The Road Less Traveled…

One of my favorite poems is

The Road Less Traveled by Robert Frost.

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;

Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,

And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I--
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference 

I thought a great deal of this poem yesterday as Ian and I forged through the woods at Raven Run in Lexington, Kentucky.  A walk….his gift to me.  Our talk....our gift to one another. 

Nature’s beauty….God’s gift to all who would stop and walk and see…. 

And, it is true….our life is testimony to our journey no matter how many days long or short it is.  The path we chose “makes all the difference.”  Some will take the path well-worn and easy to traverse.  The path that most of mankind will take.  And, some will take “the path less traveled by” which is hard to forage and leads to places unknown and unchartered. The path that we are taught to take as people of faith.

My children have been raised on the belief that the path we are to take is “the one less traveled by” because it is the one which God has laid down…..but, is that really the message of this poem?  I don’t know…. 

I always assumed with my “religious” view that the one less taken meant the path to God…that only the few would find the path to heaven….less tattered and worn because man, in our humanity would refuse to take on such a challenge and would travel the simpler, more used path.  The worldly walk. 

As my life and this poem mature, I now believe that life is not just one path…one journey, but a series of walking and choosing….sometimes, the choice is ours to make outright but at times, the path is there without choice…it comes our way through God’s grace, through God’s teaching, through God’s providential mercy. 

Sometimes, all we have it the choice to move forward, to stand still or to turn around and go back… 

And, it is the choosing which “makes all the difference”. 

I felt that yesterday….we choses the “red” path because it was the one which took us to the “prize”….the spectacular view of the Kentucky River from rock outlooks which challenged one’s bravery.  This path was, I believe, one of the longest and most challenging….I, the new hiker, was anxious. 

Just walking from the guest center to get to the path was a “hike”…..but, made simpler because of its concrete side walk… 

I found that curious…a concrete path to get to a nature walk??

And, Ian explained that it was not a natural path and would have many traveling down the exact same steps thereby wearing out the path and aging it beyond use in a short time, thus the concrete. 

From the guest center to the actual path was an “open” natural walkway…one prepared by the state to give direction to the other paths from which a hiker could choose.  I believe there were four in all….all of varying length and difficulty. 

I thought….new hiker that I am….WHEN will we ever get to the real path?? 

It took a while… 

But, arrive we did and Ian explained that the path we were choosing was one of the most difficult, but one of the most lovely….for, it held the view….

Red it was…and, on we walked…. 

Its opening was beautiful…all green and lush.  Stone walls surrounded us and kept us safe from falling off the path.  The walk way was wide and flat and easy to traverse.  “I can do this”, I thought. 

But, very quickly, this changed.  The path began to have its challenges….decisions had to be made.

Decisions which would mean the difference between getting to the view and then the end of the path or turning around and heading back to the safety of the guest center.

 Things got in the way of our hike….

Doubt began to sink in…is traveling around all of the path’s obstacles worth the view we might see and worth the effort of the hike? 

I have not hiked in many years.  I am not in shape to hike.  The heat was already 85 degrees and it was barely past 9 in the morning.  I wore tennis shoes instead of hiking boots.  Did we bring enough water and was now a good time for a water break?  Am I too old for this?  Am I too inexperienced for this? 

Doubt began to rob…as doubt will do if you let it.

I didn’t share these thoughts with Ian…instead, choosing to mull them over privately lest he think I was weak…

As our steps took us farther from the path’s opening and nearer the path’s view, I tried to relax and enjoy the challenge… 

Ian explained that at times, the path would be made more narrow by natural occurrences…and, that I had to choose each time…would this be the “rough spot” which made me turn around and go back or would I brave the challenge and press forward?

And, he was right. 

Interwoven along path “A” were many obstacles – downed tree branches, whole tree trunks, stones, wooden beams, rocks, boulders, branches and boulders, vines, and holes which could trip up one’s feet plunging them down into the river.

Oddly, just as much, were the “man made” bridges and walkways and paths placed here and there and which seemed to arrive at just the appropriate time to build one’s courage to remain on path.

I asked Ian about these human built paths….and, he said, “That is to help keep a hiker encouraged to not give up on their journey and to ensure in the most dangerous of spots that they have some safety to bolster their courage and fortitude.”  But, he assured me….not all paths have these blessings…..some paths are just as they are….broken, dangerous and demand a vision of the hiker to finish.

We hiked on…and, with each step, I grew more encouraged that regardless of what obstacle next came to meet our steps, I could do this...

And, in the doing, met courage… 

The more difficult the obstacle the greater the feeling having gone past it.  The more I had gone past it, the more prepared I was for the next obstacle. 

I could feel Ian’s smile as my determination grew….I was learning. 

And, I was growing in things more than just learning how to walk a path to a view.

My vision and perspective was changing. 

No longer was I holding his hand on the rough spots, choosing instead to “do it myself”….at times, I even took the lead. 

I learned to enjoy the areas where breeze and greenery gave air so that the next trip through the heat and sun could be survived.

I could do this.  I would do this.  And, my mother’s words from a childhood book came to mind, “I think I can, I think I can”….bubbled in my thoughts…

And, then everything changed….

“I think we should cut short our path today, Lesa”, said Ian. 

“What?” I said

“Yes, I think we should take this white path out of here and head on home.  We have traveled over an hour, we have seen the view, we have braved some steep and rocky challenges.  But, as in life, sometimes, you have to pace yourself for the long haul.” 

“I WAS pacing myself!!!.....I was mentally pacing myself for the finish of the long path through the heat in spite of my anxiety”…”I cannot quit….I will not quit.” 

And, then he said what I will never forget…

“Lesa, just because you chose to take another path home, does not mean you are quitting.  It means the path you are on will not allow you to get home.”

 “If we continue  on in stubborn perseverance out of pride rather than consider the wiser option of choosing a new path which leads to home, what have we gained if we cannot finish the journey?”

Nothing.  But, what we may get is death...and, that is not what life is about.  Life is about living... 

In the end, it is about persevering and finishing the journey. 

In my life, as I am sure is true of yours, there are journeys which I did not complete.  Some of them I let go of, but some still haunt me because I did not put myself in the position of finishing the journey.  Of having success.  Of “finishing the race”.

 Ian’s point was well made and received. 

If cutting short our several hour hike to a one and a half hour hike better prepared me for the next hike, and allows me to grow in a healthy way from the experience, then that makes good sense.

Because in the long haul, life is a journey, a series of fallings down and gettins up….of starting and stopping. 

And, this life I have is one journey in which I want to finish….strong….purposeful and for Him…

 Blessings,

 Lesa

Sometimes You Just Send Them.....

Sometimes You Just Send Them…

My sons are stepping outside of their comfort zone this week.  Traveling with their Dad a long distance, traveling to a place where they have never before been, working outside in the heat and sun, serving others, sleeping on sleeping bags in tents, eating out on the open fire, singing, and even leaving behind the comforts of home: leaving behind work, sports, girlfriend, friends and even Mama. 

I am not proud that their Dad nor I have exposed our sons to more of these kinds of opportunities before now.  They were exposed when they were younger and were very good workers, selfless servers, willing participants in doing things for others.  But, somehow along the way as they headed toward tween-dom and young adulthood, they become, dare I say this…unchallenged?

There is a long story on how we arrived to where we are with our boys, but in the telling, nothing is gained…so, instead, I try to focus on our intentional desire to turn things around. 

Their Dad is not a camper anymore than our boys, so his desire to take them on this adventure is a good effort to push all three of them to paths which he has faith will be God-blessed for their efforts. 

I am glad he chose to go.  I am glad he pursued the boy’s going.

I am glad that God ensured this trip would be made.

Because, I have faith.  Faith that my boys will be changed.  When you go outside your comfort zone in the name of Jesus, you cannot help but be changed.  Even when your spirit is anxious, even when your heart is not fully vested, even when….even when.

Because God uses all circumstances to draw us close….to reach us, to teach us, to mold us….

So, when I got a call from one son last night, I simply listened.

And knew….already, there less than an hour, and God was already at work on the heart of my child..our child.  And, as I am learning to do, I said nothing.

Words were not needed.  Listening was.  So, that is what I did.

And, as he ended our conversation, I just said that I loved him.

And, after he ended our conversation, I thanked God that HE was in control.  That His will was all ready at work.  That comfort zones were being tested.  That hearts were being molded.

As only HE can…

If we but let go…..

In the letting go….is where God meets us Holy and personal.  When we let go of our children to Him, he meets our children Holy and personal.

As only He can….

Blessings,

Lesa

An Anniversary Gift....Celebrating "The Value of the Gift" of Marriage over 52 Weeks...

I Have Always Known….But, Didn’t Fully Appreciate “till Now….

I knew when I was 13 that Ian was kind because he extended that kindness to me.  By 16, I knew he was a gentleman and thoughtful because he treated me as such.  And, by 18, I knew he had a great heart because he shared his with me… 

I have known many thinks about Ian for many years… 

My husband is a man of the earth.  He loves all things out of doors; hunting, fishing, hiking, biking, boating, water skiing, gardening, mowing, and anything which draws him close to nature.  I love all of those things about him and appreciate them even more at our current age than I did when we were younger.

But, what I didn’t fully realize is how hopelessly selfless and romantic he is…

 For our Anniversary, he gave me the gift of “52 Weeks”….he prepared a “prescription” for a healthy marriage (something we do not take lightly) and prepared it as a physician would for his patient.  Each medicine capsule contains a small piece of paper with a different “adventure”…all in the name of love!

To date, I have been blessed to:

Week 1 – Receive a new IPAD which I love

Week 2-  Walk the trail in the Lexington Arboretum

Week 3– Watch as Ian washed my Jeep both inside and out!

Week 4 – Picnic at Weinberger Mills

Week 5 – Play Putt Putt Golf (A Christian course…wonderful)

Week 6 – Take a 3^rd dancing lesson…very fun (we are actually fairly good)

Week 7 – Fishing on Elkhorn Creek (caught 20..yes, that is the truth)

I confess that I am still in great anticipation of the very romantic adventures Ian says are among the unopened capsules, but have to acknowledge that each week has presented a wonderful time with Ian.  We have laughed, loved and embraced many things which without his gift, I likely would not have experienced.

That he would go to such lengths to prepare me with such a loving gift is perhaps the greatest gift of all…to be on the receiving end of his present to me is priceless.

And, just one of the many reasons I love him…

Blessings,

Lesa

I Love the Ocean....

I Love the Ocean….

I am not certain as to the why of it, but I do know the truth of it…

I love the ocean.

 

There is something about being near the ocean, waves crashing against the sandy beaches, sun rising all baby-pink, sherbet orange and stirred purple which makes my heart feel close to God.  I love visiting the ocean.  I would go so far as to say that an annual trek to the sand and foam is vital to my happiness, but would not want to lay that much responsibility at the feet of seascape and sunlight.  What I will say is that being in the presence of His majesty while taking in the vastness, the wonderment and the infinite strength of the ocean is a great joy in my life. 

In the past year, Ian and I have visited two oceans and the Gulf of Mexico, an ocean basin.  We have seen the sandy beaches of Florida and the white sands of Bora Bora.  It is the same…this love of things sandy and sunny. 

There is something powerful yet tender about the ocean..where deathly depths of infinite un-knowness mates with the laughter and light of children at play on its surface.   

Each time I am blessed with a visit, I learn a new lesson.  This trip was no exception… 

My teacher this time was my husband.  Ian is an Agriculture/Biology student of thirty-three years, plus a few.  His life has been one in deep appreciation of things God gave us to remind us of Him.  He loves to grow things, track things and hunt things.  He loves the swiftness of a deer as it runs through the woods and will stop roadside to look at the beauty of a wildflower.  His view of “all things great and small” is one I loved as a young girl and now appreciate as a grown woman. 

 So, it was no surprise, as we walked the beach “of a morning” as the sun rose, to have our conversation turn to things of nature.  This particular morning, we had our shell bag filled with Cockle Shells…

One of the most common shells on Sanibel Island is the heart cockle shell. This same shell is a rare find in other parts of the world. A cockle mollusk has feet and is able to jump several inches in a single bound.

I like knowing that the piece of the shell we were saving as a keepsake is the “heart” of something…not only is it a heart but it is strong and can leap in single bounds!

 A strong heart.

So, we began a hunt for all things “Cockle”…..and, we were in luck.  We found big cockles and little cockles; we found thick, hard-shelled cockles and thin, delicate cockles.

Each shell half equals one sea life

Each shell which ended up in my pink shell bag bore its own story…

We found a perfectly white, un-blemished, un-tattered shell which was thick and strong and bore ridges of time indicating a long sea life.  A survivor if you will and one with good shell genes.  If the ocean has tossed and turned this shell to extreme, you cannot tell it by its shell…white, pristine, it is lovely to behold and is a “keeper”.

But, I also love the other Cockles which made it to our sight and into our net and which tell a story of their own…

The “Etched” Shell…similar to the Keeper, this shell is white and strong and lovely but on its surface, life is etched.  It is as if someone took a knife during a vulnerable point in this shell’s life and made a permanent indentation on its shellish body.  It healed in its own way, but the scars it bears are an evidence of life battles.  It is forever bearing the imprint or “etching” of its vulnerability, its struggle evidenced forever in its etching.

 Then there is the shell which breaks my heart.  The “hole in my heart” shell.  This shell is perfect in all ways except for a hole near its center.  Perhaps what is not said about this heart-broken shell is more significant than any words I could pen here.

We came upon a “Partial Shell”.  It appeared to have been growing normally, strong countenance, ridges fine and color a healthy white, then something in its shell life came along which was so significant as to break it almost in half.  Beautiful on the one side and broken on the other.  Also interesting to me is that while it appeared to be growing in the direction of strength…it has the delicate-ness of suffering.  In my hand, you can feel it’s battle….and, its vulnerability.

 Then there is the diseased shell.  This is one where it’s original owner either died, grew diseased or was eaten by an animal.  I am told you can tell if disease was involved by the mis-coloring of the inside of the shell.  Life was tough on this particular Cockle shell as its color is a purplish-black and the indentation of where it’s inhabitant remains is as if  there was great sacrifice.

 Finally, we came upon a Cockle that was so beat up it barely wore its Cockle markings.  We are not certain what happened to this shell, but it most definitely bears the markings of a great warrior battler.

While none of the shells we picked are currently living,  the worthiness of the story of their life is told in the markings of their shell.

Much like us and our lives and our “shells”….

 As we have aged, Ian and I agree that we focus more on the unsaid evidences in a person’s life than on the spoken words.  We have friends and family and even ourselves represented in the shells we picked.  Some are gloriously shiny and new, some are lovely and elegant.  Some shells are large and boisterous and some are lean and purposeful.  And, sadly, some are just unlovely on their outside.  We agreed that as youngsters picking shells from the ocean tide, we threw back any with imperfections.  We clung to the perfect ones, the large ones, the shiny ones instead.

However, now, at fifty and fifty-five, we find the beauty of the broken shells, the battered shells, the one life has not been so kind to, but in that unkindness, has brought about great beauty. 

In fact, as we sat down this morning to review and inspect our collection, we were amazed to find we had more imperfect shells than perfect.  I liked one for it’s color but it had a hole in it; Ian liked one for its size but it had a spot missing.  One shell looked perfect from it’s front but turn it over and it was broken and holey.  Out of fifty shells, most had some imperfection…and yet, they were lovely enough to have made it to our shell collection.

 And, not only did they make it to our collection, but they made us smile and thoughtful as we placed them among our others.

 …I think God gives us shells and snowflakes, trees and rocks, land-scapes and sea-scapes as our reminder that all things beautiful are wrought with His hand.  Each has it’s own story, each bears it’s own beauty marks and battle scars.  Some grow stronger yet bear the etchings, some fall faint and give way to the challenge and some just float along the shores…living, thriving

 Surviving…

 So, if that applies to our own life…lives….

And, we are collected up in time,  in the net of His love, how much more will our beauty and struggle and courage and survival mean to the one who sent us all of these many reminders laid out like jewels on the beaches for hearts open to consideration and acceptance?

I like to think that God sent us the beaches and the shells, to the snow capped mountains with the snowflakes, to the forest with it’s trees….to our neighborhoods with it’s peoples as a reminder.

 Our lives have a purpose…a value…and a lesson

                                                   

That is a gift innately ours from Him and our ability to see that purpose and value and beauty in others, is a gift we give back…

To Him.

Blessings,

Lesa

Make a Believer of of "Em

"Make a Believer Out of ‘Em"

I can remember when my children were small and their Dad and I were struggling with some child-rearing issues and my Daddy saying, Sis…you have to "make a believer out of em".

At the time, he was telling us to be strong with our discipline and deep with our faith-walk. I cannot remember the infraction of which I was asking, but, it could not have been much, for they were smallish children, not very old. But, I do remember Daddy clearly saying,

"make a believer out of em"

I realized then and still do now that he meant that on several levels…

Make a believer out of them in the sense of literally sharing your faith so that they will grow into their own.

And

Make a believer out of them in the sense of disciplining them so that they will grow into their own.

I grew up in such a home.

When I was little, I LOVED going to church because I loved learning about Jesus. I loved reading about David and Paul and Moses. Miriam, Moses’ sister was my hero and I always wanted to be a sister like her. I loved learning about Mary and Mary and the Woman at the Well, Daniel in the Lion’s Den and Lazarus. I went with my parents to church not because they told me to but because they "showed" me to. Their own faith-walk instilled in me a love and passion very early on for all things Godly.

That passion stayed with me even into teenage-hood and young adult-hood. On those very few occasions where I would have preferred to stay at home and sleep in, I didn’t have to wonder if that would be a possibility or not. I knew that if you were a Millstead….you were in Bible class and worship on Sunday morning, you went to evening worship on Sunday evening and every Wednesday night you were front- row- center. It was not so much that they "made" us kids go….it was that you knew that you had to be with them on Sunday/Wednesday and you knew where they would be and what they would be doing.

You knew that Daddy would likely be preaching a sermon, brothers would be waiting on the table, Daddy would teach a class, lead singing and possibly even give out the announcements. Mama would have several little ones sitting with her in the pew and would then walk those same children to the class she would then teach, much of this after she had prepared communion and folded the bulletins. My parents were joined by our church family in "making us believers".

I was thinking the other day that my parents could be called "holistic" in their approach to their faith. "Church" was not something our family just attended on Sundays and Wednesdays, it was the way we lived our lives on all of the other days preparing for Sundays and Wednesdays.

I can remember Daddy and my brothers going over to the church building to cut the grass and ready the building for Sunday’s service. My mother and other ladies of the church would snap beans and prepare Sunday lessons and church bulletins while I babysat the younger children in my parent’s back yard. If I close my eyes, I can still hear the laughter of those sweet women mingling with the silly giggles of their little children.

I remember the "men folk" pulling up in the yard in their truck all grimy and sweaty from mowing the significant yard of our church building, back-slapping and laughing and smiling big.

Oh yes, I am the child of parents who "made a believer of out me", and I think my siblings would share that same heartfelt thought.

And, I am eternally grateful.

But, Mama and Daddy did not stop there. They also "made believers" out of us in the way they disciplined us. I sincerely don’t remember but a few times in my life where strong discipline was given to me by either of my parents. I do remember getting disciplined for cutting Missy B’s bangs when I was about five. For some reason, Mrs. Janie didn’t appreciate the way they were cut and my Mama didn’t appreciate that I didn’t confess "directly" that I was the scissor-welding hairdresser. I remember not coming home from play in time for dinner and coming in late once from a date. I am sure there were many more..All of those times, my parents set me down to discuss their expectations on my future behavior so that I was clear on what to do. Sometimes, they told me what future consequences were going to be but mostly they just told me to believe them…if I disobeyed, I would be punished. Frankly, for me, that was all it took.

I believed them.

I knew even as a very young girl that my parents loved me…they loved me enough that if I was going to make a bad decision, they were going to step up and "make a believer" out of me so that I did not make that same bad decision the next time.

One of my greatest regrets in my life is not staying in their line of vision all of my life. Because, the more I was in their "sights", the stronger was my clarity on how to live my life. Those times I ventured out on my own and on their teachings, it cost me. Dearly.

Those times I chose to remember the ways they had trained me and returned to those roots, the better and wiser my choices.

I see now that God gives us our parents as a guiding light for a reason. They are not there just to guide us to adult-hood, they are there to guide us through a lifetime. That is why there is such great loss for those whose parents are absent through death, through poor choices through failure to understand the responsibility God gives parents.

My siblings and I were and are blessed. We had and have parents who made believers out of us in both ways .

They grew in our hearts a belief that we were to obey them because they obeyed HIM and, they grew in our hearts a belief that we were to follow them in faith because they knew that if we followed them in our faith walk that we would be following HIM in our faith walk.

I am not my parents. I have not been so disciplined and faithful. But, I am my parent’s daughter and one thing they also taught me is that when you lose your way, AND you will, you draw a line in the sand of your life and mark it. That is your past. Walk in your future as one who was taught to "be a believer"…

So, I did and I do.

Blessings,

Lesa

　

My Greatest Treasurers….here on earth…..Happy Birthday! 

I am grateful….to be the mother of a daughter is a true blessing.  Daughters are treasures the heart wraps around all of your life giving you joy and light like only a daughter can. 

And, equally but differently, I am blessed to be the mother…of not just one, but two sons.  Sons are the gems in the heart of a mother which embolden her to be strong and courageous and brave.

My sons, while coming as twins do….within minutes of one another are so very different in ways only my mother’s heart can see.  While others claim a likeness which makes them hard to tell apart, I have never once had that problem.  Even in the womb, Baby A was quiet, reserved and strong while Baby B was active, busy and bounding.

God walked me through a very special journey to arrive at motherhood of sons.  He took me to places that, while painful and frightening at the time, caused me to grow in faith and trust and love as only God can. 

I am not special of person nor deserving of my children.  I think, rather, God knew that in my weakness, I would grow stronger with my children, because of my children.  I think God, in His infinite and tender mercy and wisdom knew that I needed my children to grow me into the person God intended…

I love my children….deeply….”as only their mother can”..

I love Madison more than all the sand on all of the beaches in all of the world.

I love Kenton more than all the stars in all the skies in all of the world.

I love Johnson more than all the blades of grass in all the fields in all of the world.

I love little baby Joseph more than all the dreams and wishes and prayers of childhood….

I am not only a mother, I am a grateful mother.  Today, May 31^st in the wee hours of the morning, I gave birth to two precious sons who would forever change my heart, my life, my personhood. 

My sons, while different, have some truths in common…some bonding seams of being which make them brothers…created together by father, by mother and knitted by God.

I noticed these things as I prepared a “Name Board” for each of my sons for their Seventeenth Birthday tomorrow.  I have grown to love this new tradition of “name boards” which Ian initiated a year ago for me.  You write the name of the person at the top and then list words to describe that person..one word for each year of life plus "God’s"…

These are not professionally crafted, perfectly made name boards…these are rough hewn wooden boards with names printed on white paper and cut out by hand, glued in place and lovingly- thought- through- boards.

As of tomorrow, all five of us Young-McKenzies will have a name board…with words like

“precious….selfless….expressive….rapper….honorable….athletic…warrior……sweetheart” written on them.

Ian initiated this “work board” tradition in an attempt to give me a more positive view of myself.  He posted the board on the wall of my bathroom so that each morning as I ready myself for work, I am able to view how he sees me….how he believes God sees me.

It works.

It works very well.

Such a smallish, little gift…

Such a large, impactive gift…

And so, as I ready our family for Seventeenth Birthday Celebrations….for the lives of my sons….I sit at my desk and pray God gives me the words to describe my sons…who they are now and who God will grow them into in the future.

I ask their Ladder, their sister and their Grandparents for input….it is a joint effort.

Words are powerful….just like sons and daughter.

And, the words we surround our children with will mold and shape and form their hearts.

Let them be loving..let them be kind...let them be truthful...

Let them be God's...

Blessed to be the mother of K and J.....and M.

Especially today,

Lesa

Listen Less to Your Own Thoughts and More to God's Thoughts....

Listen less to your own thoughts and more to God's thoughts
-- François Fénelon

When there are five of you in a medium sized home, it can be difficult to find quiet.  Don’t get me wrong, I love to hear the voices of my children and husband.  I love our early am chatter as we shuffle about in hushed voices and quiet slippers (well, most of us).  I love our “home from school/work” talks which are full of laughter and light and smiles (well, most times).  I enjoy the dusk conversations after dinner has been eaten and the dishes are washed (well, when we get to eat together).  Conversation is a constant in our home.

We are not perfect.  I will never ever again strive to provide the image that we are  perfect.  We have our moments of raised voices and mean words, but they are the exception rather than the rule and are substantially less and less all the time than in the past. We have our moments of highly charged opinions, stubborn refusal to share the remote and not wanting to do our chores.  But, they occur less and less.

We have a lot of “our words”, thankfully, mostly good words….but, they are mostly “ours”.

And, what bothers me most….what we are trying to work on…what we strive to grow in is listening less to our own thoughts and more to God’s.

How does a family go about doing that?  Good question.

When my children were young and I was their sole entertainment director, our lives were filled with K-love, Barney, Bible Men Two and Veggie Tales.  Those years have to be some of the sweetest years of our lives.  They started in 1992 and ended in 2002.  Yes, I can date them.

The reason I can date them is that in 2002, we started listening less to God and more to ourselves, our tv, our radios then Ipods.  We heard more game whistles, more cracks of bats, and less Bible story movies, Bible story tales and prayers of our children.

You cannot do that.

Well, you CAN do that but it will be at great cost.

And, once you replace the voice of God in your home with the voice of the world, it is hard to go back…hard to shut that door….hard to start over.

I love the saying from Oprah, “once you know better you should do better”.  That is where we are in our lives.  Quietly, methodically, carefully trying to lover the volume on the world’s voices and increase the voice of God.

It is a sweet, sweet sound.

But, it comes with great effort.

I envy those friends of mine whose children are smallish and whose influence of their children is primary.  To be able to go back then and understand what I do now, would be a great blessing.

But, I cannot do that.

So, I must carry on with where we are....praying God will remind my children of the foundation of their youth and will forgive the season of lapse.

And, I believe He will.

I think one of the things I most love about God, other than the fact He is God, is that He sees the very very best in us.  He believes the best in us.  He grows the best in us if we but ask.  No matter what. All the time.  Regardless.

He provides in us hope of change......and, because of Him, we are able to do so.

And, so I have great confidence that in this world where we are working to lower the volume of the world in our home and increase the volume of Him...that we will make progress....

We have to.

Our lives, our legacy and our little-ones-yet-to-come depend on it.

So, we try.  Against the odds, we try.

Against the television, cable, Ipod, Ipad, bored teenaged children, poorly versed adults, mean-spirited broadcasters, cell phones, and general public, we strive...

to take back our words....

and, instead....

listen more to God's.

“Fix these words of mine in your hearts and minds; tie them as symbols on your hands and bind them on your foreheads.  Teach them to your children, talking about them when you sit at home and when you walk along the road, when you lie down and when you get up.  Write them on the doorframes of your houses and on your gates, so that your days and the days of your children will be many in the land of the Lord…”  Deuteronomy 11: 18-21

Blessings,

Lesa