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Putting the Margins Back into Life, One Latte at a Time

See this latte? If you’re a coffee drinker, it looks awesome, right? Very inviting. Foamy. Caramel drizzle. Love in a cup, no?

See the mess behind it?

I’m going to let you in on a little secret: I left it in the picture on purpose. Because lately, that’s just how I roll.

This little story is about more than a steaming vanilla latte on my counter waiting for me.

It’s about mess.

It’s about rest.

It’s about life with no margins versus life with margins.

As a book author, just days away from Not Just on Sundays hitting the public, I am learning a lot about margins. For formatting reasons, I have to have inside and outside margins, so that there is room for the paper to be cut as needed to make a neat, perfect 6 x 9 book. I also need a gutter margin so that there is space in the binding; when someone opens the book, he/she doesn’t want to try to read my words sinking deep into the middle. Needless to say, without margins, books are an epic fail, a mess. They need clear boundaries: distinct “start” and “stop” places for the words. Even the headers and footers need space in-between themselves and the main text. Otherwise, everything lacks clarity.

It turns out life is that way as well. It needs margins. If I plan back-to-back events with my kids, there is no driving time, no accounting for traffic delays, no time set aside to eat. If I overplan our schedules, I can’t pick three kids up from different locations at the same time. Likewise, if they don’t have any time outside of school, cross country, dance, marching band, and karate, they will not be able to do homework, to get rest, to unwind, to restore themselves.

As it turns out, I can’t publish a book and keep my house clean and meet every need in the kids and finish important conversations and remember people’s birthdays and return phone calls within respectful amounts of time and grocery shop. Nope.

For a while, I was putting pressure on myself that I could do all of those things well. Not long after, I quickly swirled into a tunnel of not only can I not do them, but I suddenly couldn’t remember to stop to take my vitamins, shower, read, eat regular meals, etc.

I started living life without margins.

And, like the text of a poorly formatted book, I bled into the margins.

Publishing term for you. Bleed (blēd) (n.) Text or graphics that extends all the way to the edge of the paper it is printed on. Bleeds are used in publishing for graphical effect and for printed tabs. Most printers cannot print all the way to the edge of the paper, so the only way to produce a bleed is to print on paper larger than the final page size and then trim the paper. (v.) To run to the edge of the paper, thereby producing a bleed.

What did living without margins do?

It bled into my relationships (no time to meet).

It bled into parenting and marriage (a lack of patience).

It bled into my sleep patterns (a screen right before bed and a 1:30 AM bedtime).

It bled into my health (one should get regular rest, meals, exercise).

It bled into my prayer life (quickly zapped-off prayers instead of more time listening to Him and dialoging as if we were at coffee together).

But unlike the cover art of a book that is supposed to bleed over the edges for printing purposes, the text of my life was spilling out of the margins. Text needs con-text. And the con-text of my life was living, breathing, eating time up in blog-writing, book pre-launch and launch, and publishing. There was no margin in my context.

So, the latte on my counter? The one with the trash behind it? Today that is my built-in margin. I’m trying to get them back, one edge at a time. The countertop can remain messy for a few days. I’m not superwoman, after all. The laundry is probably not going to make it upstairs, but it’s folded to be pulled out of the basket. The book will be published. It’s just a matter of days now, hopefully.

But I need to get my edges with a little wiggle room again. Otherwise, I’m, well—edgy. And that’s not only not fun to be with, but it’s a hectic way to live…on the edge.

Margins in books are boundaries for the eye to know where to read without too much busy. They are how the mind sorts out headers and footers, but the printer needs the area also to keep the edges clear for paper being cut without taking text with it. I don’t want to have my text removed—either in my book or my life. Without margins, something gets cut out. It has to. We can only do so much.

Margins in life are boundaries too. They are healthy spaces where we are just still. Where we don’t have something scheduled. Where we have down time. Where we say “no” so we don’t lose our context—or the “text” of who we are.

Today the latte mug sits on the counter, happy to be accompanied by trash that will eventually be thrown out. It represents a choice to respect myself and others around me enough to insert margins again.

Is anyone else also needing some?

I want a “rebuke the wind and waves” of life kind of moment. I want to find “completely calm” again in-between the frenzy. Who’s with me?

Mark 4:39, Apostle John-Mark narrating

He [Jesus] got up, rebuked the wind and said to the waves, “Quiet! Be still!” Then the wind died down and it was completely calm.

Psalm 131:1-2, David speaking

My heart is not proud, O LORD, my eyes are not haughty; I do not concern myself with great matters or things too wonderful for me. But I have stilled and quieted my soul; like a weaned child with its mother, like a weaned child is my soul within me.

*Update since this post was written: Not Just on Sundays: Seeking God’s Purpose in Each New Day published October 1, 2014. It is available in paperback and as an ebook.

This post has been shared with Christian Mommy Blogger, Blessing Counters, and Tell His Story.

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Posted by Bonnie Lyn Smith on September 23, 2014 in Dance/Karate/Robotics/Band/Basketball/XC Mom, Drawing Healthy Boundaries, Lotsa Latte

Tags: boundaries, busyness, culture of busy, edgy, gutter margin, latte, margin, Mark 4:39, psalm 131:1-2, publishing bleeds, stress

When People Don’t Need to Hear About Your Honors Student

22 Sep

I seem to always be behind a car with a “My Kid Is an Honor Student at Blah-Blah-Blah School” sticker.

Is that wrong? No.

Should we celebrate and let our kids know we are proud of them? Yes.

Is it any different than a sticker with a dancer, lacrosse player, football player, cheerleader, or martial artist? Well, that depends.

It’s not really about the sticker.

It’s about knowing our audience. It’s okay to share our joys, delights, pride, and happiness about our kids’ achievements, successes, and talents with close friends and family who also enjoy seeing our children thrive, but I firmly believe we need to be sensitive with whom we share those things.

I have honors students in my house, too. I fully understand the enthusiasm. I occasionally post about one of my kids’ successes or achievements on my private wall of social media. I also enjoy reading about the amazing talents among my extended family and friends. It’s fun to follow that. I also love seeing people rise above struggles, challenges, and handicaps. I’m not at all condemning us for encouraging our kids, celebrating, or even being happy for them.

The following scenarios are fictional and do not reflect my not-at-all-perfect life. They are hypothetical and are not based on real people or situations in my life. But I think it’s helpful to drive home a point. I hope you can hang in there with me… Read the rest of this entry »

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Posted by Bonnie Lyn Smith on September 22, 2014 in ADHD, Grace in Big Gulps, Tweens/Children

Tags: 1 thessalonians 5, ADHD, brag fest, braggy bumper stickers, galatians 6, honors student, hurting hearts, sensitivity

What’s Really Behind the Things That Drive Us Nuts? [Excerpt]

20 Sep

Today, Espressos of Faith offers a fifth excerpt from Not Just on Sundays, due out this month. The book often features the smaller moments of life and what they can teach us if we zoom in to see what might really be going on—how God can be showing us something huge in the ordinary of the day.

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Not giving a creative person the time, space, and materials to do his “art” is like slowly starving him from the inside out. I am trying to find that balance, and I am learning from my youngest guy. His hands are not the strongest, and his fine motor skills need to develop and be refined, but he sees himself as an artist as he shapes Amazon.com boxes with endless materials to create amazing treasures. I have to remember that although all of the assorted scraps I call “trash” (like Dum Dum wrappers) get under my skin after a while—when he stocks them up like a squirrel—he sees future masterpieces. What I like to think I see in words, he sees in everyday stuff around him.

Okay, Little Man, if you need a card table in the family room with endless junk on it and a used mailing box—and that keeps you from begging for more screen time—then have at it, Child! Can’t wait to see what you make. Maybe we should sell a few of those items at our lemonade stand this summer to afford storage for your recycling, er, I mean art studio.

That was a lovely story, wasn’t it?

I wish I could say my perspective looks that delightful and calm all of the time.

It doesn’t.

I occasionally rage. But it is an area I am turning over to God so He can help me find a way to bless instead of speak labels onto my children.

I’m not a big fan of any label. The label “ADHD” may help a child get the help he needs on an IEP, and within the context of a school system, that may be entirely appropriate and helpful, but I do not want to look at any of my children as limited by their weaknesses.

I don’t want to say: “You forever will have attention issues.”

I want to say: “It will be awesome to see how God uses all that phenomenal energy for creative works to bring Him honor someday and help people!”

But this takes daily praying through what may perplex me or drive me nuts and asking God for words that cancel out the:

“You never wills,”
“You always,”
“You have to stop XYZ-ings”

that our kids hear every day.

Some of it is necessary. A lot of it is not. Here’s what it looks like when I ask my Father in heaven to give me words. (I won’t taint your minds with what it looks and sounds like when I don’t. You’re welcome.)

I was challenged this past weekend to speak to my kids more about their God-given gifts and abilities, how the Lord is shaping their hearts, and whom I see them growing to be. It builds on some of what I have already been doing, but I love saying:

“______, you have been given a tremendous heart for others, tender toward people and all of God’s creatures. You are sensitive to the hurts in others and respond with great compassion.”

Or “______, you have been given a warrior spirit to stand up for injustice and speak His Truth when He calls you to it.”

Or “________, you have a kind, gentle heart that speaks quiet strength, safety, and protection. You lead softly, with delightful humor and deep thought. You know His Word inside and out, and now may it go from your head to soak deeply into your heart.”

And, really, what’s actually behind the things that get under our skin is simply that: our own skin. We are just as annoying and frustrating at times. But we’re adults and have more authority to misuse or mishandle.

Or to bless.

James 3:9-12, James, brother of Jesus, speaking

With the tongue we praise our Lord and Father, and with it we curse men, who have been made in God’s likeness. Out of the same mouth come praise and cursing. My brothers, this should not be. Can both fresh water and salt water flow from the same spring? My brothers, can a fig tree bear olives, or a grapevine bear figs? Neither can a salt spring produce fresh water.

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Posted by Bonnie Lyn Smith on September 20, 2014 in Journey to Publication: Excerpts from "Not Just on Sundays"

Tags: ADHD, bless, blessing, iep, james 3:9-12, labeling children, praise and cursing, salt spring produce fresh water

When the Fight Is On: Choosing to Not Get in the Ring

19 Sep

This essay was originally called “Roots of Bitterness, Explosions of Shame,” and it would have been somewhat satisfying, I suppose, to tell it from only one perspective—mine. But after writing it initially to process my horror at this scenario, I decided to look at it from the viewpoint of any of us when we don’t understand grace. Because when we don’t understand or practice grace, or even when we don’t have it for ourselves, bitterness rises up like a vine climbing that tall oak in the backyard. And then all of a sudden, it chokes us, or something sets it aflame. I wrote this to look for the lessons in it. Where can I do better? Where do I get caught up in similar unnecessary anger? Where can I “step out of the ring,” so to speak.

A while back, in a very public setting, I had someone approach me very angrily when a boundary was drawn for her. It was someone I had known, marginally, for years. I’m guessing, based on the irrational and very scary level of her rage, she has trained most people in her life to never draw boundaries that she has to observe. Then she met me, and unfortunately, I’m a hyper-boundary-draw-er. And while I didn’t walk in that afternoon with any angry feelings toward her, she must have thought that I did, or clearly she wouldn’t have spent her week wasting her time planning to ambush me. She’s no different from so many of us, except she let it get to a boiling point.

Really, if we’re honest, how many times do we all waste time with stressed-out, one-sided, furious, imaginary conversations in our heads when we think there’s a major issue—but there really isn’t one?

Seeing how ramped-up she was, there was no good reason to engage in conversation at that moment other than to shut it down before it escalated. Nothing good would be accomplished by me letting her vent like that. She needed to calm down and find a better way to approach me. Then I would have listened. I hope I can show honor and respect toward others even when I disagree with them; I hope I always give them a chance. After I managed to get out to an area where there were more people, she continued to get in my face and insist on setting me straight. I offered to leave if that would be helpful in stopping the toxic rant. After a while, in front of several others, she backed down. Phew!

The entire thing shook me to the core. So I had to dig deep and ask myself:

What about me incites such wrath?

What the issue was? Minor and irrelevant.

Isn’t it always the dumb, insignificant things that set off sparks between people, that light the flame?

What freaked me out in this experience? That this woman unleashed four years of hatred, misunderstanding, insecurities, and self-justification onto me in just a few minutes over something so incredibly minor. She had built up so many wrong assumptions about me based on gossip, without fact-checking.

But she is not alone.

Really, if we think about it: How many of us do that daily? If I’m honest, I do it at times. And it struck me not only in terms of searching my own soul as to what about me provoked such emotion, but it also forced me to reflect:

Where am I holding on tightly to dislike of and bitterness toward someone else?

Despite how very hard it was to climb over the wall of self-pride, I made myself pray and asked God to show me the two sides of the coin. I spent many a night waking at 2 AM wondering how someone could hold on to that much hatred, only to spew it, without any warning, like Mount Vesuvius?

While I still think this woman was unfair and inappropriate in how she handled this situation, it caused me to look for where I was being equally unfair to anyone in my life on my “Do Not Like At All” list. We all have one.

Where are we being a “root of bitterness”? Where might God be offering us correction by perhaps allowing things to come against us that we need to make sure we are not guilty of ourselves?

I’m also learning that just because people want to fight/argue, it doesn’t mean we have to get in the ring. Some folks are always going to want to fight for the thrill of it; they have no intention of getting to resolution because they already have another ring reserved for a different day.

I’m all for honest conflict resolution, but one of the best growth points for me this year has been to walk past the ring and say, “No, thanks. Choosing to walk over to the peace bench. Feel free to join me there, but if not, this is where I’ll be if you need me.”

The two verses in Hebrews 12:14-15 pretty much sum it up for me:

“Make every effort to live in peace with everyone and to be holy; without holiness no one will see the Lord. See to it that no one falls short of the grace of God and that no bitter root grows up to cause trouble and defile many.”

Do you find you are being drawn into a ring in your own life, one that isn’t productive and somehow keeps scheduling a fight?

Or do you find yourself wanting more ring time than necessary, constantly looking for someone to battle?

How can we “make every effort to live in peace,” setting healthy boundaries, not only to model how we would like to be treated but also to take a personal stand in grace to anything trying to steal our joy, thieve our energy, discourage our hearts?

The ring is a choice most of the time. I am going to strive to only enter it when the stakes are huge and justice needs an advocate. Otherwise, I hope to live almost entirely outside that ring.

Hebrews 12:4-15

In your struggle against sin, you have not yet resisted to the point of shedding your blood. And have you completely forgotten this word of encouragement that addresses you as a father addresses his son? It says,

“My son, do not make light of the Lord’s discipline,
and do not lose heart when he rebukes you,

because the Lord disciplines the one he loves,
and he chastens everyone he accepts as his son.”

Endure hardship as discipline; God is treating you as his children. For what children are not disciplined by their father? If you are not disciplined—and everyone undergoes discipline—then you are not legitimate, not true sons and daughters at all. Moreover, we have all had human fathers who disciplined us and we respected them for it. How much more should we submit to the Father of spirits and live! They disciplined us for a little while as they thought best; but God disciplines us for our good, in order that we may share in his holiness. No discipline seems pleasant at the time, but painful. Later on, however, it produces a harvest of righteousness and peace for those who have been trained by it. Therefore, strengthen your feeble arms and weak knees. “Make level paths for your feet,” so that the lame may not be disabled, but rather healed.

Make every effort to live in peace with everyone and to be holy; without holiness no one will see the Lord. See to it that no one falls short of the grace of God and that no bitter root grows up to cause trouble and defile many [emphasis mine].

*This blog has been shared at any link highlighted here: Mom 2 Mom Monday Link-Up, Make a Difference Mondays, Pick Your Pin Tuesday, Women With Intention Wednesdays, Grace & Truth, A Little R & R, RaRa Link-Up, Me, Coffee & Jesus, Dance With Jesus, Blessing Counters, Coffee & Conversation, Saturday Soiree, Tell His Story, Find Stability, So Much at Home, Faith-Filled Fridays, Reflect His Love and Glory Link-Up, Bonbon & Coffee Linkup, and Christian Mommy Blogger.

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Posted by Bonnie Lyn Smith on September 19, 2014 in Drawing Healthy Boundaries, Renewing Our Minds

Tags: anger, bitterness, boundaries, fight, get in the ring, hebrews 12, roots of bitterness

Just Can’t Stop Pretzel Breathing

18 Sep

So, I learned a new technique a few months ago from my son’s therapist. It’s about breathing in while folding my arms around each other and pulling them in against my chest. Something about the breathing in, folding, and exhaling interrupts the body’s stress processes and calms us down. In other words, it takes the “wig” out of “wigging out.”

Well, I thought I’d just be reminding my son of this lovely new tool, but instead, I find myself pretzel breathing in rush hour traffic on the way to karate; while watching my kids painstakingly slowly pack their backpacks up and tie shoes as I hear the bus rolling up; when we are fighting homework battles with one who isn’t big on receiving feedback; when arguments break out between siblings right when I need to get out the door; when the dogs eat the important mail; and when the person in front of me in line is simultaneously on the phone while trying to order bagels and coffee for 30 people who aren’t currently with her.

Yeah, I really just can’t stop pretzel breathing. I’m not sure if it’s counterproductive or not to replace OCD/anxiety symptoms with obsessively using techniques to interrupt them, but I pretzel breathe to the umpteenth power. Cannot get enough of it. It’s a new compulsion, and I’m not even the patient.

I even went so far as to demonstrate my awesome new skill at my moms’ prayer group at the start of our prayer year, and since then, one prayer warrior mom has reported she’s in love with it too. Really, all of the pills* in the world to fix this, that, and the other thing, and all we have to do is twist and breathe? Sign me up!

It works so well that I don’t think I’ll ever stop. I’m pretty sure my gravestone will read: “Faithful wife, mother, friend. Pretzel-breathing advocate to the very end.”

So, I asked myself, is anything close to pretzel breathing in the Bible?

I have no idea.

I think taking Sabbath is along the same lines. [For more on this, kindly refer to: “And on the Seventh Day He Rested….” The kid in the picture is pretty cute!]

What I do know is that prayer, Bible reading, and worship are like that. When we participate, they beautifully interrupt our trudge through the sludge of life and ground us. Praying empties me of my burdens. Yes, sometimes I need to pray the same thing over and over again until I am ready to fully let it go to God and trust Him, but the discipline of running to Him first is what frees me.

When I read the Bible, it always speaks directly into something I am going through. That’s because it is not just a history book. It is the living Word of God. It comes alive in us because it is always relevant and because He sends the Holy Spirit to those Who trust in Him, to help us gain understanding. God’s words are meant to be read back and prayed to Him. That’s what engages them in our lives: believing them, speaking them, talking to our Creator. It’s not something we chant to get our minds or hearts in a better place (although that is a definite result). It’s living dialogue with God, Our Father. Unlike pretzel breathing, it does more than calm the body. It calms the soul. It says: “At rest, my soul. You’ve spoken with and trusted in God.”

And worship is praising Him, singing to Him, acknowledging Him, dancing to Him, honoring Him. We worship even when we tell others about something great He has taught us or has done in our lives. It’s acknowledging His awesomeness, and no matter how rough your day, wouldn’t that turn your perspective around a bit? If we were each focused on His awesomeness?

Pretzel breathing is a fantastic stress tool, that’s for sure, but its effects are simply in the moment. I have to keep performing that task when different scenarios come up that stress me out.

Prayer, Bible reading, and worship are also beneficial, if done repeatedly, but the difference is: They last. They build into our peace like a storage chest of truth, rest, hope, and promise. Practicing them, as well as practicing thankfulness,** eventually leads us to and sustains us at a state of joy, no matter our circumstances.

There’s no harm in wrapping my arms inward and exhaling now and again. I honestly don’t think I even know how to stop, at this point. But, by far, the best way to interrupt the day’s stress is to spend time with God. Eventually, we get to the point where His Word is in our heads and hearts, and He speaks it to us right when we need it.

Psalm 119:10-18, unnamed author

I seek you with all my heart;
do not let me stray from your commands.
I have hidden your word in my heart
that I might not sin against you.
Praise be to you, Lord;
teach me your decrees.
With my lips I recount
all the laws that come from your mouth.
I rejoice in following your statutes
as one rejoices in great riches.
I meditate on your precepts
and consider your ways.
I delight in your decrees;
I will not neglect your word.

Be good to your servant while I live,
that I may obey your word.
Open my eyes that I may see
wonderful things in your law [emphasis mine].

*This does not mean I am in any way anti-medication. Our personal journey to making medication decisions can be found in Not Just on Sundays.

**This is a great book for practicing thankfulness:

Voskamp, Ann. One Thousand Gifts: A Dare to Live Fully Right Where You Are. Grand Rapids, MI: Zondervan, 2010.

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Posted by Bonnie Lyn Smith on September 18, 2014 in Anxiety/OCD/Depression, Dance/Karate/Robotics/Band/Basketball/XC Mom

Tags: ann voskamp, anxiety, hidden your word in my heart, not just on sundays, OCD, one thousand gifts, pretzel breathing, psalm 119, sabbath

Turning in This Rickety Chariot

17 Sep

This verse has gone through my head over and over again all week. I couldn’t completely understand if God was trying to tell me something, but I would speak it when I heard it in my head. It kept coming back to me. I found it a comfort in the middle of so many things, and today, I found it a source of hope and strength as I waited for news of whether or not my father’s cancer had been completely removed, or if it had launched a stealth mission to land somewhere else.

Psalm 20:7, David speaking
Some trust in chariots and some in horses, but we trust in the name of the LORD our God.

I also considered it an excellent reminder as news came in that we are not finished pursuing specialists for one of our children, that what we thought was okay is really not fully okay, and we take yet another big step toward wellness and wholeness.

And as I wrap up publication of Not Just on Sundays, with all of the unforeseen delays, obstacles, and new rabbit holes to go down—no matter the margin I left myself—trusting in the name of the Lord our God sounded pretty good to me. Because trusting in anything manmade or even human doesn’t really get us anywhere.

Not when the stakes are big.

What do you trust in? Have you asked yourself that lately?

I thought I trusted in Jesus, but somedays I realize I’m trying to ride that chariot again. And you know what? It has wooden wheels. It doesn’t stand up against the fires that burn in life. A chariot is fine for running short distances, but it sure doesn’t get me safely through a long, uphill battle. Have you also found that to be true?

My husband and I recently had a conversation about how independent we each are and how we each project to others a strength that isn’t actually always there—but it somehow conveys that it is. This came up because we were talking about how we’ve never lived near family or had grandparents local enough to babysit or give us a break. We have lived as far away as the Marshall Islands, and we’ve always had to go it alone—just the two of us—since Month 4 of marriage. That’s two decades of “it’s up to only us.” Our only “village” at times was our church in each location and our community (at one point, graduate school community and at other times, our military community). With him traveling often for his work, I frequently shoulder running the house and family, and I’m completely unqualified most days, so I regularly cry out to God. It’s not something we set out to do—be away from family—but it has definitely limited our ability to take the marriage on vacation from the kids. There is no rescue when we need to flee. We just don’t flee. When hard things hit, we get through them: graduate housing (and funds) running out, an infant in the NICU, depression, as some examples. We also draw deeper into friendships because there’s something about proximity that helps us feel less alone, more supported.

But we fail each other. We can’t carry everything. Between us there aren’t enough resources, intellect, strength, or answers to go further than a chariot can take us. We trust each other, but we can’t trust in each other.

And isn’t this true of any relationship, really? A beloved sibling, a dear friend, an inspiring mentor?

I had to ask myself lately: “Bonnie, are you trusting in Bonnie? In another person? In a circumstance? Are you taking a chariot ride?” And I was. I was riding around and around on wooden wheels connected to a wearied horse.

Sometimes it’s not until we fall completely over, exhausted, depleted, and withered, that we realize this whole time we could have stopped spinning wheels like Samson, my Shih Tzu, and saved ourselves a lot of emotional and physical energy by going straight to God. I have to place my trust there. When I don’t, my chariot gets rickety, falls over, pops iron nails, and busts a rail or two. And so much repair is needed when I could have skipped that whole routine and just given something to Him in prayer, laid it at His feet, snuggled into His promises.

And you know what else going directly to Him does? It relieves others of our unfair expectations on what they can(‘t) humanly do, preserves relationships, and teaches us so much about how destructive self-reliance can be. God answers—sometimes quickly and sometimes not—but we have to get out of the mindset of a drive-through God. It’s about relationship, not dispensing answers at us like a slot machine.

When we stop taking that long, bumpy ride on the chariot going nowhere, we will see how incredibly blessed we are to have a God Who knows our name, hears our prayers, and wants to delight us with a response.

The learning curve can be rough for me at times, but when I remember to live this way—willing to be patient and not take my own control—you know what happens? Peace reigns, and I finally get somewhere much further in my prayers walking alongside Jesus, barefoot on the road, than I do trying to fast-track the journey in a rusty, splintered chariot.

How about you?

Do you feel like there are some chariots in your life that you can leave at the side of the road and just grab the hand of Jesus for a nice, long walk?

I promise the adventure will be life-changing and completely awesome. You’ll eventually forget all about your chariot because you will have traded it in for something so much better—something life-giving.

Tell Him you want to trust Him, and go for that walk. See what happens.

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Copyright: V. Gilbert and Arlisle F. Beers
Used with permission by http://www.visualbiblealive.com/religiouspictures/Chariots.html

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Posted by Bonnie Lyn Smith on September 17, 2014 in Renewing Our Minds

Tags: drive-through God, Marshall Islands, psalm 20:7, some trust in chariots, trust in the name of the Lord our God, walk with God

Warrior Princesses and Marching Bands

16 Sep

There is absolutely nothing quite like the sound of a marching band. Nothing like it. I love me some jazz band, for sure, and I’ve enjoyed watching my high school son perform an improv solo on the trombone at concerts, but a marching band coming at me is so ceremonious. I always choke up when I hear and see it. I had about five seconds of fame in my high school marching band. I played a xylophone, which proved a bit much for this 5 foot 2 girl to carry, at least at the time, but I loved being part of the march, the formation, the celebration.

So, I sit here in my van outside the high school band entrance delighting in the fading sounds of practicing percussionists with a few trumpets and trombones hanging in there—and a tuba. The rest of them have already gone inside to pack up. And even though this blog is way behind schedule, and I truly have no idea what I’m going to write about (God usually gives me an image or story, and I pray and go from there), I’m transported back to school days, pep rallies, peer pressure, and pimples. My own high school stories are not phenomenal. They didn’t leave lasting impressions on my life (people did, but not necessarily experiences), nor did they scar me. I still have some great friends from that time, although I’ve never made a high school reunion yet. But the truest friends from my high school years have remained in my middle decades, and that is awesome.

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After a few interruptions (ages 8, 11, 14, and 43), I finally returned to finish this blog, and it’s amazing because I asked God: “Okay, I’m a little late here on the inspiration…what are we going to write about today?” He already wrote an entire book that continues to be a best seller, so there’s really nothing to add to that. I just try to talk about what I discover in His Great Big Book of Truth (the Bible, of course!).

And then I quickly caught up on a private message on social media with a few people (four) to whom I sometimes call out for prayer. We call ourselves the “Warrior Princesses” because we war against the rough stuff of life in prayer for each other. And there was something heartfelt and deeply personal that I shared earlier in the day, which was followed by several amazingly poignant observations about either my own wrong thinking or where I wasn’t seeing with clarity or fullness of the situation. But it was said with deep love, compassion, and care. It spoke directly into the inner turmoil I had. I didn’t have to share more than a few sentences. These prayer friends just knew my silent torment. And because God made them individuals, they each had different wisdom to bring to the table. One of them speaks with a sweetness, one with blunt and delightful wit, one with practical wisdom, and the other with maternal compassion. They each have something unique but true to say—and it blends in beautiful harmony.

I believe it sounds like a triumphant march of praying, warrior chicks who won’t give up helping each other to look up to God. As one of them put it when I asked permission to reveal our group name (Warrior Princesses) on public forum:

“Yes, you can say that, Bonnie. We are very Xena with our swords, and I want a horse, too, please.”

She’s absolutely right. When one of us hurts, doubts, can’t see Jesus through the clouds of our own chaos or confusion, the other four ride in on horses cutting out the untruths and reminding the limping one of God’s truth. Sometimes two or more of us have multiple “Oh, Jesus, please help us!” moments going on at the same time. Somehow, we all, in private message format, get it taken care of. And we’re not all on at the same time. But Bible verses are typed, e-prayers are written, and some fun emoji (topic for another blog, for sure!) are shared.

Another group of praying moms sits around my table every other week for a few hours. An hour of coffee, a half-hour or more of sharing, and 30-45 minutes of prayer for our children, schools, communities, teachers, bus drivers, you name it! And tears have been shed as well as peals of laughter heard—sometimes even in the middle of prayer—because life is messy, muddy, sticky, gooey, and if we aren’t real about that, why on earth do we gather in the first place?

And of course there are my precious one-on-one friends who read my three-sentence angst in a text and know exactly how to reply. They, too, know my history and where exactly my heart is in certain moments without me saying much.

There are some dear ones with whom I simply exchange a meaningful hug at church, or elsewhere, and the embrace says so much while we say almost nothing. It’s an exchange of pain and encouragement—an “I love you, and I understand.”

This blog isn’t about how awesome I am to have these friends. It’s to encourage us all to enjoy the variety God gives us. To not rule someone out just because they’re a bit blunt, and you are more sugary. (In my case, my oldest child tells me I am not “sweet,” but rather “spicy kind” in personality. Yeah, I probably have to agree with him there.)

I have felt badly lately because I haven’t been very good at holding anyone else up in this particular season of my life. My strength only went so far, and I hate that. I like it when I can extend it beyond our family. I certainly pray for people and send out an encouraging word here and there. I respond. But I haven’t been able to carry others. My arms and heart have been weak. I have felt my limitations, and they have been humbling. I want to do more, but in this season, God brought my focus back home for a while. He narrowed it, and I am learning to be okay with it, because I trust Him to broaden it again when it is time.

And this is where we need people to come alongside us and say: “It’s your turn. It’s okay that you need us right now without an immediate return on investment.” As one Warrior Princess put it:

“There is no tally being kept.”

What? There’s not? Most of the world out there doesn’t tell us that. People who don’t keep tally are rare gems.

But this cycles me back around to that resounding boom of the marching band. One instrument, or even five of the same instrument, cannot bring the same music to our ears as multiple instruments playing different parts. If I surround myself with only funny people, I miss the beautiful music of the more serious ones. We need all of the personalities in our lives to blend and teach us something.

I love what the Apostle Peter has to say about this in the 1 Peter passage about different gifts. What do you think? What does your band sound like? Does it have both speaker and servant personalities* in it?

1 Peter 4:10-11, Apostle Peter speaking

Each of you should use whatever gift you have received to serve others, as faithful stewards of God’s grace in its various forms. If anyone speaks, they should do so as one who speaks the very words of God. If anyone serves, they should do so with the strength God provides, so that in all things God may be praised through Jesus Christ. To him be the glory and the power for ever and ever. Amen.

*A more thorough discussion of personality differences represented by this Scripture can be found in Not Just on Sundays.

**This blog has been shared at Faith-Filled Fridays, Blessing Counters, Dance With Jesus, and Christian Mommy Blogger.

2 Comments

Posted by Bonnie Lyn Smith on September 16, 2014 in Dance/Karate/Robotics/Band/Basketball/XC Mom, Ministry Moments

Tags: 1 peter 4:10-11, as faithful stewards of God's grace, if anyone serves, marching band, not just on sundays, prayer warrior, praying moms, use whatever gift you have received, with the strength God provides

Planted Promise: Fresh Hope for Wearied Hearts

15 Sep

Sunflower

Beautiful sunflower
Up on the patio table,
Away from curious and hungry bunnies,
Repotted,
And climb-climb-climbing toward heaven,
Until it’s tall enough to open up
Into full, golden bloom.

Little Man’s planted promise.
A takeaway from a tough school year.
A living stalk trying to get up to God—
—To open for Him,
Reflecting part of His amazing, creative glory.

That sunflower climbs for all of us:
For Little Man,
For our family,
For my father,
For the book,
For hopes and dreams.

Bonnie Lyn Smith, 2014

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My eight year old, Little Man, came home with a sunflower seed on the last day of school last year. I have as much luck growing things as I do dusting. (Let me know if you see my furniture because it’s been a while since I have.) I’ve never really been able to keep an indoor plant alive for very long. The previous owners of our home had beautiful landscaping done. I felt so conflicted every time I pulled into my driveway because I felt like the neighbors might actually expect me to keep up with that standard, when my intention was just to pull a weed out now and again.

And every time we have tried to plant sunflower seeds—rows of them—animals have come along and dug them up. So, it was almost a burden to have this seed come home. I knew it was like already breaking a hope of Little Man’s. It felt like a letdown already in motion. Really, teachers should have to ask if it’s okay if things like seeds come home, just like they ask about frogs and goldfish. My answer on the permission slip would have been a resounding: “No, thank you!”

That said, the seed did come home, and with it, an enthusiastic Little Man. Considering that joy had rarely visited his sweet face in the months leading up to this and that he was slowly emerging from a diagnosed depression,* I decided to get a pot and some soil and half-heartedly toss the seed in there. After all, growing and tending something could be therapeutic for Little Man.

Oh, God, please don’t let this thing be a dud. Please don’t let me be a dud, God. Little Man needs this to grow.

At first, three feet into it, I really was convinced I was naively growing a weed. It was five weeks in, and that green stalk produced nothing but leaves. And since I’m not known for distinguishing weeds from real plants, I thought maybe the joke was on me, that somehow a determined squirrel had found its way onto the table and that some old weed seed ended up in my plant instead. We saw the “stalk” climb and climb with absolutely no bloom. Four feet. Five feet. Really, how patient can one be? And I had no idea this was the six feet variety. This isn’t Kansas, after all!

But watching this sunflower all summer has been a gift only God can give. It means so many things to us, and we have stewarded its life with tender care, eagerly awaiting its announcement that it is time, time for a tiny sun-bloom to wow us with hope, growth, and the incredible and unending love of a Father Who let a little boy grow something beautiful out of a year of many struggles and a few triumphs.

It was also a summer of great change in some ways. My father battled his fifth tumor and lost his bladder. It was a time when my first book, Not Just on Sundays, was inching ever closer to publication, and so was the stress. And it was a season of watching Little Man tentatively approach the world again and occasionally crack a smile.

The sunflower meant so much to all of us that, unbeknownst to each other, my husband and I each took pictures of it, which I just now found on my camera.

Fast-forward to Day 1 of the new school year, and this was my journal entry:

Little Man’s sunflower is starting to bloom today, and I find that so ironic, because he planted it on his way out of a difficult first grade year, and on this day, his first day of second grade, after growing tall all summer, protected on our patio table from gnawing critters, it is about to burst forth.

I had one enter high school for the first time today, one new to middle school, and a Little Man not sure if this whole school thing was going to go well this year.

And I’ve battled my own anxiety and self-worth because there are always voices trying to tell us we’re not at all worthy. They are voices on rewind-and-repeat cycles. And I just have to remember to push “off.”

Because God loved me, my kids, and Little Man so much to send His Son Jesus, but also—to open that flower up when the time was right.

And it’s right now, Jesus, thank You.

I went out with the dogs, and I saw that bloom readying itself to announce created life. I can’t wait to show Little Man! This year will be different, Little Man.

As surely as God put the rainbow in the sky, He grew this sunflower:

For you, for me, for love, and for fresh hope to wearied hearts.

Where does your heart need some hope today? His “word sustains the weary.” We can start by talking to Him, and then it slowly becomes a process of learning how to listen and to open our eyes, allowing Him to show us His goodness, love, and encouragement each day. It is often deeply personal—the way He reaches us—because He is a deeply personal God.

Isaiah 50:4, Isaiah the Prophet speaking

The Sovereign LORD has given me a well-instructed tongue, to know the word that sustains the weary. He wakens me morning by morning, wakens my ear to listen like one being instructed.

*Yes, eight year olds can experience depression. For more on this story, kindly refer to the Anxiety/OCD/Depression section of this blog.

**This post been shared at Mom 2 Mom Monday Link-Up, Make a Difference Mondays, Pick Your Pin Tuesday, A Little R & R Wednesdays, Christian Mommy Blogger, Grace & Truth, Women With Intention Wednesdays, RaRa Link-Up, So Much at Home, and Coffee and Conversation.

More anecdotal stories about faith, family, and relationships can be found in Not Just on Sundays: Seeking God’s Purpose in Each New Day (includes Book Club Discussion Questions).

22 Comments

Posted by Bonnie Lyn Smith on September 15, 2014 in Anxiety/OCD/Depression, Grace in Big Gulps, Tweens/Children

Tags: bloom, depression, God's promise, hope to wearied hearts, isaiah 50:4, not just on sundays, sunflower, sustains the weary

“And on the Seventh Day He Rested…”

14 Sep

Espressos of Faith observes Sabbath rest. Here’s why:

Rest was built into our week, and day, by a loving Father and Creator Who knew our needs and that we could not go nonstop without melting down. He knew we had a tendency to be workaholics, obsess, think everything that has to be done can somehow fully be managed by us if we pretend each day and week has more hours in it.

Obviously, someone’s “seventh day” may not always be the same as someone else’s. Emergency personnel, law officers, and pastors (among other professions) have to work on Sundays. So do parents! But, if you’re not taking your “seventh day” somewhere in your week, you are missing the holiness and blessing of the day of rest. I have found it to be true that when I rest, I am better able to focus on the days when there is plenty of work to be done. In the middle of all the stress that piles up by Day 6, Sabbath rest resets me for the non-Sabbath days.

God took a day of rest. He set the precedent. Do we need any more justification or legitimacy than that?

Genesis 2:2-3, Moses narrating

By the seventh day God had finished the work he had been doing; so on the seventh day he rested from all his work. And God blessed the seventh day and made it holy, because on it he rested from all the work of creating that he had done.

1 Comment

Posted by Bonnie Lyn Smith on September 14, 2014 in General Website Posts

Tags: Genesis 2:2-3, God's rest, sabbath, sabbath rest

Grace That Changes: One Forgiving Moment at a Time [Excerpt]

13 Sep

Today, Espressos of Faith offers an excerpt from the upcoming Not Just on Sundays: Seeking God’s Purpose in Each New Day, due out this month.

Cover design: Traci Carmichael Art

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I performed an interesting social experiment in the past year at a favorite establishment in my town. Folks working there weren’t very friendly, to the point I dreaded going in. So, I tried being very kind every time I went, going out of my way to clean up any mess we left, saying something encouraging at the counter, and in general bringing in a consistent smile, no matter what attitude came back at me. I went in more regularly with my kids, having them do homework and lingering, looking for opportunities to bless. It took a few months, but then suddenly, the staff not only knew me by name, but they started going out of their way to also be kind: They brought my kids free food, helped me more with questions I had, and apologized for mistakes even when I didn’t complain. Although I’m sure I’m not the reason the entire establishment is friendlier, I was able to show my kids that kindness begets more kindness. Even they have noticed a difference.

So, I keep thinking how deliberate the choice is to love and bless. It doesn’t always flow naturally; it is a minute-by-minute choice, but if we employed this same idea everywhere—the car that cuts in front of us for a parking space, the tired clerk at the market counter, the pharmacy technician who doesn’t need one more prescription coming in when she’s already so behind—how many people could we each reach with love and grace? Too much in this world tears us down. What if that pharmacy clerk was going to go home and drink herself into a stupor again tonight because of problems weighing on her unbeknownst to me? What if the impatient car parker is also impatient at home with his kids, snapping at the least little annoyance? Do we need to cause him more angst, or could grace perhaps make a small dent, leading to bigger dents, in the way he daily functions? Could our choice to extend grace turn around a despairing, tense, hopeless attitude? All I know is grace changed who I am, and the people who offered me grace in my own bad attitudes deserve so much credit; they overlooked the ugly in me and encouraged the beautiful. Grace changes things, one forgiving moment at a time. My mouth can’t hold poison and antidote all at the same time. James, brother of Jesus, said it best:

James 3:9-12

And here is a fun one for you. I thought it was amazingly descriptive to wear cursing as one’s garment and have it enter one’s body like water and bones like oil. Hello, songwriter! Modifiers and analogies make my heart jump!

Psalm 109:17-18, David (not yet king) speaking

He loved to pronounce a curse—
may it come on him.
He found no pleasure in blessing—
may it be far from him.

He wore cursing as his garment;
it entered into his body like water,
into his bones like oil.

Summertime presents some nice opportunities for learning how to relate better to one another. I bet if you’re a parent of kids still at home, it does in your house too. One of the rules of my house is: “If you come to any of us with accusations, anger, or emotional response of any kind, you may not walk away when you are in the middle of receiving a response. If you are not prepared to hear out a response to a problem/accusation you put forth, you should not present it in the first place.” I told my children that I know adults who do this to me all of the time. They drop their emotion down but run off and sulk without sticking around to hear another perspective. Any issue or relationship worth working out deserves to have both people heard. We better ourselves with stronger, committed relationships if we learn to develop this one important concept. I see this as part of the blessing/curse idea. Working through misunderstandings or upsets needs to be approached from a stance of blessing. Blessing invites openness and vulnerability. Cursing shuts relationships down. I don’t want cursing to enter my body like water or my bones like oil as the Psalmist depicts for us, which suggests to me a “soaking in.” Toxic interactions have a way of soaking in and permeating so many areas of our lives. Grace and love do just the opposite; they cover us:

1 Peter 4:8, Apostle Peter speaking

Above all, love each other deeply, because love covers over a multitude of sins.

Along the same lines, I had a difficult “issue of character” discussion with one child at bedtime one night. It wasn’t a huge deal, really, and it was only one area of correction, but this child struggles to receive constructive criticism no matter how delicately it is presented. I waited to make sure it sank in and shared that we all have to be able to take feedback and ask God if it’s something He wants us to correct. Then, because this child bruises easily from feedback, I spent the falling-asleep moments listing all of the things this child does well, areas where I am very pleased, and at Item Number 20, the slight smile gave way to slumber, and peace climbed beside us and laid its head on the pillow as well, a welcome companion. That is not how I conduct myself every day, but when I consult God and come from a standpoint of blessing, informed by His living Word, it is a much more peaceful way to do life.

Just as mourning comes in waves, so does His grace. It rides in on constant tides like a covering of love that soaks into every pore until it fills the heart. There is never grief without grace, if we’d only learn to keep our feet in the Living Water, facing the oncoming surf, not fearing the raging storms, but instead standing steadfast to receive as He gives. If only we stood there in great faith and expectancy, we’d quickly find He never ever stops giving. We’re the ones who lose hope or courage and walk away from the source. His waves of grace chase us and lap at our feet, desiring to heal, to nurture, and to be received, but if our backs are to those waves as we walk away, we never even know what was there for us, what we failed to discover as we walk back inland to where discouragement and fear are ready to take hold and plant roots—only because we gave those dark thoughts permission again. I don’t want to give them permission anymore. I want to sit in tide pools of never-ending grace at the feet of Jesus. If you trust Him, you can sit there too!