Servant Leadership

One of my favorite accounts of Jesus in the Bible is when he washed the feet of his disciples.  I don't love feet.  I think they're gross.  Also, I know just what my feet look (and smell) like after a day of bare-footing around my less-than-sparkly home and flip-flopping around the yard and all over town here in central Georgia.  I can imagine pretty well that the sandals-wearing, desert-walking disciples' feet weren't looking or smelling so hot either.  Nevertheless, Jesus, God incarnate, in an act of service and humility, stooped down to wash the dust and day off his friends' feet.

Why?  

Because He didn't just want to tell us what to do, he wanted to show us.

You call me "Teacher" and "Lord," and rightly so, for that is what I am. Now that I, your Lord and Teacher, have washed your feet, you also should wash one another's feet.  I have set an example that you should do as I have done for you. John 13:13-15

When I think of Jesus, the ultimate authority, acting in the humblest service, I cannot help but think of the amazing staff families at my church.  Over the past couple of years, we have been blessed with the most sacrificial, serving men and women, and I just want to brag on them.  They are the epitome of servant leaders.  They saw what Jesus did and the follow his example day in and day out.  Not one of them is too important or above serving their church family.  It's an honor to do life with them.

How do these men and women love with servant's hearts?  Let me list some ways.

-They've helped us carry dinner trays on Wednesday nights when my children grossly outnumber the number of parental hands available.
-They've carried our trash and helped strip down tables after events.
- They carry bundles of walking sticks intended for a VBS craft on their shoulders in a long sleeved-collared shirt on a hundred degree day.
- They rushed to the aid of a young teen who slipped in a puddle of water, cleaning up her spilled tray before she even had the chance to be embarrassed.
-They've offered to babysit, so we could go on a date night or take the big kids somewhere.
-They have offered to take children home from sports practices.
-They go out of their way and make a point to say hello.
-They encouraged me in the parking lot after voicing fears on Facebook.
-They brought me food when I had a baby.
-They hung out with me in the ER for far too long as we awaited test results.
-They offered to sit with my kids at home while we waited in the ER for far too long.
-Though surely taxed by other areas of ministry, they still find time to lead the childrens' choir.
-They snuggle babies while presiding over a deacons meeting.  And any other time they can get their hands on one.
-They teach their children to find ways to serve others, like holding our baby while we eat dinner or warch our bigger kids play basketball.
-They show up at the hospital to pray over my babies, sometimes praying over the delivery - like during the delivery.
-They have made countless phone calls, sent texts, and written notes.

These are just a few I thought of, off the top of my head with very little effort.  Now realize that I represent just one of hundreds of families in our church.  I suspect each one can name a time they witnessed or were personally blessed by the leadership in our church family.

The final example requires a bit of a back story, but it's one of my favorites.  Last soccer season, Sam coached a group of Pre-K and kindergarten girls.  At the same time, we had three other kids playing so Saturdays were pretty hectic.  When it came time for the end of the year celebration, Sam had to travel for work.  It's generally expected that coaches show up to these things, so I was the next in line to serve as substitute.  This event so happened to occur the night Leah was fitted with a full-arm cast.  In addition to the Sam being gone and Leah's arm being broken, I was stressed to the max because we were leaving the next morning to take a trip to Maryland, and I was beyond overwhelmed at how to be in four places at one time for the after-ceremony pizza party.  Each team had a designated room in the Family Life Center in which they'd hang out one final time and eat some pizza.  When we arrived before the awards to drop off our supplementary snacks, I expected to find my kids' rooms scattered on different floors and in opposite corners of the building.  (That's what I do.)   What I discovered was that the gym also had tables set up.  I found the first team on the back wall.  I took a few steps further to the next table, which belonged to my second child.  As I proceeded down the wall, I started to wonder if it was just a cool coincidence that they were together.  Then I reached the third.  And finally the fourth.  All four of my childrens' team tables were on the back wall.  With dozens of teams, it couldn't have been accidental.  Our precious recreation minister had orchestrated the pizza party so that parents with multiple children celebrated in the gym.  Because he's amazing.  I almost cried right there.  (I did cry, later on.)  It was such a sweet, sweet gesture.  He did not have to do that, but it meant the world to me that he had.

Guys, these folks are TOP NOTCH people.  They exemplify Christ. With love like this flowing down, I cannot help but get excited about what God is going to do at Central Baptist Church.  You should join us!  

Punching Fear in the Face

Several years ago, I was driving with the kids.  The road we were on wasn't a busy one, and I can't remember where we were going or why.  What I do remember is that we were, of course, stuck behind a car that was obviously not on a schedule.  Maybe it's because I'm always late, but cars out for a Sunday cruise in the middle of a week frustrate me to no end, especially when they're traveling under the speed limit (or as I like to think of it - "the minimum speed").  It was a rural area, one lane in each direction, and the road had a dotted stripe down the middle.  I kept easing toward the center line to peek around the car in front of me, and every time I considered passing, I opted not to.

That's when Ben chimed in with something to the effect of, "If Daddy were driving, he'd have passed already.  He's not scared."

Offended, I retorted.  "I'm not scared!"

"Yes, you are.  You're afraid of everything."

I eventually passed the car.  But not without a lot of internal huffing and puffing at the suggestion that I was afraid.  Of everything.

I'm hardly a psychologist, and I cannot speak to the validity of the claims made in a Pixar movie.  Nevertheless, I think there must be something right about Inside Out.  For me, instead of a dominant personality trait, I have two duking it out for the head seat.  Anyone want to guess which two?  A year or two ago, I wrote a blog post detailing my propensity to get angry.  That's still true, but after several eye-opening conversations, a little soul-searching, and, actually, an enneagram personality test, it has become abundantly clear that I'm afraid of just about everything.

A few weeks ago, determined to create better habits for myself and our family, we took a little walk around the neighborhood to a nearby playground.  We don't have sidewalks, and the main road through our neighborhood is used as a cut-through for several adjacent housing developments.  Knowing that all routes from our house require passage on this street has stopped me from doing any kind of exercising with the entire herd.  I sabotage my healthier habits with fear.

"What if that crazy black Camaro hits one of the kids?"
"What if Leah veers to the middle of the road on her bike?"
"What if someone falls out of the wagon?"
"What if Zachary starts screaming at the farthest point from our house?"
"What if someone falls?"
"What if we really hug the corners and walk against traffic and we still get plowed down by a distracted driver?"
"What if we get 0.1 mile into the walk and everyone starts complaining?"
"What if someone robs our house while we're gone?"
"What if it starts raining?"

Literally.  These were my thoughts.

At the beginning of 2018, I made a decision to be Brave.  It doesn't seem like I've made much progress, does it?

As you can probably imagine, we survived the walk.  Everyone got 1.7 miles of fresh air and exercise.  No one was injured.  Our home was untouched.  The weather was gorgeous.  And I thought to myself, what in the world would I have robbed myself of if I'd given in to my fears?  (Answer: 1.7 miles of fresh air and exercise with the family on a gorgeous day.)

A similar situation arose this past weekend where I had the opportunity to spend a Sunday afternoon with the families in our Sunday School Life Group.  One of the couples organized a low country boil, and I never responded knowing that Sam would be traveling for work and that left me alone to deal with seven kids. Near a pond. In an uncontained area During naptime. Trying to peel shrimp. "No way!" I told myself.  Then, Saturday morning, I thought about how fun the last time was that we'd done it, and how my kids would be so sad if they knew we missed out, and how if I can't take my circus to a picnic with my dearest friends to help me, where can I take them?  I made an apologetic, last-minute text message, stopped at the store to grab a few picnic essentials, and we were ready to roll.

Would I rather Sam have been there?  Absolutely.  Did we have a great time in spite of me?  Yes.  Would I have regretted missing it?  Without a doubt.

Thinking over the events of Sunday afternoon, which far surpassed my grave expectations, I took a mental inventory of the times in my life where I was most terrified and contrasted the fear to the outcome.

Moving from Maryland to Georgia to go to college
Getting married at 19
Raising a baby while finishing my degree
Presenting my senior design project
Finding a job
Sitting for the PE
Losing my job and not being able to find another
Homeschooling
Growing our family
Traveling the country with 4, 5, 6, now 7 kids

Can I tell you something?  Fear is a punk.  It doesn't matter what we are facing, God is faithful to see us through it.  I couldn't tell you what of my fears are rational, how much of my anxiety is normal.  I only know I spend too much time fretting about things beyond my control and not enough time giving it over to the One who wants to bear the burden for me.

Do not be anxious about anything, but in everything, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving present your requests to God.  And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your mind in Christ Jesus. Philippians 4:6-7

I prayed to the Lord, and he answered me.  He freed me from all my fears. Psalm 34:4

When I reach the end of me, that's when God shows up and shows off.  I'm so grateful for the gift of retrospect so I can see God's unfailing work in my life.  My current prayer is that instead of looking back to see what He has done, that I will trust him when my fears try to prevent me from living life, before I see what He's going to do.

Let's face it, if I'm not the one taking my kids to a low country boil, who else is going to?

One Sentence Eulogy

If you are my Facebook friend, it's no secret that I have been reading a book (again) that I deeply love.  The title is Listen, Love, Repeat by Karen Ehman.  I don't get paid to promote the book.  I don't get a cut if you buy it.  I just think you should read it because it teaches us why and how to put others before ourselves in a world screaming "me first!"

One of the reasons I've really enjoyed it is because it gives actual, practical advice on how to love others beyond taking them a meal or sending a text (both wonderful things to do, however...not knocking either of them).  Like any great book, she goes out on a high note with my favorite two chapters coming at the end - entitled "Nearest and Dearest: How to Really Care for your Clan" and "Scatter Kindness."

As I sit here, plagued by a third trimester overactive bladder and inability to get comfortable in any sleeping position, I found myself contemplating both chapters.  You see, I'm not in a great mindset to be putting others first right now.  I'm grumpy, uncomfortable, sweaty, and tired.  Fortunately, that's all just temporary.  (Well, let's be honest, not the sweaty part.  Okay, or the grumpy part, if I'm being totally transparent.)  Nevertheless, how I treat others cannot depend on my mood.

We need to remember our why, the reason we love and serve and give thoughtful gifts and do good works.  It is so that others will see Jesus.  They may look at us, but we hope they see him.

I have the beautiful luxury of having a lot of "nearest and dearest."  This is amazing because I have seven, soon to be eight, staggeringly different personalities to learn and know and love and navigate.  It means I have seven, soon to be eight, people as a constant audience of me at both my best and, more often, my worst.  Our nearest and dearest have the unfortunate privilege of getting to see our ugly side.  We share with them the short-temper and harsh tones we wouldn't dare show to anyone else.  I am the number one offender when it comes to taking for granted that they know I love them.  I am guilty of pouring into others when I neglect to pour into my own.  "Yeah, but they know how I feel.  I don't have to show them."

Wrong.

This weekend was my husband's birthday.  It came on the heels of a week of business travel for him, and a whirlwind week for me at home with the six kids, a huge belly, plus tons of extra things going on (first soccer practices, volleyball practice, a few play-dates, hosting book club at my house, routine church activities, chores, etc.).  I was feeling less than energetic and inspired when it came to figuring out a present and a way to celebrate.  Fortunately, Sam rose to the occasion himself and arranged for us to pick him up at the airport and spend the night in Atlanta, where we ate at a couple of his favorite restaurants, enjoyed a favorite treat (Auntie Anne's Cinnamon Pretzel), "relaxed" at the hotel pools with six kids, and browsed the exhibit hall of a Homeschool Expo (wait, that part might have been for me).  Knowing he loves a good nap, we let him take a good one on Sunday after we got home, and the kids prepared the decorations and entertainment (an improvised Happy Birthday song to the tune of a wordless Disney karaoke track) while I prepared the caramel cheesecake because I had literally none of the ingredients to make a copycat Chili's Molten chocolate cake.  We presented the photos we took while on the way to Atlanta at church for a gift, and I prayed he somehow picked up on the fact that we adore him.  I simply cannot take for granted that he knows.  We have to show him and tell him we love him.

In the final chapter of the book, Karen poses a question to the reader.  If  someone were to record a one-sentence eulogy about me, what would they say?  How would they describe me?  I took that thought another scary step and pondered what my kids, specifically, would say.  Late in the third trimester suffering from insomnia is probably not the best time to be contemplating this, but I pray they'd be able to say something like:

She laughed more than she cried.
She praised us more than she criticized.
She let a lot of things go that might make other people crazy.
She succeeded more than she failed.
She apologized when she was wrong.
She did for others what others wouldn't do for her.
She was patient even though she was tired.
Maybe, she gave us soft, gentle, thoughtful answers rather than using harsh, painful, and careless words that stirred up anger.  Oh, wouldn't that be amazing?

I'm not sure they can say those things, but I can dream.

Knowing how fleeting our moments are here on earth, I want to do life better.  To scatter more kindness.  To love my nearest and dearest the way they deserve.  To invest in the lonely and brokenhearted.  To recognize the necessary people.  To reach out to the cantankerous and prickly knowing I might get hurt.  To glean my free moments to do these things instead of wasting them playing Cooking Fever or checking Facebook.  (Not that I do either of those things all day long.  I'm a grown woman!  Seriously though.)

Kindness starts simply.
An encouraging word.
A loving gesture.
A tender sentiment sent through the mail.
A thoughtful small token.
The gift of unhurried time.
A rousing pep talk.
Simply vowing to speak and act in a way that is gentle and kind is the starting point.
Aesop was right: "No act of kindness, no matter how small, is ever wasted."

A Beautiful Mess

There was a time, I seem to remember, when I was a fairly "together" kind of person.  I maintained tidy work spaces, had legitimate organizational methods, and obsessed about minor details.  (Okay, I still do that last part.)  I had the luxury, way back when, of maintaining order at a more professional level.

I'm sure you can guess what happened.

(That's just one more on the way.  In case you're confused.  We just like to be surprised on the birth day and prepared with a tiny onesie in either case.)

As we've added children, our lives have gotten fuller, both in the emotional sense of having more love and all that jazz, but also in the very real, physical sense because we have more stuff, schedules, and personalities to navigate.  As the years have progressed I've had to teach myself to delegate.  (Actually, my much-wiser-than-me husband not-so-subtly suggested that it was imperative to include our children in the household duties for lots and lots of very good reasons, not the least of which was that I was running myself ragged and not accomplishing much despite doing so.)

For example, I delegated towel folding to my eldest who picked up the folding torch and keeps the stacks nice and uniform, facing the right direction.  He, in turn, delegated the task of carrying the nice, neat stacks to the bathroom cabinets to his younger siblings who actually seem to enjoy running around like tiny delivery people.  The part that makes me itchy is when these younger helpers insist on doing some folding on their own.  The stacks are less uniform, almost never facing the right direction.  But they are folded.  And no longer on my fireplace.  Or favorite green chair.  Or on my laundry room floor.  Lord knows I need all of those places for the next load of unfolded, but clean laundry.  And so, I concede to the imperfection.

Another chore of utmost importance is doing the dishes.  I have not clung to many formalities in our large family life, but eating off of legitimate plates with actual silverware is one that, save for an occasional backyard picnic or pizza and movie night in the living room, I just cannot let go.  As you can probably infer, this means we load and unload the dishwasher on pretty much a constant basis.  True to my own personality type (or flaws, whatever), I had a difficult time delegating because I had particular ways of doing things (like loading the plates in a certain direction) and I wanted to be able to actually find the dishes, etc. that were unloaded.  We started with unloading only.  I would stand (or hover, depending who you talk to) over and watch as the younger ones attempted to comb their hair with clean forks before putting them in the drawer or touch their mouths to the clean cups before placing them in the cabinet.  Gentle correction remedied these minor transgressions.  For the most part, they do a fantastic job.  They've broken no more dishes than their spaz mother manages to break and things are generally where they belong (even if I can almost never find a colander), despite the fact they might not be put away exactly how I'd like them to be.

Tonight, as I was about to prepare my nightly cup of water (so I can chug it at bedtime and then proceed to get up every hour all night with an urgent need to pee - why? why do I do that?), I opened the cabinet and chuckled.

The stories this cabinet could tell.  Who looks in a cup cabinet and gets nostalgic?  Me.  That's who.  The days of perfectly-cut shelf paper and matching, organized glassware are a distant memory, but the remnants of 15+ years of my life carry on this cabinet.  A cup I used as a pencil holder when I was a senior in high school after selecting Mercer as my college destination.  Free cups from Mercer events, including a customized one from my freshman RA.  Preakness glasses that, ironically, Sam got on a business trip to Baltimore but that remind me of "home."  A few, yet unbroken, glasses from a set that we picked out at Ross when our college glasses dwindled.  A set of stemware that our girls use to drink ginger ale out of when they're feeling particularly fancy.  A lovely set of platinum rimmed tea glasses that were gifted to me from family.  A cup from Publix when we went trick-or-treating there with our brood.  Small juice cups that mostly serve as dippers on our watercolor painting days.  A giant plastic football cup from the last event ever held at the Georgia Dome.

Mostly, though, I see the crazy, upside-down, right-side-up randomness, and it makes me smile.  That's not something I ever imagined I'd say.  This insane cup cabinet tells the story of my crazy, upside-down, right-side-up, random family.  It's messy.  It's imperfect.  Some days, it's seriously upside-down.  Some might call it chaotic.  The thing is, it's us.  It's teamwork.  There's beauty in that mess.  There usually is.  Given the choice or the chance, I wouldn't trade it for perfectly-cut shelf paper and matchy-matchy.  This is the beautiful mess God has given me.

Family life is a bit like a runny peach pie — not perfect but who’s complaining? ~Robert Brault

Only Kindness Matters

For as long as I can remember, I have cared too much.  About everything.  I get bogged down in details and feelings and hypotheticals and I lose sleep and I emote excessively.  It's the reason I was awake all night a couple of weeks ago (and several times since then, in fact).  I followed a conversation started by a friend on social media that seemed to civilly and genuinely tackle one of the hot button topics of the times.  In my sincere desire to understand why people think so differently from each other, I read the comments.  And there were many.  As things tend to, especially online, tensions quickly escalated, people began making assumptions and blanket statements, and then the name calling ensued.  End productive conversation.

I find myself grieving the loss of civility in people I know and love and feeling crushed by the words and opinions of people I do not even know. 

One comment, a puny ten words or less, from a person whom I've never met kept me awake for a solid night because I wasn't able to separate real life from virtual "reality."  What I am unable to do is distinguish hastily typed (or even carefully selected) words in the midst of an online debate from a personal attack on my character or choices.  I guess I'm still that little girl seeking everyone's approval.  Even strangers.  On the INTERNET.  Lesson to learn:  People I don't know cannot speak for me or about me.  Even if it feels like it, no one is personally attacking me. 

I don't know anyone in day to day life, literally, not ONE SINGLE PERSON, who is advocating for divisiveness, hate, and vitriol.  Granted, my world is small, and I recognize that fully.  But, my dearest friends and family members from all sides of faith and politics are calling for peace and kindness.  This being the case, how is it that we're getting nowhere?  Is it that peace and kindness look different to each of us?

And what can I, Jennie with the tiny circle of influence, do about it?

Seriously, if you've got ideas, I'm all ears.  Text me.  Email.  Send me a postcard.  Pop in, you can help me fold towels.

I've unplugged from my major addiction for a spell.  It's been quiet, and embarrassingly enough, a little lonely.  I have relied on a manufactured virtual community to fill my need for actual friends for far too long.  I don't want to be the ostrich who buries her head in the sand and pretends everything is okay.  I know better than that.  But I cannot accept that people are online who they are in real life.  I cannot believe the hatred and animosity coming out of the mouths of friends are the same things they'd say to me in a face to face conversation. 

So, come on, let's talk.  Face to face.  Amidst the syrup drips still on the table from breakfast.  And the crumbs still on the floor from lunch.  I'll probably cry.  Because I'm embarrassed of the mess, but mostly because that's who I am.  Please, let's just all remember that the words we speak affect actual people.  As much as we feel opinions define our character, I believe that the way we present our opinions, regardless of what they are, matters just as much if not more.  In the end, only kindness matters.

My cry and prayer is a grieved one.  Forgive us, Jesus, because we're so far gone.  And yet, even still, knowing how awful we are, every one of us (and believe me, I'm the worst!), you deemed us worth pursuing and loving.  Thank you isn't enough.  Thank you.