In thirty years this will come full circle.

Over Christmas vacation we went to a lakehouse with Skip's entire family. Grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins, second cousins, dogs, boyfriends, girlfriends. The WHOLE family from 9 months to 80 years.

It was a FUN LOUD MESSY time filled with food, movies, football, bowling, wrestling, HGTV, and games. The only thing NOT good about it was the amount of sleep we were getting. I happen to like sleep...sort of my "passion" if you will. The kids really had free reign during this time. They crashed anytime between midnight and 3 AM. The house was so full of life that 3 AM felt like noon. Sometime in the middle of the night they all found their way back to our bed.

Tight.

Hot.

Sweaty.

Tossing.

Turning.

Sweet.

Skip and I decided to take our kids home a night early so they could get back into their routine and own beds. Personally, I was craving my own space and sleep. To a parent, this decision made complete sense. To a nine year old boy?

Well. I am convinced that nothing makes sense to a nine year old boy.

As we were packing to leave, Zeb came downstairs with a major chip on his shoulder. He was very upset that we were leaving complete with some sassing and some door slamming.

"MO-OOOM!!! You don't understand. You just...you just CARE too much about us. It's so embarrassing! Could you quit CARING sometimes?"

*straight face*

"OK. So. You are mad because I happen to CARE too much?"

"YES! Why can't you CARE LESS like a normal person?"




Just you wait, son. Just you wait.

Passion.

First of all...WOW! You, my friends, are amazing women! So encouraging, honest and kind. It's a funny thing, honesty. You live your life, you do your thing, you think you are alone but after a little raw-ness you realize that YOU WERE NEVER ALONE. NOT EVEN CLOSE!

You blessed me. Thank you.

Second of all, if you are my pastor you are about to get a second shout-out today. But I feel pretty safe knowing that my pastor doesn't waste his precious time reading the wandering thoughts of a snot-covered mommy with elastic pants. Pretty sure he has a million and one OTHER THINGS to do.

(But, Joe, if you are reading...I think you are just great!)

Along with teaching about JOY, he has spent time encouraging and challenging each of us to find our PASSION in life. Over the course of a few months people have began to share their passion. Which, of course, triggers a deep sense of insecurity in me because I lack a passion.

Maybe it's not lacking in me...maybe it's just the word "PASSION." It's a BIG, SCARY word for someone who can't easily identify theirs. It conjures up guilt in me, selfishness even. My heart wants a passion, but my brain says, "how selfish to think about anything other than your family."



Of course, there is nothing more important to me than my husband and kids. But is that all I am? Isn't there something in me that is JUST MINE? Something that makes my face light up and my wheels turn?

Oh, here comes the guilt voice again.

"Your children, your husband and your home should be all those things."

God is funny about taking something and making a THEME of it. Since this passion series came up at church I have been in more conversations with people where I can easily identify theirs.

**A grandmother who devotes her time to learning how to take wonderful pictures.

**Lady at church has a passion for helping Hispanic women clothe and feed their children.

**Many families whose heart belongs on another continent waiting for adoption.

**Young woman who gave up an entire year of her single-ness to join a missionary race around the globe.

**Young man has a heart for traveling to Jerusalem and taking his baby sister.

**Mom who started designing clothes for her daughters and now has a booming business.

**Friend so committed to seeing others get healthy that she started a Boot Camp in her area.

I could go on and on, but the thing is a whole lot of people have a PASSION for something bigger than themselves. And in all of these cases I believe they are God-given.

So, that leads me to wonder about myself.

Heaven help me, here is my list of what I could be "passionate" about...

**sarcasm
**coffee
**napping
**watching every episode of Friends

But something bigger?

I just don't see it...

I hope to find it, and with it the WOMAN that God designed without a trace of insecurity, guilt or shame!

What about you? What is your PASSION? What makes your wheels turn?

Raw.

You know the feeling when you are driving through thick, dense fog? Fog so thick you fear you won't see the car in front of you, or the direction that you need to take. You can only see inches in front of you forcing you to slow down. Hopefully in the slower tense pace you find yourself muttering a desperate prayer for help. Because that prayer may be the only thing saving you from being swallowed up in the fog, or worse.

Well, that was 2010.

OK, maybe that is a little dramatic. But sometimes reality is full of drama!

That is exactly how I have felt this year. This is the year that things got hard. Really, really hard. Friendships were tested and some lost, finances were strained, secure jobs became unstable, parenting sprouted severe insecurities, our calendar reached maximum capacity, my metabolism changed, the mundane became even more mundane. And I went missing. My spark died out.

On many occasions I let the fog roll in around me and take me away. I didn't have the strength to survive it, much less see through it. I gave in.

This should be the time when I tell you that I turned to my Bible and let God carry me through this storm. I wish I could say that. It seems like I found even more excuses not to that very thing. Yet, strangely enough, I can say that I have never felt closer to God, or more loved.

Our pastor spent a significant time this year talking about "Pure Joy". Joy that only comes in the midst of crisis and darkness. I sat through many Sundays not getting it. How can I have JOY when life is crumbling around me? It hit me one day after a phone call with a dear friend. When life is good and the riches are piling up, you don't recognize joy. But when darkness settles in and you can't make your way through it, you find the purest form of God's love.

Here is an example from my life this year. Our puppy was in a freak accident and needed three surgeries to heal. Finances have been so strained this year that Skip and I weren't sure we could afford to keep going with her treatments and hospitalization. We were days away from putting her to sleep. When the vet called to tell us she needed to have the third surgery I knew in my heart we couldn't afford it and needed to end this. Out of the goodness of his heart, our vet took away all the remaining costs of our puppy's care. He wanted to see her healed and returned to our family...AT NO ADDITIONAL COST TO US.

It was at that moment that I felt God whisper to my heart regarding His definition of joy. It's the little gifts He gives us. This was a pretty extravagant gift, but it took this act of kindness for me to see what joy means.

Pure joy is
...the perfect timing of a phone call
...it's a child's much needed nap time
...it's a clean house
...it's a sweet word from my husband
...it's in my home when my kids are getting along
...it's in a one-on-one lunch with a friend
...it's in telling the truth...the hard truth
...it's in an offer from my mom to take the kids
...it's in a smile from the clerk who knows how hard it is to shop with a toddler.

It's the moments that God gives us to HEAL some of the hard. Make it more BEARABLE.

Once I recognized what Joy means in God's economy the fog has lifted. The circumstances of the fog haven't...life is still beating us down. But I can see God's offering to me. He is handing me joy on a silver platter. Every day.

My hope this new year is to continue to see the joy in the mundane and hard. To see the richness in suffering. It is for a purpose.

Before you get all worried about me, I am really OK. The suffering of this year has been good, too. It has caused Skip and I to make some decisions on how we spend our time and reduce the waste on the calendar. It has turned our family inward. There is nothing greater than being home together. It has quieted down the noise. I value these changes. I like not having a full calendar. I have fallen in love with Skip again watching him navigate his own pain. I wouldn't trade any of it!

My hopes in starting this blog again is to find the WOMAN in the MOMMY. I hope by slowing things down and appreciating life more, I will savor this season. I love you all and have missed our connection on the pages of our blogs.

Here's to a fresh start!

Janelle Kiewit Miller is

...home for Langley's 6th sick day and am getting used to my jammy-jams.

...so sick and tired of people trying to be fake-real. You know what I mean!

...regretting letting the kids play with Moon Sand and wanting to formally apologize to anyone that may have received this ill-fated gift from the Miller's.

...counting down the minutes until chicken and beef quesadillas.

...worried about friendships.

...convicted that I don't play enough with my kids.

...sad that I yelled last night at my family over spilled milk. Literally.

...so tempted to log on to fb and nose around.

...needing God's restraining power to keep me from doing that.

...wanting to get back into the public blogging world, but knows that she will turn it into an idol.

...wishing Wit would go to sleep already. (finally!)

...really regretting puppy.

...wanting a date night with Skip. I miss him.

...scratching her ear and picking her nose.

...neglecting time with God even though she knows it would be good for her.

...realizing that she didn't finish unloading the dryer.

...is tired. So very tired.

...so happy that Zeb doesn't want a huge birthday party!

...concerned about my girl, wishing she felt better.

...praying for freedom from "the big and major" theme in my life.

...hoping that Skip's dreams come true regarding baseball.

...needing to be a better daughter and granddaughter and sister.

...excited about Zeb's braces on Thursday. Strike that. In 5 years I will be excited about his beautiful teeth.

...writing for me, only me.

...a mess of a woman so desperately in need of a Savior.

...thankful for all the above.

Where Am I?

Where am I?

I feel lost...

Lost in the shuffle of the busy calendar, laundry, dishes, cleaning, cooking, dog training, diaper changing....

Just weathering this season of endurance. Some days are sunny and bright and some are gloomy.

I have so much to be thankful for. So much to rejoice about. But there isn't any time to feel those things, so it seems.

Life.

Remembering.

Today is a day of remembering for me. My dad passed away on this day in 1993. That seems like a lifetime ago. So much has happened over the last 16 years that it makes my heart hurt because he missed it. His laughter and smile wasn't here.

He missed my engagement, my college graduation, my wedding, the birth of his 3 grandbabies. The most important times in my life. Oh, how I wish he could see my babies. He would be so over the top CRAZY in love with them.

The reality is that he passed away during my most turbulent days...well not THE MOST turbulent days, but close. If only he could see me now. I want him to know that all of his hard work and prayers for me turned out for the best. I can just imagine what our reunion will be like someday. Joy!

But for now, I am trying to teach my kids about him. We talk about Grandpa Mike and what he was like. We talk about my favorite memories and we eat the same barbecue chips that were his very favorite. Most importantly, I tell them how proud he would be of them and that he lives in Heaven so they will see him and know him one day.

I get to see his love shine through my brother. I am so honored that he comes and plays with my kids often. When he is here, I feel my dad with him. I see how daddy would have played with them and I hear how he would have teased them and laughed with them.

I am blessed to see the relationship my kids have with their other grandpa's. Thankfully, my kids haven't felt anything missing in their hearts. They have the priviledge of being surrounded by such a loving extended family and lots of awesome men. It's my heart that has the hole...my heart has never been the same.

Not long ago, I was killing time on my computer (shocking!) and found this essay that I wrote a week after my dad's death for my entrance application to TCU. I never dreamed it would be the reason that I was accepted...it certainly wasn't for my stellar grades or ACT scores. They wrote to tell me that they choose my application because of this essay. I guess its not the norm of what most college kids include in their application.

Precious Gifts

There it sits innocently on my bed. It is a teddy bear with its cub wrapped tightly in its arms. I have had that bear for many years and I never knew what it really stood for.

I was in the third grade when the sells representatives came to school to introduce us to the products which we were to sell for the next week. The products were tacky little knick-knacks that my classmates and I were to sell around the community. In return for selling these products, we received little prizes such as pencils, stuffed animals, plastic jewelry, hair combs, balls, and other little toys.

My reward was going to be a cute little teddy bear with a pink ribbon around its neck. I had to sell only fifteen things before the bear was mine. Selling from door to door would have been an easy task if my family lived in the heart of town, but we lived at least twenty miles out of B-Town on a large farm. I knew it would be hard for me, but I wanted to prove that I could do it anyway.

I was not having any luck with the neighboring farms and I was getting discouraged. I asked my dad to take the catalog and order form to work with him for a couple of days to see if he would have better luck. He smiled and said that he would do the best he could. However, when the week was up, he brought the form back to me having only sold two candlesticks. I was heart-broken because I knew I would not get that cute little teddy bear with the pink ribbon. My dad told me that he had been terribly busy, and just did not have a chance to show anyone the catalog. I knew he felt bad, but I was too childish to understand that it was not his responsibility.

Having to go to school the next day with only two products sold was very humiliating. All of my friends had their forms filled completely and were so proud because they would get the best toys. I tried to pretend that I didn't care, but deep down I was hurt because I wanted to prove to everyone that I could do it, too.
At home that night, my dad came into my room with a huge wrapped box with a pretty ribbon on it. I suddenly felt so guilty for being mad at him because inside the box was a beautiful bear with its little cub wrapped tightly in its arms. My dad gave me a precious gift, one that I never really appreciated until twelve years later.

Now, one week after the death of the father that I have loved for twenty years, I realize that by giving me that bear he was telling me that his undying love and protective arms will always be wrapped around his little cub. That is a gift that I will hold in my heart forever.


I miss you, daddy. Every single day.

Ninth.

Seriously...I should NOT be doing this. I only have about 5 minutes and I am sure there are better uses of my time. But I had to do this!

Just in case you forgot how cute Wingman is...

He is doing all kinds of crazy fun things. For example... talking, yelling, eating, waving, shaking his head NO NO, pulling up and a version of crawling that I have never seen before. It includes getting on his belly and toes and smooshing his face this way and that. Throw in a couple of rolls and stretches and he goes where he wants to!!

Personally, I am still wrestling with saying goodbye to the pregnancy season of my life. I am bursting with JOY over my family and loving raising my kids, but saying goodbye to such a tender season is hard. Some days, like today, it is really hard.

*SIGH*

I am sure that every mommy knows what I am talking about.

But, enough about me.

Wingman is so much fun that I don't have a lot of time to dwell in my pitiful feelings. Life with a third child isn't boring. Ever.

Just last week we had Wingman's first trip to the ER. Loulabelle was on the couch with him and was trying to get him to lay down but didn't realize that his left arm (the one with the mom tattoo that I had the pleasure of explaining to the ER doc! OY! ) was behind him and pinned. His elbow became dislocated. Sounds more serious than it actually is. Lots of kids have this and will eventually outgrow it around five. However, he was really hurting and there wasn't anything I could do for him. I hate that feeling!

Dang!! My five minutes are up... gotta go!