The cold February wind whips her ponytail, sending strands of gold swirling around her face as she races ahead of me into the distance. She lowers her body close to the handlebars, legs and feet pedaling hard, carrying her farther away from me....a little dot in the distance. I pick up my pace, break into a run, trying to catch up. "Slow down!", I call breathlessly into the space between us. My heart pounds, blood pumping adrenaline, as I watch her turn around, bicycle teetering on the edge of meeting concrete. She laughs, hops off her bike, and walks it back to meet me. Her ponytail swishes...back and forth, back and forth, like a prancing pony.

 

And I stand stock still, breath caught in throat.

 

Hadn't my mother said those same words to me only yesterday? "You look like a prancing pony, swishing your tail back and forth when you walk", she had said, laughter in her eyes. My cheeks had blushed red as she gathered me into a hug, assuring me that being like a pony was a good thing. Only that wasn't yesterday, was it? No, that was twenty-seven years ago, and where did the time go? Tears spring to my eyes, then spill over as I think about the morning phone call:news of my mother's best friend, laying in a hospital bed, fighting the last battle she would ever face. A woman who had watched me grow up, loved me, prayed for me. How can this be? My thoughts spin, bumping into one another...present-reality and memories colliding, and this can't be right...shouldn't I be eight, and riding my bicycle, my mother in her 30's, watching her baby pedal into the distance, ponytail flying, and calling for me to "just slow down"?

 

But I am NOT eight, and my mother? She will never be thirty again. I think about life, and cycles, and how it all feels so cruel in this moment. My grandmother, in the ground. My mother, taking my grandmother's place, me taking my mother's, Lydia taking mine. Time marches on. What were those last words my mother's friend had spoken to me, a mere two weeks ago? "Time goes by so quickly, and children, they grow up so fast", she had said. I can hardly breathe.

 

She trots toward me, pushing her bike, then hops onto the seat, a whir of gears and wind racing past me. I reach my hand out, touch a strand of that wild, wind-tangled hair, gold like honey, as she pedals by. "Slow down", I whisper into the space between us. "Slow down".

 

I walk after her, watching the brave jumps and turns of a little girl unafraid of getting hurt. My feet thump the pavement, and all the while, my heart thumps the thought to my brain: One chance. One chance. ONE. CHANCE. Fear grips my heart like a vice, and I pray. I only get one chance to teach these girls, and how do I tell them, show them, when to say "no", when to be quiet and walk away, when to say "yes, yes, absolutely yes"??? One chance. One chance. ONE. CHANCE. I only have one chance to do what God has called me to do, and do I even know what that thing is??? I pray as I walk, chasing after the big girl, the little girl in the stroller below me. I pray...pray....pray. For direction. For clairty and purpose. A thought: two simple words, strung together in my mind. Light stand. I remember this is from scripture, but can't place the words, and wonder why I have thought of this now. I pray...pray...pray.

 

It is later on, in the quiet of the evening, while the washer spins and dinner bakes up, warm and brown in the oven, that I search for the scripture. I find it: Matthew 5:13-16. I read it again and again, trace my fingers over the words written for me. Why am I always surprised when He speaks to me? He is a father, MY father, after all.

 

Matthew 5:13-16 (from the Message Bible)

Let me tell you why you are here. You're here to be salt-seasoning that brings out the God-flavors of the earth. If you lose your saltiness, how will people taste godliness? You've lost your usefulness and will end up in the garbage. Here's another way to put it: You're here to be light, bringing out the God-colors in the world. God is not a secret to be kept. We're going public with this, as public as a city on a hill. If I make you light-bearers, you don't think I'm going to hide you under a bucket, do you? I'm putting you on a light stand. Now that I've put you there on a hilltop, on a light stand-shine! Keep open house, be generous with your lives. By opening up to others, you'll prompt people to open up with God, this generous Father in Heaven.

 

The answer to my prayers, in black and white. I am a light on a stand. YOU are a light on a stand. Shining in our homes, in our families, our communities. The ways in which we shine, in which we open ourselves and God up to others, is unique. We all have special talents, and I am not sure in what ways God wants to use me, but I DO know this: I can shine in little ways, in little places, each and every day. I do not want to hide my light under a bucket. We only have ONE CHANCE to shine for God, to fulfill our purpose, to impact one another's lives for the better. Now you know what your purpose is, as do I :). My prayer is that each and every person that reads this will realize the impact that their life can have...in big ways, and in small, tiny ways, adding up to something bigger than they could ever imagine. The choices we make. The words spilling from our mouths, our pens, our keyboards. Our actions and our reactions. It ALL matters, and it can ALL have an effect on the kingdom of Heaven, whether good or bad. We have a purpose....to be a light on a stand, a city on a hill. I pray that God will reveal to you, to me, the ways in which He would have us shine. ONE. CHANCE. What will you do with yours???

 

Big Hugs,

Julie

It is early. My alarm clock rings, the sound of little girl cries echoing down the hallway. I squint into the early morning light, pull the covers tightly around me, and sigh deeply. The heavy weight of exhaustion, one too many late nights spent working, falls heavily on my body, pinning me to the bed, and the only thing I want to do is roll over and fall back to sleep. The cries ring out again, this time a little louder. Sadness overcomes me as I stumble out of bed. I don't want to feel this way, I think to myself. I want to feel rested, happy to get up and start my day with that sweet little toddler. I think on this as I walk to her room. I picture my life as a scale, my family and myself on one side, my career, goals, and dreams on the other. I cringe, envisioning the weight that each side carries. If all of my focus and energy is on my business, what happens to the rest?

 

 

I grab my camera as I walk to her room, put a smile on my face, pretend that I am not tired. She is there in her crib, blanket and stuffed animals in little arms, ready to be picked up and loved. I sing her a good morning song, scoop her up and carry her to the couch for cartoons and apple juice. I make little pancakes for little hands to eat...just her size, with just enough butter and syrup. Morning rituals...the ordinary, everyday routine. Or is it ordinary? I think about this as I clear the breakfast dishes, wipe the sticky syrup from tiny fingers, clean the counters. Isn't the ordinary , the everyday...well, EVERYTHING??? All these moments stacking up into a life...writing the story of who we are. I wonder what she will remember of these days? Will she remember a mother glued to a computer screen, constantly working? I flinch. Tears sting the back of my eyelids, salt to wound. We sit on the floor and play, lay together and snuggle on the couch. I watch her...study her little features...her furrowed brow as she studies a Max and Ruby book; her tangled mess of curls splayed against the back of the couch; a tiny button nose, a scrunchy-faced smile. All these moments, all this life already lived. Have I done it right? I am unsure.

 

Evening comes. I watch the sun set through the trees. Another day, come and gone. I think about success....have been thinking about it for days now, and how it can have so many different definitions. Do I want it? Yes, I want to be successful, but there are other things I want more in this life. I am madly, passionately in love with photography, but you might question that if you heard my recent prayers. You see, I asked God to take photography away from me if it was not what He wanted for me. A scary, brave, gut-wrenching prayer but a cry to God to show me what He wants for my life. My business has boomed bigger than ever before since that prayer. But God has given me big choices to make. I can say "yes" to having clients every day of the week, say "yes" to every opportunity that arises, but if I say "no" to time with my children, I have failed. If I say "yes" to more appointments and more clients, but say "no" to going to church or spending time in God's Word, then I am a failure. No amount of success in business will cover the sins of neglecting the family God has given me or a relationship with Him. The impact of choices weigh heavy on a life. All of my "yes-es", all of my "no's"...they are my values reflected in a single syllable. What we say "yes" to BECOMES our life. I decide on a personal definition of success: being able to run my business on a schedule that would allow me to give more "yes-es" to my family and to God. Less focus on selfish goals, and more time focused on raising little souls. A prayerful seeking of God's direction for my business and my life. Peace fills my heart. It's all about balance, priorities.

 

Night falls. I tuck her in, kiss her goodnight. I lay in bed but can't fall asleep. I think about that little girl down the hall, and how much she needs me. All of me...a fully present mother. I go to her, kneel beside her bed and pray. "God, if you let anything I desire slip through my fingers, don't let it be this. Please, not this. Not the love and happiness of my innocent children. Not their sweet souls that you have entrusted me to care for. Let it be me, Lord. If I lose anything in this life, let it be of my own selfish desires."

 

I feel it in my bones as I sit before her bed, kneeling at the throne-room of God. My greatest, God-given desire is to be the mother He created me to be. I won't take this one life I've been given for granted. I won't waste a childhood glued to a computer screen, or chasing meaningless things. I will reach my personal goals and dreams a little at a time, while building a beautiful life for my family.

 

I gather her warm, sleeping body in my arms and carry her to my bed. I snuggle her close, smile as I watch her dream. I touch the soft fleece of her favorite nightgown...the one with the pink and brown ponies; I bury my face in her messy curls. I breathe in the smell of her shampoo, sweet like honey, and trace fingertips across rosebud lips. Beauty in the mundane. Extraordinary in the ordinary. An entire life built in these small moments. The seconds ticking by, building into minutes, then hours, days, years, a lifetime. What I do with this time is a choice...Lord, please give me the wisdom to always make the right one.

 

 

Big hugs,

Julie

I married adventure. Tom Sawyer in a grown man's body...always on the search for woods or water, a place to fish, to explore, a new path to travel down, a different way of doing things. We are like night and day, he and I. Type A in love with Type B. Right brain married to left brain. He, the adventurous, yet calculated, organized one, always with a method to his madness. Me, the spontaneous, restless, creative one, forever dreaming and leaping before I look. Somehow it is a wonderful mix ;). If we didn't have the personalities we have, there would probably never be any sneaking onto private property in the middle of the night to go fishing; no getting up in the middle of the night to share icecream from the same bowl; no pulling over on the side of the road to explore the woods; and no wrestling in the floor until somebody gets hurt(oh, who am I kidding...it's always me ;)). And what kind of life would that be? He holds my hand in church every Sunday, sneaks back into our daughter's rooms in the middle of the night with me to watch them sleep, and makes me laugh at the dumbest things ;). It just works, and that is all that matters.

 

The day we met, I scared him. I like to tell the story...I was jogging one way, he the other when I stopped him to ask a question. I don't even know why I did it. I didn't really have a question...I just made something up ;). He ripped his headphones off like he was scared that something was wrong. He later told me that he thought I must have been being chased by a dog or something if I was talking to him, haha! Little did we know that was the beginning of a beautiful love story. Page 1: jog past the love of your life on a walking trail :). The rest is history. I fell inlove with the man through text messages. He wrote to me in the most sincere, heartfelt way, and my thirsty heart soaked it in like a sponge. He told me I was the most special, wonderful, beautiful girl on the planet...and my heart believed him :). I told my sister within one week of meeting him that I was pretty sure he was the most wonderful human being I had ever met. Luckily, he felt the same about me :). I remember our phone conversations in the wee hours of the morning, lasting so late I would fall asleep with the phone in my hand. I remember the first time we kissed, the first time he told me that he loved me, the day he proposed, and his face as I walked down the aisle. I remember our laughter over the (+) sign on the pregnancy test, the way he held me tight when we thought we might lose our precious baby, and the love in his eyes when he held that beautiful girl in his arms just moments after she was born.

 

I think on these things tonight as I sit and work at my desk. The sheer beauty of it all...the answered prayer of a man that was everything my wounded heart needed, and I sigh. I don't give this man enough credit. I don't. How many times have I nagged about something petty, or taken something out on him that he didn't deserve? Probably too many, I am afraid. I am so blessed, and still so in love. I make up my mind....resolve to be the wife that he deserves. He deserves a "run and jump" hug when he comes home from work. He deserves to be told that he is amazing, and that I am proud of him. He deserves the best I can give. 

 

It is late when I finally stumble into bed. He is there...deep, even breaths of peaceful slumber. I sneak quietly into bed beside him, try not to wake him. I tuck my cold, bare feet underneath his legs to warm them, just as I do every night, and snuggle in close to rest my head on his chest. He stirs, rolls over, half-asleep, and he whispers my name. "Julie?" "What is it?", I ask. "You're my favorite.", he says softly in my ear. I smile into the darkness, tears filling my eyes, and I fall in love all over again as he sleeps soundly next to me.

 

 

 Julie