Albatross or Ebenezer

Some kids like to sleep with stuffed animals, but for months, my daughter chose to sleep with a large chunk of concrete. Because that makes perfect logical sense. It's soft and fuzzy and feels good if you roll over on it in the night. Occasionally, her twin would borrow it for bedtime (nothing like shared twin insanity), which meant that you never quite knew, when you were stripping sheets, which bed was going to dislodge a projectile capable of breaking your big toe.

Then, this year, the twins lovingly gifted me with this "rock" for my birthday. Knowing how much it meant to them, naturally, I was pretty psyched. Also, I was happy to have it out of their room and relegated to a place on my nightstand where I would no longer accidentally trip over it in the dark.

I see it multiple times a day, and mostly, it makes me smile a little and shake my head at how weird my children are. But lately, I've noticed that it's been a prayer trigger for me. I've been thinking of it as an Ebenezer. No, I'm not talking about Scrooge.

The idea of an Ebenezer, though you may already know this, comes from 1 Samuel 7, where, following an Israelite victory against the Philistines, the prophet Samuel sets up a large stone, calling it a "stone of help" or an "Ebenezer," not because the stone had helped them or because it was a way to force God's hand in the future, but as a sign to the Israelites to remember how God had already helped, that helping the Israelites was a part of who God was. The Philistines would be back. The battle had been won, but Samuel knew this was a short term victory, and he wanted his people to see that huge hunk of rock and remember, "Till now the Lord has helped us."

So these last few weeks, I've been looking at the rock chunk on my nightstand (that just screams "an interior decorator lives here!") and remembering. Maybe it's been a crap day of homeschooling or parenting--but till now the Lord has helped us. So I can trust that he will keep doing so. Maybe my heart is breaking over our broken world so desperately in need of fixing--but till now the Lord has helped us. So I can look forward with hope. Maybe I'm remembering the hundreds of prayers that seem to be left unanswered--but till now the Lord has helped us. So I can wait in faith that this is not forever.

The funny thing is that our RV has at times been an Ebenezer for me. When I looked at it, for the year and a half we lived there, I remembered how good God had been to us that we were together, that we had been able to save anything from our home, that we had such an amazing community around us, that God had provided a living situation that didn't involve cracked windows from a Cat 5 or a forty five minute commute to work for the Man. But somehow, over the last few months of waiting for it to sell, I have allowed it to become not an Ebenezer but an albatross around my neck, weighing me down. Not every day, but more often than I care to admit. But I don't have to keep that mindset.

Instead, I can choose, as I look at the rock on my nightstand...and then look out the window to where our old home sits solidly in the driveway of our new home...I can choose to remember: this far the Lord has helped us. And I can believe that he is a creative God with imaginative solutions for the things I view as problems, a creative God whose character does not change: he is helper, he is provider, he knows my own needs better than I do. In light of that, I can choose to remember the truth: it's not an albatross; it's an Ebenezer. It's not a snake; it's a fish. It's not a rock on which to break my teeth; it's bread to feed my soul.

Except, of course, for when it is a rock, a rock to help me remember. Till now the Lord has helped us.

Knitting My Heart to Another's

My lovely friend J. Elle's new book Wings of Ebony comes out this week (tomorrow!). In honor of her and upcoming Black History month (and MLK Day, which I missed already), I wanted to spend some time reading books that would give me a window into African American life. This last year we have had a lot of challenging conversations about race with our kids, wanting to do what we can on our end to prepare our kids to be advocates, defenders, supporters, and friends. The Man and I have read articles and books, talked to our minority friends, and spent a lot of time in prayer and discussion together. I haven't talked about this on the blog much because there are so many other voices who are talking about these issues with much more eloquence and insight, but I did want to share a few of the books that I've read just this week in particular.

May I challenge you, if you pick up one of these books yourself, not to read looking for what you agree or disagree with, but just to listen to the voices of those who have traditionally not been heard? Let them speak, let yourself be uncomfortable...and sit with it for a little while. 

Well-Read Black Women by Glory Edim. This collection of essays gave me so much food for thought. Well written and easy to pick up whenever I got a break (not as easy to put down), I came to this book expecting to walk for a while in another's shoes (and did!) but didn't expect to see a reflection of myself in the pages as well--myself caught between cultures, uncomfortable in my own skin, simultaneously feeling both not enough and too much. Chances are that you too have at some point felt "other", and if you have not, that you have people around you who do. Worth the read.

Dear Martin by Nic Stone. I picked this book up one morning and didn't get up again until it was finished an hour and a half later. Powerful and thought provoking, it was filled with nuance and grace. I cared deeply about the protagonist, Justyce, and his friends, and my heart broke again over the bigger issues through which they were struggling. Front end warning that this is written from the perspective of a 17 year old boy so there is language used that some may feel to be crass. My reminder to myself was that it's always the moments when I feel that I'm not being heard that I want to use the strongest words.

This Is My America by Kim Johnson. I stayed up far too late last night to finish the last few pages of this book. Both a mystery and a powerful confrontation of how historic racism has to be pulled up by the roots instead of just brushed over and moved past, I didn't always like this book. I am still glad that I read it. If I only ever read books that make me feel happy, I am never going to receive a chance to grow. Sometimes, I need to jam my ski-shaped size eleven feet into someone else's shoes for a while before I can walk away humbled, with more compassion and a wider perspective.

I'll close with this. One of the lines in Dear Martin wonders about whether, when white juries acquit a white shooter, it is because they look at the white defendant and see themselves, and don't want to see a murderer in their mirror. It reminded me of a conversation I'd had with my Bible study kids where they connected Matthew 5:21-22 to Matthew 10:17, 21 with the powerful acknowledgement, "We are all murderers and traitors." Yes, that is the truth. When we look in our hearts, there hides a murderous traitor. And this is good news. In our own racism, we see our need for Jesus. He has come that we may have life and so that our brothers and sisters with different skin tones and cultures and stories may have life too. But if we don't first look in the mirror and see our own inner ugliness, we'll never understand our need for Jesus. And then we'll be missing out on so much, most of all on a relationship with him, but also on a depth of love and a closeness of knit hearts with those around us.

No Time Like the Present

I sit down for my early morning read/pray/write. The dog immediately wants out. Then the coffee needs turning down. Then I see the power cord the kids left out and have to put it away. The cat jumps up in my lap, bringing with her a pair of kneading paws and the strong smell of cat gas. Thankfully, the stench is short lived. I remember five things I should've finished yesterday instead of what I actually did: going to bed at 8pm. I can't find it in myself to feel guilty about any of them. I get up to refill my coffee cup. Another cat comes to join me. There's a brief moment when I wait to see if WW3 will break out between the two felines. I remember something else that needs doing, just a quick something, so I think I'll knock it off my list before I get back to work. Turns out that it's not a quick something. The dog wants back in. I hear the kids stirring upstairs, the creak of the floorboards giving me fair warning that time is running out.

My word for last year was "present" but still I struggle with actually being where I'm supposed to be, shepherding my time well. I'm on and off my phone and computer all day, reading a novel while I cook, juggling conversations and laundry and school books, going from one thing to the next and back again in the blink of an eye.

Some of this is the inevitable consequence of having five kids at home with me. Some of it is a choice to not prioritize well. Some of it is knowing that the time is short and every second must be used. And it's easy for me to allow in guilt over what did or did not get done, but just as easy for me to choose instead to say thank you.

To say thank you for the insane cats and the demanding dog and the sunlight seeping in over the frost and through my window. To say thank you for the cup of coffee and the husband who left me a note and a fully charged computer. To say thank you for still glowing embers in the fireplace and the ferocious sounds of a herd of children waking up and the time, however scattered, to read truth and pray encouragement and write a few words that might be what someone else needs to hear (or just that I need to hear).

And I find that, in the thanksgiving, I am present in a new way. Not in a single-minded zen state of calm, but in a way that stabilizes and softens and slows. And often, too, one that welcomes in laughter before the kids tumble down the stairs and into morning hugs.

Novel Means New

I did a thing this last year. 

Well, really, this last year and a half. I wrote a novel, a big fat novel, that, according to my sister, is engaging enough to make you want to keep reading at night even when you're off doing water projects and flipping your car upside down on sub-Saharan roads and that, according to my husband, is great if you need something to keep yourself entertained on a six hour flight across America while you're trying to block out the fact that your then-six year old twins are behind you eating all their Christmas candy in one sitting. Naturally, my sister and my husband are experts in the field, so you can trust them explicitly.

Now, the problem with having written a novel is two fold. First, I have to find a literary agent and a publisher so that at some point I can actually fulfill my life-long dream of seeing a book that I wrote on a shelf in a bookstore...and not because I put it there to make myself feel better about life. Second, it turns out that I am really terrible (I mean, really terrible) about talking about my book. I make it sound incredibly boring. And I promise you that it's not. I'm just horrible at selling things. Which is why I never went into retail. And why our RV still hasn't sold.

So I'm over here doing my level best to email literary agents and try to pretend that I'm not a sad and pathetic saleswoman and they do really want to read my book, but one of the things I keep seeing encouraged on all these websites is the building of a platform (that means you!), and my platform at present is pretty small. So, I'm doing another thing. 

I'm actually getting on Instagram. For real this time, not just to look at a book cover from an author I like and then pretend that I was never there for the next four years.

I picked Instagram because a writing group that I follow is hosting a one week writers challenge starting Monday. And I'm telling you about it because I can't do this thing called "building a platform" without people like you (which I've already mentioned). This means that, without you, my chances of getting my book into a bookstore near you are a lot slimmer.

So if you would like to read my book one day, may I ask you to do a couple things? One, keep reading my blog. I can't tell you how encouraging it is when I see that you guys are reading what I am writing (comments are an extra bonus). If it makes it easier for you, sign up for it to come straight to your inbox. If you've already done that and somehow the emails aren't showing up, yell at me, and I will try to fix it. But yell at me nicely. Two, if you haven't followed my writers page on Facebook, I would love it if you would. It makes me look so pretty and popular. That's a movie reference probably only my sisters will get and the rest of you will think I am totally full of myself. Three, if you are an instagrammer, you can find me easily as @marianfrizzell. There is literally one photo on there right now (that I only posted so that I could write this blog), but this will change soon! I promise.

Now, a couple addendums. If you like me but don't like my writing, I feel you, man. Some days I am totally there with you. Do it for the love of the children. You can delete my emails unread, ignore my blogposts entirely, scroll right past whatever I post on instagram--and still feel good about yourself because you are helping support my crazy dream. On the other hand, if you neither like me or my writing, wow, I am so impressed that you read this far! Also, I won't offer to change your mind, but I can sit with you in solidarity as there are days I also neither like myself nor my writing, so: SAME. But my offer to you is to follow me anyway so that one day you can go buy my book at a bookstore (or get it at a library) and read it and laugh hysterically about how bad it is and how ridiculous the publishing industry must be to have ever published it. And then you can still feel good about yourself too. Win win.

In the meantime, I will be over here, continuing to get up at obscenely early hours (and falling asleep mid conversation with the Man around nine pm every night) so that I can do something that makes me feel like myself and that hopefully will bring others joy or give a needed truth  or just a laugh at the right moment. Any of those would be a win in my book. 

On that note, may we keep making small choices together to encourage one another and to make our world (touched by our own small circle of influence) and our year (built moment by moment) a little better for all of us who live in it together.

End of Year Reflection

December is my favorite month of the year. Most people assume that's because it contains my birthday (true) and that I'm self-absorbed and greedy (also true), but it's also because, at the end of the year and beginning of a new one, we find time for introspection and assessment--at least we should, if we're not too busy celebrating. 

Trees

Carving out space for contemplation can be a challenge, though, at this time of year and easily pushed to the side if I'm not careful. This month included two sets of house guests, a cross country trip, wrapping up a semester of school, and all the excitement of birthdays and Christmas and anniversaries and a new year. If I'm not careful, the time slips away before I know it, and it's mid-January and I have no idea how the last year really went (not the cliches of a 2020 dumpster fire, but the real struggle and progress) and no idea what I hope for from the next.

Yesterday I read this quick thought from Piper about thinking through what we want to accomplish in a day before we roll out of bed in the morning and not being leaves blowing aimlessly in the wind without really going anywhere. It reminded me of how I ask my weekly Bible study kids to set their intention for the week before we sign off on Zoom. I set mine too and write it down in my journal and try not to forget about it over the next six days. 

Some weeks I forget about it.

Our last meeting before Christmas, I actually told the kids what my intention was because it was an area where I needed prayer. Guess what I haven't forgotten about since then? That's right. The intention. And even though I can't quite say I've gotten a check mark in that area, it has been worked on and struggled with since that afternoon meeting.

It's made me wonder how much power there was just in telling someone.

Sun

So here's my challenge for you as the year draws to a close: talk about it. Sit down with someone you trust and love (or a handful of someones) and share what went well this year, what good books you read, where you really failed, what hard things you tackled... then leave space to talk about what you'd like to continue or tweak or do completely differently in the coming year. 

I'm not saying make a resolution. I am saying come up with an idea of what direction you want to head.

As a military spouse, I get to pick up and start over again every time we move. Things that weren't working are a lot easier to leave behind when you are physically in a different place. New habits that I may want to pick up are easier to build in when you're restarting your life from the ground up. Not all of us have this opportunity. But we all have the hard stop of the old year ending to act as a catalyst. Let's not waste this opportunity.

While we are still gathered with family or tucked away at home in the quiet space of winter, now that the Christmas preparation and partying is done, let's take the time to think through what has come before and what will come next--and verbalize our thoughts on what we see in hindsight and foresight. Let's do this not only for ourselves but also for someone else who may need to speak their own hopes into the void and hear them echo back into their ears.

As we end the Christmas season where we ponder the miracle of Emmanuel, God with us, may we take the time to be with ourselves and with others, allowing for the margin that we really need to think and grow and breathe and progress forward into the new space of the year ahead.

Mountain

{Helpful photo captions provided by The Man who thought I wouldn't notice. I noticed.}

Provision in the Unpredictable

It's my twenty thousandth time reading the Christmas story (give or take a few), but this year it becomes about control...and provision.

This year I see Mary and Joseph, told where to go and what to do, unable to provide the basic things we things we need (shelter, medical care, community), forced to leave their home and travel elsewhere because a king in a foreign land decided it was so. They have no power, no say, no control.

We resonate with that this year. We have been told not to leave our homes, not to meet in our churches, not to go anywhere without a mask on. Some of us have lost our jobs, our homes, our health, our friends and family. We feel like our control has been wrenched from our hands and given to the powers-that-be in Washington, and we have no other choice but to comply.

Then I see God's provision, not the provision that Mary and Joseph might have wanted (the census cancelled so they could stay home, perhaps, or even a room at the inn, which seems little enough to ask), but the provision that they were given--a stable with animals in which the Lamb of God was to be born. This was a provision that was just enough (though at the time it might've seemed far less than enough), and prepared the way for the greatest provision of all--a sacrifice that could take away the sins of the world, a provision far more than we deserve.

I wonder: what are the ways that God has provided for us this year, ways that are just enough (though perhaps they seem far less than enough at the time), provisions that years from now may point the way back to Christ, to grace, to wholeness, though we don't realize that now? 

For me, in a year with less control than usual, perhaps, He provided a long distance Zoom Bible study for my ten year old; He provided neighbors willing to welcome us into a new neighborhood; He provided a church and a homeschool community willing to take creative measures to keep meeting in person; He provided a yard where my children can play outdoors; He provided plane tickets and clean bills of health and masks so that we could fly to see my in-law's for Christmas (even with my husband's Achilles tendon partially torn). He provided a library with curbside pickup and groceries delivered to the trunk of my car and flexible children ready to roll with the punches.  

As I count the provisions, they begin to snowball, letting me see one after another after another, opening my eyes to God's goodness even as I acknowledge that I am not the one running the show...and neither is COVID-19. God prepared every detail of his son's coming, down to Caesar Augustus demanding a census so that a prophecy given 600 years before could be fulfilled with Jesus' birth in Bethlehem, a birth with the least of these for whom he came to die, a birth befitting a perfect sacrifice.

And as I count the provisions, I hear my heart quietly remembering: all this and Christ too. I may not have control of much, but I do have all this...and Christ too. And as I sit beside my husband, our youngest daughter cuddled between us and the lights of the Christmas tree mingling with firelight and the glow of computer screens as we work, I think to myself: that's worth celebrating. 

Christ's provision may not look as we imagine, but it always turns out to be just enough, enough to help us see God more fully, enough to bring joy (if we look for it), enough to be worth treasuring up in our hearts.

Book Your Thanksgiving Now!

Looking to do a last minute pre-Thanksgiving library run so you're stocked up for your Thanksgiving break (and prepared in case everything shuts back down after Thanksgiving due to Covid)? This is your last minute list! And it's extra last minute because you've got to believe I planned to write this yesterday but I got distracted by making empanadas. Also, while the kids and the Man say the homemade empanada dough was totally worth it for them, I'm not sure it was totally worth it for me. Just saying. Also, anything that resembles pie crust is not really my friend.

Not the point! The point is: books!

Tis the season to sit by the fire with a book.

First up, a few Thanksgiving themed reads. The kids really enjoyed both of these books about Sarah Hale (the woman who encouraged President Lincoln to declare Thanksgiving a national holiday): Thank You, Sarah by Laurie Halse Anderson and Sarah Gives Thanks by Mike Allegra. I personally loved that though both books had the same subject matter, the authors presented it in very different ways. Both were worth reading, and (surprisingly) the kids didn't mind reading them back to back.

Because Thanksgiving is my favorite holiday!
Other than Mersmas.

Next up was Thanks for Thanksgiving, which Bruiser absolutely loved. Also, he's totally reading now (though he kind of sounds like a robot running out of batteries), and this has been a huge win for me as a homeschool mom and as a woman who would desperately like to decrease the noise level in her home. Thanks for Thanksgiving is a good one for your littler dudes; Twinkle was also a huge fan. I'd also like to give a shout out to Eve Bunting's A Turkey for Thanksgiving (with great illustrations by Diane de Groat and a fun twist at the end) and Oge Mora's Thank You, Omu! (which was a great way to show my kids the far reaching affects of generosity and let them dip their toes in another culture).

Kid was super proud of himself.

Also making the rounds at our house are the Princess in Black books by Shannon Hale, which have been a smash hit with Bee, who more and more has her nose stuck in a book, and the Lloyd Alexander Prydain Chronicles, which were fantastic read alouds (I think I mentioned them in the last book blog--sorry if I did and there's a repeat). The best part about reading a series is that when you finish one book, you know exactly what you want to read next! And sometimes what you want to read next has international princesses and a monster who needs a bath (Princess in Black) or an enchanted princess and a hairy sidekick who needs a bath (Prydain Chronicles). Never mind, it sounds like these are pretty much the same series. Kidding! They could not be more different but are both funny and engaging and full of happiness.

Car time reading--when you know she's crossed 
into really being my daughter.

On a personal front, I plowed through Save the Cat! Writes a Novel thanks to a friend telling me it would fix all my writing issues (I think she may be overly optimistic, but it has been helpful). If you're a writer and need a jumping off point or just somewhere that will help you think about basic structure and plotting, this may be worth your time. I'll let you know if I ever get published again. Ha!

Please note the beautiful RV reflected in my sunglasses.
And then call me and offer to buy it off us...
preferably for an obscene amount of money.

And then there are the books that are just good for your soul. I already mentioned Andrew Murray's Abide in Christ. When I finished it, I moved onto The Storm-Tossed Family by Russell Moore. I'm still getting little snippets of that one in the mornings before the kids get up, and so far, it's been really thought provoking. I keep sending the Man snippets of quotes. I did pause in reading it, though, to plow through Anjuli Paschall's Stay which had some really excellent lines about relationships and gifting. You can tell she's naturally a blogger as the chapters are short and easy to digest quickly.

Reading good books helps my brain not turn to mush.

Then the Man read Conscience by Andrew David Naselli and J. D Crowley and has been trying to get me to read it too. It's going to happen--soon! He highly recommended it to both of our families, and since I trust his judgment, I'm going to highly recommend it to you. Without even reading it yet. Which shows you the extreme level of trust functioning in our marriage these days. Also, I'm a risk taker. He said it was especially timely for him to read considering our current political climate. Just throwing that out there for you.

According to the Man: worth my time.
And ostensibly yours.

But it's not all serious books. I also come bearing gifts of novels--but sadly without pictures since most of my novel reading happens on the kindle app of my phone (which means I can more easily read while washing dishes--I keep a towel over my shoulder so I can dry off a finger to flip the page). Ally Carter, one of my favorite young adult writers, put out a new book, Winterbourne Home of Vengeance and Valor, which kicks off a new series. I love Carter because she makes me laugh and keeps me guessing and is also the perfect light read when you're already 88% brain dead. Another favorite YA writer who also makes me laugh and keeps me guessing but cannot be read while brain dead (otherwise you'll have to reread to catch everything you missed) is Megan Whalen Turner, who just released the last book in her Queen's Thief series, Return of the Thief. It came in on my library app after a long day of teaching and could not have made my heart happier. I read the first book in the series, The Thief, when I was still in middle school, I think, and to get to see all the loose ends tied up made my heart happy, even though, honestly, it was not my favorite book in the series and I would quibble with Turner over a handful of the choices she made. There was no blind fan-girling, but there were a few hours of happy reading.

There was, however, blind fan-girling when I read Kate Milford's Greenglass House duology. If you can pick only two books for cozy fireside reading this winter, these were really delightful (and I'm trying to track down the other books she wrote in this world). Although they will make you want all the steaming beverages and leave you expecting snow at any moment, even though you know that's not realistically what will happen. 

The Man gets photo credit for this picture.
Also, is this not the perfect Sunday afternoon?

Last up, a quick smattering of nonfiction for your reading life. First up, Tribe by Sebastian Junger was a fascinating read and led to some great discussion time with the Man (so much so that we accidentally let Twinkle stay up an hour past her bedtime). If you are interested in the human psyche and how community and war affect it, this will give you some good food for thought. The Man and I had fun picking apart what we liked and disliked about the book and digging into how it affected our world view. Then, in my constant quest to read more memoirs, I read both Glitter and Glue by Kelly Corrigan and Life from Scratch by Sasha Martin. Both fascinating reads that delve into complex relationship with their moms, I especially loved Martin's international food flare and had to go poke around on her blog afterward. All three books were well worth my time.

And on that note, there are turkeys to brine and other work to do and a jug of milk left out on the counter after the kids got their own breakfast because I was ensconced in the recliner and not inclined to move. Also, the girls are now discussing making clothes for one of their dolls, and I'm terrified that scissors are involved. Happy Thanksgiving! Thank God for books and creative children and living life on the edge!