beautiful - a gift for casey mullins

This is the beautiful Casey Mullins...
(I stole this picture from her beautiful blog, Moosh in Indy)



This is Casey's beautiful daughter (and this is also an example of Casey's beautiful photography)...

(yes, I also stole this picture.)

Casey is having another beautiful daughter (currently known as Mozzi) in May and so today I want to do something special for her as a part of the Mozzi event being brought to you by Casey's lovely friend, Emily. Today is my day to honor Casey as a part of this event and I'd love it if you would keep reading because I need your help. Please...

The first time I got to spend time with Casey in person we spoke on a panel together (while we ate Skittles). I loved her a lot right away and I always will. We talked to a room full of people about writing about hard things like depression and then it turned into a very honest conversation about how we handle life. It made me think about how we're all the same in so many ways and I loved the way Casey validated the people there, the way she softly spoke encouragement and grace. She's a class act, that Casey.

We've both struggled (struggle) with depression. We both know that our hormones and chemicals and all that jazz get really wonky when we have babies. That can be scary, but we both also know that we're good mothers.

All of that to say that as I was thinking about what I could do to make Casey's day today, all of you came to mind. I thought about how much it would mean to Casey to hear you say something good about yourself as a mother. I know how much it matters to her to tell her story honestly, to inspire mothers to see the beauty in themselves. So we're going to do something I've actually done here before (a long long time ago) and I'm going to ask you to tell me something beautiful about yourself, as a mother. (I realize not all of you are mothers. Please feel free to say anything you'd like, as long as you're saying something positive about you.)

You do (and you ARE) a lot of really good things, you know. You just forget sometimes because we're just so hard on ourselves. So today we're giving Casey the gift of focusing on the good--the beautiful--in ourselves.

I'll start....

One thing that makes me a good mom is that I validate my children's feelings a lot without patronizing. I really want them to know I respect how they feel, and I think they know! Also, I let them eat Peeps, but not in excess. Congratulations, my dear Casey-Moosh. You are doing so many things right too. xo

See? Easy peasy. Now. Your turn...


P.S. You can keep up with the Mozzi party at Emily's place. (pssst...there are GOOD (beautiful) giveaways involved!)

yes, I said Christians scare me (and yes, I realize I am one)

This post is not about Rob Bell or the backlash against him, or even about Ann Voskamp and all of the opinions on her book. Then again, it is. It's about all of that and so much more...

:::::

I am covering my ears. My headphones are even making them disappear, lobes and all.
I am choosing my favorite station on Pandora and all I hear is melody, blocking out the conversations around me in this place. All the people and the grinding of the beans and the boots on hardwood.

It makes me think of the way we do that, burying our heads in the sand, not wanting to hear or see what other people are experiencing, trying not to understand their perspective because we're just so busy with choosing our own songs, our own opinions, our soap box issues.

I grew up around religious people. I guess you could consider me religious but I don't really like that word. I have faith. I believe. It is what it is and I am who I am...a person tuning in to the things that lift me and guide me. I am trying to hear the voice amidst all the instruments, so to speak.

I've been thinking about this a lot lately, the way we humans believe things. Arguing about it all isn't rare, so maybe I should be used to people judging and fighting over theological differences, but I'm not. It turns my insides and I turn up my volume to try to drown it out, just like they do over each other. We don't get anywhere, doing that. In social media, we can write soap box tweets and facebook updates and blog posts and then anyone can join in, voicing their opinions, duking it out. It doesn't ever seem to accomplish anything though, so I guess I'm not sure why we're doing it.

When someone disagrees with us, I think it makes us fear our own validity. We're all just so insecure and scared and so if we stay in our camps and hold tightly to our melodies, we just feel better.

I understand that the people who stand on soap boxes in the name of Christian truth believe they must. They believe it is their duty to keep people from believing things they do not agree are true. But here's my question: How can we be acting in love at all when we're playing these songs so loudly, and if something isn't coming from a place of love, where is it coming from? What is the intention? And really, are we getting anywhere by taking the time to bang and clang? By beating the drum of condemnation?

The real voice of truth is drowning in all of these clashing melodies. I thought of that because something is wrong with my actual headphones. The wires are all stretched so the melody is clear but the lyrics are completely muffled. I can't hear the voice. So lately, as I've come across more of this, these posts or sermons or remarks, it all makes me think a lot and then I think out loud here. These issues to fight over come up and then they pass, it all ebbs and flows, I suppose. And when it's flowing, I can't hear the voice. The spirit of love, the intention of grace.

:::::

Most of the time I write about my faith through story here. There's nothing really overt about it. I've only really blatantly professed my Christianity once or twice. I'm totally comfortable with that. It's actually quite purposeful, but I don't want to get into all the reasons why today. I will only mention one of those reasons and it is this:

Christians scare me.

Yes, Christians scare me, and yes, I realize I am one of them. I guess I'm referring specifically to those Christians who bang their drums the loudest, each strike another blow of opinions, of "right," of frustration over anything that isn't played out as they see fit.

I am scared of Christians because I never know what kind I'm going to get and it is so rare to meet one who truly accepts me just exactly as I am, whether conservative or liberal, a drunk or sober, or whether I hold the exact same theology as they do, or not.

I am scared of how much it hurts when I'm talking to a Christian and it seems like all I can hear is a soft harmony, maybe like a violin and then screech! there comes a remark, a comment of harsh opinion that slices through the voice and cuts me or someone else down. I'm scared of how sad that makes me.

I can't figure out how to reconcile that kind of noise with the voice I hear in the stories of Christ.

:::::

I could live on melody alone, I suppose, but I don't want to live in bubbles with other Christians, all of us holding our viewpoints like a harmonica to our mouths, completely missing the point. I can't do that. That scares me the most, that I might miss the point, that I would never hear the voice.

Love. He said it with a clear voice, all accapella-like, when He left. It was very very simple.
But lately what I've been hearing is much like my actual headphones, muffling the voice with melodies too loud. It seems our wires are crossed and then this very simple truth--love--it gets so complicated.

As mushy and trite as it may sound, I can assure you that if we sat together, I would hear you and love you, no matter what you think or believe, where your fears and opinions lie, what melodies and harmonies you choose. I would hear your voice because it's so worth hearing. I would not cover my ears and blast my own safe songs because that scares me too. How would I learn from you and how would I hear the voice of love through you, if I'm not listening?

That is the Christ that I know. One who hears and loves, not one folded down to fit in a box, muffled, to be stood on, to be used to support our viewpoints, to have His words twisted to fit our opinions.

As I finish this post, I'm thinking and thinking and putting all my things in my bag. I'm getting ready to go, back out with all the other people with all their many ways. Suddenly the lyrics to the songs become clear. I can hear the voice, coming directly from the speakers, loud and clear. Because I took my headphones off.

in which I poll you - baby girl names

We love some of the names in this poll.
We sort of like some of the names in this poll.
We don't like some of the names in this poll all that much at all.

oooooh, tricky....

So really, the names we love will still remain a secret, even though I'm asking you to vote for a name for our baby girl in a poll, just for fun, because I'm curious and because I like you.

You don't have to sign up for anything and it's all anonymous and stuff. So ready-set-go! One click! Vote!

(and thank you!)

What's your favorite?

• Charlie (or Charley)
• Elsie
• Hadley
• Harper
• Ruby
• Stella

View Results
Create a Blog Poll

Oh and if you missed the video yesterday, you may want to watch it. Asher can teach you what happens if you give a chicken a lemon, and who wants to miss that?

COMMENTS ARE CLOSED ON THIS POST. (I don't really know why except that this is just a random poll.)

An Asher video for your Friday. You're welcome.

AsherChickenStory_0001, originally uploaded by Heather of the EO.

I'm so terribly in love with him.

Have a good weekend, friends.

a glass jar

I watch them now, how they run from one end of the house to the other and I really do want to keep them here, in this space and time. I had this crazy thought, when my heart was bursting for the right now of them. I wanted to scoop them up and put them in a glass jar that's just the right size to hold them, to screw on the tin cover, just to watch them, to keep them this way. Like lightening bugs. But of course that can't be, they are not boys meant for bubbles or jars, they are my little people, and they're here, free. So free it hurts.

When I try to break free of the inevitable, to fight reality, to stop growth, trapping, controlling, even with the best of intentions, it suffocates. And yet, one part of my mothering heart wants to do it anyway, The Great Protector! But I know it would hurt them too much, bouncing against the rounded glass walls, their little lights going out.

So I think of them as older than now, five years, ten years and more and I wonder what we'll all look like and feel like and how we'll be different. I imagine what they will love to do and I believe in their potential, that they're going to be okay. They'll grow taller and I'll grow shorter. What a strange idea. Me, with so many lines on my face and gray hair. But I can do no trapping of my own life's time either, no halting of my growth. Not by growing complacent or stalling out, not by nipping and tucking and injecting, zapping out my light and the ache of years of wisdom written over me. The perseverance and the fine lines and wrinkles, the curved back and the silver hair, they are all simply signs of wisdom, and to wish that away would make about as much sense as trying to stop the growth of my boys with a glass jar.



This is why the ordinary things, the days and the routines, the seemingly endless sameness, it is all so truly extraordinary. It just is. It must be, the way it all marches on with little feet getting bigger, running from one end of the house to the other.

The things most out of our control, like what an everyday day holds or does not hold, or like growing up and growing old, they are the very most beautiful things. These inevitables, they are a spinning breeze with the tallest and greenest grass and softest moonlight, so we can flicker and glow, free.