We lived in two apartments before we bought our first house. One before I was too small to remember, but the apartment I remember had two bedrooms. One large for Momma and Daddy and one medium-sized for two girls who were sisters and best friends. A small kitchen with a little counter-top window, perfect for talking with Momma while she flipped pancakes Sunday mornings. And the living room with that big TV and our cozy couches and the big pillow. In the evening, after dinner was done and lounging was done and baths were done, two little girls were tucked into bed. And in that lateness of the evening, although I didn't really know Him at all, didn't really know He knew me, I talked to Him because something told me He was there. No one had ever really told me. I just knew it. Knew by the way Grandma prayed in her old Baptist church and on her knees at night before bed and again on her knees mornings before work. Knew by the way my heart hurt a little when someone used His Name in vain. Knew by the way the world was turning- knew it couldn't all be by some miraculous accident. So I talked to Him. I remember what I'd say, "Now I lay me down to sleep, I pray the Lord my soul to keep, and if I should die before I wake, I pray the Lord my soul to take. And God bless everyone up in heaven and everyone down on earth. And God, this is Latrice Nicole Hall. Maybe you don't know me, but I live at 999 Wood Road, Apartment #208. Please keep Momma and Daddy and Meah and Me safe, alive and well. Thank you. Amen."
And I always thought that was our beginning. Always started my story right then. When people would ask, how did you come to know the Lord? I'd say, when I was a child, I prayed to Him. I didn't learn about Jesus till I was 15 and didn't commit my life to the pursuit of God till then, but I always knew He was there.
Funny thing, though, lately memories have been rushing my mind like a flood. Moments I haven't thought about in years gently rocking on the surface of the pool of mind memories. And I think, I think He's saying He knew me long long long before I ever even thought about knowing Him. I think He's saying He's always known me. Even before the bunk beds and the counter-top window. Before the apartment I don't even remember. Before I was too young to even make memories, He was making them with me. Funny to think he knows when I got my first tooth, how long it took to break up into the surface of my gums. Funny to think He laughed and looked on as I learned how these legs worked, and fell and rose and fell again. Funny and crazy and wonderfully comforting to know all the memories He holds of us, from before my own Momma felt me kicking inside her womb. From before my own Daddy held me and beheld my little face. Funny, thinking of all the memories on this Memory Monday, that God has of me.
No need to tell Him who you are, or where you live, or what you need. No need to remind Him of the things going on in your life as if He isn't aware. No need to accuse, like Peter in boat tossed by wind and waves, that God sees your circumstances but deoesn't care. He already knows. Knows you. Always has. Always has had memories of you that you don't even have. Funny to think of, and so wonderful, too.
And I think, maybe what He would love, too, is for us to remember Him. Always. Every day and in every way. Remember the memory giver and maker and holder and protector.
Monday, May 23, 2011
Sunday, May 22, 2011
I was right...
When I was pregnant with our first child, a friend of mine who has five of her own children, came over for a visit. She complimented the votives and decorating accents dotted around our humble home, and then commented that after the baby was born we wouldn't be able to have nice things. She then told a humorous story of how she once had owned a very nice pair of kitchen shears. One day when she needed them they could not be found anywhere. When she asked each of her five children where they were, not one could recall having ever seen them. Months went by and one day, out in her yard after the last snow of winter had melted, my friend saw her kitchen shears in the soggy green. She told me that this was how my life would be after the baby was born.
I, of course, in all my new mommy wisdom (ahem- naivety) assured her that this would not be happening in our household. I would, like a perfect housekeeper/mother, keep track of all of our belongings and no way would my child ever use something incorrectly or play with things I asked her not to.
Today, with a two year-old "helper" in the house, I cannot find:
1. my car keys
2. any of our flashlights
3. the cover to my ipod
4. half of my pairs of earrings
5. the TV remotes
6. my cell phone
7. the remote to our Mac
8. 3/4 the contents of my purse
9. the pack of batteries I just bought
10. and my chap stick
But, I know where my kitchen shears are. So I was totally right. Right?
I, of course, in all my new mommy wisdom (ahem- naivety) assured her that this would not be happening in our household. I would, like a perfect housekeeper/mother, keep track of all of our belongings and no way would my child ever use something incorrectly or play with things I asked her not to.
Today, with a two year-old "helper" in the house, I cannot find:
1. my car keys
2. any of our flashlights
3. the cover to my ipod
4. half of my pairs of earrings
5. the TV remotes
6. my cell phone
7. the remote to our Mac
8. 3/4 the contents of my purse
9. the pack of batteries I just bought
10. and my chap stick
But, I know where my kitchen shears are. So I was totally right. Right?
Friday, May 13, 2011
On this day, choose life.
Dead dandelions grow rampant in the front yard reminding me that we haven't yet done the work to kill those weeds. Windy day blows the seeds in winding patterns. Planting more of what we don't want. Why's the work so hard to kill that which we don't want? No effort at all to let it grow. But time, and sweat and planning and purchasing to flourish the green and kill the weed. Ah- so much like life inside here, too. No effort at all to let me live unchecked. Multiplying seeds of doubt or discontent or just something not really of Jesus. Words that knock down instead of build up. Thoughts that dishonor instead of glorify. Fears that leave no room for trust. Self image that leaves no space for grace. Deadly multiplying weeds that plant more and more unwanted hardships. Oh, foolish gardener to let weeds grow so far and let wind scatter bad seeds. I need to tend the soil.
Stop and listen. Read and pray. Sing and be silent. Soak Him in. My words can encourage when He's pouring out of me. My thoughts can be on things that are good and holy and pure when He's leading me there. My fears are diminished before His presence. My image is rooted in my Maker when I take time to ask Him to remind me why He made me, why He loves me. God- He loves me.
And my heart flourishes under that love. If I make myself available, He will tend the soil.
He's a nurturing God. Has a way of stopping the bad from multiplying. Has a way of producing a good crop instead. A good crop from my soil. But I have to be available for Him to tend to me. I have to do the work.
Stop for a moment to ask Him what you are here for. Ask why He made you.
You will hear Him say it's to know Him. And in knowing Him you have life.
Live today.
Stop and listen. Read and pray. Sing and be silent. Soak Him in. My words can encourage when He's pouring out of me. My thoughts can be on things that are good and holy and pure when He's leading me there. My fears are diminished before His presence. My image is rooted in my Maker when I take time to ask Him to remind me why He made me, why He loves me. God- He loves me.
And my heart flourishes under that love. If I make myself available, He will tend the soil.
He's a nurturing God. Has a way of stopping the bad from multiplying. Has a way of producing a good crop instead. A good crop from my soil. But I have to be available for Him to tend to me. I have to do the work.
Stop for a moment to ask Him what you are here for. Ask why He made you.
You will hear Him say it's to know Him. And in knowing Him you have life.
Live today.
Wednesday, May 4, 2011
Ninjas Beware!
Around 2:00 AM this morning, (only a few minutes after Reuben came to bed after ironing his clothes for work*), Reuben and I were very rudely awakened by a rather loud crash from the downstairs. I, of course, was terrified and Reuben quickly jumped out of bed to go and investigate. Remembering the hammer I left on top of the dresser a couple days earlier, I grabbed it and the telephone and crept into the upstairs hallway to listen for noise of a brawl downstairs. (Yeah, that's right, a brawl!) My heart was racing along with my thoughts as I pictured the gang of ruffians (I'm on a roll) that Reuben was facing off against. They, of course, were super sweet ninjas possessing advanced weapons of mass destruction. There were 12 of them and they could jump and freeze themselves in the air and Matrix themselves out of compromising positions. They worked-out 5 days a week and ate only fresh fruits and vegetables and absolutely NO processed foods. This could get ugly quickly.
It was only after several minutes of silence that I began to wonder if my mind had slightly exaggerated the situation. When Reuben returned to the upstairs this was confirmed. He reported that a pan placed precariously on top of another pan fell and made the noise. I listened as I watched him walk into the guest room and put something down.
"What was that?" I asked.
"The iron." He replied non-chalantly, returning the bedroom.
Following him, I asked, "What were you going to do with that?"
"I don't know. It was still hot and the corners are pointy."
Ninjas beware. If you enter this house we will hammer and iron you. You better just keep walking. You don't want none of this.
*I will not be judged on being a poor house wife! I did not know Reuben needed clothes ironed and if I had, I maybe, possibly, would have ironed them earlier. Besides, we needed that weapon to be hot still. :)
It was only after several minutes of silence that I began to wonder if my mind had slightly exaggerated the situation. When Reuben returned to the upstairs this was confirmed. He reported that a pan placed precariously on top of another pan fell and made the noise. I listened as I watched him walk into the guest room and put something down.
"What was that?" I asked.
"The iron." He replied non-chalantly, returning the bedroom.
Following him, I asked, "What were you going to do with that?"
"I don't know. It was still hot and the corners are pointy."
Ninjas beware. If you enter this house we will hammer and iron you. You better just keep walking. You don't want none of this.
*I will not be judged on being a poor house wife! I did not know Reuben needed clothes ironed and if I had, I maybe, possibly, would have ironed them earlier. Besides, we needed that weapon to be hot still. :)
Wednesday, April 27, 2011
Terrific Two's- Happy Birthday Naomi!
My little girl is two today. Two. I know all of the things that are said about this age. I've witnessed quite a few of these up close and personal. Not pretty. Despite the bumps in the "learning to be more independent and willful" road, however, I LOVE this age. Actually, I've loved every one of her ages and stages. I loved when she was a newborn and nestled into me for safety and protection. I loved when she learned to sit up and balance on her little cushy bottom. I loved when she learned to crawl and explore her world (putting absolutely everything into her mouth). I loved when she said her first word- yeah- it was "Mommy". I loved when she learned to walk on her chubby little legs. And I love this age as well.
She's growing, she's talking, she's learning so much! Shapes, letters, counting, colors. She's learning that Daddy is the best for games of tag and that her little brother loves it when she tickles him. She's learning that Mommy will laugh and beam when she breaks out into spontaneous song. She's learning that pizza tastes best dipped in ranch dressing and that she doesn't actually have to eat those peas on her plate, but that Mommy is going to keep trying to get her to anyway. She's learning that sometimes, no matter how many times she says please, the answer is still no, unless she's asking Nana and then the answer is almost always yes. She's learning that we thank God before dinner and after dinner and at night we pray on our knees because we are so grateful. She's learning that the time-out chair is really not that fun of a place to be but that this knowledge doesn't always keep her from doing what she needs to avoid it. And I hope, most of all, she's learning that she is so abundantly loved.
She's growing, she's talking, she's learning so much! Shapes, letters, counting, colors. She's learning that Daddy is the best for games of tag and that her little brother loves it when she tickles him. She's learning that Mommy will laugh and beam when she breaks out into spontaneous song. She's learning that pizza tastes best dipped in ranch dressing and that she doesn't actually have to eat those peas on her plate, but that Mommy is going to keep trying to get her to anyway. She's learning that sometimes, no matter how many times she says please, the answer is still no, unless she's asking Nana and then the answer is almost always yes. She's learning that we thank God before dinner and after dinner and at night we pray on our knees because we are so grateful. She's learning that the time-out chair is really not that fun of a place to be but that this knowledge doesn't always keep her from doing what she needs to avoid it. And I hope, most of all, she's learning that she is so abundantly loved.
Happy birthday to my precious girl! Looking forward to every moment I get with you in this year to come!
Monday, April 25, 2011
Sisters- A League of Their Own
I got a rare moment today to flip on the t.v. while both of my little ones napped at the same time. Apparently we are getting a free sample of movie channels because there they were, all inviting and stuff on this cold, rainy Monday. I flipped through them briefly and was elated to find "A League of Their Own" just starting!
If you haven't seen it, this movie is about the woman's baseball league started in the 40's when men were fighting in World War 2. I LOVE this movie. Love it. The athlete in me loves it. (Yes, for those who know me and find it hard to believe, I was once a basketball, softball and track team member.) The girly girl in me loves it. There's romance and dancing and missing far away husbands fighting in war. And, the sister in me loves it. Because, after all the baseball and the war stuff, the competition and conflict- this movie is about two sisters. Two wildly different sisters who love each other wildly and strongly and only in a way you can ever truly get if you are a woman and have a sister.
The climax of the movie is when the sisters' different teams meet in the World Series. The younger sister, who felt inferior to her more talented and beautiful older sister most of her life, hits the ball into the outfield, races the bases and ends up having to charge into her catcher sister (Gena Davis) in order to score to win the game. At this moment, Gena's character, who always, always catches the ball and makes the play, drops the ball and her sister scores and wins the game. It is left to be imagined if she actually dropped it on purpose, but I have always known she did.
When I was younger and saw this movie, I hated this moment. The competitive athlete in me knew that Gena Davis' character could easily have held the ball but chose to drop it so her sister could win. I didn't feel like I'd make the same choice. Relationships with loved ones can be mended- but come on! This was the World Series! You don't get that moment back!
Now, though? After the lessons I've learned, after the life I lived with my sister, after the difficulty of saying goodbye; now I see this movie in a different light. And I get why she did what she did. And I like to think that given the chance I would do the same.
Sisters really are a league of their own. Ask any woman who has a sister and whether that relationship is good or bad, she will most likely agree that her relationship with her sister affects her strongly. I was blessed to have an excellent relationship with my late sister, Meah, so much so that movies like this one, reduce me to tears now, because I miss her so deeply and I miss that relationship- a relationship that will never be replaced, no matter how many great girl friends I have. And we weren't perfect- we argued, we disagreed, and we could not have been more different. But, it doesn't really matter what views you agree or disagree on, or how far away you are, or when the last time you talked was. If you are sisters, there is some unwritten rule that you simply are there when you need to be. Always. Doesn't matter if the whole team is expecting you to hold the ball. Doesn't matter if it's the World Series or the Olympics. You just have to be there. That's what being in this League means.
I know too many people who have strained relationships with their sisters. I am praying, truly, often, that these relationships will be mended. I feel like it's a privilege to have been in this League, even for the short time I was. And if you're in this League- well, then, you're blessed my friend. And I hope you and your sister(s) are willing to drop the ball when it counts!
If you haven't seen it, this movie is about the woman's baseball league started in the 40's when men were fighting in World War 2. I LOVE this movie. Love it. The athlete in me loves it. (Yes, for those who know me and find it hard to believe, I was once a basketball, softball and track team member.) The girly girl in me loves it. There's romance and dancing and missing far away husbands fighting in war. And, the sister in me loves it. Because, after all the baseball and the war stuff, the competition and conflict- this movie is about two sisters. Two wildly different sisters who love each other wildly and strongly and only in a way you can ever truly get if you are a woman and have a sister.
The climax of the movie is when the sisters' different teams meet in the World Series. The younger sister, who felt inferior to her more talented and beautiful older sister most of her life, hits the ball into the outfield, races the bases and ends up having to charge into her catcher sister (Gena Davis) in order to score to win the game. At this moment, Gena's character, who always, always catches the ball and makes the play, drops the ball and her sister scores and wins the game. It is left to be imagined if she actually dropped it on purpose, but I have always known she did.
When I was younger and saw this movie, I hated this moment. The competitive athlete in me knew that Gena Davis' character could easily have held the ball but chose to drop it so her sister could win. I didn't feel like I'd make the same choice. Relationships with loved ones can be mended- but come on! This was the World Series! You don't get that moment back!
Now, though? After the lessons I've learned, after the life I lived with my sister, after the difficulty of saying goodbye; now I see this movie in a different light. And I get why she did what she did. And I like to think that given the chance I would do the same.
Sisters really are a league of their own. Ask any woman who has a sister and whether that relationship is good or bad, she will most likely agree that her relationship with her sister affects her strongly. I was blessed to have an excellent relationship with my late sister, Meah, so much so that movies like this one, reduce me to tears now, because I miss her so deeply and I miss that relationship- a relationship that will never be replaced, no matter how many great girl friends I have. And we weren't perfect- we argued, we disagreed, and we could not have been more different. But, it doesn't really matter what views you agree or disagree on, or how far away you are, or when the last time you talked was. If you are sisters, there is some unwritten rule that you simply are there when you need to be. Always. Doesn't matter if the whole team is expecting you to hold the ball. Doesn't matter if it's the World Series or the Olympics. You just have to be there. That's what being in this League means.
I know too many people who have strained relationships with their sisters. I am praying, truly, often, that these relationships will be mended. I feel like it's a privilege to have been in this League, even for the short time I was. And if you're in this League- well, then, you're blessed my friend. And I hope you and your sister(s) are willing to drop the ball when it counts!
Monday, April 11, 2011
Vase of Thanks
I read the book and wanted it to change me. Instantly- a person with grateful attitude. But I am slow to learn and quick to lean on my old ways. So when the dishes pile and the toddler wakes at 4:00 am and my husband disappoints and I disappoint I am not thankful. Not grateful. Instead I grumble and complain and pity myself and worry too much.
I am trying.
Today I read her blog and try again. Ignore the dishes and instead grab a plastic red art caddy and empty it of the crayons and glue. Write the word "Eucharisteo" (give thanks) on paper and tape it on. I wish my handwriting were better but I feel glad anyway. Glad at the step I am taking again. Glad to keep trying. And the infant watches as I cut papers into various sizes of various colors and fill the caddy. Then I plop in some pens, too. He smiles like he understands when I explain this will help us give thanks. I smile back and feel thankful for him right to my bones.
I place the caddy on the dining room table and fight the feeling of doubt that this will be another failed attempt. I am hopeful. The rest of the day I am hopeful.
When we sit down to dinner, my husband, the kids, my mom and I all joined around a table, talking and laughing and eating, I hesitate, then plunge in and explain the "Eucharisteo" caddy.
"I thought, "I explain, "I thought that after dinner we could each write down some things we are thankful for and then put the papers..." I hadn't thought that far, but suddenly I decide they would look nice in a vase. A vase of thanks. So I grab a large vase, too large for most of the flowers that make their way into our home but maybe the right size to hold our thanks for a little while. I place it on the table next to the caddy and feel great.
I am trying.
Reuben loves the idea and mom does, too. So after dinner we write our thanks and Naomi colors hers and we sit quiet for a minute until it's time to say them. Then around the table verbal thanks flows.
"For my family."
"The red tulips in the front yard."
"My job."
"Fresh fruits and vegetables."
"My health."
"Food to eat."
"Our tree in full spring bloom."
And I feel it. That joy rising up within me. This talk is more full, more fulfilling than our typical how was your day? Guess what my boss did? What's for dinner tomorrow? This talk was joy talk because giving thanks gives joy. And I feel it again. That feeling, deep in my bones. And I want to cry it out- "Let me learn it, Lord! Let me learn it now!" I don't want to grumble and complain and pity and worry. I want to give thanks. Receive joy. Live alive. And full.
I am trying.
And I see them there. Little pieces of thanks in a vase looking out. And me looking in on our thanks. Wondering how many papers I can fill tomorrow.
I am trying.
Today I read her blog and try again. Ignore the dishes and instead grab a plastic red art caddy and empty it of the crayons and glue. Write the word "Eucharisteo" (give thanks) on paper and tape it on. I wish my handwriting were better but I feel glad anyway. Glad at the step I am taking again. Glad to keep trying. And the infant watches as I cut papers into various sizes of various colors and fill the caddy. Then I plop in some pens, too. He smiles like he understands when I explain this will help us give thanks. I smile back and feel thankful for him right to my bones.
I place the caddy on the dining room table and fight the feeling of doubt that this will be another failed attempt. I am hopeful. The rest of the day I am hopeful.
When we sit down to dinner, my husband, the kids, my mom and I all joined around a table, talking and laughing and eating, I hesitate, then plunge in and explain the "Eucharisteo" caddy.
"I thought, "I explain, "I thought that after dinner we could each write down some things we are thankful for and then put the papers..." I hadn't thought that far, but suddenly I decide they would look nice in a vase. A vase of thanks. So I grab a large vase, too large for most of the flowers that make their way into our home but maybe the right size to hold our thanks for a little while. I place it on the table next to the caddy and feel great.
I am trying.
Reuben loves the idea and mom does, too. So after dinner we write our thanks and Naomi colors hers and we sit quiet for a minute until it's time to say them. Then around the table verbal thanks flows.
"For my family."
"The red tulips in the front yard."
"My job."
"Fresh fruits and vegetables."
"My health."
"Food to eat."
"Our tree in full spring bloom."
And I feel it. That joy rising up within me. This talk is more full, more fulfilling than our typical how was your day? Guess what my boss did? What's for dinner tomorrow? This talk was joy talk because giving thanks gives joy. And I feel it again. That feeling, deep in my bones. And I want to cry it out- "Let me learn it, Lord! Let me learn it now!" I don't want to grumble and complain and pity and worry. I want to give thanks. Receive joy. Live alive. And full.
I am trying.
And I see them there. Little pieces of thanks in a vase looking out. And me looking in on our thanks. Wondering how many papers I can fill tomorrow.
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