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Should we even make plans for 2021? I mean, for the love of all that is good in the world, my initial plans for 2020 did NOT materialize. Like at all. I bet I’m not alone in that. Sometime in January, I typically go back and look at my “resolutions” from the previous year. Doing so this January was laughable (and a little painful).

Related content: I Don’t Make New Year Resolutions Because They Stink!

I published a blog article back in December 2019 explaining why I don’t make New Year resolutions per se, but I enjoy making a New Year “bucket list”. That blog post shared my personal bucket list for 2020. Let’s see how I did, shall we?

#1. Take a beginning pottery class.

Yeah, my class started in March 2020. I got one lesson in – long enough to realize I LOVE using a pottery wheel – and then *BAM*. You know what happened. That pandemic thing in China and Europe punched arrogant America right in the mouth. The studio shut down for months on end, and there was no more throwing clay for me.

#2. Tour a local winery.

Nope. (Insert the classic game show buzzer sound of failure here.) My family has taken this whole social distancing thing super seriously. We mask, socially distance (even from our extended family on holidays), scrub our hands like brain surgeons, and avoid public places whenever possible. I can count on ONE FINGER the number of restaurants and bars that have seen my face at a table inside in the past ten months. TEN MONTHS.

Still, Allan had COVID-19 in April/May 2020 and endured a twenty-nine day quarantine, and Luke had a much milder case in November 2020. And despite my multiple negative test results, I’m not entirely convinced that I didn’t have a touch of the virus during either of those episodes, too. Perhaps I should have just toured the dang winery.

Related content: Coronavirus Broke Into Our House.

#3. Travel to South Africa.

Okay, the first two are disappointing to me in varying degrees, but this one hurts my heart. I was supposed to go on a mission trip to South Africa in July 2020. I bought a travel backpack and researched vaccines and started reading up on South African culture. That dream journey was (rightfully) cancelled with no foreseeable rescheduling in sight. So, my travel backpack sits unused at the bottom of my bedroom closet with the store tags still in place. The worst part? I know the NEED still exists, and I’m not allowed to go be a part of the solution in person. I’m a hands-on worker bee, so I especially hate that.

Should we even make plans for 2021?

So, what to do for this new year? Should we even make plans for 2021? I’ve given it some serious prayerful consideration, and I’ve come to the following conclusion. I’m certain the answer is “YES”. Yes, we should absolutely make plans for 2021. We are uniquely designed to be creative and imaginative. To have hopes and dreams for ourselves and our families. And the free will to pursue it all. What a remarkable gift we’ve been given.

And yet, I am also certain that the answer is that we should make plans for 2021 “WITH HUMILITY”. Clearly 2020 reminded us that nothing is guaranteed and nothing is permanent. The entire world can change right before our eyes in an instant. One of my favorite books of the Bible (James) mentions this very thing related to making our earthly plans. James 4:13-15

So where does this leave us? What does this mean for us practically and logistically?

It means that we should write our plans down on paper AND keep them open for however God may chose to use them. And that, dear friends, requires a level of humility we humans do not readily embrace. Ultimately, our plans don’t belong to us. Our money and our material possessions don’t belong to us. Our children and our spouses don’t belong to us. In fact, our very lives don’t even belong to us. All of those things are precious gifts to be enjoyed and wisely stewarded, and then eventually returned to our Creator in the end.

Practical next steps.

If you will indulge me, here is one example from my own life for 2021…

We have plans for a beach vacation to South Carolina this summer. That requires some effort on our part logistically. Hotel reservations. Time requested off work. Saving money ahead of time. A boarding kennel for the dog. And so on and so on.

In the midst of the excitement of all of those physical preparations, I am praying. And I’m not praying exactly the way I used to. You know, like a laundry list of ways God may bless MY plans.

Lord, please help me make it to the end of this insane school year so I can go on this vacation and finally relax. Bless us with coupons and Groupons and after 6pm discounts. Oh, and low humidity and light traffic would also be swell. Amen.

Instead, I am trying something new for 2021. Something more like this…

Lord, I am struggling to keep my stress and anxiety in check this school year. Allan and I would really love to be able to get to the beach to relax with each other and the kids. Thank you for providing us with the means to pay for it, if You want us to spend our money this way. Please show me opportunities to be all about Your Kingdom as we plan for this trip. Amen.

Are we willing to be second?

What plans are you making for 2021? Is there a way you can humbly submit those plans to God? Try it. He wants good things for you. Eternal, soul-building things. And the best way to receive ALL that He has for you is to put Him first, especially as we go about making our earthly plans and preparations. It’s counter-cultural from what the world would sell us, I know. This guy has another way of saying it… (and I really like his shirt).

May your 2021 be full of blessings – both planned and unplanned. And may our paths cross in person sometime this year – maybe at a winery or even at the beach this summer! If God wants.

Love, Melissa

I absolutely HATE conflict, and I shrink at non-constructive criticism. I’m working on those things. Yet, despite my ongoing efforts to feel less threatened by discord, this week’s blog post still seems like the most uncomfortable one we’ve published to date. True, we’ve been writing about some hard stuff here at the thankful bee. And yes, we have openly shared some of our unflattering struggles. But this week’s post is about a different struggle – one we can’t personally relate to, but are living in the middle of whether we choose to see it or not. One that directly impacts our brown- and black-skinned brothers and sisters. And there is one thing we know for certain. We cannot afford to be color blind.

Our collective enemy is at it again.

First of all, when I sat down to write on this topic, our collective enemy brought his toxic rhetoric to my ear. “Melissa, you are a middle-class white woman living in a predominantly middle-class white suburb. What in the world can you possibly offer to this topic? You are merely hitching yourself to the social justice headlines in a selfish effort to alleviate your own discomfort. No one cares what you have to say – you haven’t walked in these shoes, and your pale platitudes ring hollow at best. You will do nothing but alienate and offend people of EVERY color if you publish this. You are an ivory idiot. Keep your pallid mouth shut!”

But is that really the truth? I don’t think so. And any chance of my unintentionally saying or doing the wrong thing is worth the risk. NOT using this platform to speak up is by far the bigger mistake. I believe it’s what Jesus would do. So, here we go.

White privilege.

I used to instantly bristle at the term “white privilege”, as if that discounted or minimized any hard work, sustained effort or positive choices I’ve made in my life. That phrase made me feel like everything had been smoothly handed to me without question because of my white skin. Or like my fair (pale) skin automatically meant I personally owed a debt for something I didn’t personally do to someone I hadn’t personally met.

I certainly am educated enough to know that everyone does not have an equal opportunity in this country, and much of that has a root in racial inequality. However, after spending some time in a six-week racial reconciliation program through our church (Undivided), I better appreciate the catchphrase “white privilege” and what that means for my family specifically.

For example, white privilege means in part that my white teenage son can walk down the sidewalk in sunglasses and a hoodie and not raise alarm. (We can discuss other biases ALL teenage boys deal with in another post.) He can run through our community without fear of being shot by the neighborhood watch. It means that my white daughter and her white friends can enter a store together without causing extra suspicion with security. It also means that I don’t worry about my white children’s physical safety in an encounter with the local police.

A side note to police officers.

I married into a family of multiple police officers and one FBI agent. Some of my friends are either police officers or are married to them. And in all sincerity, I have nothing but respect and gratitude for honest police officers everywhere. I am sorry that the assholes of law enforcement are making it impossibly difficult for the rest of you.

Much like teachers generally take the heat for a broken US education system (another separate blog post opportunity), unfortunately police officers as a whole have become the face of the storm for an inherently biased US judicial system. Those despicable officers who abuse their authority should be brought to swift justice and no longer allowed to tarnish the hard-earned professional badges of the rest of you. On behalf of all of humanity, THANK YOU for the dangerous and critical work you do with integrity. You have an incredibly tough job, made even more difficult by reprehensible colleagues. We see you, too.

Color blindness.

The other thing that I’ve learned is that we cannot afford to be color blind. I hear people say that all the time. Heck, I used to say it, too. I used to say that I saw past a person’s skin color and viewed them based on the person he or she was inside instead. And while that is a noble idea on the surface, it really is all wrong. I WANT to see colors. I WANT to see differences in appearances. When I go color blind, I miss out on a huge chunk of God’s artistry, and I minimize someone else’s cultural identity. In other words, why should someone’s beautiful uniqueness have to become invisible for me to view them as global family?

Small answers.

I certainly don’t have all the answers (or really any game changing ones). In fact, I only have small answers. But I do want my friends, neighbors and coworkers of color to hear me.

I see you, and I see your families. I see the hurt. And the pain. And the fear.

I will walk next to you and your children if you want me to. Literally and figuratively. (I’ve already blogged about why I don’t run, but walking is nice.)

Racially derogatory terms and jokes are not okay in my presence, and I will open my mouth to say so whenever the opportunity arises.

I will do a better job about intentionally including books and movies in our home for our youngest son that positively represent brown and black skin.

I will make a better effort to purposefully discuss headlines involving racial injustices with my older children.

And I will pay attention when I vote on a local, state and national level.

I want to listen, and I want to understand. Even if that makes me uncomfortable.

Friends, as a civilized, human society we cannot afford to be color blind. And we cannot afford to be silent. When (not if) you SEE something, SAY something. And when (not if) you HEAR something, SPEAK up. Even after the recent media headlines fade from the front page. Because none of us are actually “… fighting against human enemies but against rulers, authorities, forces of cosmic darkness, and spiritual powers of evil in the heavens.” (Ephesians 6:12, CEB) Amen.

Header image by Wendy Corniquet from Pixabay.

The novel coronavirus broke into our house last week. We thought we had secured the perimeter with all of our face masks and disinfectant wipes. I slept relatively peacefully believing that the threat was OUT THERE and not IN HERE. We washed our hands and covered our coughs. We maintained a strict 6ft social distance from everyone outside of our immediate household. Every grocery item and all delivered mail and packages were disinfected before they crossed the threshold. And we limited carry-out food to once a week. Despite all that, Allan was diagnosed in the emergency department of a local hospital with COVID-19 last Thursday.

Fortunately, his case appears manageable remotely from home while sequestered upstairs to one single room. No hospital admission. That’s good. Of course, that room is our master bedroom and the connected bathroom with the only currently functioning shower. That’s bad. You see, the plumbing in our hall bathroom tub/shower busted at the start of Ohio’s self-isolation over a month ago. Allan would not permit an outside contractor into the house to repair it, citing “an abundance of caution”. Yes, he rues that decision in hindsight now. Yes, I have reminded him of this several times since.

Crumbs, cussing and coolers.

All of the remaining bedrooms in our home are currently taken up by children who belong to us. As a result, I am residing for the foreseeable future out of one laundry basket in the living room. Last night I felt so drained. So, I just tucked the fitted sheet in over some discarded Cheez-it crumbs and dog fur sheddings. (By the way, Fido… If you are going to break house rules and jump up onto the couch, eat the dang crumbs, okay? Please and thank you.)

Similarly, I didn’t even bother picking up the last of Luke’s toys strewn around the room. Natural consequences came back to bite me in the butt (foot). I paid for my poor choice in the middle of the night as I got up to use the downstairs restroom. I stepped barefoot with my full weight onto a Duplo block. Cuss words were said. Many of them. Those evil, colorful chunks HURT!

We are making sure that Allan has what he needs to stay hydrated and nourished without compromising our safety. We leave beverages, food and medicine for him on request in a single red Igloo cooler just outside his room. Then we knock on the door and walk away before he opens the door and breaks the barrier. Allan later returns any dirty dishes to the empty cooler so we can sanitize them in a special cycle in our dishwasher. At the end of each night, the cooler gets sprayed down with a bleach solution and returned to its sentry position to await the next day’s exchanges.

somewhere else, something better

To keep myself entertained, sometimes I pretend I am somewhere else doing something better. For instance, I may imagine I am a daring spy on a covert mission making a drop to another clandestine agent. Or other times I might envision myself as the chief officer in a gulag guarding an international political prisoner. No… wait! How about a zookeeper in charge of some large, formerly extinct animal species? In reality most of the time I am just a tired wife and mother with no bra and no make-up trying to hold everything together. Did I sponge bathe today, or was that yesterday? And how many days in a row have I worn these same leggings? Wait – what DAY is this?!?

Yes, I know I am a grown woman pretending in her mind to be a spy, a warden or a zookeeper. Truthfully I am running out of options, and I need to pace myself. I have already consumed essentially every refined sugar and salty snack in the house. Thank goodness I didn’t get rid of my bigger pants last Fall when I lost twenty-five pounds. I have since found those pounds and a few more besides. I do enjoy a glass of wine here and there, but not every time I need to relax or escape the situation. (I’d be pickled). You cope your way, and I’ll cope mine.

threatened by an invisible enemy

Thankfully we have never been on the receiving end of a literal criminal break-in. I can only imagine how violating that must feel – to have your safety and security rattled in your own home. Our house has always been an oasis for me. In other words, a sanctuary where I can exhale, recharge and be authentically me without judgment. Except now I sense danger where I didn’t perceive risk before. Coronavirus broke into our house, and the invisible enemy has invaded our territory. It has crossed our threshold to physically threaten our family’s health and emotionally steal our peace.

I know from past experience that all this crushing and pressing will bring “new wine”. I wrote about that very thing a few weeks ago (HERE). In fact, there is already new wine starting to spill over for me. Still, I’m not ready to write about those revelations yet. I need to unpack them first. Some are lighthearted and funny. Some are sweet and tender. And frankly, some of them are hard pills to swallow. Bottom line, I need to process them before I share them. Look for those thoughts coming in the next few blog posts!

Coronavirus broke into our house, but we are fighting back. It’s GAME ON.

Header image by Steffen Salow from Pixabay

I gave up Bernie Sanders and the coronavirus for Lent. I also gave up Donald Trump, the stock market, Nancy Pelosi, and pretty much all of Hollywood. Oh, let’s not stop there! Good-bye, internet trolls. Adios, bulldozer personalities. And a big, fat adieu to every other clanging distraction. Buh-bye.

Yes, I realize that is an exaggeration, but hear me out. You see, I recently received a wake up call in my personal life, and it renewed my belief that we have a serious problem. A stealthy, invasive problem. Perhaps you have noticed this problem, too? We have endless input clamoring for our attention. Twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week. Buy me! Vote for me! Beware of me! PAY ATTENTION TO ME!

Yikes! It’s enough to keep us frantically running in circles, isn’t it?

But what is the cost of all this urgent craziness? What are we losing?

stop chasing after empty barrels

There is a proverb of Greek origin that loosely translates to “empty barrels and insignificant people always make the most noise”. In other words, the loudest voice in the room is quite often NOT the most valuable. Likewise, the angriest voice is rarely the wisest, and the most demanding rarely has the most depth. Fortunately, we have a choice, friends. We can take back control .

For example, we could limit our intake of the news and advertising by turning off our screens one day a week. (I promise the chaos will still be there when you return.)

What else? Well, we could take a favorite kiddo out for ice-cream without cell phones attached. GASP! Trust me. I’ve done it, and it was glorious! Or meet a friend for coffee and make a point to genuinely encourage her (or him) with honest words. Extra cream, hold the complaining, please. No negativity for one hour about our spouses, kids, or our busy, busy, busy schedules. So busy! Ask about the condition of her (or his) heart instead, and then carefully listen. What a gift!

Or we could spend time in a soul-renewing activity that gives us joy. For me, that would be gardening or hiking or creating something with my hands. You pick whatever speaks to YOU. And to be clear, “vegging out” escapism in front of a screen is not soul-renewing. Mind numbing, maybe, but not healing to your world-weary soul.

make room for quiet

Above all, there is an even richer option. And that would involve just being still – quieting the room and your mind. You know why? Because those still, unhurried moments are when you are most receptive to hearing a whisper. In fact, it is a solid rhythm to get into and one that I have more consistently scheduled into my week.

For instance, for me that looks like being alone in a quiet place with no preset agenda and simply receiving whatever God has for me. I may listen to soothing music or flip open my Bible, but most often I just sit with my eyes closed and concentrate on a deep breathing pattern. Sometimes in those moments He whispers encouragement. Sometimes He quietly brings to mind a solution to a problem. And sometimes He lovingly challenges me to turn away from a path that is not my best. Most often we just enjoy each other’s company in the quiet. (What good Father doesn’t enjoy the uninterrupted company of His children?) Without fail, He always breathes renewed peace over me. Time well spent in any regard.

I’ll take fruit instead of empty barrels, please

So, in a sense, I gave up Bernie Sanders and the coronavirus for Lent. That is to say, I traded in inflammatory news reports and angry social media posts for structured quiet time. I stopped running in frantic circles because of empty barrels in favor of a renewed rhythm of abiding with my Father. Why? Because “He brings gifts into our lives, much the same way that fruit appears in an orchard—things like affection for others, exuberance about life, serenity. We develop a willingness to stick with things, a sense of compassion in the heart, and a conviction that a basic holiness permeates things and people. We find ourselves involved in loyal commitments, not needing to force our way in life, able to marshal and direct our energies wisely.” – Galatians 5:22-23 (the Message)

Yep. I’d like more fruit, please. Oh, and clanging distractions demanding our time and attention? You can just get rid of the empty barrels on your way out. We don’t need them.

Featured image by Selling of my photos with StockAgencies is not permitted from Pixabay.

Many of you have asked about my outlook on Luke’s seizure diagnosis last Fall. I say Baby Bear is in good hands, seizures or not. Read on!

QUESTION:

“How are you doing, Mama Bear?”

ANSWER:

“Actually pretty good, all things considered.”

There are several details I have not yet shared with you, in fact. Open your mind, and let’s go!

detail #1

I had the oddest experience the day of Luke’s initial seizure. I laid down on my own bed to rest during Luke’s afternoon nap. Suddenly I had the detailed sensation of laying down on the spare bed in my grandparents’ old house.

I could “see” and “hear” and “feel” everything in vivid detail. Every nuance was exactly like that room from my childhood, except that I have not consciously thought about it in decades.

Eyes closed = old bedroom where I slept whenever I spent extended time with my grandparents (circa 1975). Eyes open = my own bedroom (2019). Hard to believe, I know.

Was I hallucinating? Dreaming? I wondered the same thing, to be honest. I even stood up next to my own bed for a few minutes to clear my thoughts before laying back down.

Surely this was all too weird to actually be happening. RIGHT?!? Nope – everything from my childhood was still there when I closed my eyes.

I finally just accepted whatever this experience was and let myself enjoy it. The sensation lasted another five to ten minutes before it faded away, gone completely. Now if I close my eyes and try to “see” the same images, everything is just blurry and distant.

Two key points to realize here.

(1) I adored my grandparents and always associated their home with love and security. That house in particular was the location of many of my dearest memories.

(2) I was not drinking in the middle of the day.

I got up from my rest at the end of Luke’s nap feeling inexplicably peaceful and grounded. Good thing, because Luke had his first seizure later the same day. I had no clue I would later need that supernatural emotional foundation.

detail #2

Hannah got home from college for her Fall Break a few hours before Luke’s first seizure. As a result, Allan and I missed our usual Saturday 5:30pm worship service at our church.

If our Saturday schedule had been per usual, Luke would have had his initial seizure in the church’s childcare room with a less familiar adult.

Instead, Luke was face-to-face with Allan playing with toys on the rug in our family room at home. Allan was able to recognize the trouble immediately and call 911. Baby Bear was in Allan’s good hands.

detail #3

Let me tell you about Tony.

Tony was the EMT who cared for Luke in the back of the ambulance on the way to the emergency room. He has a young son with epilepsy and was able to reassure Allan father-to-father en route. Thanks to Tony, my husband was relatively calm when I arrived at the hospital moments later. As a result, Allan was better able to support his emotionally-charged wife. Baby Bear was in Tony’s good hands.

detail #4

I felt overwhelmed in the hospital around the issue of my job. How would I ever feel comfortable leaving Luke with a caregiver on the days I work outside our home?

Unbeknownst to me, Luke’s already awesome two-day/week sitter actually went through this experience with HER son at the same age. Her son is older now and successfully seizure-free.

Luke’s sitter was a supportive resource to me in the hospital. Trust me. I had all the questions and all the big emotions. Even more impressive, she and her husband were already very comfortable with Diastat (Luke’s emergency seizure medication).

Seriously – I couldn’t have asked for a more perfect solution outside of winning the lottery and quitting my job completely. Baby Bear is in his sitter’s good hands.

detail #5

Our tribe held me up. I receive strength from heart-felt words. It was incredibly helpful to me to hear encouragement from our friends, family and co-workers. Every loving word spoken to me added to my defenses whenever fear tried to get a foothold.

I was especially blessed by those who vulnerably shared their own stories about seizures. Thank you for allowing me to ask questions and process hard feelings.

pulling it all together

God sure sent the right help at the right time – even before I knew I had reason to need it. That has been His modus operandi my entire life. It’s who He is.

My heart recharged on Saturday afternoon so I could handle the upheaval that began Saturday evening. Thank you, Yahweh Shalom (“The Lord Is Peace”).

Parents already managing their child’s seizures crossed our path to act as guides. Luke’s godparents waited with us in the emergency department, serving as comfort and support. Logistically speaking, they also drove Hannah home from the hospital late at night. Thank you, Yahweh Yireh (“The Lord Will Provide”)

Our friends and family tenderly love Luke (and us). They lent encouragement through texts, private messages and uplifting Facebook comments. My favorites? Anything that made me laugh. Anyone who personally knows me understands that humor is one of my love languages. My Father knows that little detail about me, you see. Thank you, Abba (“Papa”).

Anonymous folks simply prayed for our family without any acknowledgement at all. They may have been hidden from us, but we were not invisible to them. Thank you, El Roi (“The God Who Sees”).

God certainly left His fingerprints all over this chapter of Luke’s story – just like the chapters that preceded it and no doubt the chapters to come.

So, to answer the initial question, Mama Bear is feeling victorious no matter what the future holds. Above all, Baby Bear is in Good Hands.

Adapted from 10/8/19 Facebook post. Image by Free-Photos from Pixabay.