there's this special person in our lives and we call her, nana

I can still remember her first words to me.

"So you're here to steal my son, are you?"

She was standing there, between two pillars in the door way-- she scared me.

My skirt was waaaayyy too short, my hair even shorter. Her hair in a bun and a dress long, I knew I was in trouble. 

I pick up her son, whose name was Danny at the time and we backed out the drive.

"You never told me your mom was pentecostal, I shouted."

"Oh," he replied-- "she's not really pentecostal, just sort of."

Well, you could have fooled me.

Here I was, picking up her little boy-- headed out to do whatever two crazy 16 year old kids can do. God only knows, it wouldn't have made his momma proud.

We've grown.

Her hair is now short, sometimes she'll wear jeans, and I'm madly in love with that boy of hers. It was a rough start and I was sure the devil of a daughter in law-- but we've grown.

We're like this crazy little village of people full of broken pasts and memories. But again, that God of ours- making all things new, He makes it beautiful. 

And he's mine, and she's fine and we all walk this road together.

Happy Birthday, Nana.

Much love,

this was once my grandmothers house { how we must love fully }

This was once my grandmothers house. 

I remember when I was a young girl and we would travel there-- I would always run fast from the car to step on the grass. 

She had the fancy grass. You know, the kind that stands two inches from the ground and feels like you're walking on clouds.

I remember her yard was always so beautiful and full of life. Her backyard was full of flowers and there was always laundry hanging out to dry. I remember she went out and fed the birds each morning, even calling one Robin by name, Robbie. He would eat rasins from her hand. 

She had raised him from a baby and set him free in the back yard.

I remember the day of my Papa's funeral, the adults sat inside listening to the funeral service on a cassette tape. I was outside, kicking a ball against the shed and back. 

 

I remember the way her door would sloowwwly close with that hissing sound only screen doors can make.

I remember my mother and her, never getting a long. I remember my mom always saying, "Mom, you don't have to make your yard look perfect, you really are too old to be out there doing all that work." I remember going for walks while visiting -- my mom would always say, "Oh, my goodness. I don't know why your Mema chooses to live in this neighborhood. The houses are so close together."

I was 12 when my grandmother passed away. I remember my mother had a letter from my grandmother,  sitting on the kitchen counter. She had been to busy to write her back. Those were the days when you paid for long distance and nobody had a home computer.

When the call came in that she had passed away, I remember how badly it hurt my mother.

And now, when you hear my mother talk of my grandmother, she has only good things to say about her. That grandmother she use to talk about is no more and she dreams of just one more day with her mom, in that cramped neighborhood, with that perfect yard-- just one day to sit and love.

So when I tell her I'm making a trip to Oklahoma City she asks me to go.

"Go and take some pictures for me, Kati. I haven't seen it since we laid her to rest."

And today when I give her the pictures, I simply write:

"I hope these photos can bring good memories and not bad pain. It is such a good testament to how we must love fully today because we are not guaranteed tomorrow."

I love you,
Kati

And it did to me, like writing somehow always does--

it changed me. 

May we love fully today friends, 

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When it cuts you to the heart and the coffee sits cold

a monday's to do list

Your weekend was joyfully packed with things to do, people to be with, and flowers to plant--and on this Monday morning there is really only one to do list that matters. 

What you want them to remember.

Write it down, set it on the window above the sink of dirty dishes, and smile big.

“Do not think that love in order to be genuine has to be extraordinary. What we need is to love without getting tired. Be faithful in small things because it is in them that your strength lies.”

~Mother Teresa

Loving This Morning, 

I Have a Secret For You...

There's this little thing we do,

and it's kind of a secret ; )

It all starts around the table where we gather most. Sometimes it's over piles of pancakes before the day begins; other times it's after a day full of hard work over heaping mashed potatoes. Here at the g.tribe home, we like to refer to it as, Secret Servant.

We all get to pick someone to serve, but it's all a big, fun secret. 

Daddy writes everyone's names on the back of a post it note and sticks them on the wall in the hallway. One by one, we leave the table, walk into the hall, and walk back with a sly smile on our face... Judah always has the biggest smile. =)

You dare not tell who you're serving and you try real hard to catch whose serving you throughout the week. Last week, Alli admits: 

"I like to serve everyone here and there,
making sure they see me;
just to throw them off."

At the end of the week, we gather again guessing who might have served us and then the truth comes out. 

"i.served.angus."

"i.served.mom."

"i.served.jordan."

The little ones usually always put away shoes from the front door. If your shoes have mysteriously found themselves into your closet, you probably have Judah or Jordan. If your laundry was washed and put away, or the house vacuumed for no reason, you probably have Alli or Angus. If the kids were put to bed and you got to read a book, you probably have Daddy. ; ) 

They're looking for ways to serve.

And.it's.working. 

So, I breathe deep and smile little sly smiles when I come out of the hallway each week.

...OK, and I do a little happy dance, too... he, he. 

Loves,

A Painful Memory--The Story of Grace.

I can still remember how it felt. Walking from the gym into that bathroom stall, I felt like my world was crashing down. 

Only four months into my seventeenth year, no place to call home and a baby on the way. I can still remember my thoughts. 

I had just walked out of the Gym. I knew that was where I could find him, doing what he loved most, playing the game. 

It was getting close, my stomach would soon show. Having taking vows to never speak to each other again, I felt I needed to share just one last thing. Finding him alone in there, I pleaded--

"You have to tell her." 

His mom. 

I don't know what I really expected in that moment. Two scared kids, thinking we had all the answers. Perhaps I thought he'd turn to me and say, "It's all going to be alright." 

He replies, "I don't have to do anything."

Remembering my reaction, I can still feel that empty feeling; I felt like I would die. 

Walking away, head hung in shame, world spinning. I found the nearest shelter, a place to hide.

It was the nearest place. 

It was empty, nobody around. Falling faintly against the new green wall, sliding down with my hands pressing against my face, tears falling heavily against my cheeks. It was there, in that shameful place, between two walls with a door that latched, the question that haunted me: "Who do you think you are?" 

I can remember the pain I felt that day.

"You have no home."

"You are a young girl whose future is gone."

"You are a joke."

"You are hated."

"You are unwanted."

"Look what you've done." 

I remember shouting, "I know, I know!" "What am I thinking?!" "Who do I think I am?!" "I cannot do this, I just need to die." 

It was there that I found grace. 

I can remember it, even this day. I can remember what that broken, humbling moment felt like. I can still feel the scars. Me, just a young girl, alone. No comfort of a home to go to, no family to walk with through the hardest thing I had ever come to. No known hope, no known future, only grace.

I can still remember my sweet, sweet Jesus, "Yes. Yes, you can do this, you are not alone and I will help you."

Grace was there and I was unaware. Unaware of who He even was, who he 

really was.

This thought I cannot escape--Grace is everywhere. 

We still cross the bridge. The same bridge we passed two or three times per year, usually on holidays traveling home to visit family out of obligation. Now we pass it each week, sometimes more than once, but always on Thursdays. We cross it at the end of a long list of names, delivering sweet meals to lonely people in the town I grew up in. 

Passing over that bridge, it all comes back to me--my heart song for so many years, "Please God, never send us here." Crossing that bridge during those years of visits home, I would ask Daniel, "Where is the one place you hope God never sends you?"

He would always reply: "Home."

Now, I cross that bridge just outside of our little town and think, "I can't beleive He brought me home." Then the thought comes again, Grace is everywhere.

Looking around I ponder. Where is this grace?

There is nothing like being in your hometown. NOTHING. There is nothing like seeing people you shared your life with, throwing it all away. Seeing people you loved, some you gave your heart to, some you thought you'd love forever, dying inside, missing grace. It's there, they are just unaware. 

There is nothing like something as simple as going to the restroom at a basketball game and walking into a place where you once wept and wanted to die. A place you thought you would never come back to.

It makes me look around and ask myself, what grace am I unaware of now? 

I look over at the kitchen table at two teenage boys and ask myself-- Is grace the boy who comes to dinner every chance he can just to sit and be a part of a family? A boy who would never sit here, pray here, share the highs and lows of his day here, if we had not said yes to take in someone from another country? Besides, if it weren't for Angus, we wouldn't even know that boy.

Or what about the girl, the one at the high-school who shared her love for the people of Africa with Angus? Who, when hearing her excitement came home to share with us what she said and now I am able to talk with her about Katie and her amazing work in Uganda.  Or was it her parents, who thanked me tonight. Is that grace? Grace that a stranger encouraged their daughter?

Perhaps grace is sitting up into late hours of the night, listening to the terrible, frightening things someone from Taiwan has endured for the sake of pleasing "other gods" A conversation that makes me very afraid of the reality of hell. A conversation that makes my heart break even more for the ones who have never heard of the goodness of our sweet Jesus. 

Then, of course, there is grace in his excitement as he starts to see a glimpse of what grace really is. 

Could it be in the little old lady hugging me saying, "Thank you for making time for me." Is all the cost, all the time, all the preparation that goes into that one meal? Is that grace?

Is grace my girls going to visit with the grandparents who nobody wants to visit? Sitting and learning how to crochet? Listening closely to all the stories from the past wondering why their real grandchildren can't find the time to stop by, is that grace?

What about a bunch of home-school  families gathering together for a field trip, some on their very first one, even after several years of homeschooling? Could it be grace? Just knowing it's because you finally said, "OK,  I'll do it.

Is grace taking tonight's meal to a bunch of high-school basketball boys in the town you hoped you'd never return to, watching your husband, the grace filled love of your life, who once said, "I don't have to do anything" coach one of your little graces on the court of his favorite game, during half time, remembering a time when a conversation in that same gym sent you away ready to die? (yes, read it again... s.l.o.w and insert your graces)

Oh friends--

it.must.all.be.grace

Loves Always,

Because Thankfulness Must Remain

 

When today is over and life has resumed, may thankfulness remain. 

When the laundry piles and the dishes remain, may thankfulness remain. 

When they are all asleep and your work remains, may thankfulness remain. 

When the family who is nice to you today, is mean to you tomorrow, saying hurtful things; may thankfulness remain.

When it seems like you've just had enough and you feel like nobody cares, may thankfulness remain. 

"We give thanks to God not because of how we feel – but because of Who He is."

- Ann Voskamp

Thankfull for Him, Thankfull for you. 

"Giving thanks always for all things to God the Father in the name of our Lord Jesus Christ" 

Ephesians 5:20

"And whatever you do in word or deed, do all in the name of the Lord Jesus, giving thanks to God the Father through Him."

Colossians 3:17

"We are bound to thank God always for you, brethren, as it is fitting, because your faith grows exceedingly, and the love of every one of you all abounds toward each other."

2 Thessalonians 1:3 

He lifts his head with joy and says "It sounds just like poetry!"

I say, "Yes, Yes! You're right, it is like a poem! It's an overflow of David's heart, to our Lord."

And my heart is filled with Joy and Thanksgiving. 

May your thankfulness remain, my friend. 

Happy giving thanks.

 Living to Love,