What I learned in Waco

Last weekend I had the gift to be able to attend the David Crowder Fantastical Church Music Conference in Waco, TX. It took me about three days to unpack our clothes and get our suitcases put back in their assigned spot. It has taken me a week to find the space to go through my notes and unpack what I took home in my heart. So in summary, suitcases are easier to unpack than 2 days of profound insight into worship. But profound insight is a more rewarding unpacking experience by far.

I have given it some thought and I think that the best way to write about it all is to give it to you in quotes and personal thoughts. So what you are really getting is what Leanne took away in her suitcase. Hope you don't mind.

Regarding Worship: "Sing a song with some people who really believe it instead of just mouthing words & critiquing the guy at the front" ~Francis Chan

Well I know for certain that I am guilty of an occasional session of worship critique. What I thought was profound about what Francis Chan said what that he discussed Worship as something we do for God, not something that we do for us. Duh. I almost always go for me. I almost always focus on if I like the song, the delivery, who just walked in and who hasn't walked in yet. Corporate worship can be a real struggle for me, me who is so easily distracted from God by social settings. And so the moments where I feel what I am singing and then actually relate it to using my lungs to tell the air how good God is are rare. Too rare. Worship is about God not my personal preferences. So maybe my best worship and exaltation happens when I am alone.

But here is the other key component: worship is about community. We gather to sing for a reason. What was so beautiful about this weekend was that it gave me a chance to be in a room with other people who has been stripped of their busyness and agenda and were given space to sing to God together. And believe it. And mean it. We were singing words and feeling them inside and then putting them out in the world to tell the truth about our God to the space around us. It seems like we have far too few moments where we realize that we aren't the only ones. We aren't the only ones striving, we aren't the only ones struggling, we aren't the only ones relating to God, there are thousands of us. And we can get together and sing something together and feel closer to each other and to God for it. And this is what God thinks is really good when it comes to worship. He sees our worship as "really good" and this is far more important than whether we had a good experience.

So yeah, that was Francis Chan.

And then there was Gungor, who sang instead of spoke.

They sang this:

All this Pain

I wonder if I'll ever find my way

I wonder if my life could really change

At all?

All this earth

Could all that is lost ever be found

Could a garden come up from this ground

At all?

You make beautiful things

You make beautiful things out of the dust

You make beautiful things out of us

I heard this for the first time sitting in the very back of the balcony in Waco Hall. And I cried because I knew again, I wasn't the only one. So often on a Sunday I feel like I can go out and make the following week into something drastically different than the week before. I am going to reflect, rest, read, and truly be with people when I am with them. I'll marvel at the beauty of a toddler learning to navigate her world. I'll walk outside and be reminded of the beauty and steadfast love of God. And then Wednesday hits and I'm so often irritated with my life, dissatisfied and weary.

And then I'm reminded of Sunday, and how this week didn't shape up as I wanted. There were fleeting moments of beauty, but more ungrateful discouragement than small wonderful moments of thankful reflection. But wait, he makes beautiful things out of, dust? And ground that has been longing to be tilled and cultivated can grow life? Yes. True. He does. He can. My life CAN change at all. Wow. Tears. Thanks God for bringing me here, not giving up on me. For waking up with me each morning at whatever time Noelle chooses and giving me another chance to open myself to you making my life into a beautiful thing.

That's enough for now.

On Flipping the Switch

You may not be like me, which is fine, but if you aren't then you may have trouble relating to this post and your opinion score for me may drop a few points. On the other hand you may be able to relate to me and feel comforted that you are not alone, so points be danged I'm going to fill you in on a secret. I on occasion go insane. I mean a ranting and raving, loose all sight of reality, want to throw dishes at the wall crazy. This state of being usually comes from one part desperation, two parts exhaustion and an epic failure to come through on self-care.

If you have asked me how this pregnancy is going I probably said "fine" and that I am not sleeping well. Still the case. No vomiting, I can still wear my shoes and wedding ring and cook with raw chicken. But the sleep thing is a killer, up five or so times a night for about 20 minutes or more each time. This is seriously messing with my REM and rest. On top of this my sweet little girl has decided now is a great time to start one of her very unpopular "get up at 5:15AM" phases. Thanks a ton my sweet one.

So enter me, this very morning, in the kitchen at 5:20 with hardly any sleep and one lovely yet demanding toddler yelling in sync with her unborn brother's kicking. And I still needed to figure out what to do for Bible Study at work this morning, which is not only a point of stress, but also guilt. If I was teaching out of overflow a deep an impactful bible study surely should have poured from my soul days ago. On top of cries of "Milk Milk!", a kicking unborn baby and undone bible study guilt, I enter the kitchen to find that my husband made an epic batch of Thai soup. The aftermath of which is taking up every square inch of counter space. Also we are out of coffee. And off the handle I fly.

I start with a groan, some muttering, a strong desire to break something plate-like. Then I turn to the nearest loved one and start telling them how this is all their fault. And you know you are a great mom when you're ranting at your hungry one year old for daring to wake up with hunger. Next closest person? (luckily sleeping) Kel. The maker of the epic soup mess. He gets some choice crazy ranting. Then I cry and say things like "It's never going to be okay" and "when is it my turn to be taken care of instead of the other way around?!" Then I tell Noelle that it must be nice to have breakfast handed to her on a silver platter every day. I am sure you can't relate.

Now enter the voice of God which is daring and true enough to speak up and say something like, "rely on him or you are never going to make it through." Often this voice will be the next person I take my rage out on. Well God, if you had ____ then I would have _____ and this never would have gotten so bad. Now I have a choice in this very moment. I can see a glimmer of hope, give the rage to God, take some deep breaths, sit down, and flip the switch back to reality. I can choose to believe that God is right, and that my crazy yet somehow delicious ranting is wrong. I can give my laundry pile of crap to him and allow him to help me with the steps back to reality.

However, this switch flipping is hard to do when you have flown off the handle. Off the handle is a place of freedom and lunacy, where nothing is your fault and breaking stuff seems like the logical next step. The amazing thing about God stepping into the handle free zone is that he shows up and draws us in, we just submit a little, he does all the work, yet it's so hard for us to A) choose to see him and B) believe that he is the voice of reason in the midst of our madness. We don't do much in our relationship with him, yet he loves us so much if we are willing to take the baby steps, he will run the marathon to meet us.

And so this morning, I sit exhausted, enduring another episode of Mickey Mouse Clubhouse, with my switch flipped to sanity. I don't know much else about how it will all come together, I have a bible study thought, I am hoping for a nap, and maybe a cup of coffee.

Origins and home

Earlier this week I was drinking coffee at work with some in the den and talking about hot weather and the lack of apple orchards in this part of the country. One of them was playing guitar and started to sing a song, about me. The lyrics were amusing and mostly centered around my northernness. It included lyrics such as "organic crap" "damn yankees" and "gourmet pastries." I am completely aware that I have a reputation for being a bit pretentious when it comes to food. I'm fine with it because I am so completely non snobby when it comes to loving people. Or at least I truly try to be warm, kind and accepting when it comes to people.

So yes, I am from Michigan and yes I love cool weather, and Lake Michigan, and apples, and coffee shops but I am earnestly trying to make my home here. I truly believe that God has us here on purpose and for a reason and I see glimpses of this reason all around me. However, if I am honest with myself, Ada still doesn't feel like home. Which for me brings to the surface the question of where home is. Home isn't the house where I grew up, without getting into details, too much pain. Home is not Kentucky where we lived briefly before here. So home seems like an elusive place. I love our house here on Homer Road, I love that there is a bakery across the street, I used to love our flower beds but then I got pregnant and they are less a point of pride for me.

Anyway, there was another aspect to the song, a portion focused on how Noelle is an Okie even though her mom isn't. Now she was born right here in Oklahoma, but I like to believe I was able to infuse some Michigan-ness into her while I carried her for nine months. And I suspect this belief is correct because she loves applesauce, splashing in the water, and one moment last winter when a friend from Ada and I took our baby girls out in the cold her daughter cried and hid her face and Noelle flung off her hood and grinned at the refreshing cool air. Mission accomplished. She is my daughter.

I want her to be where she is from, but on the other hand I long to take her to Michigan in the fall. To crunch the leaves of an apple orchard and share donuts and apple cider with her. To take her to Lake Michigan in the summer and eat ice cream with her on Grand Haven boardwalk. To dress her up in a little dutch girl costume and watch her clomp around Holland in tiny wooden shoes. And to see what she does in falling snow, sliding down a small hill and enjoying my grandmas cookies and cocoa.

The interesting thing is I want to show you the same thing, I want to share who I am and where I come from with you, and that's what makes me a unique find in Oklahoma. Because I carry inside me the sense of something different, something a bit northern, and a bit rare for these parts. And I love sharing it, so I'll make you apple crisp and almond pie and tell you about how much I'd love to take you to see the wonder of western Michigan. And I will share with Noelle the things I love and help her develop a deep sense of where she is as we explore our surroundings together, touching and smelling it all. And I'll try to keep her from putting it all in her mouth right now.

She is a passionate girl, who loves outside, and all things sweet and carb. Today we watched her find a leftover cinnamon roll on a high table top and joyfully savor it as she ran around grinning. I can't wait to see who God has in store for us in her, and to impart who he made me to be into her, as an option at least.

But for now I sit on my couch, longing to stroll through an orchard with my family, not someday but tomorrow.

Me and 5 AM

Over the last few weeks Baby Barney, which is our code name for our son on the way, and I have reached a new level of closeness. I have gone from merely acceptance of him and A) his impending arrival into our home and B) The fact that he is male, to loving him and his unborn potential. You may think it is ridiculous that these things took me 20 weeks to adjust to, but this isn't your life, your pregnancy or your blog, so I am finding great joy and excitement in falling for him now, and I'm not looking back.

This new found love for Baby B has, I must confess, been made a bit more challenging by the rapidly decreasing amount of sleep he allows me to have. At 23.3 weeks pregnant I feel that going to bed at ten should reasonably involve waking up twice to pee, once at 2:30 and once at 5:00 and then falling back into bed and hitting REM in 45 seconds. However I am up once before midnight and at least four more times before I decide around 5:30 AM that it's just time to get up and start the coffee. Now I love the sunrise and the random cock a doodle doo of our neighbors rooster, on occasion. However I would prefer to see no more of either of them until January thank you very much.

Then this morning I had another thought. I have, in fact, been incredibly and shamefully absent in my time with God in the morning. By absent I mean, he shows up, I stay in bed, on the couch, or in the kitchen working on last nights dishes. Last nights dishes are truly a poor exchange for time with God I can assure you. So because it's too late for today, tomorrow I will be trying something new. I will set my alarm for 6:15 and have the coffee maker pre-programmed for 6:00. I will get up before Noelle and give God my first time. You see my thought this morning was that maybe God was stirring me far to early in order to force me to the living room, bible and coffee in hand. So maybe, just maybe, if I come more willingly he might be persuaded to help me sleep until the alarm goes off. And that would be blissful on every level.

Mountains and rain

First of all I am writing to you from the comfort of my own home, on my couch, on my day off, and it is raining. Can I get a celebratory woohoo?!

This past weekend I spent my Labor Day free time in Taos, NM. It's a small and very upscale town surrounded by mountains and full of fabulous chefs. So needless to say I was in paradise. This was not the vacation we packed for however. We were going to go tent camping in the mountains surrounding Taos. However after 20 hours of chasing Noelle and begging her not to eat rocks and one night of attempted sleep in a 33 degree tent, we packed our camping gear faster than you can say tent stakes and booked a room at the Sagebrush Inn in town. And instead of chili from a can we enjoyed rum sticky buns, NY style pizza, tenderloin sandwiches with mango chutney, and home made ice cream. That seems to sound more like me.

But wait... I grew up camping with my family, in tents, and I loved it. So I have spent the last few days pondering what my bail out on camping move says about who I am now. I always thought I would progress from tent camper to maybe backpacker, because I really respect the people who strap what they need to survive on their backs and head out into the wild. However, after careful pondering during a 11 hr car trip, it may be my calling to do just that. Respect the campers and the backpackers and sleep in a queen bed with adjacent hot shower and have someone else make my french toast when I am on vacation.

You see I am starting to define who I am and who I am not. I am putting limits on my time and I am prioritizing my heart space this is definitely follow up action to the killing of superwoman post. So maybe I am a foodie and I am not camper. Maybe I am the sort of person who likes clean crisp sheets and I am no longer the kind of person who can deal with public showers... ew.

Right now I am reading a book called Bittersweet. It is by a pretty amazing woman named Shauna Niequist. Shauna's first book, Cold Tangerines, really did it for me. Her deeply honest and insightful writing style brings up in me all manner of emotions, all of them so good. The way she shows that simple life is the essence of real spiritual life grounds me in a very healthy way.

So since I resounding recommend her books and think you should go buy one or the other right now I'll make it even easier for you. Click this link and be blessed. or at least go here and learn a little more by checking out her blog. If you are disappointed I will make you dinner, but if you're reading this and we know each other you know it's not that hard to get me to cook for you. That doesn't mean you shouldn't take my advice.

So for now I am going to enjoy my last few moments of peaceful rainy day nap time.

Brainwashing Myself

So I think back to school has finally got the phinneas and ferb theme song out of my head. Well it did until I posted that. Also, 8 days until I get to go see a mountain again people. Do you hear that? It's quiet but... it's pretty much my heart doing cartwheels. Might be chilly (when have I ever minded chilly) but it's going to be gooooood for me, the Keller and the Noers alike.

Life has been good lately, like crazy good. When I see my husband walk up the walkway to our front door my heart has a woohoo! moment. And even when my daughter tries to scatter the contents of our DVD cabinet across the living room floor for the 23rd time in an afternoon of play, I have just enough patience to redirect her. And when I think of having two children, that are ours, at the same time, I'm cool with that. I owe a large portion of thanks for this re-found joy to one key source. Church. Yup, we have been doing a series on toxic influences in our life. You know the stuff that impacts your day to day life that is both totally influential and total crap. And so I have been sorting through my core beliefs one by one, and trying to incinerate the ones that are dragging me into the pit. And I have been putting some distance inbetween be and the things that are feeding me crappy lies, and you know what? I have some joy in my life. I have some hope going on. I see my future with this glow that has never been there before. I don't let all the mistakes of the past or my family's past project themselves onto my own future.

I think the most profound thing I have done, THE THING I have done that had the greatest impact on my current status is I committed murder. That's right murder. But I murdered and imaginary person so I'm probably not wanted for murder. Who did I kill, you may ask? Ideal Leanne. Let me give you a brief description of the deceased so you can obtain for yourself a clearer picture. She looked like Jillian Michaels, Martha Stewart, and the most perfect pastor's wife you can imagine. She had a beautiful home and garden, and a beautiful six pack, and a beautiful scripture quoting spirit that uplifted anyone she encountered like snow white did to forest creatures. She was it. The shiz. And my friends she had to go.

Here is why: Any morning I woke up and wasn't her, I was bummed out at my own self failure. I was trying so hard to be the apex on every level that I was killing myself. So instead, I killed her. And I really she doesn't come back to zombie me into relapse.

Galatians 5:1 It is for freedom that Christ has set us free. Stand firm, then, and do not let yourselves be burdened again by a yoke of slavery.

So the ideal perfect Leanne, never gonna happen, doesn't need to happen needed to die. Instead I choose to live free and any time a memory of her come afloating back I say: God already has a Jillian. a Martha. and a whoever else I'm not stacking up to. He only has 1 me and I am going to go out and be her like crazy today. Bam.

Grieving is a Ninja

Grieving is a ninja, for me it is, well nowadays anyway. It hasn't always been a ninja, for a long time it was more like one of those Italian mob lackeys who stays in the room with you while you're tied to a chair and taunts you constantly. Then a couple times a day the lackey just comes over and beats the living tar out of you. Yep, for a long time I was in the mob lackey stage of grieving. But now i am in ninja stage where grief sometimes comes in stealthily and roundhouse kicks me in the face. The chances of getting ninja-ed increase steadily the closer I get to march every year. And would you look at that, today is Feb 9, getting awful close to March. Five years ago on March 19, 2005 my Dad died very suddenly. And so every March I feel that in a deep way. When I hear a song that he loved or that we played at a funeral I get the grief ninja kicking me in my head.

Today I got doubly kicked as I attended a funeral, a friend of mine lost his Mom last week and today they said goodbye to her. This was my first good friend to lose a parent since I lost my Dad. Five years and no one in my circle of friends lost a parent. Thank God for sparing them that pain. And I don't want to talk about it much because I want to support my friends as the grieve this loss and not have any of their support taken away. But here in this space I can't deny that helping them through this has put me back in the grieving mindset. Remembering all the things I went through five years ago next month. Five years, it's such a neat even number, but it is bigger than all the other numbers I have faced in March. It's one of the milestone numbers. Something in me scream that there is no way that five years can have passed since the last time I talked to my Dad, or hugged him, or saw his face on this earth. And grief unlike anything else is so steadfastly permanent. I don't get him back because I went five years without him. If I grieve extra well I don't get a prize. The years march on and Noelle won't meet her grandpa, not on this earth anyway. And you have to understand that so many days this is completely okay. And that if you were to ask me about my Dad about 80% of the time I can tell you about what happened and not have a tear well up.

I don't know how I am going to do this March, maybe the rawness that has resurfaced will subside, calm down and go back to whatever box I keep it in. I have thought about making a soundtrack of these last five years, of my journey away from Dad. This was so much easier when I still lived around the people who held me up as it happened, how do I re-explain it to new friends, trust them with this part of me?

Maybe I don't. I don't know. For now I Am going to get in the tub and just let my mind do what it needs to do, let God into the mess of grief instead of keeping him out of it as I am more prone to do.