The Hedgehog and the Christmas Lights

He was having a hedgehog kind of day. He was cute like a hedgehog, but just as prickly. I couldn't figure it out. It was Christmas Eve, the day before all my son's waiting would come to a glorious end, and yet he was bristly. I was exhausted from resorting to verbal correction that resembled a game of Whack-a-Mole all day long. "Don't irritate your brother!" WHACK. "If you act that way, no one will want to play with you." WHACK. "Mommy needs a little bit of space." WHACK. WHACK. WHACK. 

"All right," I thought, "Maybe I'm being harsh. Maybe he needs some one on one time." Out came Uno Attack, and the bonding commenced. Much better. Until I won round 1.

"Mom, one more time!" I was already worn. I didn't have "one more time" in me. But I consented. "All right, Honey, I will play one more time with you, but then Mommy is going to quit." Round 2 went by faster than the first, with me winning again. "One more time?" he coaxed. "No," I replied,  "I told you after this round, I would quit." I watched as he sulked over to Lucy (our Boston Terrier) with a sour face. He clutched her little body with his left hand and sighed. 

A frustration soaked inner dialogue began in my mind. "I played the extra round. He is still NOT HAPPY!! ARGH!!" I retreated to the laundry room to sort out the clothes, and my thoughts. "What is with him?!" My little hedgehog...precious, but boy was he prickly at times!

That evening held some much needed time out of the house. My hubby drove us around to hunt for Christmas lights. We found some along the way to our final destination, but our last stop took our breath away.

We pulled up to a beautiful house in a quaint town, and to our delight, we saw a display that was exceptional. The lights, the music, the colors...it was a feast for the senses. Every eave and corner was covered with lights that danced a choreographed blitz with every drum beat, bass thump and electric guitar solo. 

I looked back at my little hedgehog, and much to my surprise, his eyes were fixed...but not on the resplendent light show we were watching. He was staring at the house across the street with sparse and plain solid lights.

"No, Honey, look at THIS house!" we cried as we pointed to the rock star house. "On the left side!! See???"

He stubbornly kept his eyes fixed on the plain Jane house, ignoring all our pleas to have him join our vantage point.

Inner dialogue: "ARGH!! He is so stubborn!!!" 

I allowed myself to be sucked back in to the music and light show that danced in fiery sequences over the house and lawn. With reluctance, I turned once more to the right to see the house that my son was staring at. It was a joke in comparison. I sunk into contemplation.

Surface symptoms can be like the rock star house. My son's behavior that night was flashing with inflammation. Cranky, irritable, button pushing, SCREAMING for attention. Like the house with the light and music show, it held my negative energy. It was so easy to get sucked into it, to roll with it, to tap my finger to the coordinating song rhythm. And yet, there, directly across the street, the plain-Jane house stood, silently, and in a non-flashy way, starkly contrasting the Las Vegas marquis house. 

I began to think on the subtle truths about my son. The steady truths that weren't as obvious, but still were just as there. Like the stationary lighted plain-Jane house, I had to purposefully decide to strain my neck to see them, because the flashy irritations were compelling.

He is probably excited about Christmas and doesn't know what to do with that excitement.

He desperately wants attention, and even negative attention works.

He was caught being prickly all day, but I had never really caught him being precious.

He attached himself to the one person who, in his mind, had the best chance of understanding him: me.

He desperately needs to be LOVED in spite of himself.

I was so sad...sad for him, because I fear he didn't get what he was desperately longing for, and sad for myself that I let the flashy inflammatory behaviors eclipse the steady truth about my son; he needs a Mom to love him through the prickly, and to call out the precious inside him.

Fast forward to deeper in the evening, and I was snuggling with my hedgehog. His skin was clean, smooth, and smelling like soap. His hair was damp from the shower. That day was one that ended in mutual apologizing and mutual affirmation of love. "Will you forgive me?" I asked him. "I'll ALWAYS forgive you," he replied with a content smirk. 

At the end of this bittersweet day, the slice of life that I'm savoring is that I can't get caught up in the bright and boisterous surface, and ignore the plain-Jane truth. I am praying that from this point on, the Holy Spirit will help me see through the choreography of chaos that comes my way, and place my fingers on the pulse of the matter. Because although that day had a sweet finish, every tomorrow after that is a new day of deciding. Deciding to turn my gaze from the unlovely to the lovely. Deciding to see the best, in spite of the worst. Deciding to strip down the smoke and mirrors to see the muted truth. God help me. God help all of us. 

Those who get caught up in the distracting light show of life's ugliness are a dime a dozen. Those who choose instead to see the ugliness as a chance to love are a precious few. May we, with God's power, be counted among the latter. May we cup the world's hedgehogs in loving hands, and most especially, the little ones who share our burrows. May the plain-Jane truth about them be ever in our just-as-stubborn gaze. And may our lives live out the truth that we, grown up hedgehogs, are loved by a God who fixes His relentless gaze of grace on us.

The "ME" in "MEntor"

My heart still has wings from this past Wednesday. Although it was a weekday, it had the fun and spontaneity of a summer vacation day. I got to spend the day with a dear friend of mine.

She had some pre-Christmas errands to run, and I asked to tag along, since I had some of my own. And what would have been drudgery and rushing separately, became purposeful task accomplishing with laughter and meaningful conversation together. What could be better?

She may not realize this, but I consider her a mentor. She lives life full of love for Jesus, and walks out a purpose that is undeterred. She is always plotting and scheming- but never in a malicious way. She is ALWAYS thinking of ways she can bring a smile to someone's face. She is a Mom and a Grandmother. If I grew up to be half of who she is...well...that'd be pretty stinking amazing.

She has helped me through so much. I remember losing a friend a few years back, and she was there to encourage me to grieve, to be thankful in that painful situation, and to have hope in the future. I went through a bout of depression earlier this year, and I reached out to her. She gave me practical ideas to fight it off, and gave me the soothing presence of someone who had walked though something similar in her early years. Then there are days I just needed to hang out. She opens her home and gives me a slice of her life heaped with lots of love. There isn't a price tag for that.

It started me thinking, Titus 2 encourages older women to teach younger women "what is good". Very little of our conversation is my friend outright instructing me. Her life is a wordless instruction manual. I see her adoring her husband, standing by him, saving her best for him. I see her take phone calls from her grown children, and how she mixes love, humor, and timely advice into her words. I see her giving to her grandkids, to the church community, and to the needy. That's more instruction than I could ever learn from words...she is LIVING it.

Everyone needs a mentor. There is always someone slightly ahead of you in your journey that could teach you volumes about life. We all need someone who can coach us through the tough stuff, who we can call to bounce ideas off of, and who will encourage us to be the best us possible. And on the flip side, we are all slightly ahead of someone in life. There's someone who is in a place you have come from who could use the advice you wish you had gotten when you were there. And the beauty of being a mentor or a mentee is that age is just a number. You have something to glean from people younger than you, and you have something to give people older than you.

The beauty about what I have with my friend is that she was my friend first. She and I started serving in similar areas in church, and I got to know her that way. Over the years, we have grown closer, and God has birthed something beautiful from our friendship: she is now my mentor. She didn't scan the church crowd, pick me out, and think to herself, "That's the girl I'll take under my wing." At least, not right away. Her being my mentor happened organically, once a friendship was established. I am not her project- I am her friend. And that's one of the best ways these things begin. I know how much she cares for me...and because of that, I am her captive audience.

When prayerfully choosing a mentor, look for someone who emulates a place you want to be someday. Someone who is not perfect, but beautifully imperfect. Someone who loves like Jesus, and like a diamond, admits her flaws, but shines her God given inner beauty. And most likely, you already are someone's mentor, even if you don't realize it. Ask God to make you the best mentor possible. You have something to offer that someone needs. Desperately. Hold the gift you have to offer towards Heaven, and ask God to multiply it and use it for His glory.

So where does your "ME" fit into "MEntor"? Do you have one? Are you open to being one? Because either way, though you have much to give, you also have much to receive.

Charisa

PS- Leave me a comment! What has one of your mentors taught you? What have you shared with someone else? :)

The Mess In My Minivan

She took a long look inside my van, and her response to seeing it made my heart sink.

I was catching up on cleaning. I pulled a muscle in my lower back earlier in the week, so now that I was on the mend I started de-cluttering everything that had piled up. I made my rounds in the house, and placed a few trash bags on the roof of my van so I could haul them to the dumpster. After clearing my roof, I took a look in my van. Oscar the Grouch would have been right at home. There were church papers, school papers, and out-of-place papers. There were empty bottles, broken crayons, and weekday JUNK. I thought, "Hey, I'm right here at the dumpster- might as well clean this too!"

I drove my newly de-cluttered van to my home away from home: the carpool line at my kids' school. I put the van in park, busted out a book I've been devouring, and opened my door in preparation for Janessa to come in. I was halfway through a page, when a pleasant voice broke the silence. It was a sweet Mom friend that I've made since the beginning of the school year. After a few pleasant exchanges, she took a look inside my van.

"Oh my goodness!! Your van is SO CLEAN!! I'm embarrassed- my car is a WRECK right now! How do you do it?"

My heart sank. Had she caught me the day before, she would have seen an episode of Hoarders: Buried Alive on wheels. I didn't understand why I was saddened at her response, until it hit me. She caught me in the After. I tried to explain that I had JUST cleaned it, and that my van was a wreck a mere 15 minutes earlier, but all my back pedaling didn't distract her from what her eyes were showing her.

I've been keenly aware over the past few years that people are looking for something real. Not so much an excuse for themselves, but a comfort in the here and now that life is messy. We've gotten so used to the photoshopped appearances of society that we're tempted to compare our reality to someone else's seemingly perfect exterior.

Confession: my house, my life, and my emotions are MESSY. Reality: I have 4 children that make messes 4 times quicker than I can clean them My life is super busy with a generous pinch of chaotic, and finished with a glaze of rest here and there. My emotions are pretty stable, but sometimes, I even annoy myself. Guess what? I just read you a page from your story too. 

I'm learning that not only does being vulnerable with the right people bring comfort to them, it makes you REAL. My pastor told me several years ago that a cubic zirconia is flawless yet worthless. A diamond however is insanely valuable. What makes it valuable is its flaw. What makes YOU authentic is your flaws. Why? Because no one is perfect.

That's why we desperately need a Savior who IS. The only one in this world who lived a perfect life and would have every right to condemn us did not. His is the hand that would touch lepers with peeling skin. His is the hand that wrote on the ground and saved the woman caught in adultery from an angry mob's stones. And His was the hand that was pinned to a cross so that forgiveness and grace could be poured out for you and for me. And His is the hand that reaches out to us and invites us to do life with Him. To find victory in Him. To be REAL with Him.

My prayer for you is that you find people who love you in spite of your imperfections. I'm not a gambling woman, but I'm willing to bet that those people know how comforting it is to be loved in spite of their own flaws. In our day to day cycles of mess-making and cleaning, if we're caught in the mess, may we be real. If we're caught in the after, may we extend grace. Let's not be afraid to do life, however messy it may be, together.

She took a long look inside my van, and her response made me discover that we are more alike than she realized.

Tidings of Comfort and Joy

 

Comfort. It might as well be on a poster with a reward attached to it. We are all looking for comfort. If you're anything like me, you're staring at that picture of stacked cable knit fleece blankets, and thinking, "I want to touch one!" "I wish I could wrap one around myself!" "Where can I get one?" I am venturing to guess though, that the time of year people search out comfort the most is at Christmas time. We all know several people who will have one less seat at their table this year. Maybe that person is you. Christmas is a time of joy, but if you've lost a loved one, it can also be a time where that ache throbs like never before. How can you comfort those in your neighborhood, church, place of work, school, or family who are grieving through the holidays? How can we ourselves be comforted as we go through the hard work of grief?

All praise to God, the Father of our Lord Jesus Christ. God is our merciful Father and the source of all comfort... 2 Corinthians 1:3

There are many false sources of comfort that promise we can "drown our sorrows" in them, but there is only one God who is the source of true comfort. He sees you; He gets you. In His mercy, He doesn't rush you through the process of grief, but lovingly invites you to take His hand and go at His pace. What does that look like? Pausing to have a good cry with Him. Having a hard conversation with Him. Allowing Him to minister through a close friend. Worshiping at His feet, even if all you can do is cry. The comfort you seek is found in His arms.

He comforts us in all our troubles so that we can comfort others. When they are troubled, we will be able to give them the same comfort God has given us. 2 Corinthians 1:4 

  

This season, when our paths cross with someone who is grieving the loss of their loved one, we can give them a beautiful gift: the gift of comfort. The very same comfort that you have received from God can be "re-gifted" to a hurting heart. What does that look like? Instead of asking, "What do you need?" or saying,"Can I get you anything?" let love shape your response. Follow the Holy Spirit's prompting: write the card, make/buy the meal, offer child care. Comfort comes in many forms, and God is the source of creativity. When it comes to grief and loss, words fail. Sometimes, a hug and silence ministers more powerfully than anything. May we not let fear stop us from being conduits of comfort to those in need.

God, who saw us in our sin, was Himself grieving the loss of relationship with us. His answer: sending Jesus to bridge the gap between God and man. Jesus in turn sent the Holy Spirit to us so His presence could be with us forever. It's beautiful to think that one of the Holy Spirit's nicknames is "The Comforter". Let's follow His lead as we reach out to comfort those at Christmas.

Blessings To You,
Charisa

PS- For more about comforting those who are grieving, check out http://thegrieftoolbox.com/article/griefprofanity

In Celebration of Anna

Thank you, Disney, for adding much needed excitement to cold and snow.

It was a year ago that my children and I first saw Disney's Frozen. It didn't take long for us all to be sucked into the snowflake littered vortex of the story line. Two deceased monarchs. A mysterious Queen. Adorable trolls. I leaned back with the somehow in tact Jr Mints I had smuggled into my Mary Poppins purse, and mused, "I bet there are going to be a WHOLE lot of Queen Elsa's at Halloween." I am now certain I wasn't the first one to think that.

What was it about Queen Elsa that was so alluring? The fact that she was not a Disney Princess- she was a QUEEN? The insane powers (ice castle? no problem!) that coursed through her veins? Or of course, the amazing set of pipes she possessed?

I drove home after the movie, and tried processing what I saw. Sure it was funny, and clever, and the musical score was epic. But I searched the stony heap of the storyline for the one jewel I could polish and keep. Embedded into the tapestry of film, was a crimson thread of love. Tucked into the heart of the film was the constant theme of sacrifice. And it was her love for her sister that melted her own frozen heart. In this film, Anna was the real hero.

Although Elsa had incredible powers, she was kept prisoner by fear. The fear growing in her heart made it impossible to let others in. It thrived in her growing powers and built walls, icy spears, and even a castle to keep others away. She could deceive herself into thinking she was free, thinking all she had to do was "let it go" to find peace, but peace eluded her.

In stark contrast, Anna had everything to lose. She desperately wanted a relationship with her sister- and endured a lifetime of rejection as a reward. Unlike others who saw Elsa's powers as repulsive, Anna was drawn to her sister all the more fervently. She pursued, she traveled, she fought, and she even employed the help of a burly, odorous ice cutter to win her sister back.

Some would view Queen Elsa as the one in power, and in fact, they would be right. After all, it was her voice echoing across the mountain on that wintery night that "the cold doesn't bother [her] anyway". But Anna's power came in the form of lips pursed through a keyhole saying, "do you wanna build a snowman?" or a determined fist knocking on a frigid door or trekking up the side of a punishing mountain just to see her sister's face.

There is something so vulnerable about loving. True love risks being hurt. True love risks being misunderstood. True love risks being rejected. But the following is also true of love: "Perfect love drives away all fear." 1 Jn 4:18 Pure love thaws; true love heals. Love didn't seek it's own way; it sought to serve and protect. Love didn't shrink back in fear; instead, it pursued. Love didn't run away at its weakest point, but with its last free motion, put up a hand in between a sword's blow and a crushed sister. That reminds me of Christ's love on the cross. With one of His last breaths, Jesus cried, "Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do." Love sees beyond the here and now, and forgives those who wound out of their own short sightedness.

There may not have been a plethora of little Anna's this past Halloween, but one thing is true; Anna's love is to be celebrated. Her love is to be emulated. Courage is not found in those who run and hide; courage is found in those who choose to love. Let's dare to be brave in our relationships, and in this world, and love with the same fervor as Anna...but more than her, Jesus. Will we come out on top? There are no guarantees. But we will win.

Tea with a Slice of Life

Life is BIG.

Big milestones, big lessons, big accomplishments, and big tragedies are all a part of life's big picture. Someone might be blessed enough to live for 8 or 9 decades. We only have one shot at it. And yet,

Life is SMALL.

Small pleasures, small gestures, small victories, and small moments. It's the little things that make up life: the gentle breezes. The card in the mail. The hugs and kisses.

It's easy to marvel at the whole, and yet miss the point. Some days, I've whirred and buzzed through my day like a honeybee on steroids, only to pillow my head and have the room spin. There are the overwhelming days, the overbooked days, and the over-the-top-irritating days. All that spinning masks the little stuff that happened that day. My husband's text saying he was glad I'm his girl. My daughter's sweet kisses. My sons making music on their trumpet and clarinet. Life can be so big that the small gets lost like a lonely sock in the laundry.

And yet I'm reminded that God speaks in still small whispers. Although He spoke the universe into existence, He etched the most intricate detail on a flower petal. Although He established the boundaries of sky and sea, He formed every emerald blade of grass.

Life is big. But I'm attempting to hear God's whispers in the small things. To learn His truths in the teensiest of fleeting moments. To extract mind-blowing principles from the most unlikely of places.

The tea? Happens to be my favorite drink. I do drink coffee at times, but there's something reliably steady about a steaming hot cup of tea. It says, "Relax, and let me flow down and nourish you from the inside out." OK, it doesn't really say that, but I imagine that it would if it could.

The slice of life? It's my attempt at dissecting the vastness of life, and taking it in- one small bite at a time. Life happens, and unless I take the time to sink my fork into a slice of its many layers, and nom nom away, I miss the point. The Greatest Chef, the Bread of Life, has given us a cylindrical confection called life. It's not possible to take it all in at once, so we work at it, once slice at a time. He puts the sweet ingredients: the wins, the happy, and mixes them with the unlikely ones: the losses, the hurts, and folds them all together to make life: a life that pleases Him. A life that showcases His culinary prowess. A life that He puts on a stand for the world to see just how sweet He is.

Tea With A Slice Of Life is a place you can pull over, take a breather, and be reminded that God often speaks the mountainous mysteries of life in mole hills. Let me pour you some "talking" tea, hand you a napkin, and together we'll see what slices we're served up.