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There is something so wonderful, so pure, so…dare I say, holy, about a gathering of friends for a holiday meal. I love saying, “Hey! Let’s meet at 4 at so-and-so’s house for dinner. Everyone bring what you have and we’ll eat.”

The dishes don’t have to be fancy. The meat can be simple. This is not the place to try to impress. This is a place to share love and laughter. This is the time to celebrate what’s good in our lives, even if it’s just that ground beef was on sale at the local market. We celebrate life together.

We have a group of people that we do this with regularly. They are the people I call when I need prayer and the first ones I run to when there is joy to laugh over. So it is only fitting that we will gather with these people today, Labor Day, and share pulled pork and sides. In honor of the sharing, I’m sharing with you. This is the magical macaroni and cheese I’ll be taking. It’s actually in my oven right now and I’m super excited about it.

Tamara’s Magical Mac-N-Cheese

Here’s what you need:

1 box of elbow macaroni (16 oz)

1 stick of butter

1 box of Velveeta

3 Tablespoons of Wildtree Rancher Steak Rub

1 cup milk

1 cup shredded sharp cheddar cheese

The first thing you want to do here is take a breath. Butter, Velveeta, milk…I know. It’s rich and a lot but you aren’t going to make this and eat it every day. And you aren’t going to eat the whole pan yourself. You’re going to take this to a large gathering of friends and everyone will get a spoonful.

Next you are going to take a heavy skillet and start melting the butter over low heat. While it’s melting you will cut the Velveeta into small chunks. It will melt easier if you do this.

After you cut up the Velveeta you’ll add it to the butter and stir it gently. This is when you add the cup of milk.

While the Velveeta is melting you’ll need to add enough water to a big stock pot to boil the macaroni. Generously salt the water and bring it to a boil. Once it’s boiling, add the whole box of elbow macaroni. Cook according to the directions on the box, which is usually 8-10 minutes.

Once the pasta is ready, drain it, and add it to the Velveeta sauce, which should now be looking like liquid gold. They don’t kid on their commercials. Add the 3 Tablespoons of Wildtree Rancher Steak Rub and stir it all together.

Slide the pan of cheesy pasta into the oven at 325 ° for 25 minutes.

When you bring the macaroni goodness out of the oven (be careful- it’s very hot!) you will shred 1 cup of sharp cheddar cheese over the top. You can put it back in the oven for 5 minutes or cover the pan. Either way, the shredded cheddar will melt divinely over the top.

I promise this is just about the best way to love on anyone. Go grab the ingredients and make a big pan to share today. You can think of a reason for celebration while the pasta is boiling.

This has been a week. Let me just say that. It has been a week.

My kids went back to school. My son, elementary, my daughter, middle school. Can I tell you that having a daughter start middle school feels only slightly worse than starting it yourself? Worse because you know. You know what’s ahead – both the good and the bad.

There are people who will say,”Middle School (or Junior High) was the best time of my life!” They’ll mean it. They’ll regale stories of football games and pep rallies and they’ll laugh and sigh all at once. I’m sad for those people because middle school is crap. I mean, really.

I will say that I am still very good friends with my middle school gang. I have beautiful, fun, magnificent memories from middle school. I had teachers who changed my heart and my life and made friends with girls who are now some of my go-to women. But to say it was the best time of my life would be a total lie. And I don’t lie. Unless you ask  me if those pants make your butt look big. I will never tell you your butt looks big no matter how big it is. I will look you in the eye and lie. Every. Single. Time.

But the thing about sending my girl in is knowing that in spite of all the good she will meet and learn and see there will also be some really sucky parts. There will be people that try to convince her that her value is less than what it is. There will be people who try to make her think her worth is in her hair/face/shoes/backpack/map coloring skills. There will be someone who will laugh a little too loudly when she walks by and make her wonder, “Are they laughing at me?” There will be someone who doesn’t look her way when she says,”Hello.” There will be some punk who tells her she’s pretty on Monday and changes his mind on Tuesday.

So I’m praying that next week we will be past the drama of not knowing where 3rd period is and how to remember a locker combination. I’m praying that we will no longer stress about the lack of people we know in 5th period. I’m praying that she finds a lunch table with welcoming faces and figures out which class she needs to bring a jacket so as not to freeze.  I’m asking God to calm her heart and mind and let her know that she is smart and beautiful and loved. I’m praying this all comes next week because the other stuff will come faster than we know. The good and the bad. It will all come quickly and I’m praying she has sturdy feet under her when it gets here. And frankly, I’m praying it because this mom can’t do another week like the first.

It’s that time of year again. We are about to send our kids to school and sports and all the places we send them in the fall. I love it. I love a good schedule. We Lexows just function better as a family with a little routine in our week. Summer is great and the break is good but I’m going to be honest…we are better with a plan.

And speaking of better, I’ve got an idea. What if we parents made a plan to be better? What if we said we were going to make a conscious effort to be better to each other? I just think that parenting is hard enough on it’s own but then when you add in the snark that we, as parents, often deal out to each other, it makes it a million times harder. Here are some ideas I’ve been tossing around:

What if we all walked into the school year with the attitude that all of our kids are good but none of them are perfect?  What if we decided to assume that sometimes our kids are going to be stupid rotten, because they’re kids, and that everyone else’s kids are probably going to do the same? What if we understood that being stupid rotten from time to time is part of being a kid and not a direct reflection of the parents?

What if 90% of the parents signed up for 10% each of the volunteer jobs instead of the other way around? I feel like more would get done with less frazzled moms. Maybe everyone could contribute to one or two of the school carnival/sport team/Sunday School/whatever events and then we wouldn’t have that one lady at the end of school picnic screaming at everyone like a mad woman because she is volunteered out and her clipboard is broken.

What if we all spoke words of truth and kindness and peace to each other and about each other?

What if the moms and dads who’ve known each others faces since our kids were in kindergarten together could learn to say, “Hello” in the aisle at Home Depot instead of acting like we don’t know each other? You don’t have to stop and have a conversation with me about the GOP debate but it would be nice if you didn’t take your cart and run the other direction. It seems like if we all learned to smile and speak then our kids might see that and do the same. Maybe. I could be wrong.

What if we prayed for each other instead of criticizing each other? If we all lived with the assumption that everyone has a story we might offer a little more grace.

Maybe this is all crazy talk and I’m full of rainbow dreams. I just can’t help but believe that we have an incredible responsibility as parents to show our kids the way. I worry sometimes about the way we are showing. I don’t think anyone intends to teach their kids that being over-scheduled and over-tired and over-busy is the way. I don’t think we wake up one day and declare that we are going to teach our sons and daughters to be snobs. I don’t believe for even one minute that any of us set out to build judgmental children. Our actions, however, speak far greater than our words.

“Do as I say and not as I do” won’t cut it anymore.

We have to lead the way. We have to declare this school year as the year we make a difference in our community/state/world. It starts in my kitchen. It starts in your living room. We the parents have to decide that kindness wins and love over comes.  We have to make a plan.

Dear Southern Illinois,

When I left you, so many years ago, I threw my belongings in my car and drove as fast as I could. My heart was broken and I didn’t know how to let it heal except to run far and fast. I didn’t want to think about you any more. You felt like an old boyfriend who had betrayed me and I knew that distance was the only answer.

Healing did come. By the grace of God it came. My soul rested and God closed wounds. I was still a bit fearful of you though. Oh, I came back to visit a few times. I snuck in by the dark of night and kept my heart closed to you. I was afraid of letting you back in. The trauma that had been dealt in your presence was so great that it over-powered the good. But I was healing.

This week I came back. I came home. And I opened my heart to see the real you.

Your rolling hills of green enveloped me like a grandmother’s quilt. Your rivers and lakes ribboned through my soul like silk in my hair. The sweet smell of your air and the ripe fruit on your trees took me in and comforted me. You whispered memories of slumber parties and late night giggles and potato chip frenzied parties.

You reminded me of learning to ride a bike and how to read and write and multiply. You sang show tunes in my ear and turned my fingers to jazz hands. You danced around me on water and back roads and down dusty lanes.

You showed me people who have loved me through the good, the bad, the ugly, and still bring me cookies when I show up. You showed me people who have hit bottom too, and learned to bounce.

You reminded me of a slower pace and slower drawl and lightening bugs. You are full of my before – and for a long time I thought that was something I was over and done with – but now I can’t wait to visit you more in my after. I can’t wait to bring my children to you, to scale your cliffs and swim in your streams. I want them to climb your trees and pick your fruit and feel a deep connection to who they are. Because they are of me and I am of you.

Love,

Tamara

It seems a lot of people have been taking some very hard stands for or against some issues lately. I know this because it’ all over Facebook – the memes, the photo shopped images, the declarations made in ALL CAPS!!!!! with lots of punctuation…. I guess social media is the place to let everyone know what you’re for or against and I’m behind on the game. I figured I better type up a quick list, just in case someone was wondering where I stand in life.

I’ll start with what I’m for. It’s a much simpler list.

• I’m for Jesus. I love him.
• I’m for the Bible. I believe all the words in it are God-inspired. The hard words and the easy words – all truth.
• I’m for family. I have a great one, not a perfect one, but a great one.
• I’m for good food with good friends. Fellowship around the table rocks.
• I’m for loving people right where they are. I don’t always do it well but I definitely support it.
• I’m also for speaking truth. In general, I think honesty is always the best policy.

I’m against a few things. So in the interest of fairness and keeping up with the internet, here’s the list of things I’m not for:

• I’m against margaritas made with wine. They are almost always a bad idea.
• I do not support instant mashed potatoes. Just message me for help with the real thing.
• I can not take chipped toenail polish on my own feet. Let yours chip away. I can’t take it on my own. Y’all, I just can’t even.
• I’m against someone sitting next to me chewing a banana. You think you’re being quiet but I hear it. I. Will. Lose. It.
• I can not support socks with Birkenstocks. Listen, I know we all did it in the 90’s but let’s not go back there. I wasn’t right then and it’s not right now.
• GMO’s
• Fireworks the day after the 4th or the day after New Year. Stop it.
• I  can’t watch any movie with Brendan Fraser. I try but I can’t. I’m sure he’s lovely in real life.
• I can’t stand to touch microfiber towels. I understand they are magic but they make my skin crawl.

Okay. I think that about sums up where I stand on all the important issues plaguing American these days. Thanks for putting up with my rant. I’m just glad I could finally speak my mind.

I’ve been thinking a lot about freedom lately. Partly because we are closing in on Independence Day, the day our whole country celebrates freedom, and partly because of all the freedoms passed down, as of late, by our Supreme Court. What is freedom? It seems everyone has a different idea.

Here’s what Webster had to say:

Definition of FREEDOM

I had a wrestling match with God last week. I shared with you that in the middle of VBS closing I received word that my grandmother, my mom’s step-mom, had died. I didn’t know what to do with the news so I did nothing for several days. I had virtually no relationship with this woman but had a memory bank full of stories from my mom and her siblings about what growing up with this woman had been like. I had seen her and my grandpa less than ten times in my whole life…and yet I found myself grieving.

I wrestled for days on the grief. Where was it coming from? What did it mean? Was her death really what I was grieving? I didn’t know what else to do but hand it to God. This is something I’m usually pretty terrible at doing. I like to say I am handing things to him but in reality, I like to keep a piece for myself to play with and try to control. I couldn’t do that with this grief. I didn’t understand it or know what it was about so I started with the simple prayer, “God, show me what to do next.”

Go to the funeral.

What? Surely I had heard him wrong. We were sitting in the middle of a tropical storm, Charlie had left the country on business, the kids were out of school, and it would mean missing my step study that, of all weeks, I really need to attend, and….

I had all the excuses. The biggest one being that going to the funeral would mean facing family I hadn’t seen in many years. It would mean seeing aunts and uncles, brothers and sisters of my mom, who had not been around for many, many years. It would mean facing heartache that I had never fully dealt with and wasn’t even sure how to begin dealing with.

Go to the funeral.

I arranged for the kids to stay with my in-laws. I gassed up the truck. I washed my hair. I texted a few friends and asked them to pray.  My friend Laura texted back that obedience is sometimes so very hard but that she would be praying.

Obedience.

I woke up at 4:15 the next day because I’m not cool enough to understand my husbands alarm clock and how to turn it off. I was wide awake and that word, obedience, kept rolling in my head.

“Okay, God, if the rain is heavy, I’ll take that as a sign  I shouldn’t go. Charlie hates when I drive in the rain. Okay?”

The sun peeked out of the clouds for the first time in days.

I had a strong urge to pick up my phone and check in on the bible app. I opened to read and the story of Abraham placing Isaac on the alter was there waiting. God had commanded Abraham to sacrifice his own son but in the last minute God provided a ram to go in Isaac’s place. (Genesis 22:1-18)

“Okay, God, I can do this. You aren’t asking me to sacrifice my child. You’re asking me to drive to East Texas.”

I got dressed and left. About an hour into the drive the rain started again. The sky got dark and the wind was blowing and the rain was coming down in sheets. The traffic was not heavy but the cars that were around me were just that – cars. The rain was hitting their roof tops and bouncing up towards my windshield. I drive a big truck and there was no one around me to shield or block me. I was the big guy catching all the rain.

“Okay, God, what is this? I can’t do this.” My chest was clenched and I suddenly felt like I needed to u-turn around and head home.

Obedience.

That’s when God, with his great big sense of humor, reminded me of who he is. Because out of no where this pulled into the lane in front of me.

A Dodge Ram. A Dodge Ram that was bigger and taller than my truck.

When I say I laughed out loud I don’t mean  like when you “LOL” your friends text but you are really in the grocery store and not at all laughing. I laughed. Out loud. God provided a Ram for me when I was thinking obedience was too hard. And it drove in my lane, right in front of me, shielding me from the brunt of the storm. And just as the rain subsided the Ram took the next exit and left the road. It was one exit before mine.

God is good.

The sun came out and I drove on to the little church in the little town to the funeral. And I had total peace.

I had peace when I introduced myself to my near blind grandpa. I had peace when he hugged me and cried and told me he was so glad I was there.

I had peace when my uncle, the brother my mom kept a picture of in a locket, came in and hugged me so tight and told me he could see my mom in my eyes and that he missed her so.

I had peace when more of my aunts and uncles came in. We all sat together and we sang together and we ate together and we laughed together and it was good.

Obedience is good. It’s hard but it’s good.

I believe God worked so many miracles that day. I made connections with people that have been missing from my life for so long. Or maybe I’ve been missing from their lives. It doesn’t matter anymore.

God worked through doubt and fear and hurt and pain and questions and more questions. He worked and he is good and when I needed it, God provided a Ram.

I’m sitting at my computer watching the rain begin to fall as Tropical Storm Bill rolls in. Which is good because if there’s one thing Houston needs right now, it’s more rain. (Oh, wait! My sarcasm font wasn’t turned on.)

That’s the thing about rain – it rarely comes at a convenient time. I have the app “Timehop” on my phone. It’s a free app that scans your social media posts from previous years and then sends you a report each morning with the pictures and posts you made on this day in history. For the past few weeks I’ve been laughing at all the posts I made a few years back about drought. It was really dry in Texas for a long time. Dry enough that our governor declared official days of prayer for rain. Crops dried up and roads melted. It was so hot and so dry for so long. We were on water rationing and many chose to simply let their yards burn up.

Fast forward to 2015 and we are praying for the rain to stop. We had almost an entire month of rain in May and a quick break the first week of June (I’m going to lay credit on all the VBS prayers for no rain) and now Bill is blowing in with a vengeance. Crops are flooding and roads are washing away. Yards are covered in fungus from too much wetness.

Feast or famine. Drought or flood. Joy or sorrow. Why does it seem life is filled with all or nothing moments?

Last week was full of joy beyond measure. Vacation Bible School was smoother that smooth. I can not even begin to explain my gratitude for all the prayers, all the help, all the all that went toward that week. My passion for family was over-flowing and my heart was exploding as I watched moms, dads, grandmas, grandpas, aunts, uncles, and lots and lots of kids eating, singing, dancing, and learning together. It was a great week.

We had over 300 people with us each night (between helpers and families) and every single person heard the good news of God’s love and salvation through Jesus Christ. Parents received hope and encouragement and kids had  a blast experiencing Hometown Nazareth. We had a closing celebration on Sunday morning and the kids ran and played and sang and danced. It was so good. I felt like my heart had a grasp on the Kingdom of God and I was standing right in the middle of his goodness.

And then my phone chimed. The chime of a Facebook message. It was a cousin letting me know my grandmother had passed away. Rain and drought. Joy and sorrow. Understanding and confusion.

Patsy Birdwell was my mom’s step-mother. My mom’s mom died of cancer when my  mom was only eleven years old. My grandfather married many more times in the next few years and, from the stories my mom and her siblings told, it was a time of hardship and pain for them. Grandpa settled down and married Patsy around the time my mom turned 14 or 15. She brought her own children into the mix and the already large Birdwell clan grew overnight by leaps and bounds. I do not know all the details; my only knowledge of that time comes from whispered stories and comments made under breath when I was a child. What I do know is that my grandpa and his wife were missing from most of my childhood. My mom’s relationship with them was broken, at best, and so my relationship was basically non-existent.

I remember visiting them once at their house when  I was very small. I have a vague memory of swinging on a tree swing while my grandpa pushed me and Patsy stood by. I have fleeting memories of them at one or two family functions throughout childhood. They came to my high school graduation. They came to Mom’s funeral. They came to my wedding. They came to Shelby’s baptism. That’s it. That’s all I’ve got.

So with that, with those handful of memories, I was caught off-guard at the gut punch I felt at reading the message that Patsy had died. I am confused by the surge of emotion I have wrestled with these two days as I hear plans for her funeral. I do not understand the tears that dropped this morning when I watched the news report of Bill rolling in and dampening plans of me travelling to the funeral tomorrow.

All I can figure is that this is one of those full circle life moments. It was my grieving for the state of the family that allowed my heart to be open to God calling me to family ministry. It was my desire to never see a broken family again that drew me to this place. It was my own experience of broken family, both extended and family or origin, that made me so passionate about helping families receive the tools they need to work towards health and unity. Here I am, wrestling with the high of a joyful family style VBS and the sorrow of the brokenness of my own family.

I’m praying that God works through all of this and that his glory is revealed. I am praying for peace and understanding and healing. And as I suspect that this life will continue to bounce between feast and famine, drought and rain, joy and sorrow, I pray I stay grounded in the knowledge of my Savior who loves me in the good and the bad, the easy and the hard, and holds me close offering grace and mercy along the way.

“

Step 1 in the 12-Step process of Celebrate Recovery (and maybe every 12-Step; I’m only familiar with CR) is “We admitted we were powerless over our addictions and compulsive behaviors, that our lives had become unmanageable.”

Powerless.

It’s an ongoing theme in my life lately. On all sorts of levels, from tiny, seemingly insignificant details to flash flooding, I am reminded that I can make all sorts of plans that don’t matter. I am being shown daily that I am not in control. I can fight it or I can submit but the general outcome is the same…my life is not my own.

I started attending a recovery group again last week because, well, it’s time. My life is full of the same stresses that most people have – work, family, budgets, schedules, health – and yet I have been living like a whirlwind of chaos. I have not being caring for myself for several weeks. Newly adopted habits of health and self-care flew out the window faster than I could say co-dependent. I had forgotten the steps. No, I hadn’t forgotten. I had  run away from them.

“I know that nothing good lives in me, that is, in my sinful nature. For I have the desire to do what is good, but I cannot carry it out.” Romans 7:18

I can make all the plans and do all the things and try to be the master of my life except that I can’t. I keep trying. I keep failing. I lift my arms and say boldly, “It’s all for you, Jesus!” and then I bring my arms down and pull all the things back to my heart. I want to give up control but I don’t do it.

Powerless.

So it is not with shame but instead love for myself, my family, my friends, and my Savior, that I say, “Hi. My name is Tamara. I struggle with control.”

I’m ready to give it  up. I’m ready to rest in the arms of my God, who knows the steps ahead of me. I cannot control my family, their decisions, their reactions, their lives. I cannot control my friends or anything about their lives. I cannot control my coworkers, the people at the grocery store, the moms of my kids friends, or anyone else that comes across my path. I cannot manipulate people into behaving in a way that is favorable to me. I cannot feed or soothe my frustrations in outcomes with food or shopping or any other activity. I am powerless in overcoming these behaviors on my own and desperately need Jesus.

“When are we going back to real VBS?”

This is a question I heard repeatedly for a long time. Five years ago our church rolled out a new way of doing Vacation Bible School. I should say “new to us” way of doing Vacation Bible School. Other churches in other places have been doing all fashions of VBS for as long as VBS has been a thing. For years our children’s ministry ran a fabulous VBS. It was fun, exciting, action packed, and loaded with kids everywhere. The building would nearly burst at the seams for three hours, for five days, one week a year. Kids from all over town came to VBS here.

Then someone put me in charge and I killed it. Okay, not really. But you would’ve thought that I hated kids and puppies and candy and all things holy by the reaction I got when I moved Vacation Bible School from day to night and invited the whole family. I say “I” like I worked alone. I didn’t. I was part of a team and I answered to people. But I was in charge of children’s ministry so ultimately, the decision, the criticism, the hate, the good, the bad, the…whatever, fell to me. I was okay with that. God gave me a calling and I had to answer. We needed to start pouring into the lives of families. We needed to give parents tools for their tool box. We needed to encourage parents and show them how to be the spiritual leaders of their households. And we needed to start creating environments for families to be together instead of apart.

Why did he call me? That’s a good question and one I screamed at him from the prayer garden at church one day when the fountain was on, drowning out my yelling from the rest of the staff. He didn’t shout anything back that day but I can assume. I can assume it’s because I came from a good, churchy family that busted up anyway. Even though I had the ruffled dresses and my parents were on all the teams and committees…we still broke up. I can assume it’s because my husband also came from a good, churchy family that went to camps and retreats and they still busted up. I can assume it was because my husband and I decided to fight like hell to not let our family ever bust up. I can assume it’s because I had friends that were doing all they could to keep marriage and kids and church and work and all the stuff balanced but were struggling. I can assume it’s because there’s a lot of pressure – from all sorts of places – to look like a perfect family but it’s so hard. It’s so, so hard.

The first year was rough. Hardly anyone came. People yelled at me. I cried. I cried a lot. So people started asking, “When are we going back to real VBS?” and through my tears I would say, “This is real VBS.”

And then the next year more people came. Maybe because they wanted to see what all the fuss was about. Maybe because they needed to fill summer. But they came. And more came the next year. And the next. And then I started hearing comments like, “This was the first church thing my family has done outside of Sunday morning” and “My husband sang silly songs about Jesus with the kids this week. They were songs they learned at VBS” and “I went to the parenting class at VBS and for the first time in a long time, I didnt’ feel alone.” And then people started joining the church who didn’t even know the old way and they signed up and they helped and they started building a ministry. And then people people would stop me, and other people on the NextGen team, and share how excited they are for Vacation Bible School and that they love the fact that the whole family can come. All of a sudden we had momentum. We had a movement. There was energy behind this thing we do, this Family VBS thing, at Christ the King Lutheran Church. We became a place that fights for the heart of the family. The value was always there. We just started putting action to it. The whole staff joined in. VBS is not just a children’s ministry thing anymore – it’s a whole family blessing.

And that’s why we do it. That’s why we do Family Vacation Bible School. That’s why we ask you and invite you and encourage you to be a part of it. And also because somewhere in my town, there’s a mom who is frazzled and needs her cup filled. And because somewhere else in my town there’s a dad who’s never said the name of  Jesus out loud to his kids because he’s afraid he’ll say it wrong. We do it because there’s a mom and dad around the corner from our church who have been putting on a happy face for a long time but they are getting tired and the combination of marriage and parenting they are doing needs a shot in the arm. We do it because families are pulled in a thousand different directions, not just in summer but all the days, and need a few days of sitting at the same table, eating pizza or hot dogs or tostadas. We do it because parents need an excuse to dance with their kids. We do it because God called us to family. And sometimes you have to fight for family. This is real VBS.

If you’d like more information about NextGenKids Ministry at Christ the King or would like to sign up to be a part of Vacation Bible School this year we’d love to hear from you. Just click here!