The day my 6 year old taught me to be brave...

I woke this morning with my coffee and this...

"Lord, I want to be brave like Lydia."

"Show me."

These whispers.  They come and sometimes they fly away in the bustle of life but other times I sit with them and invite the Spirit to show me more.  Today I sat.  And what came blew breezes into my face and awakened my soul to the adventure of parenting, of daily life.

Lydia is 6.  She is blonde and fair skinned but don't let that tender beauty fool you!  She also has a bright mind and strong personality.

Last night as I half heartedly walked through the putting to bed routine, we grabbed a book and she sat in a chair in her room and I sat on her bed but was tired and uncomfortable.  So we moved across the hall to my bed where she now decided she would read the book The Little House by Virginia Burton.  Treasure of a story! 

 But a story with lots of words on each page and I....well, I started looking at my phone on about page 5 after the wonder of her reading this book to me that  I've read so, so many times to her in her childhood faded away.  I was distracted and ready to unplug from being so plugged into my children, my home, my life all day long.  

And so she growled a bit, "MOM!"  And kicked my feet and so our reading time grew sour and I just hate ending the day like that. But, I'm so spent at the end of the day it takes effort to stay present and engaged.  

Lots of "Jesus, live through me so I don't growl tonight."  Cause truth be told about once a month I feel like I turn into a mad mama bear and I don't really like it.

So I said, "I'm sorry, darlin."  And rolled over to hug her and kiss her soft cheeks.

And then she boldly asked for what she needed.

To play, to connect with me, to be silly and see joy on my face.

She did this by asking me to tickle her and so I did.  She is very ticklish and LOVES to laugh and has a great one at that so this is not hard work for me.  But then not fully satisfied she asked me where I was ticklish.  Hesitativly I said, my feet.  And she proceeded to try to tickle my feet but she didn't really succeed, so I pretended to laugh.

Not so satisfied she asked, "Mom, where else are you ticklish?"

To which I replied, "Under my arms."

Her smirk of mischief and the twinkle in her eye spelled joy and I was glad.  So I lifted my arm for her to dig her little fingers into my arm pit which sent me into a high pitched giggle.  She was hooked and I was discovered.

30 minutes later and way past her bedtime I called it quits. 

To which she gently kept pressing in and asked for more.

"Mom, put me over your shoulder and do that 1,2,3 thing and throw me in bed on 3, k?"

And I really wanted to say, "No, no.  Enough already.  Go.  To.  Sleep.  BYE!"

But a little something in me genuinely wanted to say yes to her and was intrigued by her pursuit of me.  So I played along and threw her into bed and then without so much as a peep she rolled over, let me tuck her in real snug, smooch her cheeks & sing my little song I always sing over her and walk out the door.  

And she didn't call out for....Dad to come say goodnight, or water, or one more hug, or more light, or, or, or anyone of the million things children come up with to traumatize us parents with at night.

And I lay in my bed for a respite of quite before tackling the leftover dishes, undone chores, texts needing a response, ER bills needing to be paid ect. ect....  

And in that little space of quiet its as if Papa smiled over me saying... 

"Your beautiful with a bright mind and strong personality too you know?!"  

"And just like you generously gave your daughter what she needed and asked for so I too love to give generously to you.  I love it when you delight in me and press into me and ask and let me fill your tank."  

"I see you.  I know you.  But I will not force myself upon you." 

Gulp.

And so this morning after waking with the realization that I want to be brave like Lydia I sat with my Papa on my front porch as I do each morning with my coffee, with the birds & butterflies visiting our feeders and bushes nearby.  With the wonder of nature, sounds and smells and life giving words in scripture I was wakened afresh to the wonder of life in all its complexity, messes and glory alike.  

Wakened afresh to my own complexity, insecurity, messes & glory.  

And taking the time to ask why I admired Lydias pressing into me and asking for what she wanted and needed...I heard some wonderful things.  Its amazing to me how intimate God wants to be with us.  Truly lovely.  And scary close.  Deeply peaceful.  And wonderful.

Though, I still don't have it all figured out this how to be brave and bold and ask for what I need like my 6 year old.  And I'll probably wake tomorrow with doubts and fears the same as today.  Yet, I know I am on a journey where authentic brave calls me forward into a new chapter of believing and becoming.  Not for the sake of fame or money but rather for the knowing of contribution.  Of standing on my own two feet.  Of the offering of the gifts I've been entrusted with.  Mainly, my voice through the written and spoken word.

Hello world, it's me, Abbas Warrior Princess, Mandy Jones turned grown up Amanda Walters ready to greet you as a writer.


"We wake if ever we wake at all to mystery."  annie dillard

Having Courage to Rest...what yoga & lent showed me

A year ago I was invited to a Bikram Yoga class.  

Before the class began I told the teacher I had a chronic illness called MS and I was nervous about the heat stirring it up.  The teacher explained to me some benefits of the hot room and  let me know I could lie down in 'Shavasana' at any time, just rest and breath through my nose.  "Just don't leave the room because your body needs to properly cool down" she said.

In the first 10 minutes I was fidgety and could not relax.  I was uncomfortable staring at myself in a mirror.  I'm the type thats more comfortable in a baggy basketball uniform than a yoga one.  I kept gasping for breath out of my mouth which your not suppost to do.  Its easier to breath out of your nose and keep your mouth shut.  

My mind was racing with negativity, with 'not enough', with failure and fear and insecurity.  And I did exactly what I was told not to do.

I left the room.

Defeated.  

A week later, I put on my big girl pants and I went back.  I tried again and I stayed the whole class.  Although, I didn't do all the poses and I did have to sit down or lie down in shavasana at times.  At the time I saw this as failure.  

Now I know it was far from it.

Sometimes choosing rest...a nap per say...or saying no to another outing...is the most spiritual thing we can do.  

The silence, the sweat, the hard work beckons me these days especially as we just walked through the season of Lent...of quiet, of journeying to the cross, of looking inward.

Slowing down is not easy.  We Americans pride ourselves on being busy.  We attach worth and value to it like were climbing a ladder.

But what are we all racing toward anyway?  Are Johnny & Katie really going to get into better colleges & live richer lives because they got to do basketball, guitar, art & cub scouts?  And is Mommy happier and more valuable because she got 100 likes or 10 text & invites to play dates?  

Who are we kidding?

Lately with death swirling all around me, I've jumped plain off that ladder and feel plummeted into a thirst for silence.

I've watched my best friend be torn open from aggressive breast cancer and I am changed.

Hot yoga is water to my grieving soul.

After we completed the standing series recently with what I feel is the hardest pose of all...'triangle' which uses thigh muscles, toe muscles, core strength and just plum makes my heart beat out of my skin like a crazy person we lied down in shavasana....

 Hands close in to the body, palms open, heels touching and toes falling open.  Just feel your belly rise and fall.

And a baby tear fell from the corner of my eye.  

"Shavasana- the pose of rest is one of the most difficult poses in here" our teacher said as I cried. 

After triangle pose where I feel like I'm on the verge of a heart attack my first response to her words was "NOOO way!"  But then, I got it.

I see that choosing to stop...to sit in the dark in the morning with candles in the dark without checking Facebook or email or this or that is courage.  To face reality...to live in my messy beautiful life, not long for another one.

Choosing to sit on the floor and play babies with my girls...again...to sit and 'be' among them without being distracted by the dust, the 'to do' list, the urge to respond to someone or something is just plain hard.  It is courage to sit still.  To rest.

Truly, it is work to rest.  

It is a choice.

Just like love.

Lord knows we don't always 'feel' like loving.  I can't tell you I've always been sweet to these sweet girlies sleeping now in the room next to mine.  It seems they are out to test my patience and make a plan about who will tinkle in the bed each night so that I can stay a slave to the washing machine and putting on fresh linens several times a week.  Pray for me y'all.

I was a bed wetter & so are my kids.  I sleep with a man on one side and often a girlie with a smelly night gown on the other at some point in the night.

Love isn't always pretty like the pictures.  But love blooms from rest deep and nourishing.  Souls awaken when given some space to pause and linger.   We are human beings not human doings.

I want to be among the brave.  I want to choose wisely and well in a world that lulls me to choose 'busy' and 'more'.  To hide behind the mask of makeup and activity and safe.

I want to choose to stand in the story God is writing in and through my life with this husband and these children...with this community of 5 dear souls suffering with cancer, one of them being my best friend.  And choosing to rest & engage physical activity that stretches me physically is one of the most self-less things I can do right now so that I can have courage to go out into the world and be a blessing.  To stand with joy and a song on my heart amidst the battles that rage.

So come on along with me, will you?  Set your timer and choose to be quiet for 5 minutes today.  See if you can do it???  Rise 10 mins. earlier in the morning for intentional prayer time.  Or join our community adapting 'One Simple Change.'  April is "Active in April" month.  Find a workout buddy and make a plan!  I just stumbled upon one and I'm amazed what a difference it makes for consistent exercise.  Hot diggity dog!  

And for those of you that have prayed for and have asked and have seen the heaviness in my eyes for my friend...thank you for caring!  This is Deshia Comeaux.  She is a humble soul, a daughter of the King and woman of grace & beauty raising up 5 kids ages 15-5 on a farm nearby.  I met her the first summer I lived here while our boys were taking a fishing class on the Davidson River.  For 8 years we have shared life, birthday meals, airsoft wars with our boys, nutcracker plays with our girls, hikes and adventures galore.  She is a warrior and is now cancer free after surgery and diligently doing everything she can diet wise to stay that way.  Today she was painting bee hives preparing for her and her 13 year old sons first hives.  Do keep praying for rest and healing and courage to ask for what they need as they journey this road.  It has been a hard 4 months but God is so faithful and his hand of lovingkindness has been steady and true upon this family.  

The winter has been long, but spring is upon us and I am glad.  Aren't you!?!

What is one way you struggle to rest in this world of constant?

Living my word for the year...and remembering Wenatchee

Eight years ago today I was sweeping out the rental house where I brought both Jed and Abby home as infants.  Long orange shaggy carpet.  A ceiling stained.  But a house I made a home bright with rugs and paint and dance parties.

We closed the ABF truck in Wenatchee, WA with all our belongings except a duffle bag for each of us in the van for the road trip ahead and life in my parents furnished cabin deep in the woods in NC.  Little did we know it would be 9 months before we opened that ABF truck in front of another rental house behind the post office in a little town I visited as a teenager...Brevard, NC.

We sat on the porch and said goodbye to a life we had come to love...more importantly a people we had come to love.

And today it is still those people that I carry in my heart...Karin, Kristen, Allison, Shia, Carissa, Nicole, Megan to name a few...

To say that I miss you is an understatement.  Yes, life has gone on and new friends have entered the picture but the life we shared, the way you carried me for months on bed rest, the people we served together, the dinners we shared, the ideas we lingered over, the play dates...

I am thankful for that chapter in the Walters story and many days I wish it had more chapters.

It was a place that stretched us and enlarged us.

3 years of young adult ministry for my husband in a church that loves large and loud and true.  A place of healing and hope and laughter that we miss. 

And I am thankful we had the courage to jump when we heard the whispers of change.  When the sleepless nights came and the compass pointed in a different direction.  Its not easy really.

We set off into the evening sun that first day of spring 2007, exhaling with teary eyes.  No job on the horizon.  Setting off into the unknown.  Yet, knowing our ministry would be life together.

Josh was 5, Jed was 2 and Abby was 9 months old.  Lydia was not in the picture yet.  Folks thought we were crazy for choosing to drive 3,000 miles home with 3 small children.

But we knew better.

We knew we needed a slow, long road trip to fully feel the weight of what we were leaving, to grieve and to grow into expectation of what was ahead.

We drove most the mornings, ate P, B & J and fruit for lunch then I tucked everyone in their carseats with a favorite love for naps and read a story and sang.  They slept.  And I crept to the front of the van.

I pulled out a chocolate stash from the glove compartment & James and I held hands and enjoyed a little 'date.'  Towering mountains.  Moving music.  

We were alive.

We were so young.

It was on that trip he decided to go from Jamie to James.  And I from Mandy to Amanda.

Abba whispered courage to us the whole way home.  He whispered hope and joy into our hearts.

And here I sit 8 years later hungering for an adventure.  A next.  A stripping of this American life of consuming and liking and comparing.

But my word for the year is PLUNGE.  So I choose to dive more into my life in this world, in this town, in this family.

I choose to dive into God's big sea of mercy...and float there.

to go deeper into silence and stillness in this season of lent...
to face the yuck of my flesh, the demons in my head

...to throw myself into being the beloved of the God who made the zest of the pink sunrise this morning, the God who made the forest that smells of fresh greens and oaks, the God who made coffee beans (glory be!) and chicken enchiladas.

I choose to plunge into sadness for the heartbreak of cancer that took my sweet friend Kristen last year and is staring down six dear souls in my little town right now...2 of them being children.  I sit with candles lit for each of them and pray groans in the silence where words fail...

I plunge into saying "no" to my phone, to many things. 

 And I say "yes" to true north...

...to tickle fights with my boys
...to reading a Charlotte's Web with my 5 year old even tho my to-do list is hovering
...to fighting for time to workout...to maintain my own health & sanity

I plunge into serving knowing the way up is really the way down...

Far too long have I merely dipped my toes...

Here is a poem from a book I just read that just HAPPENED to have my word for the year in it.  The book is called Dancing Standing Still 'Healing the World from a Place of Prayer' by Richard Rohr.

The Perfect Medicine

You see, I want a lot.

Maybe I want it all:

the darkness of each endless fall, 

the shimmering light of each ascent.

So many are alive who don't seem to care.

Casual, easy, they move in the world

as though untouched.

But you take pleasure in the faces

of those who know they thirst.

You cherish those

who grip you for survival.

You are not dead yet, it's not too late

to open your depths by plunging into them

and drink in the life

that reveals itself quietly there.

-Rainer Maria Rilke

What are you wanting to dive more into?  What is hard or glorious right now that you could sit with in silence?  What is keeping you from plunging?

When Snow Days Bring the Light

Light 

Snow falls deep into the night

Surprised after a week of ice

I grin 

Let the silence of a white 

New day

Dazzle my heart, I light a candle

Sit in the dark...alone

Kids wake, I grind wheat

Toss in frozen berries

Knead & roll & bake buttery scones

Powdered sugar on top

Candle flickering on the table

Amazing how the stillness,

The crunching into snow,

The crafting of Olf & a snow ramp

Makes light 

Trickle into my heart

Softly

I gather fresh eggs

In a sled 

Pulling their way to the kitchen

Where I whip up burritos

Singing 

Through the messes

Inhaling the fullness of it all

Wet gloves, dog that ate the liner

Boot straps that won't stick

Hungry bellies

Dirty pans neverending

Den scattered with books

Attitudes that need shaping

Emails to be sent, words to be written

I plunge

Into the pool 

That is my life

Becoming

All flame

Because death teaches us to savor...

I live with a man.  

I didn't know just how selfish I was till I married him and dove into crafting a life with and raising children with him.   And then I awoke to how cold & nasty I could be over time with the blessed glory of raising kid-o's with him, of long nights, illness, fussy babies, dirty dishes and clothes, with cross country moves and job changes.

He has put up with the whole of me.  And never let me slip away.

When I birthed our son dead and howled the night my milk came in, he held me tight and let me fall apart not speaking a word.

When I went into overdraft, again, on buying gifts for others he just shook his head and went on.

When I kicked the nerf gun into the oven and shattered the front glass to shreds he hugged me and went to Lowes to fix it.

He's a Chemical Engineer turned Pastor turned Executive Director for an assisted-living facility.  He's a summa cum lade graduate, an Eagle Scout.  A man of few words and wild dance moves who loves God, good beer, U2 and can speak Hebrew.  And recently after 7 years in Brevard he has become an avid waterfall photographer.  He has tromped all over this land, alone and with us, leading us down steep banks and deep into glory land.  He comes most alive in nature.  I treasure our memories walking along paths, making up songs, just 'being' with one another.  He has had to drag us out of the house at times but I and they are always so glad he did. 

James is sharp as a tack with a heart deep as rain, after losing his Dad to leukemia at 16, after a college experience of God's total acceptance of him...not based on performance or anything else.  He listens with eyes and heart.  He rises in the dark and drives to Crossfit as I sit with candles and coffee and words.  He works hard and never complains.  

Sometimes I wonder how we ended up together and just how we stay there, but mostly I know we will be this way till one of us dies. 

He robbed the cradle in marrying me, 8 years younger than he.  He was raised an only child in a wonderful stable home that was not  touchy and with few words.  Said he fell in love with the way I hugged and held hands and the way words of life poured fourth from my soul.  

And now I find myself remembering why I fell in love with him and choosing to love despite his lack of getting a new bar of soap and putting it in the shower for me this morning, despite his lack of words which I crave, despite his warts and quirks which no man is without.

We fool ourselves thinking others have it figured out.  And we miss the gifts in front of our noses when we strive and compare.

Because life is fragile and uncertain and hilariously beautiful all in the same breath.  

Because this past week we were passed by a pickup truck that wasn't going all that fast, swerved off the road and back on then flipped multiple times.  The dark night enveloped us as terror struck our hearts.  

We were planning on spending the night in Hickory but had decided to come home because the dog, chickens & lizard needed us.  I was driving because James had worked a 15 hour Saturday the day before.  

Our 13 year old cried out deep gutturals as James called 911, jumped out of the car and ran over to the truck now on its side.

It was an hour of sitting, heart in my toes, knowing that was someone's special someone.  Someone's daughter or son.  An hour of  comforting my 13, 10 & 8 year old talking of kind rescue folks, of 911 use, of  asking "Is he okay?" But mostly.....we sang.  Amazing Grace was all I could mutter and the kids joined in loud and clear.

I texted my Mom and Dad, my sisters and four friends asking them to pray.  Just pray in this space of a life hanging in the balance.

James returned to the car white faced, hands shaking as they reached for mine.  "He is gone."  

And we waited together and exhaled waiting for the state trooper to have us fill out forms.  At home around 10pm in our kitchen James leaned back against the counter tears filling his eyes.  

Josh, our oldest, stayed in my embrace for a long while finally saying, "It makes me feel so vulnerable in this world."

"Yes, son...me too."  

"Me too."

And just like that our hearts have been ripped open for this young man and his grieving family.  And just like that in a fraction of a second life can disappear bringing to a halt a story that wasn't even half written.

My husband has struggled hard this past week.  I see it in his eyes, in the way he lingers in my arms, in the way he is slowing down.  He has sat with many a resident in his buildings as they passed from this world to the next, spoken at funerals even.  So I asked him why this death was shaking him up raw.  "Amanda, I was 31 when I held our firstborn.  This man was 31 when he died."

James is seeing the gifts more clearly as he grieves a man he wishes he'd known now that stories of his life trickle forth. 

James read to us at the breakfast table that this man has a baby girl.  My 8 year old daughter gulped hard and dripped alligator tears into her grits.  

The older I get the more I realize I don't know.  And the more I ache that to taste the sweetness of life one usually has to taste the bitter, the pain, the trauma.  And I know my heart is going to break a thousand times to watch my children experience this in whatever way their story unfolds.  But as I read recently and I am coming to understand, the two main paths for transformation are great love and great suffering.

And so I light a candle in the morning for Mike and pray for his Mom and Dad, his partner and daughter.  And I sit with the weight of loss and of gain.  I sit with all the endings and things yet begun.  I sit knowing God's great kindness in putting a nature loving, soul awakened, praying man like my husband on the Rosman Highway to be with Mike as he breathed his last breaths.  

And I pause to let the sadness shape me without fixing it.  And I pause to say, 'Thank you, Father of Lights for the gift of the here and now and the beautiful imperfection of it all.'  And I say thank you for the 'word' that is now James's guiding word for the year.  He has never adapted this concept with me but as we crawled under our quilt and found each other in the dark the night of Mike's death, I asked him to consider asking Jesus for a word for the year.  He said, "I think I already have it."

"Savor."

falling apart and praying

Its all pretty fragile really.

All of it.  Every last drop of the day...this thing called life.

And when your trying to get off sugar (which is crack for me) and your best friend is being ripped open vulnerable from cancer, and your sons amazing tutor just lost her husband of 60 years and you see the loss in her eyes each week, and a sweet fella of 5 in your community and kids sunday school class has a brain tumor and is waiting for results from a biopsy and your friend and kids violin teacher of 3 years is recovering from throat surgery that may affect her voice, and another friend is close to walking away from her marriage and kids...the breaking point isn't all that far away.

Life is messy.  So I cuss in front of my kids, throw the game across the room and run to my room, squat down in the fetal position in the darkness.  And I cry.

As my self talk goes negative and harsh, I catch myself, or the Divine, Holy One who created me catches me and I free fall into grace...into His arms like a nursing mother gathers her hens.  Yea....those arms.  The squeeze you tight and squishy pushing the tears up and out kind of arms.  Leaving me head down grinning, lifting a hand up in the air kinda way, palms open ready to receive some fresh rain.  Kinda like my cousins new bride did last summer after their hot Charleston wedding.

"Jesus" I inhale..."I belong to you," I exhale.

I learned this in a class at church during lent last year as a way of praying, of being mindful.  It sure has a way of helping me get my feet back on the ground.  Helping me remember who I am and that I'm not alone in this messy world, in my messy heart, this messy house for that matter.  It helps me not be lost for the whole day long.  And that prayer isn't all neat and tidied up when your hair is done and your sitting happily in church or sipping tea in the quiet.

It is called the "Breath Prayer."  And you can so do it.  There are many different ways and words to use.  First address God in any one of the many names He has...Abba, Father/Mother, Spirit, Holy One then with your exhale breath you either offer a thanks or a prayer.  Pretty down right simple.  Lord...Help is a great one I've also used...or Father...Your so good...or Jesus...I need you.

And for me...in these days of constant, simple is good.

And as I have eyes and a heart to see and weep over the hardness all around me I also have eyes to see the beauty that pushes itself up into every day around here.  But for now, I'm not ignoring the pain, I'm bravely feeling it and in a way carrying all these dear fellow brothers and sisters to God's big ole' heart.

Dear Amanda

(these are unpublished words from last summer...finally brave enough to post & need to read!)

Dear Amanda,

You need words girl.  And you need to read and re-read some words.  All us Momma's do really.  Full time, part time, all the time, old, young, spotted or straight.

But as you ran so hard on that precor  yesterday listening to electric violin & the Dallas String Quartet that took your soul a flyin' in the midst of the weariness of the constant work & to-do list your brain ran through a picture rolodex of the last few weeks of your life.  And it was good.  And you wondered how you can darn forget the goodness from one day to the next.

Kind of like those silly Israelites that wandered and wandered forgetting who they were & just what God promised.  I too wake up feeling like an athethist most days,  "Who am I again?"  and "How did I find myself here?"  "Why am I doing this job again?"

 Life at the Monastary making cheese by day, walking to vespers & lauds, sitting in silence with other broken, beautiful souls calls to me often.  I dream about it at night, actually.  But then I put my feet on the ground and am jolted to my reality when a little person crawls up on my lap sucking her thumb in the fetal position just asking to be cuddled.

You made milkshakes for dinner tonight, surprised the heck out of your children, and created some great memories. 

Keep going woman.  Don't give up, throw in the towel, shut down.  Keep LIVING...fighting for life.  

Remember John Eldridge's words,"Make no mistake, every movement towards life...WILL...BE....opposed."

I challenge you this year Amanda Scott Jones Walters to speak more positive, life giving, scripture affirming words to yourself this year.  Keep being the person you want your children to become.  They are watching your actions even more than your words.

Amanda
which means 'worthy of love'