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But God, We Didn't Want "A New Thing"

10/12/2015

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Madison ripped open the envelope and pulled out a gift certificate. Her eyes widened as she read the print. With a joyful squeal, she launched both arms into the air. “Yes! Thank you, thank you, thank you!” 

It was the reaction I was hoping for. 

Birthday shopping for Maddie had become a challenge. She’s too old for toys. She’s too young for an Iphone. She likes cute clothes, but that’s not really her thing. I wanted to give her something she’d love. 

What did she love? 

Well, she loved gymnastics, but lately that wasn’t going so well. For several weeks she had complained of back pain during practice. I took her to our family doctor who called it a muscle strain. She recommended rest – and no gymnastics for two weeks. Maddie was not pleased. 

After two weeks, the pain continued. I made an appointment with an orthopedic surgeon who ordered an Xray. Thankfully, he found nothing wrong with her spine. He recommended Ibuprofen and more rest. 
                            
A few days before Maddie’s birthday, I stumbled across a picture of our family horseback riding in Colorado. I remembered how much Madison had loved it. Suddenly, I knew what to get for her birthday. After a quick internet search, I found a horse stable that offered trail rides. They had an opening in three weeks. Three weeks? Patience didn’t come easily for Maddie. At least she’d have something to look forward to. 

Taking a break from gymnastics also didn’t come easily. Madison felt lost. She normally practiced four times a week, three hours a day. But what do you do when suddenly it all stops? 

Instead of the gym, we headed to Grandma’s. Maddie loves animals and Grandma’s farm has an abundance of them. They were a welcomed distraction.  
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Though I was grateful Maddie’s back didn’t hurt constantly, it still hurt when she ran or moved a particular way. Finally, I’d had enough. I called back the orthopedic surgeon and asked for more tests. He ordered a bone scan. Within a few days, we got the results.
 
“It looks like Madison has a bilateral stress fracture.” The doctor turned to Maddie with a sympathetic look. “This means absolutely no physical activity – no gymnastics, no volleyball, no running, no pitching lessons, no PE, nothing – until your back is completely healed.”
 
I couldn’t imagine Maddie’s emotions. Anger? Grief? Frustration? But I knew what I felt: sadness. Not because my daughter could no longer do gymnastics, but because she could no longer do the things she loved.

After a tough couple of days, Madison accepted the doctor’s orders. Each day was a little better – until she remembered the gift certificate.
                                                                                       
“Do you know what I’m excited for?” She asked unexpectedly one day.
 
Suddenly I felt like a heavy weight had dropped onto my chest. I knew what was coming.
 
“I’m excited to go horseback riding.”
 
The look on my face said it all. There could be no horseback riding. Tears streamed down Maddie’s cheeks and my heart ached again.
 
Over the next several days I couldn’t get her look of disappointment out of my mind. I had to fix this. Surely there was something I could do. If she couldn’t ride a horse, maybe she could at least spend some time with one. I called my aunt, who was the owner of two sweet ponies and three beautiful horses. She was happy to help.
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​One night I stopped by Maddie’s room to tell her goodnight. She sat up in bed.   

“Mama, she began, “Do you think we could go to a gymnastics meet and watch my teammates? I think we might have a pretty good team this year.” 

A strange mix of relief, pride and contentment swept over me. “Maddie,” I said. “I think that’s a great idea.”

I suppose it's a lesson we all have to learn; how to let go of our own plan and trust that God has another. It's not easy. I mean, what do you do when you can no longer do the things you love? 

You find something new to love.
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​Behold, I am doing a new thing; now it springs forth, do you not perceive it? I will make a way in the wilderness and rivers in the desert. – Isaiah 43:19
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Those Dreaded Christmas Letters

12/8/2014

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It’s that time of year again. If it hasn't happened yet, it probably will. You'll open your mailbox, pull out the mail, and find a bright red envelope amidst the holiday catalogs and department store flyers. A Christmas card. There might even be a letter inside. 

Yes, I know. People have strong opinions about family Christmas letters. Some think they're nothing more than a way for people to brag about the trips they’ve taken or gush over their little star athlete and honor student.

And then there’s the other kind of Christmas letters. Maybe you've seen them. They're so full of complaints and self-pity, you wonder if you should send a Christmas (or a sympathy) card in return.  

But on the most part, I think Christmas letters get a bum rap. Yes, I confess. I send one of those “dreaded letters” to friends and relatives every year. (Hey, I'm a writer. What did you expect?)

The other day I sat down at my desk, ready to dive into issue #12 of the “Zeck Zone Newsletter.” But I was easily distracted. I soon found myself skimming through old copies of our newsletters from years past. Memories of moments – both significant and trivial – flooded my mind.

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There seems to be a fine line between “bragging” and sharing the good stuff God’s been doing. Of course life isn’t perfect. But in a world so full of negativity, what’s wrong with focusing on the good? Isn’t the Christmas season the perfect time to appreciate our blessings? 
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Okay, I'll admit it. I've wondered if friends and relatives roll their eyes when they read our letters. I guess I’ll never know. But the truth is, I don't write them for others. I write them for us. 

It forces us to slow down and appreciate the positive things in life. 

It records our family history. 

It’s a keepsake for our kids.

So while I hope our friends and relatives look forward to our letters, it really doesn't matter. I'll keep writing them just the same.
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Gorgeous on the Inside

9/8/2014

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Normally I don’t notice real estate signs. After all, I’m not in the market for a new house. But the other day on my way home from the store a sign caught my eye. Actually, it was the smaller sign on top of the sign.

It said, “I’m gorgeous inside.”

My first thought? That must be one ugly house!

I couldn't resist. I made a sharp right turn, sending soup cans rolling across the back of the van. I cruised through the neighborhood and found the house. Turns out, I had totally misjudged it.

The house was nice. Maybe it lacked a little curb-appeal, but it certainly wasn't the dump I’d pictured. I wondered what it looked like inside. Was it really gorgeous? I imagined that cozy home pleading with potential buyers as they drove by. “Please, just give me a chance. You’d be surprised if you’d take a closer look.”

Suddenly, a strange thought went through my mind. What if people came with signs like that? 

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We live in a world obsessed with physical appearance. I remember my adolescent years when I went through an awkward stage. Okay, I went through several awkward stages. I had my share of bad perms. I wore wire-framed glasses. My teeth were crooked. And I hated my freckles.

Back then, I didn't know what God had to say about judging ourselves (and others) by their appearance.

“The Lord does not look at the things people look at. People look at the outward appearance, but the Lord looks at the heart.” 1 Samuel 16:7 (NIV)

You've probably heard the expression, “beauty is more than what meets the eye.” I think that’s true. I’ve seen a lot of “beautiful” people who look gorgeous at first glance. Then, after a closer look they became very unattractive. A pretty face is nothing if you have an ugly heart.

Now that I’m 40-something and the mom of three girls, I want to remind them to focus more on their inner beauty. But it’s tough to teach a lesson that I’m still learning.
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When I spot that occasional (gasp!) gray hair or when our bathroom light shines a little too brightly, revealing another wrinkle – I mean laugh line – I’m tempted to scream, “Somebody help me! I need more curb-appeal!”

But it’s easy for me to see the qualities that make my daughters beautiful. Compassion. Kindness. Creativity. Determination. A witty sense of humor. Curiosity. Courage.
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I want my girls to understand what truly makes them beautiful. I want them to take pride in their accomplishments instead of their appearance. But most of all, I want to tell their future boyfriends this …

Take time to get to know her. She's more than her appearance. Look a little closer - you'll be surprised at what you see. Because she’s not only beautiful on the outside, she’s gorgeous on the inside. 
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A House Full of Surprises

9/1/2014

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My husband smiled and shook the landlord’s hand. “We’ll take it.” I couldn't even fake a smile. I just hoped the next few months would fly by quickly.

“It’s not that bad,” Curt said during the car ride home.

“Not that bad? Didn't you notice that weird smell in the basement? And the house is so small. How are we going to squeeze a family of five into a place like that?”

“We’ll make it work.” Curt said, unshaken. “Remember, it’s only temporary.”

I exhaled a long, cleansing breath. Maybe he was right. It wasn't ideal, but we’d definitely seen worse. We just needed a place to stay while we built our new house.

“Okay,” I said. “I’ll work on my attitude. I promise.”

Unfortunately, I broke that promise only two days after we moved in. It all started one morning when my oldest daughter wandered into the kitchen.

“Morning,” I said, setting a box of Apple Jacks on the table. “How’d you sleep?”

Emily rubbed her eyes. “Not good. Taylor wouldn't stop talking last night.”

I grabbed a gallon of milk from the fridge. “You girls will have to get used to sharing a room.” 

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The "fun" job of unpacking awaited us ...
Emily pulled open a drawer. “Where are the spoons?” She opened another drawer. All of a sudden she let out a sharp, piercing scream. I glanced up just as a little gray mouse leaped out of the drawer onto Emily’s chest. It raced down her pajamas and scurried off behind the stove.

Pale-faced and shaking, Emily couldn't hold back the tears. She flapped her hands in utter disgust.

Well great, I thought, my heart pounding in my chest. Now I had another reason I didn't like the house. Unfortunately, that little gray mouse wasn't the only critter we’d encounter while staying at the rental house.   

One Sunday morning Taylor rushed into the living room. Her eyes wide, she insisted she’d caught a glimpse of something with a long, bushy tail. 

“Oh Taylor,” I said, “You probably saw a mouse. Dad needs to set another trap.”   

But Taylor persisted and Curt soon confirmed it. This time the problem was bigger than a mouse.

“What? A ground squirrel? Call animal control!” I paced the floor, trying to stay calm.

Curt took matters into his own hands. He grabbed a cardboard box and shoved a towel under the bedroom door. Then he and Madison went to work. The two older girls and I listened from the hallway. I had to admit, all the commotion was kind of exciting.

“There he is!” Madison yelled. We heard a scuffle and a thump; then the sound of my husband scrambling over a bed. For a moment, there was silence. The girls and I leaned in, listening. I pressed my ear against the door.

“Did you get him?” I yelled.

Suddenly Madison shrieked. “Over there Daddy! Get ‘em!”

And the excitement began again. Every time we thought they’d caught him, Madison shouted another command.

Finally, the door swung open. With wide smiles and chins held high, Curt and Madison presented the box. We peeked over the edge. Then we all cheered. 

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Victory was ours!!
Life settled down for a while after that. Though I tried not to complain, I still had days I broke my promise.

Then early one morning I woke to the sound of loud, crashing thunder. I tried to ignore it, but the howling winds shook the windows. Sheets of rain pounded the roof. I crawled out of bed and pulled back the curtain. Through dark shadows, I saw a massive oak tree bowing overtop the house.

“Curt,” I nudged him awake, “I think we should get the girls and go to the basement.” I flinched at the sound of a tree limb rolling across the roof.  

We gathered pillows, blankets and girls and headed to the basement. As we snuggled close, I realized that I didn’t care if the basement had a weird smell – or even if it had mice. I was just glad to have a basement.

After the storm, many people questioned whether a tornado had hit the area. The National Weather Service called it widespread, slow-moving, straight-line winds. Whatever it was, those winds had reached 95-miles-per-hour and left our area looking like a war zone.

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Later that day we drove through several nearby neighborhoods. We couldn’t believe the damage. Traffic poles snapped in half. Huge trees uprooted – some of them on top of cars and homes. Thousands of people were without electricity for days – including us.

As we drove back, I thought about the many surprises we’d had at the rental house. Mice. Squirrels. Storms.

But the biggest surprise came after the storm. That’s when my attitude changed about the house. Instead of my usual negativity, I suddenly felt blessed.

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Even now years later, I am thankful for that tiny rental house. It stood strong during those powerful storms and protected the people I love. 

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*Rental agreement photo from www.freedigitalphotos.net by phasinphoto
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Project Jimmy

7/21/2014

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Hi Everyone,

Today I wanted to share a story I wrote for Guideposts Magazine. "Project Jimmy" was published in the April 2013 issue of Guideposts, but you can also read it online here.

As a side note ... This was the story I submitted for their biannual writers contest (and ended up winning a trip to Port Orchard, Washington for their five-day Writers Workshop.) 

Hope you enjoy it!

Until next week ... 

Sheri 





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Enjoying Summer in the Midst of the Mess

6/2/2014

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Hi Everyone!

If you're like me, housework tends to slip down the priority list during these busy summer months. (Okay, who am I kidding? It's not just during the summer!) 

But instead of feeling stressed, I'm trying to enjoy summer in the midst of the mess. It's a lesson I'm learning from my kids.

This week I'd love for you to pop over to the Quad City Moms Blog and check out the post I wrote. Thanks so much!

Have a great week,

Sheri
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Camouflaged Blessings

7/22/2013

8 Comments

 
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Camo Night - 2005
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School Spirit Theme Night
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Stampede "Western" Night
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County Fair Night
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Aloha Luau Night
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Hoppin' to the 50's
Last week Emily and I went on a mission. A mission to find camo. No, we’re not going hunting. We’re actually planning a family vacation. In a few weeks we’ll be packing our bags and heading off to family camp near Kalamazoo, Michigan. Our family had visited this camp seven years ago. We think it's about time we go back.  

One of the things we – and when I say “we,” I mean “me and my girls” – love about family camp is theme nights. Every night there’s a different theme, and campers are encouraged to dress accordingly.

You can see some of our theme nights from past years along the left side of this post. 

So this year, one of the theme nights is called “Beards on the Bayou,” inspired by the TV show, Duck Dynasty. I’m thinking we’ll skip the beards, but we are definitely doing the camo!  

Growing up on a farm, I had two outdoorsy brothers who were always wearing camo. But me? Not so much. I knew this would require a trip to the mall.

As Emily and I walked through the parking lot, I gave her a warning.

“Now Emily,” I said, “you’ll need to keep your eyes peeled because it might be tough to spot camouflage clothes …”

I waited for a reaction, but she gave me nothing.

“You know, because they’re camouflage! Get it?” I chuckled, feeling clever. Emily just gave me a sympathetic smile and shook her head.

But seriously, I thought finding camouflage clothes for us girls might be a challenge. I mean, besides my brothers, who wears camo?

Well as it turned out, camouflage was everywhere! We found camo shirts, pants, skirts, vests, and shoes. In all my recent trips to the mall I’d never noticed so much camo before!

As I stood in a check-out line, it occurred to me that searching for camo is much like hunting for the little blessings in life.

On the most part, I do a pretty good job of noticing those big blessings. Things like my home. My marriage. Our three healthy kids. My faith.

But how often do I see the little blessings all around me? Things like air conditioning on a hot summer day. A husband that humors me and dresses up for theme nights at family camp. Whitey’s Reese’s peanut butter cup malts. A great song on the radio that immediately puts me in a better mood.

Once Emily and I became intentional about looking for camo, we found it everywhere.

And God’s blessings are also everywhere.  

What little blessings can you spot in your life today? They’re all around, you know. I’m sure you can find them. You just need to be looking ...
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Where's the Curtains?

3/18/2013

2 Comments

 
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We needed more than curtains!
A few years ago my husband and I built a house. Not everyone enjoys that kind of project, but I loved it. Especially the final stage. Decorating.  

As moving day approached, I flipped through various home decorating magazines for inspiration. Soon I was comparing my house to every glossy image in the magazines. My mind raced as I visualized the potential.  

“We need a grouping of pictures on this wall.”

“A floor lamp in that empty corner would be perfect.”

“Some new window treatments would really pull this room together.”

My husband brought me back to reality. “Slow down there. These things take time.”

Of course he was right. We had built an entire house – and I was concerned about the curtains! Obviously I had spent too much time comparing my house to the perfect pages in the magazines.

These days, instead of dreaming about curtains, I’m thinking about my writing goals. But I still get caught in the comparison trap. This time, I’m comparing myself to other writers.

“I wish I had a long list of published articles in that magazine.”

“I sure wouldn't mind having a few books on a bestsellers list.”

The reality is this: there’s always going to be someone further down the path. So instead of comparing myself to them, I need to remind myself how far I’ve come.

I remember when Curt and I moved into our first house. We didn’t have much. Most of our furniture was either garage sale specials or hand-me-downs. We’ve come a long way since then.

And I’ve come a long way on my writing journey.

Rather than worrying about how far I need to go, I want to celebrate what I’ve accomplished. After all, the only writer I should compare myself to is the writer I was yesterday. If I’m further down the path compared to yesterday, that’s really all that matters.


How about you? Do you ever struggle with comparing yourself to others? If so, how do you deal with it?

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