All The Glitter and Grace

Dear Fourteen Year Old Me,

As I creep up on age 38 and my daughter is inching towards middle school I have been thinking back to you. I have decided there are a few things I think you should know.

First of all, relax. Very few of the things you stress so deeply on today will matter in 25 years. Or 10 years. Or 1 year. For instance, your braces. I know you’ve worn them for what seems like forever but you are going to be so happy when they come off. You’ll still have big teeth but they’ll be straight and make your smile part of who you are.

Also, acne. It’s never going away. Take your medicine, stay out of the sun, don’t pick and don’t stress. Everyone gets pimples from time to time. If not, they’ll get something else like wrinkles or freckles or skin tags or…. Let it go. You seem to think everyone looks better than you. They don’t. You and your friends are going to lament face conditions for the rest of your life. Embrace what you’ve got.

And that guy? The one in the picture? He’s going to break your heart. Along with a long string of others that follow him. Don’t let it jade you. And especially don’t let his opinion (or anyone else’s) of you color who God has created you to be. He’s just a kid and he’s not going to know any better than to treat you bad. None of them are. It’s not you. You are precious. Don’t try to change yourself to be what someone else is wanting. Look for friends (and boys) who can see the greatness in you. One is going to come along very soon who is so special. You’re going to make fun of his white jeans and hoop earrings but try to go easy. You’ll be buying his pants for him one day.

Maybe try to not roll your eyes at your mom so much. And quit slamming doors. It doesn’t make you look cool and it breaks her heart. She’s strong and very tough and can take a lot now but there’s going to come a day when that’s not the case. You’ll wish you had more time so take it now. And pay attention when she makes gravy. It’s never going to be your forte and you’ll wish you’d watched.

Stop perming your hair.

Spend more time with your friends and less time with boys. And tell your friends the same. Those girls will be in your life forever in some form or fashion even though you’ll spread out across the country. You’ll celebrate weddings and babies. You’ll cry over heartaches and pray each other through tough times. Those are the people you need to invest in.

That size 3 you are wearing may never happen again. But next year, when you are a size 4, you need to know that you aren’t fat. You are strong and healthy. You will have to work to stay healthy and, in the future, your body will fight against you. But you need to know that whatever size you are, 3 or 12,  you are worthy of love and you are beautiful.

Don’t waste you money on dying shoes ever again. You’re going to step in a big puddle and ruin the ones you have on.

Slow down. Time is a priceless currency. You’ll never feel like you have enough (except in history class and that’ll feel like eternity) and you’ll always wish you had spent it wisely.

Try your best to be thankful for all you have and ask God for grace enough to see all he’s given you as beautiful – both the easy, the hard, the good, and the bad. He can redeem anything for good.

Oh, and quit smearing baby oil all over yourself. Try some SPF. You’ll thank me later.

Love,

You

 

 

 

I took an accidental selfie this morning and sent it to a group of friends I was going to meet a few hours later. I was texting them deep, Godly thoughts about the Holy Spirit and  how we would discuss the work He is doing in our lives when, in a very un-tech savy moment, I snapped a picture of myself and hit send before I even realized what had happened. As the blue line swept across the top of my screen I saw the picture of my forehead and knew there was nothing I could do but wait for the fallout. Had it been a selfie of my forehead on the couch it would have been no big deal.  All of these ladies have all been to my house many times, however, and I knew that as soon as they saw it they would know….I was texting on the toilet.

Y’all. Seriously. There was a time in my life when I would have prayed that I could go down with the flush and never be heard from again. I’m learning with age though that life is too short and too funny to allow myself to die of embarrassment. While I should probably reconsider toilet texting in the future, we all know that sometimes a bathroom break is the only place a mom can gather her thoughts.  I am so glad I have women in my life who can laugh with me and not at me when I stumble and make crazy mistakes. Okay, sometimes they are laughing at me. And that’s okay, too.

 

My girl is getting ready for middle school.

 

My girl is getting ready for middle school.

 

It’s hard enough to know it but to see it in print causes me a  bit of indigestion. I don’t know exactly how this happened because I feel certain it was just yesterday that I was signing her up for Mother’s Day Out. She was two. And I was happy for her. And for me.

Chuck and I went to a parent orientation Monday night and the strangest thing happened as we pulled into the parking lot. My heart started racing and my stomach dropped like I was on the downhill slide of a roller coaster. My palms got sweaty and I couldn’t stop fidgeting with my sweater hem. It was like I was getting ready for middle school myself and I wanted nothing more than to throw up.

I remember my first day of middle school (except we called it Junior High back then) like it was yesterday. My small town had four elementary schools with about 70-80 kids in each grade at each school. We all poured into one school for 6th grade. I knew I would know the kids coming from my school and a smattering of kids from church but all those strangers…it was terrifying. My mom dropped me at the corner and all the incoming 6th graders were standing on the lawn of the school. It was bright and sunny and I had my new bag with all my school supplies on my shoulder. As I walked towards the crowd, praying I saw a familiar face, a girl with wild and beautiful brown curls started running towards me waving. I smiled and waved back, only to realize she was waving at someone behind me.

To an eleven year old this is the equivalent of social suicide but, to my surprise, I lived. (I ended up meeting that girl later in the day and she became one of my best friends.)

I don’t believe there is a harder time frame in life than middle school. Your body is changing faster than you can comprehend with things growing from places you don’t want to talk or think about and hormones flooding your system faster than IV drugs. Your mind can’t keep up with your heart and no matter how much deodorant you use you still smell funny. That’s the part I’m dreading for my girl. That and the catty girls and the boys who will break her heart. You may experience harder times due to life circumstances…and I certainly have, but on a whole, middle school, for no other reason than being middle school, stinks.

But I’m also praying for the best parts of middle school. I praying for slumber parties with Dr. Pepper and Doritos and friends who can fart the alphabet. (What? You didn’t have one of those friends? I’m sad for you.) I’m hoping for dances with pretty dresses and girlfriends giggling in a corner. I’m looking forward to novels and movies that make her world view larger. I can’t wait to see what she learns and how she matures. I know I’m going to love the young woman God is molding her to be because the girl she is now is really pretty awesome.

So I guess I’m praying a lot these days. I’m praying that God protects her heart from all the ugly and the hurt that can come with this stage but I’m also praying that when, not if, she gets her heart broken by friends/boys/teachers/etc. that God uses it to teach her how to love others well. I’m praying she see’s enough bad in the world to be cautious and know it’s there but that she can be a beacon of light in the darkest of places. I’m praying for more smiles than pimples and more laughter than tears, knowing there will be a mixture of all. I’m praying for friends who not only know Jesus but love him. And I’m praying that I can hold her tight when she needs me but that I will know when to let her fly.

As we enter the season of lent I always ponder what it is that God might want me to learn, absorb, and take in.  Sometimes I give something up as a reminder of the sacrifice Jesus made for me and sometimes I add a practice of sorts. All of this is with the intent of thinking more about Christ. It’s to keep my focus a little less on me and a little more on him.

I heard this song this morning and it resonated in my heart with such a resounding brokeness that I was reduced to tears over my coffee. Brokeness seems to be an ongoing theme in my life lately and one that God keeps bring back….as much as I’d like him to just let it go.

God isn’t interested in my polished self. He doesn’t care how good I look to the world. He doesn’t care about what committees I serve or how many times my name is listed in a program or bulletin. No matter how hard I work on what “Public Tamara” should look and sound like, I continue to have reminders thrown in my face that Public Tamara and Private Tamara are really the same girl. The same messy, flawed, conflicted Tamara. I’m broken and that’s what he wants. Jesus wants my brokeness. He wants my flaws, my defects, good intentions, bad intentions…all of me. He’s asking me to lay it down at his feet. He’s willing to take my ashes and make something truly beautiful. He’s the only one who can take my story and make it a masterpiece.

So, while I will still be giving up a few things during lent, I’m also choosing this song by The Afters as my Lenten theme song (I just made that a real thing) because I want to keep singing a broken hallelujah.

I hate labels. Okay, maybe not all labels. It’s handy to have a label on say, a can, so I know what’s inside. That’s a good label and I appreciate it. I hate labels on people. Mostly because I don’t understand them and don’t know if there’s truth in them or not. So mostly, I try to avoid them.

There are times, however, when labels are necessary. Like when you’re filling out an application or a profile or some other sort of questionnaire that asks you to be specific about  who you are and what you do.

For instance, after my mom died I struggled with the label “daughter.” Was I still a daughter if my mom was dead? Since I still had my dad I eventually settled on a yes answer but it was a struggle none-the-less.

Chuck and I had five miscarriages before Shelby and Seth were born. Was I a mother? I had conceived children and carried them in my womb…they just didn’t survive past the first trimester. There was a term tossed around on blogs and books and used frequently by therapists that labeled women like me “childless mothers.” Hallmark even made a card about it so I guess it was a thing. It was a label I hated though because I always felt it brought pity.

A long time ago I felt a calling on my life to share stories. I knew God wanted me to take both the tragic and the beautiful pieces of my life and share them with others. It was then that I started blogging. Does blogging make me a blogger? Is that a thing? Can I introduce myself as Tamara Lexow – Blogger?

A few months back I started praying about whether or not this is really a thing. A thing for me and for my life. God has overwhelmingly said, “Yes, Tamara, this is a thing.” So I’m taking it more seriously now. Last week I enrolled in an online course for blogging/writing. I know I’ve got a long way to go but I’m trusting God to walk me through the doors I need to walk through.

So am I a blogger? Yes. I am a blogger.

I’ve been asked to be a part of a very special day at our church. It’s a day designed for women who need to breathe. It’s for women who need to slow down. It’s for women who need to slow down and hear a fresh word from God. So, you know, all women.
I’m really excited that God spoke to the leaders/organizers of this event and urged them to reach out to all women in this way. There will be sessions on nutrition, fitness, essential oils, fashion, and so much more. I’m going to be speaking on simplifying family life. You can choose three sessions to sit it on and have a nice lunch. It’s totally for you…You the Mom, You the Wife, You the Grandma, You the Daughter, You the Teacher, You the Pharmacist, You the Baker… You in all the hats you wear.
It’s a Saturday, so it may mean shuffling your schedule a bit. It might mean that someone else takes over carpool for soccer that day or that the laundry doesn’t get folded until the evening. You are worth it though. God loves you and would love for you to take a few hours to slow down and possibly hear a word from him.
Want to sign up? You can do it here.
I’m praying for you already. I am trusting that the day will be a blessing for all of us.

I don’t remember the first time I heard the Bill Gaither song “Because He Lives” but it’s always been in the soundtrack of my spiritual life. We sang it frequently in my church growing up and, if I close my eyes and take a breath, I can still see our Director of Music, Earl, swaying his arms this way and that to the rhythm.

I remember my mom playing it on the piano at home. Her piano playing was rough and she read very little music. She pounded out chords by ear and hymns from our Baptist Hymnal were her favorites. She struggled to sing and play at the same time so sometimes she would stop and just belt out, “I know-oh-oh He holds my future. Life is worth the living just because He lives!”

My memories of my mom’s funeral are hit or miss. I remember only flashes of moments and I guess that’s okay. I remember a few of the people that spoke and the funny stories they told. I remember Chuck holding my hand ever so tightly through the entire service. We’d only dated a few months and it was a lot to ask of a nineteen-year-old but he held me up that day emotionally and physically. I remember my pastor reminding us all that suicide does not equal eternal damnation (even though there were many in the crowd who had already told me they believed that to be true). And I remember Iretta Stephens bellowing the words to “Because He Lives” through her tears; her voice declaring the power of the cross amidst the greatest grief most of us had ever faced.

I left that church (and that town) so many years ago but every time I hear “Because He Lives” I am transported back to some of the most beautiful and horrific memories of my life.
A few days ago I was driving home from work in my truck and had the radio on. My thoughts were racing through the schedule of the week – the lists, the to-do’s, and the what’s nexts. I was really only halfway paying attention to the songs that were playing, let alone the lyrics. Apparently my subconscious was though because as I turned onto the side road that leads to my house tears started streaming. They were streaming in a way that demanded I pull over. Matt Maher was singing, “Because He Lives” in a new and magnificent format. Have you heard it? (Hear it here.)

“I’m alive! I’m alive! Because He lives!”

I’ve gone through a lot in my life. Many times I’ve brushed it off as if it’s no big deal because I know I’m not the only one to know suffering. I’ve also had amazing greatness. I’ve swept a lot of that under the rug as well. But to say it’s all nothing – either the good or the bad – is to negate the power of Christ that has brought me to the other side.

“Let my song join the one that never ends!”

I have been a victim and I have victimized. I have been sinned against and I have sinned. I have been sick and I have celebrated health. But because He lives I can face tomorrow. He holds my life and my future in His hands.Everything good in my life is because of what Christ has done for me. His death and resurrection make all the good possible. He has allowed me to walk through darkness so that I can rejoice in His light. I cry out so often because the rain lasts so long but it’s because I have tasted the Son and my heart yearns to revel in His warmth.

“I’m alive! I’m alive! Because He lives!”

Yesterday was the last day of break and my kids were tired of looking at my face. Don’t say it isn’t so. I could see it in their eyes. Luckily for them, they both were invited to go somewhere besides our house with someone who wasn’t me. It all worked out.
The hilarity that is an eleven year old girl though…I don’t even know what to do with her. It was a cold morning. Cold for Houston. And extra cold for my Texas babies who don’t understand Northern Cold. It was cold.
My son came downstairs dressed as if he was ready for a blizzard. I sent him up to take a few layers off. My daughter came down in cute little sweatpants and a short sleeved tee.
Me – “Sweetie it’s cold out. You may want to consider a different outfit.”
Her – Blank face
Me – “Do you hear me? You may want to think about some other clothing.”
Her – Blank face
Me – “I’m just saying that while what you have on is cute, it might not be warm enough.”
Her – (On the verge of tears) “I don’t even know what you mean!”
Me – (Sighing) “Okay, calm down. I’m suggesting that what you have on might not keep you warm enough today, especially if you go outside. You should change.”
She stormed up the stairs and into her room.
Me – (15 minutes later) “Are you ready? It’s time to leave.”
She walks out in same shirt but has changed sweats to capri leggings.
Me – “When I suggested that it was cold outside and that you should change clothes, I meant into something that would keep you warm. Not something that would protect you less. Please go to your room and put on long pants, long sleeve shirt, socks, shoes, and a coat. Be back down here in five minutes.”
Her – (Running back to her room) “I don’t know why you love Seth more than me!!!”

Right.
Parenting.
This was one of those moments that caused a flashback of my mom saying, “I hope you one day have a daughter who is even half the trouble you are!”

Mission accomplished, Mom.