the better we tell our stories the better we will want to live them

My kids know him as the common character in the bedtime stories their Grandpa tells them. He’s the “partner in crime” in the tales of twin brothers who tricked their teachers, raced horses on the farm, and were legendary on the baseball field.

Andy knows him as Uncle Ned. Andy has countless childhood memories of him. He is the identical twin of Andy’s Dad–he’s a part of nearly every conversation you have with Ted. Ted and Ned. They just go together.

I know him as the man whose kindness made my grown husband weep. It happened just a couple months ago. A gathering of family–it was loud in our living room. The kids were running around. I was chatting with Andy’s mom and Aunt Marcene (Ned’s wife) and we glanced over to see Andy weeping. Weeping. And it wasn’t the first time I had seen it happen with Andy and Uncle Ned.

In fact, my husband can repeat verbatim many conversations he has had with Ned in the past couple years. He knows them word for word.

And he can do that because they were life. His words were always life. They were kindness. They were grace. They were light and hope and healing and love.

Today Uncle Ned unexpectedly went to be with Jesus.

The grief and sadness is so thick and so deep for Andy’s family right now.

He was a bedtime story character. He was an Uncle. A beloved brother.

And he was a husband. Father. Grandfather.

He was loved.

And he loved well.

Undoubtedly, he loved his immediate family well.

But he also loved my husband so well.

And he probably never knew how significant that was.

He probably never knew that my husband replayed and repeated his words in his head over and over.

Because he needed them so much.

As someone looking in on this family, I am thankful.

His legacy is profound.

And it’s sad.

Really sad.

February 8, 2012 29 Comments

Quick snap of my breakfast boys.

Walked into the other room to find someone in my office scrambling to get ready for school.

Oops.

I would like to take a moment to step away from all parenting fail updates to say:

I am enjoying this 12 year old son of mine so much these days.

Really. It’s been pretty sweet.

I told Andy I feel like saying, “OK. Nobody move. Just carry on. Nobody start doing anything. Nobody stop doing something they are already doing. Because I have no idea what it is, but whatever it is, it’s working right now. “

—-

Loving these boys.

  Minus feeding them, I actually cannot wait to have a house full of teenage boys….

(I probably should not of said that out loud….)

February 8, 2012 1 Comments

It has been brought to my attention that my blog is shutting down computers all over the world.

Husbands around the country are forbidding their wives from reading here.

(slight exaggeration).

But apparently there is a virus.

SO…if a box pops up with a Security check or something…DO NOT CLICK it.

Close out quickly.

My resident computer expert  (aka my Dad) has run extensive virus checks on the backend.

It appears to be clean now.

But if it happens again to anyone–let me know?

What does it say when it pops up?

And ideas to fix it would be welcome.

So sorry.

OK…carry on.

Just don’t click.

*UPDATE: Think we found it. Killed it. We should all be safe now.

February 7, 2012 1 Comments

Have enjoyed some really neat times with some old and new friends the past couple weeks.

It is refreshing and healing and motivating for my own heart as conversations move toward vulnerable places.

And a certain truth seems to resound.

We talked about it this week-end in our services:

We all have some ugly chapters in our stories. Chapters of our lives we wish were different. Chapters that are incredibly messy.

(Now, I assume it’s possible for stories to not have these chapters. But I’ve never met anyone. They might exist. It’s possible. I don’t know them.)

The struggle, however, comes when we try to rewrite those chapters. Or we try to pretend they are not there. Or we do everything to hide them or cover them up. We live in shame and regret. We refuse to keep writing until our guilt is gone or our wounds have healed.

Jim said this week-end:

“Don’t try and rewrite the beginning. Just write a new chapter.”

It’s one of those phrases that has stuck this week as I look at my own life.

As I talk with others.

They were defining moments in my life when people had the courage and wisdom to say to me,

“Write a new chapter, Jody.”

The decision to relinquish the need to rewrite.

To let it be my story.

And to write a new chapter.

Those are defining days.

And I wish we heard more of that in our churches, in our families, in our communities.

“OK. And now we write a new chapter. Go.”

And I am finding, as many of you have, that the chapters written after the ugly ones are so darn beautiful. And there is certain beauty that comes only after rain. Impossible without it.

And that’s pretty cool.

February 7, 2012 4 Comments

I wish I could describe these moments better.

I’ll try.

So we have 6 basketball players in the family right now. All the big boys and Kora are super competitive.

They play hard, and well, and want to win.

And then there’s Zeke.

Who is adorable.

And has not been too concerned with winning. Or touching the ball.

So the boys have been “working” with him.

Last week, he scored his first basket.

And there was great rejoicing in the family.

He was so happy.

He talked about it all day. “Remember. Remember when I scored my first basket ever? I was so happy. Remember that, Mom?”

So yesterday, we were watching Zeke and Kora play again.

We had a whole row of bleachers. Mom, Dad, and all the big brothers.

(Sidenote: We don’t really yell to encourage Kora anymore. Because she has basically been told not to dribble, or shoot, or get the ball. Just pass. It was an issue because she kind of –or totally–dominates. Was taking the ball, dribbling it up, and scoring every single time. Not so much fun for the other 9 players.)

So Zeke was running up and down the court smiling as he usually does.

He would look at us and give us a thumbs up occasionally.

The boys are screaming at him, “Go Zeke! Get the ball, Zeke! Go! Shoot, Zeke! Shoot!!”

So at one point there was a loose ball.

And he comes Zeke:

Running SO fast, flying through the air, landing on the ball, rolling on the floor, hitting his head, and coming up with the ball.

There was an immediate gasp and hush in the gym as all the Mommies feared injury.

It was silent except for a whole row of big brothers who were now jumping up and down, screaming, high-fiving each other.

“Yah! Yah, Zeke!! Way to go, Zeke!! Yay!!!”

Andy and I were laughing so hard.

We knew he was OK. And if you know Zeke…it was pure awesome.

He got up. Rubbed his head.

And then looked at us all and smiled.

Too much.

Too much fun.

February 5, 2012 4 Comments

Every morning you should wake up in your bed and ask yourself: “Can I believe it all again today?”…At least five times out of ten the answer should be No because the No is as important as the Yes, maybe more so.

(Buechner)

February 2, 2012 1 Comments

Homerun.

You guys are amazing.

And it’s true.

I cried.

The last couple days have been wildly humbling. Long story. But I’ve spent a couple nights wrestling. I was pretty confident I was the wrong person for this. I feel like I fall so short of what the cause deserves.

And it probably won’t be the last time I feel like that.

But tonight. I am settled in this:   I really, really care about this stuff. These moments of getting to partner with my friends, family, and strangers to reduce suffering around the world. Well, I love that.

And I love celebrating these sweet victories with you.

So thank you. Thank you to everyone–and there were A LOT of you–who stepped up to advocate and give.

It really was so. much. fun.

I adore you people.

The impact in Haiti will be significant.

Good night.

January 31, 2012 3 Comments

My friends are full of great thoughts today.

Here’s a few I stole:

–Marcella of Rome (325?–?410)

Marcella had an enviable life as the daughter of a prominent Roman family who married a wealthy man. But less than a year after her wedding, her husband died. She was given a chance to continue living in wealth when she was proposed to by the wealthy consul Cerealis. She chose instead to convert her mansion into one of the earliest communities of women, where she and other noblewomen used their riches to help the poor. Marcella said she preferred to “store her money in the stomachs of the needy than hide it in a purse.” In 410, when the Goths invaded Rome, they broke into Marcella’s home. When they demanded money, she calmly responded that she had no riches because she had given all to the poor. Though she was an elderly woman, they beat and tortured her mercilessly. Her attackers were eventually shamed by her piety and she was released, but she died within a short time.

–Love is not passion. It is the pulse of sacrifice. -Ann Voskamp

January 31, 2012 0 Comments

So I don’t know if you’ve heard but we are sponsoring stoves in Haiti.

Ha. I know you know. You’re the best.

Anyway, last day for this!

We are only 83 stoves shy of that goal.

It would be so fantastic to hit this one home. Just saying.

——-

It’s been a weird couple days.

I have some thoughts about things.

Which is so good, Jody. That’s so good.

Cannot articulate them right now for some reason.

I’ve tried. Unsuccessful.

So I’ll wait.

—–

Until then, do you guys want to talk about quinoa or something? You guys are so helpful, by the way.

Or hey, my parents are selling our childhood home in Colorado Springs? It’s so depressing. Let me know if you are looking for a house. We would be so happy if someone nice was in it. It’s such a great house.

January 31, 2012 1 Comments