Lazy W Marie

Carpeing all the diems in semi-rural Oklahoma...xoxo

You are here: Home / Archives for 2017

Archives for 2017

post holiday thoughts gumbo

After so many days and weeks filled to bursting with activity, work, play, some bitter tears, and still more activity, my mind is swimming with loose trains of thought. Some things are solid. But those are solid enough to wait. The less solid thoughts need somewhere to go. I hope you’ll indulge me a while so I can sort of gather them into a boiling pot. Maybe if they comingle and simmer you add your own thoughts, we will end up with a gumbo of good stuff and the final product will be delicious.

Oprah’s Super Soul Sundays podcast has become my favorite. This is a surprise to me because I have never liked her, generally speaking. Just because the talk show thing has never been my thing. But this is different. This production offers tons of reliably good, nourishing material. One recently that I loved? An interview with former President Jimmy Carter. I loved hearing him talk about space in marriage, daily habits, and the Iran hostages. Weird combo maybe, but he ties it all together. Plus that well worn, gentlemanly southern drawl, ok? So nice.

Have you ever seen the acronym expression of EGO, meaning, “Edging God out?” Yikes.

I have for years thought that life is made worse by over-romanticizing relationships. Which is ironic, because the intention behind romancing stuff is to bring out the beauty, enhance it, press the details more deeply into our skin, right? Shouldn’t that improve life? But placing too much importance on certain relationships kind of sets us up for disappointment, that whole “appreciation trumps expectations” thing.

Maybe especially with parent-child bonds? because (as a better writer than me recently pointed out) claiming your child as yours is incredibly self-centered. Disturbingly ego-driven. And yet isn’t it’s part of our nature, the parenting paradigm? This is a lot of ground to cover, friends. Too much for today, but I welcome your thoughts.

I cannot get enough Christmas lights this year. And happily, our surrounding neighborhoods and parks have obliged. My husband did a great job festooning our own spot of paradise, too. It’s a modern luxury I won’t soon abandon.

I want to do a true study on the occurrence of eating disorders and body image issues among two groups: dancers and runners. I have noticed a disparity, but it’s so far anecdotal and I wonder if (as a runner) my opinion is slanted. Thoughts? Insight?

Made from scratch soft pretzels are incredibly easy and supremely delicious. Pillowy, warm, salty, chewy, satisfying. Amazing. Using this recipe, I am a homemade-soft-pretzel convert. No more waiting for that once a year $8 movie theater splurge! Of course, now I have to figure out the concession stand’s weird runny cheese sauce, but until then some yellow mustard will keep me happy.

Two brand new seed catalogs have arrived at the farm, and my youngest daughter has asked for both cooking and edible gardening lessons this year, so you can safely assume that my imagination is in overdrive. On that note, I am pretty happy about how last year’s compost system is working. So well, you guys. I’m looking forward to having time in January to continue filling, rotating, and spreading the fertile stuff.

Marathon training has started! I barely ran at all in November, for good reasons; and December has been low mileage (128 so far) but consistent. For the next 18 weeks, I’ll be following the Hansons’ Advanced Marathon Plan, aiming for the OKC full in late April. Very exciting! My local running friends have been a huge support and are full of wisdom, most of them Boston qualifiers. This past year I’ve changed my approach to running in lots of ways, so if that’s interesting to you, please check in here on Mondays starting mid-January. Marathon Monday returns!

I crave salad every day, probably my body’s way of saying, “Enough chocolate-toffee-shortbread, ma’am,” but it’s so cold in Oklahoma. Can you microwave salad? Maybe I should make more soup.

Ann Voskamp can probably do no wrong in my eyes, which clearly means I am on the verge of putting her on a pedestal, which clearly means I should take a breather before reading another of her books. Right? Just kidding. I already started it. A generous gift from a wonderful local writer. I think she wants to be anonymous. Maybe she doesn’t want to be known as my Voskamp enabler.

Enabling is not funny, though. We have had some excruciating decisions laid before us this year. This month. Just yesterday, in fact. It’s ongoing and very real. But prayer keeps up afloat even when we are at our weakest, emboldened on good days, clear-headed and hopeful.

“Welcome to Costo, I love you.” haha We don’t even have Costo in Oklahoma, but this is super funny. We do have Aldi.

Roasted veggies! Duh. When it’s too cold for salad and soup takes too long. Roasted veggies.

And this tea:

If you have 2 hours to snuggle up and feed your brain and imagination, I highly recommend the Netflix documentary called Cuba and the Cameraman. This is a cultural and anthropological indulgence, not a political statement. Pinky promise. Then, if you want to binge watch something beefier, please consider the related Netflix series on the revolutionary history of Cuba, which reaches all the way back to when European explorers “settled” there. Fascinating! Maybe a touch political.

My friend Kellie knitted me the thickest, most luxurious grey infinity scarf. I am smitten and get so many compliments on it. Thank you, Kellie!! Also, she recently agreed to a carrot cake cookoff. I’ll keep you posted. I hope to be in the mood for sweets again by February or March, haha.

Did you have a magical and peaceful Christmas weekend? I sure hope so. Christmas is meant to be magical and peaceful and more. It’s okay to enjoy all of it, every big and little thing.

We thank you for your love and prayers. I am trying to figure out what’s wrong with my blog dashboard, keeping me from responding to comments. But every single word you send is deeply appreciated. Truly.

“There are two types of beings in this Universe.
Those who dance, and those who do not.”
~Guardians of the Galaxy
XOXOXOXO

 

 

 

 

 

counting it all joy

If during this recent life chapter, the message I have most received is “Witness Me,” then the message my husband has most received is “Count it All Joy.” He started noticing a stream of such reminders over a week ago, and although that divine conversation has been his and it’s really his story to tell, I want to share some thoughts with you guys. It’s almost Christmas, after all, a season for seeking and sharing both comfort and joy.

Joy on bright days and joy on dark days.

Joy when it’s easy to be joyful and joy when it takes all of your strength and concentration.

Joy when it’s natural and joy when it’s a deliberate choice.

Chalk stuff up to joy, even the pain.

Count all the joys. Number them. Make an inventory of joys, big and small.

And when your joy falters, recharge it. Re-joy yourself. Rejoice. 

Of course, I recall the Joy Dare by Ann Voskamp in One Thousand Gifts. That act of listing all the things you can articulate that bring you joy until you reach a thousand. I did that a few years and filled several notebooks (way more than 1,000 entries) with handwritten phrases and sentences. The activity has a way of building momentum, sparking a gentle heat at first then flames and then a roaring fire. Lots of good, warm power.

Speaking of good writing by Voskamp, I have been sneaking downstairs early most mornings to read in the quiet her book of Advent devotionals titled The Greatest Gift. Every bit of it is just wonderful, but look at this, from the December 19th pages:

Struggling and rejoicing are not two chronological steps, one following the other, but two concurrent movements, one fluid with the other. As the cold can move you deeper toward the fire, struggling can move you deeper toward God, who warms you with joy. Struggling can deepen joy.

Isn’t that beautiful? Struggling can deepen joy. And the whole notion that the two are (or can be) concurrent… It releases my guilt for having struggled in the first place.

Just a few paragraphs later, she writes:

The secret of joy is always a matter of focus: a resolute focusing on the Father, not on the fears. All fear is but the notion that God’s love ends.

Oh man, you guys. All fear is but the notion that God’s love ends. It never ends, we know that. So nothing in life is outside of His reach. I can’t help but think of The Shack and that grieving dad’s need for the Father’s comfort, and how endless that Love proved to be. And I can’t help but notice the tweak in language here, from my own anthems about “positive thinking,” etcetera… I talk and write a lot about choosing joy and deliberately focusing on the positives in life, which is fine, but this heats it up a bit. This reminds me that there is more to it than just being positive; there is the Father, always and forever. Maybe I meant that in my heart all along, but maybe I should have been saying so too.

We can either count our problems or count our joys. We can let ourselves feel overwhelmed by either, too. I’d much rather be overwhelmed by joy. It gives me the strength to deal with real problems, and it helps the phantom worries disappear.

Fear is always this wild flee ahead.

Another quote from the same Advent devotional. This wild flee ahead. Like imaginations that have run wild. That ugly broken record of what ifs. My husband’s grandmother once said of a worried family member, “She’s just borrowing grief from the future.” As if grieving ahead of time will somehow lessen the pain? It doesn’t.

Handsome has taken some hard-earned time off from the Commish, just in time for Christmas. With our family’s recent trauma, we could easily have surrendered to heartbreak and neglected all the joy available to us. But that message reverberates: Count it all Joy. So we give each other a pep talk now and then, and we cry sometimes, but day to day we are clinging to healthy routines. Looking for the good stuff, which by the way is abundant. We first tiptoed into Christmas; now we have relaxed and sunk in.

((can you spot Tigger on the tree?))
xoxoxo

Counting it all joy and surrendering, instead of to heartbreak, to mercy and Love and all the miracle-working power that Christmas actually, truly, always brings, when we allow it.

Merry Christmas weekend, friends! I will check in again soon. I really want to talk more about how to actively count the hard stuff as joy. Until then, everyone from the Lazy W wishes you lots of warmth and Love, some surprises big enough to be called miracles, and ample time to count your joys. It matters.

“The answer to deep anxiety
is the deep adoration of God.”
~Ann Voskamp
XOXOXOXO

 

 

“Witness Me”

Witness Me.

This message has been swimming gently in and out of my vision for over a month, eventually coming into sharp focus, now glowing and pulsing at me like a neon sign.

Witness Me.

The first time it appeared was on November 7th when we had made that first red-flag trip to Colorado. I happened to glimpse it on her refrigerator, scrawled in dry erase marker in her neat, unmistakable handwriting. I think it was blue ink. I didn’t ask her about it then but it struck me. No context at all, not even punctuation. Just, witness me

I wondered if it was song lyrics, or was it a hint at her own heart? That day I knew she was hurting and thought I understood, thought I could help. I did feel a storm building but had no idea how big it would be.

The following week is when all hell broke loose. We had come back to Oklahoma briefly and returned to Estes Park again, this time in a panic. She was in crisis and we found ourselves in a torrent of new information, one heartbreaking revelation after another. Those ten days felt like months, and we lived every hour on high alert and in fervent prayer.

One of the patterns that emerged then was the rhythm of our constant prayers. It was like untangling delicate thread as quickly as possible, to sort through all of our emotions and to cope with all of the shock and constantly changing details. We did a lot of talking to God, you know? A lot of crying straight out to Him. And in those ongoing conversations, my husband and I found ourselves just sort of describing what had happened, as if God didn’t know. Describing everything in audible voices, like desperate, emotional sportscasters, all the terrible things and all our fears, but also all of the incredible things God had done that day or in some particular situation. It buoyed us, fueled our “big asks,” which were numerous. And when we needed to remember, we called out so many of the miracles He had performed for our family over the years. Specific things. Big things! Unlikely things. It all just poured out of our bellies naturally, and often we could barely keep up with the stream of words.

Witness me.

After several days we began to see more and more that God was taking control. That sounds great, of course, what could be better? Except for how it feels at the beginning when He pries it out of your hands and as parents, you begin to panic. It feels like your child is being taken from your grasp, and truly it takes a while to realize there is no better place for her to be than in His hands.

The accompanying message was unmistakable:

Witness Me. Watch and see what I’m gonna do for her! I can do more than you could ever dream of doing for her yourself!

Friends, I still get chills thinking about that, the first time this washed through my thoughts and my body. Humbling, but encouraging. Thrilling.

Around this time Handsome and I both were coping with a growing hatred for the mountains. We woke up in a different hotel room every few days, staying as close to her as we could. Every morning after a broken sleep we saw these incredible panoramic views. We breathed in the strange cold air and just hated everything, every detail that we might normally have relished. It’s hard to hold affection for a place that tries to kill your child.

But God corrected us.

One morning, in particular, He showed me the sky and the mountain range in Colorado Springs and asked (not gently), “Do you remember Who made them?”

The sky broke apart in golds and silvers. Enormous shadows and frothy clouds slid down the slope of Pike’s Peak and it all hit me at once, so much sorrow and shame for my misguided anger. All my fear for her, an ocean of uncertainty, repentance for doubting God. I could not stop crying, right there in the breakfast room of a La Quinta, holding a Styrofoam cup of bad coffee.

Witness Me.

cell phone snapshots will never do justice to the views

 

Witness Me.

It would be almost two weeks later, back at the farm again, wrestling with a brand new ugly reality and still reeling from her most recent departure, when the message appeared in much more than a whisper. I was rounding the dining room table, navigating Klaus and his fetching energy, having just done morning chores. One warm fresh egg was in the pocket of my quilted vest. No doubt I was in active worrying mode, trying to muscle my way into positive thinking. Sometimes that’s easier than others, you know?

And suddenly, Klaus at my feet and that single warm egg in my bare hand, in my pocket, those same two words slammed into view, this time into my actual ocular view, in neon:

WITNESS ME!

Kind of startling. But in seconds all of my anxiety dissolved.

I stopped and said, “Okay,” and just started listing the things God had done that day. Then I went back to the day before. Then the day before that. And the energy built. I listed mundane stuff, because it matters too, but mostly I let my heart settle on the amazing answers He had been sending us, resolution like a wide, rushing river. Twists of circumstance and provision you would hardly believe!

Then He made me look directly at the worst of it all, every horrible fear, made me stare right at it, and held me the whole time, whispering again, saying, “Witness me, not the darkness.”

This is not the first time in life we have been warned against worshipping problems. Remember the Worry Door? And I haven’t even shared the sermon we heard the month after 9/11. God so clearly wants us to trust Him.

Okay. I had planned to actually list every single thing God has done for us this month, right here in this blog post; but that will have to be a separate effort. We do have a notebook full of memories from this ordeal, and we continue to add to it daily. It’s an ongoing drama but also an unfolding love story. God is so good and strong and generous. Despite all the grief, He is moving and answering. Mending our lives in unprecedented ways. Opening and strengthening our hearts and our relationships.

If you have been praying for us, for her, know that it is working. And thank you so much!

If you need prayer, know that it will work. There’s just no maybe about it. God is more powerful than your problem. He is more capable than you are to handle it. He might guide you to act for a while then remove it all from your grasp, but that’s okay.

Witness Him.

Notice the things He does for you. Keeo your eyes fixed on Him, focused on the light, not the darkness. When the darkness seems to swallow you, close your eyes and remember Him from before. Bring that light back into focus.

Witness Him to yourself privately and to each other intimately, to the world around you. See His works for how beautiful they really are. Help each other cling to hope.

I am so sure, deep in my bones, that all of this matters a great deal.

Thanks for reading, friends. As always there is more to say. But I needed to share that much with you while it was available to me.

I hope you have a great Thursday and that whatever you are facing, you find a moment to witness Love in action. Let it take over your mind!

“Call unto me, and I will answer thee,
and show thee great and mighty things
which thou knowest not.”
~Jeremiah 33:3
XOXOXOXO

 

 

 

tiptoeing into christmas, and asking for your prayers

If I continue waiting to write until life is back to normal and my heart is steady, I am unlikely to ever form a complete sentence again. So here we go.

But the thing is, really, my heart is plenty steady. Despite the massive unknowns and the very real and fresh grief in our family, I am so thankful to be physically home and to be held in every way by God. There is so much more to say. I promise to not be vague forever.

Here is my baby, a woman already, clipping wild sage for me to bring back home. I miss her so much, and yet I feel her right here against my arm and can smell her too. xoxo

Let’s nibble at the day to day things for a bit.

Handsome and I have been tiptoeing into Christmas and it feels nice. It’s important, especially when at first you don’t feel like doing it, you know? I guess it’s all about discerning rituals and traditions apart from cultural obligations. Do what feels good and right. Let it all serve you and your family, rather than become your master.

Immediately after a bizarre and beautiful Thanksgiving with family, we put up our tree, festooned the outside of the house with lights and our Snoopy garden inflatable, and started adding a little more every other day or so. Paperwhite bulbs are inching their way skyward, a sure sign of winter here. A variety of Christmas music plays almost constantly (really loving Sia’s album). More wrapped gifts appear downstairs every day. Neither of us will claim responsibility.

We have accepted more invitations to socialize than I have felt “up to” accepting; and after almost declining each one, every single time I come home so glad. So happy for the loving energy we share with friends and strangers, so refreshed to be away from the farm for a few hours, just to remember that life and the world are big and expansive. As much as I love it here, I always love it even more when we drive home.

I have to mention our dear friends Mickey and Kellie. We’ve all become acquainted sort of by chance (if you still, after all the ways life happens, believe in chance). Now they are part of our fabric, plain and simple. They pray for us and with us. They open their hearts and offer love and support, advice when needed. They feed us both incredible meals and much-needed Truth. If our friendship is an accident, then it ranks among the best in life. A funny thing is that we have precious few photos together (except for Halloween!) because even a small event tends to grow into a leisurely five-hour conversation, all four of us talking and listening and laughing. You know that popular graphic floating around, “Do more of what makes you forget your phone,” well that’s time with Mickey and Kellie. Straight up. So, not many photos. Ha!

We have joined in with the Jedi OKC folks twice recently. Once to dress up for the District Attorney’s Christmas party for foster kids in the OKC area. This is an incredible tradition. Then again for a small town Christmas parade in Blanchard. The weather was merciful and the crowds were so happy and sweet. I am always proud to be with Batman, even if he is embarrassed that when I throw candy I tend to peg kids right in the face.

 

Party on (Bruce) Wayne, party on Darth! xoxo

The Apartment has become Santa’s workshop in new ways this year. Besides sewing (I’m having lots of fun making gifts this year, fun creative surprises, not so much selling aprons right now) the Apartment is a gathering spot. Klaus plays with his myriad toys while I sew or wrap and Handsome draws and paints. Adding a television to this big upstairs room means we can watch Christmas movies as we dabble. It’s all lots of fun, and I hope it becomes a habit that stretches beyond December.

Not pictured is the vacuum sweeper which Klaus is battling, causing him to appear blurry. He regards the Apartment as his playroom. He’s not wrong. xoxo

From a practical standpoint, it’s nice having all of our explosive creativity located in one big, spacious room. It’s decorated and cheerful here but still somewhat “contained,” haha, so the rest of the house stays neat day to day.

Running has been a joy, not a chore at all. Most mornings, right after Handsome leaves for the Commish, I make the bed and wipe down the kitchen, feed the animals, start a load of laundry, and then lace up. Six to eleven miles per day had been my sweet spot, but I am running without a plan this month. Just enough to feel good day to day and keep my heart beating evenly. I have done lots of crying in these solitary hours, and it’s a very good thing. Better runners and more prolific writers than me have already expressed how the physical act of running and breathing is like a mediation, and I will add to that: The privacy of prayer when you are outdoors surrounded by nature is just going to church, plain and simple.

Nice and slow and easy. Refreshing. On this day I remember having energy to spare but my heart was drawn back home. Lots of Christmas things happening!

Speaking of running! Yesterday evening we drove to OKC to join a few dozen local runners for dinner at Hideaway Pizza. Two of my friends plus more have some experience with the Hanson brothers’ marathon training method and have offered their mentorship to those of us who are new to it. I’ve read the book and have already become fascinated by the science, so listening to real life success stories just got my blood pumping for real. I will keep you guys posted on this, whether you want me to or not, ha! Marathon training starts on Christmas week.

Jeff and Robin are two people who have my admiration for many reasons, even outside of their incredible marathon journeys. They are buoyant, joyful, strong, and so loving and prayerful in genuine ways. (But yes for sure I stalk them both on social media for running inspiration!)

Our kitchen’s abundant baking drawer has been restocked now, minus pecans, almonds, and walnuts. Exactly when those items tripled in price I don’t know, but if you have an affordable local spot to suggest I’m all ears!

The Lazy W baking list is long and happy this month. Today a small stack of blank pizza boxes should arrive, meant for packing the treats as gifts. Very excited about this. Hopefully, I’ll soon be joined by a special sous chef or two.

Music is helping me a lot lately. Traditional hymns like “O Little Town of Bethlehem,” especially this line…

The hopes and fears of all the years
Are met in Thee tonight.

Also Sia’s album. One song in particular is Snowflake. She croons…

There’s noone like you so I’m gonna hide you my sweet.
Keep you till winter when you won’t be needing me.
Snowflake don’t forget us…
If I were a betting man I’d bet a million of you.
There’s no way around this, the only way now is through.

Friends, life is good and beautiful. Love is as powerful as ever. Prayer works.

I am here to celebrate the little victories and many pleasures afforded us, despite our mistakes and despite the fears looming. But I am also here asking for your prayers. Our beautiful girl is in trouble. We love her so much, it is excruciating, and no matter how busy we stay, she is at the forefront of our minds every minute of every day. She is far away but always in our hearts, often in my dreams, in the background of every conversation, every project.

God has taken so much out of our hands, we have no control right now. But He does. And we believe that He is drawing us in and holding us tight, guiding our beliefs and saying “Witness Me,” watch what He will do for us, for her.

That’s about all I can write this morning. It’s after six now and the roosters are crowing. Another full day is cracking open, and I feel God nearby. In Colorado, too.

Merry Christmassing, friends!
Talk again soon.
XOXOXOXO

 

early autumn, mid morning, deep bliss

The wooden deck is still damp from last night’s rainstorm. The surrounding gardens and lawns are soaked too, and newly vibrant. Single oak leaves and twigs with two or three leaves still attached litter everything, a cheerful seasonal confetti. A long, branching strand of Virgina Creeper clinging to the old brick smokehouse is autumn colored finally, boasting as much red and rust in its flat, serrated leaves as summertime’s leathery green. 

The oak trees are getting the same idea, finding their oranges and browns slowly in dots and splotches and fading, bleeding edges. Although many of those leaves won’t fall, it’s nice to see them change.

Midmorning sunlight cuts across the space, dissecting the shade garden and illuminating hydrangea blooms, both the violet, velvety ones and the dried, sepia colored ones. Faded zinnias are left in darkness.

He is lighting and stirring the bonfire now. Smoke from the torched, oily pine branches jets upward, and the cold sunlight plays games with that too.

I love the opposite temperatures. Chills and breezes crawling up my spine and flesh-shrinking heat on my face. Sunglasses do a poor job of shielding me from either the heat or the smoke. 

Some of the pansies and cabbages are still heavy from rain, still diamond studded. Their colors especially vivid. I cannot resist taking multiple snapshots of them. None of them are good. The real thing always shrugs off the imitations.

Ashes fall over us. Kittens scramble around new pallet decking. Logs crackle and collapse then pop again as the bonfire gains strength. 

All of this puts us somewhere between breakfast and lunchtime. Also somewhere between summer and fall. Not a day for working, no plans for extravagance. Just a good, deep breath of opposites and comfort and steady transformation.

XOXOXOXO