The M&M Story

Yes, I'm thankful. For my Savior. For my husband. For my children. For my sanity, on most days. For my new (old) mid-century modern sofa and chair. For my friends, both new and for always. For my brother. For TJ's dark chocolate almonds.  And for those moments when I experience His acute presence in my life.  Today, in the crisp light of the morning, a long ago friend from college entered the pearly gates of Heaven. His wife and children and parents, all by his side.   And I'm thankful.  Thankful that today there is a celebration in Heaven.  Thankful that today my sweet friend and her children will experience love from so many.  Thankful that though the days ahead will be filled with sorrow and grief, it will be showered by blessings.   And as I approach this Thanksgiving holiday, I'm thankful for my sufferings. For my teardrops. For my uncomfortable moments. For my grief. It is in those that I often experience His great presence.  And it is in those that

Last weekend, my sweet cousin got married. She was born when I was 20 years old and I have so many fond memories of her being the adorable, sassy sunshine of the family.  She married her love, they've bought a house together, and she's planning on starting grad school in the spring. All in her first year of marriage. The adventure begins. This reminded me so much of another life I once led--before babies, before cancer, before widowhood, before falling in love again.  My first year of marriage to Brian. What an amazing growing experience. On our first anniversary---the paper anniversary---Brian presented me with the most priceless gift a young wife could want. No, it wasn't a blank check to go on a trip or a shopping spree. Or blueprints for a new house. Or really anything that resembled something tangible. Instead, it was a beautiful expression of grace penned from his own hand. He had written an article on marriage.  And he had been published in the St. Louis Post-Dispat

Consumer or Follower?  I don't think I've ever used those two words together in a sentence.  Yes, we have the producer/consumer food chain lessons in third grade....and fourth....and seventh....and in biology.  And then we hear the leader/follower lessons in youth group and even from our parents.  "Be a leader, not a follower."  But never really together. Until a few days ago. And now I can't seem to get them out of my head. "Are you a consumer of Christ or a follower of Christ?"  The question fell heavily into the middle of my small group the other night. I glanced around the room, wondering how others would respond.  Dancing awkwardly in my head were the words, "follower, of course." I mean, my story. My life. My blessings.  Of course, I'm a follower of Christ.  I'm not *that* selfish to think I just consume Christ. Right?  Right. Yeah, right. The online dictionary defines a consumer as one that consumes, especially one tha

I'm a bad mom. I mean, I would never intentionally do anything to harm my children, unless, maybe, it had to do with Pumpkin Spice Hershey Kisses. I blame my friend Susie for introducing me to these fabulous flavor explosions. Early fall has arrived. A slight chill is in the air (at least at midnight there is), the trees are beginning to show their true colors, and pumpkin spice lattes (or martinis, if you prefer) have made their grande entrance. This year, I have Pinterest.  Oh, my. I'm a little ridiculous. My board aptly named, autumnal pleasures (notice the lower case on both--not grammatically correct by any means, but has an essence of coolness to it--I'm attempting--now that I'm, well, not young anymore) shouts of pumpkin breads, pumpkin muffins, pumpkin sauces, and plenty of pumpkin sweets, mixed and matched with the various spices of the season. So what does one do when the evening storm dances in the sky, Daddy is working late, and I'm exhausted from s

When I moved to KC this summer, I inherited a garden full of tomato plants. In their gorgeous state of rosy red, I picked them straight from the vine, sliced them for sandwiches, diced them for salsa and roasted them for marinara. But...the days of rosy red have gone to rest, and now I have vines teeming with firm green tomatoes. Okay, so....now what? I did not grow up on a farm nor am I that great at tending a garden, so at first glance, I thought, "Bummer. All those tomatoes going to waste." Yeah, well, I was wrong. After a few clicks and searches, I soon learned that September is not only famous for apples and colorful leaves, but it celebrates the approach of autumn with lots of green tomatoes. I had no interest in frying them, as that is the only thing I knew to do with them. And that was solely based on the fact that I watched the movie many, many years ago. But I love, love, love salsa verde. Like really love. Like if it came in a can, I might just pop it ope

I've been inspired. Or maybe convicted. Or maybe it's all those years of teaching writing to middle schoolers. Or maybe it's the Ben Franklin quote making its way around FB. Either write something worth reading or do something worth writing. I was a single "widow" momma for almost five years.  Diapers, carpool, landscaping, car maintenance, bill paying, gift buying, to the store, to the doctor, traveling, cooking, early to bed/early to rise, and everything in between. I've often reflected that I transformed from princess to warrior in a matter of weeks. Or maybe it was more like Mother Bear and her cubs.  In any case, one of God's greatest gifts to me was making me a widow. Yes, gift. As I've watched my sweet husband assume the role of "life dad',  I realize how much I learned those years I was on my own. God's grace and power and authority and love is woven into every second of those years, commanding my moments of tears

Sometimes I think if I breathe too deeply the bottom on my life is going to fall out, and I'll start plummeting down into a dark abyss, much like Alice and her infamous rabbit hole. I only say that because right now, things are good.  Really, really, really good. And I'm not sure how I feel about that or even how to respond. Recently, we found out we were moving to a new place, like in a new city that is not St. Louis. I think it sent a rippling shock through my extended community, as I'm sure most people thought I'd never leave where I was. Too much here, roots running deep, family, a legacy to leave. But. This means a new start for my little family. An amazing job for my husband. A new house for me (no rehab, at least this time). A new community where there are no expectations of who we were in our past life....the widow, the little boys who lost their dad, a Hauser (my family name that runs through the roots of the Christian community in St. Louis). A commu

So...well...I haven't blogged in ages.  I'm full of excuses. Excuse #1:  I choreographed Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat  at Westminster.  Amazing cast. Amazing dancers. Amazing fun. Hands down--one of my most favorite musical experiences. Excuse #2:  As only God would pen for our story, we found out on May 14th that Todd will be teaching College Chemistry at Liberty High School in Liberty, MO. Yes, we are moving westward. Journeying to an unknown territory, just like Lewis and Clark. Excuse #3: We thought our house would have to go on the market, but after a whirlwind few days, our house was sold before I had to pack up all my "knick knacks." Crazy awesome. Excuse #4:  I had the brilliant idea to drive...yes, drive...to NYC to see dear friends (with a quick stop in Philly) in just under a week. Yes, I saved our family lots of money by the non-purchase of plane tickets, but when I asked my children what they liked about our trip, they both piped,

I love that my children are their own unique persons. I love the way they look at the world.  I love the way they make connections and observations about people and ideas. But sometimes...well, many times....I tend to open mouth, insert my fist or my foot or whatever large piece of furniture is in reach, and am humbled greatly by their tender words. For Brian's birthday every year, we typically go out to dinner or engage in a family activity that he would choose to do.  Bowling, pizza at Dewey's, steak and Rocky Road ice cream at home. This year we went to Fitz's for root beer floats. As we perused the menu, Max piped up, "Mom, I'll have a quadzilla, please." Ahh...too cute.  I laughed.  Out loud.  It sort of escaped the filter I try so desperately to employ. Max, confused by my response, immediately said,   " Mom! Why are you laughing?  All I said was, I would like a quadzilla, please." Trying sooo hard not to keep laughing, I replied, &qu