So tomorrow my oldest son starts first grade. I’m a real mom now. I just packed his lunch, and now I’m about to set my alarm so we can all get up in time to get him to his bus stop, just down the block. I just wrote another check, signed another form, folded them together, and stuck them neatly into his backpack next to his indoor-only gym shoes—which is now in the front hallway right next to one of two pair of Crocs (you never know which one he’ll prefer).  

That little foyer is now organization central. He is ready, I am ready, yet I can guarantee you, I’ll will not be this on top of things and organized for the poor guy again until this time next year. By Tuesday, I’ll be scrambling his lunch at the last minute, yelling at him to look AGAIN next to his bed for his shoes, and wondering where I put that thing I was supposed to sign.

But for now, tonight, I’m feeling like a great mom, who’s got an unbelievably great boy (yes, I know: and a girl and another boy, but we’re not talking about them right now. They don’t get the sap treatment until they go away for nearly eight hours a day!).

Happy First Day of School!

So I’ve been thinking about “voice” in the literary sense for a talk I’m giving in October to a bunch of leaders on writing (wow. THAT was clunky!).

And it just dawned on me that one of the things that frustrates me as a mom is not only that we tend to lose ourselves amidst the chaos of our lives, but often our voices too. I mean, I’ve GAINED the kind of voice I never wanted to have (that “oh my gosh are the windows open? Can the neighbors hear me yelling?” voice), but in many ways, the ability to be heard—in the way I want to be—gets lost. Not totally. But a bit.

But then I realized that motherhood revved up my voice in my writing. I mean, I write a ton more now than I ever did before. So I’ve got that going for me.

I’m wondering what your thoughts are. Has motherhood helped you find your voice or lose it?

So after nearly a month of not posting anything here—because I’ve been squeezing every moment out of my days trying to make revisions to my book,  keep on top of my regular editing gig, line up some speaking things, help plan a Moms Night Out at my church, put at least some dishes in the dishwasher and some clothes in the washer, and of course pay some mind to my lovey, lovey kids—I figured I ought to post something new.

But it’s so hot out; I’m so tired; and I gotta tell you, I got nothing. So this is just an update for updates’ sake.

I’ll try to post something more creative or insightful or amusing later. But right now—if it doesn’t start raining that is—I really just want to ride bikes with my fam. 

Okay, so I got memed for the first time (more on this in a minute). Since I’m busy and in a blaming mood, we get to blame Al Hsu of InterVarsity Press editorial and book-writing-fool fame for tagging me and taking me away from actual work I need to do and instead addressing this. Actually it’s good (all things work for the good, you know….), because I haven’t updated my poor, neglected blog in a couple weeks anyway. So, in reality, thank you, Al.

So here are the rules (they had numbers, but I’m replacing them with my bug bullets for reasons that should be obvious) for the meme, according to Mr. Hsu and the woman who memed him:

• Link to your tagger and post these rules on your blog.
• Share 7 facts about yourself on your blog, some random, some weird.
• Tag 7 people at the end of your post by leaving their names as well as links to their blogs.
• Let them know they are tagged by leaving a comment on their blog.

Everything in my life seems random and weird, but here are 7 for you: 

1. This is my first meme, and I spent all day yesterday (when I was tagged) panicking about what I would write. I had to go to Wikipedia because I didn’t even know what a meme was. I thought it was just because I’m a work-at-home, freelancing writer mom sort of out of the loop alone here in my “corner” office that I didn’t know this hip e-term. Turns out it’s been around long enough that I should’ve known what it was. I mean, I guessed pretty correctly because of the nature of the beast of what was happening and that it looks a lot like mimeograph and mime and I’m smart enough to know about words that are related, but still. I feel dumb for not knowing. Which leads to number two.

(more…)

So today I went to Target and the grocery store and still forgot to buy badly needed paper towels. Now all I can think about is that stupid New Yorker article from a couple of years back on the mommy brain—and how it’s a real thing, about how moms brains do become smaller or something and actually more forgetful.

But the brain and the memory all comes back–and regardless, we can still handle more than the man brain on its best day—and this forgetfulness apparently serves some important purpose. Of course, I can’t remember what that is.

After taking way too many days crafting a “speaker-introduction letter” to pimp myself out for speaking gigs, I’ve spent the afternoon sending out these letters to various churches and MOPS groups and the like.

This does NOT come naturally to me. There is, after all, a reason why I’m a writer and not, say, a concert promoter or even a sales person. Selling is not my strong suit, and selling myself fits me even worse (does this analogy line up?).

But since this self-promotion is part of the writing life (at least if you want to succeed at all), I forced myself out of my shy box and into this “here I am!” realm. Everything’s been going fine—I’d gotten into a decent groove—and then I got an email that made me want to crawl back in my little safe box.

The PASTOR of one of the churches I had contacted emailed me back saying never to “solicit” her church again. This sort of thing seriously makes me want to cry. I’m not good at being scolded, and her email sent me into moments of trying to figure out how I might have offended, what I did wrong (I’m only doing what my own MOPS director told me to do….), and how I could make it right.

So now, as I fear checking my in-box for more angry emails from church secretaries, women’s ministry leaders, and pastors alike, and as I second-guess my decision to pimp myself in the first place, I wonder, what moments in your life have you put yourself out there, uneasily, and faced resistance. What did you do?

Oh, and if you’re looking for an obviously unsure and self-depricating speaker (who’s still somehow quite at-ease in front of large groups of strangers), I’m your girl!

Happy Memorial Day!

I grew up in a musical-theater-loving family. Not that any of us were in musicals, mind you, but we went to these shows regularly, watched the movie-versions religiously, and sang along to show tunes in the car and at home. For the most part, a great way to grow up. Except for one part, well, one scene, really.  

My mom’s had a particular love for the 1968 movie version of Oliver! (yes, Mom, sometimes I DO write about you!). Overall, I shared her love—with the exception of one small thing: Oliver himself. In an otherwise well-cast movie, the kid playing the title role drove me nuts. Never more than in the scene where he sits in the undertaker’s basement, propped up on a pile of hay (if I remember correctly), when he looks out the window longingly and sings, “Where Is Love?” in what I always considered to be the most annoying voice ever.

From the time I was little until not too long ago, I’d do mock renditions of this scene and my mom would click her tongue, roll her eyes, and say, “I don’t know what your problem with that sweet song and that sweet boy is.” And I’d continue on with my mocking.

So imagine my surprise when last night, when I took my kids to see a local production of Oliver!, I choked up during that very scene, with that very song. Maybe it was because this Oliver was more yelling than singing and therefore seemed more desperate. But more likely it was because as I sat watching the scene this time—with one kid on my lap and the other next to me (with yet another at home)—my “momness” kicked it.

This momness is the thing that makes me realize how much being a mom and raising my awesome kids has changed me—in this case, how much softer I’ve become, how much more open my eyes are. Because now, I understand why my mom loves that scene so much. Who cares how annoying that boy is! The boy is singing about looking for love, specifically, the love of his mother, something he’s never known.

So while before kids I could somehow mock the (actor) orphan’s voice, now that I’m a mom, I can’t. Because no matter how gauling the voice, it’s a song that still too many kids are singing and it’s not funny.

While many days as a mom my kids drive me nuts and I feel totally frustrated by my role as mom, Oliver’s pained song is a good reminder of the importance of what we do, what we offer our kids.

Aaah–so after a good couple of weeks of being deluged with print ads, commercials, and email blasts trying to sell me on the stuff moms want and need for Mother’s Day, today on the radio, I finally heard the truth—what we really need.

Unlike what every jewelry store, specialty kitchen store, and department says, in a taped bit on Moody radio, Virelle Kidder nailed it: Moms need rest and affirmation. Yes and yes.

I hope all you moms get this gift (at least this year. Next year, I’ll hope you all get the gift of my book! Just kidding…sort of). And I hope you get this gift (the rest, not my book) on more days that just this coming Sunday.

Happy Mother’s Day!

If you scroll down a couple posts, you’ll see a comment from Dawn, who’s wrestling with church roles. She’s been on my mind a lot lately because I think her note personifies exactly what a lot of us go through in various forms, in various ways. I’ve been wanting to respond to her–you, if you’re reading!–but, of course, me being the lazy blogger that I am, I’ve gotten swamped under the demands of work that pays cold hard cash and, of course, that which pays warm, wet kisses (I mean mothering!).

But I thought of Dawn when I read these words from Carolyn Custis James’ new, fantabulous book, The Gospel of Ruth. In fact, I thought of Dawn, and I thought of myself and every woman I’ve talked to, heard from, or exchanged e-mails with over the course of this true-identity-seeking year. If you’ve wrestled with your “place” in your church, community, or family, hear this:

“A woman’s high calling as God’s image bearer renders her incapable of insignificance, no matter what has gone wrong in her life or how much she has lost. Even if her community shoves her aside, turns a deaf ear to the sound of her voice, or regards her as invisible—even if she is forced into a passive role in the community—she remains vital to God’s purposes and is a solid contributors anyway. She simply cannot be stopped.”

I love that. Of course, it’s something, if we know Jesus and we know he made us on purpose, we know deep down, but a lot of people try to drown that bit of wisdom, try to stop us from living out God’s purposes, so it can be hard to believe.

Dawn, I hope I can talk more later about the whole church-role thing because I have BIG issues here as well. In the meantime, check out “My Door-Slamming Church” at this site and “Let Men Get the Door” at GiftedForLeadership.com. You’ll get the drift of my issues there.

Tonight I participated in a prayer service at my church. I was asked to pray for the “groups” at my church—the young, the old, the married, the single, and so on. It’s kind of a weird thing to write out a prayer beforehand–and even weirder to practice it in the kitchen!–but this tapped into something that’s been on my heart lately. The coolest thing is that from some feedback I’ve gotten, it’s obvious I prayed about some stuff that other people have had on their hearts too.

I love it when God is up to something! So here’s what I prayed—sort of an extension of Mama’s Fake ID. More like, my Church’s Got a Fake ID. Here it is. Tell me what you think!

Dear God:

I pray that we as a church learn to look beyond the “groups” to which we belong and to see those individual gifts in each of us. That we see each other as you see us.

Lord, let us be a church that encourages one another in those gifts—no matter what they are—and that builds one another up. So that together we can meet the needs of this world and spread your Good News to the best of our abilities, in the way you created us to do so.

Lord, I pray for those who feel alone, like they don’t belong or fit in. I ask that you open our eyes to those who struggle in these areas and offer them a true, honest welcome. That we show them love for who they are, that we help them find their place among us, and that we help them understand that all of us at times feel like we don’t fit—here or anywhere. But that we always fit with you, Lord. Thank you for that.

Along those lines, I ask that we can get beyond image and façade and be willing to share and to see what is real in each of us. I pray that we as a congregation can be open to sharing our hurts and our shame as a means of sharing your glory and your grace. This requires vulnerability, though Lord, so I ask that we stay safe people—ones who don’t gossip or delight in the wrongdoings or suffering of each other—but ones who protect and support one another.

But in families, that doesn’t always happen. So I pray that you will heal those of this church who have been wounded, disappointed, or let down by fellow brothers and sisters in Christ. Help them forgive and even reconcile where possible.

Same goes for those of us who have had disagreements on issues ranging from what seems silly to serious. While we will never agree on everything this side of heaven (and maybe not even on the other side!) I ask that in these disagreements or discussions, you help us maintain open hearts and open minds, that we maintain integrity, and at all times realize that what we seek to do as a body of Believers is to honor you, to do right by you, to act as we believe you are calling us to do.

So thank you again, Lord, for the magnificent, gifted individuals who make up the people of Elmhurst Christian Reformed Church. I pray that you bless us, protect us, embolden us, shape us, and use each of us in your kingdom, for your glory.