I love trees.  I’ve been called a tree hugger and a flower child, and neither one insults me.  Trees fascinate me, especially the really old ones.  When I look at one, I can’t help but imagine all that’s happened in the space around it while it’s been growing.  How many storms has it weathered?  How many birds have made their homes in its branches?  How many kids have climbed it, or stopped to play underneath it?  Trees are living pieces of history.

Trees are the reason I fell in love with our house.  Because, seriously, no one could have actually fallen in love with our house when we first bought it.  It was a smelly, ugly, dump really.  But the yard was amazing.  There were dozens of big, old trees.  There were two huge maples that shaded the front yard and offered a welcome separation from the busy highway.  There was an enormous sycamore with great big leaves and peeling white bark.  There was a big fat ash tree in the backyard whose branches draped down just enough to create a sort of covered patio where there wasn’t a patio at all, and it had a branch that was just begging for a swing.  There was a diagonal row of old tall cedar trees that shaded the back of the house and offered more privacy from both the highway and the gravel road behind the house as well.  There were pines and a walnut tree and a flowering crab apple.  There was a cherry tree that grew actual cherries, and if we could pick them before the birds did, they were awesome.  The trees made me want the house.  The trees did.  I loved these trees so much, that when one of the big maples randomly contracted some weird kind of root rot and died, I paid nearly two weeks of my pay at the time to have a tree doctor come treat the second maple so it wouldn’t be next.  My investment paid off.  The tree avoided the disease.  Over the years, lightening got the walnut tree and the sycamore just got too old and began to die, little by little, until we finally had to admit defeat and take it down.

A week ago tomorrow a storm came through.  In a matter of seconds, the second maple, the oak, the cherry (which was covered with a new crop of cherries), two of the big cedars, a pear tree that we planted twelve years ago and another smaller tree were all either uprooted or snapped off at their base.  The storm happened late at night, and it wasn’t until the light of the next morning that we saw the new landscape of our yard.  I cried like a baby.  (read more about my problem with change here)  Some of our neighbors lost roofs and barns and sheds and had damage to their cars.  Our house stood untouched.  Not one of the trees hit it.  We were blessed, and I am grateful for that.  But our trees are gone forever.  Many well meaning people have made comments like, “At least all you lost were trees.”  or “You can plant new trees.”  Those people are right on both accounts.  We still have all of our possessions and our LIVES.  That point is not lost on me for a second.

But they are not “just” trees.  Sure, we can plant new ones, but they will not shade our house in our lifetime.  They won’t offer a sound barrier between our bedroom window and the noise of the highway.  They won’t grow pretty red cherries every spring and they won’t look the same.  That’s exactly why I love trees.  They are unique and they are alive.  Every one of them has a story and when they are sawed into firewood, it makes my heart hurt a little.

I keep telling myself that the new trees we plant will be the ones that make the next family want to buy our home someday.  They will create their own stories and seventy or eighty years from now, another family will be dragging them out of the yard after a storm and starting over themselves.  It’s all part of the circle of life, I know.  But it’s the part of the circle that makes me sad.  Because before every new beginning there has to be an end,  and I don’t like endings.

(there is a bright side to this story.  more on that later…)

I’ve had many thoughts in my head this week.  I’ve started to post several times, and then couldn’t quite get them into words.  Tonight I sit, after a long Easter Sunday, and an even longer Springtime week, and I am overwhelmed.

This week I have ached for family members that are going through a rough patch.  I’ve hurt for co-workers who are dealing with seemingly insurmountable circumstances.  I’ve struggled through normal teenager parenting stuff.  And I stood by helplessly as a strong windstorm ravaged my yard, changing its landscape forever.  I’ve been blessed by the kindness of family, friends and strangers, and for about the billionth time in my life, I’ve been reminded of the greatness of God.

This Easter I am in awe of the God who died for me.  I’m in awe of His grace and mercy.  But most of all – I’m in awe that in all His greatness, He cares about my overwhelming Springtime week.  I never cease to be amazed at the magnitude of God.  Of all His attributes, that’s the one that gets me through.  No matter the size of my current situation, the hugeness of God puts it in perspective.  It’s when I focus on this, that I see the blessings all around me – even in the midst of, and sometimes because of,  the sadness and despair.

Although this week has seemed to bring a lot of roadblocks, tonight is Easter.  It’s a new beginning.  My God, my Savior is alive.  Nothing else compares to that, and somehow it makes all the problems of life seem solvable.

I chewed on the comment for a couple of days, and then I read a blog post from one of my favorite authors.  She committed to give up negative words for Lent.  She said that she realized that she has been speaking lots of words that tear down rather than build up, and so she has decided that for the next forty days, if she can’t say something nice, she won’t say anything at all.  This convicted me, and so I thought I’d give it a try myself.  I made it about an hour before I screwed it up.

I went to church this morning only to find that the message was about – what else?  Words.  More conviction.

Do I have anger issues?  Probably.  I believe it’s human nature to become angry when things don’t go our way.  In one particular area of my life, one that is near and dear to my heart, things have not gone my way.  I have been frustrated and disappointed and confused.  But most of all, I have been angry.  And I have allowed that anger to manifest itself in my words and my attitude.  I have torn down the people closest to me and probably others that I don’t even realize.  I haven’t done much building up, and I haven’t even cared.

Today I am thankful for my God who knows every little ugly detail of my heart, and loves me anyway.  I am thankful for my God who speaks to me in ways that I can’t ignore.  I’m thankful for His patience and wisdom and grace.

“Out of the overflow of the heart the mouth speaks.”  Matthew 12:34

Judging from the difficulty of just three days of trying to speak only positive words, my heart must be full of some ugly stuff.  This morning I thought of all the people who give up chocolate or coffee or TV.  They count the days until they can enjoy it again.  My hope is that by the end of this season, I won’t want my mouth back.  And my prayer is that my heart will be full of good stuff again.

I’m a sporadic movie watcher.  I can go for months without watching any, but then rent five or six all in one weekend.  This was one of those weekends, even though I knew I’d have little time to watch them.  I made time for one in particular today though, since it’s been highly recommended.  Julie & Julia.  It didn’t disappoint.  It made me cry.

I cried when Julie and her husband got in a fight because of her blog and he told her she was narcissistic and selfish.  I cried when she got the first comment from someone she didn’t know.  I cried when she made the last recipe.  I cried when Julia opened the letter from the Publisher telling her they loved her book.  And of course I cried at the end when Julia received the first copy of her book.

In the moments that I allow myself to dream these days (such moments are fewer as I grow older and more cynical), I dream about being a real writer.  I dream about making an actual living doing what I love.  But, every time I read a great book or read a great blog (and there are MILLIONS of those) I am reminded that I am a speck.  But, wow, do I love to write.

Tonight I am thankful for the world of blogging.  I know that I can escape to this world occasionally and pretend like my dream is coming true.  I can write about whatever enters my mind in the hopes that it just might resonate with someone.  It’s probably never going to pay the bills, but it is cheaper than therapy.

A good friend sent me a Donald Miller article a couple of days ago.  It made me think of this:

When I was a freshman in high school, I was awkward and naive and a little ridiculous in all my freshman-ness.  I had a crazy little crush on the new basketball coach’s oldest son, and a basketball coach in my school amounted to royalty.  I was understandably flattered and terrified when this coach asked me to help out in his office during my study hall.  The first day that I reported for duty, Coach asked me to walk to the cafeteria to get him a cup of coffee.  I hurried down the long hallway and filled the cup.  I was determined not to spill a drop.  I walked slowly and deliberately and paid close attention so as not to disappoint this man.  But to my horror, the hot coffee sloshed and spilled with every step I took.  By the time I got back to the office, the cup was barely half full.  Coach gave me a knowing smile, but didn’t say a word.  I excused myself and quickly went back to the hall to wipe up the telling trail of coffee I had left.  This same thing happened for at least three more days in a row.  Finally, after the fourth day of half empty cups of coffee, Coach stood up, put his arm around me and said, “Marsha, Marsha, Marsha.  Come here and let me show you something.”  He took me back to the cafeteria and filled the cup.  Then he showed me how to walk with it.  He explained that I shouldn’t be looking at it.  I was trying too hard.  He walked a few feet and then stopped and told me to try it.  Wow.  Who knew??

I think about that lesson every time I carry a cup of any liquid now.  But I don’t think I had comprehended the real lesson until the Donald Miller analogy.

All of my life I have tried too hard.  I wear myself out trying.  Specifically with God.  I. Try. So. Hard.  I don’t want to disappoint Him.  I keep a close eye on every move I make.  Every word I speak.  I analyze them and correct and over-correct.  And at the end of the day, I look down and see the cup is not full anymore.  And the thing is – it isn’t that God hasn’t filled it.  It’s that I’ve sloshed it all out in my attempt to control each drop.

Which of course brings me right back to the unforced rhythms of grace.  Jesus came to this earth and lived and died to fill our cups up again.  And with His life and example, I think He put His arm around us and said “Walk with me.  Watch how I do it.”  Wow.  Who knew???

As I’ve grown older, I’ve developed a (probably unhealthy) love for coffee.  Which makes this analogy even more real to me.  We really shouldn’t be spilling a single drop.

I had a frustrating experience today.  I went to Walmart to buy supplies for the office at work.  For what has to be at least the fifth trip in a row, I got a lame cart.  You know the one I’m talking about.  The one that people can hear coming – all the way from Lawn & Garden over to the dairy case.  Or the one that pulls, ever so slightly, to the left.  But this one was the best ever.  This one didn’t turn at all.  I realized this AFTER I loaded fifty pounds of ice melt into its belly.  The front wheels were locked.  If I wanted to turn a corner or avoid running into the battery display in the middle of the aisle, I had to pick up the cart and swing the back of it around.  By the time I left the store, my arms were on fire and so was my temper.  I went back to work and vented to my poor, unsuspecting co-worker and then, for the first time ever, emailed a complaint to a business that said simply, “For the love of everything sacred, PLEASE FIX YOUR CARTS!”  I’m pretty sure that’s going to get some results.

Tonight I had a conversation with a friend.  She and I were discussing our current spiritual droughts.  We both tend to beat ourselves up every time we feel like we aren’t quite making the grade.  It’s funny, because we can spot that in each other much quicker than we can see it in ourselves.  So tonight I told her that she needs to quit it.  She needs to stop thinking that God is mad at her all the time, just because she isn’t saving the world single- handedly.  I told her that God doesn’t operate that way.  Jesus isn’t the guy that we’ve been told He is.  I believe He is actually much, much nicer.  The conversation ended soon after that and I went to bed.

As I rolled over on my shoulder, it felt sore.  And I was reminded again of that stupid cart from earlier today.  And suddenly this verse came to me:

“Trust in the Lord with all your heart, and do not lean on your own understanding.  In all your ways acknowledge Him, and He will make straight your paths.”  Proverbs 3:5-6

I’ll admit that it isn’t a rock solid analogy, because God is hardly a broken down shopping cart, but I can see a lesson here.

Life is not a straight line, but God has in mind a straight path for all of us.  When we listen to the voices around us, or to our own, more than we listen to His – we fight that straight path and it hurts.  We find ourselves battling and struggling and we get worn out and sore.  At times it’s easier to walk away from the cart.  It seems far less painful.  However, if we walk away from the straight moving cart, we also have to leave all the stuff that’s in it – or else carry it ourselves – which is probably going to be even more painful.

I wonder sometimes if God isn’t sitting wherever it is that He sits thinking, “why do they make this so hard on themselves?”  Isn’t that maybe what Jesus meant when He said,

“Get away with me and you’ll recover your life. I’ll show you how to take a real rest. Walk with me and work with me—watch how I do it. Learn the unforced rhythms of grace.”

I think I’ll be learning this as long as I draw breath.

In the same way that “working mom” implies that stay-home moms don’t work, “full-time mom” implies that non-stay-home moms are part-time moms.  Labels, labels, labels….  I greatly admire women who choose to stay at home with their children.  Do you hear that?  I GREATLY admire them.  I wanted to do that myself.  It made me sad to go back to work when my baby was only 12 weeks old.  I cried and felt all the guilt that I’ve been told I’m supposed to feel.  I went through a few sitters before I found JUST THE RIGHT ONE.  I juggled my schedule, I planned everything around his schedule, and somehow I made it work – because I didn’t really have a choice at the time.  Eventually, I was able to reduce my hours and spend more time at home, and it worked perfectly.  But now that he’s in Jr. High, I find myself working 40 hours/week again.  And here’s the thing – I have NEVER been a part-time mom.  I have been a mom 24/7, carrying pacifiers to the office in my coat pocket, sneaking personal calls to the sitter to find out if he liked the green beans or not, re-working my priorities at work so I could attend the parent/teacher conference and reserving the precious days off for my kid.  He has always been my number one priority, and continues to be.  But what I found, as the finances began to allow a little wiggle room, is that even though we might be able to make it work on one income, I needed to work beyond the walls of my house for other reasons.  I’m not a good stay-at-home mom.  I envy those who are, but I’m not.  I could never in a million years home school my son.  We would most definitely kill one another, and he would no doubt be illiterate, just to prove that he can’t learn anything from me.  I am in total awe of those who make this work, and every time I read about or hear from one of them, I feel – for a moment – just a bit inadequate.  Until I remember the one thing I want Ethan to learn more than anything else:

He needs to embrace and be exactly who God has created him to be.  He needs to spend the rest of his life in search of who that is and grow into that person as he travels throughout his years.  He needs to ignore the expectations of others and replace them with the whispers he hears from the One who matters.  Those whispers are so easily drowned out by the lines we draw, and I want him to let God draw the lines, which will undoubtedly be dotted.

So…I try to teach him that by example.  I fail as a mom most days, just like every other mom does, who is honest enough to admit it.  I don’t always listen as well as I should, I try to draw my own lines for him sometimes, and I forget to tell him just how awesome he is.

Moms are moms, regardless of where we set up camp.  It is the most difficult and most important responsibility on the planet.  We need to support one another and not polarize ourselves by labeling our own choices to make ourselves feel better.  We’re in this together.  All of us.

A few days ago I made a quick trip to the grocery store for just a couple of items.  It was cold and snowy.  As I was walking into the store, a small, elderly woman with bright pink rouge and equally pink lipstick approached me in the parking lot.  She asked me if I would give her five dollars so she could buy some hamburger.  It completely took me by surprise.  That has never happened to me before in my town.  I must have looked at her funny.  She showed me the bag she was holding.  It held a carton of eggs.  She wanted to make a meatloaf for the week, but only had enough money for eggs.  She said no one in the store would give her any money for hamburger.  I took a deep breath and told her that I wouldn’t give her money, but I would buy her a package of hamburger.  She thanked me and followed me into the store.  Once she knew I was willing to help her out, she quickly asked if I could spring for a bottle of ketchup too – oh and maybe just one 2 liter of generic pop.  All the items together were less than five dollars and I did it.  She followed me up to the checkout lane.  As I began to pay, she remembered that she had left her eggs back in the ketchup aisle.  When she left to go get them, the clerk asked me, “Did she ask you for money?”  I told her she had, but that I opted to get her food instead.  The girl rolled her eyes and told me that the woman had approached her last night asking for money too.  She seemed disgusted with me that I had caved.  I went on with my purchase and handed the bag to the little woman with the hot pink cheeks.  She thanked me and went on to her older model, beat up car.  As I was pulling out of the parking lot, I saw the managers from the store approaching her car, no doubt telling her that she was no longer welcome there.

I don’t write this story because I think I did a noble thing.  Because as I’ve had time to think about the situation, I think I actually did quite the opposite.  My immediate thought as I was driving home that day was disbelief at the fact that no one else would just buy the poor woman some hamburger.  That’s all she was asking for.  And maybe I felt for just a minute that I might have just a slight generosity edge on all those other selfish people.  That superior feeling didn’t last long.  By the time I’d completed my seven minute drive home, I realized that I didn’t even ask the woman her name.  I didn’t ask her WHY she didn’t have money to buy hamburger.  I didn’t ask her if she had any other needs that I might be able to meet.  I didn’t tell her about the free meals available at the local teen center – where I’m a member of the board of directors, for Pete’s sake.  I gave her hamburger.  I didn’t show her love.  Or real concern.  A Pharisee would have probably given her something to eat.  And they would have felt good about it too.  Jesus would have given her love and true compassion.

I don’t know when I will finally learn to do the right thing BEFORE it’s too late.  I keep thinking that I’m learning lessons, but when the next opportunity shows up, turns out I haven’t learned as well as I thought.  I guess that all any of us can do is keep trying.  I read somewhere recently that if the same difficult person or situation keeps showing up in your life time after time, it’s probably because you haven’t figured out the right way to handle them yet.  I completely believe that to be true.  And if that is the case, the next time I will offer up a little Jesus with the hamburger.

10.  I turned 40.

This one was a pretty big deal to me.  I dreaded it.  I feared it.  But now that I’ve been 40 for nearly four months, I’m actually starting to like it.  There’s a kind of respect that comes with this number.

9.  I became the mom of a teenager.

My one and only child turned 13 mid-way through the year.  Bear hugs, laughter and spontaneous conversations from the toddler years have been replaced with eye rolls, arguing and silent sulking.  Friends who have already weathered the teen parenting scene  assure me that this will pass.  I’m counting on that, and praying that it passes quickly.  I kind of miss my son.  Love him to pieces still too.

8.  I decided I like country music.

You aren’t seeing things.  This is not a misprint.  Thanks to the talent and lyrics of artists like Miranda Lambert and Carrie Underwood, I dove into the country arena and found myself laughing at the red-neck humor of the other artists I found there.  Who ever thought I’d be singing along to “I’m pretty good at drinkin’ beer…” on my way to work in the mornings?  As much as I try to appear refined and well-rounded, the truth is that country music tells the story of my life pretty doggone well.  Yes – doggone well. (except that I’m not really pretty good at drinkin’ beer…)

7.  I embraced the skinny jean.

This was a leap for me.  I swore I’d never return to the look of the late 80′s – early 90′s, but in a moment of weakness, I caved.  The young little sales girl at The Limited was GOOOOD.  She assured me they looked great and I bought them.  Granted, it took me 9 weeks before I got the courage to actually wear them, but I’m now officially a fan.  My name is Marsha.  I’m 40 years old, and I’m rockin’ the skinny jean.  That’s right.

6.  I said good-bye to my cat.

Kitty Jack was 17.  This was a big deal to me.  I already blogged about it, but it still had to make this list.

5.  I watched our high school basketball team win their 3rd State Championship in five years.

I’m a crazed basketball fan – particularly high school.  For the past decade or so, our school has been blessed with a family of freakishly talented and TALL brothers, as well as a strong supporting cast of other great players who have complimented them in the very best way.  It’s been an awesome ride after a long dry spell of mediocrity.  The 3rd trophy didn’t seem to excite people nearly as much as the first, though, which I found to be rather sad.  It was a lesson in taking things for granted for me.

4.  I got trim in my house.

Anyone who knows me, knows the significance of this.  I waited six long years for this trim.  I knocked down baseboard that was just sitting there for SIX YEARS as I vacuumed.  I even resorted to duck tape at one point – and unfortunately disproved the fact that it can fix everything.  I love that I have a “finished” house now.

3.  I traveled to Boston – alone.

I loaded my car, drove to the airport, boarded the plane, took a taxi and entered a huge city where I knew absolutely no one.  It was exciting and liberating and I loved it.  I met some interesting people and saw amazing sights.  I’m a big girl now.

2.  I spent an entire week on the ocean.

I’m not a beach person.  I don’t swim and the ocean has never really excited me the way it does others.  But for some reason, this year it sounded appealing.  When some dear friends suggested that we join them on their vacation, we did it.  I was tired and needed some time to do nothing – and that is exactly what we did.  For an entire week.  We spent every day sitting under an umbrella in the white sand.  We walked along the water.  I read and listened to music.  It was unbearably hot and humid, but it was wonderfully relaxing.  I still prefer a Midwest landscape to the ocean horizon, but I’m deeply grateful to have enjoyed those seven days.

1.  I finally accepted the fact that I will never be fully content.

Contentment is highly overrated.  I think, however, it’s what I’ve been striving for since birth.  This was the year I decided that it isn’t going to happen.  I will always want to dig a little deeper, love a little stronger, understand a little better.  My contentment with things is not a problem.  My contentment with life is another story.  And I think that’s how it should be.  Contentment breeds complacency, and one thing I never want to become is complacent.  When I cease to care, I will cease to fully live – and I am forty, I’m a child of God and I want to be ALIVE in 2011.

Happy New Year everyone!