Taking Notice

When my family moved to Alaska, I just assumed that it would be nonstop adventures every day.
Chopping wood, scaling mountains, fighting off bears, hanging out with Jewel and her family on the homestead...you know, all completely reasonable expectations.

But if hopping around from place to place every two years has taught me anything, it's that "real life" looks pretty consistent no matter where in the world you are. The basic needs of our family stay pretty much the same: Food, house, school, church, clubs and activities.
(Sorry, Jewel. I'll catch you next time.)

So other than letting my dogs inside to keep them from barking at the occasional moose, (because Alaska does have its unique features after all,) my morning routine is the same here as it was everywhere. I wake up, pack lunches, help serve breakfast, get the kids out the door, and tidy up.
(It's all super glamorous, I know.)

However, this morning after the kids had left for school and I began my usual tidying, I felt an unusual amount of alertness in the mundane tasks I was doing. Cleaning morning dishes, wiping away breakfast crumbs, putting away items that were out of place, and remaking beds that needed a little extra attention aren't things that require a lot of deep thinking, but there I was--really concentrating--very aware of every item that was being brought back to order and every tick of the clock that I was spending to make it so.

My husband makes the kids their breakfasts most days, which is, believe me, a real treat for all of us. But he usually leaves a trail of ingredients out on the counter in the mad dash to get out of the door on time.
I put the forgotten food away and write down items we need restocked on the grocery list.

My kids eat their daddy's meal and put their dishes in the sink, but they always leave behind a pile of crumbs and smear of saucy fingerprints on the counter.
I load the dishes and clean the crumbs and wipe the fingerprints and sweep the floors.

My kids love to read and leave books everywhere: on the staircase, at the breakfast counter, in their beds, on the hallway floors. There is always a pile of shoes in the mudroom. The kids still aren't great with hangers, so there's a mountain of coats on the closet floor.
Television remotes are scattered. Laundry hampers were missed. Jewelry boxes were neglected and there are random earring pieces on the floor. A plastic toy dinosaur is lodged inside the heating vent. Nerf bullets hide out in every dark crevice of my house.
Piece by piece, I put everything back in its place.

The kids are supposed to make their beds each morning, but they have been struggling with the larger comforters. (And if I'm being completely honest, I'm just crazy particular about how bedding is supposed to look and everyone else in my family does it wrong.)
I tear apart their beds, smooth the sheets, draw the up covers, fluff the pillows--making sure it's smooth and lovely for everyone to climb into after a hard day.

As I stood there fluffing my son's pillow, I wondered to myself if my family even noticed all the things were being done for them on the sly.
Surely they had to see that the beds were better.
Surely they had to notice that their items were all lined perfectly back in their rightful places.
Surely they were aware that the counters were no longer sticky. Or dishes dirty. Or cabinets magically restocked.

And right about the time I wanted to get discouraged, I felt something whisper in my heart,
"But do you notice what's done for you, Liz?"
I thought about that question for a minute.
Was I not noticing the help I was also getting each and everyday? Did I not even see the things that I was undoing again and again that were being put back together for me each morning?

In the brief moment I took to pause and look around, it took me a hot mili-second to notice all the "tidying up" that was being done for me, too.

I have a hard time seeing that even though I am being helpful, I still need a supplier and some backup--like my husband does with his meals.
Sometimes I go about my business completely unaware that I'm making a sticky mess--like my children and their crumbs.
Sometimes I am putting forth a good effort, but could still be shown a better way--like I generously do with everyone's beds ;)
And other times I am just overwhelmed, or outright negligent, and grace puts things back where they belong for me.

In an effort to make tomorrow super glamorous...

I plan to wake up in the morning and pack lunches, help serve breakfast, get the kids out the door, and tidy up.

Only this time, I hope to do it with my newfound awareness, eyes that take notice, and a more grateful heart.

Great is Thy faithfulness; Great is Thy faithfulness!
Morning by morning new mercies I see.
All I have needed Thy hand has provided.
Great is Thy faithfulness,
Lord, unto me.

The Dependent

Anyone who has spent even a small amount of time around military personnel knows that its professionals operate under their own distinct language. Just like any profession, there is a specific jargon unique to the military tradition and those who serve in it. But perhaps unlike other professions, this "work language" spills over into the speech patterns of those non-military service members who marry into the lifestyle.

Here are just a few examples:

duty station: (noun) constantly changing military instillation where the service member is assigned to work, and their families sometimes have to live.
ex: What is your current duty station? (Me:)The middle of nowhere, AK.

PCS: (Permanent Change of Station:) (verb) to move (noun) relocation
ex: We are planning to PCS this summer.* We are still replacing damaged goods from our latest PCS.
*One of the most spoken phrases in the military circle.

RFO: (Request for Orders:) (noun) document received before the official orders are released, containing information regarding an upcoming PCS. Usually details upcoming duty station and projected reporting date.*
*Subject to change and take 900 years to receive.
ex: I want to start planning for our PCS this summer, but we haven't even received our RFO.

tracking: (verb) to follow along, have a general understanding about
ex: (Him:) You remember that I will be in the field next month? (Me:) Yes, I'm tracking.

roger: (exclamation) expressing message received and understood
ex: (Him:) Don't forget to insulate the outside faucets if it freezes while I'm away. (Me:) Roger.


Most of these terms I learned and adopted without too much guff, but there was one that I hated right off the bat:

dependent: (noun) Any person, regardless of age, abiding in the household of the military member
ex: (Them:) Are you the service member or the dependent of the household? (Me:)*insert eye roll*

It's not that anybody ever meant anything negative by the term. It is antiquated to be sure, but it was never intended to be offensive. The issue that I've been noticing lately, though, is that a title which used to sting and give rise to this fiery indignation in me has effectively worn me down--as words tend to do. Over the past decade, this silly term has changed me; it dulled me; perhaps I even let it weaken me.

As certain stereotypical nuances of the "dependent" title were assigned, some members of the military community have unfortunately birthed more derogatory off-shoots of the original:
"Dependa": (noun) Largely directed toward females; a military spouse who presumably derives all identity and livelihood from her service member.
"Dependa-potamus": (noun) as above, only more hurtful and stupid
I'm not giving any examples here, because they are not helpful.

I do not work outside the home right now by choice. Maybe I will again one day, but very purposefully, not this day. So yes, I do count on my husband's paycheck. And I do sometimes speak the language even though I don't work the job. And my life is directly affected by this job every day, even though I didn't raise my hand and take the oath--and so now some big parts of my own identity are wrapped up in this military lifestyle too.
That does not make me dependent or any derogatory variation thereof.
It just makes me a teammate.

I am just as involved in my household, finances, child-rearing, relationship, and life goals as I would be if I were on someone's payroll. In my house, my advice is just as highly considered. My responsibilities are just as lofty.
I promise you, my family is just as dependent on me as I am on them. That is what being a member of a team is about.

The titles we assign to each other--and to ourselves--matter.

(And it's why we were given such a great one!)

"I no longer call you servants, because a servant does not know his master’s business. Instead, I have called you friends, for everything that I learned from my Father I have made known to you. You did not choose me, but I chose you and appointed you so that you might go and bear fruit—fruit that will last—and so that whatever you ask in my name the Father will give you. This is my command: Love each other." (John 15:17)

Friend, what have you been calling yourself lately that is not so lovely?
(Or maybe, what have you called someone else that wasn't helpful?)

Make it right.
Give it another name. One that's better and true.
Included. Chosen. Appointed. Friend.

Strong.
Resilient.
Capable.
Valued.
Fiery.

Dependent? Yes, every day. But on Christ alone.




(And, you know, also on my antiquated military ID.) Fix it, Uncle Sam :/

On Good Form

When I was a little girl, my manners were so horrible that my mother signed me up for an etiquette class. I'm sure at the time I thought it was supposed to be a modeling class, but no--it was Manners 101 at the Dillard's. For six weeks I would show up on a Saturday morning and learn about how to eat like a respectable human at a table, or how to properly bend to pick up something if I accidentally dropped it for the 900th time, and how to sit upright in a chair as if God actually did bless me with a spine.

One of the lessons we learned was how to walk down a flight of stairs. I remember my ten-year-old self---which at the time had already had four broken bones and had one round of stitches on my chin---listen to the instructor tell me that I was supposed to use that blessed spine again to stand up straight, place one hand lightly on the banister, and keep my head up while descending the staircase. Again, five emergency room visits into my short life, I was told that I was not supposed to watch what my crazy feet were doing, but rather look out in front of me.

It didn't make any sense. How could there possibly be a safer method to go downstairs than to look down at your feet to make sure you were taking the right steps? How could looking in front of you, and not at what you were doing, keep you upright?

I was baffled, I was convinced that the "modeling teacher" was wrong, and I'm pretty sure I discarded everything else that lady told me afterwards. (Sorry Mom.)

Fast forward with me a couple decades into the future, though...
(one more broken bone and a major knee surgery later...Sorry again, Mom...)

And change the etiquette lesson to a fitness class.

I am listening to the coach give the cues for a strong plank position: "Back straight, arms as your balance, eyes not looking down, but out in front." Immediately I am transported back to that same argument I had as a young girl on a staircase.
"But I need to look down, because I want to see what I'm doing."

The reason you keep your gaze out in front of you during a plank is because it helps keep your spine aligned. If you are bending your neck look at your core, you are compromising balance, effectiveness, and form. That good form is what activates and works all the right muscles and keeps you from overextending or injuring yourself. That good form is what eventually brings about visible change.


I don't know about you, but I have a hard time remembering to look out in front of me. Most of the time I check myself because I just want to be sure I'm doing it right before moving forward. But I'd be lying if I didn't admit that sometimes I'm just overly concerned with "how it all looks." There are so many moments where I end up straining myself, all because I want to make sure I am lined up--and presenting-- *just so.*
And while checking in on ourselves can indeed be a good thing, good form is about so much more than just focusing on yourself.

It's about looking ahead to where you're going.
It's about noticing the things that are right in front of your face.
It's about trusting in your footing enough to keep your head up.

Sometimes it's about missing a step, and maintaining your balance enough to recover.
(And as a person that has fallen down a flight of stairs in the last 48 hours, I can tell you that your recovery is important--Ha!)

And always, it's about trusting the person who told you to look up.

"Brothers, I do not consider that I have made it my own. But one thing I do: forgetting what lies behind and straining forward to what lies ahead, I press on toward the goal for the prize of the upward call of God in Christ Jesus." (Philippians 3:13-14 ESV)

Chin up, friends. Eyes on the prize.