“Is that coffee I smell?” I asked with my eyes still shut.

“Yes. Willst du eine tasse kaffee?”

“You are speaking my love language.”

“German?”

“Coffee.”

https://alisonhodgson.com/2006/04/992/

I need to get some writing done in the next two weeks after which I might have an opportunity to connect with an editor or an agent. My brother, Tanner, who knows about this has been calling me, praying for me and trying to help me make commitments and focus.

I was focused in the Fall when I first committed to writing a book, but then I got a little buried in my children’s education, the ministry I lead, Paul’s travel, the holidays and several other really really valid covers for my fear that I can’t do this. In my confidence and clarity I told some people (everyone on my Christmas list!) that I was writing a book because I wanted to say it out loud. And then I remembered that I have no trouble talking about things, it’s that whole doing them where I have fallen short. This was when I assumed the fetal position. Any time I sat down to “write my book” my I.Q. dropped more points that it had to lose and every other word I typed seemed to be, “I”, the other being, “my”. I blinked and several months passed.

So Tanner has been hounding me, I mean, calling to offer me support. The phone would ring, I would see his number on caller i.d. and my heart would sink but I would make myself answer. He would ask how things were going and I could only tell him they weren’t. I would not allow myself to make excuses and several times asked for some guidance. I didn’t want to blame my circumstances but didn’t see a way out of them. He helped me set up some goals and was willing to be accountable. When I didn’t keep the commitments he forgave me and helped me to make new ones. I told him how I was resisting talking to him, as if he was against me when the reality is he is currently my biggest freaking fan. He laughed and agreed with the latter picture.

He encouraged me to set aside some solid chunks of time. “You have to respect your work by giving it serious time. What you are giving it now is going to enable you to walk into a Borders and see your book on the shelf.”

At that moment I knew he already saw it there and for a moment I did too.

Last night I asked Paul to help me find a way to write around our mutual exhaustion and the never ending demands of running a home and caring (well) for three children. This morning I got up early did my exercises, took my vitamins, made the coffee then faced the screen and began to write.

I am so grateful to so many others throughout time who have obeyed the calling God put on their lives, for the songs they’ve written and sung, for the beautiful art they’ve created, for the sermons they’ve preached, for the justice for which they’ve fought, for the peace and truth they’ve brought. I know that God invited me to write. I am willing to get off my fear. I will sacrifice my time and wait for God’s provision.

Today my work is raising three amazing kids and writing down, “the praises of him who called me out of darkness into His marvelous light.” This is what I get to do.

Gratitude and love to my brother, Tanner, for speaking into my life and my husband, Paul, for helping to make it so.

https://alisonhodgson.com/2006/04/993/

It’s Spring Break kiddies.

This is the first time in a couple of years that we aren’t going away. The friends we usually visit already had company. As we have been so busy and are saving for various home improvements we decided to stay home. We always enjoy visiting our friends but a trip half way across the country with three children, in a van no less, requires a lot of preparation and depletes a good amount of energy. I was looking forward to staying home and putzing around the house. And then I looked at the forecast and remembered I live in Michigan. It’s grey skies and cold – rainy when we’re lucky.

Good thing I gave up complaining.

I know a woman who, one dreary Spring Break, made up a whole camping scheme in her living room and then invited more children over to play with her two boys. They made a “fire” with newspaper logs, played games, made crafts, sang songs and had a wonderful time. She relayed all this to me with sparkling eyes.

“Oh yeah, I read about that in Family Fun.”

She looked down and modestly said that she had done it first which I considered extremely bad manners. It’s terrible enough to follow through on an activity plan from Family Fun but to beat them to the punch is unforgivable.

I taught my children to speak and to read so that they could enjoy my idea of family fun: talking and reading a good book, Spring Break delights that will help them get into college someday. You can’t say that about a fake campfire, can you?

“When you grow up do you want to be a Mama some day?”

“I wheel have fwee boys…Junior, Him and…Eyelash!”

Now that she’s got her heart set on those names I hope they don’t become really popular.

As you all know, Paul returned Saturday evening from an 11 day trip. I awoke the next morning feeling like I was buried under bricks. My head hurt, my body ached and the day yawned in front of me. I it when I don’t have the energy to live my life.

Sunday after church and lunch I put a movie in for the kids to watch and collapsed on the couch. Paul soon excused himself to go slip into a coma in the bedroom. This was distressing as I too was feeling narcoleptic but was constrained by the responsibility we have to protect our children. The older two could be trusted to stay alive if Paul and I both took a nap, but the Bean would be headed for a gravel pit to drown faster than you can say…well, in a really short time, and that doesn’t work for me.

Pulling out the tiniest ounce of charity I decided to hold down the fort while he took a nap and then I would swap out. That was the plan.

The actuality saw me paralyzed on the couch trying to keep the children entertained watching the movie, breaking open peanuts and dipping them in frosting. Aside from sick stomachs and a deep sense of self loathing everything would have been fine if the children hadn’t had their own schedule of standing outside our bedroom and engaging in passionate arguments every time Paul started drifting off to sleep. If either Paul or I had had any amount of oxygen getting to our brains one of us would have considered the possibility of him moving to our small office that is down a hall and has two doors acting as barriers to the chaos which can be our home. Sadly we were both immobilized by exhaustion so he continued to suffer in our bedroom and I continued to beach on the couch calling out feebly, “Stop. Be quiet. Come here.” Occasionally I summoned the strength to go to whomever was causing the ruckus and dragged them back to the living room.

Paul finally emerged from the bedroom and fell into a chair looking decidely pinched and crumpled. Rather than beaming love and gratitude he was fixing me with a beady stare.

“Did you sleep?”

“No.”

“Not at all?”

He heard this as a sort of challenge. I was just scraping the bottom of the barrel for another answer. I got instead a lengthy and somewhat crabby explanation of exactly why he HADN’T slept A BIT. It involved children and shrieking and, I will spare you the details as there weren’t any. The whole explanation was shrieking children but he managed to drag it out much longer than it takes to say that. I should have put down the peanut I was eating at the moment, slipped off the couch, crawled past the frosting and out of the living room, through the kitchen and down a couple of halls to the laundry room and buried myself under a couple of loads of laundry, but that would have taken more energy and stamina than I could imagine, let alone muster.

I don’t remember much of the rest of that day. I know I didn’t get off the couch for a couple of more hours. I remember Eden was perched on my stomach the entire time as her lungs were nolonger required outside our bedroom door. I have a dim memory of picking up the living room but have completely blocked out feeding the children dinner and putting them to bed.

We hobbled through Monday.

Tuesday we woke at six to Lydia saying, “Eden wet the bed.” I offered her a dollar to throw the bedding and pajamas in the laundry and to clean up Beanie. She agreed immediately but the soacked toddler put up a fuss and began to shout for me and a cup of milk. I asked Paul if he would get the cup while I washed and changed the girl. The day continued in that vein.

Wednesday we both woke a little after four, feeling somewhat human, and yet disappointed to be awake. Do you think even one of those children woke up? No, my friends, I had to rouse them out of bed at 7:30 to get to my MOPS group in time. Yesterday was a long but good day.

Blood once more pumping to my brain, I wondered why I hadn’t asked for more help. Why I made up other people were too busy to be asked or had already helped me enough. I had considered farming out all three Saturday night so that Paul and I could go to bed early and sleep in Sunday before having our day as a family, but asked one person who couldn’t and dropped the whole idea. I really didn’t expect Paul or myself to be so exhausted, but we were. I need to do as much preparation on the front end before I find myself consumed by tiredness and irritability.

For now, I need to grab some books, corral my colleagues and do some reading.

Hope everyone is joyful and well.