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On Sunday I met my friend Karin for lunch in Snohomish. This has been a favorite outing for us for a very long time. We don’t live as close and can’t do it quite as often as I’d like. I always feel like I’ve come home after spending time with Karin. We have known each other for 13 years.  We spent many hours together when our children were young and helped each other through many a trying time. The older I get the more I treasure my friends, old and new alike. Karin has always wanted to visit England so when I saw this poem the other day I thought of her. To my dear friend Karin:

A Shropshire Lane

Dear friend, I long to walk again-along that little Shropshire lane, deep-set in banks of ferns and flowers-where once we spent such happy hours…Each twist and turn of it I know.  And oftentimes in thought I go to seek and find those old delights: the summer days, the autumn nights, retracing every step we took-across the bridge that spans the brook- then past the cottage round the bend. Do you remember dearest friend?

Unbelievable! I heard the strange noises on the front porch of my evening appointment. I braced myself for what I knew was inside the door. My ears told me it was birds. From the sound of it, I couldn’t imagine how many. I entered the foyer after being greeted by the “parents” of this feathery flock. To the left of me, in what should be a living room, was about a dozen cages. In the center of the room, were large perches where many birds squawked, sang, and chirped. The volume caused me to cover my ears.

As we sat to sign loan documents, we had unusual interruptions, by the birds. One bird was on the clients head, and two large parrots stood next to us on large perches. Occasionally, one of the birds would start shrieking, which would unleash a chorus of sounds from the other 17 birds in the room. The clients would then chastise them as a parent would his child, “Now, Charley, stop, stop. Do you want to go to your room?”

At one point, there was a loud noise from the other room that didn’t sound unique to me, but one of the clients jumped up and said, “Oh no! That was a beak!”  After a few questions, I found out that one of the birds with the clipped wings tried to fly and nailed the floor. He was a bit stunned, but my clients attended to him the rest of the evening. He was held in their arms, much like a toddler, and shifted from arm to arm as papers were signed. I sometimes feel like a miracle worker for the situations I am asked to juggle.

As I left the house that night, I felt quite content with my own life, and decided that I was glad I was not called to helping birds. My nerves were frazzled  from the noise, but I was left with a fresh awareness of how very unique God makes us. In this case, some much more unique than others.

I had a dream the other night that I was going home again. Where is home? In this case it was back to our Lake Stevens house.

A couple of years ago I came upon this Bible verse in Hebrews 11: It was by faith that Abraham obeyed when God called him to leave home and go to another land that God would give him as his inheritence…he lived their by faith for he was like a foreigner, living in a tent.

I am hardly living in a tent, (not much into tenting-too much work) but I left my home of ten years. I am longing for a place to call my own.  We live in a beautiful rented space but it is not my own. I am longing to be home again.

But once again the question lingers: Where is home?

Home is where my Father is. I know He is here with me. However, some day I will arrive to a place, and I will walk through a door and as children do, I will say, “Daddy, I’m home,” and I will see Him.

This home will not be merely a resting spot on my journey but this will be my final destination. I will see my Father.

I will watch as my Father sees me.

Had the best day yesterday. Went riding with my friend Wanda. We rode 30 miles altogether and talked the whole time. As working moms we rarely have a minute to connect so this was a real treat. Honestly, I think girlfriend time is as good as therapy.

Driving Marissa to school yesterday morning  I heard an announcement on the radio that Sting was coming in. I quickly picked up my phone and called Scott to inform him and tell him no expense was too much. I love Sting.

By this time I was at the school. Before Marissa got out of the car she says, “You can afford concert tickets but not new laundry baskets?” I laugh. I said,”Ok,  I’ll check for some today. At the dollar store.”

Priorities!

I replied, “But my work seems so useless! I have spent my strength for nothing and to no purpose. Yet I leave it all in the Lord’s hand; I will trust God for my reward.” Isaiah 49:4

I was sitting in bed having my morning cup of coffee. As is the normal routine, Marissa came in to snuggle. We were sitting there in the quietness of the morning when Marissa piped up,”Hey, there should be a sibling day.  Ya know, like there is a grandparents day.”

“What makes you want this hon?” I ask. “Well it gives me another day to give Cam stuff besides just on Christmas and her birthday.”

Unless the Lord build the house, the builders labor in vain…Psalms 127:1

I do it on my own. I struggle, in my mind, trying to build my house. The Lord comes to me and offers the hammer of His love, the nails of His suffering,  the wisdom of His existence. I turn Him down.  I do not feel worthy of the help. I am used to going it alone. It feels comfortable and familiar.

I know how to struggle. What does it feel like to have a reasonable amount of rest? What would it be like to have the Master Carpenter, Jesus build my house?

I hear His voice in an inner whisper, “It will be sufficient, if you let me help you build Michelle.  It will accomplish what your heart has desired it to accomplish. I have to let you struggle until you let me help, because I have the blue prints. You cannot best serve yourself or others  until you let me serve you.”

Does happiness exist only when life is going the way I think it should go? Is my plan the only formula for bliss?

My internal dialogue can be negative if I extract it from my head and look,”I will be happy (worry free, peaceful) when my business slows down and I have more free time.”

Today my business has slowed, I have more free time and my mind chatter reveals, “I have no money to be happy.”

It seems I have an excuse to thwart happiness if life doesn’t go as I script. Must I deny myself the privilege? Am I held hostage by refusing the happiness?

Birds chirp outside my window and the sun rays brighten the room, regardless of my personal goals and agendas. Will I ignore their beauty? Do my failed plans always have to overshadow the joy that is staring me in the face?

Today I will not say,”I will be happy when….” I will be happy. It is my choice. Isn’t it?

It’s only hair.  I wish I could have had that mentality a couple of weeks ago. I did not.

On February 13th, a day before family pictures, I went into my hair dresser for a few blond highlights. In the process of discussing my options there was a suggestion for a few red strands.  I was excited… until the unveil.  Yeiks! Pink hair. Not lying. Lots of hot pink stared at me from the mirror.  My wonderful hair dresser worked tirelessly for the next 6 hours (a total of 9) to fix the look. We laughed a lot, though inside I was quite frightened.

I left the salon and after dinner and wine with Scott, I decided I might like the new color…until the light of day. Again the mirror hollered out at me, “Your hair is pink!” Not to mention the comments I got from well-meaning people at church: “Oh how fun. Pink for Valentines Day!” or “Wow, is that color permanent?” I heard that comment about four times. One guy said, “Scott wasn’t joking when he said your hair was pink!”

I’d like to say I took the whole thing in stride, but I would be lying. My daughters witnessed a few melt downs and lucky for Scott he escaped the escapade, because of a timely out-of-town conference.  When he came home Cambria mentioned that she missed him because, “you know how to calm mom down.”

Regardless of peoples opinions, if I like something I will stick with it. I decided pink wasn’t my style. So Charissa worked her magic and covered my candy cane hair with a rich dark brown. I will always prefer chocolate to peppermint, at least when it comes to my hair.