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When One Word Becomes Your Battle Cry #OneWord #OYTO

Jan

25

Posted by on Jan 25, 2018 | 16 comments

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Do you believe in signs and wonders?

 

I do…I  believe in signs and wonders. Miracles. Divine timing and appointments. Circumstances, if not orchestrated at least permitted, by a great, great God who knows me better than I know myself, and loves me more than my little brain can comprehend.

 

He feels the same way about you, you know, regardless of your belief (or unbelief), despite your most grievous sin.

 

Signs…wonders…miracles aren’t necessarily showy or spectacular (like baby rainbows settling in your front yard). Wide open eyes and receptive hearts seem to find them in otherwise ordinary moments.

Photo by Alana Smith, the 10-year-old daughter of my friends Heather and Rich; a child with an amazing eye who saw the beauty of a single snowflake, and captured it that we, too, might See.

 

A new year is a dear thing to me. January just shouts possibility and potential.

 

Maybe it’s that joie de vivre heart of mine anticipating soon-to-be-written story. Maybe it’s the grace of a mulligan, a chance for a do-over, to get more things right than wrong. Blank slate, bare canvas, the beginning of a one-of-a-kind something, days not yet lived but already ordained.

 

I love a new year.

 

It should come as no surprise that I’m a resolutions gal. I don’t make it hard, though, there is no formal procedure.  No ominous list that will defeat me 12 days into the new year; more like a series of targets, beacons, touchstones inviting me to draw near.

 

For me, setting resolutions is as simple as living with greater intention. Don’t we all want to be the best version of ourselves? Shouldn’t we?

 

Resolutions are invitation to live fully and well.

 

Beyond my abstract, ethereal resolution-setting, I love to have One Word to mark my year, a word that serves as both anchor and aim. One Word to both ground me and give me wings. As days turn into weeks turn into months that make a year, I look over my shoulder while looking ahead to recalibrate, to make sure I’m on course. One Word helps me remember where I’m headed, what I want out of the priceless time I spend for each day.

 

Value of time increases with age.

 

It’s always fun to watch my One Word come into being; it’s a sacred thing, given by God. It’s a process of discovery for me, seeking and searching and setting my head and heart on otherworldly things. Kingdom come.

 

Or maybe that’s this year. Maybe this year I’ve received a word in light of the gospel, because this year, like never before I sense fresh wind. Fresh fire.

 

My God, it’s good.

 

Weeks ago, I thought my One Word was time. “Time” became A Thing for me last year, the first year I was acutely aware of and in conflict with my age and brevity of life. Grains of sand seemed to be slipping through the hourglass’s narrow neck at an incendiary rate, and there’s not a blasted thing you can do to slow it down.

 

Over Christmas this year, a conversation with my daughter rolled around to One Words for the new year, and I asked her to predict mine. “Jump!” she said without hesitation. She had good reason for her guess –

 

#TheRobin ~ Jumping in front of The Pursuit IS Happiness mural
by Sean Metcalf at Ponce City Market in Atlanta.

 

Because I have such high regard for Rachel, I began to toy with Jump! for my 2018 One Word. She didn’t know my interior stirrings, but I did, and “jump” fit..

 

Except that’s the thing about a One Word; it ain’t about making something fit. Anchor and aim…grounder and launcher. For me, I know it when I know it, and both time and jump ended in a question mark, not a period, or better yet – my favorite – the exclamation point.

 

My 2018 One Word arrived in an unusual package: a graphic tee shirt from The Loft, a Christmas gift from a dear friend. I didn’t see it at first, but when I knew, I knew it. 

 

 

OYTO.

 

oyto

\ öi-t? \ (rhyme with toy-toe)

Definition of oyto:

1. noun. One Year, Three-hundredSixty-five Opportunities.
2. verb.  Carpe diem. Seize the day. Looking for opportunity every day, and then acting on it.

 

One year = 12 months = 365 days = 8,760 hours = 525,600 minutes = 31,536,000 seconds.

 

There are a lot of opportunities for opportunity.

 

How many have we missed because we weren’t looking? I don’t want to miss any more.

 

Every day brings incredible opportunity, and it’s a question of wise stewardship to say yes to as many as possible. What I’m not saying is to crowd your plate so full you can’t taste a thing, what I am saying is to open your eyes to the gifts within reach every single day. Gifts that bless and encourage others, and that fill and feed your soul.

 

Every day we have opportunity to be ~
  • kind
  • generous
  • thoughtful
  • encouraging
  • friendly
  • honest
  • practical
  • reasonable.
  • loving
  • joyful
  • fair
  • faithful
  • patient

Every day you can make a difference in someone else’s life. Are you absorbing that? 

 

Every day you can make a difference in someone else’s life.

 

Increasingly, I’m coming to realize the most important daily opportunity is to seek God first in all things.  Also, for believers, every day we can be a reflection of Christ, maybe the only Jesus the people we meet will see on any given day. We get to live out the gospel in word and deed.

 

Sometimes opportunities are big and showy like new jobs or leading a small group or starting a non-profit. This year I’m posturing my heart and head to see and receive every opportunity set before me in light of the Kingdom. I do not want to miss a thing the Lord has for me.

 

One year, 365 opportunities. Every taken opportunity is opportunity to give glory to God. 

 

OYTO!

 

Oyto is my battle cry, a declaration of intentionality, a prayer to be faithful in small and big things. Oyto is how I long to live this year, day by day, minute by minute.

 

I sense God asking me to live an Oyto! life. And, I wonder if anyone wants to join me…as you’re reading this, is your spine tingling? Is there something in your spirit stirring, saying, “Yes! Me, too.”?

 

If so, be my Oyto sister. Let’s encourage one another, and be reminders of seeing the opportunity each day brings. Let’s not be mindless multi-taskers or bowing to the god of busyness.

 

Let’s be prayerful, thoughtful stewards of opportunity.

 

I’m not asking a soul to jump on my personal bandwagon; oyto certainly doesn’t need to be your One Word. But if it sounds like a word that invites your response, let me know. I’ll be in touch soon.

 

 

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Culinary Catastrophes (Why They’re Actually Good)

Jan

10

Posted by on Jan 10, 2018 | 2 comments

 

It occurred to me recently how there’s value in our mess-ups: they’ll often sear memory, and in the best of times they can point us to something magnificent.

 

Mess-ups…mistakes are hard to forget. The more public, the more memorable.

On a spiritual level, mistakes and failed effort point me back to my need for Christ. It’s really that simple. He already is what I will never be – perfect; and He has already accomplished what is impossible for me despite my best effort (all of us) – reconciled me to God.

My mess-ups (my sin) reveal my inadequacies in every area of my life, and because God has set eternity in the heart of man (Ecclesiastes 3:11a) – because He has set eternity in my heart, I want to be right with Him. If I were already perfect, why would I need the atoning, redeeming, complete work of Christ on the cross and beyond?

I have zero aspirations for perfection, but increasingly, I’m drawn to the perfection of Jesus. His ways were not ordinary and His model of perfection wasn’t tidy; he certainly didn’t behave the way a King would be expected. But He never wavered in His purpose while on earth, to serve and love and lead us in the way to light and life.

Beyond a spiritual, deeper consideration of mess-ups, can we agree that on a superficial level oopsies are awesome?

 

Isn’t this why we love America’s Funniest Home Videos, why we can’t get enough of our favorite TV show’s outtakes and blooper reels, why videos go viral?

 

When we blow it, we make fantastic memories. 

 
 
Because I love to cook and bake, some of my more memorable mess-ups occurred in the kitchen:

Like the time I made a peach pie for a friend going through chemo and I added salt to the pie dough. My flour was stored in a canister on the counter (not in a bag) and I didn’t realize it was self rising and already had salt. I had made two pies – one for my friend and one for us – so I realized the mistake with the first bite. I still remember Dan’s congenial thank you note: “…and thank you for the slightly saline peach pie….”  Trust me, there was nothing “slightly saline” about it. No doubt he appreciated the effort, and my “oops” made it all the more memorable.

And the time at Thanksgiving when most all my husband’s side of the family traveled hours to our home. To keep things simple, and because there were lots of cooks in our kitchen that day, I planned on using the glaze packet that came with our store-bought spiral ham (typically, I made my own glaze). However, apparently I couldn’t read that day, and I set our microwave for minutes instead of the seconds it recommended. We heard a small explosion coming from our laundry room (where the microwave lived), and the glaze had exploded inside, “baking” onto the oven’s interior. There was no cleaning or wiping or scraping off the sweet resin. We had to buy a new microwave.

 

But my worst “culinary catastrophe” happened years ago at a supper club with friends. I hope you’ll read The Dessert Disaster, a story I shared at Grace Table.

I doubly hope you’ll tell me about your own kitchen disaster.
Or, if you’re willing to share, I’d love to hear your stories
of how a personal mistake or mess-up pointed you to God.
DO comment here or there!!

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Holiday Haikus: Merry Christmas! Edition

Dec

25

Posted by on Dec 25, 2017 | 2 comments

I’m traveling over Christmas, a first-of-a-kind for our family.

 

Two and a half years ago, my daughter joined an urban leadership fellowship with CrossPurpose in Denver, Colorado. At the end of her fellowship, she was offered – and accepted – a permanent position with the organization.

 

We’ve always wanted to take our boys to Denver to visit her, but it’s never worked out for everyone until now. Rather than Fly Rachel home, we decided to pack our bags and head west. We found the perfect Airbnb (our host even put up a Christmas tree)–so much better than a hotel.

 

It’s been glorious.

 

I mean, seriously…have you been to Denver?! It’s a fabulous city with a kinetic vibe; and, interestingly, reminds me of a much larger version of Chattanooga.

 

More than anything, it’s been magical to have my three babies under the same roof. Though we’ve been doing a lot together, it’s been the being together that has mattered most.

 

Anyway…

 

Christmas is a season brimming with inspiration. Though I’ve been a tad busy (going out of town for the holidays brings its own challenges), I’ve managed a few holiday haikus, wishing I had time for more. The last post generated FUN responses – all in haiku! – and if you’re feeling up to it, I’d love for you to share your own.

 

In the meantime…a few 5/7/5 poems, and the images that inspired them, for you.

 


humble arrival

his life, holy offering
extravagant gift

 

 

sweet preparation
a Christmas invitation
love poured out for all

 

heaven and nature sing
the world declares His glory
how can I not jump?

 

The last image is from Red Rocks amphitheater, a bucket list destination for every music lover.

 

 

 

Merry Christmas from our family to yours,
with wishes for grace, joy, peace and great love
for you and yours in the new year!

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The Gift of a Lifetime

Dec

15

Posted by on Dec 15, 2017 | 2 comments

 

We moved to a new house over the summer. Invariably, that meant we not only had to unpack all the items from the small house we had lived in for the past several years; but also furniture and possessions that had been stored since we sold our (much larger) home in Tennessee.

 

If you’ve had a major move, you know that some unpacking can be tricky. It’s not just you moving to a different house, all of your things have to find a new place to live, too. Well, all the things you haven’t given away, sold, or thrown out.

 

Sentimental attachments are the most challenging things for me to deal with. It is the one area of my life where I might just be a hoarder. The thing is, some of my sentimental attachments are ridiculous–EVERY tee shirt that represents a fun memory doesn’t need to take up space in a drawer. That cool glass from a formal in college? Seriously? I didn’t drink out of it then, and I’m not about to stick it on a shelf now.

 

I finally got around to one of the last boxes a few weeks ago, and what I thought would take a few minutes ended up taking all day.  Of course it did–

 

It was the Story of My Life in cards, letters, and mementos.

 

 

 

Dating back to my Y camp days in grade school, there were hundreds of letters and cards from the people who defined each era. I remembered every person they represented. I recognized their handwriting even before reading the closing. Some of these letters are over 45 years old.

 

Some were folded sheets of notebook paper that had been passed in class. (Are you lucky enough to remember? Do kids even do that anymore?)

 

A few were super-sized cards.

 

Every single one of them represented a special relationship, a sweet friendship, the kind of knowing and intimacy we all long for, that sometimes we take for granted or forget when we get older.

 

Some of these friends hold my oldest and sweetest memories. Some are vaults for secrets I no longer remember. I’m thankful a few are still in my life, though geography and life trajectory means we aren’t necessarily close any more.

 

I “visited” college friends and friends who shared my life BK (before kids). There were thank you cards, encouragement cards, and “I’m glad we’re friends” cards.

 

I meandered the five-year off-again/on-again relationship I had with my husband. We just celebrated our 30th wedding anniversary.

 

Reading his words (and mine, he had saved all my cards and letters, too), I was transported back in time and could literally feel what I felt all those years ago. I remembered things I had long forgotten: he called me his little brown-eyed girl; I called him my little blue-eyed boy. Were we ever really that sickeningly gah-gah?? (yes, we were 🙂 )

 

That box might as well have been bedazzled in gold and brilliant gemstones–the treasure it held, priceless.

 

And then a lightning bolt struck:

 

Everything in that box was before the internet.

 

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Oh! I hope you’ll click over to continue reading The Gift of a Lifetime at The Art of Simple today.
(I’m trying so hard to practice what I preach…)

 

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Princess of Pies

Nov

09

Posted by on Nov 9, 2017 |

BestApplePie_RobinDance_A Good Cook is like a sorceress quote

A good cook is like a sorceress who dispenses happiness.
Elsa Schiaparelli

 

My mother-in-love is one of the best cooks on the planet. I learned that the first time I met her. Then, a college student sustained mostly by starchy, mysterious, dining hall fare, I devoured everything she put on the table; even squash casserole, a subversive compliment to her. I remember her telling me she was glad I was the kind of girl who would eat instead of picking around her plate. I suppose in its own way, that was a compliment, too, but I blushed, worried I must’ve eaten like a hog. Those glorious calories shoved in my mouth were worth the red cheeks.

Sarah was known far and wide for her cooking, and if she knew your favorite thing, she’d be sure to include it if you were coming for dinner. I’m not sure I could choose one favorite dish of hers, but her Cowboy Cookies were magical, and try as I might, I couldn’t come close to her fried chicken. Plenty of her recipes found their way into my kitchen, though, and she delighted in my phone calls when I needed to clarify a process–like making sure if one cup flour, sifted is the same thing as one cup of sifted flour (it’s not). She also insisted that it made a different to “start with flour and end with flour” when adding ingredients for her famed pound cake–I have never put it to the test, though. I think it’s best to trust the cook.

Sarah’s desserts were legendary, and everyone had their favorite (mine was her Italian Cream Cake. sigh…). A diplomat and pleaser at heart, she made sure to rotate whose favorites showed up for holiday meals when our family gathered together.

But then…

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Oooooh, please DO keep reading over at Grace Table table today!
Queen of the Kitchen, Princess of the Pie, and YOU is delicious reading ?. 

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