! er, I mean, ahh, you sure?

So, I hear JT breaking the news to the big girls the other night, when I realized I could hear sniffing and consoling. I walked in the room (notice I wasn't even in on the conversation. I think I was twittering or something) and mercy, you'da thought we'd just told them that we're moving to Alaska and we'll never be in touch with any of our friends....ever!

Are you kidding? Are these the same kids that yell at Lucy to "GET DOWN! GET DOWN!" off the trampoline? Are these the same kids that forget to let her out of the dog run after jumping and playing outside? What are all these tears? Why all the sobbing? WHAT'S GOING ON!?!?!

I sat between them on the couch. Goose could hardly contain her weeping. Boog just stared off then flopped over on my lap. I was stuck between a weeper and a sobber.

What to do. What to do.

Their faces! Their sweet, sobbing, red, puffy faces! What else could I do?

"Lucy can stay," I say with a mustered up compassion. I couldn't just sit there and see those faces and say, "Welp, that's life!"

I caved.

I figure we got a few more years with Lucy and I didn't want to hear the stories later in life from my grown up girls about how mom broke their hearts and made them get rid of Lucy.

See, it's still all about what I want.

I win.

I'm A Brat

There are ugly things in all of us, right? Right. The one I notice that creeps up is when I find myself wringing my hands and worrying about all the "what-if's" and "if-only's" surrounded by a certain circumstance in my life.

I worry. I fret. I try to make plans and activate the situation to behave differently. I secretly stomp my foot and pout my face and say my prayers in such a way that it might sound more like an adult addressing an unpleasant problem than a 4 year old demanding her way and telling her Daddy all the reasons why she neeeeds what she is asking for.

I can be a real brat.

Not only can I get all up in a tizzy about this, but I can begin to formulate my own way out, and not trust that God will do it for me. Amazing what I will do for my kids in spite of a fit, but not because of it. If my kids would just wait and behave a bit more appropriately, things might look a little bit better for them. This logic works well on myself after a few days of self-pity.

Good news. God's not even like the good parents....He's better.

Even during my "fit" God answered the prayers we needed. I believe He did because my husband has so much faith, but I have to admit, He loves me too and delights in taking care of me.

I'm not saying I got everything I wanted just because I threw a fit, mild, but a fit, none the less. I'm saying, He provided because He said He would. Because He is faithful, not me. Because He is the giver of all good things, not me. Because He's God and I'm not. (Huh, there are no personal pronouns in those sentences. I should remember that.)

However, just before the prayer was answered, He was preparing me. You see, I knew my behavior was ugly and unjustified and so God lovingly let my husband put me in my place. We had, seriously, a great conversation that came very (super)naturally, and it addressed my "issues" and brat-ness. I believe God moved in my heart before He moved in our situation. (I still think He would have come thru because my husband is so cool, but He let me in on it too) :)

After all was said and done, I confessed that I can still be a brat. I can still display worry and doubt and even anger and flare up with entitlement issues. It's embarrassing. It's tiring. But, it's in the end, He becomes bigger and I become more aware of His goodness.

Brat or no brat, He is good.

Snorts, Grunts, and Jerks

Can I just deviate from all things spiritual for a minute and talk about something a little bit more personal?

Okay....

I snore when I sleep.

Now, to be clear, I don't snore when I'm not pregnant, but seein' as how I'm growing a baby, for some reason my nasal area isn't working very well. It's embarrassing! I try to stay on one side or the other, but inevitably, I end up on my back and all sorts of things happen. In fact, I've been awoken by the snort coming out of my nose...or is it my mouth? eww

Poor Pastor JT, he has to literally nudge me so that I'll roll over! I mean, COME ON! I thought it was the wife that nudged the husband, right, RIGHT!? But, nooo, it's the pregnant girl who is but a mere 18 weeks along! What's going to happen when I'm full term?! Will I need to be on one of those things for people with sleep apnea? Or will I have to prop myself up on my pillows? Sleep in a chair? Oh, the drama.

However, the BEST is when I'm about to fall asleep and a weird, short grunt comes out. That wakes me up every time. And, as I'm coming out of sleep in that short, half second, I realize it's me and I'm soon laughing and the fact that I GRUNTED myself out of sleep.

Or what about those not-so-deep-dreams that have you doing those weird, full body sleep jerks? Those are ha-larious when you're the one still awake and your hubs is the one jerking the whole bed. Pastor JT once had a big red dodge ball thrown at him. I, just last night, was floating on a log and fell face first in the water. That sleep jerk woke me right up and, once again, struck me funny! Why I was on a log in the water, I'll never know.

So, all that to say, it would be nice to go a whole night without snoring, grunting or sleep-jerking.

Anyone?

I Don't Know What My Gifts Are

I find that statement to sometimes be true when I'm talking to someone about having spiritual gifts. You know, those intangible things that we use to minister to people that come from the Holy Spirit, but should be easy to define, but more than half of us don't know what they are? You follow?

Here's the deal, I believe that the enemy likes to make us think that we can't know what we don't know because we don't have enough knowledge, or we're just not "spiritual" enough. To that I say, "Hogwash!" He is the king when it comes to smoke screens. Blow the smoke away and listen up!

The Word teaches that God has given each of us gifts in the Spirit. They aren't hard to define and really aren't difficult to figure out. Maybe we sometimes believe that they need to look or even "feel" a certain way.

I myself have wrestled with "what are my gifts?" Here are the things I use (and remind myself of).

1. We have the Word of God that lists out what they are. Look here and here to start with.

2. We have the most amazing thing called the Internet. You can take "spiritual gifts assessment" and those will help you find what you might be gifted in. I used this one. There are many. Take more than one. I have.

3. You have a personality that lends itself to different talents, passions, and burdens.

4. You have the Holy Spirit in you who will guide you into all truth and will show you what He has gifted you in. Have you taken the time to ask?

5. You have a burden for something, right? What upsets you? What makes you cry? What kicks your "I can help that" antenna into gear?

6. You have natural gifts that are enhanced by the Spirit. Oddly enough, He created both of them.

7. You have a God who has called you to be a minister. What that looks like is between you and Him, but you have to be willing to humble yourself, listen in the Spirit (which means, take time to "hear" what's in your heart and head), and get in the Word. Ask Him what you need to be a minister to.

8. You cannot compare with other people.

9. Your "giftings" might be different in different seasons, however, I believe there are core gifts that the Spirit will use in you all the time.

10. The enemy has no authority to tell you that you aren't gifted. Give him the boot!

Any questions? :)

The Secret Lives of Pastor's Wives

Title got you didn't it? (heh heh)

Well, to be honest, there are no secrets. Well, there could be, but then that would put us in the category of everyone else, right? So, with Pastor's wives, lives are easy, spiritual, and always worshipful. Riiiight.

Wait, didn't you know that all Pastor's wives can cook the best food, anoint someone with oil while taking communion, pray and do laundry at the same time, and take midnight calls because she's on her knees burning the oil and getting ready to get up with the crack of dawn to make home made sweaters before winter comes? You didn't know that?

You probably didn't know that Pastor's wives always, and I mean always have it together. We never worry or doubt. We never gossip or mess up. We always have dinner ready and our children never talk back.

You're smiling aren't you? You smile because you know that isn't the truth. The truth is, we're just like you. Yes, yes, some are amazing, but they still have gas and bad breath in the morning. Yes, some are amazing mentors and leaders, but they too need to know they are loved and valued and prayed for.

Most of us? We are walking the road of diapers, dishes, disturbances, and danger, just like everyone else. We cry and laugh and sin. We get tired because our husbands are busy just like yours.

We love you, love the church, love Jesus, but we're normal. Let me ask you two questions:

• Are you a Pastor's wife? Then head over to Leading and Loving It. Lori and Brandi are building a place just for you.
• Do you know a Pastor's wife? Give her a hug this weekend and tell her you are praying for her.

Neither? Then Hi, I'm Natalie, I'm a Pastor's wife and I'm just like you.

Interrupted

There something about me I don't like. I don't like my life being interrupted.

Now, it's not what you might think. You, dear reader, could call me in the middle of the day and I could chat it up for hours. However, if in that call you say, "Hey, I know it's tonight, but could you come up to the church and serve?" I find that something inside me goes askew. This is not a good thing.

(insert transparency)

Just last Saturday, the kids department was short some workers in the 2 year old room. One faithful leader asked me if I would fill the spot. "Sure!" I say with joy, while inside I'm throwing a fit.

Interrupted.

Two days ago, my little neighbor girl asks if she can stay at our house until her dad gets home. "Um, what time will that be sweetie?" "I dunno."

Interrupted.

Some of these interruptions simply need an adjustment of mind. Little budge of attitude and I'm all set. Other times, these interruptions leave me upset, agitated and pert near angry. Those are the times I'm concerned about.

So, what do I do? I ask God, "What the heck's wrong with me? Why do I do that?"

I could fill in the blank.

Pride
Selfish
Lazy
Aloof

But, really, what I have done is forgotten that my life is not my own, I was bought with a price and therefore should honor God with my body. A.K.A.... me. That includes my agenda, whether or not it's big or busy. A bump in the flow of my life needs to be recognized by me that it could be placed there by God and not just there to agitate me.

When I make all things about me, I am by no means doing "nothing out of selfish ambition or vain conceit." I'm not "considering others better than myself" or "looking out for their interest."

Soooo not Jesus.

So what do I do now? Pay attention. Pay attention to my reaction to different situations and remember that He will provide all I need for life. I just have to make sure I provide Him with a life.

A Letter To the Most Wonderful Time of the Year

Dear Christmas,

You are, hands down, my favorite time of year. I realize, however, you are still eight weeks away from arriving, but I wanted to tell you that I am making preparations.

I have taken down the three things my kids wants for you, because, you see, they only get three gifts from us when you get here because that's what Baby Jesus got. We won't, however, be giving them gifts of the same value because we just can't afford the cost of those gifts given by very rich dudes, but you get the point.

Also, we are currently looking through the Gospel For Asia's gift catalog to pick out something for those who live in Asia that don't have near the ease of life that we do. I pray they are blessed.

I am, however, resiting the urge to get down all my decorations for you at this time. I already want to get the tree up, and the lights on the house, of course, which is the hubs job, because it just is. I think it would be a bit premature to decorate for your arrival at this time. Sorry. Until then, I have purchased candles that smell like either cookies or pine, but I don't light them at the same time because eww.

Something else we are going to do for you is help at The Tapestry Project with a Christmas Store. We will sell items to those who are under-resourced and help them have a wonderful time with you as we do.

But, above all this, what I pray is that as much as I love your arrival, I pray that I remember why you come around every year. Even if the rest of the world dresses you up in as a sweet tempered old man in a red suit with eight flying reindeer, I want to dress you in swaddling clothes and kneel in humility.

The rest of the world might smile with me at the wonder of the lights and laugh as we drink apple cider, and as much as I cherish those things, I want to make sure I never lose my wonder of The Light who came into the world and never stop drinking the Living Water from Him.

Dear, dear Christmas, I love the lights, snow, and even Santa, and I thank you for such wonderful things. But most of all, when I welcome you this year, I pray that you and I both never lose sight of the One who came to give us good news of great joy!

See you in a few weeks!

Natalie

Over Yonder

Hey, psst, head over to The Internet Cafe! I'm over there today talking about how my girly-girl wanted to wear a bra too early!

On Her Watch

There was a time in her life when she loved and hated him. Her father was an alcoholic, but the kind that, thankfully, never laid a hand on her. He loved her and her siblings regardless of the amount of booze on his breath.

Her mom was a hot-headed Irish woman with a wit to boot. She grew up knowing that she was loved even though her home was as dysfunctional as a reality TV show. It didn't come without scars.

Self-esteem issues have plagued her most of her life. Fear of rejection has crouched at her door more than once. However, even with these things in her life, she has been a shining anchor in mine.

My mom, Jolene, is the finest woman I know.

She married my dad, Glenn, and the ripe old age of 19 and has been smitten ever since. His love for her not only carried her, but carried her parents as well. He loved them as any young, respectable Christian man should.

Two anchors digging in the foundations of life were about to embark on years of both hurricanes and calm seas.

My earliest memory of my mom is when I was about three, maybe younger. Nope, had to be three because we were in my brothers room when he was a baby. He was sleeping and I guess I needed Mommy because I was the one on her lap who she was singing to.

The next memory is on that same lap, but this time I was crying and in pain. I had just tried to push the glass back door open and it was latched. I crashed through it, cutting my wrist. I sat on her lap, crying through the pain, as she held a cold rag on it.

It's never changed. When I've needed her, she's been there. If I'm looking for a good belly laugh, I just need to go to mom's and hang out for the day. If I need encouragement and a booster shot for esteem, I call her and we tell each other how wonderful we are.

You see, my mom, is a stronghold breaker.

You haven't read about her alcoholism or my dad being a drunk, right? That's because she had taken the shoulders of her legacy and turned them north. She would not let the sin of her father be carried over into her little family. Not on her watch.

And she succeeded.

My parents have three children: my sister, Carrie, me, and my brother, Casey. Because of their fierce love for Christ and for us, the three of us are Christ followers and we have the best time together.

I have had many people in my life tell me that our family is, well, weird. We all like each other, we all like spending time together, and we do it often. Sure, we have our "family" moments, but they are never long-lived. Mom made sure of that.

She made sure we went to each other's events. I sat in the bleachers and watched my skinny, little brother scramble around a basketball court. I sat in other bleachers and watched my skinny, big sister ride around on those giant, scary animals we call horses. And in return, they sat in the pews and watched me tickle the ivory's and sing to the heavens.

Those moments created in us a unique love for one another. We get excited when one succeeds and are sad with them with failure hits. We aren't jealous of each other, but lovingly and humbly recognize each others strengths and talents.

All this because of my mom.

Oh, there is so much more I could say, but I'll finish with this. If you want to learn how to love people, spend time with my mom. If you need to learn how to have a bigger heart, sit and have coffee with Jo. In the mood for a good laugh? Just go have lunch with her. Need, for a moment, to feel like you are the coolest, smartest, and most creative person on the planet, here let me introduce you to my mom, Jolene.

Happy Birthday, Mom.

Two Times is Better Than One...I hope! :)

I borrowed a friend's video camera for awhile, and well, ended up keeping it for a loooong time. But, that's not the point. What I'm trying to write about is the fact that I found an old home video from 2004 and popped it in just yesterday.

I knew the big girls were on it, so we snuggled on the couch around the 2x3 inch screen (because I can't, for the life of me, figure out how to get it on the TV). I can't believe how much my girls have changed in just 5 short years. They were so tiny, my heart nearly swelled out of my chest just sitting there listening to them talk. Oh, I thought they were so big at 4 and 6!

Their faces, little-ness, and baby teeth tugged at my heartstrings. There on the couch with me, they were 5 years older. One with all sorts of metal in her mouth, beautifully shaping her teeth. She is now sporting glasses and says stuff like, "I don't like my hair." Oh, child, you will one day see your beauty!

The other asked if she could wear make-up for the day since we weren't going anywhere. That right there ages her a good year :) Her beauty inside and out is a thrill to watch.

They are by no means "all grown up" and I know I'll see videos of them at this age, 11 and 9 and wonder where the time went.

Here's the really cool thing: I get to do this gig all over again. Right now I have sweet baby Monkey who will be two in December, followed by her brother or sister in April. In ten years from now, I hope I'm on the couch with them watching their 6 and 4 year old videos. Maybe, oh and I hope it will happen, their 17 and 19 year old sisters will be sitting with us.

And then I'll cry... and laugh at the days to come! (oooo, I'm so Proverbs 31!)

I Can Relax Now and My Pooch Thanks Me

I'm finally at the stage where I can't wear my regular jeans anymore.

Last week, I went to put my jeans on and decided if I do, in fact, put them on, I'll have to stand the rest of the day. Otherwise I would actually create a muffin-top that I've been trying to hide without being pregnant.

I peeled them off and pulled out the maternity jeans. Alas, they are still to big, so I have to roll down the panel so they'll stay on. I still have one pair of jeans that are too big to begin with and I think I have maybe another week in those. ugh! I've got to go shopping.

Also, about this stage of the pregnancy game, I'm walking around wanting to say to everyone, "Um, yes, yes I am pregnant. I know you might think this is my normal pooch, but if you knew me better, there is no way I'd let my normal pooch hang out like this! There is a baby, so you don't have to wonder if I'm pregnant or just poochy."

That's my rehearsed line. Now, if I'm being honest, and we know I like being honest, this is a great time in pregnancy for me. I already have a pooch and now I can juuuuust relax. Let it go ahead and hang out, er down, which ever way it goes. I know that half this baby pooch is really mommy pooch, but you don't. Well, now you do because I told you, but it will be all baby in a few more weeks.

So, I no longer have to "hide the pooch," no, I embrace the pooch. No, really I do. When I go to lie down and night, I can actually give myself a hug. I believe that the belly fat that is sharing skin with a now ever-increasing uterus thanks me warmly.

Sadly, I know that once the youngin' is here, the pooch will betray me by, well, staying a pooch. I'll have no option but to shove it back in a pair of Spanx and subject it to Ploga again.

Pooch, ye be warned.