We sat at a big farmhouse style table, each of us taking up exactly the space that we needed- no more, no less. We had picked out treats that we each would want (mine was a power bowl from my rarely missed, but missed today lunch, a chocolatey cake of some kind for my son, and a duo of macarons for my daughter.) There were no papers on the table, no homework pulled out to do. All that we had the one new chapter book we’re reading together, just in case we felt like reading it. There were no dishes just an arm’s length away that vied for my attention or a dog that paced back and forth to go out the door. The only “distraction” was a call from Daddy -also known as my husband – who called just to check in. Though truthfully, was no distraction in any way.
This was his idea after all, as we were planning out our day. We weren’t exactly sure what to do in that awkward time between school being out and afternoon activities commencing. Sometimes we go to the library, or home, or the playground. This day was too cool and didn’t seem any of the above mentions. He said, “why don’t you go get a treat and sit down together at a coffee shop?” This was something we had done recently, to celebrate my birthday and I had thoroughly enjoyed it. But I also tend to be more practical these days with our time and our resources, so I usually opt not for that extra expense of either.
However, hearing the suggestion come from him, my husband and the breadwinner in the family right now, it hit different, but in a good way. I aim to be careful and thoughtful with how I choose to run my end of the business of family things. So his suggestion was a warm welcome from my relative frugality. It didn’t seem frivolous anymore, it seemed right and good. There’s a whole lot to that series of statements, I know, but for now, we’ll just stick to the main of the story I’m telling you here. Bottom line, we decided to go out to a coffee shop and spend that time together, and he called to see how it was going.
“Well, really,” I sighed, “it’s great! I’m not running around and doing any work. I’m just sitting here with our kids and we’re talking.” It was a really, really good sigh! Lighter, brighter than the usual way of things. “And you know what? It feels wonderful.”
Good!” he cheered from across town. “You should do that more often!”
He’s right, and now, I know it. (See honey, now you have it in print!) Maybe not necessarily going to get a treat at the coffeeshop, but going somewhere just to “BE” together.
See, the thing is, sometimes I don’t do things like that. Go out to get a “treat” “just because”. I spend a great deal of my time “at home”, or working from home, or returning home. Juggling the house, the kids, my coaching, volunteering at school and helping with faith classes, doing all the normal things of my life, and often running back and forth from home multiple times a day. I love it, but sometimes, being home (one of my favorite places to be!) can feel like work. Which, truthfully, mostly I love, but not always. I don’t really mind the hard work, I’m good for that.
It’s just that “the work” of it all, the work of “home” never seems to clearly end. There’s always more, or something else, “to do”.
Then what I really don’t love about being home sometimes is that while I’m home, I can know, see, or sense the projects that I “should’ be doing, need to be doing, or maybe want to do.
That makes it hard, because it’s really hard to turn those things off sometimes when they’re staring you in the face, screaming from the next room, or just an arm’s length -and a big tug of guilt- away. (Like that missing sink and dishes from the scene above!) There’s always more work to be do, and being at home reminds me of that. Not to mention, it also creates more sometimes! Not that any of its a bad thing. It’s just the stuff of life.
So that can mean that sometimes I have trouble settling down while those things persist. Though I’m not a perfectionist of any kinds, I can just as easily be pulled into the trap of more work as the next one. That can take me away from doing the one thing I find most valuable and important in life. Spending time with my kids.
Do you ever feel that way too? Well friend, you’re not alone. I think we all should remember, just like I did that day in the cafe, that the distractions will always be here. Those things that are the stuff and the tasks of life. But our kids won’t always be there, not in the same way. One day we might look back on our life and wonder. Wonder why we didn’t go and sit down with our kids more often. Not just sit but sit and talk. Listen. Look them in the eyes, hear their stories without them having to shout it over our shoulders while we did something else, kind of a thing. I’m just as guilt as the next guy.
I’ll tell you right now why it happens. Because we forgot. It’s human nature, to forget, sometimes, the things that mean the most or that will make the biggest difference in this world. That’s just the way things go. There are more distractions than we can shake a stick at, and many of them want to keep us from the very most important stuff. Like the times when we just sit and listen and talk with and connect to other people. That’s all-to-easily pushed aside and bullied away by “more important things” (see how I put that in quotes there?) – like laundry and dishes and to do lists. Listen I know that we all need those things too. We need them to work well and effectively and together.
But we don’t need them at the expense of other people.
We all forget sometimes. Sadly, at the expense of other people. We’re all in this thing together. This human, stumbling, tripping way of running our race.
Remember, forget, remember, forget. And as many times as I need to remind myself and remember and be reminded, I will try. Because yesterday’s, and last week’s and last year’s time being together, it was great, but it only got us so far. We’re here now, and we want it to go further. So we’re going to have to do more of that connecting. We’re going to have to do it again, on repeat. Making the most of our time, for the days are like fleeting specks of gold.
Maybe I’ll take them out for a coffee or tea or hot chocolate again today. Or maybe I’ll just pretend we are out and ignore all the other “pressing” things for a while. Because these people right here are what’s most important. Someday I might be begging them to come back. If I play my cards right now, and invest the love and the time that I have right here with them, maybe we both will, or maybe we’ll just keep right on doing it. For it will only grow, if we let it, and we’ll both want to make more use of its goodness. Of our time and our resources, for isn’t it, and especially our time, the most precious thing?
Yes, it is. Using it wisely, that’s courting extraordinary. I want to do lots more of that…
“I’m not ready yet,” he said, looking at me with tears in his eyes still, a sad expression on his face. The tears had subsided and his eyes were getting less sad with each passing hour. I knew he was still sad and unsure, but he was getting there. Unsure at the thought of it all. That I was leaving. That he’d have to stay.
Earlier when the tears were hot and the pleading was high, I encouraged him. “You can do this, love!”
He was much less sure.
I wavered, but I didn’t want him to believe it was something he couldn’t do. I wanted him to know, yes indeed he totally could.
I ruffled his hair, kissed the top of his head, cupped his wet cheeks. “It’s just a muscle you haven’t used in a while! But you can do this,” I said.
“What do you mean, ‘muscle’?” he questioned. I could see the wheels turning in his brain. Muscles, and mommy leaving. What did they have to do with each other?
“You’re just not used to it,” I said. “You used to do it when you were little. You went with nana most afternoons while I went to work for a bit. You loved it, and nana loved it. You are so special to her! Now you’re just not used to it. You haven’t used that muscle in a while. But you can do it darling!”
He thought about it. Still unsure.
“It’s going to be alright, I promise. You are safe and you have everything you need. I’ll just be gone for a little while and then I’ll be home! You’ll see. You’ll even have a nice time.”
Later as we got closer to the time for me to go, his smile had a bit easier, but he was still hesitant. He was still unsure. I mentioned out loud how I had to go to the class and help teach, and had to act something out something in front of the class. I was a bit nervous. “I don’t know if I’m ready,” I said to him.
“Oh you’re ready mama.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes!”
“Well good,” I said with a slow smile and deliberate wink, “because you’re ready too!!”
🙌🏻🫶🏻
He couldn’t help but smile back at me. I had used his same tender excuse right back at him. Flipping the script, back to truth. Urging him, gently nudging him from discomfort to ability. Even if it felt uncomfortable at first.
When I got home later and he happily greeted me at the door, relaying some lovely “old wives tale” his nana had taught him while I was gone, just as a nana should, I could see that all was well. Better than well.
I asked how his muscles were and he flashed his big, dimpled smile. He had exercised his muscles. They were bigger now, and so was his smile. Mine too.
We all were made to be uncomfortable. Else we would have stayed little tiny babies, needing only warm milk and soft snuggles. Parenthood is hard. Growing up is hard. Entrepreneurship is hard. Life is hard. But we were built to grow in the hard, because of it, right alongside it, and through it.
And now here we both were, together, like nothing had changed, and yet. It always is. Changing, and for the better, as much as we’ll allow. Always, for the better.
Some say, “Go out for adventure, come home for love.” Poppycock, I say. I think it’s Home for adventure AND for love. Then, out into the world for both. 🫶🏻✨
So, if you, like my son or like myself, wonder if you’re ready yet, you can remember this. Trust and know, that if you’re given the chance to try, chances are, you probably are ready. Even if it’s uncomfortable. Take a leap and let yourself fly.
We went to church on a Sunday. We drove all day to get there and part of the one before. It was afternoon when we got their evening when we left. But the lights turned on while we sat there. The warm glow of Christmas that had already begun, started burning brighter.
It wasn’t really a church, or truly, it was. An old church with a new name and the same mission. The Hope that strings back through generations and hold us all together. Hope that invites us and the heartbreak of being human.
And music.
Amy Grant and Vince Gill took the stage together at the Ryman- a couple, with a couple of powerhouse careers- and they shared their time, talents, and a Christmas concert with so many of us. A packed house, plus a few more shows.
I’ve loved her for decades stretching back to the 80’s and love her Christmas stuff best. I even walked down the aisle to a song from one of her albums- an instrumental, but still. The love and tradition run deep. Turns out my husband loved Vince from about that long ago too, as he drove around the south during his football coaching career.
Vince and Amy got married the year before we met each other and here we all were together, 23 years later.
Tennessee Christmas has always been one of my very favorites and here we were all together as our little family of four. We sang it on the road, and our son declared it his favorite (only later to be dethroned by Jingle Bells, but still.) Now we sat on church pews and heard it live and sang along softly, a memory, a wish in the making.
We tried two other times to get here, and it didn’t happen. Yet how here we all were, old enough to enjoy it, young enough to care and still a Family. I don’t know if it was the timing or the wait or forgetting it was even possible. Maybe it was all of those things. But even so. It was magical.
I cried a few rivers of tears at some of the songs, especially Amy’s. Vince waxed long and meaningful about his dad, who had passed on. His life and parenting style was a bit harsh but his memory played several strings on Vince’s heart, you could see. He honored him on his birthday, that very day we sat there together. Amy shared what seemed like a real gratitude for us all coming together, and you could feel the force of the stories we each carried.
The thing I loved most of all I think, besides remembering my times spent listening to the songs and past Christmases, was watching my kids here in the present – on the edge of their seats, elbows propped up on the pew in front of them. Faces reflecting the glow of lights on the stage. Eyes filled with wonder. Lips whispering along to the songs they knew. One’s love waxes super long for music, the other loves it too, though he fell asleep on my lap. I can only hope they carry these memories forward with them too. The warm music, shared experiences. The feelings, of being here, together with our family.
I hope that the thoughts keep them warm some night when the wind blows cold and the usual feelings fade. I hope these memories come to warm them, like all the best memories do.
I know that these memories will keep me warm long after they’re grown, maybe possibly snuggling their own children who are sleeping on their laps. Someday, somehow.
I hope it’s somewhere really good. In a church. In a house. In a warm theater. Wherever they are, in their hearts, hopefully, home. So sacred there, it almost feels like a church. And surely, somehow, it is.
In so many wonders wonderful ways it is. Where God is there with us too. That’s the real “magic” of living, of loving.
There’s something about live music and this one happened to hit so many high notes for us, as a family, shared and separate, old and now new, and Christmas too. By the end we were all standing and singing, silent night. And “holy night” voices raised, and a few arms. Holy night it was, indeed.
We stepped out into the cool night air in the middle of downtown Nashville. The lights had indeed, all come on. As we walked away from the beautiful stained glass windows of the church, I did, know, that the night was special. That I’ll be holding it closely too.
What memories are you holding, close, or making this year too? I’d really love to hear yours too🫶🏻❤️🙏🏻🎄
The other day my kids were looking through some old videos on my phone. “That’s you mommy? You sound so different!!” The words were innocent and simple enough, but they cut to the heart.
See they don’t remember.
My voice was sweet and airy, talking to my babies. It sounded unfamiliar to them, when I had no need to coach, only to love. Now a few years later, new responsibilities have come to them and they need to hear the coach too.
But I don’t want to forget the love, too.
I don’t want to forget to love, too. Even if they forget.
This is public serve announcement to myself and to all the other parents. To the aunts, uncles, cousins, friends, and so on.
Don’t forget the middle kids.
The ones that aren’t quite babies anymore, but aren’t so grown up that they’re at the big kid table, or not for long.
The ones who zoom in and out of the family festivities, who grab snacks and dart off. Who talk about things and places and games that you don’t understand. Try to listen. Look them in the eye and show them you care, even if it’s only for a moment. Even if they upset your nervous system in all of their kinetic ways.
The ones who no longer are toddlers or preschoolers, who don’t delight you with their tiny grins or miracle voices that somehow come out of little bodies.
The ones who aren’t in their youngest or maybe their cutest years anymore, but aren’t quite grown up to be teenagers yet. They may be missing teeth or have mismatched socks. Their limbs may be longer and their faces changing before your eyes. Go ahead and reminisce. Remember who they were. But most of all, try to see them for who they are, today.
They may bore you with long stories. They may talk your ears off (both of them!) They might be shy, but they still see you and hear you from behind that mop of hair. They still notice.
They might be awkward. You might not know where they stand in life, or what they believe right now. About anything. They might not either.
Assume the best. Assume they still want to believe. In love, in Christmas. In Santa and in the spirit of giving. And definitely in themselves.
Be gentle with them Be patient. Be as present and as kind as your attention span can allow, and then maybe a bit more.
Play the game of uno. Try to concentrate for five more minutes on whatever fantasy story or reality life action they’re attempting to share with you.
Because someday these littler ones will be gone too, absorbed into whatever brand of teenage years they have destined for them.
But not before you get to love them a little more. Bless them a little more.
Because as hard as it is to imagine, they might not remember what you did before, when they were littler and tinier and maybe a bit easier to live. The memories you’re making right now, this Christmas, might be the ones that they remember, even if it’s not the ones that you do.
So pour into them- all the love and grace that you want them to carry forward. They are not destined to become anyone’s problem but they can already be our shared delight. To multiple returns.
They will never be this little again. They won’t actually.
And you may never have this chance to make these gigantic tiny memories with them either. Like how you listened. How you believed in them. How you loved. You won’t, not today. It might cost you your patience or your adult conversation. I know it.
But it’ll be worth it. Then even if they grown quiet for a few teenage years, at least they’ll know. They know you love them. They’ll remember how you care.
So don’t wait- pour in that love, already, and right now.
They’ll need to know that they have it for the long haul.
We were planting daffodils this afternoon, my kids and I were.
A mere fifteen years after I first intended.
We also found out while we were out that the little girl that lived across the street has now given birth to her first baby. Life is wild and Mr. Time sure flies like that.
But here I was, finally implementing and planting some not so big dreams that were also too big, apparently, to accomplish. It seems to be the theme of my life sometimes.
I may be quick to notice a need, a willing volunteer, wanting to be a conduit for goodness. But sometimes I can be very very slow on the implementation.
I could blame it on many many things.
My personality, my faults, but maybe not my laziness. Perhaps the way that my willingness to say yes also sometimes means that I say yes to too many things.
Though the kids have curbed that propensity, demonstrating and showing me both new limits and new heights, they have also joined the wrestling match for my time and attention. They prove formidable foes, and much stronger than their tiny size would bely. I joke, mostly, for it is my extreme pleasure, even if not every aspect of it is a delight. Most of it is.
Certainly, all of the things that I dream and commit to, must wrestle it out. I guess that when they do, the stronger ones usually win.
Which doesn’t always mean the flowers.
Dreams are persistent though, and keep showing up whether we like it or not.
When I realized how much I loved those flowers, I was walking our new dog around the block and couldn’t help but smile every time that I saw them in a neighbor’s yard. I’d pass by and say to myself “come October, I’ll be planting those bulbs.” I too wanted to be greeted by such sunshine in my own front yard.
Well, years passed. Many years. October was apparently a busy month for me, long before those kids even came, and I never once got around to planting them.
Just a few years ago, a neighbor gifted some mini daffodils to me- carrying them right to my door- and I couldn’t have been happier. I felt seen and valued in my tiny daffodil dreams. When they sprung up beautifully the next year, they were a reminder of what waited for me. I was capable of growing something so beautiful. I must do this again, and more. I must dream, and plant more, and even bigger.
Now, something was different this year.
I’ve had this great new helper. He’s not “new”, he’s been around for six and half glorious years. He just happens to be in a different place, as we all are, and he was with me at the grocery store when I saw the daffodils. I casually mentioned that I “always want to plant those.” As I said it I was completely ready to almost immediately dismiss the thought, again.
My little helper was on it though. “Let’s get them!” he said enthusiastically. In a moment of doubt and hesitation, I paused. Then I quickly realized that waiting was certainly NOT in my favor. I remembered his tiny but mighty presence and how that changed everything. He’s my “doer’, my engineer, my fix it, built it, up for the task and finish the job kinda guy.
When I remembered that, the bulbs practically jumped into my cart. Now, I miraculously remembered them today, while we were outside with no plans, and all afternoon.
When I mentioned it to him, he was on it, again. He’s strong and willing, my little six year old helper Pretty capable too. Definitely capable of helping me show up.
Man, my kids teach me a lot. Like having the courage to start, even when I haven’t quite done it yet. Even if at times it felt like they tried to do the opposite of helping, just by being regular kids with regular unending needs.
But when it’s time, it’s time, and God has a way of bringing just the right coaches that you need, just when you need them. Even if it is the same ones who might have appeared to hold you back before. (Spoiler, it never was them.)
This time was different. With him by my side, we could do it. Once begun can be half done, and there was not much we had to do to (finally) get started. He brought all the momentum, grabbed the bag of bulbs, and I procured the shovel. Before we knew it, we really had the bulbs rolling. (Ha ha!)
The thing that struck me the most was how deep we had to plant them. As we started to dig, I knew that it was as good as done. With the first push of the shovel into the hard cold dirt meant that we had a chance. Starting would mean they might grow.
But digging is hard work. My son said as much. He was shocked at how difficult that part was, and how long that it took. Would we be able to plant them deep enough or well enough?
A quick check of the directions had confirmed that the depth must be enough for its eventual height. These guys should be given some space and not be too overcrowded.
But the depth mattered most. Too shallow, and they wouldn’t survive.
As I explained this out loud, I thought that it feels a lot like these last fifteen years or more, too. For years things have been dug and planted deep into my heart. The ground has been cultivated and made soft and dug deeper. It must be this way, it must take time.
Because when it’s time to bloom, you need that equal foundation. Blossoming is never day one. It’s more like year, fifteen, twenty, thirty.
Like I said. It only took me fifteen years to get these daffodils going. Such it is, with so many dreams that I’ve carried and still carry in my heart.
The delays never seem to squash the hope of possibility. It’s only when I start to count the years that I begin to really doubt and worry. When I think about myself, and my failures, instead of the possibility of the dreams, is when they start to loose a little glimmer in my heart.
It can’t be too late for me.
It can’t be too late for you, either.
I am, I think, a late bloomer.
I am, because I want to be. A bloomer, eventually. A bloomer after all.
I have to be, because I am, now.
Because I refuse to think that my best days are behind me.
How can they be, when I still see so much good.
Not ever, if I care to notice the possibility.
I’ll check in with you later.
Next Spring, maybe, or whenever it happens to be time for blooms. I’ll make sure to remind you of what else is possible, now that you see the next, possible, beauty, growing.
Hey, I'm Courtney, a pretty ordinary girl who thinks we've all been called to an extraordinary life and love story with God. I'm passionate about family, faith, motherhood, and the adventure of every day. I write lots of words, mostly because I can’t help it- and I think it's one of the things I was born to do. I hope that something I write encourages you, to walk in your own unique purpose and calling, set free to love and give it away, starting wherever you are today. That's what Courting the Extraordinary is all about. Finding the good all around you, and giving it away. Finding, too, the God of all goodness who wants to walk with you.
I love quiet mornings, coffee, prayer and “work” before sunrise. Quality time with my family is my jam. I can be found grinning ear to ear when we're out on an adventure. Whether that's in our own backyard or exploring someplace new all-together, I’ll for sure note something beautiful about nature aloud-and maybe repeatedly, ha!. Life is a beautiful, precious gift, and an adventurous path to travel! We might as well learn how to love.
Hey, I'm Courtney, a pretty ordinary girl who thinks we've all been called to an extraordinary life and love story with God. I'm passionate about family, faith, motherhood, and the adventure of every day. I write lots of words, mostly because I can’t help it- and I think it's one of the things I was born to do. I hope that something I write encourages you, to walk in your own unique purpose and calling, set free to love and give it away, starting wherever you are today. That's what Courting the Extraordinary is all about. Finding the good all around you, and giving it away. Finding, too, the God of all goodness who wants to walk with you.
I love quiet mornings, coffee, prayer and “work” before sunrise. Quality time with my family is my jam. I can be found grinning ear to ear when we're out on an adventure. Whether that's in our own backyard or exploring someplace new all-together, I’ll for sure note something beautiful about nature aloud-and maybe repeatedly, ha!. Life is a beautiful, precious gift, and an adventurous path to travel! We might as well learn how to love. 