Happy 13th Birthday, Marriage!

...because an anniversary is really a one-word way of celebrating the birth of a marriage. And ours is 13 today. We got married at sunset on Mexico City Beach, FL. We wrote our own vows. We washed each other's feet. We served communion. Craig wore half a tux (tails top with shorts on bottom), and my Mom made my dress.

And we choose to be committed to one another every day. In the name of Jesus, in the name of love, in the name of family...

THIS is our secret to a happy marriage.

Here's what we said to each other that day. And what we've said in our hearts every day since.

Throughout our covenant with the Lord, I vow

to kneel as one before the throne in humble obedience to the hand of the Lord,

to be wholly devoted to you, serving to cover you as a faithful vessel that pours out rivers of life unto you,

to halve your sorrows and double your joys,

to love you on the heights of the mountains and in the depths of the valleys,

to remain by your side as we wander through the wildnerness and walk on the water,

to bind Satan from our life all our days together...

until our journey leads us Home.

Amazing Grace

She really is an amazing child. Yes, yes: I know yours are, too. But my daughter is my daughter so, as it should be, she is my favorite girl in the whole world.

And she's amazing.

She's bright...

 but her light never seems to quite shine so much you must shield your eyes. In this way, she leaves room for others' achievements, celebrity status, and general 15 minutes of fame. She senses - all on her own - that light is for sharing, not for commadeering.

She's funny...

but her humor is so cheesy and innocent, you find yourself chuckling less at the content and more at the execution. She treasures the laughter without questioning the motive.

She's smart...

but I don't actually need to tell you that if you've met her. She'll tell you any and every horse fact you want - and usually don't want - to know. Yet, she informs as if you're as interested in the general gathering of knowledge as she. In this way, she refrains from making anyone feel dim or devalued.

She's compassionate...

but justice-oriented. This means she'll forgive you easily, but won't turn a blind eye to your disobedience, deceit, or general lack of good character.

She's gray...

but this only enhances her compassion. Her world isn't about black-and-white because, like her daddy, a person's motives and circumstances are just as important - perhaps even more so - than their final acts. Being me, I don't understand this. But I admire it just the same.

She's gifted...

but fails to see herself as "better" because of it. This means she's not snobby, uppity, or selfish with her abilities. She does not lord them over others as if God made only her to be special. Rather, she admires what she cannot do...which makes her either learn it, improve it, or simply shrug and say, "Yeah, I can't do that." There's beauty in all those, you know.

Grace is amazing. She's bright, funny, smart, compassionate, gray, and gifted. And she's ours.

Which means the only blessing more amazing than she is that God actually entrusted her to us.

Wow.

Freeze Frames

Fall in Colorado is best summarized with just one, little, compound noun: roller-coaster.

With the temperatures readily fluctuating as much as 20 degress in the span of a single day, I find myself wearing a t-shirt on a Monday and my fleece pajamas on a Tuesday. I also seem to hover near the thermostat: yes, yes, I know my digital thermostat that's programmed for the winter schedule should be my steady go-to. But fall in Colorado means I cannot seem to get warm: what worked comfortably for me in the dead of winter the year before appears to be lacking considerably in the face of my four layers and mug of cocoa the following auturm. So, I bump here. I bump there: I mean, seriously, will the environmental patrol come take me away over a measly one degree...or two?

I mean, what's a girl to do?

Well, a couple of weeks ago, Old Man Winter answered that with a resounding, "Freeze 'em to death!" I mean this literally since this first ice storm effectively strangled the remaining veggie crops, porched-pumpkins, and lingering asters. Yet, I looked out the window and found myself enthralled by the precise lines and crisp, frosty air. It was like it whispered, "Ahhh....clean." And the early winter wonderland was a reminder that freeze frames out of place in the cycle of our seasons aren't less valuable simply because they mean the occassional degree bump or extra layer of socks; rather, they're God's hot pink Post-It that proclaims, "Yes, I'm still here. Yes, I'm still in charge. And sometimes you just need a little ice to remember the value of what keeps you warm inside.

Rest in Peace, Mullins

We had known for some time it was coming to pass. But when you have a family member for 13 1/2 years -- albeit a hairy one - it's hard to face the reality that the event has, as they are prown to do, come to pass. So, on October 22, we put Mullins down.
With eyes becoming increasingly cloudy, hips swivelling more and more with displacia, and an all-around weariness seeping into her frame, we knew it was time. This is a big event, though, in our home: our chlidren have never lived one day without Mullins in their lives. Craig and I adopted her from the shelter in Anchorage, AK, when she was just 6 months old. We'd been married a mere 9 months so, for all intents and purposes, we've had her for nearly as long as we've been married, too.

And life without her is weird. And, honestly, releasing. Letting go has been freeing for everyone, despite how hard it was to actually DO the letting go. That's true for alot of our life's pains, isn't it?

Grace and Elijah wanted a last picture with their beloved pet...

 and Grace (our "feeler" and sentimentalist, sweet child) wanted to keep Mullins' tags in a velvet box.

So we say goodbye to our four-legged companion, but we remember her long and happy life...and we celebrate the memory of a furry friend even as we mark her passing.

Little Deposit, Big Return

A few posts back, I focused on how I want to prioritize people that matter. Of course, all people matter, so how does that work? So I decided to keep a little list/journal of sorts that reminded me of ways that I do it on a daily basis. Lest we get our hackles up, however, let me clarify: I did not do this so I can pat myself on the back and say, "Good job there, little lady."

Right.

Rather, I did it to encourage myself that the little gestures matter. That I can do even more of them. That all grand gestures start with one little thought. Last night at church, our pastor focused on this very principle. He read Psalm 139 and pointed out that nowhere does using love to make a difference guarantee you'll feel comfortable, immediately rewarded, or even satisfied with the dent you make. I firmly believe having confidence that the little adds up to much is what delineates the giving from the cruel. I mean I really believe that. And if you've ever stood in a customer service line and watched an employee be verbally assaulted by a consumer, you'd believe that, too. If you've ever watched a mother screech at her child in the grocery store and seen the crestfallen features of the son or daughter, you'd believe it, too. If you've ever smiled at the reaction a wife has to unexpected flowers from her husband or a parent's laughter when the caller id notes their away-at-college child thought to phone for no reason...well, you've seen that this is true, too. Not one of us is perfect...no, not one.

But not being perfect doesn't mean we stop trying to do good.

So here's my own progress:

Emailed missing couples from last week's group and told them I missed them. Asked how they were.

Facebooked three people, immediately stopping at the keyboard to offer prayer for their requests.

Gave a student two paper extensions as she struggles to get her addicted mother into a treatment facilty before she dies from an overdose. (People have much bigger problems than mine).

Genuinely celebrated my sister-in-law's news that she's expecting. I never underestimate how good it feels to have someone just be happy for you.

Took a new fitness class with a friend I don't know well; then laughed at our misery and suffering together. Now she's a closer friend.

Said "hello" in the hallway to people I don't know well. But here's the kicker: I looked them in the face, asked them "How are you?" and waited while they replied.

Made cocoa for my kiddos on their first wintery morning and told them the warmth it put in their bellies was how my love for them feels in my heart.

Leaned over in church and told my husband that he makes me feel safe and protected. And that he's the sexiest man on the planet to me. Watched him smile at me in return.

Cried for our adopted soldier because 11 men in his unit were murdered by hostile attacks.

Washed my son's favorite sweatshirt so he could wear it to school...even though I'd just done all his laundry.

Left my husband's favorite truffle flavors in the box my mom sent me...because everything I have is his and everything he has is mine.

Hugged my pregnant friend and told her the newly-sloping tummy is beautiful. And that I can't wait to meet her child and love, love, love her.

Sang "O Come All Ye Faithful" until my head hurt because Grace was nervous about trying out for the Christmas play.

She got the part, by the way.

Little deposits. Big returns.

The Big Secret

Lately, I've been getting variations on this sentiment: "Have you lost weight? You look great!" First of all, thank you, thank you, thank you to every one of you who've taken care first to notice and then narrate on the narrowing figure. But, seriously now, here's the deal...

I'm not actually any thinner or "fitter" than I was before Judsen. I'm the same size, actually. Same clothes (thank you, God, for indoor plumbing and Levi's). Same style (Colorado chic is what I call it. You know, jeans and a tee dressed up a scarf or hat or necklace or shoes. But always comfortable). Same gal, really. Well, with one more kid. And let me tell you: it ain't easy to recover after one child...then two...then three...and however many more y'all may have. But it's even trickier when you have 10 pounders that come via a cut in the belly (the whole process becomes a bit more complicated).

And we all have our pregnancy curses...mine is weight. Average about 65 pounds per kid, I do. Don't especially indulge in eating. Exercise throughout...and at the same pace I keep today without pregnancy, in fact. But, that's my burden to bear.

So it takes a solid year to chisel away at the post-pregnancy bulbous body that is me after baby. Now, I don't particularly look at the numbers after the first, say, 4 months. In fact, I don't weigh myself today. That's one stat that absolutely DOES NOT solely define fitness level, so I don't sweat it (pun intended).

But we all, I'd wager, have our method: mine is clothes. I know I'm not alone in this. I have my teeniest jeans and, when they fit, I've arrived. Shirts vary, of course, because I now have about 4 or 5 inches of excess skin that I can actually stretch away from my body, so clingy shirts are now out. (For those of you who have seen this epidermal massacre, I apologize. I don't know what I was thinking).

So, if I'm more or less the same but you think I look more or less thinner, what's the big secret? Well, here it is: one word. One word only. Pilates. Yes, Pilates is my big secret. It could be yours, too. It's hard. But it's relaxing. And it's hard. But I breathe alot, which seems to improve the overall life expectancy for the day...for both my children and me. And I'm taller. Yes, taller. And I'm more taught. Lithe, I'd even say. And, most importantly, I'm fit.

Because the even bigger secret is this: being fit is a way of life that, with a sardonic chuckle I add, prolongs that very life. Because of fitness, I'll be wearing my Levi's at least a decade longer, I hope, and relishing that the reason I no longer buy clingy tees are the three people I'll get to watch play ball, go to prom, graduate high school, tackle college and, one day, go down aisles to say "hello" to their own reasons to get big, become small again, and -- who knows? -- try some Pilates themselves.

Taking It Personally

We've heard that expression, "Don't take it personal, " right? Well, first of all, I'd be remiss to the English language if I didn't mention that this is poor grammar: Americans turn adverbs into nouns all the time (naughty, naughty), and this is an example. So, you tell me not to take it personallyand, ironically, that's exactly how you often mean it. But I came across this just last night in one of the books I'm reading and found that I truly did take it personally. And that, for once, is a good thing... Consider this:

"In an electronic, need-for-speed, overnight-delivery age, the more personal the invitation the better. A visit is more personal than a call; a call is more personal than a letter; a letter is more personal than e-mail -- a letter with six people's names on it is less personal than one addressed to one person, and an email is about as impersonal as it gets. We are so flooded with e-mails and the medium is so senseless that I have come to believe that in the rank order of inviting, e-mails don't count. But all are better than lying in bed at night waiting for [God] to provide."

(Ok, I added God because the author, Peter Block, wrote "the universe" and, to that, I say "Pishaw.")

But this resonated with me: for instance, I know I don't like it when I get an email that tells me its been sent "to our most valued friends" ... and there's like 200 names on the list. Huh? I also know that I love opening my mail slot and seeing a card with my name on it, written in a dear friend's hand...and it's for me and me alone. Time isn't just money, you know. It's also love. And Evite is fabulous and perfect for some occasions (I've got one coming up, in fact), but a phone call to invite a friend to lunch is more my speed than a "Hey, let's get together sometime" that is never followed by a plan.

God's Word teaches: "A new commandment I give to you that you love one another, even as I have loved you, that you may also love one another. By this all men will know that you are my disciples if you have love for one another" (John 13:34-35). I want to matter. I especially want to matter to the people who love me. And, even more than that, I want to make the people I care about know they matter. All the time. Every day. Even if I can't interact with them daily. They should know it, rarely if ever doubt it. I certainly don't want them to lay in the dark asking God if anyone cares about them at all!

I've learned it's rarely in the big that I'll make my biggest mark; rather, it's in the everyday touches of time over convenience, of hard over easy, of loving over being loved that I've made it truly personal.