Oprah, Daddy and 1989

I have been cleaning like a mad woman for days. The condition of our home   (and car, and garage and etc.) is the result of too much fun over the holidays. Honestly, it seems like our family has been on fast forward since around Halloween.

We came home from our trip to Tennessee, and I haven't stopped. Truth is, I think I am afraid to stop. School is starting back , I am just not finished yet. I know it is crazy, but I don't like things still on my list.

 

The list. Last night my sister asked me what I had to do. I sent her a photo of my list ( 2 columns long) for yesterday that at 1:00am only had three things marked off. She laughed and said.. “Just throw that thing away and start over!”

So much to do, with so little time to do it. We run on empty, doing far too much, constantly frustrated with what didn't get done.

Right before Christmas, (the most wonderful time of year) I had the same conversation with three different people..... all on the same day.

“I am just not doing anything well.” “I don't like me.” “I don't like who I am, or what I am becoming.” “My kids are getting on my last nerve. I don't even like them some days”. “I have to get it together.” “I just can't keep on going like this.”

It was like they kept saying everything I was thinking and feeling....but, scared to say out loud.

I have run from it, tried to ignore it, and downright denied it, but it is still there. And it keeps showing up.

Letting the urgent overshadow the important.

God has been trying to communicate this to me on so many levels lately. I am never very good with subtle hints. He keeps driving home the same message, hoping if He hits me from every possible front.... I 'll get it.

I was watching an episode of Oprah, and the expert asked that question that stopped me cold. She was talking about making your child feel special, loved and appreciated. She asked, “Does your face light up when they walk in the room?”

---- Ouch.

I just yelled at my kids for messing up my shelving masterpiece designed for organization, and told them I was too busy to play.

So much for lighting up, I think I actually growled.

This just echoed the same idea that I heard just the other day by a child expert that was counseling a mother....

“You walk in after working all day, and you have all of this that you need to accomplish

... and they just want you.”

again..... Ouch.

I know the truth, I just can't find the balance. Clothes must be washed, chores done. Dog fed, lessons prepared, papers graded, all the while childhood ( life) is happening.

I caught a glimpse of this over the holidays. My daddy stopped me and made me look at Lindsey. Physically held my arm and said “Just look at her. She is growing up so fast. Do you see it, or are you missing it?”

She was sitting there with her new toy texting away, and singing with her favorite music. I saw what he was talking about. Her childhood was fading right in front of me. Trading Barbies for Justin Bieber. She is changing into a young woman.... one I am not ready to meet.

The urgent over important..... the idea, it keeps at me. Even when I was cleaning up the kitchen, and I found a newspaper article that has been on the refrigerator since 1989.

Weird how you see things everyday, and then one day SEE it.

It is a copy of Dear Abby's New Year Resolutions. My mom gave it to me when we moved away to Seminary. I was crying, whining, and having an outright fit. She handed it to me off of her refrigerator where it had been for years and said. “Read this.”

I never dreamed, that words from 1989 would challenge me in 2012

I won't recount it all, but it says something like this.......

“Just for today I will live this day only, ...Just for today, I will be happy.... Abraham Lincoln said “Most folks are just about as happy as they make up there minds to be”.......Just for today I will face reality.....I will change what I can and accept the rest......

                   I figured out that all of this wisdom came down to one idea, one simple word..... Enjoy.

 I read the definition of this little word, and I noticed something, It is a verb, which means, it is a choice.

A conscious decision to be present, be attentive, to choose my attitude,  to be aware.

       Enjoying my moments. My God. Enjoying my family, my girls, my job. Even enjoying the chaos we sometimes call life.

 That is my New Year's Resolution to me.

Happy 2012...Enjoy!

Tiny Tim ( Alabama Ethics Law)

       You walk in on the first day of school, and there they are. All alone in the corner, a little more than afraid. No one came to help fill out the paper work. No hugs and kisses at the door. No lunch box with notes from mom attached to little, shiny, Hershey Kisses. They have no idea what is on your supply list, or why you would even give them one. Parents?   For one reason or another, they are nowhere in sight.

      In that moment you smile, and say to yourself, “There you are, I have been waiting for you to get here.”

This year's Tiny Tim.

     Every classroom in America has one. That kid whose clothes aren't “just right.” Who could maybe use a bath. The one that the teacher has personally spent a fortune on buying supplies, or the occasional lunch.

Tiny Tim.

     The one who, when they are absent, your heart sinks. You are literally sick all day wondering and praying for that child. You know if they are with you then they are at least safe, and warm, and loved. You conjure up excuses to make a phone call just to check .

 You must know if your Tiny Tim is OK.

     Mixed emotions have been swirling around my head for the past few days. Not sure whether to laugh or cry over the newly issued mandate from the Alabama code of Ethics stating that teachers in Alabama cannot receive gifts (with monetary value) from students. On one hand you have to cry at the audacity of lawmakers who could fathom that a teacher works for gifts. On the other hand, laugh, because they have made laws that will articulate what you have told the kids for years.

“Don't buy me anything. You are my gift. I get you every day!”

     I think the most disturbing part in it all is the idea that the people who are in charge... just don't get it.

“The sponsor of the law, Republican Sen. Bryan Taylor, said it protects teachers against accusations of favoritism to students who give them big gifts and avoids embarrassment for low-income students. "In every classroom, there is a Tiny Tim who can't afford a turkey or ham," Taylor said.”

     Implementing laws to protect ...Tiny Tim? To stand and say that a teacher's favor can be won? That a Starbucks gift card can change my heart?      Really?

They have missed the obvious in my opinion...

... Tiny Tim,    you already have my heart.

The other kids may have money, families, and resources. They have help with homework, and hugs.   All my kids get my best, but you...

I find some way to give you just a little more.

I know the argument is over gifts. How much is ever enough? To say that the work a teacher does can be quantified and compensated... with stuff, to me  is....... obsurd.

 

 It is not about the presents, for me, it is about the Presence. 

     The voice saying, “Be my hands and feet. Love this child the way I love you. Show this child that you give YOUR best and it is for MY GLORY.”

      That gift is the one I work for. The only one I want. The present that can never be bought, but it is worth more than everything else.... My Savior's approval.


God bless us everyone.....

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Currier and Ives

1990 showed up again this week. Let me see if I can explain....

I always wanted a “pretty” Christmas tree growing up. One that matched. One that had ribbons and bows. I remember going out to Opryland and secretly coveting those trees. I know it is silly, but I longed for a tree like that as a child.

You see, Our tree was ugly. Nothing matched, just a hodgepodge of stuff that we made or collected. I even made fun of our tree on more than one occasion to my mother. She would just shake her head at me and protest. Our tree was beautiful to her.

When Gary and I married I decided that I would have the perfect tree in MY home, the perfect holiday, the perfect everything....and so the madness began.

I had to have everything just so.... the tree, the lights, the “ Southern Living” Magazine version of what I thought it should be. I would spend hours working on making it “ just right”. One year I even hand tied elaborate bows on each and every gift, just to take them off and transport them to TN. I wanted them pretty under the tree before we left.

We started a tradition years ago cutting down our tree. We all trample off through the woods in search of our “ Hallelujah” moment. Finding the perfect tree has nearly caused death or divorce on few occasions.

The photo session alone is enough to make my kids cry.

On our way home last weekend we stopped to get our tree. For some unknown reason I was just in a different mood. No matching outifts. No hoopla. One family photo. And the girls even helped pick out the tree. Not at all a normal outing, but I was beginning to sense that this year I was going to be different.

A few days passed and the girls wanted to put up our tree. I said, “No.” It takes three days to put up MY tree. I have to wrap every strand with lights . That alone takes one whole night. I told them when I was ready I would let them add a few ornaments, but

......I put up the tree.

Then Thursday night came around . They caught me at a weak moment, and I conceded to letting them do the tree themselves. Gary looked at me like I had lost my mind. I figured with Lindz being 10 that this could be her last year for fantasy and I couldn't take any part of it away.

I just secretly vowed to re do it when they went to bed.

Watching them decorate and hang the ornaments with pride was truly a “Mom Moment.” We talked about the origin of the figures. How they all represent some part of our life. It was a family history lesson that they actually wanted to take part in. I was able to share with them “Our Story” and how God has seen us through so much.

It was my Christmas gift.

As I sat there that night and looked at our finished tree, it hit me. That tree is not perfect, there are things I would change, parts I would do differently. Trinkets I would move that might fit somewhere better. It is similar to our story. The Millraney saga. The tree is not perfect, but neither are we. That hodgepodge of decorations represents the hodgepodge of members and memories  God has put on this journey.

As much as I want perfection, it just not us.

The Millraneys have never really been Currier and Ives.

Isn't that what Christmas represents? A need to perfect the imperfect. 

Could it be that it is  our responsibility to take what we have, and what we have made, to create a masterpiece of our own. Imperfections and all laid at the Savior's feet as a gift to HIM because of HIS gift for us.

Normal, everyday people who get an indescribable present even though they don't measure up.

I looked at “Our tree” and remembered my poem from 1990 “ the Ugly Tree”. I gave it to my mom the Christmas I began to understand the meaning.

  I found it, and looked at it again. I sat there reading it and realized something: my 16 year old heart had found truths that this 37 year old one had lost.

The Ugly Tree 1990

It's Christmas time and once again,

We are surrounded by family and friends.

Each one commenting on our

Ugly tree.

Ornaments created by tender hands

that no one else could see.

The lights are twinkling like all the rest

but the decorations are what make it best.

Upon this ugly Christmas tree

is a collection of a family.

The joys and triumphs, sorrow and tears

passed down to us through all the years.

The tree is decorated with memories,

on every branch, a story to see.

So, if at our house you may be..

Feel welcome to view our ugly tree.

For our tree is not decorated with silver or gold,

but with wonderful art work of stories untold.

Really

I was holding it together pretty well through it all until we pulled into the driveway. Somewhere between late night and early morning, the girls and I arrived home. We had just spent the week in Tennessee burying Gary's sister. All we could think about was finally getting home. We walked into the house and realized our dog, Moe, was missing.

It was cold, late, and I was exhausted. Knowing I could do nothing until the sun came up, I went to unpack the car. That is when I saw him. Laying to the side, dead in the corner of the driveway. Moe had been hit by a car.

“Really?” I stood in the driveway, and saw my babies faces. I knew.... they knew, and I just lost it.

“ Really God? Are you kidding me? Really? After the week we have had:

You made us watch our family ache over a death far too early. We watched Gary preach his own sister's funeral. My girls stood by a casket and stared death in the face. Isn't that enough, but no... you took the dog too?”

Lindsey looked a me through her tears and said, “Who are you yelling at?” I looked at her, and told her the truth.

“God.”

She walked away silently, but her face said it all. She wanted to be nowhere around someone who stands in the middle of the yard yelling at the Creator of the Universe.

I was heartbroken, I was exhausted.....I was ticked!

Now I know that human life is far more valuable than dogs. It was just the culmination of all of my fragile emotions unleashed at once.

I had just had enough and since He knew my heart anyway.....

Last Saturday, we began our Holiday traditions. We made shoe boxes for kids who need toys halfway around the world. I found myself standing at the cash register, just a little nervous. I wanted to make sure our little fun family activity didn't cost “too much.”

My unspoken somewhat selfish mantra..... “Give til you feel better...... about you.”

I tried to ignore it, I kept walking around looking for “dollar items”.

“Really Niki?” 

I am surprised everyone in Family Dollar didn't hear it because I couldn't miss it(even though I tried) God was very loud in HIS correction to me. “You just spent more money buying a dog collar and leash for your new dog than you did on this child. You are now worried about the dollar amount getting out of control. You might spend too much money..... proclaiming MY name? You might have to take back some of those clothes you bought today.... let's not even talk about what you spent just on you are those girls who have more than they can even pick up and put away.

Really Niki?”

I walked away for a minute while Gary was paying. I knew my thoughts were wrong, I just couldn't get a hold of them. I heard Anna Kate tell the clerk “ Did you know that there are people in the world, kids my age, who don't get toys for Christmas?”

…...And a little child will lead them.

This year I am thankful for a God who can take a fit . Who is not afraid to love me through a “ Really?” moment.

  Sometimes my side and sometimes HIS.

It all came together for me in the little note AK wrote. Her sweet heart on display. 

                              My gift, just to get to be her mom. Her simple words.

I really hope you love these Jesus toys......

Jesus toys. Really? God?

…. Yes, Niki, Really!

Home

“Mrs. Millraney, settle an argument for us please.”

      I love the way a 6^th grader thinks. There is still an innocence of childhood, but they are learning to reason. They question everything they have been taught. In my opinion, that is not always a bad thing.
        Last week they posed this question to me. “Is a house and a home the same thing?”
     I sat down with them and we talked about it. The longer we talked, the deeper it got, and we swirled into the land of questions. That is when they hit me with it:
     “Where is your home?” They always do that...they turn the question and stare directly at me waiting for an answer.
    That is a question I have thought a lot about lately. In the midst of life ... it is a fair question.

         Let's see. I married in Tennessee, graduated college in Indiana, had one child in Kentucky, the other in Georgia and I live in Alabama.
      I used to say home was Nashville, but that was twenty years ago. Can home be a place you don't frequent? In fact, I have now lived away from there as long as I lived there.

        I would say Clay Farm Road , my parents farm in TN. While I love it, it is not mine.
          I could say Alabama, because that is my current address. But one thing I have learned in ministry is that that can change all too quickly.
      Where is home?
      I guess a better question is “What is home?”

Home is where you can dance in the kitchen, you are free to act goofy, you can be yourself , where it is ok to cry. Home is where you are free to be you.....

whoever that might really be.

Home is where you are safe. Home is not alone.

I keep going, replaying it, and I keep coming back to one common denominator.

  The people.

I felt like I was home this past week spent with my family... but, that was never about location.

     My signs from my students after my absence said “Welcome Home!” and I completely agree that with my students I feel an element of home.
   
In the last 20 years, Gary and I have moved several times. NO ONE should ever have as many “ new home” ornaments on the Christmas tree as we do. But I can honestly say that if we ever went back to any of those places, we could be “ home” again.


Even Heaven is described as home, and I have never been there.


    I wish I had a concrete definition. A map to point to and say … here! But the truth is this, I can't answer the questions very well. I can't explain it, I can't illustrate it, or even put it into words....

But one thing I do know... I know when I am there.

58:08.0

“My only goal today is simple: I just don't want to be the last one!” Those were my words yesterday morning around 6:00am as Gary and I were getting ready for our first 5K race. I still question the sanity of our participation in such a grueling course, especially since we love Couch far more than 5K! To say we are paying for it today would be a gross understatement.

The adrenaline in the air was addictive. I can definitely see how people can get hooked on this. The music. The camaraderie, the excitement was intense. We were completely amused at the different runners. We saw everyone from the super fanatic to.....well, Gary and myself.... who are lucky to keep our shoes tied.

Gary decided that it would be fun if we ran together. Now, honestly he trains and works out a lot compared to me. If he is anything when it comes to me, it is protective. He knows that I am not supposed to “ push it too hard.” Those little metal clips in my head prevent me from over-exerting myself. Avoiding an all out explosion in my head was his goal.

And we were off. The start was exhilarating. All those yellow shirts running down the road. It was truly a sight. Like I said at the beginning, this was a grueling course. It started on a slope and went uphill almost all the way to the halfway point. One of our psycho- runner types who does all this running for fun said it was one of the hardest courses he had run. Sounds pretty typical for Gary and myself, “ No halfway!” At least, we would die raising money for missions.

We ran one mile, two miles and we were doing well. I kept telling him to go on without me, I was fine. He finally conceded and left my side. I was working on a pretty good pace, and I had finished the hardest part when I saw her.

She was over 70, out of breath, and walking up the hill with a huge walking stick. Watching her, I wondered if she would actually make it to the top. My eyes had nowhere to go. I kept running. Struggle was not a good enough word to convey the difficulty she was having. I was coming down the course and she was going up, set totally in my vision with no reprieve in sight.

Through my music blaring in my ears, I heard it. It was simple and so very clear. God told me to go back up the hill with her.

But.....

I was doing well, and those hills were by far the worst part. I passed her, smiled, and asked if she was “Ok?” She said, “Yes, I am fine! Going up the hill, or die trying.”

Proud of my version of reaching out, I kept running. I patted myself on the back for checking on her and then I heard that little voice.

“ Niki, That was cute! Now, go back and do what I told you to do to start with. How can you say you are out here running for missions, being the hands and feet of Jesus, and go right past her? "

Please don't think I am condemning anyone who passed her before me, I don't know what they were told. I just know what I was told to do. I swallowed hard and said to the runner beside me, “ If she can do it once, I can do it twice.”

I caught back up with her, and we somehow got to the top of the hill. She had completed her race. Her goal from the start was to just get to the top. I hugged her, and told her she was my hero.

Then, I started down the hill again.

I had figured out quickly that I HAD to be the last one. Everyone else had long since finished and probably gone home. I resolved that last was just going to have to be OK.

I began to replay the scene of that day and God reminded me of a few things:

First,

In this life it is much easier to “check on” people than to “go up the hill” with them. Checking on people makes us feel better, but sacrificing our desires for someone else' s benefit is what makes the situation better. I have been guilty far too many times of giving lip service instead of actually getting involved.

Second, Your plans and God's plans don't always match. But His is always better. What an incredible blessing I would have missed if I had not stopped. To hear her determination and shear will over a promise made to God was inspiring. To see God honor her heart and allow her to finish. healthy and whole, was amazing.

Lastly, You are not alone. Someone knows where you are, and that you have not finished your race yet.

At the last check point there was Melanie. She is a runner, and she was waiting for me. The race officials knew I had not crossed the finish line, and she was going to make sure I didn't run the last part, when I was tired, all alone.

We took off, and I was completely exhausted. It was quite a scene. There we were, running by Lakewood Baptist with traffic stopped. Three police cars, lights on, following us...... surrounded by motorcycle police.

Then I saw him, My prince, Gary was running back up the hill looking for me. He knew I was still out there, and he was going to make sure I got to the finish line, even if he had to come back and run the race again with me.

So there we were, lights, police and all, running the last part. It was quite a “ Forrest Gump moment.” No one knowing why we were so late, and it never even mattered. I knew, and that was enough.

I thought about my request that morning, that I just didn't want to be last.......

Fifty eight minutes and eight seconds later I was completely sure that last place was exactly where I was supposed to finish.

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