Movement.

This weekend I attended The Gospel Coalition's National Women's Conference, in Orlando FL.   The woman who arrived, and the woman who left... simply are not the same person.

Prior to this conference, I was in a "state of shift".  My friend, Jane, coined that phrase in reference to that time period where you know that a change is going to happen, but you are not sure what it is.  And, I think it's a pretty good description.  If you have ever driven a manual transmission car (aka stick shift, or 5 speed) you will know shifting is the act of moving from one gear to the next.  You start in first gear, shift to second, and so on. 

When you drive a manual transmission car, there is a cue that it is time to shift from one gear into the next.  In the past, you would watch the RPMs to know when to shift.  In the more modern, smart cars, there is an indicator to let you know to shift (aka "the dummy light").  But for those of us who have been driving manual cars for a long time, we can actually feel a change in the car, it tells us that it is time to shift.

The good news is that with a car, you know where you are shifting to.  The next gear.  However, in life, when you start feeling that need to shift....  you are not always certain where you are shifting to.

It is exciting.

It is, also, terrifying.  

The unknown.

By the end of the conference, I was no longer in a "state of shift" but instead I was in forward movement.  Some very clear directions were delivered to me.  I have a place to shift to.  I still don't know the final destination, but that is ok.  When driving a manual car, you don't shift from first gear to fifth.  You have to work up through the rest of the gears first.

I have a lot to say in the coming weeks about the conference itself, so I'm leaving a bit of a cliffhanger. 

But right now, I sit back in awe.  Listening to the Word of God.  Following His directions for today, and letting tomorrow worry about itself.

A broken mug

As a whole I am not a sentimental person.  I do however have a few possessions that I value because they are my favorite.  One is my gigantic Eeyore coffee mug.  I have had it longer than I can remember, it holds nearly a whopping 3 cups of coffee.  It is the best.

Or it was.

A few nights ago, just as I was leaving from a meeting.... I got a text from my teenager.

"I broke your Eeyore coffee mug.  It slipped out of my hands.  I couldn't catch it."

My immediate response was "Are you ok?"

She replied, "Yes."

And then I said "That is all that matters.  It's just a cup.  You are more important."

Now you are probably wondering what is so remarkable about this reasonable response. It is remarkable because it is a new one for me.  Not that long ago, I would have certainly been concerned for my child's welfare....but I would have been volcanic about it being broken.

My normal response would have been...

Why are you using my cup?

This is why you shouldn't touch things that are not yours!

There are 100 cups in the house, why did you have to use mine?

This is why I never buy anything nice!

Does any of this response sound familiar to you?

Just a few months ago, I was reminded of the anniversary of my friend's daughter passing.

She was a spunky 8 year old, who was living her life to the fullest, and defying odds every day she was on this earth.  They were told to abort her, that she would never make it out of the hospital.  Yet she graced this earth for 8 wonderful years, touching the hearts of many, and paving a way for children who have her same condition to live a longer life.

How could I be upset over a stupid coffee cup, when I have a friend mourning the absence of such a prominent figure in her life?

I'd break and throw away everything in my house that has any value to me.... in order to keep my kids here with me.  I know heaven is great.... but I'm going be selfish on this one.

When I got home, my husband confessed to me that she was a wreck over having telling me.  Her sisters had chided her with the standard "mom is going to be mad, you are going to be in so much trouble".  In fact, I believe I heard something about them vying over which one of them was going to tattle on her.  I also think that is why she texted me.  She knew she wanted to tell me first.  But, she also was so worried about response, the text was safe.  I'd have time to cool down before I got home. 

I told him, I was glad she was brave enough to tell me.  Even if by text.  She could have easily tried to hide it or fix it.  We've all seen the sitcoms based on just this scenario.

Funny how 15 years into this thing called "motherhood" and I am just starting to figure it all out.

Or, maybe not.  Apparently I need to have a conversation about tattling again.