Same stories…new location. Please join me at Chicagolina.com.

I was working and traveling a lot. I owned a home. I was 24. I was about 30 pounds lighter than I am now. I had red hair.

I had just returned home from a week in Pittsburgh. I had 2 cats and a roommate. I was in love with someone I should not have been.

I was on the way to work, listening to a CD for a change. When we turned the radio on, still miles from work, the second plane had just hit to WTC. I didn’t know what they were talking about. I thought, for a moment, they meant the Sears Tower.

I worked in a cable company, so there were TVs everywhere. We watched the towers fall. I was on a conference call with others who had been working on the software conversion in Pittsburgh. We were all holding our breath to make sure everyone got on, because who knew who was flying where that morning. Some of our colleagues were stuck in different parts of the country.

I knew no one who was personally affected (meaning, killed or related to someone who was) by the 4 planes that were hijacked, the 4 planefuls and 3 locations full of people who were murdered. And with everyone else, I felt guilty, disconnected, and totally connected all at once.

~

That week, I was planning a surprise birthday part for my mom’s 50th birthday. No one felt like celebrating, but it felt good to be together. That week I had lunch with my dad and brother, to plan. It was the first time the 3 of us had ever really done that. While we were out, my dad ran into an old friend. We all talked, in just a few moments, about life, growing, being American, being friends.

People in the stores that week made eye contact. We reached out, even just with our minds, to feel hope.

On the 17th of September, my closest cousin gave birth to her daughter. Her tiny little 5 pound body personified life and hope.

~

Today, I am married to that same man I loved 10 years ago, the one who was with me in the car that morning. His 2 children became mine, and we have 2 more together. Being a mom makes my heart full enough to burst on any given day. Sometimes I feel like the grace given to us is the biggest thing in the world. Sometimes I feel like there can’t possibly be enough grace for all the evil in this world. But I know in my heart, that even in the midst of ugliness and despair and death, God is there. He makes all things new. He redeems all things. And He causes everything – I can’t even grasp it when I think of those towers falling, but everything, to work together for Good.

We lose, sometimes in small ways, sometimes in unfathomably large ways, because we are here, in an imperfect world.

But in the end, God wins. Grace wins. Love wins.

Let there be comfort for those who lost so big that day.

Let there be warmth and kindness returned to all the heroes who stepped up, who still do.

Let there be peace on Earth, and let us bless the Name that gives it to us.

You just say ‘BBQ’ and it’s there…pulled pork, slaw, and well, I’m had.

Emotional generosity. It is a lovely term, I think. It kind of describes the core of who I am. Like many, I believe our greatest strength in excess becomes our greatest weakness. For me, the ability to open my heart or even give it away has always been easy. I am a lover of people. I view everyone as a potential friend.

In my teen years and young adulthood, this often was a weakness. I lacked the discernment to properly gauge who I should give my heart to. Sometimes I gave it where it was not wanted. Sometimes I gave it where it was treated badly. Sometimes I gave it where it had no business going. I learned from these lessons. During those years, I lost my integrity. I lost people. I lost my ability to trust.

But I did not lose my ability to love.

In the past 3 years, in several unrelated instances that have happened as if on cue, Rod and I have been left standing in the middle of traffic watching someone we trusted flee down the road without a look back or a worry about the responsibility of the large, leftover mess falling to us. It’s usually my response to question my own ability to decipher who was worthy of my trust in the first place. But I have to say, in this latest disappointment, I’m not going to do that.

See, I put my trust in Jesus Christ. To people who don’t believe as I do, this sounds crazy, or maybe just misguided. I can’t see Jesus. He has never spoken to me in an audible voice. He has never held my hand, wiped my tears, signed my paycheck, babysat my children, helped me with the dishes, laughed with me in a movie theater, or sent me a text.

But based on my trust in Him, a one-named man I’ve never seen before, I agreed to move my family 1000 miles from all that was familiar and safe to manage a theater. The circumstances of that have changed a bit, but the mission has not. And the purpose? Well, we’ve always known our purpose is to serve Him, regardless of whether we are promoting a gospel concert, a magic show, or our kids reciting the Pledge of Allegiance on YouTube.

These last few weeks have been the hardest since we moved. With Paige leaving, the girls starting school, and a lot of unrest at work, I’ve woken every day with butterflies wrestling over the pit in my stomach. In my heart and even my mind, I knew a bigger picture was being painted, but my gut just wouldn’t agree with me. I’ve cried a lot, I’ve shut down a bit, and for the first time I almost began to consider if we should ‘go back.’

It’s like I forgot who I was for a moment. Not only am I not a quitter, but I am a warrior. It’s in my name. It’s in my soul. And fighting is what I will continue to do…not just for the success of a family friendly theater in a beautiful little beach town, but to answer the call of God on my family. We’re riding with Him, and for me, at the end of the day, that is the purest, most magical, most real thing there is.

I don’t know if my armor has gotten a little stronger because of previous battles lost, but I’m letting this one go without losing much sleep. I will continue to make brothers and sisters out of people, I will hug necks and kiss babies and share stories and try to help. But if they go, I’m letting them. I stink at some things for sure, but I’m a good friend and I have a big heart, and I’ve grown up enough to know not to give it if it’s not wanted, and my Inner Circle means so much to me that I’m not going to widen it very easily.

In the fight, my greatest strength is giving love. And my most valuable wisdom is to know when to let go.

For me, it wasn’t really a question. My parents go hand in hand. They have been married for nearly 40 years and where one is, the other is usually close. They raised Jerry and me the same way. There was no pitting one against the other, no sneaking behind one’s back. You might think you’re confiding in one or the other, but it’s only a matter of time before beans are spilled.

(except when it came to surprise parties, or as I call them, torture. I think we’ve put a moratorium on them, until my 40th (!!!) and then, you all better be in on something amazing).

During the most difficult part of my life, reconciling mistakes and lies with grace and second chances, I lost a lot of people. Most of them were friends, and many of them have returned and been reconciled to me since then. But some of them were family, and they’ve been lost to us. Some forever. And because Mom and Dad, in spite of, shall we say encouragement to do differently, stuck by me when it wasn’t pretty, simple, or easy, they lost people too. In a big way.

Even when they had a hard time being my biggest fans, they have always been my most loyal supporters.

And in April, when Rod and I said for sure, for real, it’s time for us to go, they let us…no guilt, no pressure, sincere sadness, enthusiastic assistance (in the form of 16 hours on the bus with my children), and promises to at least consider maybe relocating, perhaps…

When I tell people my stories, the ones in which I must introduce my cast of characters, I usually preface with something like, “If you met my mom and dad, you would think I am adopted.” Other than the fact that I look more like my mom every day, and I have my dad’s temper, and I have my mom’s screech, and I have my dad’s sensitivity, and I have my mom’s sense of doom, and I have my dad’s sense of culinary adventure, we’re not much alike. I take the bull by the horns, and they are more passive. I figure it out as I go along, and they plan to the minute detail. I am always late, and they are always early, or at worst, right on time.

But here is the thing: the fact that my parents are timid doesn’t make them weak. And the fact that they have been responsible and loyal and generous even if not necessarily big risk-takers still makes them heroes. And what they are about to do makes them surprising and courageous in a way I could not have imagined.

I’m impressed. I’m beyond grateful. And I am happy to announce South Carolina’s newest unofficial residents beginning mid-October:

…well, they are coming to stay for a few months anyway. I’ve offered shared custody to Jer & Gina, so we’ll see how it goes. But there is a Par 3 next to the girls’ pre-school with Dad’s name on it, and Mom has been waiting since my nephew Andrew was a baby (he’s now 12) to be Caretaker Gramma, and God knows we need some help right now, so… (thanks for the blessing, Jer, and…)

Thank you Mom and Dad….for always walking with me, and now, for embracing the rock star, ocean breeze, Chicagolina life. May it bring some of your best times yet.

Part of the issue, if emotions must be referred to as such, is the navigation not just of a new locale, a new career, the start-up mode, the now two kids who reside in different states from us, but the acceptance of all these things, that this is real life, not an adventure or an experiment, but our new reality.

And for me, perhaps even bigger than all those other transitions, is the going ‘back to work’ AND putting my two littles in school. This wasn’t something I had planned, but more, something I fell into, be it out of necessity, destiny, throwing spaghetti against the wall and finding that it stuck… When the theater came together, there was never a formal question posed to me. It was…’Hey babe, we’re going to run this theater in Myrtle Beach.” And since the last time my darling husband made a statement like this (“Hey babe, we’re throwing a gospel convention. In Branson”), it all eventually worked out, how could I say no?

That was the adventure part. And that was the divine appointment part. I have told our story in bits and pieces around these parts, and one day soon I will finally get it all written, but the state of it is…we feel our being here is no accident or even solution, but a divine appointment. And so, here we are.

Meanwhile, this new reality requires a great deal of transformation. It means our laissez faire “rock star” lifestyle (or as my FB profile says, late nights and lazy mornings on the road) has come to an end for now. Little kids whose classes start at 8:30 am have to be up around 7 (especially because we live out in the boonies and it takes a bit to get to the school). The mornings are, as previously mentioned, a whirlwind of tiny, strategic explosions that get us from bed to civilization. It’s way different from the Chuck E. Cheese on Monday afternoon family we used to be.

If I measured the success of our acceptance and adjustment by my own emotions, I would be in serious trouble. I still shed a tear or two most mornings after the drop-off. I still navigate the guilt of waking them up too early in the morning vs. having time to talk/cuddle and not bark at them like a drill sergeant to brush their teeth and bring me the hair pretties. And I am tangibly resentful of the fact that 5 of our 7 days are dictated by a pre-school schedule. Rod laughed when I said this earlier today.

“Like normal people?” he said.

Who said this had to be normal? I responded. For more than a handful of people we know, it isn’t. For the last four and a half years, and especially the last two, it wasn’t for us.

What we have going on here is a lifestyle I have lived in awe of since Miranda was born the same time as a Miss Ella near Kansas City, whose mommy is a rocking lawyer, who went back to work after a normal maternity leave and still managed to breastfeed longer than I did. It’s one my friend Amy, a school administrator and constant continuer of her own education, rocks with 4 kids and for a long time, an internationally-traveling husband. It’s one a lot of amazingly strong and imperfect women manage in their own unique ways.

It is not an organic experience like my friend Martha, who homeschools as a career and still mothers with a heart that is incomprehensibly patient. It’s not roadschooling like my friend Julie, whose adventures through the USA are bringing education to her boys that could never be duplicated, even in the best school. It is not what it used to be for us…a combination of mommy working at home, daddy working at home, Papa and Paige helping out, a carefully-planned homeschool co-op among friends, trips to the library and park and Target and pumpkin farm (a day that will live in infamy) and the zoo scheduled in between concerts and conferences

It’s sharing salt and vinegar chips around the kitchen table before dinner as we ooh-and-ah over the puzzle KK won from the treasure box (her 3rd trip in 12 school days!)

It’s putting aside exhaustion and chores to go to the pool after school because no one else is there…and because we have access to one and we can.

It’s sacrificing my only true solitude, shower time, because it’s 10 or 15 more minutes I can share with them, talking, laughing, singing.

It’s not feeling bad that dinner is scrambled eggs and leftover pasta, because they like those things, and they don’t know the decision to have that instead of roast and potatoes and baked apples and green beans and bread is made out of ease and convenience.

It’s letting go of my own incessant desire to clean up, because there is time for one show before bed, and I want to sing the Imagination Movers theme song with them. (truth be told, I sing it all the time, with or without them…)

It is accepting that at the end of each day, there is no authority that is going to come check off a list of Things You Should Do With and For Your Children In Order To Be Considered a Good Mommy, or Jesus Help Us, A Proverbs 31 Mommy. And just like I used to worry about how to get them in and out of the car, or whether Randa would ever eat fruit, and whether KK would ever sleep all night, the things I worry about: them learning their letters, discovering their passions and talents, believing in Jesus, and knowing they are protected and adored…

Well, those things seem to be coming along just fine, too. I might even say they are progressing, um, normally.

However, being that I’m in a happy marriage, they don’t really apply…
…except when they capture my soul in their applicableness (uh-huh) to other aspects of life:

–my kids growing up and away
–navigating newness in career, relationships, my own abilities and lack thereof
–the hope of success and sometimes, the seeming-promise of failure
–my incessant need to be liked
–my old life’s world moving on without me
–my new life’s world moving craziliy about without consulting me

Anyway. I am accepting that my eyes need to be looking forward, and upward, and not necessarily where they lazily, comfortingly fall (on shortcomings, short-term, short…stuff).

But I still take superficial comfort in the angsty love songs.

Scratch, Kendall Payne
It’s a big girl world now
Full of big guy things
And every day I wish I was small
I’ve been counting on nothing
But he keeps giving me his word
And I am tired of hearing myself speak
Do you ever get weary?
Do you ever get weak?
How do you dream
When you can’t fall asleep?

I’ve been wondering what you’re thinking
And if you like my dress tonight?
Would you still say you love me
Under this ordinary moonlight?
I’m so afraid of what you’ll say.

I’d like to know if you’d be open
To starting over from scratch
I’d like to know if you’d be open
To giving me a second chance

I used to think I was special
And only I have proved me wrong
I thought I could change
The world with a song
But I have ended up in India
With no lamp to guide me home.
The strangest place I think
I have ever been
And all this time
I thought that we were friends
My stubborn will is learning to bend.

I’d like to know if you’d be open
To starting over from scratch
I’d like to know if you’d be open
To giving me a second chance

Lyrics | Mindy Smith lyrics – One Moment More lyrics

During my drive from Chicago home to South Carolina home, this was the song that broke me. After a month-long tour of amazing goodbyes, most of which did not make me cry, this one did me in.

I’m still homesick. And lonely. And feeling stupid because of how vain I feel in my inner-whininess that no one knows me here. It’s a bit ridiculous and sort of like 4th grade or freshman year all over again. (4th grade SUCKED for me, yo). I’m still a little afraid to be myself.

Meanwhile…it is selfish of me to want life to be altered for those I left behind, and sometimes I can barely stand to know about the fun/togetherness they’re having without me. I’m not quite experiencing either yet. Weekends are lonely and weekdays are weird. But who ever said building a new life would be quick and easy?

That is: late, late bedtime, slow mornings.

With the little chicas starting school last week, all that had to change. We have to get them to their classes by 8:30 to avoid the dreaded hall pass or worse yet, disappointing Ms. G. or Ms
K., our children’s new idols.

Rod and I have set a bedtime for ourselves, which we typically miss by 45 minutes or so, because you can’t schedule OCD, or the entertainment business, and you just never know when the 17 piles of paperwork that have accumulated in the kitchen will need to be moved into a filing system, or when this or that artist need a Burton-therapy session (God help them…)

On Sunday night, Rod dutifully fell into bed on time. His wife, however, was suffering from awesome-nap-followed-by-too-much-caffeine-to-combat-grogginess Sunday night insomnia, and so it’s possible an uncontrollable fit of cackle woke him up shortly before 1am. (I both blame and thank Chandler Bing).

The result of all this time-adjustment means that mornings are like a series of mini-explosions. BAM! Wake up! BAM! Cuddle! BAM! Imagination Movers while getting dressed (a dress for M, shorts and a t-shirt and socks for KK, without fail). BAM! Fight through the teeth-brushing process. BAM! Make a car-ready breakfast. And then thankfully, YAY! The girls can’t wait to get to school. It’s very sweet, and of course, a little sad, too.

After we drop them off, all bright-eyed and crumby from their toast, my adrenaline suffers a serious slow down. A second (and sometimes third, and honestly, fourth) coffee is in order. Rod craves sugar. We soak in some vitamin D in this blessedly sunny locale we now call home. And through exchanges of ‘what’s up today?’ and what’s funny on Twitter and ‘this will be easier when we have _________,” we gather ourselves for a day full of the unexpected.

Until 5ish pm, when we pick up the people we know best in the world, and start all over again.