I have watched as the people I love dearly wade back into the muck of waters that are familiar. I have watched as the students I poured into pass around the cup of sludge and drink liberally, smiling as though their thirst has been quenched, and maybe it has….for the moment. I wonder why they are settling for the dirty water of their peers. I wish that I could tear the cup from their hand, throw them over my shoulder, rush them to the clear and flowing river and shove their heads into the streams until they have no choice but to open their mouths. I wish that I could pump their stomach, force the poison out, make sure their blood runs hydrated and clean. But isn’t there a saying about all of that, about leading the horse but not forcing the drink.

I know I’m not supposed to…but I would force it if I could. Plug their nose till their mouth opened. Bribe them to drink the living water.

As I stand in the hall with my school spirit wear, I better understand the prophets in the bible. The ones who wore animal skins and ate bugs. Maybe if I started acting crazy, a few more people would turn their heads. From the depths of my soul I want to cry out, STOP! DON’T DO IT! THERE IS A BETTER WAY! I want to drown them in this living water of mine.

But waterboarding is not merciful. And living water if brimming with mercy. Living water that is forced down throats and up noses, it isn’t living water at all. Living water that is injected with sugar, so it will go down easy: it isn’t living water either. Somewhere along the way it loses its living quality and sits heavily in stomachs making people sick. The forcefulness, the anger, the righteous indignation. I infect the living water with those things….and it dies.

So I will continue my trek to and from the well, until my feet make a path that is easy to follow. I will bring buckets full and pass it out. I will guard against adding my own agenda, and I will invite you to drink.

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I pray for my girl to be generous…………and get mad when she shares her lunch with the dog

I pray for my daughter to be bold, to question authority………….and am frustrated when she practices by questioning mine.

I recieve the word that she will bring change…………and am shocked by her fascination with the remote control and the button on the computer that brings the screen back. Can’t you just leave well enough alone? No, she can’t. This one brings change.

I want them to be strong self advocates……….and am annoyed by them asking for the one they really want rather than the one I gave them.

I have so many big dreams for my two girls, I pray big prayers over them as I pretend I am simply brushing the hair out of their eyes. I love them with a depth that brings me this much closer to God.

But it is exhausting, this raising strong daughters business. Everything you are hoping for when they are 18 and out of your house….. it is so hard to manage some days when they can’t even pee by themselves.

When I first started at 1027 church, I was still pretty sick. Fibromyalgia was still an everyday part of my existence, I was still waiting on the healing that would come. Back then we met on Sunday nights. We were splitting a space with a morning church, and were even small enough to all have dinner occasionally. Nights worked better for me too. Often I would wake up feeling rough, but 4-8 was always my “feel good window.”

When we moved into the middle school we worship at now, we also switched to the traditional Sunday mornings. I wasn’t thrilled. I knew the reality of this switch, I was either going to have to miss more Sundays, or make it work for me.

On especially painful days I would show up to church, dirty hair in a ponytail, high school speech sweatshirt on. I would be wearing flip-flops, or no shoes at all. The pressure was too much on my feet, and I would be carrying my yoga mat. I couldn’t fit my broken body into the movie theatre style chairs. Christian would sit in the aisles and I would roll out my space on the floor.

I was affirmed that I was in the right place when my pastor commented on my strange habit a few months later. He thanked me. He told me he liked what it communicated. Said it lent authentication to that “all are welcome” thing. Even the weirdo who sits on the floor, please feel free to be who you are.

I stopped sitting on the floor when I was healed. But lately, I have picked back up the habit. It is easier to wrangle the Peanut and Rooster on the floor in the aisle than in the rows of seats. Some other mothers have joined me, and there is an impromptu play group most Sundays on the left hand side during worship. This way the Peanut has more room to spin, hands in the air. This is the way she prefers to worship. Sometimes the Rooster and I hear the message from our little space on the carpet.

Sunday the girls were particularly docile (you are not as surprised as I am) and I didn’t really need to sit on the floor. But I did it anyway, found a place on that now familiar carpet. It turns out, I am now more comfortable there.

I think that this is what the upside down kingdom that Jesus was always talking about looks like, this space on the floor. Everyone is invited, there aren’t so many rules (mostly just be gentle and kind) there isn’t even a direction you are supposed to face. It is messy, but joyful. It can feel confusing. It isn’t at all about me.

Sitting on the floor rocking my oldest up and down. “Not this way mommy” if I try side to side. I could look up and see my sister holding her name sake. A testament to the healing power of Jesus in our relationship. Oh, how He loves us….oh, how he loves us…oh. And I am more comfortable on the floor. I am more comfortable where everyone is invited, feel constrained and awkward in the space I used to covet, I don’t want to fit in the places where everyone doesn’t fit. Let’s all just hang out on the floor.

When I first moved to Atlanta, we knew exactly one person here. She managed to secure jobs for both of us. She lived on faith street in an up and coming part of town. She rented the house mostly because she wanted to wake up every day living on faith. She believes in signs. She told me we needed to move to the East side, that we would fit right in there. I told her I would think about it but secretly planned on staying in the part of town our first apartment was in. She was wrong. But I liked the idea of living on Faith and when we were ready to look I searched for houses on Faith street.

She is back in town and those who have known us both in our previous lives are surprised we have struck such a deep friendship. (Both of us are a touch offended by this, wondering what someone must think about me to believe I could not be friends with her.)

She moved back into the town that she claims as home (we have that in common too, our deep love for this city) to finish her dissertation about saving the world through sustainable farming. Now that she is a doctor of saving the world, she is looking for a job, but it isn’t everyday someone is hiring a superhero.

We had the opportunity to hang out on Saturday. She helped me baby wrangle at the Decatur Book Festival. You know you have a solid gold friend when she willingly escorts your shirtless toddler through a busy restaurant to clean up a dirty diaper….and doesn’t even mention to you that there weren’t any wet wipes in the diaper bag.

On our way home the kids fell asleep in the back and we had a heart to heart in the car. “It is just that grace is so heavy sometimes.” She spoke through grateful tears. It is funny how grace works. Her burden feels light in my arms, my burden lifts her spirits. We both cried grateful tired tears, because sometimes this life is hard…..and sometimes it is enough for just one other person to understand.

I’ve been resenting my burden a little bit here recently. I feel like I filled my plate too full, but at the same time with just the things I am called to. I may have taken a tone with God once or twice this weekend. “This is your light burden? What is your heavy one? Sheesh, I feel like I am being crushed under here!” I warned my first period this morning that I was in a foul mood. It was just all too much when you factored in the traffic and the weather and the meeting I was late and how people in this city I love CAN’T FREAKING DRIVE IN THE RAIN!

I checked the schedule because I couldn’t even remember what we were doing. And I am supposed to be in charge. Suddenly it all fell into place. My favorite literary device with my favorite story. It was the full Mrs. Norman experience by the time my principal walked in with his silk tie and his friend in a fancy suit. It turns out an elimination round at the national college speech tournament is better preparation than four years of a teaching program. I had those kids in the palm of my hand (even the ones who insist they are too cool for all of this) and the principal noticed. I got a serious pat on the back at lunch.

These days my family has doubled. We are living on the east side of town. My friend was right, we do belong here. I live on a street with a name that befits all the older black ladies that have become my neighbors. But right now I am living on faith. It is hard sometimes, and sometimes I can’t even manage to put one foot in front of the other without tears. I don’t want to sugar coat my place right now. Not every moment in my life ends with my boss telling me I do a good job. At 3:30 I am still left wondering how in the world I will make it until 10:30 when Christian gets home….

But this is what I am learning, from that friend who is still living on faith (just not the street). One foot in front of the other and the road meets you. Sometimes crying about it with a friend is just what you need. If you share your burdens with the people God gives you…it lightens the load for everyone.

Dear Rooster Head,

You are about to turn one and I can hardly believe it. A year ago this weekend I was headed into the hospital, sure I would be coming home with a baby in my arms. I returned home, you still firmly in my belly. Even contractions didn’t phase you.

As we head into your first birthday I have been thinking about how we should mark this first year. As cliche as it may be I want my girls to grow up in a better world, a place that is just a little more just. I want it to be a better place because you are here.

I want to empower you. I want you to understand that your life can make a difference, write into your story hope and generosity. I want to give you, my daughter, a prophetic act that matches the prophetic word I received for you before you left the womb. This one brings change. Change.

Love, this makes me nervous on days I am not fully committing to the Lord. How, God, can you expect this tiny being to bring change? People, (including your mother) often cry out for change, but are unwilling to change ourselves. Change can bring so many beautiful things, more justice, more mercy, more peace. At its very best change brings more Jesus. But sometimes it can bring resentment, frustration, contempt. I want to protect you from those things, even when I know that perhaps that is not my job.

No, my job is to teach you about you and your God. About the change He can bring in our hearts, and how that change can be reflected into the world we live in. About how He wants to do a beautiful work in each of us, but especially you. About how God can multiply a work, if you are willing to hand it over. I want to help with that work in you.

So little Rooster, on your first birthday, I am giving your day away. I am asking, for you, that people not buy you anything. No pretty dresses, no adorable plush toys, no toys that light up and whistle. No,  instead I am asking that they make a donation to Charity Water’s September campaign. (Mommy wanted you to come in August, but alas you refused. Perhaps you did know better.)

The work that is being done in Rwanda is incredible. It proves the gospel: that forgiveness breeds redemption, that there is no such thing as too far from God, that love is always the right choice. More than I want fun new toys and pretty new clothes, I want you to be a part of what God is doing. I want to give you just a little piece of this great work.

I have been wrestling with some big things this first year of yours. Wealth and privilege, power and responsibility. I have come to the conclusion that the gospel says this: take what you have, and give it away.

Our goal is $365. One dollar for each day of your little life. Rooster, that is enough to give 5 people clean drinking water for the rest of their lives. God can take your one little year….and forever change the lives of 5 people in Rwanda. I want that for you. I want you to be a part of it.

I believe in you, Love. I believe in your capacity to bring change. I am so lucky to be a part of it.

Love, Your crazy mom

If you would like to contribute to the Roosters first birthday campaign click here.