To Those of You Involved with Inman Middle School

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To Those of You Involved with Inman Middle School,

On Saturday I got my girls dressed and took them to see the middle school cheerleading competition. I was invited by my sister, who goes to the Bible study that your cheerleading coach, Tae Baker goes to too. Really with two under two I will take any excuse to get out of the house with another adult in tow.

I am so glad I did. The Inman girls were phenomenal. They did things that I did not know middle school girls were capable of. I could tell that somewhere along the way someone convinced them that they were capable of great things. I have coached other activities in the past, and I know that this is the hardest part of coaching, convincing the kids that they are capable of more than they are settling for. Pushing them to be even better than they knew they could be. Coach Baker managed to get the very best out of those girls.

The routine was great, and the execution was phenomenal, but that was not what I was thinking about the rest of the weekend. The moment that stayed with me this morning as I walked into the classroom that I teach in everyday, was the moment right after the music stopped. I was sitting at the top of the bleachers, and even from there I could see on Coach Baker’s face just how proud he was of his cheerleaders. They knew too. As soon as they could they mobbed him.

Those girls, in that moment, knew that they were capable of big things. They knew that they could do something of value. They knew that there was someone who wanted them to succeed, someone who was rooting for them. They were proud of themselves, and they were proud that they had made someone who cared about them proud. The bar was raised on what exactly was their very best.

I know that moment will stay with my some of those girls for a very long time. I still have some of mine from girlhood. There are so many pressures for these girls, to act a certain way, or be a certain thing. I watched a layer of protection from all of those pressures form over those girls on Saturday. “I am capable of big things, and Coach Baker thinks so too.”

I found out through a text message after I left the event, that the Inman cheerleaders took first place. I am not surprised. They earned it. But on Saturday, they took home so much more than that.  I am thankful that I was there to witness it. I know my girls are tiny, but my oldest already looks up to those Inman cheerleaders. I am proud she has chosen such good role models.

Sincerely,

Abby Norman

Let the Record Reflect

Aside

Let the Record Reflect: That Jill called me at 5 to 10 and no one was out of there PJ’s or showered. And I got the girls out of the house by 10:30. I was showered and everyone was dressed. And everyone was fed.

But Let the Record Omit: That the Peanut and I both had Girl Scout Cookies for breakfast and I did my hair and make up at the house we were headed to after we got there. Oh, and that the Peanut had last nights ketchup on her face until Aunt Jill wiped it off for us.

Jesus the Contractor?

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I read this blog post last friday. It is about building a castle. How the Lord comes in to our hearts and desires to build beautiful wonderful things out of our hearts and lives. But all we wanted was for him to fix the leaky roof to our humble cottage. I suppose I knew Jesus was a carpenter, but I never thought of him as a contractor before.

On Saturday we had women’s group and I mentioned the post. Jill said something along the lines of “Yeah, remodeling is inconvenient! Sometimes you have to do your dishes in the bathtub.” I can’t get the thought out of my head, that the remodeling of my life, of my heart, of my soul, is likely to be uncomfortable and inconvenient at times.

There are times when Christ brings in the sledge-hammer and proceeds to knock down walls that you had been told were holding the house up. It is scary watching the support walls in your life crumble, only to discover that they were not as necessary as you were told. Or that they were necessary, but He put up some sort of non-permanent solution until the whole thing is remodeled. It sometimes looks like your life will come slamming down right onto your head.

Or sometimes he moves things that have been in place for years. Jesus changes around the light switches in the house of your life, or turns the water off to a particular faucet. It is so hard to unlearn old habits and stop turning on faucets that have worked in the past. That water needs to be cut off so that we will stop using that faucet. But we still go back until we finally have a new normal.

Sometimes Christ comes in and tears down the back deck, and you are annoyed. You liked that back deck; you used it. Where exactly are you supposed to put the grill now? It is really annoying. Why would he just tear down something that was working? But then He puts in the screened in porch of your dreams. Of course the deck had to go.

But mostly, when people talk about the inconvenience of cooking for months on a hot plate and a microwave, or doing their dishes in the tub, or having a family of seven using only one bathroom for a year, they talk about how it will be worth it. They have seen the plans, or designed those plans themselves. And when this inconvenience is all over the house will be bigger, or better, or nicer. The mess will be cleaned up and the dishwasher will be re-installed. The frustration will be over and a beautiful home will be in its place.

I don’t know what the final product will look like. The Lord knows there is a LOT of remodeling to be done in my life. But I know and trust the contractor intimately. And I believe that His design will be worth it.

There is no shame

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No one ever told me how strange it would be, to see the things that I had been battling my whole life show up on the face of my daughter. Not yet two years from the day I had her, and already it happened.

The Peanut is a chatty one, and friendly as can be. She is especially friendly when she gets the sense that her parents like the person she is meeting. Our good friend Betsy recently moved back to Atlanta (forever, please). She was awesome enough to babysit on Valentines day and then this weekend she accompanied us to the farmers market. We were consistently mistaken as the two hottest lesbian moms in the place.

But before we left for the farmers market, the Peanut was showing off her new tricks by naming the people we pointed at. Mommy, check. Daddy, check. Rilla, check. She even informed us that Rilla also went by sister. But then we pointed at Betsy. She has said Betsy’s name before, which is pretty impressive considering the Peanut is not yet two and this was the second time she had met Betsy. But in that moment, she didn’t know it. And she looked for a long time at Betsy, then looked to the ground, crawled off Betsy’s lap, and walked over to her daddy, being cute.

I suppose I could be projecting on her, but somehow I don’t think so. She was embarrassed, ashamed that she could not remember someone’s name. Someone that mommy and daddy like.

In the past I have been easily shamed. I can remember verbal smacks from elementary school teachers that I didn’t even like. And to this day they burn. I used to spend hours at night reviewing in my head things that were said to me, things that I said, what I should have said, why that person said what they did. It was so much wasted time, wasted energy, wasted moments when I could be sleeping. For whatever reason, I could not let  those things simply roll off my back. I was embarrassed; sometimes I was ashamed.

It has taken me a long time to fully embrace the grace that Christ has to offer. To simply think “when you know better, you do better” and then go on about the business of attempting to do better. And even now, the people who are closest to me know that I am a serial apologizer. I say “sorry” for things that are not at all my fault. But I am working on it. I am doing better every day.

I don’t want my daughter to carry the that weight, the weight that I was carrying around for years. The weight that I now leave at the cross. I don’t want her to feel embarrassed or ashamed when she doesn’t know something or makes an honest mistake.

I want her to know that God’s grace isn’t just sufficient enough to cover our sins and squeak us barely in to heaven. It is abundant, and covers the rest when our best isn’t good enough. God’s grace is sufficient enough to take what you give Him and turn it into something beautiful. Even if what you give him isn’t the perfect right thing. It doesn’t have to be, just your best love. God thinks that is grand,

And I want her to know that we think her best is grand too. And all the people who love her, they think her best is perfect. Even when it isn’t good enough.

When community is hard

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Note- I cleared the sentiments in this post with Elizabeth before I wrote it. I will be referring to her kids using their first initial. I don’t want their future prom date to google them…only to find a story from when they were five!

I talk about sitter swapping, and the kids who we watch two days a week, and are with my kids multiple times a week a lot. And usually, I am gushing. The Lord put my family and the Grimes together very clearly, and I feel very lucky that I can have a full-time job and have my kids watched by their dad, and one of my closest friends.

But sometimes, it is hard. Sometimes the very last thing I want to do after I have dealt with teenagers all day, is wrangle the combined Griman clan of 5 children 6 and under. And lately, having S and the Peanut in the same vicinity results in some serious love/hate shrieking. Peanut talks about S every day, even if she doesn’t see him that day. And a couple of times she has told me from the back seat “S hit me!” …..when S is not riding in my car. No one can tell me those two aren’t siblings.

Sometimes we get our wires crossed and I get to Elizabeth’s and surprise, I am babysitting, or surprise she is. Whoops. Sometimes in the rush to get out of either house I don’t know what to feed the kids, or we don’t leave enough diapers, outfits, formula. Sometimes I would just rather not be at any house but mine.

It happens, and I think there are days that only the fact that either, or both parties are in a rush to get out the door keeps the harsh words from flowing. But one of the things that I love about our relationship, and one of the things that makes it work is that we always give each other the benefit of the doubt, and we try to say yes as much as possible.

It is a good thing that these rules are in place, because sometimes the selfish part of me wants to say NO just like the Peanut. Just because I want to. I felt like that on Monday. I just wanted to go home. Or even less mature (spiritually or otherwise) there are days when I decide I am keeping score and things are not fair. I conveniently forget the fact that she has mine 2.5 days a week while I only do two. Or the fact that because we are at her house we eat her food. It is an ugly little corner of my heart.

But this is the amazing thing about community when it isn’t convenient. God honors those commitments, He meets you there, right where you don’t want to be. If you can get over yourself long enough to stop griping, there are treasures just lying around on the floor for you to pick up.

I started singing with the kids, when they go to bed. Just All Night All Day or the Goodnight song on the Laurie Berkner CD we have. It has been about a month and on Monday, J asked me to leave the door open so he could hear me better. I could tell he felt loved by this. It was nice. And earlier that night, when I picked up the Rooster, M cried out “can I hold her?” and all the kids got in a line to hold my baby. They wanted to love on her too, and she loved it. And I loved it. I’ll tell you this right now, the first time Rooster gets picked on there will be multiple rescuers available. She is adored over there. And I am thankful the Peanut learned how to be a sibling with that bunch. Thick as thieves at the Griman house.

Sometimes it is as simple as this. I come home from a hard day only to have to babysit. It is hard and I threaten the spankin’ spoon no less than three times per child (including mine). They finally go to bed only to have each kid get up to go to the bathroom. When Christian gets home I am frazzled, plus I know I haven’t been the best parental figure that day. We don’t have our computers over there so the first time in a week we have nothing better to do but talk to each other. And I feel better. Or Elizabeth comes home and says thank you and means it.

The more people you have in your life, really truly in your life, the more people there are to bump in to each other and bruise egos. It isn’t all rainbows and butterflies, and singing kumbaya together. But the more my ego gets bumped around, the smaller it gets. The easier it is for me to get it out-of-the-way.

I am learning that this is how the Lord works. He doesn’t put me where I am most comfortable. He puts me where I need to be and molds my heart until I am comfortable there.

When good enough is good enough

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I never would say that I am a perfectionist. I never strived for perfect grades or was overwhelmed by wanting things to be just so. Heck, I probably should be a little more careful with my edits on this thing. (Lucky for me I have a truly supportive husband who goes back through and quietly corrects my spelling errors.) I thought I didn’t really deal with that.

Thought is the operative word there. When Rooster was still in the hospital we got some pictures of her done that were simply too perfect not to buy. I was sure I wouldn’t want them, but then I saw them. I know why some religions think a still image can capture a person’s soul. Then I looked back at Peanut’s new-born photos. I found the picture there that speaks to the fact that there are simply some things, beautiful things, that God creates in us from the very beginning. And these photos compliment each other in a way that I did not plan, just like those sisters that are in those photos.

So I bought frames and printed out these pictures. I had every intention of hanging them on the wall. But then, I just couldn’t find the perfect spot. I didn’t know the perfect place to hang these photos. So I waited, and bought another picture to hang with them, and waited some more. Until two weekends ago a half hour before people started coming to our house, I pulled the trigger and had Christian put them up. Even though the third thing I want hanging up is still in need of being printed out (but I did buy frames, so there is something). And you know what, it isn’t perfect, but I am glad it is up. It looks good, my wall in progress.

This past weekend was a pants-less weekend at our house. Not for me, just for the Peanut (Aside: If I ever have a band full of mom’s and dad’s I am naming it “Pants-less Weekend” like many aspects of parenting it sounds like more fun than it really is.) She has been talking about potties for a while now, and likes to watch other people go to the bathroom and give her commentary. Mostly “eeewww, yuck. all done. shut it, flush.” People always say that you have to potty train while the window of interest is open or else it is a nightmare. I have been worried that the Peanut is losing interest, so we spent Friday and Saturday hanging out watching movies and sitting on the potty in the living room while drinking juice. She did a good job for the most part, and even the accidents happened almost exclusively on places that are not carpeted.

But I was wanting perfection. I was hoping that we would remove her pants and she would immediately figure out how the whole thing worked and bam, my not yet two-year old is potty trained. It didn’t work out like that, and once Jill pointed out to me that perhaps my sights were set too high, it all got a whole lot easier.

Teaching is like that too. You will never be a perfect teacher; you can always do better. I am reminded of that every day as I teach ninth grade for the first time. It isn’t going to be perfect, it isn’t going to be as good as the tenth grade stuff I am teaching for the fifth time. But that doesn’t mean we should just sit in class and do nothing. We try it out; we work it out. Next year it will be better, but that doesn’t mean the kids now aren’t learning anything valuable.

I think we don’t come to Christ sometimes because we aren’t doing something perfectly. We are ashamed and frustrated that it isn’t perfect yet. Sometimes we won’t give him our writing, our school work, our prayer because we don’t think what we’ve got is perfect. But that isn’t what Christ is asking from us. He is asking us for what we have, and in Him our good enough is made perfect, what we were hoping for by withholding it.

To My Girls (You are getting SO BIG!)

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Dear Loves,

This semester mommy went back to work. You noticed but do not seem to mind. Rooster, you are with Elizabeth now two and a half days a week. You are the baby over there in a way your sister never was. You were anticipated not just by me and your dad, but by the whole hybrid Griman family. And while Peanut came over there wanting to play even-steven with Sean, you are happy to sit in whatever baby holder we plop you in and be coo-d at. You are the baby and everyone wants to take care of you.

Even when the other kids squeeze or pat you too long or too hard you don’t seem to mind.  When I am sure they are about to squeeze your last breath right out of you, you are looking at them patiently, “Are you done yet? Oh, not quite, that’s okay too. Keep squeezing.” When the kid who has begged to give you your bottle gets bored, and you end up with a bottle up your nose, nine times out of ten, you think the whole situation is hilarious and smile until an adult comes to rescue you. You never doubt that we will.

You sleep through the night sometimes now, and even when you don’t, no one is more annoyed than you that you are awake. We weaned this month. I don’t know if you were ready or not, but I was. I was having some guilt about the whole thing, but it is wonderful to get to look into your eyes when you eat.

When I look into your eyes, I see everything that already was. Me, my mother, her mother, and the many mothers before that. You hold all of them in those cloud grey eyes of yours. You know inherently, and your presence reminds me, that right here right now is exactly where we are supposed to be. It is you who best teach me how to simply be in this moment. The one God put us in together. I was once disappointed that your eyes did not turn brown quickly. Now I know I will be wistful when they finally do. My old soul, my ancient of days baby. There is a prophecy over your life that you bring change. I used to worry that this was too big a mantle to shoulder someone, especially my baby girl. But I know now that God designed you in a way that this change will not bother you. You already knew it was coming.

Peanut, every day when I get home from work, more of the baby has melted away and in its place is a little girl. You are so big, and so very independent. I look at you and realize how silly how much of my first time mom worrying was. You have grown hair (a mullet, but it is hair) that you like to wear in pigtails. Only Elizabeth knows how to put them in, but that does not stop you from handing rubber bands, turning around and pointing at your head. “This,” you say.

You walk and run just fine now, climb up and down the stairs. You are truly the funniest person I know. The other day you put on my red flats, your dad’s boxer like a sash, and stretched your sisters snowman hat over your head like a yarmulke. Just another day at the office I suppose. When we went to Target, you picked out your own shoes. You knew exactly which kicks were yours. Then later you brought me your socks and told me “shoes.” You howled with laughter. It was the best joke I had ever heard.

You have so many words that even strangers are starting to notice, and you pick so many up every day your dad cannot remember them all to tell me when I get home. You love songs and books and have opinions about when we should read and sing which ones. Last week I could not read the story to the other children at church because you insisted on attempting to read along with me.

When I look into your eyes, I see everything I could be, everything you could be, all the potential this world has to offer. It can overwhelm me until I realize it is right there, you are giving it to me, to everyone. You believe the best in us, me, your dad, Elizabeth. It is your gift, bringing light into this world.

You have come into your own as a big sister. You let us know when she is crying, and keep her entertained. You prefer doing life with a partner in crime. You like being your sisters favorite. And you are. I did not fully understand the hero-worship I had in my own heart toward my own big sisters until I saw the way Rooster looks at you.

I am so blessed to be your mom. My two peas in a pod, my yin-yang sisters. I am rich with the treasures you give me every day.

Love,

Mom

Cast off Your Chains

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Cast off your chains my friends, the ones that have been weighing you down. On the left wrist, the chain reads “try harder” on the right “do better.” Wrapped around both ankles is the chain of “you are not enough” it is held together with the links reading: should. I should be thinking this, feeling that, doing the other.

Should be spending less, should be giving more. You should have gotten to church on time and been more productive. You should be more, do more. You should get your act together. The shoulds link together wrap around your shoulders until you are stooped and shuffling along.

Some of these chains have been there so long, they feel as much a part of you as your arms. Some have snaked into your body and wrapped around your heart until it beats to the rhythm of the chain. Shouldshould, Shouldshould, Shouldshould.

Somehow, somewhere, someone taught you to wear these, maybe even wrapped the first one like a scarf gently around your neck. You are not enough, it read. But now you dress yourself in these chains every morning, some you even sleep in. Never take them off.

Someone may have even told you that Jesus wants you to carry these chains. They are a testament to Him, proof that you are faithful to your God. But these chains, these thoughts of inadequacy, these are not the things the Lord has for you. Jesus came to set you free from these chains.

Look closely, you will find the shackle on your wrist is unlocked. You do not in fact have to walk around today with the weight of trying harder and harder still. Let Jesus take that from you today. Allow Him to be enough…instead of you trying to be.

It may feel awkward, maybe even a little scary at first. New found freedom usually is. But soon you will realize, that without this chain, the one telling you to try harder, that your range of motion is extended. With Jesus holding the weight of that trying, you suddenly have the freedom to do just that.

Soon you will be dancing to the sound of those chains falling away. The sound of the clanking will cause your heart to dance with joy.

And your heart, oh your heart, it will recognize the freedom of the falling chain, reject the chain that snaked its way in. It will no longer beat Shouldshould Shouldshould. Instead it will beat Beloved Beloved. Because you are, just the way you are. No shoulds attached.

Notice Me

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I was sitting around a table the other day where we were talking about our church, how we could do it better. We got around to talking about visitors, what we were doing right, what we were doing wrong. A woman I have a deep respect for, she is just so genuine, started talking about her dentist’s office. I know, I thought it was a weird rabbit to chase at first too. But then she explained that everyone at her dentist’s office had been trained to be present. They were told to make eye contact, not multi task, be active listeners. This woman said she felt better leaving the dentist than she did leaving the spa. Wow. Sign me up for a teeth cleaning.

The other day a student was trying to tell me a story. At first I was listening, but then….I got distracted. I was passing out papers or looking through other papers, or collecting other papers (I teach english, I have a lot of papers.) Who knows what I was doing, but I wasn’t listening anymore. He lowered his voice and banged his hands on his desk. He looked at me and cried out “NOTICE ME!”

I suppose it wasn’t the most respectful thing to do. I am his teacher after all. And this is the south. Perhaps, “excuse me ma’am” would have been better. I guess that is why I like freshman. Both of us are sometimes missing a filter. “Notice Me.” He isn’t the most popular kid; some of his peers think he is kind of weird…so they ignore him. In that moment, that was what his heart was calling out for, please someone notice me. Hear me. Show me that I matter.

I have heard formerly homeless people say that worse than living on the streets, or eating garbage, is consistently being ignored. Having hundreds or even thousands of people walk by you and not one make eye contact makes you feel less than human. Confirms the fear that we all have that we don’t really matter.

Even the Peanut and Rooster are not immune to needing to be noticed. It seems to be something we are born with, not something we grow into. Sometimes the Peanut will shove her little face between me and my computer, put her hands on mine. “Hi!” She’ll say. Yes love, you are right. It is time to notice you. Even the Rooster, our little contented baby, will give you those two incredible dimples if you squeeze a toe and ask her how she is doing. “Oh wow” her face says, “Thanks for noticing me down here. I noticed you too, you are lovely.”

It is Valentine’s day. Here at the school I work, you couldn’t possibly miss it. A number of my kids are walking around with teddy bears or balloons. Some gifts were not from boyfriends or girlfriends. Some were simply from friends. Maybe it is silly or shallow that these things make them happy. But today they walk around with proof that someone thought of them, cared for them, noticed them.

We are half way through I Love My Neighbor month at church, where we agree to make a concerted effort to actively love those around us. I’ve baked cupcakes and invited people over. I’ve picked up coffee for a colleague. All of these things are the same. All of these things say, “Hey, I was thinking about you. I noticed you. I saw that you had this need or that want. I noticed that you exist and I think you matter.”

I think there is a little freshman boy in us all. Hopefully we smell better, but I think there is a piece of us crying out “Notice Me!” Read my blog, friend me on Facebook, tell me my shoes are cute! Please somebody notice me today. Sometimes I am so busy noticing myself, my phone, my computer, my needs that are not being met, that I don’t have time to notice anyone else.

But here is where I have found the beautiful paradox of the gospel. When I notice you, truly notice, there is a piece of my soul that is noticed too…that need of mine is lessened. We noticed each other.

The Littlest Disciples

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If you come to our church on any given sunday I hope you are not easily distracted. Or if you are, I hope you find our little distractions amusing. Because at my church, it is acceptable for the little ones to run up and down the aisles, dance in circles, crawl around on the floor, and generally giggle, coo and squeal for the sheer joy of it. Because at 1027 kids are allowed to worship as kids do. Messy and simple, but honest and pure. They sometimes bump into each other, the tiny bodies in the front, as they spin circles before the Lord. It causes a ruckus as they find their respective moms and get their little heads kissed. This is what happens when your worship leader once seriously considered being a kindergarten teacher. This behavior is accepted.

Not only is it accepted, but I know that when the Peanut has called out for “EIEIO” too loudly and too many times (I think she thinks that Jonathan takes requests) I know that his prayer will sound something like this. “Dear Lord, thank you for our children, thank you for their example to us, that they show us how to worship.” My worship leader believes Jesus when He says “let the little children come.” So he does. And they do.

As a parent it is sometimes hard. It would be easier for me if my kids would sit quietly hands in their laps. But that is not what my kids do. (Some kids seem content like this and that is okay too.) It is sometimes scary, taking people at their word and letting your kid be so kid-like in an enviroment that historically has been reserved for quiet reflection, reserved reverence. What if they are all talking about my naughty monkeys behind my back? Some one elses kid tossing a fit because they are not allowed to play the piano doesn’t bother me that much. Kids are kids after all. But mine? Terrible. Worst mom ever. Whose kid throws a fit in church. (mine does.)

Yesteday the Peanut was putting her hands in the air and spinning around on her tip-toes. I have seen this move a million times done by Elizabeth’s girl. She was runnning between peopled who loved her and squealing with glee on both ends. She was crawling around with her friend Josiah. She was worshiping with her church family by simply being a part of the body, and it took everything I had to not tell her to stop, because I was paranoid about what people thought.

Lately there have not been any 3 foot tall worship mobs running around up front. I don’t know if the kids grew tired of it, or if the parents were worried about it all being distracting, but I have heard people talking about the kids. My church family, they say “How come the kids don’t dance in front anymore?” and “I miss watching Marin dance before her Lord.” They say “It distracted me at first, but when I opened my heart, the Lord allowed me to see the kingdom there in front of my eyes every Sunday with the under 10 set.”

This week I had the privilege of sitting with some new comers. Two 5 year old boys, and a set of sisters 6 and 8. They behaved beautifully. I could tell that my new friends had been told that they were to conduct themselves in a church-appropriate manner and they did. This is good parenting, preparing your children for what is expected. But I could also see the glint in their eyes when I was bopping around with my babies and the way one little boy was carefully shuffling his feet and swinging his hips. He didn’t want to embarass his parents, but he longed to join our little dance party.

I don’t blame the parents. They have a lot on their plate lately, the effort it took to get themselves to church on Sunday was enormous. I was humbled that they would do all that, what I might not be willing to do, just to worship with us. I have been to churches where childhood exuberence is frowned upon. Jesus loves the little children who sit quietly next to their parents thank you very much. I wish his parents had been told ahead of time that kids being kids was okay with us. I pray that they come back soon and join the little mosh pit up front. It ministers to me. Jonathan taught me that.

Note: This post has been edited from the original version.